12.22.2012 - 12.22.2012
Tomorrow we embark on our Ciudad Perdida trek. Chris is relieved that for 6 days we will not have to figure out what to do--we will only be responsible for following others, eating the food they cook for us, and occasionally smiling for the camera. It doesn't seem to matter to him that it will likely be uncomfortable--slippery, damp, mosquito-ridden, cold nights spent in hammocks, no electricity. He knows he can suffer through that. It is the unknown he fears.
Today was much like yesterday. For brunch we sat eating our comidas corrientes facing the sea, wondering for the umpteenth time whether we were getting the most out of our travels. Chris had spent the last night reading Jess and Andrew's Peru blog, and I think he had some notion that we could be more like them. Only, it seemed we couldn't--because of who we were, and because of our resignation. And yet we felt that there should be another answer out there, some way to be satisfied.
For a while I walked around in a daze, remembering North Carolina and Jess, brimming with admiration for her. In a way Jess is synonymous with North Carolina for me because she so defined my experience there, despite how much time I spent alone, hiking in the woods, or on some solitary adventure to Tennessee (not so much time, actually). I resent how easy it is to be nostalgic about that period, forgetting all the moments of fierce loneliness, my foreignness, my invisibility. I wanted to fade away into a book, but I couldn't--I was held there by my body, its undeniable physicality.
Later, when I grew used to them (or they to me), I had just enough time to begin to feel sorry to leave. But not so sorry after all, because California was home.