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I can be e-mailed at: <jameslynne@hotmail.com> 1. the journey is the thing the process over progress the movement without the matter wherever you go, as they say --- there you are
we encounter a traffic jam in Bakersfield a sea of cars, rivers of red lights smeared across the windshield in the rivulets of rain and we slow to a crawl along with them unconcerned, undeterred we have no place we need to be we have no schedule we are on our way maybe we'll get there, maybe we won't regardless, our present lack of progress is not a concern we are on our way following Greg's nose 2. the phoenix rose from the ashes this phoenix is encased in asphalt magenta clouds loom above the city storm and thunder have passed foul weather has been the recurring theme in our great third bus adventure 3. the finest restaurants can be found at the Pemex gas stations cloroxed bathroom floors impressive tilework parrot cages cafe con leche para llevar I cringe as I hand the congenial waitress my homemade coffee mug with a montage of photos from over the years my fortieth surprise birthday with Gary and Dane and Bruce and Randy and Tom the Owyhee trip with Andrew and Bucky Winnie in her (actually my) favorite babushka pose, bandana affixed Kook lounging riverside in a folding lawnchair Ally peeking out from behind a photo and then the infamous photo of Dallas and I repairing the oarstop on one of my oars with great difficulty and in the buff I watch her in the kitchen swabbing the cup distractedly meticulously cleaning every conceivable nook and cranny if she sees the naked men struggling with the ten-foot oar she doesn't let on five pesos later and I am out the door 4. chihuahua state basin and range off in the distance, way off across scrub and yellowing sand frying pan flat valley floor the mountains rise in long rows like ocean breakers closing in on an expansive shallow shelf along the coastline dusky greys, browns and muted blues cactus are rarely sighted no saguaros whatsoever its a menacing landscape nothing to draw you in except the silhouette of the mountains the diminishing highway 5 we pay our toll and roll to a stop for our umpteenth bathroom visit we are on an extended tour of rest stops and Mexican servicios moments later the bus is engulfed trapped, hemmed into the shoulder of the road by a crowd that has gathered in the blink of an eye civil disobedience has broken out in the puebla of Delicias a protest over unnecessary tolls and governmental indifference Vicente Fox has emboldened the common man to demand their voices have resonance as a president of the people paisanos expect his attention so far, it feels as if norteamericano turistas are the prime beneficiaries of the new regime. 6. camping by the mayan ruins of palenque on twenty-five pesos a day you could stay a long time at that rate become a part of the atmosphere the maya bell campground has a diverse collection of sentient beings friendly, gregarious types from holland, germany, italy, france, mexico they use spanish as much as possible whether rudimentary or polished two friends meet along the path and discuss endlessly what day it might be in their non-native tongue and are excited when they find they have an extra day before they 'must' go in to town to dance this is what passes for time in the jungle
the howler monkeys perhaps touched by the sudden night rain are growling loudly in the middle of the night they sound as if they are marching back and forth through camp, like border patrol guards brandishing night sticks they are rude and noisy and I am confident no one is asleep in camp planet of the apes flashbacks
the ants in the yucatan are fiery and mean and it is not possible to stand still for longer than 10 seconds they chew on your feet and ankles relentlessly ankles are red and swollen and splotched and achy with dull and distinct itches 7. between campeche and merida ---
white the purest white egrets surround the brahmin cattle like random sets of bowling pins freshly painted no markings all white |