[ 2 August 2016 - Tuesday ]
23:46 last night: Okay this hotel went from gloriously amazing to stifling hot hell hole. The power went out and now there’s no AC, which isn’t the end of the world but there isn’t even a fan or any moving air….
I survived the night…the AC came back on not long after I wrote my desperate note. I don’t know why but I don't sleep well at night and it takes me forever to fall asleep. Then my mind always wanders to anxiety inducing thoughts of the dogs darting into the streets or Martin getting into a car accident. It’s horrible! It seems that everyone but me has checked out of the hotel this morning. I need to ask Orlando to let me know if something opens up for the night of the 12th. I think they are converting the entire ground level to be included in the hostel. I looked down to the courtyard through the open windows and it looks like the same aesthetic. The floors…heart eyes! The doors are still unpainted wood and they look lovelier that way.
My trip is half over now. To take the pressure of getting everything I need in one go, I’ve told myself that I’ll come back for a shorter duration sometime around November. Maybe convince my sister to join me since the Army told Martin “No!” - the evenings might be a little more exciting with a partner in crime to explore the after dark scene with. I feel like I have a good grasp on what I’m looking for though and what I’m going to be exhibiting. My only worry is that my photos aren’t going to good enough quality. I don’t take terrible photos but I’m definitely not a photographer. At this point I’ve just got to keep doing what I’m doing though, my days are still mostly spent walking around, going into galleries, snooping for provocative street art and political banners.
This morning, over by where I check my email on Obispo, I saw a starving and obviously dying dog. It made me cry then and makes me cry thinking about him now. People had tried to give him food but he wasn’t interested. I bought a water and gave him nearly all of it, which he did drink, but I’m not sure if it helped or just prolonged his misery. I gave him a good back of the ear scratch too. When I went back this evening he had moved but just further down the building and was still lying there. It’s clouded my whole day. I feel like a coward for not doing anything else for him. I feel overwhelmed by the unfairness of everything. How I’m reacting to this trip isn’t how I anticipated. I thought it would be really simple and easy to be alone and working for three weeks.
I did meet the cutest older man who I didn’t understand but probably 30% of what he was telling me. I stumbled upon his shop, which sold old photos, books, etc. I bought an image of Che holding a camera for 3.00 CUCs. He spent all this time going through these old images of tv stars and singers - people had photographed the image of them off their tvs, you could see the tv surround! He couldn’t believe that I didn’t know who Celia Cruz was. And we discussed, term loosely used, whether Hemingway was from Oak Park in Michigan. In the case that he was, maybe I need to not ignore him…lol. As far it stands now I don’t hold the greatest impression of the man and don’t really feel a strong urge to go visit any of his ol’ watering holes. I want to go back and to find some way to use those images and his charming little bookstore.