Greetings, fellow travellers.
A lot has taken place since last we met. If any of you are still bothered about these missives from the wi-fi wilderness. Well, Starbucks.
I have spent several months in Central America, working as a journalist for a weekly English-language periodical. Never before have I lived through a military coup, but all I can say is . . . the violent transfer of power is a lot more prosaic than the glory days of military insanity. Striking though, was the international media coverage, which would have had you believe that a civil war had broken out. The worst culprits were those bastions of American conservatism, CNN and Fox News, for whom that whole Central American area is something of an embarrassment. After all, it’s the American corporations that hold the real power down there. “Fighting over who governs the nation?” you can hear them cry, mumbling into their stetsuns. “What imbeciles.” I am paraphrasing, of course.
The people of Central America are certainly unfortunate, caught between the oil-smeared fingers of the USA and the tub-thumping beligerency of Empire Chavez. Whose fingers are equally inky. The net impact of this is that most visitors are not really aware of the region having any culture of its own. So many of those I met actually seemed confused why I would be visiting . . . having mistaken me for an American, they thought I was fleeing a promised land. When I told people I was British, they actually seemed disappointed. What were they imagining? That a passing American would smuggle them home in return for a free bottle of Barena lager? (Barena is shite, by the way).
Now I am far removed from that, and, indeed, from the city that was the major fixture of this weblog – back in them, like, days. For that matter, I am far removed from pretty much everything I have ever known, the Family having moved out of Sussex, as is their want. Usually, new things are to be seized upon, a cause for celebration. Now I’m not so sure. Even the sheep seem eager to head city-wards. But then, they all follow each other like a herd of . . . oh.
I suppose their is an innate capacity, in me at least, to find the familiar drab. I suppose I shall soon be moving on. Trouble is, if one devotes oneself to travelling (for it’s own sake), it rather prohibits the everyday comforts without which we are all rather lost. For better or worse. I like having a lot of books, but is clearly impractical to carry them all around with me. I like having a bed, too. A proper bed, with a mattress and everything.
On the other hand, ‘travellin’ light’ may have it’s advantages. I have noticed the peculiar state of mind that being in unfamiliar surroundings engenders. It is near-impossible to be unhappy in this mindset. And I should know – I can be unhappy pretty much anywhere. Is this because of being stripped of all but the necessities? I recall seeing a scene in Chekhov’s Three Sisters in which one of the minor characters bursts on stage, overjoyed because all his worldly possessions have perished in a fire. Or is it due to focussing your energies on orientation, path-finding and the like? Hm. It’s something to chew over, I suppose, in the comfort of a central-heated home, in a break between television and radio shows, hot meals, showers, bedtime and trips into town.
Next time: why Mr Bones & The Dreamers are the best new band around, and my thoughts on the art of ladder-building. Oh yes.
Indoor Rain 