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| Big Ocean. |
As we know, I used to live by the beach. Close enough to walk on it nearly everyday with a cup of coffee. Close enough to hear it through an open window at night. Close enough to smell the salt and watch fine grains of sand scatter up Fulton and through the Avenues. Genuine Ocean Beach sand actually drifted out of my running shoes the other day and lightly dusted the floor of my closet, and so much do I miss their origin, that I left them all there for awhile. Little sandy reminders of home.
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| I often wonder about all these vintage viewfinders have seen… |
It took me five years of living in San Francisco before it dawned on me that I could actually live out there by the very edge of the city, the state, the west. And it’s taking me a month and a half of living in Santiago to truly believe I don’t actually live by that ocean anymore. The Pacific isn’t too far off, an hour and a half due West by car. So, if we’re keeping score, this much-beloved nearly half-the-earth covering body of water is much closer to me than my family and friends. But it’s no longer a daily part of life.
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| Big Mountains. |
Instead, I have the Andes. I’ve traded the world’s largest ocean for it’s longest mountain range. And because you “love the one you’re with” and all that, I’m trying to strike up a long-term relationship with these majesties. In other words, I’m a water person trying to play nice with the mountain people. And if you have to get on with mountain people, these are the mountains to have around. On a clear day (the operative phrase), they are nothing short of astounding. I’ve been known to take out my camera on the very same stretch of road each day on my walk home from school in order to try to frame them with a tiny lens. As if I can capture something like the Andes with one view.
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The trees, the power lines, and I battle for the best vantage point.
The park benches sometimes help out. |
Last month, Ryan and I flew over the width of the Andes on our way to and from Mendoza, Argentina. We ascended out of one country, flew just 8,000 feet over them for a solid hour, and descended into another country altogether. That means these mountains are an entire airplane hour wide. Fathom it! This time of year, they are dressed in white and quite handsome when the smog has been cleared by rain down here and snow up there. And they are downright stopping me in the street.
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| The power and tree lines continue to spar. |
I’m starting to take pictures of them the way I took pictures of the ocean back home–often enough to know that I can never get over my awe at the vastness, the beauty, the constant shifting of sea and shore. The mountains shift, too, I’m realizing. Every day they look a little different, a new dusting or the next day’s melt giving me reason to try to catch them once again with my inadequate lens. But as I was coming around the corner the other day from school, I realized that my efforts are somewhat in vain–to try to catch them at all. Because they have to catch you.
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| Finally, a clear-ish shot of some fresh snow. |
I have a feeling I’ll be comparing my two homes for some time. And I think I knew that would be case this whole past year, long before I actually left California, but when I knew home was waiting with Ryan in this here southern hemisphere.
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| Intersection of home and home. |
