TO FLY A KITE

It is kite-flying season in Providencia.

I have been in providencia for almost three weeks now. I apologize for taking so long to write about Providencia, but I really wanted to share my thoughts on Bogota and Medellin before they evaporated into the mist of instances that inhabit my memory.

I had been to Providencia when I was younger; 10 or 11 perhaps, and the island stood out in my mind as larger than life. As a matter of fact the island is quite small.

this photo was taken by Matt Wollin

And it is hard to understand what the island is really like, because it is unlike any other place I have known. Of course, this is to an extent, true of all places, but with globalization and transnationalism it seems as if places start to take on characteristics and qualities of other places, so that to come to a place like Providencia where everything is so distinctly different-in its colors, its smells, its rhythm, its people-from that which I have experienced, makes this quite a unique experience.



Last spring at some point, Bill and I thought it would be fun to fly a kite. We thought of buying one, but instead we decided to make one. So we went to Stop and Shop and bought all the things we needed to build and fly a kite and then never got around to doing it.

Coming from such a different environment settling into the island was quite difficult. This was in part because communicating with people in the island is hard from so far away, and because expectations of things were based on my experiences. My experiences, which are quite different than the experiences of people here, which then leads them to have different expectations. So that while no one was lying, their truths were utterly different from mine.

After a week of hell (you can read my friend and fellow traveler matt's blog for a much more detailed description of our first week here mhwollin.blogspot.com) where we carried 90 kilos of luggage up a mountain through a non-existent trail, just to find a shack (a shack with a very nice view,

photo taken by Matt Wollin

but nonetheless a shack),

photos taken by Matt Wollin

we spent a night there, lost my cat, had to go all around the island until we found a place to spend the night and finally were able to shower, brush our teeth and eat something. We were ready to leave this island.

But I'm glad we gave ourselves some time, because it seems that, that is a major thing that the island both provides and takes away. By this I mean that here there is nothing but time, no need to rush, no need to go run errand after errand, no need to do a million things, there is just empty time, but it also takes very long to do most things. We slowly started to settle in, and found appropriate housing and food options.


I put special emphasis on slowly because that's the way things get done here. Well that's not true, sometimes they happen spur of the moment too, but in general things get done when they get done. I finally understand what going with the flow means, and it seems as if time sometimes ceased to exist until you realize you are hungry and it's lunchtime and you should go get food. But lunch time is a different time everyday, and with the quiet rhythm of the island one day merges with the next until you realize you don't mind not carrying a watch, and that you can't even check the time on your cell phone because you forgot it in your room.

One summer, when my brother and I were young, we built a kite. We even put a face on it, and went out to fly it. After ten minutes the wind blew it towards a power line and we lost our colorful kite forever.

There is, by most standards, a lot of poverty in this island. But, because the islanders have consciously stopped big corporations from coming into the island, there is also a certain amount of self-sufficiency. As I've discovered a lot of fruit grows in the island, however, there are no orchards, the fruit is there and it doesn't belong to anyone it belongs to the island, so that for me, as a tourist, it is hard to get access to it because it is not sold at the market. But children know where the trees are in the mountain and go there and climb and eat this fruit that it is there for free; that seems to be there just for them.

There is poverty but there is no hunger. There are crabs everywhere, and I mean everywhere.



There are so many crabs, that if you walk at night on the road, the movement of the crabs in the mountain will surprise you. It is as if hundreds of ghosts were roaming around the island walking, shuffling all around you, invisible to you except for that sound. But of course, it is only the crabs. There are fish in the sea, so that a father never has to see his children hungry, he just has to go out and fish, and because there is only artisan fishing in the island, there are enough fish for everyone and no need to fight with anyone over them.



There is poverty. But there are also about six schools in the island. And you don't see children begging on the streets. You see them running up and down the streets. Yelling at you hello, hanging out. There is poverty, but there is no fear. I have never felt unsafe here. There is poverty, but there is also a wealth in the quality of its people, who are friendly and who, in their own time as they see fit, will do everything they can to help you out and to help each other.

And during this time of year, kite-flying season, you don't see colorful kites everywhere. You see kids sitting on the street with plastic bags and twigs building kites,


Carefully putting them together into hexagonal shapes tying it to string and running up and down with them.

And when they are ready, the children of Providencia go up the mountain to a clearing. And then you don't see much of them; you hear them yelling and laughing. Or you see their faces looking up, and while you can't see the kite because it is too high up, you see them holding a string, looking up concentrated, cheering each other on.