journal 8/9

Yesterday the train pulled us smoothly though the galician countryside. We glided past lush farms, through forests and gorges and fast-moving rivers.

But it occured to me that if I'd been dropped off in any of the places I found so beautiful on the train, I'd be miserable. If I got off at the farm, I'd be stepping carefully between fenced-off plots of crops, enduring the suspicious eyes of old galicians. In the forest, I'd be lost without a trail. In the gorges I'd be stuck.