Stage 3: The Thrill Of It All

  I've been home for a week, feeling naked starting over again from scratch.  The basic ingredients of this minimalist cake being a few pieces of baggage packed a few months ago in an irreverent daze; comprising of all my worldly material values and which are now stacked haphazardly in an otherwise empty bedroom.  We all sacrifice, we all accept the things we deem worthy of such acts in our own way.

  I had an absolutely wonderful time doing this. 3,000 miles of things I won't forget, things I'll dwell upon, and none of it wasted on an empty heart.  I gave it my all and then some, and gave it hell till the end.

No, I didn't make it to Argentina.  Am I upset?  Am I nauseous?  Am I going to disappear for a few months in isolated depression over this again?

No.

  I worked out my demons, for lack of a better term, and they are kept in their places: Always in the corners of my eyes till they can't be ignored any longer.  They're tired, but far from dead, my eyes far from shifting.

I believe the paradigm has shifted for me.  I'd hope that in my relentless evaluations and self-discoveries and growth rings and wrinkles over the past 5 years that the values I'd hold today would be far different than what was apparent when I hatched this scheme at 23.

A lot of travel and minimalistic living is self-discovery.  I discovered, recovered, and buried more things in 2 months than I have in years. Deprive yourself of nothing but what you need and you will find everything that you don't.

One of the things I noticed is this:
Touring on the road has become a bore to me.  The dangers faced on a rural highway are much in the same vein as those faced in a suburban white girls lonely bedroom.   I am not a fan of the populous, of civilization, order, contact.  These things prove themselves time and again as reliable undercurrents.  I felt gently pulled away from the things I find comfort in, like solitude, self-reliance, and uncertainty.  Undoubtedly you will find these things on the highway, just in a much more mild dose.

Any further adventures will be on a much different scale and flavor, and I hope you will join along.

I guess you can call it the roots of a progression.  In any case, I am glad for it.

Here are some more pictures from the journey, enjoy.

Ran over this poor bastard. Only creepy crawly I got a good shot of on the mainland, all the rest of them run too fast. He was about tea-cup size, his Olympic sprinter buddies were salad plate size.

Shade is awesome.

This dog was eating scraps out of a burning trash fire, some flames in its mouth. How far would you go for a meal?

First dorado on a fly. Yeah, I gripped and grinned, but who wouldn't after ten beers in the tropic sun and an ocean fish who ripped your trout rod to the edges of hell?

Captain Victor's tip. A bucket full o' bonito. 

Three seconds after hook-set, and I'm deep into backing town.

These guys are insanely powerful. Bringing a 10wt next time.

Captain Victor has some photog skills. He probably had a Marlboro Red in each hand as well.

Best beach camp sunrise ever.

Best beach camp sunrise ever part 2.

Fished here for an hour. Then I saw natives doing some crazy ceremony upstream. 

Hurricane damage. This tree was HUGE. That is a house on the right.