I saw the room in which Hemingway wrote masterpieces – it was this attic connected to his house by only a narrow catwalk and every morning he´d wake up at 6am, write 700 words (or until lunch, whichever came first) then head out to go fishing.
The walls in the attic are still lined with books and the round table where he worked was in the middle of the room, his chair facing west. Who would have thought?
It was emotional to visit because I´d just finished For Whom The Bell Tolls in an insomniac romp at 4 that morning back in Miami. When I entered the house the end of that novel was still in my head and it matched with his life there in that spacious house and how that life eventually ended, and I teared up entering the house, smelling what he smelled and seeing where such a talented man did his work.
Azure and I woke at 8am that morning and drove a rental down the Florida Keys to Key West, one of the most interesting towns I´ve visited in the US. Regal, Spanish houses sit behind palm trees in a way that´s not pretentious, but living, used, current, and there was an interesting mix of Navy, gays and African Americans all out on the street. It was beautiful there, low and old. It felt special and was really as different from Seattle as any place I´ve been in America.
But it didn´t feel like travel – I don´t know if I could do the US in a way that felt like travel abroad because travel is about freedom, and I can´t get lost in the US.
Tonight in Bogota, we were way lost, but more about that later…