Ancora Imparo
I stood there, water up to my ankles, shirt, luggage, and jeans completely soaked through, I've never seen rain like this; it came down in walls. All streets had been shut down after we lost the phones. Standing on a bridge between Condado and Old San Juan I was taken back to the events that led me here and all the things I've done. At that moment I realized two days prior I was walking through a jungle past voodoo country, I had just met a man who sold me a bracelet; I asked him what it was made out of and he replied "bone...", I chuckled thinking he was joking and I asked what kind of bone, he smiled and laughed and walked away. On the way out Rob turned to me and patted me on the back pointing to the outside of the man's hut; there was a rope with attached human skulls on it. I flash forward now to evenings in the streets of Old San Juan, I described it to a friend on the phone as follows; It's a mix of Venice, New York, and Cancun but hotter than all and as steep as San Fransico. Most money I spent was on the hand made bracelets little girls sold to you in squares scattered all through the city. Their hearts made of gold; I'm always a sucker for the classic "only one dollar mister.." big brown puppy dog eyes looking up. How can anybody deny that? I must have about fifty of them. Now I flash back before my adventures west to the first day; walking the cobble stone streets with my Ipod playing the song "Always better together" I sit and watch the countless number of street vendors juggling or some other trade, I catch the bus and travel east to Isla Verde, I have the virgin eyes slapped across my face and a local has to remind me to pick up my jaw, it was the most beautiful place. Beaches so white they made your eyes hurt, through a pair of avaitors it looked like the sun shining in reverse. Paid my fifteen dollars and had a ten minuete lull to the first waves of the trip. The wind jerks rain sideways and it hits my face hard enough that it snaps me back into reality, I continue walking, I lost my shoes only momments before when a wave hit me knocking me off balance to drop them into the ocean. I watch them float off, hopefully they will provide some comfort for some lost soul stuck on a desert island. The place where they shot Gilligan's island only a mile off shore I can keep that mantality up. I cross Condado bridge and see the chaulk marks under the grey pale water, knowing only three nights ago two young men were shot and killed in this spot by rival gangs. I only wish at this momment I was back in the jungle, it was like no place I have ever been; I walked with hast infront of the group due to the fact I was the only one who didn't believe in La Chupacabra (Vampire created by the CIA) it was local lore that had the country in a buzz for the past couple of years. (True story: Something still unidentified sucks the blood of Puerto Rican live stock and in parts of South America and Mexico) Reaching Condado still in one piece I barter with a taxi and start my trip home. Landning in JFK at three in the morning I couldn't stop there, I had to go for it, without hesitation I caught the C train that intercepts the cities subway. One hour and fifteen minuetes and a state of severe akwardness due to being the only white guy on the train and a conversation of true NYC style tips (Not to bend the hat and keep the sticker on the New Era) I arrived at my station. Walking into Time Square I had another flash back; Remembering you describing the city but me not understanding; just listening and nodding but now, now I can understand and know what you meant, it wasn't your fault because it IS impossible to put how beautiful it is into words. Hours pass and I must continue on. I find myself thirteen hours later in Detroit sitting next to Bob Anthony's daughter waiting for the flight to Marquette. After all I've done and all I've seen all I can do is repeat to myself; Ancora Imparo. I had my own rum diaries, my heart for a while will still be on the balconies of my hotel; after a day of surfing, mending my sunburnt stomach and chest, smoking a cigar, drinking rum that was brewed down the street, all while reading Hunter S. Thompson's Songs of the Doomed. I get away to find what I've lost but found that I no matter how far I go you can't find what was never there, you only have to keep putting one foot infront of the other and keep your eyes open.
On a final note I am truely sorry to those who were worried about me. Sometimes I just need to be on my own. Figure things out. Hope you will forgive me.
On a final note I am truely sorry to those who were worried about me. Sometimes I just need to be on my own. Figure things out. Hope you will forgive me.