Last Exit before Toll

The Waygoer has finally left Tierra del Fuego. Right now he is being tossed on the waves of the Southern Ocean on his way to Antarctica. He won't emerge from broadcast blackout until Valentine's Day when he steps back on solid ground and starts making his way toward Bolivia.

At the same time, I am sitting together with my friend Rew, looking at different waves in a small pool of water on Park Avenue in a 15F New York and wondering why the water doesn't freeze. The Sun is kissing the corner of the Met Life Building and as it moves out of hiding and into dusk, it's changing the shadows and the flashes of reflection on the waves. It's mesmerizing. It's the end of a long day begun by a phone call to Police Headquarters, who have my Good Conduct Report two days early. A 20 minute wait in the NYPD waiting room, then a mad high speed drive to the Bolivian consulate, Rew riding shotgun to protect me against the inevitable appearance of the slaves of the meter god. The Bolivian consulate lady throws me a weary look of recognition. This time I have everything and I think we're becoming fast friends.

Next we drive into New Jersey where I go to the Waygoer's parents' house to pick up our cinematic equipment. Rew has no idea exactly why or where we're going since I've assumed he knows and he's assumed that wherever we're headed is to do something important. He does however, give me a puzzled glance when we arrive at a suburban New Jersey house, meet a middle-aged man, pick up a bunch of odd-sized boxes and leave a check. Shady? Not at all, I assure him. Exciting is more like it. 

Now I have everything under control -- the promise of visa on Friday; a plane ticket for Monday; camera, mikes, tapes, steady-cam and rain bag in a suitcase; a hotel and car reservation awaiting me in La Paz... Yes, while the Waygoer is in radio silence on the dark side of the Earth, I've decided to break a few of his tenets and explore using my own methods, making the most of my seven days alone in Bolivia.

Unfathomable is the divine path, I consider as I gaze at the changing waves on Park Avenue, accelerating as the wind picks up. The only thing one can do is look forward to taking the next step. Next post - Bolivia.