Thursday, January 22, 2004
My nomadic ways are coming to an end. Temporarily, perhaps, but for long enough. I haven't slept more than two nights in the same place since December 27. That includes buses, planes, dorms, estates, cushions, and normal beds. I'm D.C. (or rather, Bethesda) home, where the house is cold but heat controlled so, the postcards are on the fridge, and everywhere I look something helps me slip into myself.
The plane into National took a loopy route, which took us over the frozen Potomac (flying back from Punta Arenas we saw the Southern and Northern ice fields, acres and miles and mountain ranges of ice, tongues stretching out into glacial lakes. But yet, Punta Arenas was considerably warmer...) and both the MD and VA sides of the metro area. Yesterday I dragged my parents up Cerro San Cristobal, where Santiago's urban grid stretches out in all directions, receding back into a summer haze that obscured the Andes. Here, everything is wooded, if not green- here, the city is provincial in size, but for the ritzy mansions for sale in the Long and Foster mag I flipped through in Ross's car.
I missed Washington. I'm happy I'm home.
The plane into National took a loopy route, which took us over the frozen Potomac (flying back from Punta Arenas we saw the Southern and Northern ice fields, acres and miles and mountain ranges of ice, tongues stretching out into glacial lakes. But yet, Punta Arenas was considerably warmer...) and both the MD and VA sides of the metro area. Yesterday I dragged my parents up Cerro San Cristobal, where Santiago's urban grid stretches out in all directions, receding back into a summer haze that obscured the Andes. Here, everything is wooded, if not green- here, the city is provincial in size, but for the ritzy mansions for sale in the Long and Foster mag I flipped through in Ross's car.
I missed Washington. I'm happy I'm home.
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