Thursday, July 4, 2013


I often write up excruciatingly detailed travelogues upon returning from a trip. But this trip, well, didn't lend itself to that. It wasn't an intensive, reflective and introspective trip, as most of my individual journeys are (Turkey, Cambodia, Japan). It wasn't shallow, per se, but it was designed to be a typical Caribbean getaway. Perhaps that's why, starting on day one, I decided the write-up was going to be different - short nuances - half poetic, half studies in prosody.

Day One: Queens, New York.

Fireflies over a sidewalk sugarcone.

Day Two: San Juan, Puerto Rico.

'Borderline' during a drizzled dusk traffic jam.

Day Three: San Juan.

Latin piano jazz mingled slowly with rainwater.

Day Four: San Juan.

Five a.m. beach taxi.

Day Five: St. John, US Virgin Islands.

After Cessna, the 'port Mormons said they'd been at Camp Gold thirty-seven years.

Day Six: St. John.

Forgot to spit, didn't see urchin.

Day Seven: St. John.

Their daughter said she would drink pure honey.

Day Eight: St. John.

At the bar I felt the day's sun seep into my skin.

Day Nine: Panama, Panama.

The obese girl next to me is on a mission trip to Panama, Pentecostal denomination.

Day Ten: Panama.

I haven't hung laundry on a line since Singapore.

Day Eleven: Panama.

Sneaking shots of Baha'i interior.

Day Twelve: Panama.

Egrets on the locks.

Day Thirteen: Panama.

Catching a last taxi at 'Tamburelli de Amador'.

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