The Journey Home...

(When I began to write this entry in my head, the first word was “yesterday.”  Nonetheless…) Almost two weeks ago I drove the eight hours back to the city from the small town I spent a few days in with the fellas.  The town they live in is beautiful as I have shared with you.  But the drive back is amazing.  It began with a descent of nearly a mile.  We stopped for breakfast at this small café.  Two of us had driven eight hours out, but only two of us where headed back to the city.  For breakfast we each had a croissant and a cup of wetet be buna (coffee with milk).  The café sits on a second story of a building.  Were it not for the satellite dish in my eye line we would have been able to see the valley below that we were about to weave through.

The driving surface constantly changes.  Parts are paved but poorly, others are paved as well as any new road in the States.  And yet others are merely dirt or rock.  Mountains continuously decorate the horizon.  Just beyond the valley we drove through we were towering mountains of brown and green stretching to the thin clouds above.  The sun shone brightly.  The day couldn’t have been more beautiful.  

The roadways in this country are decorated by smiling faces, herds of cows, whatever a group of donkeys is called, and on these roads were the occasional camel or several.  The day was cool as the winds blew in the windows of the SUV we drove in.  Most of the time I kept the gas pedal on the floor.  But on occasion I would slow for a donkey unwilling to move or a crossing of goats.  Every now and then we would pass through a small town or village.  It would stretch somewhere between 100 yards and a couple miles down the roadway.  Buildings are usually built only a few feet from the road and people crowd the area between the buildings and part of my side of the road.  

The typical countryside taxis are a common site.  They are a small two wheeled cart with a seat able to hold two or three people.  A horse pulls the cart as it wobbles behind with at least one crooked wheel.  

My friend David dosed in and out next to me as my greatest hits playlist spun in the iPod sitting in between us.  I heard the sounds of Billy, and Phil, and Michael, and Sheryl, and Rod, and Hootie, and others as we passed the faces and the houses and the livestock and the mountains.  I may be a bit impartial but I truly believe I live in the most beautiful country on the face of the earth.