Salty Dogs
My fellow spirited travelers,
Exhausted. That is what I feel at this moment. Although unlike many moments in likeness that precede it, this tiredness is welcome. It is the weariness that comes from seeing something new, something breathtaking. The product of the effort made in ensuring its happenstance and the emotion that comes from the reward. I’d gotten the fever. In truth, I’ve been afflicted since my plane touched down from Argentina last April. Infected with the desire to get lost, I’d sabotaged any relevant and/or wonderful work opportunities that came my way this past month. In its place was created an informal voyage itinerary that has already started.
That finds me in a hotel made entirely of salt, next to one of the largest salt flats on the planet: Salar de Uyumi. A place where I’ve already done yoga, star gazed, splashed, sunset gawked and where I almost ruined nearly all of my electronics. That’s just this afternoon. The nine hours preceding playtime in the salt flats were occupied with a hungover drive through the Altiplano of Bolivia. Traffic infractions that oscillated between minor — getting honked at — and major — making sure I had my passport on me — were surely part of my friend Eduardo’s indoctrination program for me. My trustee travel compañero at one point uttered, in what has become a life philosophy, “I don’t know if there’s a way we could’ve done that legally.”
These years, I’ve faithfully committed myself to what can be a grind of assistant directing. In doing so, I have been graciously and outrageously lucky to have been sent to hidden places, far beyond where I may have gone otherwise. I’m fortunate to have made some intoxicating and impactful films and wish to continue to do so. However, in between such films, I would like to accentuate the ability to create memories. To build new, worldly relationships and strengthen old ones with adventures, laughs and discoveries. Curating these memories is so much fun in faraway places.
I’ve been due to visit Bolivia for more than a decade. My dear friends, Eduardo and Zeca, have been dropping hints ever since we all studied together in Siena, Italy in 2005. My final destination this trip was always Antarctica, and incidentally, Bolivia is on the way. As is Brazil, where my pal Hunter is spending the South American Summer.
I fly back to the States on the 2nd of February to attend, for the first time, the DGA Awards ceremony. Our director for the brilliant film Birth of a Nation, Nate Parker, and his directorial staff (which includes this weary traveler) were nominated for Best First Time Director. Considering the awards are chosen by the Directors Guild, it is an honor for all of us.
However, win, lose or drunk, I’ll be on plane the following day bound for Argentina, and then Antarctica. I am counting the days to when I can see Delfina, Sofi, Juanmi and the parrilla of dreams that I documented last spring. After that reunion in Buenos Aires, I’ll be jumping on the ice-strengthened ship Ocean Endeavor in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world for a 16 day excursion to South Georgia and Antarctica. And although I spend quite a bit of time in Savannah, this South Georgia, home to two million penguins, promises to be quite a unique experience.
As always, I’ll do my best to update this journal for the four of you that read it. Once the rust gets shaken off, my writing should become legible. No promises though.
Mark
