#don’t even get me started on the fact the final novela begins with after

[acourtofquestions]

Please for the love of Wyrd tell me Celaena actually gets to say “I love you” to Sam at least once.

[skiphunt]

A Porto Wine Cat Feed :)

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site

~~~

I don’t get to order that many prints for myself unless I’m getting something as a gift or a new photo for my portfolio.

Every time I order a new print for myself, or anyone else for that matter… from the second I submit the order I get a tingle on the back of my neck anticipating opening it up. And, no matter how fast the printer can get it completed and delivered, it’s never fast enough. That feeling when you see it for the first time after you’ve carefully removed it from the shipping container is magnificent. It is for me at least.

I’ve decided to try something a little different than what I’ve done in the past. I’m going to have a little flash sale. It’s my very first one so I’m going to keep it simple. It’s just one image, one size, and luster paper finish. The shipping is included if it’s delivered in the U.S. (for international orders, message me and I’ll see what I can do)

This one will be discounted significantly from my normal pricing and you’ll be ordering it directly from me. I’ll fill the order and have it shipped to whichever address you provide on the form. Since I haven’t done this before, and because it is a “flash sale”, it’s only going to be available until Sunday 11/24/19.

[returnofthenat]

México lindo y querido

My life became a novela in April. I have been open about the fact that I let my father back in my life in the summer of 2016 and went to meet his new family in the summer of 2017.  My motive behind reconnecting was because I did not want to wonder how I would feel if my father died and I never talked to him again.

I’m going to preface this with the fact that I don’t know if my father is alive anymore. So I suppose I’ll use past tense as I write because that is how I feel. As soon as the man left my life again last week, he became dead to me.

My father was a user and a manipulator. This was the reason I didn’t want him in my life when I became an adult and had the option to no longer have contact with him.  He didn’t help my mom at all when it came to raising us, and when he did come to visit us, the visits were unpleasant. He was a miserable person that complained about how hard his life was, talking very badly about my mother (when we were kids who were being raised by her), and didn’t show an interest in what we were doing with our lives at all.  He didn’t show up to things we invited him to because he didn’t want to see my mom or her family. The one event he showed up to of mine was uninvited, and it was my high school graduation. He insisted that we go out to dinner with him, leaving my mother and grandmother behind (WHO BOTH RAISED ME!) and informed my siblings that he had another baby with a new woman a few months prior. It was the worst news. Shortly after that, he started to pester me about helping him get citizenship for his new woman to this country. I was barely 18, fresh out of high school, and scared. This was the most involved he was in my life since I was 12. It was only to pester me about asking for more hours at work so I could be the legal affidavit of support for this person. Yeah, me. The daughter he ignored for years he suddenly needed a huge favor from for a woman I didn’t even know.  He guilted me about loyalty, how my new half-brother was my blood, and how this was the right thing to do. I had enough sense to say “fuck that noise” and didn’t talk to him again for almost 10 years.

My father took horrible care of himself. He had multiple health issues that I knew about and when 2016 hit, I had several things happen around me that made my spirit feel like I needed closure with him. Several of my friends’ father’s died that year and a class I was taking in my final semester in undergrad had a lot to do with the philosophy behind choices, and my professor shared his personal pain with his daughter no longer talking to him. So, I reached out. He immediately called me after I sent a letter to his PO Box and we started to talk a little.

I went to see him twice. Once over the summer and once before Christmas. I met my half brother who was now 8 years old and a person. He was fun and sweet. His existence due to my father’s fucked up choices is not his fault.  I met my father’s “wife” (I don’t even know if they’re really married) and she was nice. After those visits, he got really sick and I became the primary contact for him to start asking for favors, again. Can I blame him? I guess not. He had no one other than those two. Everyone else in his family he burned bridges with or they were dead. As a matter of fact, two weeks after I rekindled the relationship he called me from the hospital asking for a ride from San Diego to Mexico (where he lived) because he had to have an emergency amputation surgery due to complications from diabetes. Two. Weeks. I said no, but this was just the beginning.

My father had end-stage renal disease. He only let me know what he wanted me to know and I found things out from actually taking him to the doctor and asking questions. He’s an American citizen and received health care here, but still didn’t adhere to the medical recommendations which led to his health getting so bad. He called me and asked for the favor of taking him to get his fistula surgery (I live 4 hours away) and his wife called me again when he was emergency admitted into the hospital for going into kidney failure a month later. She was unable to handle any of this shit because she can’t cross the border. I am resentful. I told the case manager at the hospital that I felt like I was being dumped on and she said, “well, you’re not. He’s your family.” Okay. So I took the plunge.

Eventually, my mom felt mercy for my father and let him come to stay with us where we live so his three kids could help him. It turned sour very quickly, he was ungrateful because no matter what we did it wasn’t enough because it wasn’t his way, and he made the decision to go back to Mexico with his wife and son. My dad was a narcissistic machismo who would rather die with pride than anything else.  He said a lot of awful things that I want to keep to myself, but one being “you will probably never see me again.” It was the truth though. I probably won’t. And I am at peace with that, I think. I have regained a huge sense of spirituality because I have to have something to lean on in the amount of pain I have experienced throughout these last three months, and I feel as if this was meant to happen. He came to spend some of his last moments with his kids but we weren’t given a fake show of what we missed. It was who he truly is. He also got to go back with his wife when we were originally thinking he was never going to see them again because he was going to find a place to live out here so he could be near us and receive the health care he needs. He said he wanted to keep in contact with us and he’d call when his plane landed. He never called. Honestly, it is probably better this way. I said my goodbye to him already.

The unexpected emotions and feelings I have endured throughout this have been overwhelming. I feel like I am celebrating the release of pain while feeling an incredible amount of grief for the fun father I had before he spiraled out of control all of those years ago. He once was a fun person.  He was a talented cook that was creative with his fruit plate designs, made sure I had fun birthday parties when I was a kid with pinatas, played mariachi music so loud it embarrassed the hell out of me and gave me permission to punch this girl on the bus that called me a “puta.” That’s about all I remember.

I am back in the unknown that I was in for years of not knowing whether he is dead or alive. Logically, I know he will die without dialysis. Logically, I know he will probably not have the same health care where he is in Mexico (and he is no longer near the border so he can’t just cross. He also signed over his pink slip to his truck to me before he left because he can no longer drive, so there’s that.) I think he reached a point where he gave up but there is a denial and fear in me that he is going to show up again and ask for his truck back because he’s going to be able to care for himself. Logically, I know that won’t happen but grief makes you feel weird things I guess. He called my tio before he left and my tio was honest with him… “Si vas a Mexico, vas a morir! Seguro.” But he left anyway. This was probably the first time he actually made an adult decision for himself in this entire process without looking at me to jump in and handle it for him.

I feel shocked by the need that I have for support from family and friends with dealing with this. There have been nights where I’ve called my brother crying and just asked him to sit with me. I’ve had some great friends talk me through stuff and remind me that I need to take care of myself too, even if it is just making sure I take a shower for the day.

I want to encourage people to provide support to others that go through things like this. Providing a listening ear and a non-judgmental attitude is the most helpful thing for healing. Every day I am experiencing new emotions, but having the few people that listen to what I’m going through makes me feel strong enough to get out of bed and face the day head-on.  I have a full, healthy life ahead of me. I have goals to become a speech pathologist and make differences in others lives. This situation affirmed that I am compassionate to a fault and will advocate for people until their death.

Thanks for reading.

-N