
4/21/01
Wow, where to begin? So much has happened in the week and a half since I last wrote. I’ve composed enough letters in my head to fill a small book. For those of you who are short on time, I’ll warn you now that I don’t think this is gonna be a short update.
Today I jumped on a bus to San Jose to find a cheap guitar. There was a two-hour direct route on a long winding bus route to get to San Jose. Since I had the whole day, I chose the long scenic route. So beautiful. A narrow road wound through lush green valleys and past tiny fincas. One beautiful site was that of a lone white cross atop a hill that was surrounded by a field of tiny yellow flowers. The narrow road wound around a steep hillside and climbed in elevation over the pass. The green labyrinth of the rainforest dropped into deep ravines below the road. Waterfalls spilled over rock tables and tumbled down hundreds of meters below. A cool impenetrable mist blew through the high elevations. As we wound around the tight corners of the road and sliced through the mist I wondered how the cars kept from crashing into each other on this thin mountainous road. I wondered, but I wasn’t scared. There’s no point in being scared. Here, I rely on faith. There’s no other way. Shortly after this contemplation, the bus rounded a corner and a truck slammed its breaks on and skidded straight ahead towards my section of the bus. The truck smashed into the side of the bus. Everything came to a halt except the mist that blew past us. All the passengers looked down at the truck diver and he wasn’t hurt. The front end of his truck was compacted but that was it. The bus and all the passengers went unscathed. What was strange was that I felt unaffected by the whole thing. It felt like I was just observing the accident but wasn’t actually involved.
Sometimes traveling gives you that feeling. I probably won’t be taking that route again soon, not because of the accident, but only because the windy road made me want to puke. I did manage to get to San Jose and ask a taxi driver to take me where I could find a cheap guitar. He dropped me off at the local market and I wandered around until I found what I was looking for. With guitar in hand I hopped another bus and headed home. I was proud of this trip, because it signified my ability to speak enough Spanish to travel solo.
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