A License To Wander

Fall has come to Denali Park in August. It’s been raining for two days straight and everyone I know is plumb tired of it. Poor Chris tried sleeping behind my dirt pile two nights ago and was rained out. He hung his tent up on the rafters in the depot overnight and slept in his car. He said he was cold, but dry at least. Good thing school was starting for him soon. He is only working part-time at the depot these last two weeks of work. Bill is getting overtime that whole time as well, which he both loves and hates. But you can stand anything when you know it only lasts five months. Gotta love working the summer in Denali. My irritation with the rain is the low cloud-cover. Came to see the Mt. ... read more

Three and a half months later, working as a ticket agent for the Alaska Railroad in Denali Park, and I am finally burned out. Oddly enough, it is not from the tourists, as most people would think. It is from the monotony of completing redundant tasks day after day. An acquaintance of mine, while I was home in Fairbanks (or “The Banks” as some would call it), replied “Well, isn’t that what having a job is?” I looked him in his pre-med, white-picket fence, mortgage-wanting face and realized that our perception on life was very, very different. And I thanked God we were no longer dating, as admirable of his accomplishments as I was. Jobs should not be monotonous. They should be dynamic, or at least give the individual the fulfillment of knowing that this ... read more

In the morning we arrived with our bags--one packed for storage with all the things we would not need for the jungle. Such as knitting needles, a summer dress, or full bottles of shampoo, for example. The second bag held my mosquito tent, toothbrush, pants, headlamp, and an extra shirt. I wore my shorts and my other shirt. Underware did not end up mattering much, I ended up wearing my swimsuit for the entire trip. Not only was it more breathable, but I could peel my clothes off in front of anyone without batting an eye. I had bought a pair of cheap Addidas Knock-offs in Rurre in one of the many stores lining the street to replace, at least for the jungle trip, my fading sneakers from home. The mesh was tearing, the soles were ... read more

The tick was the size of a small grape. I found his fat body buried in the tan fur of Tidie´s neck. I was careful not to grab strands with my thumb and forefinger. The tick waved his legs feebly, frantic for his warm home.I dropped him on the ground and let my foot drop. Like a ketchup packet, his belly split and spurted stale blood into the dirt. As Tidie trotted away to chase chickens,I sat down in my seat at the table, ready to resume our game of UNO. Tom, a belgium I had met at the boarder between Bolivia and Argentina, chatted rapidly in Spanish with the children, a boy and girl of about twelve. I listened feebly, the words blurring together in my ears. My mindwandered, and I stared into the distance, ... read more

Finally I have found an empanada that did not make me question its palatability. The baked pastries, filled with everything from a simple slice of cheese to potatoes, meat, and vegetables and folded into a calzone-like shape, grace the streets of Bolivia. Most empanadas are cooked in the morning and placed in carts parked along the street by old women or in a bakery window. As the day warms the bread dries out and the empanada´s contents take on a radioactive entity. Ever since my long night hanging my head over a urine-stained toilet, my food selections have become somewhat more picky. Needless to say, I find myself praying a lot more before I eat. I sat in a window overlooking La Paz, munching my empanada of meat and potatoes and sipping my banana fruit shake, ... read more