maybe a reflection
i think a reflection on this should have come a long time ago, but honestly, i still don’t think everything about this trip has been sorted through.
i have no idea if people will see this, but i suppose it’s more for my own brain anyway.
about six months ago, i was making my way down to montevideo. at this time, i was probably sitting at the dallas airport, wondering if the group was going to have to spend a few days in miami (which i was trying SO HARD to be positive about, but was really not looking forward to). we had some pretty awful luck with planes, and then some really good luck with one plane.
after the longest flight of my life so far, and the worst my legs have ever felt in their life (i am forever fortunate that i’ve never broken any bones), we get out of plane and meet a man named daniel, and pile into a van to watch a landscape that was simultaneously familiar and foreign whiz by. it looked like someone had uprooted half of the coniferous trees in wisconsin and replaced them with palm and eucalyptus trees. replaced half of the shiny new cars with old beaters. and then put the largest delta i’ve ever seen alongside it, leading to my first encounter with the atlantic ocean. the temperature and climate was so similar to minnesota’s. even just getting off the plane, moving through that adjustable tunnel, i’m sure we all felt something homey about our new surroundings.
we were ushered all too quickly through around the edge of a city what many of us had never seen such a likeness before. buildings jammed close-together to get a better view of the ocean-esque river, non-hippodamian streets weaving across each other, and a twisty shoreline spotted with palm trees opposite the tall apartments on la rambla.
we were taken to the hostel (without our luggage, did i mention?) and greeted warmly. we took what small amount of carry-on bags we did have with us to our rooms, and others went to their hotel rooms a few blocks away.
the days that ensued brought dozens of galleries, studio visits, some of the worst restaurant food i’ve had in my life, and some of the best homemade food i’ve had in my life, absurd taxi rides, perhaps the largest sunday market i will ever see, schoolchildren with smocks and bows, beautiful teenagers that were so wise and thoughtful, and beautiful travelers that brought stories, laughter and music with them.
i can’t necessarily separate one day from the next, though a few are distinct in my mind. what i remember best are moments. ones that were joyous that happened at the beginning of the trip maybe seem more like they happened near the end, and my memories of being nervous or unsure of what i was doing isn’t really specific to one day or moment, but overarched throughout the entire trip.
my memory is one of the more frustrating things about this trip. nearly as frustrating as the language barrier. despite journaling, taking plenty of pictures, visiting with trip mates, and updating this page, i still have trouble recalling things that happened. and it may get worse.
but while i can i think about my time there nearly everyday.
and i hope to go back.
i KNOW i’ll go back, rather, only i don’t know how or when.
