Tuning in to the Middle of a Bottle Episode

[This post brought to you by procrastination]

If I got to be an extra on a bottle episode on the ride from Atlanta, to New Orleans, I tuned right into the middle of one on the way from Albuquerque to Phoenix. Albuquerque was a stop in the middle of the route of the bus I was riding, meaning that everyone’s dynamics–as well as their seats–had been firmly established by the time I got on. I didn’t realize this as I sat in the middle of the Greyhound Station, watching the people around me and listening to them talk to each other about things as disparate as the new pope and where to go smoke a cigarette. This was my introduction to the cast of characters I was about to become a part of: the young man sitting on a bench, wearing bright, sparkly, mauve headphones and dancing as best he could in a seated position; the tall man with a tear, and a cross, and a multitude of other things, tattooed on his face; the female half of the couple behind me who realized that her backpack, empty, was worth more than Greyhound would insure all of her luggage for.

Riding Buses with Nomads

Alright, so everyone on a bus is sort of a nomad for the amount of time they’re on that bus, but on the trip from Austin to Albuquerque I met two people who’d done some serious traveling. If we’re going to make a contest of it, the traveling they did was quite a bit more hardcore than the journey I’m in the middle of.

Pilgrimages

Another thing about New Mexico, perhaps another reason its license plates proclaim it a Land of Enchantment, is that mysticism is very close to the surface of reality. I think I saw more churches in 24 hours than I had in the months of the trip before hand. Catholicism is ever present, lurking at the corners of your awareness. Catholicism has always seemed to be the most mystical branch of Christianity to me; the most pagan, if you will, since it’s been warped so many times to appeal to those it’s trying to convert. From the Saints taking the role of deities to the cross being altered to absorb pre-existing beliefs, incorporating sun god symbolism, or standing in for the Tree of Life. Somehow crosses looming on hilltops seemed more fantastical here than they did in Houston.

Huge Skies and Phantom Jesse Pinkmans

Albuquerque is another city that lives large in my imagination, like Pittsburgh and Portland, Maine. This is due partly to the feeling I have gathered that New Mexico is some sort of religious experience. I don’t know whether I fell for the license plate, proudly proclaiming it a “Land of Enchantment,” or whether I heard one too many anecdotes about how big the sky is here, (and how strange an idea is that? That the sky could be different sizes?) or whether I’ve seen one too many adobe structures in pictures both moving and still. Perhaps there’s some other variable I’m not even conscious of that has made New Mexico feel like such a mythical place.