Memories of a country are often formed from series of images which build up into a sentiment or a feeling while loosing their fine detail. I always chastise myself for not walking about with a notebook in which I could record the details of those swift moments, glimpses of what makes a country unique.
I was thinking of that this morning while walking the damp cobbled streets of Antigua in search of breakfast. Sitting on the stoop of a cafe was an old man who I often see there selling carved wooden angels. The image of him jogged my memory to another moment in Antigua when I found myself walking behind a man stooped over with a meter tall wooden angel bound to his back by a piece of rope which stretched across his forehead. For whatever reason the image of that man moved me and I felt compelled to buy the angel just to relieve him of his load. Then of course reason sank in and I continued past him down the road to forget about that moment until again this morning.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
I'm in Suchitoto, a small town about two hours outside of San Salvador which sparkles with that magic of a not quite discovered place, and makes you feel like an ultra-savvy traveler for just knowing it exists. I've spent my last two days here soaking up the beauty of its white washed walls and tile roofs.
There is something so satisfyingly beautiful about those curved red tiles. They turn a range of reds and browns at sunset, colors which I have fallen in love with. The roofs were the same in Trinidad, where I spent most of an afternoon trying to coax the color from the worn-out palette of my 16 year old water colors.