ridet

I stayed in Goiania where kite vendors were found on every street corner. The kites were made of tissue paper and the tail had strips of garbage bags tied to it. They were very simple, yet magical to me. Everytime I looked at the sky I noted new designs. Sometimes there would be groups of kites up in several locations around the city, pockets of four or five kites sailing overhead.

In typical American consumer fashion, I bought seven kites to take home with me. Unfortunately, the airport made me run them through the scanner and at least two were ruined before I made it home. It’s been six years since my trip, and I have no surviving kites. But that’s OK; there is nothing magical about kites in a bag in a U.S. garage. The magic was this intriguing, playful characteristic of a foreign city, and the enduring memories of the silhouettes of several kites against an orange sky.