Fifth Journey Day 195: Basin Turning in Salt Air

Date: November 19, 2025
Location: Monrovia, Liberia

Arriving in Monrovia, on the Atlantic coast of Liberia, I met the city through heat and haze—air heavy with ocean salt, a shoreline near West Point, and the slow rhythm of waves gathering and giving back what they carried.

The Weight of Humidity

Today felt like stepping into a thicker kind of air. The moisture from the air felt like it hit my skin almost right away, the kind that makes clothes feel sticky and makes you think more slowly. I took a taxi toward West Point and stopped short of the neighborhood, choosing a quiet patch of concrete near the shoreline. The ocean looked restless from there. Long waves folded into each other, and they looked heavy and matching the sky's color.

Choosing Stillness Over Sketching

I didn't sketch, but I did bring my notebook. Instead, I watched the tide catch pieces of debris and return them, over and over, almost in a rhythm but never quite the same. Children ran along the water's edge, their voices carrying further than I expected. At one point, a plastic basin drifted close to the shore. It spun around for a long moment before it tipped over. I focused on the small movement, which felt like a mix of floating and surrender.

Sound Softened by Sea Air

The city behind me felt thick with sound: car horns, distant music, and the shuffle of people moving through the heat. But from where I was sitting, it all softened. The ocean absorbed some of it, or maybe the humidity made the edges of the sound blurry, like how it blurs color. I felt present and slightly disconnected from myself, as if the air held me at arm's length.

A City in Sync with Heat and Haze

Travel always asks for adjustment, but today I didn't try to meet the place quickly. I let the place come to me instead. The breeze came in warm waves, carrying salt and a faint smell of metal. It made me aware of my breath, how shallow it becomes in heat, how it slows when watching something repetitive — waves, drifting objects, shadows moving across concrete.

A Quiet Arrival

Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and maybe that's why the day felt normal. The arrival was quiet, and so was the observation. Sometimes that's enough.

Travel Notes

• Weather: Hazy blue-grey skies, 29°C; heavy humidity with a warm Atlantic breeze that softened edges and slowed the day’s pace.
• Scents: Salt carried on the wind with a faint metallic note rising from the shoreline and concrete.
• Sounds: Car horns, distant music, the shuffle of footsteps, and the bright carry of children’s voices—muffled where the ocean met the air.
• Reflection: I chose to watch instead of draw, letting repetition and drift steady my breath and mark the day’s quiet arrival.

Continue the Journey

You may also enjoy reading about a different kind of pause in another place named Liberia—Fourth Journey Day 18: A Pause in the Afternoon from Costa Rica.