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.