Wednesday, September 12, 2012

August 11th, 2012 Salar de Uyuni

3AM  Carla went back with her friend, followed by Erin.  From the way she dances, I can tell she doesn't go out that much, which I liked a lot.  Does that show my age?  They left around 1AM.  The beer after what must have been 15 liters for us was just 35.3 BOB each person.  I paid 5 USD.  Some crazy Bolivians started dancing with the rest of us and buying another 6 liter bottles.of beer.  One of them, Wilfredo Pinto, the supervisor of Magno Watts, was so drunk that he offered to let me drive his car to Salar de Uyuni.  I was fourth to come home at around 3AM.  Everyone followed soon after.
 
8AM  I woke to write my blog.  Everyone else was asleep so perhaps we aren't leaving early.




10AM  Erin Morgan and I went to the imigration office to pay our dues for the visa.  They only took brand new bills like it says on the internet.  We didn't leave for the Salar de Uyuni until we got lunch.




















1PM  We ate lunch and took many optical illusion photos.  I tried to help but felt inadequate.  It was almost impossible to have both foreground and background subjects in focus.  Well, I did try to help Carla and her friend.


4PM  I recited Carletti's line to Carla.  I can never tell if she fully understands me.  She complained about not being able to see the whole island because the company was not well coordinated to let us leave at 8 or 9.  I told her as she hurried us to leave, that I was happy because I was finally able to take a picture of her.  I stunbled a little bit when I asked if she would visit.  She said it was impossible as she was planning to go to New York.

6PM  We were on our way back.  I asked the old Australian whether he would change with me.  He said no when we arrived at the hostel.





As Carla was packing her things in the luggage storage room, I approached her alone.  I said something to the extent of it was a pleasure to meet you.  She asked, but we are not going yet?  I told her that I liked her and she said, you like me?  I didn't expect her to be surprised.  She said last night was the craziest she has been and she does not live in moments like me.  I said I believed her and from the way she dances, I know the type of person she is, and she doesn't want to be anything different.  I asked her for the final question truth or dare: if she weren't in Brazil and I wasn't in the US, would she go out with me?  When the longest 3 seconds passed, she didn't give me a direct answer.  She asked me if I wanted to go to pizza with the group.  I agreed and even carried her bag.  For some reason, I was not completely distraught over this seeming rejection.  It was perhaps due to my relief; it was perhaps due to hope.

6:15PM  They settled on a pizzeria.  I declined and failed as my rubber band magic trick.  It was embarrassing.  I asked her which picture she wanted to keep.  She asked me to choose and I try to ascertain whether she wanted one with no women in it.  She said you choose.  When I got the Ukraine girl picture out, she smiled you shouldn't give me a picture of another girl, which I had just asked her.  I started to write on the back.  My pen would not write sometimes and by this times, all eyes were on me.  I wrote something to the extent of beauty is defined by something where nothing needs to be added, subtracted, or altered.  That is you, Carla.  You are beautiful.  The last couple of days have been the happiest I have had in a long time.   I hope that I would have the opportunity to take you shopping in the outlets, the beach and snorkeling in Key West.  When I am in front of you, I feel like once again a 16 year old boy.  My sincere thanks and yours, Ethan


There are a couple of lines that even brought me to tears as I am writing this blog entry.  She put the picture in her pocket and smiled to everyone.  I don't know what the Brazilian boys were saying but I believe they were giving approval.


6:45PM I walked her to the bus stop and said final goodbyes to everyone.  I didn't kiss Carla, leaving a regret.

No comments:

Post a Comment