Welcome to the first entry of Laga Briel, founded late in 2009, within a sleepwalk of a blues grave in the Highlands, where I own a carpeted white hovel with no sofa yet but several chairs, a kitchen where I cook things like ginger chocolate, Vietnamese soups, and rip-offs of Nicaraguan gallo pinto.
Lying around are a few random instruments of arts I haven’t mastered–a guitar, a digital camera, a Tibetan notebook, an earth-red ocarina carved with a pregnant deer from Chile.
She hasn’t given birth yet.
Since I do a lot of interurban traveling for work, I haven’t given the Highlands the exploration they probably deserve. This is the furthest south I’ve lived, barring Valdivia, and it’s quite a bit different from the areas in and north of the city.
I’m four miles from some of the local trailheads and have almost gotten to them on a couple of Saturday morning runs. The bus that takes me Downtown would go to Lake Cathy if I took it the other way, which I never have. There’s some kind of huge gully to the south, but I’ve only seen it at night, when it looked about the same as it does on the maps: very simple.
Living at the edge of the metropolis is highly breathable, something like silk socks. I could easily escape into the eastern mountains without crossing congested bridges or filtering through major urban colonies. I just have to watch out for the big cats, the rattlers in the dry hills, and woodsy people who cling to their coffee drinks and religion…