Half a Dream Come True

 

For many years I had a dream of starting a chain of mini-bookstores throughout Latin America. I have spent a lot of long vacations traveling in Mexico, Guatemala, Ecuador, and Peru, and I always noticed that tourists like to leave behind their used books. I also noticed that buying books in these countries was very expensive, even by USA standards. One day I found a great little cafe from which I could escape the heat, perhaps in Valladolid, Mexico, where I noticed that the local youths seemed to gather. That is when I began to think how great it would be for a cafe like that to provide books for the people to buy cheaply, and sell back to them in order to purchase more. This, I thought, would provide an economic incentive for the restaurant owner, and also ensure the re-circulation of books throughout the community.

When I first joined Facebook, I thought this would be a perfect forum for discussing my ideas, and perhaps develop an organization for promoting literacy in the manner I had in mind. I started a Facebook Group called “Promoting Literacy in Latin America” and most of my friends joined up, and I also made new friends with similar interests. Strangely, however, I couldn’t get more than three people to post anything. I couldn’t get a discussion started. This was disappointing, but I still thought I would implement my plan at the first opportunity.

     

My next setback came when I actually started planning my next trip to  Mexico.  Thats when it dawned on me that tourists, and especially backpackers, don’t want any extra weight to carry—and books are very weighty.  While they may carry one or two paperbacks that they are reading, the amount of books necessary to fuel my plan would be too much.  I felt my dream dissapating, but I still had respect for it, as my personal belief is that dreams come from God, and are a clue to the future if nothing else.  So I kept several boxes of books available for my trip to Mexico.

Living in Tucson, I felt that the most logical town to implement my plan was Magdalena, Mexico, just an hour south of the border. So I drove to the center of Magdalena, parked on the plaza by the church, and walked around looking for candidates. Most of the cafes were small, smoky and serving beer—not the type of place to promote reading in youths. Then I found an ice-cream shop with plenty of room and I approached the lady at the counter with my idea, assisted by a typed and illustrated description I had prepared for that purpose. She liked the idea, but the owner of the shop was not due back for a while, and in the meantime she introduced me to the holistic medicine lady next door. From the herb shop I was directed to another cafe that apparently already was set up to sell books as I had described. Walking a few blocks away, I found Cafe Sed, where I was surprised to find a perfect example of what I had been dreaming of.

I spoke to the manager in charge, who was animated to discover my interest, and spent the next half hour describing the business structure of their operation. Cafe Sed is just one of several operations created to educate and support the youths of three orphanages in the area. You can read about them at these websites: http://www.cvemx.org,

http://tihmin.org

http://www.cafesed.blogspot.com

http://www.carnisimo.blogspot.com

 

Cafe Sed is a small operation compared to the meat processing business, part of which is located next door. I got a quick tour of how they process organic jerky, and it was quite impressive, the youths were at the meat-stick stuffing stage when I was there. These are all older teenagers getting excellent career knowledge and experience. The operation was spotless, and strictly following high food safety standards. Apparently the whole meat business was designed and developed by an American doctor of meat science, a volunteer and significant donor.

Well, I found a place to donate my books after all. I don’t know what part this experience will play in my future, but I felt that I was led to this organization for a reason. Guess we’ll just wait and see.

Texas Blues–“Put ‘n Will”

Hillbilly Music–Man of Constant Sorrow

Long Walk Home

                         I remember it was St. Patrick’s Day because the only person I glimpsed on that long walk home had green hair.  It must have been two years ago, and I was the last one to leave the building, walking across the empty Arby’s parking lot at around 10:45 PM.  The car started fine, but for some reason I couldn’t get it out of “Park.”  I tried, for five minutes or so, different things—stepping on and off the brake pedal, turning it off and re-starting it, pressing the button harder—but nothing worked.  Well, there’s nothing for it, I thought to myself, I might as well walk home and come for it in the morning.  Lucky for me, I lived only four miles or so away.  It usually only took four minutes to get home.  That night it would take forty-five.

            It was a cool night, but not cold, and the air was almost still, plus I had a warm jacket to wear.  I knew Catalina AZ (just North of Tucson) rolled up its sidewalks at 8PM, but I had never experienced it first hand.  It was beautiful—quiet and peaceful, with only the occasional vehicle barreling by on Hwy 77.  No dogs barking, at least not anywhere nearby, and even the convenience store was devoid of customers.  It was in front of the Players Pub that I saw the green-haired person lurching for their pickup.  I don’t think they noticed me.  I felt like a ghost.  There aren’t many streetlamps, but there were enough businesses with their lights left on to keep me from utter darkness, and the stars, my GOD, the stars were incredible.

            I started my walk in good spirits, enjoying the little adventure and the exercise, but I fully expected to be grumbling and unhappy by the time I got home.  It never happened.  It turned out to be one of the most sublime evenings of my life.  I truly felt one with the Earth, walking with the Great Spirit, moving to the rhythm of the Universe.  No one was demanding my attention, not even my own Ego or Id, which might have urged me to paint or read a book had I been at home.  All I had to do was walk.  Then She came.  The mountains took on a shimmering glow that I was not fully conscious of at first.  Then Sister Moon, in all her glory, just days from being full, rose slowly above the mountains.  HUGE!  If you’ve never seen a complete moonrise before, you need to make the effort to do so.

            There is a rather steep hill just a few blocks from my house, and that gave me a pretty good cardiovascular workout.  The adventure evolved as I entered the neighborhood—I could hear music playing, and I caught a whiff of something that smelled like bubblegum as I passed one house with a window open.  I enjoyed walking as silently as possible as I passed an unchained dog asleep on a driveway.  Someone was smoking a cigarette in front of their house.  Then I caught a blast of orange blossoms, which wafted around for blocks, all the way to my doorstep.

            I felt good when I got home, and even better after a quick shower.  I slept very well, deciding I should walk home again sometime.  And I did.

Impenetrable Obstacle

            I have discovered a shocking piece of information that has caused me to re-think my dream of traveling the length of Central America on my way to Peru. Of course I’m not the first person to conceive of the idea to take the Pan-American Highway from one end to the other. Perhaps someone has even started in Alaska and ended up in Patagonia, Chile. Anyone that has, will have encountered one great, impenetrable obstacle to their plan: what is known as the Darien Gap. Apparently the roads south of the Panama Canal Zone dwindle down to nothing, followed by hundreds of miles of solid, primordial jungle. Even if it is not true that you have to have a machete or chainsaw to cross into Columbia and beyond, there are plenty of other reasons not to attempt it. The sparse population reportedly consists of criminals, guerillas, DEA, indigenous tribes zealous to protect their hunting grounds, and various other types that are far from hospitable to strangers.
               I knew about Darien long ago, and had no delusions of facing that much adventure. I figured a flight from Panama to Bogota, Columbia wouldn’t be more than a few hundred dollars. Wrong. THIS is what I find shocking: from all my preliminary searches, flights from Panama to Columbia, or Costa Rica to Ecuador, or any other likely way to jump the Gap, are roughly the same price as flights directly from Tucson, AZ to Lima, Peru!! Supposedly there was once a couple of discount airlines that offered reasonable flights, but they’ve been bought out by the big boys. It appears that any flight, regardless of distance, that connects North America to South America costs at least $750 plus taxes and fees. I really find this hard to digest.
                So this is what causes me to re-think my dream. I had a vision of becoming a human bridge, connecting friends and acquaintances from North America to South America. Well, I suppose that is still possible, but I don’t think I can do it in one trip. Perhaps building a bridge between cultures will require forming a solid foundation in Northern Mexico and Peru, then slowly branching further afield year after year. And maybe, just maybe, by the time I reach Panama there will be another discount airline in operation.

Promoting Literacy in Latin America

For several years I have had the idea of creating a chain of mini-bookstores throughout Mexico and Central America.  These micro-businesses could be located in a corner of a cafe or restaurant, where the proprietor could buy and sell used books of various and sundry types.  The initial inventory could be donated by generous Americans and delivered by tourists passing through the area.  Subsequent visits by tourists could supplement the inventory and encourage the proprietor to keep the business going for the benefit of the community. 

I got the idea from two different places I visited while travelling in Central America.  The first was a restaurant in Antigua, Guatemala which had a reading room off of the foyer containing scores of books and a couple of comfortable reading chairs.   It was obvious, to me anyway, that the bulk of the paperbacks had been donated or discarded by tourists, many of them appearing to have been around the world themselves–tattered, water-damaged, with multiple earmarks.  I recalled that most hostels and hotels on the established tourist route have a shelf or two of books like these–treasured reads that have been abandoned to make more room in the backpack.

The second location that inspired me was a corner store in a small Mexican town, perhaps Valladolid, in the Yucatan.  I had been wandering in the mid-afternoon heat awhile when I happened upon this clean, spacious cafe a block off the main square.  It had a big-screen TV and perhaps AC, at any rate it was a welcome sanctuary for this weary soul.  As I sat there relaxing I noticed a number of local youths stopping by, and I realized that this was a sanctuary of sorts for them as well.  It was years later that the memories of these separate experiences coalesced to form a vision for me of sanctuaries;  sanctuaries for both travellers and locals alike who wanted to escape into the world of literature.

Another factor which influenced me regarding this dream of mine was the realization of the scarcity of bookstores throughout Latin America.  Whenever I did happen upon a bookstore, the prices were exsorbitant even by American standards.  How can a person develop and maintain literacy if they cannot afford books?

My first idea was to simply donate books to the people; but then I realized that these books would inevitably melt into the populace and end up gathering dust on someone’s shelf somewhere.  By establishing a small used-book store, the people are encouraged to bring them back after they have been read, to be exchanged (with a small surcharge) for new books.  In this way, not only will the donated books remain in circulation, but also books that have been languishing on shelves in homes might be brought out for exchange as well.  Since the initial inventory of books will have been donated, the proprietor should be able to offer them at affordable prices.  However, if the proprietor is not willing to buy books back at attractive rates, the amount of books returned may dwindle.  It is my hope that enthusiastic propreitors and clientele will develop a self-perpetuating system which will require few, if any, injections of new book donations from afar.

The biggest difficulty, as I see it, is delivering donated books to locations far away.  Books are heavy, and most travellers are already suffering from overpacked luggage as it is.  To make this work, we would need a small army of dedicated philanthropists, willing to lug 50 lbs of dead weight for hundreds of miles, solely for the purpose of advancing literacy and promoting goodwill.  Any takers?

Help Make My Dream Real

 

       My big dream then, is to travel through Central America playing my music in exchange for room and board, until I arrive in Lima, Peru.  Once there, I hope to get a good gig in a fine hotel, where I could live for a couple of months and be able to spend time with my son.  This is a pretty outrageous dream, I know, and that’s why I need your help.  In fact, this is the main reason I put together my website and started this blog.  I need help of various kinds, from friends and acquaintances.

 

            First of all, I need to sell my inventory of oil paintings (can’t take ‘em with me) or perhaps find a business who would like to display them for several months.  I would be willing to drive several hours from Tucson to deliver these paintings, if anyone knows of such a place.  While I travel I plan to try my hand at watercolors—they take up much less space.

 

            Secondly, I need contacts throughout my route—in Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Ecuador, and most importantly Peru.  Any contact is super, but especially valuable would be folks in the hospitality industry—hotels, restaurants, tourist agencies.  Also, if anyone has visited these countries and knows of a groovin’ spot where I might play, or where tourists “in the know” like to gather, this would be great  information.

 

            Lastly, and this is so easy for all of you.  Favorite my website (not my blog) or otherwise attach www.artbylowell.com to your site.  This is crucial for my site to show up in searches, something to do with Search Engine Optimization.  I need people to find my site, buy paintings and video downloads, follow my blog, help with all of the above, and become part of my Great Dream.  I am most humbly yours, Lowell  (aka Luis)

My Great Dream

            Some of you may be wondering if I’m going anywhere with this Dream Reality stuff, and the answer is: YES.  I’ve had many grand dreams I still want to share with you, but this one is persistent and imminent.  For years I’ve dreamed of traveling from Mexico through Central America to South America, not just once, but several times along the same route.  My dream is to become a human bridge—connecting cultures throughout the Americas.  Later, but still for several years now, I added to this dream the desire to establish mini-bookstores along the route, for the promotion of literacy.  But first things first.

            The reason this dream is now imminent I will explain.  My ex-wife, who is Peruvian, has moved back to Lima, taking my 8-yr old son with her.  I don’t blame her, she has a very supportive family there, and I think my son will benefit in many ways.  But I want to live there too, to be near him, at least for a few months out of each year.

            I have an idea that I could defray the costs, if not support myself entirely, with my solo music act—Luis Sabor.  Getting good gigs will not be easy, however, so here is my plan:  If I could travel through Central America on my way to Peru, performing my music in hotels and restaurants all along the way, I believe I could become a phenomenon! 

            Well, perhaps that’s too big a dream, but at least I could gather enough references and experience to make an impressive resume.

Great Dreamers

for sale at artbylowell.com

          Abraham dreamed of a new land, to be solely inhabited by his progeny.  I personally don’t believe he heard the voice of God with his ears, but with his mind.  Genghis Khan called himself “the scourge of God,” and perhaps he was.  Perhaps Julius Caesar was.  Alfred dreamed of a United Britannia.  Ferdinand and Isabella a United Spain.  Columbus dreamt of a quicker passage to the Indies (sometimes we dream of one thing and achieve another.)  Benjamin Franklin dreamed up the postal system, among other things.  Isaac Newton dreamed of answers, as did Einstein.  Chĕ Guevara dreamt of giving power to the people, and probably died believing that he had.  Gandhi dreamt of peace, as did John Lennon.  Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream.

          Please note:  I could be wrong—it could have been the wives, lovers, sisters or mothers who had the dreams, and influenced these men to achieve them.  Or it could have been completely other people who had the dreams, and they just campaigned for these men to advance their dreams.  History has to give credit to some one individual, when almost always the great accomplishments were achieved by a community.  Where, though, do the dreams come from?  Someone has to be thinking, receiving the flashes of inspiration and bringing the dreams to fruition.  Perhaps God or the collective consciousness emanates these ideas into the ether at appropriate moments in time, for the appropriate individual to “come up with it.”

Just an ordinary day

            I woke up around 6AM to sounds coming from the kitchen.  I crawled out of my futon bed, which now has become our living room couch since we sold our sofa and loveseat in a big yard sale over the weekend.  I went to the bathroom and began to shave, until I heard a tap on the door—my 8-year old son.  I let him use the bathroom while I turned the light on above the fishtank and philodendron.  After shaving I spent about 10 to 12 minutes warming up with Qi Gong exercises and a few dozen sit-ups, then I put on my winter cap and my alpaca coat before kneeling down for a few minutes of meditation.  Almost everyone meditates in the lotus position (what my son calls “criss cross applesauce”) but I was taught meditating with the feet tucked under the buttocks back when I first took a karate class long ago, and its just more comfortable for me, at least until my legs fall asleep, then the lotus position wins.  There wasn’t much to choose from for breakfast, so I just had a bowl of cereal with soy milk.  I gave my son a big hug as he went off to the bus-stop, then settled down to a cup of hot tea to read a few pages from “The Cloud of Unknowing.”  I checked email, Facebook, WordPress & RedBubble, then fed the fish and got dressed for the day’s event.

            When my soon-to-be-ex-wife and I realized we were ahead of schedule, we stopped at the “Hot Rod Café,” the only eatery on a long stretch of automotive shops and other industrial businesses.  Despite the charming décor and the NASCAR channel on, we got two croissants to go, and headed to downtown Tucson.  After a brisk walk from the parking garage two blocks to the courthouse, we entered and immediately took off our coats and put all of our personal items in a container to be scanned.  Just now I have realized that we never reclaimed the little credit-card-sized swiss tool kit they confiscated.  Lord knows what havoc could have been wreaked with that inch-long pair of scissors.  We turned in our papers at the clerks office and found a bench where we could eat our croissants and wait for our name to be called.  We were called into the courtroom along with five other default cases and one name change—it was 10:40AM.  By 11AM we were facing the judge, asked about a dozen yes or no obligatory questions…stamp, stamp, sign, sign, stamp.   Voila’, we were divorced.

Downtown Tucson

            We stopped at the grocery store on the way home, made some quick burritos for lunch, and napped while watching an old Pedro Infante movie on the PC (since we sold both TVs at the yard sale.)  At 2:30PM I got up to practice my guitar for a while before showering and dressing for work.  When I reached the street corner, I waved at my ex-wife who was waiting at the bus-stop for my son to arrive from school.  I’ve been working as shift manager here at Arbys.  Don’t ask me how I ended up in fast food, but I must say there is something satisfying about serving the public.  I’ll never be tempted to volunteer at a soup kitchen—I’ve done my time.  Oh sure, these folks aren’t homeless, but they are equally needy and forlorn in their own ways.

            After the yard sale weekend and the divorce proceedings, I’ve been really tired this evening, but writing this post in my spare moments has kept me awake.  Today wasn’t difficult, next week will be moreso:  that’s when I have to put my son and ex on the plane bound for Peru, where they plan to live from now on.  That will be hard.  But tonight and tomorrow I get to rest up, then I’ll take my son up to Mt. Lemmon where he can play in the snow for the last time in who knows when.  But really, who knows?  If there is anything I’ve learned in half a century on this planet, its this:  you never know.

original oil painting by Lowell