Like an explosion of orange confetti, or a leaf blower being used in the fall, the Monarch Butterfly reserves in the state of Michoacán offer visitors an explosion of orange unlike anything they’ve ever seen — and one they can not fully prepare for mentally until their boots are on the ground and thousands of orange wings are fluttering above them.
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Always Authentic. Always on its own path.
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My German friend, Fine, lives by the seed of her trousers more than anyone I’ve ever met. Spontaneity is her middle name. I once went hitchhiking with her around the dry arid plains of inland Portugal, waiting hours in the oppressive August heat for a ride. But even in the heat, she was calm and collected with her thumb out waving and smiling at every passing car. “It just takes one person to stop!”
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It’s been a long time since I have ventured past the edge of our reality… and by that, I mean venture South from the US border. The Western Hemisphere seems to have a great divide, an ever-present “Us vs. Them” (or, more specifically, U.S. vs. Them) mentality.
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With Transnistria behind us, I and my friend and work colleague in crime Michele plodded forth in my twelve-year-old tank of a Peugeot back to Denmark. We had three days ahead of us to get back to Denmark before work on Monday and didn’t want to lose a second of adventure going back.
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If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is there to hear it, has it made a sound? If those who know do not speak, do those who speak not know? If you visit the capital of a non-exist country, have you visited a capital at all?
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The Weekend Rambler 