Empty Transits
Journeys to great places are long and inconvenient.
Distance is felt. Terrain is difficult. Waits are long.
Curiosity builds to the unknown destination. What could be so good about somewhere that’s hard to get to?
My bum is numb. My legs are cramping. The boredom is hysterical. I’ve eaten all my food. Oh no, is that the toilet? My backpack is heavy. My body is sore. It’s hot and sweaty. What’s that smell? There’s nowhere to sit. Bugs are everywhere. I’m tired but can’t sleep. Am I getting motion sickness? If we die here will they find us?
The end point sometimes isn’t that special. When coupled with the journey it represents change.
The trail is a transition. A moving away from one thing and the next. Far from both. Everyone wants to be somewhere else, or we are all sitting in the spaciousness between point A and B.
The liminality expands beyond all reflections and preparations. Internet cuts. You are full to the brim of media consumption. Conversation dies.
All that’s left is this empty experience.
There’s nothing to know, nowhere to go.
Just the reminder that you are alive, here and now.
Writing this brought back memories of old pieces. Reflecting revealed I write a lot in transit. Here are some:
The Hum of the Amazon
One week sleeping on hammocks on a cargo ship from Manaus to Leticia - 2025
The sinks are at the back of the boat. Here the motor is at its loudest. It blares over everything beside the bathroom doors slamming. My ears have adjusted its roar to a hum.
Brushing my teeth, I share the sinks with passengers dishwashing and bathing babies. Their body language suggests it’s a regular day.
The tap spills water from the river. Its scent mixes with the motor and bathrooms.
The mirror’s cracks reflect the boat’s age. Through the fractures I see the Amazon.
Towers of green stand between the soaring eagles and breaching dolphins. For days the rainforest reveals its depth.
I enjoy viewing the beauty when I brush. Where all coexists and the hum sounds the best.
Goat racks
Two live goats grip the roof. Their hooves and stumbles on the drive indicate that they’re alive.
Relief switches to concern as liquid streams down our window. It’s a clear day. Hopefully the goats’ restroom isn’t near our bags.
Last sun shines to the Himalayas in the distance. They stick to the horizon like wallpaper from this congested Nepalese highway. Yesterday towering over me. Now the size of my fingertips.
An immersion all-encompassing suddenly a memory driving further away.
Containing me now is this shuttle bus. People moving through mountains.
Bags and goats tie to the roof. Planks of wood create new aisle seats for more passengers. The driver operates this manual vehicle sharing his seat with another man. The driver reaches over the passenger to access the gear stick. Locals with severe motion sickness clamber to the back holding a small, thin plastic bag. No complaints.
Bobcats work the city roads. The same machines clearing landslides on the trek now holding traffic. Heroic in the silence of the mountains, seen different in the intensities of the city.
Thanks for reading my transit musings. In these spaces I show the impact small groups of people have on the world. My ‘buy me a coffee’ page exists to continue the chain of acts of kindness. Anything I raise above essential photography costs I donate to the causes I share here.
