Guadalajara´s cathedral
Friday 24 September 2010
toward Tequila
Thursday 23 September 2010
Playa Santispac
At about midnight the sky becomes heavier. Where before the air had been free to take light flight, almost amongst the stars it seemed, now its weight and heat become oppressive - its route to the stars blocked by the approaching clouds of a thunderstorm, and beneath them it curls and writhes in hot inescapable torment. In the darkness the world has lost all boundaries. There is now no distinction, in the thick, black mass, between myself the sand or the sea - even as I move my hand in front of open eyes, the world appears as one. The outlines of these objects are marked only by sound: treading forward, the light crunching of sand caught between curling toes, and the gigantic noise of small crashing waves guide me to the coolness of the sea.
As my feet touch the water tiny bright sparks dance, yellow, all around them. I lie in the black water,and with each tiny movement I ignite impossible fires; the thousands of glowing bodies, in excited sparkling rapture, falling again to black, as the once disturbed waters calm. I play with the light and the water, like children play with things they have never seen before. The first light drops of rain then, and the snapping of sheet lightning overhead, separating, for seconds, the clouds from the sea and sky, each tiny grain of sand, the cliffs, and every part of the landscape that had disappeared.
As the rain falls with a greater force, and each thick drop causes the microscopic bodies, once again, to illuminate the surface of the sea, I leave the flickering, wonderful shallows, to lie beneath the palm leaf shelter on the beach and wait for the morning´s light.
leaving Baja...
As my feet touch the water tiny bright sparks dance, yellow, all around them. I lie in the black water,and with each tiny movement I ignite impossible fires; the thousands of glowing bodies, in excited sparkling rapture, falling again to black, as the once disturbed waters calm. I play with the light and the water, like children play with things they have never seen before. The first light drops of rain then, and the snapping of sheet lightning overhead, separating, for seconds, the clouds from the sea and sky, each tiny grain of sand, the cliffs, and every part of the landscape that had disappeared.
As the rain falls with a greater force, and each thick drop causes the microscopic bodies, once again, to illuminate the surface of the sea, I leave the flickering, wonderful shallows, to lie beneath the palm leaf shelter on the beach and wait for the morning´s light.
leaving Baja...
Saturday 11 September 2010
Baja in August.
Across the wide, dry valley floor the wind sweeps sand into the air; the earth kicks up into the sky, and a million particles of burning dust ride out, towards the sea. The desert looks like something that a child has drawn. Cactus plants stand twenty feet tall. Boulders lie heaped on mountain sides as though a giant might have thrown them there. The sun burns a terrible, white and fiery hole in the sky, and everything is hot. The wind blows from the east, and it is as if an oven door is being constantly opened in front of me.
As I climb, I watch the road bobbing up and down, as though through tears; black, wet eyelashes across my watery sight, my eyelids closed, against the sun´s glare, and against the sting of sweat. I try to wipe the sweat away, but my hand slips. Only the blinding, glistening white of the road and the blurry outline of a shapeless blue sky, swim beneath me, as if I am gazing at them through a shallow, salty sea.
When the occasional shadow of a cliff falls across the road I collapse into it. For minutes I feel too tired even to reach for water. I lie in the shade, happy simply that the sun is no longer beating down upon me, and in deep breaths fill my lungs with the dry air, the taste of salt on my tongue. When my breathing quietens and my heart no longer pounds in my chest, I lift the bottle of water and drink all of it. The liquid is hot, like drinking tea.
If there was anywhere to stop along the 9km climb I would, but cliffs on either side, and the open barren landscape make camping impractical at best. Hours later I reach a small, dusty village, exhausted. My arms and hands are covered in white, hard blotches from the sun and the burning wind. I have consumed just over ten litres of water in one day, more than I ever have before, and, for the first time I can remember, what I am trying to do seems impossible. After speaking to people, I discover that temperatures today reached 47°C.
The next day I leave before sunrise.
As I climb, I watch the road bobbing up and down, as though through tears; black, wet eyelashes across my watery sight, my eyelids closed, against the sun´s glare, and against the sting of sweat. I try to wipe the sweat away, but my hand slips. Only the blinding, glistening white of the road and the blurry outline of a shapeless blue sky, swim beneath me, as if I am gazing at them through a shallow, salty sea.
When the occasional shadow of a cliff falls across the road I collapse into it. For minutes I feel too tired even to reach for water. I lie in the shade, happy simply that the sun is no longer beating down upon me, and in deep breaths fill my lungs with the dry air, the taste of salt on my tongue. When my breathing quietens and my heart no longer pounds in my chest, I lift the bottle of water and drink all of it. The liquid is hot, like drinking tea.
If there was anywhere to stop along the 9km climb I would, but cliffs on either side, and the open barren landscape make camping impractical at best. Hours later I reach a small, dusty village, exhausted. My arms and hands are covered in white, hard blotches from the sun and the burning wind. I have consumed just over ten litres of water in one day, more than I ever have before, and, for the first time I can remember, what I am trying to do seems impossible. After speaking to people, I discover that temperatures today reached 47°C.
The next day I leave before sunrise.
Friday 10 September 2010
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