marksouthbend (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marksouthbend) wrote,@ 2007-07-30 10:00:00 |
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Malaga
Malaga Media Center is a branch of Avant Ministries, a multi-national missionary organization. I don't know exactly what they do there, but it's my fault, because I'm sure they would have given me the tour if I had shown up in the day time and introduced myself instead of creeping in like fog at night.
After I was through in Barcelona, i took an overnight train to Malaga with the intention of reuniting with Greg and Shane, who are volunteering 3 weeks of their time there. Johnny and Carl left Barcelona ahead of me, and I assumed they had already achieved reunification. i got to Malaga in the morning, but since no one knew exactly when to expect me, I thought I would put off the task of trying to find everyone and use the day to write. I was so doing in the mall when Johnny, Greg, and Shane walked past me by coincidence. They seemed to get a kick out of the succinct way in which I notified them of my presence: "hey". If I can't always be cool in the presence of danger, at least I can usually pull it off in the presence of irony or coincidence. I told them my Barcelona stories, and they told me Morocco stories, because they were just coming back from there. None of us knew where Carl was, but it would be damn challenging anymore to try to panic at all over that.
The guys had Morocco stories to last all the way back to the house where Avant had them staying, which was a walk, a bus ride, and another walk away from the mall. Carl was already at the house when we got there. He arrived in Malaga to discover everyone he knew was in Morocco, but the people in the missions compound invited him in and treated him well, as people often do with Carl. Suddenly all of us were back together physically, but mentally we were still far from the unity which we'd honed over the course of a solid month. I was coming off a thrilling victory, Carl was desperately strategizing to avoid defeat (financially), Shane was occupied with service, and Johnny's mind was set on going home early. When Shane left Barcelona, and the group of 4 broke apart for the first time in memorable history, it was a bigger moment than I had thought. It was the end of SuperTrip as we had come to know and love it. And all I said was "see ya".
Greg and Shane came to Malaga Media Center through the front door. They applied months ahead of time. They turned in resumes. I guess Shane was a few days late coming through the front door, and pirates and serial killers keep their beards neater than his was, but at least they knew who he was. Johnny, Carl, and I took up residence in the house with Shane and Greg quietly, with devastating, unpreventable, virus-like speed and efficiency. The quiet was only punctuated by several events caused by our lack of social graces which we had forgotten or abandoned on the road. It attracted attention when Carl elected to sleep on the front lawn. I was guilty of a bigger faux pas when I walked into the upstairs level of the house where we were staying, looking for a stairway down. I was locked out of the lower level, and I did not realize that the upper level was the domicile of a missionary family with two small children, and was not connected to the rooms downstairs. So I walked in looking for stairs, found only a kitchen and bedroom, and then the wife and mother found me, in her house, and screamed bloody murder while I hurried to explain that I wasn't there to hurt her or her babies.
The director of the media center called us all in for a meeting, and got to see us all together for once, and get an accurate idea of how many of us there were, instead of trying to piece it together from random sightings and a string of reports of sketchy activity. In this meeting, I expressed my undying love for exhausting manual labor in the hopes that I could continue to stay with Shane and Greg under what constitutes luxury to a vagabond--a roof. Carl also expressed his willingness to work, and Johnny assented by his silence, while wondering exactly what had come over us.
I spent some time in Malaga with Johnny, relaxing and making sure nothing interesting happened to me, because I didn't want to have to write about it. We ate Chinese food and had coffee, and thank god that's all I have to say about it. I spent other days with Johnny and Carl trimming hedges around the compound, working off my debt and keeping my big fat word. Many a hedge yielded to our loving but liberal pruning. We did good work, and worked hard at it.
Even though I was in Barcelona at the time doing what I'd rather have done than anything else, I was still sorry to have missed sharing Morocco with Shane, Johnny, and Greg. Their pictures and stories were the very stuff jealousy is made of. Carl felt the same way, especially since Woody Allen doesn't make his world go 'round. Shane and Greg still had some work to do in Malaga, so Carl and I decided we'd see Morocco for ourselves. There was another volunteer at Malaga who wanted to go and had never been before, so we invited him too. If I wanted to stereotype Brian, I would say he's "on fire for God".
Malaga Media Center is a branch of Avant Ministries, a multi-national missionary organization. I don't know exactly what they do there, but it's my fault, because I'm sure they would have given me the tour if I had shown up in the day time and introduced myself instead of creeping in like fog at night.
After I was through in Barcelona, i took an overnight train to Malaga with the intention of reuniting with Greg and Shane, who are volunteering 3 weeks of their time there. Johnny and Carl left Barcelona ahead of me, and I assumed they had already achieved reunification. i got to Malaga in the morning, but since no one knew exactly when to expect me, I thought I would put off the task of trying to find everyone and use the day to write. I was so doing in the mall when Johnny, Greg, and Shane walked past me by coincidence. They seemed to get a kick out of the succinct way in which I notified them of my presence: "hey". If I can't always be cool in the presence of danger, at least I can usually pull it off in the presence of irony or coincidence. I told them my Barcelona stories, and they told me Morocco stories, because they were just coming back from there. None of us knew where Carl was, but it would be damn challenging anymore to try to panic at all over that.
The guys had Morocco stories to last all the way back to the house where Avant had them staying, which was a walk, a bus ride, and another walk away from the mall. Carl was already at the house when we got there. He arrived in Malaga to discover everyone he knew was in Morocco, but the people in the missions compound invited him in and treated him well, as people often do with Carl. Suddenly all of us were back together physically, but mentally we were still far from the unity which we'd honed over the course of a solid month. I was coming off a thrilling victory, Carl was desperately strategizing to avoid defeat (financially), Shane was occupied with service, and Johnny's mind was set on going home early. When Shane left Barcelona, and the group of 4 broke apart for the first time in memorable history, it was a bigger moment than I had thought. It was the end of SuperTrip as we had come to know and love it. And all I said was "see ya".
Greg and Shane came to Malaga Media Center through the front door. They applied months ahead of time. They turned in resumes. I guess Shane was a few days late coming through the front door, and pirates and serial killers keep their beards neater than his was, but at least they knew who he was. Johnny, Carl, and I took up residence in the house with Shane and Greg quietly, with devastating, unpreventable, virus-like speed and efficiency. The quiet was only punctuated by several events caused by our lack of social graces which we had forgotten or abandoned on the road. It attracted attention when Carl elected to sleep on the front lawn. I was guilty of a bigger faux pas when I walked into the upstairs level of the house where we were staying, looking for a stairway down. I was locked out of the lower level, and I did not realize that the upper level was the domicile of a missionary family with two small children, and was not connected to the rooms downstairs. So I walked in looking for stairs, found only a kitchen and bedroom, and then the wife and mother found me, in her house, and screamed bloody murder while I hurried to explain that I wasn't there to hurt her or her babies.
The director of the media center called us all in for a meeting, and got to see us all together for once, and get an accurate idea of how many of us there were, instead of trying to piece it together from random sightings and a string of reports of sketchy activity. In this meeting, I expressed my undying love for exhausting manual labor in the hopes that I could continue to stay with Shane and Greg under what constitutes luxury to a vagabond--a roof. Carl also expressed his willingness to work, and Johnny assented by his silence, while wondering exactly what had come over us.
I spent some time in Malaga with Johnny, relaxing and making sure nothing interesting happened to me, because I didn't want to have to write about it. We ate Chinese food and had coffee, and thank god that's all I have to say about it. I spent other days with Johnny and Carl trimming hedges around the compound, working off my debt and keeping my big fat word. Many a hedge yielded to our loving but liberal pruning. We did good work, and worked hard at it.
Even though I was in Barcelona at the time doing what I'd rather have done than anything else, I was still sorry to have missed sharing Morocco with Shane, Johnny, and Greg. Their pictures and stories were the very stuff jealousy is made of. Carl felt the same way, especially since Woody Allen doesn't make his world go 'round. Shane and Greg still had some work to do in Malaga, so Carl and I decided we'd see Morocco for ourselves. There was another volunteer at Malaga who wanted to go and had never been before, so we invited him too. If I wanted to stereotype Brian, I would say he's "on fire for God".
