As I headed south a feeling of expanding and shrinking came over me. 

First, in Seattle the world seemed bigger, so many cars and people compared to my Alaska. Then at the hotel near the airport things started to grow and shrink like in a house of mirrors. The Embassy Suites felt altogether community-less, small and somehow sick, as in ill. Success of corporate America, stacks of private rooms all surrounding a pool fell flat. The center of their design was missing, the pool was being renovated. So instead there was a cement slab and with the water gone, the place was creepy. Like some strange version of corporate projects. An abandoned idea. Efforts were made at uniting people, like free cocktails and a "managers" hour, but it ended up feeling like a trick rather than a gift. 

I stayed in my room, cozy only because of my lavender, friends to message, and much needed privacy.

In the morning, I climbed into the van/shuttle for the airport. There it was me and the driver. She is 24 years old, lives her  mom and her niece and nephew and wants kids, but not yet. Here the world felt right and small and intimate and like faith in people is a reasonable choice. 

She kicked me out, at the appropriate time, in front of 1B. She grabbed a cart and I threw my luggage on. I handed her some cash and she jumped back into her van. Our little world ended. Then the airport and the plane and all that felt big again. I met Robin and Phil on the plane to Atlanta, they were heading south to buy a Sprinter. Proof the American Dream does sometimes play out. They were both teachers and they introduced me to Helen Thayer, a writer I must look up. 

Off the plane in Atlanta and wham the expanded world again. People moving so fast, so unconnected, all need and desire, little content to be found. Until I made it to the international terminal and the gate for Buenos Aires. Here, something similar to the Alaskan-gate effect (Alaskans will know what this is, no matter the airport once you make it to a flight headed to Alaska the chances of you seeing someone you know is like 90%, the other 10% you might not know, but they will help you, and you can leave your bag for them to watch, perhaps even a child) occurred. Rather than what I expected, a gate  filled with women like I had seen when I headed to Ecuador (thin, elegant, fancy women, but no--the women at F10 in Atlanta headed to Argentina were practical, low make-up, and from everywhere. Some clearly southbound, like me. The world felt small again. 

Ten hours of flying to Buenos Aires. Two dreams of hostel like hotels where people talk to each other and trust each other and act like old friends while listening to nice Irish music and drinking nice wine. Then bright lights. Awake and out the window, South America. I swear I saw snow. And flat flat land and water, everywhere water. And I can see why my dutch ancestors considered this place. It looks like what I think the Netherlands must. Waterways and boats everywhere, somewhere over Chile, if the flight tracker was right. Then seat belts and landing and two hours in line at migreciones. 

I was ready to exit into the free world. Except not. A kind man tugged at my shirt. "Taxi, official?" He asked. I nodded. I could not remember a word. No sleep. No coffee that counts as coffee. No Spanish that counts as Spanish. He grabbed my cart, thankfully. The wheel was broken and turning my 150 lbs of luggage was hard. He asked if pesos were ok? I nodded and handed him US currency. He accepted it. He handed me an official looking paper and grabbed my cart again. I walked next to him as we walked through huge glass doors. Floods of people, calling out names, a sea of signs. He tapped the finely dressed young man and that man grabbed my cart and I followed. I felt so useless and totally vulnerable, yet safe. He could have brought me anywhere. 

I mustered up the courage to try some words in Spanish. "Para mi, is muoy calihente." A mix of French and Spanish misspelled here to match my awful Spanish. He nodded and loaded my bags into his car. After he closed the trunk he hugged a man that walked by, another driver--I think. 

In the car, the world shrunk again, in a way. Now all the different and new things to see flooded through the glass. Cement buildings everywhere. Graffiti. Cars. No english. Cars. Palm trees. Was that an aspen? 34 degrees S, 70 degrees F, No ninos en escuela ahora. Si. Petro $1/L. Cement buildings everywhere. A big huge world with stacks and stacks of apartments.  Transfer to domestic airport. Inside the world is big and little and medium. The line for luggage is huge, the bathroom stall barely fits me and all my bags, and here now at the Havanna Cafe in the worn out lime green velvet chair. The perfect sized chair with the perfect cup of Cafe con leche and a view of the ocean. Two men lean on a wall and cast their lines into the water. The same water, the same ocean my husband casts his line into. The same water. The same world. The right sized world, at the moment.