Sexual intercourse with a donkey

December 3rd, 2009: Tomorrow I will be entering the north coast of Colombia. I am told that it is common for men in the sticks of this region to lose their virginity to a donkey and to continue having sexual relations with them. With this said, women seem to not think it is a big deal if they are with someone who has sex with donkeys.

So, if a man has sex with a donkey…could they transfer STD’s? If so, would it be a valid argument if you pass a sexually transmitted disease onto your wife, to say that you didn’t cheat on her but you got it from a donkey? Throughout my travels I heard of chickens and sheep, but a donkey? – it seems that a nice swift kick to the twins would put this activity to an end.

Expressing how it must hurt the donkey, my friend from the north coast laughed and asked if I have ever seen the appendage on a male donkey, insinuating that a man…even a man of porno star potential would not distress a female donkey.

In the border towns of Mexico, men will pay to see a donkey show involving indescribable activities with a woman and a male donkey. Now the question is…would women pay to see a female donkey with a man? If so, there could be a lot of money made out there, someone just needs to…do it.

Seat #13

December 2, 2009: Handing over my 1000 pound backpack to the conductor at the bus station to place underneath the coach, I was issued a receipt for my baggage, making my way to seat #13 as I comfortably sat down, pulling out my book and iPod awaiting my 10 hour journey to small town of El Banco, Colombia. I was extremely happy to finally get the opportunity to truly relax, since I arrived at the bus station 8 hours ago. It is not like I enjoy hanging around bus station for extended periods of time, I just decided that there was no reason for me to leave the station after an 18 hour bus ride to a town I have already been to. In addition to this, the first time I was here I was taken advantage of by an old crusty mischievous man in yellow automobile who was soliciting his services. Even if I did want to spend the night, I didn’t even remember the proper name of where I stayed except for the name I gave it…the Drug House - it was better that I didn’t leave the bus station.

Shortly after sitting down, I realized that someone else was issued a ticket for the same seat. A woman asked me if I could sit in her seat (my misinterpreted translation) so that her kids can sit together. Not minding where I sat since I already had an aisle seat, I happily agreed. The bus continued to fill up as the people were pilling on, soon to find out I was occupying a seat that belonged to someone else. Not understanding what was going on and to avoid playing a late night game of musical chairs, I waved for the conductor as he came down the aisle to see what the issue was. The issue was swiftly resolved as I was…kicked off the bus before it even left. Everyone seemed to be staring at me as I did the walk of shame down the aisle as I made my way toward the door. What a horrible time to find out that I waited at the bus station for 8 hours to discover that I somehow bought a ticket that was to leave tomorrow night at 10pm, not tonight.

Getting off the bus that had no more space, I was a bit frustrated since this company has only one bus a night that leaves for this destination…meaning that I might have to get a room for the night - defeating the whole purpose on why I was at the station the entire day. Quickly I made it up to the ticket counter as I successfully faked a smile informing the man who previously sold me the ticket on what happened. He tried to issue me a ticket on the full bus - not surprised of the expression that overtook his face. Having a whispering match between himself and his manager, they seemed to have an answer. Quickly they gave me my money back as the manager walked me over to the next ticket counter to a company that also transports people to El Banco, which thankfully happened to have some available seats.

When the ticket was placed in my hands for a bus that left in 20 minutes, I was able to take a deep breath -that was immediately lost as soon as I realized something important…I forgot my backpack in the luggage compartment on the bus that should have left 8 minutes ago. Painfully sprinting (another story) down 3 flights of stairs I made it to the security gate seeing my ex-bus through the glass window with its headlights on. Trying to clear security, the man wouldn’t let me through the exit point nor would the ticket agent let me through the entrance point since my bus that I just bought a ticket for has not yet arrived. My mind went blank forgetting how to say anything in Spanish, reverting to pointing and making silly shapes with my hands. I did not know the terminology to explain what happened, nor did I have the time to pull out my dictionary and look it up. Managing to speak some hard core Spanglish very quickly, I showed the woman a tiny crinkled piece of paper that slightly resembled a receipt for my baggage on a different bus. She kept shaking her head left and right when I needed it to go up and down. Eventually she let me through not knowing if she knew what I was saying or just saw the panic on my face. Clearing the gate I ran down the loading area, dodging porters and boxes that occupied my path to my bus that was slowing backing up. Hitting the front windshield, the driver stopped the rotating wheels and looked at me as if I was crazy. Showing him my receipt and pointing down he seemed to realize what was taking place as a smile came across his face.

Pulling out my luggage from the depth of the bus, I would not look up at the passengers in the window, too embarrassed on what just happened as the sweat poured from my face with my heart about to rip out of my chest and run away. Still in a daze, I could not help to think of my initial hesitation when I received my ticket for 13…seat #13.

Champion of the World

November 24th, 2009: I played the final match of a 7 game series of Yatzee tonight with my friend. After my running throws from the front door to the dining room table, the fake spit, obnoxious exaggerated shaking of the dice, yells of joy and my frequent use of the infamous double pinky curse…I came out victorious. With an ending score of 548 which involved 3 Yatzee’s - 2 of them where all 6’s… you would think that I made a deal with the devil.

Sadly, at the end of the game, I didn’t feel like the champ since my friend who lost acted as if she just lost an unborn fetus, misplacing all emotions. I was unable to comfortably play a few key songs by Queen such as, “Another One Bites The Dust” or “We Are The Champions” as I did yesterday thinking it was not wise to potentially push her to a point where my physical safety might be in jeopardy.

The circus lives!

October 24th, 2009: I went to the circus in Popayan tonight, warning my friend Martha that circuses are not what the use to be and that it will more than likely be entertaining due to how bad the shows are, not good. I was so…wrong. Some of the shows were amazing not to mention unbelievable. As others, I am not sure what word or words would describe it. Such as the act where a scantily dress woman would squat over a happy volunteer’s face in her little skirt rocking her hips in a motion that is usually done in a back sit of a car as he laid on his back with the young children watching – which was incredible that they could perform this show without parents creating an uproar.

There was a performance that a motorcycle rider would go quickly around in an enclosed metal hamster ball containing a man with zero brain cells standing there in the center. They should have given him a cigarette and a blind fold but he had nothing…as I previously said, not even a brain cell. To make it more exciting, later in the act the man exited the ball and they brought in another motorcycle. The motorcycles engines mechanical screams masked the screams that came from the audience. I forgot to breathe – it was that exciting.

I am always looking for some good photo ops, but not today…I knew that the slightest mistake in some of these acts would have been resulted in a seriously injured circus employee who made me once again believe that the circus can still be the, “Greatest Show on Earth.”

During one of the clown acts the speakers in the background were putting out some uncensored music from Too Short, teaching the fine young kiddies how to pronounce the necessary street terminology school kids are taught in Oakland, California…such as the words shit, bitch, pussy and some other fine obscenities. I was looking around to see if anyone else was realizing what was being said but everyone seemed oblivious to the vulgar language as I laughed.

Originally I wanted to see the lion show but after watching them perform…I no longer want to witness another one. They looked so sad as the animal beater was cracking his whip – he doesn’t hold the right to be called an animal trainer. It would have been enjoyable to see some upcoming footage for the TV series, “When good animals go bad” but it didn’t ended up not happening…tonight.

After today’s shows I have complete faith that the circus is not dead and shall continue to live with performances such as these.

I officially dedicate today to be…

October 16th, 2009: Staying at a family’s house outside the town of San Jose de Alban, I had the opportunity to make some bread…by hand. Never again will I barter for bread trying to get it $0.50 cheaper of the already ridiculously low prices. A 55+ year old woman and myself took turns spinning this wooden non-electric kitchen utensil between our hands, looking as if we were attempting to start a fire at the bottom of this humongous bowl with a billion egg whites.

Pretending that it was not that difficult, I was exhausted thinking that this woman had some nicely hidden muscles behind her excess flab. I can control how I look, but unfortunately it is not possible for me to control how much sweat is to be released and the ability to keep my baby soft hands from getting blisters. Today I am grateful that I was raised in such a physically lazy society that kept one of these wooden hand mixers out of my draw of kitchen utensils. I officially dedicate today to be…Electronic Kitchen Appliance Day, to appreciate the inventors of time and calorie saving appliances.

Off the beaten path

October 16th, 2009: Shortly after arriving to San Jose de Alban, which is a small rural farming community in southern Colombia, I was invited to the local pool for a swim. Every move of mine at this body of water was clearly being watched, feeling as if the pastiness of my skin was drawing some extra attention. After a while, someone eventually sat near me as I could see that he wanted to say something. Saying, “Hola” broke this invisible barrier between us as almost everyone cleared the pool, surrounding me. There I sat with about 20 people as I spoke some impressive Spanglish. I must say…I am definitely off the beaten path.

I was invited here for 5 days to write a piece about this new agro-tourism project that just began giving tours. The activities range from eco hikes, visiting local farms, learning about rural life in Colombia and about the sustainable farming practices that they do as well as learning more about how coffee, panela, fique and other products that are cultivated and processed here.

The argo-tourism project’s itinerary is similar to a famous quote from the film, Forrest Gump that has been slightly modified, “This tour is like a box of chocolates…you never know what your going to get.” This experience has no set itinerary, it all depends the season and the activities that members in the association are doing that day.

No longer do I need to try to peer into the house of some local during my travels trying to get a glimpse on how they live without bearing the harsh label, “Peeping Tom.” This argo-tourism project out here has given me the opportunity to see what goes on in a small Colombian community not yet infected by tourism, but is patiently in line waiting to be.

Facial Leak

October 14th, 2009: Waking up in the morning on the top bunk, I look down and see a young Israeli man in a thin sheet curled in the fetal position looking as if he was left to die in base camp at Mount Everest. I felt bad because I was nice and warm under my blankets next to the window which I opened last night - which is not a common thing for me to do but a situation arose that it became necessary for my own survival.

Waking up at about 2am, I noticed a smell. Thinking that it was a strange smell, I inhaled again, having trouble identify what it was. Thinking that it was kind of late to be eating, I discovered what was going on underneath my bunk as soon as I was coherent enough to understand what was being said. The girl below me who was drinking earlier seemed to have consumed too many beverages as she sprung a leak in her bed soaking everything in a 1.5 foot radius around her facial opening.

The Israeli helping her is the definition of a true gentleman because he wanted nothing from her since he already swapped spit with another girl from a few beds down, not to mention on who would want to swap anything with someone who obviously needed to brush her teeth and the pull the mess out of her hair besides a rapist? He did not just help out vomit girl last night by assisting her in covering the moist bed with toilet paper but also gave her his blanket so she would be warm after discarding her soiled blanket in the corner of our room. I need to write his Israeli mother for raising such a fine son. As for myself…when I was hearing what was going on, I relied on my iPod to muffle unwanted noises - I have little sympathy for over consumers. The odor was so strong that putting the blankets over my head didn’t filter the odor, opening the window as I went back to sleep…hoping that she didn’t fill my shoes or backpack that laid next to her during her uncontrollable outbursts - figuring that it was too late now to do anything about it. What have I done to be around so many people that perform this type of activity at such close proximity?

The BBQ Belly

October 10th, 2009: Wanting to save some money and to test our stomach strength, my friends and I went to dinner where the locals ate. The street was lined with BBQs making it difficult to decide on what table to sit at. I ended up making the selection by not the cleanliness of the tables or by the amount of people that occupied these tables…my decision was based solely on the size of the guys’ belly that was controlling the grill. I figured that a guy who supports a third trimester and controls the BBQ has to possess a PhD in art of Barbequing.

When our meals arrived at our table, it was time to test my selection process. Taking a bite, my method was confirmed, the meat was cooked to perfection. So when in doubt, go with the biggest belly…the BBQ belly.

Vomit Sandwich

October 8th, 2009: Sitting on a bench seat on a 3 hour boat ride from Isabella Island to Santa Cruz Island, I was fortunate enough to seat between two people with stomachs that didn’t appreciate the rough sea. I originally thought the man to my right was eating something due to the smell that drifted over to my nasal passages and when I looked over, I realized that my guess was slightly off since he wasn’t eating anything but was producing something that was eaten. Looking over to my left I came to the realization that I was involuntarily involved in a real life vomit sandwich as a woman had a black bag sealed to her face making a deposit. Handing the woman a moist wipe the side of her face, I closed my eyes as I turned up the volume to my music, hoping my hearing damage will be minimal as I tried to muffle the noises around me.

Iguana crossing

October 3rd, 2009: A guy who blatantly ignored an iguana crossing sign was punished today for his inability to read pictures as he went over the handle bars as the bike toppled to the ground when trying to avoid hitting the large mobile speed bump as it sprinted across the gravel road. Quickly looking back to see if anybody saw him, I was there and unfortunately could not contain the noises that came from inside. Learning from him, the next time I see a deer crossing, pedestrian crossing, duck crossing or even a turtle crossing…I will slow down and will be ready to take evasive action.

Altercation with a hostel manager

September 30th, 2009: I had an opportunity to speak to a hostel manager today. Perhaps she was having a bad week, year or even life. Maybe this explains why she is alone. Her physical appearance can’t be criticized since it was her parents fault for recklessly bumping uglys’ but her internal ugliness is her own doing. This altercation stemmed from being charged a room rate for two people. They wanted to charge me for a friend who was at that moment thousands of feet in the air on an iron bird flying back to the United States from Quito which she arrived at the day before.

The housekeeper, who was clearly mistaken, claimed that she saw my friend leave my room the morning in question. The manager asked me what does she supposes to do, when she is being told her employee saw her. Her voice became elevated as she began using ghetto like gangster gestures momentarily throwing me off guard since I am on the Galapagos Islands, not Compton, California. Translating what she told me, I wanted to verify what she was saying. Asking the manager if she was calling me a liar…she paused for a brief moment…and said,”yes.”

Ten dollars seems like a really small amount but it was that she didn’t believe me and accused me for being a liar - I am not claiming that I am a saint or that I never lie. Not to mention $10.00 could cover a future room night or even a payment in full for woman to tell me, “Me love you long time” (Full Metal Jacket). Her mother happened to overhear our conversation and thankfully stepped in to help settle my bill.

Please, pick me up or run me over

September 28th, 2009: Seconds away from renting a quality bike for the entire day…I hesitated. Instead of choosing a higher quality bike, I decided to look for something more…economical. Finding a shop that rented bikes for $10 a day instead of $20, I quickly said I will take it before even looking at it - only remembering my other bike experiences after the words exited my mouth. The old gentleman went in the back of the office and disappeared for a little bit. I am not sure if he had to steal someone’s unlocked bike that had the notion that nobody would ever steal such a “piece” to coincide with my special price, but out came something with two wheels and a seat. I am happy to say that the bike did have functional brakes. Paying the $10, I was not asked sign anything, give them a name or even tell them where I was staying – as I previously said…it was probably stolen and the guy didn’t want the bike to be traced back to him if I was stopped.

Riding down the street on the bike which happened to weigh much, much, much more than myself, there was a lot of chatter coming from all over my economical tubular mode of transportation. Disembarking the bike I thoroughly made a delayed inspection and noticed that my headset that was loose…and a twisty thing next to the crank…and…and the main bolt that connected the rear shock to the bike also needed to be tightened. This work was all performed by my 10 little friends since I did not have anything that resembled tools except these fingers of mine.

I quickly learned on what gears not to go in when standing up due to the chain wanting to skip or leave the crank completely. There were also some gears that my chain did not like to shift into and would only listen to me if I would hold its links and manually place it on my desired gear of choice. I was still happy with my bicycle selection since I never liked having all those easy choices on what gear to go into anyhow.

Asking a woman for the directions to Puerto Chino beach, she looked at me as if I was crazy and waved her hand forward about 30 or so times to stress on how far it was. Smiling, off I went up the first hill that lasted for about 10km with a few miniscule downhill sections. I vigorously peddled for about the first 0.5km and it felt as if I walked the remaining 9.5km since it was easier to push the 140+ pound bike up the hills than to ride it. The remaining 10km were almost completely downhill, rewarding me for making it the first bit without quitting. I clearly remembered the condition of my bike and the haphazard maintenance I performed earlier in the day, choosing not to go too fast in this long downhill section incase my headset or some other important item decided to leave my bike without my permission.

As I was dropping down to a lower elevation, I was unfortunately completely aware that I was going to at some point, push my bike back up everything that was I passing. Calculating the time it was going to take me to get back to where I rented my bike, I figured it would be well after closing time. I decided to worry about it later, figuring that it will all work out and kept gliding down the road.

Making it to the National Park center that helps restore the tortoise population in San Cristobal, for some odd reason I locked up my potentially stolen bike in this abandon parking lot and made my way inside. Hiking on a trail that wrapped around the park I came upon several gigantic tortoises. Whenever I would approach too closely to one of these prehistoric looking reptiles, they would make this noise sounding as if this was the noise Steven Spielberg was trying to reproduce when Darth Vader would breathe.

Eventually, I made it to the end of the road. I spent more time on the mediocre beach than I should have because I knew that a long 20km road needed to be conquered in order to get back to my hostel. Leaving the beach, I began pushing my bike up the steep endless incline. The thought of how long of it took me to get down from the midway point would not leave my head. Playing some music on my iPod, I was hoping that it would help muffle my gasps for oxygen and to somehow keep me from passing out from exhaustion and dehydration. Prior to my bike ride I made the executive decision that I was not going to bring water. This was a well thought out moronic decision since I usually never drink it, and secondly, I couldn’t fit it in my camera bag. Each step up the hill became harder and harder as my body somehow began to operate on its own as I continued to move forward.

Exhausted, I wanted to just lie on the road so someone would stop and pick me up or just end my misery now and run me over – whichever came first…but the roads were silent. Swaying left and right along the road, I tried a variety of positions pushing the bike realizing that the weight was not going to change. Passing a small town with a house selling drinks I stopped for some ice cold thirst quenching lemonade. When sitting here, I decided that I was not going to ride my bike all the way back to town. Thinking that it would be nice to take a taxi, the cost from where I was would be about a $35…which I was not yet willing to pay. My plan was to hitch a ride, with a backup plan that if I had to take a cab…I would tell the driver to take me as far as $5 would get me - hoping my tears and pleas would get me to at least the midway point. From there, I would be okay since it is mostly downhill.

Finally, some cars passed by me going in the other direction…giving me hope, as a smile slowly came to my face. I knew they were going to have to come back my way at some point. I continued to walk just in case I was not able to get a ride. Still swaying, I noticed that I had the ability to move slower than the tortoises that I saw earlier today. Hearing a car coming up the hill in my direction, I got off the road and imitated the face of Puss in Boots (Shrek). It worked! A pickup truck pulled over on the side of the road as I somehow found enough energy in me to lift my bike in back without a crane. The woman told me that they were going town but it was going to be slower than a cab. Of course this was not an issue, as I sat in the back seat with a huge smile on my face. The smile was so big and was there for so long, I thought I was going to be left with some permanent stretch marks by the end of the trip. Up every hill my smile was somehow getting bigger, eventually looking like the smile of the Joker (Jack Nicolson, Batman).

I did not understand why we were moving so slowly along the gravel roads until we pulled over. The passenger in the front seat handed a guy sitting in back with me a plastic bag and one rubber glove. “Huh?” I thought. The man left the vehicle and crossed the road to pick something up…road kill. Putting the bird into the bag, he got back into the truck as we continued our trip back to town. After a while the bag seemed to be getting quite large with rotting birds and other small critters. I could not figure out why he kept coming inside the truck with the bag of death instead of placing it in the back of the pickup. Happy that I don’t have a good sense of smell, I sat there…continuing to smile thinking about all of the peddling I was wasn’t doing.

Eventually, I made it back to town as I painfully rode my bike, returning it to the shop I rented it from. Handing it over I felt as if I was just released from some prisoner of war camp as I wanted to kiss the ground knowing that is was over. Sitting down at my favorite local dive, as my legs throbbed… I was extremely grateful for being picked up…rather than run over.

BIG mistake in my choice of words

September 27th, 2009: Feeling like drinking something different than my usual glass of blackberry juice with breakfast, I decided to try expand my horizons. Thinking that pineapple juice would be nice choice, I casually asked for, un hugo de pene – realizing at that moment I just asked for Penis juice, wanting to stab myself with the butter knife that sat at my table and laugh at the same time. Thankfully the owner understood that I did not want to drink his personal protein fortified juice and said, “ok, un hugo de piňa.”

Exploring the Galapagos Islands

September 24th, 2009: Today was the last day of an 8 day organized boat tour of the Galapagos Islands and first day of my 18 day independent exploration of the 3 inhabited islands. Already taking perhaps over 5000 photos, I was told that I took more photos than Japanese people…by a Japanese woman. Yes, on this trip I don’t think that I had to worry too much about raccoon eyes from my sunglasses but I did have to be concerned about camera eye…looking like spot. The itinerary on the boat was so full and after curling my 10 pound camera all day, by 9pm, I had no energy left to write, change clothes or to even shower as I sprawled out on my tiny bed, dead to what was going on around me.

Most of the wildlife that roamed between and on the islands would just go about their business as you would walk or swim by them treating you as if you were just another animal not in the food chain. I needed to be alert when walking on the trails since if I was not aware of where I was stepping, I could have easily squashed a pile of tanning iguanas or tripped over a female sea lion that would engulf the path with her fatty body exposing her impressive leaking sandy nipples. Crying baby pups would fill the air as they scooted across the beach looking for their mothers that all dressed the same making it difficult for them to be located. At times the momma sea lions would lash out at the little rogue titty suckers that were true coinsures of milk trying to sampling the makings of the other parents.

I am not the Sea Lion Whisper but I could swear that some of the unhappy mothers seemed to be wishing that their children had some nice white furry coats so that someone would club them and take away their responsibilities as their children would eventually become some designer jacket, wallet, or a domesticated pet’s chew toy.

There is too much in my journal to try to figure out what I should and shouldn’t expand on. The few photos that I posted pretty much tells the story of the trip to the islands.

Most backpacker will skip this trip due to the expense. I try to explain to them that if they are traveling alone, to think of the overall price being half off. I say this because if they decide to go later in life and are married, the trip would cost twice as much. If I missed this trip, I would have missed out on one of the top ten trips in my life.