BORDERLINES

Travels through the frontiers

0. Travel today

1. Travel as aphrodisiac

same as travel while standing in line.

In a chronicle of long ago, Gabriel Garcia Marques equated travel and travel logs to powerful known aphrodisiacs. For many years, my keenest sensual fantasy was to mate while flying. As old as I get, the deed is never accomplished, the glamour of flying dimmed by countless hours.  Yet when I cross time zones, travel retains the exquisite possibility of mutiny in time and in space, that deep shift inside where I land in a different culture, a different in vitro, a different landscape and the possibility of mutation.

I have just returned from a month long trip to my homeland of Brazil, way down toward the south from this northern here where I live year round. Climate zone classified between temperate, jungle, rain forest and I never know what else. Warm home of soul and of young memory.

I traveled fast and by airplane and these are my traveling notes, my precious first impressions:

My legs are jumpy and do not want to go to sleep. The free wine I never seem able to refuse in airplane rides is once again semi sweet and California cheap.

This time I imagine to gather up the courage and pack that nice airline grey and elegant wool blanket and take it home. This time I imagine buying a cozy duty free afghan made out of silk to match my stolen grey blanket.  Buy it  from the shadowy, well made-up free zone woman who visits us after the brandy, way in the middle of the night, when breathing is difficult and we would do just about anything to survive inside.  I imagine asking for all the playing cards and all the airline games I heard they only give to children. 

Another unfulfilled fantasy.

We endure ten hours inside the tin box and land safely in São Paulo. 

Brasil at last!  Brisk endless walk through endless steel corridors, a need to pee and to stop!  Like cows and bulls we are arraigned into snaky lines. In solidarity to my American traveling partner, I stay in the long line designated for the "Others".

We know we could actually have some fun over there. Spend a month traipsing around, hopping and experimenting.

I already taste the forbidden high calorie savories at the street stands, lingering toward the deli and the cheese puffs. Freshly squeezed juices from nutritious tropical fruit, the philosophy shared with bus riders, the laughter, all the dance that await us, we know. 

We also know that success is connected to staying connected to the standing in this long line.

It is hot, it is summer, the air conditioner does not work, the airport is being renovated!

Winter coats, heavy lined boots, weary travelers in line,

once again, saying not a word

when the cute police woman dressed in a tight short black skirt, tight skimpy white t-shirt, deep tan, long black hair
tells us to open our passports to our photo pages! I am quite sure she may have had a gun.

"You mean to say, Border Police Woman, you mean to imply we are not who we are? We look different than our passport photo?"  

Foreigners made to wait and to answer the essential questions.

"Why do you want to be here? What is it that you bring that can harm us? Show me your papers and prove to me who you are! "

How many times in my life did I not cross these borders to watch the border patrol express that exact same doubt?

"You do not look like your passport photos and your real intentions must be very different from your written understatements! (What statements? What under statements?)

Once in Bombay, I was told in a very accented stern language y this tall handsome dark Indian man to "Stand behind the rope, or else!"  I will forever remember that when I stand in line and when I try to jump rope.

Once in Guinea, I was told by this handsome guerilla green uniformed machine gunned French speaking African man that I needed an entry visa into the country so as to transit through the airport and get to the departure lounge, toward the north to my connecting flight, or else!

Or else? 

We stood there for sure and not one of us said a word.

Eventually we, the foreigners and I, the native, got in and attempted to belong.  We spent considerable time and effort trying to blend in.  Blend in and not draw the attention of all the "bandidos", guerilla people who eventually would get us and rob us of something essential that belonged to us only, and not to them. Or so we thought.

Fact is we looked different anyway!  So why bother to make us stand in line? Why not just let us get in and meet our fate?

Little did we know we would be doing the same now, here, only barefooted?