Month: May 2007

There is always something magical about South-American writers. They seem not to have forgotten how to write a novel – that it takes a story, then some chuzpa telling it, and a pinch of mystique in the presentation. All those things together make a compelling world in which you can get lost no matter where your physical self is.

The young Marquez had the gift, as the gigantic Isabel Allende. When you read their stories, they sound a lot alike: full of characters that are always described with humor in the mind; redolent with thoughtful and thoroughly researched descriptions of worlds the author does not know; filled with tension that finds its release on time, and slowdowns that never last too long.

Not many authors can do that well. Tolkien comes to mind, who could be the honorary patron of these Spanish writers. Capote would be the closest I can associate here in the States. Maybe Michener on a good day.

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{moszoomimglink:Hilo side}A week at HauOli Mau and there is barely any visible change. Granted, I have spent a lot of time with my friends D and J, who came to visit over the long weekend, but I was hoping for more progress. Well, stay tuned!

Et in Arcadia ego. How odd it was to buy a one-way ticket to Hilo, how odd it is to sit at the Starbucks and not have to check email or anything else.

The morning was gorgeous, as if to make up for the short night. The plane was crowded, and getting out took forever, especially since this time around I had to check-in luggage – how else was I going to get the cherry jam to Paul and Charlie???

Lazy day, today. Will have to run a million errands, of course, but at least I decided to skip the gym. Bad start of a wonderful relationship with Hawaii time? 

My friend Stephen and I decided to spend the Friday zipping down the peninsula, scorning the more common Marin ride. S. was about to embark on a week-long trip to the Caribbean and needed a boost of workout before languishing lazily at the pool, checking out the Caribbean belles.

We met at Peet's on Market (which meant I had to log my sorry butt over the hills of San Francisco) and went from there. I immediately nixed the route over Great Highway, since the day was one of those blustery winter days San Francisco's summer is so famous for.

Bundled up in our many layers, we started down Valencia, merged into Mission and then proceeded to hit on El Camino for the way down the Peninsula. It was obvious S. had never seen that part of town before, which I took to be a great new adventure. The scenery changes rapidly from the little shops in the Outer Mission (and the crowds of Friday morning) to the lavish cemeteries of Colma.

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