Friday July 18th
One morning, I decided to take the foretold long trek down the stone steps to the river. It wasn’t actually that far but I had started too late and the sun beat down and my shoes started to rub. I could hear an impending large group of tourists behind me. I quickened my pace and got to the bottom to find some men, boat guides, sitting in the shade offering me bottled water or coke. There was an anchored ferry with a bar and German speaking tourists. I could not walk very far because the little footpath quickly ended in dense woods full of trash. I did not stay long, but I snapped a photo at the brown river’s edge that I would use later in the print shop. I walked back up, stopping to hide in the trees’ shade and look at the vegetation. There was a terrible drought this year, even for the dry season. I felt a tinge of guilt over my excitement for the many colors of dry leaves around me. I watched the vultures soar across the ball of sun, wiped sweat from my nose, and climbed back onto the path and back up to the village. Back to the view from way up high on the hill.