The Rose Festival

Yesterday was the start of the Rose Festival, which is a really big deal in Portland every year: although it isn't June 21, it marks the beginning of summer. Parades and festival-like stuff abound. After waiting by the phone at the hostel for some time, I found out that I was accepted for the apartment, but she was with a client and said she'd call me back. She got really busy and didn't call back, so when it got to be about 1 pm and I was still sitting by the phone (reading my new book by Ursula K. LeGuin), and so I called again, even though I hate to nag, and she apologized profusely for not calling back and arranged for me to come sign paperwork and pay a deposit on the apartment the next morning (which I indeed did this morning). The next time I looked at a clock, it was already 1:30, so I had lunch at the hostel before wandering off.

I walked to the big main downtown library again, this time not getting distracted by astronauts roaming the streets but rather by shops and art galleries. I wandered in but, believe it or not, never bought anything. It's not like I had $2,000 to buy an antique Tibetan cabinet, anyway.

I was walking past a big antique store and noticed, to my astonishment, some brightly painted Tibetan cabinets inside, so of course I had to wander in--the store was full of stuff like that (I tactfully refrained from asking how they got these Tibetan things) and also some stuff from China, India, and Nepal. If I ever become a millionaire, I'm returning to that store. Yeah.

The next place to distract me and lure me in was the Lawrence Gallery, really the back garden entrance, because it was real purty and had a water fountain. So I wandered around in there, and it included a regular art gallery with some fascinating artwork and some more conventional artwork that I didn't find so fascinating (there were a few originals by Salvador Dali and Picasso, otherwise contemporary artists). The other part of the building was a free trade international crafts gallery, and it had lots of enticing things, like handcrafted dolls from Guatemala and puppets from Rajasthan, India. I decided I'd go back there after I, like, move to Portland and, like, get a job. I may have wandered into a few other places after that, but fortunately for my checking account, none of them were bookstores.

I got to the public library, spent one hour there on the Internet, and then headed down Yamhill Avenue all the way toward the Waterfront Park to enjoy the Rose Festival. It was, amazingly, bright and sunny and close to 70 degrees, and it never rained the entire day. I'm not making this up. But I wielded my umbrella anyway. Walking around downtown Portland with a tall cane-shaped umbrella, I feel like I should be wearing a top hat.

There was a $5 entrance fee to get into the park, or specifically the temporary WaMu Village, where there were lots of pavilions and games and roller-coaster type stuff. If you can imagine me wandering around and looking bemusedly at amusement park rides....well, that part was boring. However, there were a couple of stages with live music. Before I got to the live music, I sat through a clown act that was more for children but turned out to be funny anyway, and it including a performing dog.

Attending a concert performed by a group with seven varying xylophones, drums, and gourds was worth the $5. That may sound odd, but it was Carribbean/African music and was quite lively. A local rock band called Amadan (rhymes with Ramadan) was also a delight. They seemed Irish, but they were local Americans anyway. It must be because they included a fiddler or violinist who performed some rather Irish-sounding tunes. And maybe they looked Irish because of their hats, and the drummer wore suspenders. However, their tatoos didn't look Irish. During this Bacchanalian celebration, it occurred to me that the intense guitarist looked like a short Bono sans sunglasses.

There was also a big tent with a dinosaur exhibit, but none of the dinosaurs were alive. I could hear roaring and they certainly looked realistic, though. The tent next to that was full of "exotic animals," most of which had been rescued, but despite the rescue part I found it very distressing to see the toucan, porcupine, and wildcats inside cages and not having enough space. And whenever a marching band went by, I could tell at least one of the cats was annoyed with the noise; Cosette pulls back her ears if she hears a recording of bagpipes, and that was much like the bobcat’s reaction to the marching band. There was a baby Bengal tiger that seemed rather content, and people went into the cage and played with it. How cuuuute! And a bobcat had a grey tabby for company.

Oh, yes, there was also a beautiful view of the river, and after dark fireworks were set off from a barge. (Those of you who live in St. Louis probably think that sounds familiar. I saw many boats before the fireworks, and swish swish of the water and a couple of mallards who like popcorn. While it was daylight and I stood by the water, people on boats waved at people onland.

Anyway, I've paid the deposit on the apartment, and I'll be, briefly, leaving Portland early early tomorrow morning.

Southeast Portland and the Japanese Garden

This morning I waited near the phone for a long time, and I found out that I've been approved for the apartment! The landlady was very busy with appointments and people coming by (there were like three other apartments available), so it's not until tomorrow, at 11 am, that I have an appointment to sign papers and pay a deposit to hold the apartment.

I've added one more night to my stay at the NW hostel, so I'll be leaving Portland (temporarily!) on June 1st, show up at Val's house that evening and spend at least one night there, before I visit my cousin Teddi in Los Angeles for one night, and then I'll next go to Phoenix and crash at my brother's apartment for a few nights, before I spend one night at a comparatively cheap hotel (probably in New Mexico) and then return to Topeka. And then it'll be the last of my packing and figuring out the moving van thing. My brother and dad will be helping.

I told the landlady I'd move in on July 12, and that's when I pay the rest of the first month's rent. It'll probably take about a week to move out there, like from the 6th to the 12th.

My favorite neighborhood is SE Portland--the Hawthorne Hostel is in the bohemian neighborhood, and I never got tired of wandering there. And the whole neighborhood is like a botanical garden!

I neglected to mention quite a number of things about that neighborhood, but here are some. I ate lunch at an entirely vegetarian Thai restaurant (I'm trying to be frugal, and that was the only time I ate out at a restaurant), sipped tea in the very atmospheric Tao of Tea before going across the street and seeing The Spiderwick Chronicles at the Avalon and looking around at the pinball machines after the film--I thought for sure I'd have a dream about goblins playing with a pinball machine. And I wandered into a cat lover's store and petting a couple of fluffy kitties....well, you get the idea. I also made myself at home in the hostel--it's an old house where each room is brightly and differently painted, and there was a cat, and I attended the Sunday brunch.

I was at the very Zen Japanese garden the other day, and here are some photos I took there.

Astronauts on the Streets of Portland

While taking a walk downtown toward the library this morning, I passed a door just as someone dressed entirely in astronaut gear, big round thing on the head and all--stepped outside. It was hard to refrain from giggling. When I was just a few feet from the steps up to the front door of the library, I saw a whole bunch of these astronauts. On the back was something about a space museum--it seems they were hanging out in front of the library and advertising for this musuem. After I followed one of the astronauts into the front lobby, I made eye contact with a woman who was amused at the astronauts, and we burst out in giggles.

It's normal to see beggars and punkers and backpackers on the streets of Portland, but this would weird out just about anyone. I think I'm going to like it here.

Tonight I met Ursula K. LeGuin!!!

Since my apartment application hasn’t passed the test yet, I walked to the downtown public library and spent an hour on the Internet there. Afterwards, I headed back in the direction of the hostel and sat down on a park bench and took out a couple of granola bars and a bag of almonds. A guy crossed the street and walked up to me (or jogged up to me) just to say quite earnestly, “I like your hat and your sparkly bag.” I laughed and thanked him. (I was wearing my Kashmiri hat that I got in Dharamsala and carrying the hand embroidered mirrorwork bag that was one of Shantum’s gifts care of the Ahimsa Trust.) Despite my laughter, he continued to have a serious look on his face and walked away—I hope I didn’t offend him with my laughter.
In Portland I have gotten a lot of compliments and smiles because of my bohemian clothing. Black is very popular here—and sure I used to wear black all the time—but I think the grey skies are a big motivation to wear colorful clothing. Maybe, who knows, after enough people have seen me wandering downtown Portland, I’ll set off a trend.

I met Ursula K. LeGuin!!! Did I mention that? After I got back to the hostel, I should mention, I checked to see if I had any messages by the phone, and I didn’t, so I decided that rather than driving to Beaverton just to go to the library for a job application (Beaverton, incidentally, is a suburb that’s very close to my prospective apartment), I’d wander around 21st and 23rd Avenues, since everyone says they’re great places to wander. Both streets are full of restaurants and bars and fascinating boutiques. Not to mention pedestrians and dogs on leashes. Just the dogs were on leashes, not the pedestrians. Not many pedestrians, anyway.
As I wandered and shamelessly window-shopped, I spotted a shop, in a Victorian house, called New Renaissance Bookstore, which basically is a spirituality bookstore with particular emphasis on Paganism and Buddhism. I wandered all over the store and asked for a job application (I think that was before I noticed a pigeon had pooped on my espadrille) and the woman behind the counter explained that they don’t have job applications—just bring a cover letter and resume, and she gave me the name of the manager to address in the cover letter.

Later, I was walking down the sidewalk again and spotted another bookstore: 23rd Avenue Books. So I crossed the street to go ask for another job application, and I was astonished to see a sign out front announcing “7:30 Tonight Ursula K. LeGuin.” It was about six in the evening at this point. I wondered if that really meant that Ursula K. LeGuin herself would be there or whether it was just a readers group or some fans reading something by her. I went inside and saw a sign, not to mention a pile of copies of her latest novel, Lavinia. I asked about a job application and got much the same answer as before, and like with the other bookstore I mentioned that I won’t move to Portland till July and will turn in my resume then. I also said I’d be back to see Ursula K. LeGuin.

As I continued walking up the street, it occurred to me that I had enough time to walk back to the hostel, use the restroom, change my shoes, and leave the magazines I was carrying behind in the dorm room. So I did all that, walking kind of quickly (though I stopped to pet a couple of happy Dachshund puppies on the way to the hostel).

I returned to 23rd Avenue Books at about a quarter after seven and noticed signs saying “Event” with an arrow, and I noticed a woman carrying the book Lavinia and going into the narrow alley between the bookstore and the next shop. I followed and found myself in a little courtyard with folding chairs, a podium, and a microphone. Several people were already waiting, and most of them had a copy of the book. I went back down the alley and into the store and asked for a copy of Lavinia. When she sold me the book, the woman behind the counter got out circular blue stickers and, pulling one off the paper, said she’s sticking it on the book to indicate that it’s sold. I said, “Oh, I noticed that on people’s books, and I just thought they were library books.”

I returned to the courtyard and sat down about five rows back. I looked around, got up, shrugged, and sat in the front row just slightly right of the podium. The suspense of waiting. A bookstore employee—a young guy in jeans and t-shirt, definitely not in the Barnes and Noble dress code—went to the podium and introduced the audience. He said he would give a bio of her but pointed out that he won’t bother because he’s sure we all know hwo she is, since we showed up here.

And then there she was, a little old lady in a black wool blazer and pants and an orange shirt and green jade necklace—actually, she sat at a little table to the right while the bookseller made the announcement (like, she was about three feet away from me). Oh, yes, he ended by saying, “Here’s Ursula K. LeGuin, so clap and yell to make her welcome.” Yes, he really used the phrase “clap and yell.”

She went to the podium and said that she’d briefly explain what the book is about and then read an excerpt that isn’t at the beginning, so we “wouldn’t get bored.” She added that afterwards we can ask questions, and then she’ll sign books. She said, “the book signing is the boring part for me.”

The excerpt she read was really wow—the book is about a minor character—or rather a character who is only briefly mentioned--in The Aeniad, Lavinia, and it’s all written from her point of view. She was a king’s daughter and her parents want to marry her off and have a list of suitors, but she isn’t interested in any of them because a poet’s ghost (Virgil) meets her in a garden and prophesied that she’d marry a foreigner. Her mother is crazy and threatening and pressuring Lavinia to marry her cousin.

Before she read the excerpt (which she stopped reading at a very climactic moment, to get everyone eager to read the book), she explained that at the age of seventy-five she decided that she wanted to read Virgil’s Aeniad, and she wanted to read it in Latin because that would be better than English. She had taken Latin in college, and now she got out the old Latin grammar books…and found it really boring, so she got a copy of the Aeniad that has Latin on one page and English on the facing page. She got carried away and thus wrote this spin-off.

LeGuin lives in Portland—she said she’s lived here since 1959—and someone in the audience asked her what’s her favorite restaurant in Portland for breakfast. She said that breakfast is a meal that she likes to spend reading a newspaper and not speaking to anybody.

Someone else asked her what direction she thinks Portland is going in the next twenty years. She said that she doesn’t think about the future and that people ask her about the future because she’s written science fiction, but she doesn’t think about it. She said that she’s a born and bred Californian and that she tends to miss California weather—she looked up at the pale grey sky as she said this and added that this evening’s weather is pretty good (in other words, the grey sky wasn’t dripping). She talked about how every city has many people and there will be too many people and a shortage of resources and how we’re currently aware of the oil’s future shortage. But she commented that overall Portland is doing a good job.

I didn’t mention yet: one of the questions was about Lavinia’s mother, the way LeGuin portrayed her, since she’s abusive and nuts in the novel. LeGuin explained that it’s the impression she got from Virgil, and that it’s hardly surprising that she’d go insane, since she was a queen in ancient Rome who’s sons died, leaving her with no male heirs.

LeGuin went on to say that other characters could be insane, too—like Lavinia’s dad, crazy with grief. “Who knows, maybe Lavinia herself was insane. She talks to unborn poets in gardens!” (That referred to Virgil visiting her as a ghost.)
Somebody in the audience said, “So do you!”

When it was time for the book signing (after much clapping) the bookseller explained how she’d do the signing, as she moved back to the little table and sat down. Basically, he explained where the line should snake around. I was toward the front of the line. When it was my turn, I gave her my book and said, “I’m Susan.” As she was writing, I said, “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight, until I was walking past the bookstore at six o’clock this evening.”
She laughed and said, “Good. That means there was a sign out front.”
So here I am with this autographed book…and I’ve been too busy writing this journal entry to get back to reading the book! But it’s time I go ahead and do just that…

Portland was like a science fiction and fantasy convention all day—from astronauts roaming the streets in the morning, to the spirituality bookstore, to Ursula K. LeGuin’s reading. And given the people you see on the streets at any given time, it’s like a science fiction and fantasy convention every day. When it comes to clothing and personal style, anything goes.
I wandered 21st and 23rd Ave a little more after the reading—it was a late sunset—and I came to an odd gothic-looking tattoo shop that sold a lot more than tattoos. In the front window were dummies in punkish black clothes, and also a mirror display that included Dr. Who action figures: two Daleks and a Cyberman.

Portland, Oregon

I had a vivid dream that was a disturbing cross between high school graduation/awards night and getting laid off from my job. There were many rows of folding chairs and a podium and it was in what looked like my high school cafeteria—white tile—and next to me was Kelly (from high school). I would say things like, “Aren’t we getting diplomas?” and she would reply, “They don’t do that anymore.”
“Aren’t we getting awards?” I asked.
“They don’t do that anymore,” she said.
What an anti-climax—I felt disappointed. After the ceremony was over, we as a big group of people were walking away, and I was walking away with Karen (one of the proofers at work), and we were talking about my losing my job, and I had that sense of insecurity and uncertainly and fear that I get when I think about my unemployment and how much trouble I could have getting another job.

Later, I showed up at the Art Museum (walked there from the NW Hostel downtown) and mentioned the fact that I was laid off and will move to Portland in July and probably get a job before becoming a museum member. The young woman behind the desk said that she just talked with someone about what it would be like to be laid off, and the response was that it’s “like graduating from high school. You’ve been there a long time and you’re glad to be free, but simultaneously there’s the worry and uncertainty about being unemployed.” Uncanny! I said, “It’s funny you say that,” and summarized the dream by saying, “I had a dream just last night that combined high school graduation with my job layoff.”

The museum, incidentally, is a beautiful place with a lot of contemporary art and a lot of Chinese sculpture--the kind that has been excavated from tombs--but I saw horses and camels much larger than any I've seen at other museums. A horse pulling a cart looked about lifesize. I've switched hostels in Portland because the Hawthorne Hostel only lets people stay for a week...unless they're interns who are working there. Hey, that's not a bad idea.

I'm currently waiting to hear back from my prospective landlady to find out if my application passes muster. If it doesn't, I might drive a moving van to a storage space, drop off my stuff there, and live in a hostel until I have an apartment. After I had already applied for this one, I did come across another apartment building while I was taking a walk--it had a big "for rent" sign and a phone number, and I wrote down the phone number. It was even in my favorite neighborhood, SE Portland, and not far from the first hostel. I really made myself at home there--it's a Victorian house painted in bright colors, and the people were very friendly and from many different places and there was a lot of blaah, blaah, blaah.

The downtown hostel where I'm dwelling now is much larger and not as friendly, but there's free bread and pizza and it's a fascinating old building with tall ceilings and bathtubs that have feet. The NW is also impressive--it's much bigger and more like a dorm than a house, and people haven't been chatty. But every hostel is different. I've been making use of the long tables to sit and read and eat. The Hawthorne had free bagels, donated from Noah's bakery, and there was a wonderful potluck Sunday brunch (the tofu scramble was especially good, and although I didn't cook anything, I did help with the dishes).

After I got the parking permit from the front desk to hang on my rear view mirror, I moved my car. That was yesterday morning, and I haven't moved it since! Lots of walking. I have stopped by at my car, like for granola bars and an umbrella. Portland people don't bother with umbrellas and tend to smile at you when they see you using one. Anyway, the guy at the front desk was very helpful and gave me a good map of downtown that I've been using ever since--it got me to China Town (I had bad vibes there and a crazy guy yelled across the street--the neighborhood is nothing like the one in San Francisco!) and the Chinese Garden (a very beautiful and serene place, and I was nearly locked inside.

I took some photos in the Chinese Garden.

I'm currently registered to be at the NW hostel till May 30, and I'm waiting to hear back from my prospective landlady, whether or not my application is accepted. Suspense. After I find out, I'll go back to the apartment office to sign paperwork and make a deposit to hold the apartment. Apartment hunting is stressful. Anyway, I'm hoping that will be settled by May 30, so that I can be on the move again in a timely fashion.

An Apartment in Portland

Volunteers for Peace vfp.org (volunteer work in different countries)

At last today I toured an apartment I can truly see myself living in, although it’s not in this rather botanical neighborhood of Southeast Portland, and it’s almost in the suburb Beaverton, close to the city limits. Still, it’s a very green and quiet area, even if it’s more suburban, and the apartment itself will be satisfactory.

The landlady showed me two one-bedroom apartments, all of which are the same size and format. A balcony overlooks trees and bushes and a creek—and a storage compartment is on the balcony. The kitchen is small but more spacious than the others I’ve looked at (the same goes with the apartment in general). The landlady called a small carpeted area, just beyond the kitchen, the dining room, and there’s a big carpeted area for a living room—the balcony is off there. The bedroom is a completely separate room with its own door, and it’s smaller than the big living room and has a wide closet. In the hallway is a closet containing the water heater and enough tiled floor to keep a kitty litter box. The bathroom is small but has a tub rather than a shower stall (the closet-size apartment I first looked at only had a shower stall). This apartment has lots of possibilities, and I still want four tall bookcases. Even with all my books, I can still see it as easy to get all my stuff in this apartment, especially now that I’ve gotten rid of so much.

My plans involve living more frugally, but this will be a challenge.

I’m thinking that if I don’t get accepted for this apartment, then I’ll take the moving van to a storage place and stay at a hostel, as a friend back in St. Louis suggested. Actually, my dad will be with me then, if all goes well, so he’d be able to help out in person. This apartment that I looked at today is about twice as big as my brother’s apartment in Phoenix.

Greetings from Portland, Oregon!

I'm here at the hostel and the Internet and/or AOL is incredibly slow, so this is just to say I'm here. I drove from San Francisco in one day and am exhausted.

Greetings from San Francisco!

I figured "San Francisco" would look more impressive than "somewhere near San Francisco." It's a town called Cocati, which is just a little bit north of San Francisco, on the other side of a very long bridge with an amazing view of water and islands and hills and a big long white cloud hiding San Francisco itself.

Anyway, I'm at Marsha's house--she's one of the people I met in India on the second trip and went with to Dharamsala, and she has this amazingly clean I mean beautiful house with a silk rug she bought in Agra, India. And quite a few Buddha statues here and there.

In Phoenix I got my kitten fix: three fluffy little white kittens and one black tabby. Just about six weeks old. Oh, yeah, their mom (a completely white little cat with pale blue eyes--I suspect she may be some sort of purebred) took the babies into Jennifer's parents' yard, and now they're temporarily living with Jennifer.

She and my brother Francis also treated me to lots of great food and a trip to the Phoenix Art Museum, which has some wonderful Sri Lankan Buddha statues. I left my brother's apartment in Phoenix at 6:22 this morning and arrived here at a little bit before 7 pm. That was a long drive. Every time I stopped at a gas station to spend a gratuitous amount of money on gasoline, I felt as though I were in an oven; I think it was at least a hundred degrees everywhere until I got to the San Francisco Bay area. I've gone from looking at cacti and palm trees and sand, to looking at palm trees and sand, to looking at palm trees and lots of green stuff...and even water! There's, like, an ocean here!

I'm exhausted. It's time to stop writing. Tomorrow I'm going to hang out in Berkeley and spend a second night at Marsha's, and the next day I'll drive up to Portland, Oregon.

Phoenix, Arizona

On Wednesday I began my Journey to the West.

Most of the mountains I saw in New Mexico were sprawled out and squat, but they were pretty colors under the vast cloudy sky: some mountains were pink or terra cotta, and some were striped terra cotta and pale green dotted with dark green shrubs.

After driving for eleven and a half hours the first day, I spent the night at an Econo Lodge on the outskirts of Albuquerque, which was fine except for having Spongebob Crankypants, a grumpy old Irishman, at the front desk in the morning. But there was continental breakfast and a big soft bed. Too soft for doing yoga, I found.

The next day, I drove through some breathtaking landscapes, including what I think was called Prescott National Forest, where the highway curved through the mountains. That must be the first time I ever cruised downhill at 75 miles an hour. Wheeee! (Note: the speed limit was 75, and it actually wasn't raining.)

I reached the "Phoenix City Limits" sign at about one pm Mountain time and got to my brother's apartment about an hour later; my Mapquest directions were a bit whacked and I had to stop for directions. So it took me about nineteen and a half hours to drive from Topeka, Kansas, to Phoenix, Arizona.

It also turned out that I didn't have my brother's current phone number, so it was useless using a tea shop's cell phone, but fortunately someone who worked for UPS had just stopped there. So although I had told my brother I'd show up in the evening, I showed up in the afternoon and camped out in front of his apartment. The guard cats looked out the window and meowed at me periodically. Neighbors walked by and greeted me. I went up a half flight of steps and watched doves fighting on a Spanish tile roof. I went back down and continued reading a book.

It rained slightly (which is weird, since this is a desert and it's not monsoon season). As soon as it stopped raining, huge gusty ornery wind made the palm trees dance and threw dirt in my face. I heard popping noises, looked up at a palm tree on the other side of the swimming pool (yes, my brother's apartment faces a swimming pool) and I saw yellow and orange balloons popping in the tree, and another cluster of balloons flew off and exploded in the air. I guess flying debris popped them.

My brother Francis showed up after 5, and we went out to a pizza place where we met up with my nephew Malcolm and my x-sister-in-law Jennifer, who has lived in Portland, Oregon, so we talked about Portland. Because of the shockingly high rent in the San Francisco Bay I've decided to move to Portland instead, and Jennifer told me about some of the neighborhoods and said she can definitely see me living there. I mentioned the neighborhood that includes apartments that only cost $285 a month, and she said that's a high-crime area. I decided that I'd rather pay $450 a month for rent than dodge bullets every time I step outside.

My brother's apartment actually makes me feel like a clean freak, which is pretty scary since I'm the Anti-Housekeeper; but my brother has a six-year-old son, and his apartment is like a big toy box. Since Francis is working today, I'm going to stay through Saturday and we'll go museum hopping (oh, yeah, and it's supposed to be 96 degrees Fahrenheit tomorrow), and I'll leave Phoenix Sunday morning to head out to the Bay area.

The Beginning of My Journey to the West

I am in the process of traveling to Portland, Oregon, in order to see how I like it and find an apartment. I’m taking a long route because I’ll be mooching off friends on the way to and from Portland.

Today I drove eleven and a half hours, from Topeka to the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico. I’m at a hotel (Econo Lodge) in a state I’ve never visited before. I started in Kansas and have been to Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico. That’s four states in one day! Well, I’ve read there are thirty-six levels of deep meditation….

Albakoykee—that’s how Bugs Bunny pronounces it with a Brooklyn accent.

It’s so nice to be in a hotel, but it’ll be even nicer to be in Phoenix with my brother Francis. I’m dizzy from driving so long, like after riding a sleeper train in India or the Tube in London or riding a plane across the Atlantic. That constant motion stays with you even after your feet are finally on the ground.

The scenery I witnessed in Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas was drab. Boring. Flat Fields and Big Skies. If you drive through western Kansas and the parts of Texas and Oklahoma that I’ve been through today, you’ve got to listen to tapes or CDs, preferably some rocking tunes. Just to stay awake.

After I entered New Mexico I finally encountered some satisfactory scenery. Under the vast sprawling sky was rolling landscapes with green pompoms dotting it—shrubs. Eventually I saw some genuine trees. Finally, I came to mountains, although compared to the Himalayas they scarcely seemed like mole hills. They’re elongated and so squat, it’s as if the fabled ogre/goddess pinned down by the main temples of Tibet finally got loose, got up, and angrily stomped on the mountains. As I got really close to Albuquerque, the mountains were taller and more curvaceous, like about the size and shape of the mountains around Rajgir, India. But of course, comparing the mountain range around me to mountains I’ve seen in the past is not living in the present moment.