#1
Damp, wet. We walk up to the Waterfall. Through a cloud. It begins to mist and then rain. The dirt turns to mud, puddles form and as I hop them my mind turns back to my room where my recently washed clothes sit trying desperately to dry. My quick drying garments fighting the humidity which is buyoed by the rain. Every step is wet: in the air, falling on the ground, the clothes I wear. By the time we reach the waterfall there is no need to swim, I am already soaked, swimming in rain and humidity. Later I will sit in my room wiling my clothes to dry.

#2
As we walk in to the building darkness and quiet envelop us, but I don't notice. I am struck by the seriousness of the scattered worshippers and the smell of wood. The church has solid beams of rich brown wood. We walk the floorboards creaking, sounding the alarm that we are only turistas, giving us away. We take in the deeply human and tortured renderings of Christ and his death. As we cross over I make the sign of the cross in hopes of hiding my purely architctural motives for being there. It is only once we leave returning to the plaza bustling with noice and energy do I realize the quiet solitude existing in the building I just left