Spats

Spat: A covering or decorative covering worn over a shoe.

Oops.  A brief argument, falling out, quarrel.

SuperK and I have had a few spats on the trip.  Not too many and not too serious but spats none the less.  What really happens is that a whole series of minor irritations build up to the point where one or the other of us says: "OK, restraint of tongue and pen? Fuck that," and we blast away.  We've had a lot of time together in very, very close quarters with very, very little chance to get the hell away from each other all while doing a lot of traveling and touring and maneuvering through alien cultures, often stressful things in their own right.

I've taken to heading out for a long hike every other day to give my wife a break.  And I've taken to going out to the town square of whatever town we happen to be in, closing my eyes and trying to meditate, enjoying the wash of sound, the foreignness of it.  Mostly I'm just glad to be here, to be doing this.  I miss going to meetings regularly and I miss my exercise routine and I weary occasionally of the work that travel entails but I'm glad I'm here.  

I'm learning a lot about expectations.  I'm disappointed by some of the things I see and I'm thrilled to make new discoveries, to be thrilled by something unexpectedly - both of these things happen almost every day.

Parking is a blood sport here.  There seems to be no penalty for parking anywhere you want.  But god forbid you don't plug a meter when that's required.

God forbid.