Bogota has clouds but no rain. We go about normally in the buses. I found a quiet hour and found a seat. I watched the city under grey, marching clouds. They’re long, like the long ships that glide over the waters of Lake Superior.
Yesterday I had green tea and curry. We had walked: to Office Depot, to an enormous Mexican restaurant with no chef present, and finally to a place called Wok. It seems reliable Asian cuisine is available to us, for a certain price. Authentic? No, but who really wants authentic? You have to build that kind of thing up. I want domesticated, something of neither here nor there. It is international cuisine of nowhere, just you have to ask for a fork. I am never so happy as when in a vehicle setting out on a journey.
And here I am in Bogota, roaming the surface of the planet and with a longing for something not to be found on this planet’s surface. What is the difference between complacency and contentment? I wonder.
I’ll to my tea, a quiet book with a green cover, the afternoon and perhaps the rain.
Unknowing 