viernes, 28 de diciembre de 2012
Monstruos Andan Por La Calle
Waking up, groggily, vision still slightly blurry, to an alien invasion... is what I think of when I see this photo. What isn't really shown is that the being in the corner, while having a human face, has the body of a turtle and the legs of an octopus.
We were walking back to my place, my boyfriend and I, late at night, after having been to a Radaid performance in el centro. They're always surprising: how many of them will be there (it's a regular gig and there are eight of them), how they will play their instruments... I won't lie, there were even a couple of instruments there that I'd never seen before. Still on a bit of a high from that (they'd been pretty amazing, intense), I stopped to take some photos, before we started climbing over the monsters. My boyfriend was proudly seated on one, riding it like a horse, my camera strap the reins, when a small, dirty man came and asked for money for his diabetes medication. Jumping down from his mount, we kept on wandering home, despite the man's call to me of, "no te conviene".
I don't know why, but desperation, rudeness and manipulation... I always find them haunting, like their acts echo throughout me, eventually fading down to a whisper, but starting out as a loud call bouncing from one part of me to another. In their wake they leave a certain hollowness inside until they wane to a vague memory. I'm hoping that eventually his call will be completely over-written by the image of my boyfriend sitting majestically on his monster in front of the church.
miércoles, 19 de diciembre de 2012
Campanas, Torres y Vistas
I've always had a thing for towers, and especially bell towers. There's just something so cool and kind of creepy about them; romantic ideas about princesses, Quasimodo and haunted castles.
This one I came across in Trinidad, Cuba. Once a church, the lower stories now serving as a museum; bearing trucks, flags, guns and maps detailing the revolution. If you pass upstairs, you can get into the tower, which was all I had really been interested in in going there.
At the bottom of the tower sat a lady, knitting. She let me pass and I climbed up to the first level, which lead out onto the red terrace. Continuing up the creaky, wooden, spiral staircase I came upon these large, circular holes that were cut into the towers walls, giving a snapshot view of two opposing sides. Turning to continue up the stairs, the steps giving slightly underfoot, I saw a chair deliberately lain across the stairs. I knew what that meant, I think there was a sign too, written in red capitals, making it more imposing: No se puede pasar. But to me, the sign, the chair... what they seemed to be saying was something more like: Only the faint of heart shall turn back. It seemed more like an invitation to adventure ; a challenge. I couldn't stop before getting to the bells, even if I couldn't make it to the top. I knew that the chubby lady was still knitting at the bottom, and she couldn't see up there. So I climbed over the chair and continued, thinking that I could always say that I hadn't understood the sign.
Around a couple more corners I came across the bells, what I'd been waiting for. Like the circular holes, there were two bells, facing opposite sides. Apparently once you had been allowed to climb up to the bells and maybe beyond, as there was a retro-looking sign asking you not to sound the bells.
Finishing looking out and taking photos, I looked around the next corner. This time there were two folding chairs laid across the stairs along with a couple of planks, which seemed to be saying something more like: No seriously, dude, you should stop now. I don't really know why you couldn't keep climbing, it didn't seem that rickety. Turning on my heel, I started heading down the stairs, when I heard the lady from the bottom calling up to me: No se puede. Guiltily I hurried back, she was leaning passed the - No se puede pasar - sign, watching me return, embarrassed yet so pleased with myself. She muttered disapprovingly under her breath as I threw her a quick - Lo siento - and rushed down the stairs and then out of the building.
jueves, 13 de diciembre de 2012
Still Waters
La Huasteca Potosina... a small area of sprouting jungle in central Mexico; a mixture of natural and man-made wonders...
I had made it there with a bus load of exchange students from school one long weekend. It was the first (and last) trip that I went on with the school, for good reason. There was a looooot of time on the bus - it was pretty far away from Guadalajara, and all the sites seemed to be a good distance apart. There was also the music choices on the bus which, unfortunately, did include a video of an entire Shakira concert. But the thing that I disliked the most was that by the end I didn't feel like I had ''gotten to know'' la Huasteca - we were shipped around in the bus, I never knew where we were or where we were going. Having said all that, it was a good trip, and we did see some amazing things, I'm just not really into large group trips or tours.
This one was taken at one of the first stops on the trip: waterfalls and calm pools of turquoise waters nestled into the jungle. Whilst all of our group headed down to the otherside of the pool, in their bikinis/swimmers and their brightly coloured life jackets, where the water was more still, these two local boys were jumping off the rock face into the water gushing down at them. There was a notable contrast between their carefree reckless diversion compared to the overly cautious tourists - and I know who looked like they were having more fun.
lunes, 10 de diciembre de 2012
Sweet Dreams
One of the sweetest memories I have is of sitting outside one morning, on the paved step by the back door, utterly sad (I don't remember why). Pepper, our family dog was there with me, as always. We had been told by the pound when we got her that she was a Rottweiler x German Shepherd, but she definitely wasn't. So I was sitting there, head in my hand, possibly crying, when Pepper walks up to me deliberately and rested her head on my shoulder. I hugged her back.
With everyone moving away from home as we got older, Mum started at looking into moving into town. She was scared to take Pepper because of how she didn't play nice with other animals. And when Pepper wanted to go after something, it could be pretty hard to hold her back: she was a big girl. So she gave Pepper away to a friend and farmer. It always made me feel bad, thinking about giving her away like that, like we'd - I'd - abandoned her. So I stopped talking about her, because it always left me feeling guilty. Then I got an email from Mum today - the people that had taken Pep in had had to get her put down because she was sick. Such a sweetie.
domingo, 2 de diciembre de 2012
The Mother's Visit
I was just finishing my semester abroad, and my undergraduate degrees, when my mum threw together a last minute trip over to visit me. I actually hadn't even finished my exams before she arrived in Mexico. So she spent a few days in Mexico City before coming over to see me in Guadalajara.
In the last few days that she was over I took her to Guanajuato. I hadn't spent so much time with her in years, and by the time we arrived in Guanajuato I was beginning to tire of some of her tricks. She doesn't speak Spanish, and wouldn't even attempt to buy anything for herself if I was there with her. She was scared to try food when she didn't know what it was. She would always walk behind me in the street. She would never suggest a place to eat, but would just say, ''Wherever you want,''... which, given that I myself am terrible at making up my mind, isn't much of a help. She was, at least, suitably impressed by the quaint beauty of Guanajuato. We had been up these stairs of the university during the day, and up to the lookout, but I had wanted to see it at night. So we wandered around and around, with me leading and getting us slightly lost, through the winding, narrow streets, passing the underground tunnels, until we stumbled across it again.
I always hold that while Mexico is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night. I think it is partly the quality of the light, its yellowness, as well as how the streets seem to come to life. Guanajuato was no exception. I particularly like this one for the ring of light which seems to give it a surreal quality, like the photo, or reality, has been twisted slightly.
sábado, 1 de diciembre de 2012
The Wannabe Karate Kid
Growing up,
I was often blamed for things that weren't my fault. I think I must have been any easy
target. Whenever it happened, all I could do
would be stare disbelievingly at my accuser, and protest my innocence. It wasn’t
me! It was her. I imagine that it went something
like that. Looking back on it now, it
seems that this method of declaring my innocence was largely responsible for me
getting the blame: it made me look guiltier.
There was the incident with the bathroom scales, where my elder sister, Erin, thought it would be funny if we adjusted them so that when Mum stood on
them she thought she had gained a lot of weight, and I agreed to help. I started winding the knob on the
scales, but at about 40 kilograms, it wouldn’t go any further. After pointing this out to Erin, she took
over, claiming she could do it. So the scales were broken; and somehow I ended up with all of the
blame.
But the best
example would have had to have been this one time when we were at my Nanna’s
with my cousin Nathan and his mum. At
this time I was about four or five, and Nathan was a few months younger than
me. I had never liked him, we’d never
gotten along. My brother, Kurt, and Erin
always seemed to enjoy playing with him growing up, although they now claim
that they don’t like him either. Us kids
were playing in the lounge room, while Mum, Nanna and my auntie were in the
kitchen. I’m not sure how it arrived to
this point, but it was a standoff between Nathan and me. I just remember the episode
starting like this:
“Well, I
know karate,” claimed Nathan confidently.
While I knew that he had been training, I guessed he wasn't any good at it.
“Yeah, well
I can pinch,” I stated equally confidently.
I knew that I could take him, my pinches were crippling.
“Yeah, she
can, her pinches really hurt,” added Erin and Kurt, sounding uneasy.
“But I know
karate,” my cousin repeated.
“She pinches
really hard,” they stressed. Then he
attacked. He let out a call that sounded
like he had learnt on TV, “Hee-ya!” as he karate-chopped my arm. I let him hit me. Then I stepped aside, grabbed his arm and pinched it, hard. The matriarchs rushed into the room, responding to his crying. My auntie rushed straight to
her injured son, who was sobbing loudly while nursing his arm, “She pinched
me!”
I was
horrified at this turn of events. How
hadn’t I seen this coming? I had won,
and then in my moment of glory in swept these women to punish me. I claimed my innocence, to no avail; I couldn’t
deny that I had pinched him, even though I could try to stress how
much he had deserved it. It was only in
the car ride home that I was properly able to explain to Mum without any
chastising as to what had actually happened.
And then she laughed: she had never liked the kid either.
martes, 27 de noviembre de 2012
Border Business
A few days ago I was in Belize, the sole purpose of the trip being a border run as my tourist visa was about to expire in Mexico. I had caught a local bus, paying for the Corozal-Chetumal trip. The bus was old school: brown vinyl seats, air conditioning that looked like someone had installed an old system designed for a house... And most of the other custom (all, apart from me, as far as I could tell) was local, people visiting friends, but mostly Mexicans that had gone shopping the the Corozal Free Zone - a compound just over the border that only contains stores that are duty free).
I was a bit edgy about going through immigration, particulary on the Mexican side, as I would be getting my third visa in under a year. I passed through the Belize immigration with the man at the desk barely glancing at me, as he continued with his conversation in what I guessed was Kriol. Although I was a little disorientated leaving the hall, I found the carpark where a cream bus was parked. I was cursing myself for having forgotten the colour of the bus (as buses that ran this trip all looked the same apart from their colour), but it turned out to be the only one there. Crossing over the river, we quickly arrived at the Mexican immigration. This was a lot busier. This time there were queues and forms to fill out (as you would expect at immigration). I passed through with only a couple of questions... however, it seemed that I had taken much longer than everyone else on the bus. A couple of times I asked where the buses would be, and quickly found the street where they were parked. As I walked down the street I kept asking myself - what colour was it again? But I couldn't see any buses that even looked a similar style - they all looked like tour buses. I wandered back up and down, fixing my attention on the buses, before I let myself believe the inevitable truth - the bus had left me at the border.
Swearing under my breath I headed slowly back to the corner, where the "street of buses" started, trying to work out what I was going to do. All of the other buses looked like tour buses, a few taxis were lined up closer to the corner... but I wasn't keen on the extra cost of taking one... Looking across the street I saw this clunky looking, small bus with green windows that was painted in the same way as the taxis: white with a yellow stripe.
It was on that bus that I took this photo. The woman in the corner was with some friends who had crossed for some duty free shopping, and were merrily gossiping. I think it is the blandness and the contrast with the green windows that makes this photo interesting, while the woman adds a human element to the rigidity and starkness of the immigration formalities.
lunes, 19 de noviembre de 2012
Graveyard Tunes
We were heading out of the cemetery in Oaxaca a couple of days before Día de Muertos, after having spent a couple of hours surrounded by innumerable candles and listening to choirs and a small orchestra perform. As we were leaving, we heard the unmistakeable call of a mariachi band. Following the notes we stumbled across them, and a small gathering clustered around a couple of graves. We had only been there for a minute before a man came up to us offering mezcal. My boyfriend, the non-drinker, pretending to be tough, accepted although it was fairly horrid. He was then taken aside to talk to an old man while I watched the mariachi. Later he told me that the old man had hired the mariachi to play at the graves of his dead family.
What I liked about this was that we had spent so long listening to the polished musicans hired by the city to perform, but on slipping away we encountered this; something that was felt much more real, more important, more personal and much more Mexican.
domingo, 11 de noviembre de 2012
Lupe
Guadalupe, Mexico's own Virgin, has a habit of turning up in the most unexpected places: caps, shirts, necklaces, tiles, notebooks, bowls, lighters, fake fingernails. This one was a recent spotting in Oaxaca. I like this one because of its sneaky appearance and because it looks kind of like she is bringing light to the darkness.
martes, 6 de noviembre de 2012
Through Someone Else's Eyes
We were in Oaxaca recently, my boyfriend and I. We were sitting in a cemetery, waiting for a choir to begin their performance for the Día de Muertos celebrations. Niches lined the outer walls of the pantheon, graves, empty and occupied a like, all 2,400 of them bearing a candle. As we waited for the performance to begin, my boyfriend trying to nap on my shoulder, I looked around, out across the grave yard, back over the niches. I was doing this until I realised that I could see the niches through the glasses of this man seated in front of me. I like this photo because it is like seeing the world through someone else's eyes: a slightly contorted version of what you see as your own reality.
lunes, 22 de octubre de 2012
New Year, New Start
New Year's Eve 2009, I was in a small Ecuadorian town while doing a stint of volunteering. It was a purely local affair, being in the country, apart from the six foreign girls. The locals there have a tradition of making these life size dolls, stuffing them with old clothes. Normally one doll is made per household. The dolls represent the old year and are ceremoniously burnt, stacked in a pile at midnight. Don José, the owner of the local store, pours more petrol over the pile of burning dolls.
sábado, 13 de octubre de 2012
Casa De Los Lagartos
I was staying in the rural town of Remedios, Cuba, on my way to los cayos - the small islands with paradise-like beaches. In Remedios it really did feel like maybe you had just stepped back in time... the place has a dusty feel to it. There was no internet in the town, it was only accessible by taxi, colectivo or the local overfull 'buses', which were more commonly old trucks, and people just seemed to hang around or go casually about their business.
In Cuba there are no hostels: there are hotels and then there are casas particulares - family homes in which (normally one or two) rooms are rented. They are cheaper, and much cooler than hotels, and you never know exactly what you are going to find in one. This one in Remedios was probably my favourite, having little distinction between the inside and the outside.
The lounge room/dining room, while completely enclosed at the front and sides, at the back opened to a courtyard (filled with a garden, palm trees and a fountain) that lead down to the owners rooms, the kitchen and the guest rooms. This photo was taken through my bedroom's window - no glass, just bars, the lizard climbing in. In the background, on the back wall you can see the brightly coloured male. The courtyard had a number of these fellas wandering around, but they were normally too quick to catch.
martes, 9 de octubre de 2012
River Shanty
The Belén is a district of the Amazonian city Iquítos, Peru; the city being accessible only by boat or plane. There, everything is built to float. I visited in the southern hemisphere summer, when the rivers were low. When the waters run high, the banks extend a few hundred metres up to a market. The market was undoubtably the worst smelling place I have ever been, which gave me very little confidence to try the food. But it was strangely fascinating, chickens were cut open in strange ways and left so that you could see eggs forming inside of them. All kinds of meat were available: fish (also cut strangely), caiman, turtles and some that I either didn't know or couldn't recognise. My favourite was the natural therapies/magic section .
When the river levels are up, everything is afloat, even the market, all of the Belén is on the river, and the only way to get around for the shanty town's thousands of occupants is in boats.
sábado, 6 de octubre de 2012
Cactus View
Earlier in the year I was visiting the sleepy and colourful city of Guanajuato with a group of fellow exchange students. I had never travelled with a group before, I mean, I had done a couple of roadtrips with friends, but that doesn't really count. So, I learnt the hard (the only) way: group travel is not for me. Two of the girls (Dutch and identical twins) were always rushing everyone along when we paused to look at something, but would then stop in every shoe store we came across... a bit frustrating, along with any attempt at making group decisions... The worst one had to be when we had just stepped out onto the street after getting our accomodation and everyone started taking pictures of this same view, without realising that a funeral procession was passing in front of them...
Having said that, Guanajuato was a really pretty city: the brightly coloured, old buildings, the underground network of tunnels that disorientates when you see sunlight coming through a hole in the roof, where the stairs lead down to the tunnels, and of course the mummies were the obvious attraction. The whole centre gives of a calm vibe.
The photo itself was taken on the walk up to a look-out. To me it summarises the Mexican landscape (and the sterotypes) quite neatly: a cactus in front of a town filled with brightly coloured buildings while dusty hills stand in the background, under the blanket of a bright blue, cloudless sky.
lunes, 1 de octubre de 2012
Sleep Walking The Streets
After having been kindly woken up from having fallen asleep, hugging my backpack on the bus, I was told that I had arrived in Baños, Ecuador. I hadn't been keen on arriving so late (midnight), but the only other bus that ran that journey would get in a couple hours later still. Already I had decided where I was going to stay that night, after consulting my guidebook, and a man had also given me directions at the bus station, which seemed easy enough to follow: five blocks straight, two blocks left.
So, I set off from the bus station, which was really no distance at all from the centre of town, lugging my large backpack and the smaller one on front. It only took a few minutes for me to realise that I was probably not on path at all, it was hard to count the blocks when all the roads were running at funny angles and their length was really variable. The streets were deserted; it was eerily quiet. I pulled my guidebook out of the bag hanging on my chest, flicking through to find the town map. Having worked out where I needed to go, I continued on. It started to spit lightly. A car drove past. I checked the map again. A drunken shout sounded from a bar. I turned the corner and stumpled upon this.
lunes, 24 de septiembre de 2012
Intercom Arguments
I always found those families strange, the ones where the kids would get along really well, or even be friends. Growing up, like most of the other families in the valley, we were always fighting. We would play together, sure, but there was always fighting: hitting, kicking, yelling... the only rule that was always respected no matter what we were doing was no head shots. We made up our own ways to deal with and judge fights, like if a hit was thought to be unfair, or a headshot was made, the victim would get one free shot at the offender. This helped to keep the peace, but it isn't always that simple.
One time my brother had been fighting, I don't remember what about, but it was a serious fight, both of us still being in primary school. Normally most of the fighting happened when we were alone together for long periods of time, ie. when the folks were occupied down the farm. But this time Mum was home. She sent us both to our rooms, not listening - not interested - as we both independently screeched at her about our innocence, blaming the other for the fight. It's actually the only time I remember both being sent to their room, not that it was a regular punishment.
In my room, I threw myself angrily down on my bed and from underneath it pulled out the old intercom that my parents had given me. I turned it on and pressed down the button, "It's your fault." My accusation was met with the crackling of static for a moment, before I heard the reply, "It is not! It's your fault!" My brother had been given the partner-intercom.
"It is not! It's yours!"
And so, the argument contined, until we had both calmed down and were granted release.
One time my brother had been fighting, I don't remember what about, but it was a serious fight, both of us still being in primary school. Normally most of the fighting happened when we were alone together for long periods of time, ie. when the folks were occupied down the farm. But this time Mum was home. She sent us both to our rooms, not listening - not interested - as we both independently screeched at her about our innocence, blaming the other for the fight. It's actually the only time I remember both being sent to their room, not that it was a regular punishment.
In my room, I threw myself angrily down on my bed and from underneath it pulled out the old intercom that my parents had given me. I turned it on and pressed down the button, "It's your fault." My accusation was met with the crackling of static for a moment, before I heard the reply, "It is not! It's your fault!" My brother had been given the partner-intercom.
"It is not! It's yours!"
And so, the argument contined, until we had both calmed down and were granted release.
miércoles, 19 de septiembre de 2012
Doors To Trinidad
Recently I was travelling through Cuba and had heard many recommendations for the small city of Trinidad. Trinidad is a historic city that has recently been given a new life after becoming a UNESCO site. It has the old, huge doors and buildings with high roofs like the rest of Cuba, although here they are all brightly, cheerily coloured.
Despite the prettiness of the city, it did not meet my tastes as the jinteros there are tireless, constantly offering some service. This is because of the levels of tourism it receives. When I arrived I was followed for several hundred metres by a woman offering me accomodation, who completely ignored me when I was telling her that I would like to look around by myself and that I wasn't interested. After doing a lap of the town I accidently ran into her again, and she again began to tell me about how cheap her place was and how good a value it was. Only after I told her flatly and emphatically, stopping in the street, that I wasn't interested did she leave me alone. The jintero nature really contradicted the quietness that the small city's old buildings seemed to exude.
I loved the tall doors and how you could open segments of them, rarely the whole door. I particularly like this picture not just because of the doors, but for the woman, barefoot and dressed with the typical head scarf, writing in the doorway. It hints at how, sometimes in Cuba, it feels like maybe you have gone back a few decades, with horses and carts, 1950s cars and the trusting and casual attitude that the people foster. As one old man told me - Aquí, nadie se mete con nadie.
martes, 18 de septiembre de 2012
Sneaky Squirrel
This was taken on a recent trip to the zoo. One of the reasons that I like this photo is for the irony: we had gone to the zoo to see some (exotic) animals. But this turned out to be one of the best photos of the day: a wild squirrel with free-rein on the zoo, perched in a tree nibbling on his acorn.
viernes, 14 de septiembre de 2012
High Flyers
We had just taken a hot air balloon ride over a small town whose main industry was tequila production. On the flight there had been my boyfriend and I, the pilot and another couple. Half way through the flight I looked over to much see the girl gushing hysterically. I turn to my boyfriend, "Oh god, I think he just proposed." Though at first he didn't believe me, we soon saw a ring - a ridiculously large ring that I didn't understand how she was supposed to wear. This ring turned out to be a fake, simply for posing for photos. Then there was the phone call from the balloon to the shocked family - "He gave me a ring!... An engagement ring, Dad..."
On the other side of the basket, we continued to enjoy the flight, with the occasional snicker towards the couple - why wouldn't he have booked a private flight? What if she had have said 'no'? That would have been an awkward trip for everyone. We landed in a field, a little off course and the workers took the balloon back over to the proper landing site, one hanging from the low-flying basket as it went. We followed the balloon and watched as it was deflated, while being watched by some local kids in the field.
jueves, 13 de septiembre de 2012
Barbie Bounced
One summer
evening after school I had gone out into the backyard to play, still dressed in
my navy blue and white checked school-dress. I headed directly for a tree,
feeling the grass tickle my bare feet as I tread, and my new Barbie that I had
gotten a couple of weeks ago for my sixth birthday clutched around the
waist. I had never been that into
Barbie’s, but this one was new, and was pretty spiff in that her hair could be
dyed lurid pink. The tree I headed
towards was the most difficult to climb of all the trees we had, in fact I had
only recently discovered how to climb it, as its lowest branch was well, well
above my head.
Having reached the tree, I looked up, blue-grey eyes contemplating the helicopter-style seed pods hung down in amongst the still-green foliage; they hadn’t yet begun to fall. With my fair hair still pulled back from the day at school, I put Barbie’s waist into my mouth to carry her up with me. This was serious business, and if she was to come with me, this was the only way. I moved as close as I could to the base of the tree, and reached up, on tippy toes, until I could securely grasp the branch that hovered above my head. I held on and bent my back, starting to walk up the straight tree trunk. The roughness of the trunk pressed into my feet, but I kept walking until I was more or less upside down and could swing my legs up over a branch. The hard part over, I dragged myself properly into the tree, scraping my legs as I went. Then came the relief: we had made it, and it hadn’t been any harder at all to take Barbie with me. I moved around into the canopy until I found a comfortable seat and started to play with my new favourite toy.
Having reached the tree, I looked up, blue-grey eyes contemplating the helicopter-style seed pods hung down in amongst the still-green foliage; they hadn’t yet begun to fall. With my fair hair still pulled back from the day at school, I put Barbie’s waist into my mouth to carry her up with me. This was serious business, and if she was to come with me, this was the only way. I moved as close as I could to the base of the tree, and reached up, on tippy toes, until I could securely grasp the branch that hovered above my head. I held on and bent my back, starting to walk up the straight tree trunk. The roughness of the trunk pressed into my feet, but I kept walking until I was more or less upside down and could swing my legs up over a branch. The hard part over, I dragged myself properly into the tree, scraping my legs as I went. Then came the relief: we had made it, and it hadn’t been any harder at all to take Barbie with me. I moved around into the canopy until I found a comfortable seat and started to play with my new favourite toy.
I had been
perched in the tree for a while, as the sun continued to sink, turning the
countryside a warm yellow, when I heard my mum call out that it was time for
dinner. Obediently I shuffled around to
the side I had ascended, pulling Barbie along behind me. I reached the branch that I had clung to on my
way up and looked down. I threw Barbie
down into the grass; she would just get in the way this time. Squatting over the branch, I tried to recall
the trick to getting down. I had only
climbed the tree once before and it was a long way down. Just then Mum called through the window again
that it was tea time. There was no time
to think about it, I had to go in to dinner.
I jumped from the tree recklessly.
My feet hit the grass with a numbing pain, but I rapidly overbalanced,
falling forward, my arm out to break my fall.
Instead, it turned out that I had broken my arm. Lying face down in the grass, crying, with Barbie
strewn a couple of feet from me I remembered the trick: you were meant to hold
on, let yourself fall, then let go of the branch. In the background Mum’s calls continued to
for me to come to tea.
A couple of
minutes later she came out to look for me.
She stood several metres from me, as I lay there in the grass, crying my
eyes out, as she repeated, once again, that it was time for tea. I realise that she thought that I was faking
and just sobbed louder as though to prove my point whilst moaning “My arm”. She started to make her way closer, with many
a “Come on”. Once she had picked me up
and looked at the arm in question it was a different story. This was far from my first broken arm, and
Mum was starting to consider herself something of an expert. They sat me down on Dad’s knee while Mum
poked and squeezed at it, to see if it made me cry any louder. Following the examination and the conclusion
that it was broken, I was made to eat dinner before being taken to the
hospital, an hour away.
It was a long night, because, being a country
hospital, they wouldn’t operate the x-ray machine (I think the operator wasn’t
working) unless someone with a more serious injury came in (in which case they
would call him in). So that was how Mum
and I ended up sitting in the waiting room for about four hours one school
night. All that I remember of that time
was: Mum praying for someone to come in with a broken leg or something, eating Smith’s
salt and vinagre, crinkle cut chips from the vending machine and getting a Tazo
with a hologram of the little blue alien from Space Jam shaking his head, and nodding off while trying to stay
awake in the waiting room by watching the tv lodged in the corner. Eventually we were lucky (as someone else was
unlucky), and a broken leg came in. We
didn’t end up getting home until about one in the morning. I wasn’t even allowed the whole next day off
school, only the morning to sleep in.
And that was
the incident that my Mum continues to summarise as: Barbie bounced, Clare
didn’t.
lunes, 10 de septiembre de 2012
Mariposas Dormidas
The previous day had seen us catching four buses to the small town of Angangueo, Michoacán, Mexico. There had been debates along the way between my boyfriend and I as to whether we should continue. Everytime we had to change buses we would ask for directions and get contradictory and impractical answers. The buses decreased in size as we went along, becoming more and more for local use. We reached one small, unwelcoming town and sat on the gutter for about half an hour debating our options. It was mid-to-late afternoon, there was a chance that we would become stranded in one of these small towns and not be able to make it that night to the destintaion. We weren't sure about accomdation availability, and we were starting to get pretty low on money, not having discussed the finances before the trip. He was starting to get pretty pesimistic - it didn't make much sense why such a famous attraction would be so difficult to reach without a tour. While I couldn't deny this, I also still wanted to go. We moved to sit on some steps, and watched a small store that was selling roast chicken, while my boyfriend complained about hunger. Eventually we decided to continue, it was starting to get late and the chances of getting stuck somewhere were increasing.
Needless to say, we made it, despite my strong stomach pains, after catching a small, old, US-style school bus up to the Santuario El Rosario. We were greeted sleepily after walking the 50 minutes at 3000 metres to the site of the annual Monarch Butterfly migration. The vast majority of the butterflies were inactive due to the cold weather. I like how the sleeping ones look like barnacles on the trees, giving it a surreal touch, while the one butterfly who is awake adds a sense of optimism.
domingo, 9 de septiembre de 2012
Huts At Dusk
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)