Panchan

DISCLAIMER: through a combination of randomly reading a novel about writing, wanting to keep blog posts fresh and new, and being rained in for the better part of a day, I found myself writing this. A word of caution to those who didn't like my last foray into prose (Four Nights): you might as well skip this one. Otherwise, if you're up for a little boredom-induced, unedited experimentation, read on.

He could feel the slats on his back through the thin foam of the bed, and thought to himself how it goes perfectly with it all: the partition walls that don't go all the way to the ceiling, allowing him to hear his neighbor turn the pages of her book; the tin roof that magnifies the huge drops of rain that fall after collecting on the massive leaved trees above. As he lay there, instead of seeing these inconveniences as a drawback, an appreciation of the magic that surround him creeps in.

Although his eyes are open, it is the sounds that mesmerize him most. Between that tap tap tap of the rain on the roof, sounds of the jungle permeate—birds, insects of all kinds, and even what sounds like a monkey mix into a soundtrack that reinforces the remoteness of this traveler-hippie community. From down the muddy path outside his door came simple guitar covers of songs that at other times might seem cliche, but something in the singer's voice make him look past that and really see the spirit of the songs. Songs by John Lennon, Simon and Garfunkle, and ones that he even didn't know what language they were being sung in but could feel the spirit creep down the narrow path, all the same.

Occasionally, groups of fellow travelers walk past his window on the way to their own cabanas, their low voices usually in Spanish of which he only caught a word or two. He is glad the brief chunks of conversation didn't make it understandingly to his brain. This way, he can create his own meanings. Maybe it is two strangers who just met, each while reading alone in the tarp-covered restaurant, finding one thing in common, enough to thinly veil the real reason they don't want to say goodnight. Maybe the group's discussion mimmicked the dicussion in his head, marveling at the wonder of all of place, right here, right now.

Closing his eyes, shutting out the tin ceiling and lone bare light bulb hanging from it, he imagines a camera looking directly down from above. The scene starts to zoom out, just like google earth when switching locations or in that movie from science class Powers of 10. As the camera passes through the roof, puddles along a muddy path come in view, quickly followed by more randomly placed cabanas. Streams with simple bridges crossing them mix with meandering trails to create seeming ant paths through the dark lush green. As the camera recedes, one or two larger roofs appear, those of the few restaurants and "real" hotels. But then, other than the one road, no new evidence of man's existence enters the picture. The little village community grows smaller in the middle of the image and jungle fills in all around. The zoom of the camera is fast now and the nearby ruins enter the picture from one side at the same time the lights of Palenque enter from the other, but at this distance, no details can be made out. Other clusters of lights enter the picture and shrink as the surrounding towns fly by. Then, all of the sudden, dark black of the oceans comes into view, the Gulf of Mexico from the top and the Pacific from the lower left. The zooming of the image pauses as he stops to think about how although he is in Mexico, it isn't the North American Mexico of Cabo or Puerta Vallarta. He is in Mayan Mexico, distinctly Central American Mexico.

As the paused satelitte image rests in his mind, he sees his little spot and feels a sense of freedom. This place is any place, and he is here. No one, without considerable effort, could track him down and there is comfort in that. Not that he is running or wants to keep his location a secret, only that right now, the control is all his.

The serene nighttime image of Central America from above is shaken from his head by an obnxoius bang bang bang on the neighbor's door, causing his connected walls to shake as well. Excited boys either vying for attention or trying to one-up each other loudly joke, laugh, and beatbox, ruining the magic. At the same time, he notices the live cover songs from the stage down the path have been replaced by AC/DC turned up too loud.

So goes the world of travel, the reality and hardships are never far off, ready to let one taste the magic but only in small doses. Attempting to file the feeling of magic away so that it won't be forgotten, he turns on his side, pulls a pillow over his head, and tries not to wish harmful things for those ruinors of his moment.

Monday March 22 2010File under: travel, Mexico

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