The Soup

Day 1

Arrived on the early morning van from Oaxaca. As I promised myself, I worked for an hour of the winding drive--and then, resigned myself to sleep, slumped in the shotgun seat for the other two. Every time I awake, shaking sleep from my brain, the haze just wouldn't clear. It's then that I realize the hills and roadside before me are actually blanketed in early morning fog. It isn't my drowsy disposition, afterall. Our quiet van murmurs its way uphill, parting the thick mist like a curtain. Headlights glow and disappear into the soup; eventually the morning sun dissolves the mist and countryside fades into view.

Departing my house in the morn

I always arrive in Tlaxiaco with a loose pan of action. I say "loose" because holding too tightly the reins almost assuredly causes events to not occur. Today is proof of that; as I'd planned to meet up with one of the producers at the station to talk strategy on a co-production. She's not there, of course. So now I must improvise. I make a few calls to people I've met on past trips that could be likely interview subjects (don't want to waste the time). I burn a few music files and program sounds that I'll need for editing later. I crack open my computer and work on the script for a current piece. Around noon the producer shows up. We have a tête-a-tête, after all. And low and behold the day drops away behind me and night falls. I hitch a ride into town center with radio buddies.

Note to self: Remember to call ahead to my landlords to let them know I'm coming next time. Today marks the second time I've arrived and someone is already sleeping in my room. Awkward!