Small World: R.I.P. Isak Redux
Scrolling through a Sergio Villatoro’s blog, I happened upon an old photograph of Isak Holmgren. Sergio and I dated during my first trip to Guatemala in 2004. It was a wonderful relationship, and I have many fond memories of our time together. I met Isak in Darjeeling, India this summer. We were both regulars at a popular tourist cafe, and we exchanged stories about Guatemala. On my last night in Darjeeling in late July, news spread that Isak committed suicide. My initial blog post about it was taken down at the request of Isak’s sister, though she later emailed me to thank me for the post and suggest that I put it back up. I never got around to it, but bumping into Isak again has inspired me to finally republish the post. Below is what I originally wrote. I never cease to be impressed by the interconnectedness of the world I live in.
On my last night in Darjeeling, news spread that Isak had committed suicide. Isak was a Swedish researcher who had done work with gangs in Guatemala City. He had been in Darjeeling since February writing a book, about what I am not sure. All the foreigners who stayed in Darjeeling for more than two weeks get to know each other. We chat over coffee, the only real-not-instant coffee in town, at Soman’s Kitchen. This is how I got to know Isak. He loved talking to me about Guatemala. Which bus company you are most likely to get robbed on, the belligerent yet complacent style of the police, chapin slang… We discussed the little things you reminisce about when you unexpectedly, out of context find someone who also knows the intimate details of the same something that you do.
About a month ago, Isak gave all his savings to a local family for the education of their oldest daughter. On Tuesday of last week, he showed up at Sarah’s house and gave her most of his gear. He said he wouldn’t need it even though he was going to depart to climb mount Kanchenjunga the next day. Sarah thought it was strange, “Like Into the Wild,” she told me shortly after he had given her his things. Isak seemed to be having a hard time. Maybe he just needed to get out of town for a bit to clear his head. On Sunday night, he was found dead in his apartment. I am honored to write about him here because, as New Orleans has taught me, no one’s death should be a quiet affair. May he find his peace in the hills of Darjeeling.
