Envisioning volcanoes, jungle tracks, salt flats and glaciers. Altitude and crater lakes and sawtooth crags, hypoxic dirt routes (if I’m not careful, tourist nonsense pan flutes). For me, South America is to Asia like ground is to figure. Passable and cultivated theoretical knowledge of India, Tibet, Pakistan, Nepal, but little and woefully incomplete embodiment in habits, movement, postures there. SA, in contrast, I cognize at best superficially, but expect a familiar subsonic cultural rhythm, language, similar motions at least to the small degree that Spain’s tendril’s histories bear an affinity to my parent’s island or to my New York City childhood neighborhood. Looking forward, then, to filling in words learned not in conceptuality, but through magical sources using magic, my favorites, Borges, of course, and Cortazar and Fuentes and Puig.