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Travel is a personal experience so different from one to another that one must wonder if there is such a thing at all as travel or if there is a multiverse of confusion colliding with the indiscriminate manifestation of others one cannot begin to know.
I see things at Belen Market that others seemingly do not see, that being beauty and life intense. Others see the illegal, the forbidden, the ugly and dirty, the dangerous and bizarre. I see life ending and beginning and continuing in all its dirty and violent eruptions. But I travel with the same people who see something altogether otherwise. I don't begin to understand others. I sit and watch and wonder, and I call this traveling. I don't know if I have moved at all.
|At the opposite end of town from Belen Market one finds peace|
|One finds tranquility|
|Near the entrance at Belen Market one finds stuff.|
|At the bottom of Belen Market one finds boats|
|At the bottom of Belen Market one finds junk|
|At the bottom of Belen Market one finds homes|
|At the bottom of Belen Market one finds romance|
|At the bottom of Belen Market one finds promises|
|Inside Belen Market one finds strangeness|
|Inside Belen Market one finds common good for all and terror for the confused|
The market is for life. To me it is a grand mystery. I will come back to it again to attempt an explanation.
A gentle reminder that my book, An Occasional Walker, is available at the link here:
Occasional-Walker-D-W/dp/ 0987761501/ref=sr_1_1?s=books& ie=UTF8&qid=1331063095&sr=1-1
And here are some reviews and comments on said book: