The United States and Colombia has failed me

June 27th, 2010: Needing to support the US in the world cup, I made a friendly bet with my newly acquired Peruvian friend, Maritza who is here on vacation. After the US sadly lost its match, I was giving ever so kindly given another chance to lessen my losses.

Two women (?) were about to fight each other in a world title match on TV and the fighters happened to be from Peru and Colombia. The woman from Colombia looked like a shemale Coastano version of Mike Tyson and the Peruvian was looking more like a patch lickin skinny crack addict. I obviously picked the Colombian to win, but unfortunately after 10 painful rounds, I was too failed by Colombia and now needing to buy the winner a total of about four drinks - which is my total consumption of alcohol for 2 nights out.

Four drinks is that not that many for someone from South American except that she is on holiday and has been enjoying it to the fullest starting in the early hours of the day chasing it with toothpaste. Heading to multiple discotecs, I happened to show off my ability to sit at the bar or one of the multiple tables and on occasion I would show my skills and rip up the dance floor…white boy style.

By 4:00am Maritza was on her way to a KO. Perhaps I too was on my way to some distant land…more so from exhaustion (my photo could say different). Losing all of the other a long long time ago, we jumped into a cab to save ourselves from walking 4 or so blocks and up one step uphill…and possibly saved myself from fireman carrying my 4.8 foot, 70 pound friend (just a wild guess).

I heard about drinks putting hair on your chest but…on you head? All the hair I grew on the top of my head from the earlier consumption of the local drink, a pisco sour…it was quickly shed from the slow motion adrenaline spike the taxi driver caused. No worries though, I prefer not carrying shampoo anyhow.

After the brief one minute ride, we made it back to the front door of the hostel. Getting out of the cab which was parked on the cobble stoned San Franciscan style inclined street…the cab stalled and began an uncontrolled roll backwards. The door hitting me at least twice as I did a side run backward before getting out the doors way leaving Maritza to her death as she sat dazed in the back seat. I saw the panic in the driver’s eyes as the car was going unintentionally backward, but was somehow suddenly stopped a foot or two away from taking out a house.

A wonderful night out in Peru…but, once again I need to enforce my two drink limit...that is unless it is a picso sour with its head hair growing capabilities.

The people and peaks of Huaraz

June 25th, 2010: Huaraz…is just what I thought Peru would be. Many beautiful blinding white broken mountains making shapes that I have never seen. I want to visit every peak and completly explore this region and participate in some of the activities they have here like going on a trek, a rock climbing trip, take some ice climbing classes, a horseback ride and the most exciting would be a summit climb up to one of the mountains. Perhaps not enough oxygen is hitting my brain here at 10,013 feet (3,052 meters) because I must remember I need to get up to some of these places by myself – yes, I can hire some donkeys for my gear which I will definitely do that to help out with the local economy.

Things here in Huaraz seem a bit off key. For example: when ordering a café con leche (coffee with milk) I don’t get what I would get in most countries…a cup of coffee with some or a lot of milk mixed together or even with a little cup of milk on the side. Here, for the second time today, I was served a large hot frothy glass of milk and a tiny creamer size dispenser as if it was from a child’s Ms. Homemaker play set with coffee in it to pour into the milk.

As for the women here…a lot of them seem to be into men’s fashion supporting a nice ill fitted hat, 5 sizes too small for their head. I have seen this style before in other South American regions but these hats seem to be different. The height of these hats is what sets them apart. I would say that some are higher that a woman’s neck line to the top of their head. Is this something that they do to compensate for their lack of height, such as women in the US will wear high heeled shoes - or just date shorter men?

Vertically challenged pregnant man fight

June 24, 2010: I watched an extremely angry game of Peruvian old man soccer on the basketball court today. There were a few games going on but this one had the most yelling…everyone was screaming at everyone…so I chose this one first hoping I would be able to see a friendly fight between the vertically challenged (aka Peruvians) since I had my camera today.

I sat for quite some time and right toward the end…it happened. One man took off his belt as he struck his friend and the other guy grabbed a miniature backpack to defend his miniature self as he swung it striking the other man as they ran around the court chasing and hitting each other looking like two circus clowns. It quickly stopped after about 12 seconds…the men seemed to be a tad out of shape and pregnant, supporting a late second trimester - thus preventing them from going another 12 second round. Happening and stopping so quickly, I did not have time to pull out my camera. The man holding the belt tried to hug him after to make up but the other man didn’t seem to want the sweaty form of affection.

Not all games were that angry. At one game, some of the younger participants seemed as if they were having fun or at least having a good phone conversation since about 3 or 4 of them were multitasking, playing soccer and holding cell phones…including one of the goalies. I remember picking dandelions in the field when I played tee-ball since almost nobody could hit it that far…how nice it would have been to have a cell phone to talk to friends while participating in sports.

Yes…I am joking. Not having an active phone anymore has done me some good. Hopefully when I get home...one day, I will remember my current view on cell phones and not fall back into my old ways.

Peruvian Mud Piles part II

June 22nd, 2010: The piles are getting better…when is there a “part II” and it is actually better? Perhaps it is because some of them are 99.4458587% reconstructed to how some highly educated or highly imaginative people thought it looked before and/or after Mr. Christ. I don’t know why countries just don’t make their own reconstructed piles and keep the tourism dollars, pesos or dongs in their own country.

A meal fit for a Conman

June 22nd, 2010: I met this really kind woman that owned a cross between a coffee shop and a grocery store in Chiclayo. Since she worked 7 days a week 16 hours a day, it was always easy to go to her place to hang out and practice my Spanish – especially since she doesn’t know any English. They use a lot of different words down here and I am still trying to adjust. Teaching me not just Spanish, she taught me how to make Cerviche – a meal with raw fish, shrimp, peppers, onions soaked in lemon juice. Making a big plate, I forced myself to eat everything but the shrimp…I can only do so much kindness. Will I make Cerviche again?…no. Will I make it for someone else?...perhaps my enemies or a hungry conman.

Yes, I was able to sit at a table face to face with a conman who tried to take advantage of my kindness. He informed me he worked for Carnival Cruises as a cook and needed to practice his English so that he could out of the kitchen and make more money as a server. Working for an international hotel chain in my past life, I knew exactly what he was saying, hitting my weak spot. So I agreed to help him with his English for about 30 minutes prior to my meeting my friends.

He invited me for a soda while I wrote some common phrases that is important for servers like, “where is my tip?“ “this is not my table” and other important things we all love to hear. Coming back to the table with the soda he said the shop had no change for his 100 Soles (about $35 USD). The already red dim light that was shinning in my brain just jumped to a full red light…hmm…so did he just want a free soda I thought? - a lot of work for a free soda. Then it clicked, as he asked if I had change for a 100 Soles. This place is notorious for bad bills so I am told. Instead of leaving I decided to stay – worse case scenario, he couldn’t take anything since I had nothing on me…almost nothing. I told him not to worry about it and bought the soda.

Then he tried a different route to swindle me of my money. Now he told me he was leaving to Ecuador tomorrow afternoon and asked if I has some US dollars (Ecuador’s currency is the US dollar) I could exchange with him – when down the street there are a whole slew of money exchangers standing in the street with brick sized wads of cash. I wanted to laugh at his stupidity and was enjoying everything he was throwing at me without doing it the easy way by just attempting to beat me up for it. Thinking about it...I wonder if he was hungry?

You really never know a woman till you she her…

June 20th, 2010: Sitting at a park within the city with a billion others, I relaxed and people watched…my specialty. A woman caught my attention that seemed quite attractive as she was standing there dressed conservatively as if she was out of an clothing advertisement for Banana Republic. She seemed to be waiting for someone. When her friend arrived she exposed her smile…you really never know a women till you see her smile. I had to laugh.

She had the most “bling” I have ever seen in a woman’s mouth. Her upper grill was all gold except for the two next to the front teeth which were silver. The teeth even seemed smaller than normal sized teeth so she could fit more in her mouth…amazingly scary and funny at the same time.

I must add this to my requirement list for my future wife…no excessive amounts of gold or silver front teeth. If we are meant to be…buy her a set of dentures for any holiday that you can buy them something, even if it is not an obligatory holiday to exchange gifts like Saint Patrick’s day.

Peruvian mud piles

June 19th, 2010: Didn’t make it to ruins of Chan Chan…ended up changing my mind at the bus station going to Chiclayo instead, a town a few hours prior to the Chan Chan ruins. Here I had my first true experience to visit some Peruvian archaeological sites named Sipan and Tucume. After day one…I feel already knocked out…from boredom. So far, I don’t think I care too much for the archaeological sites in the Americans. The ruins really force you to use your imagination - of coarse when a lot of them are made of mud piles and not stone…which obviously lacks the ability to be very effective against the elements after 1000’s or so years.

You can really see a lot from a window

June 18th, 2010: Wow…as always, I prefer taking a bus during the day and today’s ride enforced this. Even though I don’t save on accommodations as I would on the night bus, I treat the day bus as if I was an immobile senor on a world tour looking through the window…and truthfully, it is not all that bad - if you can keep your eyes open long enough.

On the bus today I saw some amazing contraptions to sell guava (I think), these giant disgustingly healthy green bean looking things looking things genetically altered to grow 1,000,000 times its normal size. The 15 or 20 women selling them were standing there outside the bus were looking as if they were going to lynch someone with a smile. They were all holding a long wooden stick practically twice the height of them with a plastic container on the end in which some guava was strapped to so that the 4 foot tall grown women and 3 foot tall teenagers can lift it up to the double-decker bus windows with the plastic container to conveniently drop your payment in.

The terrain in this area is so flat and so dry with such large cracks in the soil that you could reach your arm into or happily lose an annoying girlfriends miniature dog. If you are lucky enough you could twist your ankle in one of the cracks and perhaps get an opportunity to sue someone, “North American Style.” But this is South America, so I don’t think it would get too far in a court of law.

I seem to be drawn to flat desserts…when there is no or very little greenery, just the multiple shades of browns and grays of sand or dirt. If you took the state of Iowa and tore out every living thing and all there was left was some dirt and a few scrubby bushes to catch some of the blowing garbage…you would have a good idea what Northwestern Peru looks like. It is amazing that so many people live out here in this unworkable land with the houses made out of scraps whether it is made out of bricks, manufactured wood or wooden sticks found by the characters from the book that stars three little pigs.

You can really see a lot from a window – all sorts of windows…cars, buses, planes, trains, homes and hotels. You just need to open those eyes and look.

I ‘m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…

June 17th, 2010: Sitting on the beach in a nice piece of shade, reading a book by my favorite author, Paulo Coelho, my mind went off into the past that wasn’t so past ago. I was thinking about Point Reyes National Seashore in California and was remembering how much I loved that place and the memories that stain the sand with it. Looking up I saw a puppy peering from the top of a sand bank near me. Locking eyes, he ran down and wanted to play…perfect timing, arriving right before I was about to get homesick.

He was a white puppy…a white puppy with lots and lots of little specks, black specks. Looking more closely, he was covered with fleas, large cities of fleas perhaps the size of NYC. Not wanting to pet him any longer, I tried to ignore him but he wouldn’t have it, barking and barking with his tail wagging as if someone was winding it up since birth and finally letting it go. I just could not pet him and tried not to look at him since I did want anyone of his miniature friends to disembark. After about 20 minutes of giving NYC (the puppies new name thanks to me) the silent treatment, he eventually understood and thankfully decided to grab a feather and carry it up the hill to play by himself. Feeling bad…but, I had enough mosquito bites to deal with.

Later in the evening, I joined the hostel for a campfire of about 30 people on the beach. The fire was large enough that we were all able to get comfortable as we enjoyed the warmth as we listened to the ocean rubbing against the shore between sets of the drunken man on the guitar - not knowing one complete song so it seemed.

Popping out from behind someone, I saw the carrier, NYC. Not needing to tell anyone of his issues, since everyone seemed to already know and also tried to push him away and in some cases a casual toss him when all he wanted to do was play…and drink a little beer.

He was getting none of it. Getting frustrated he started to bite people in the arm and feet, even showing his high jumping abilities going up toward their faces for a kiss with teeth. I’m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…with fleas. This should be a lesson for everyone, not just dogs…no matter how cute you are…if you have lice, crabs, scabies or other some other living thing enjoying the comforts of your hair follicles - clean or dirty, you will not be taken home.

Do good girls sleep bottomless…in a hostel?

June 16th, 2010: I woke up early this morning to enjoy the morning light to take some photos. I quickly noticed that the women in the bunk below me doesn’t sleep with underwear on as she laid there with her skirt pulled up all the up. I wonder if it was her that did that massive trim job in the communal bathroom since the toilet bowl rim was covered with an enormous amount of unexplained hair.

I had a full day of saving sea beach creatures, tossing them back into the water as I walked along the Pacific Ocean for about 6 hours taking photos of almost anything and everything. You would think after reviewing some of my photos that I have never seen a crab before in my entire life.

It seems like today’s theme was wildlife…most of it being dead – easier to take I suppose. I would also like to add, a bit more interesting too. I posted some of them in the new Peru photo album for your viewing pleasure.

Besides dead creatures I happened to see a lot of Spanish speaking hippies not yet learning that they cannot make the same pot bracelet everyone else is making and expect to sell them. They need to sell something that is different from the other 2,000 bracelet makers in the town of 10,000 - they must have stayed in school longer enough to learn at least the basic business principles.

The people above me on the second floor are now having sex. I can hear the bed a rocking and some noises as sand is falling through the cracks in the floor and dusting my bed…I think she likes it. Wait…they are done…they are now talking - how lame.

I really enjoyed the ocean the past few days reading some sappy girlie book and deciding on where I am going to go next. I might be leaving to head south to Chan Chan in a few days which has been called the largest mud city in the world. So…I will be seeing some really, really, really old mud soon.

And…the computer says?

June 15th, 2010: Clearing immigration, exiting Colombia, I made my way across a bridge to see if immigration in Ecuador could count to 90. Before finding out I was stop by some sort of Ecuadorian drug enforcement agency. I was pulled to the side and then to a dimly lit room. The questions began, “do you have drugs?”, “do you do drugs?”, “just once?”, “come on…tell me”, “did you have sex with any Colombian women” – giving them a strange look for such a strange question, he simulating a cock in his mouth. After my interrogation, they proceeded to take out everything – everything…this was before I was given a cheap feel by a man to make sure that I was only packing a dirty tube sock.

Little did the officers know on how much of an effort I put into making everything fit as they were unfolding my obsessively perfectly folded clothing. They kept asking me the same questions over and over perhaps thinking I would change my mind. After about 45 minutes, I was deemed drug free with the stamp of approval as everything I owned laid all across the room on two tables and some chairs. Before leaving me to repack my backpack…they told me they caught 10 backpackers today. So it wasn’t the huge blackened bags beneath my eyes… I was profiled.

Once I finally arrived to the Ecuadorian immigration desk, the officer behind the glass window swiped my Passport and began to process me into the country. On the form I was handed, I so happened not to fill out how many days I was in Ecuador last year…hoping he was not going to manually count. Looking at the computer for a moment, not even at the uncompleted form I handed him…he informed me I have only 7 days. I looked at him all confused as if I was completely unaware of reaching the 90 day limit for the year. Turning the computer towards me so that I can see, the computer said…7 days. I did almost everything to make him just change the 7 to some bigger number without having to slip him some Benjamin’s.

Me not completing my form obviously didn’t work nor did I suggest a charitable donation in order to see the number morph itself into some number that is more beneficial to me. It was not just me who I was thinking about…it is the also the Ecuadorian people and McDonalds, now not able to get my tourism dollars.

With no plans on being in Peru so quickly, I had to put away the Ecuador travel guide I picked up and deemed it worthless. Grabbing my general travel guide, South America on a Shoestring…I began to figure out a plan on what to do in Peru since I would be arriving there in about 27 hours via bus. I am glad the computer could count to 90, it gets an A.

I love soup, but NOT this soup!

June 13th, 2010: Okay…a few months ago I tried turtle soup. I didn’t care for it – at all. Today I went with a few of my friends from Popayan to the local market and had the courage to try…a different type of soup. In Spanish the soup is called ternero. It is the fetus and placenta from a momma cow. I took a healthy bite… after a few very short moments my taste buds became engaged. Slowly I chewed the bits trying to think about baseball (since it works for other things), to prevent my gag reflex from being engaged.

Not yet getting my soda, I was looking for anything…ketchup, hot sauce or even a nice bottle of bleach to get the residuals out of my mouth. No napkins were available to scrap my mouth clean and I seemed unable to throw up to get a more pleasant taste in my mouth. I know that onion breath and garlic breath is not pleasant…but what about fetus and placenta breathe? Spotting some rice across the table, I reached over friend Martha with my fork to inappropriately fill my mouth. I love soup, but NOT this soup!

Can Immigration count to 90?

June 12th, 2010: I am leaving tomorrow in the wee hours of the morning on a bus to make it over to Ecuador before the street lights are on. Here I will find out if Immigration can or cannot count. I say this because I was told by a credible source that I am only allowed to spend 90 wonderful days a year here which I already used up except for about 4 or so days.

If Immigration made it past 3rd grade and can count, I will have to make it down to Peru in record timing begging the driver not to stop in South American fashion every few kilometers trying to pick up passenger to fill the empty seats as if the driver was some John roaming the streets searching for women who are soliciting sex.

If Immigration can’t count or fall victims to my most excellent cartoon character impression of Puss in Boots from the film Shrek (when he is trying to get his way)…I will casually make it down to Peru sipping some instant coffee and snacking on guinea pigs along the way.

This visit to Colombia this time around has been more about visiting friends that I met along the way than exploring. I was almost snagged, but I am now moving south, attempting to complete South America in not so record timing.

I mailed some DVD’s of backed up photos and a few small handmade crafts for my traveling Christmas tree back home today after pinky promising to some narco trafficking enforcement agency that I am not mailing drugs…signing some document written in Spanish before getting fingerprinted. I can now travel without the need to fight anyone who might want to borrow my backpack without written consent even though they are not going to get too far with it due to the excessive poundage.

Liquid Dancing

June 11th, 2010: After finishing off a bottle of wine at my friends house…I looked down at my worn out pair of hiking shoes, conveniently transforming themselves into a worn out pair dancing shoes. They kindly walked me to two connecting grass huts with minor stumbling, to a place named…Rancho Grande. Tonight was singles night…a night that you have three different colored heart shaped stickers to choose from to indicate to the others at this meat market that you are: not looking, looking for a friend, or better yet…looking for a nice case of herpes to help you remember the night forever and ever and ever and ever.

Already dizzy enough to dance in circles, my friend and I continued to kill our brain cells as we purchased a bottle of Colombia’s p#ss, Agua Ardiente in order to have our own table for the night. This purchase was not a very wise purchase…pushing me way past my two drink limit - not good. Remember that typically whenever I go past this mark, I usually find myself humping a friend’s mom – I am sorry…whining a friend’s mom too other unwritable acts of indecency or wrong doing.

Being complemented on my massive improvement in dancing ability over the past year, I have to give thanks to all of the Ms. Colombia’s, Ms. Venezuela’s, Ms. Ecuador’s and Ms. Russia’s for all of their patience, free dance classes and for helping me reduce of my signature robotic dance moves. I must also thank Ms. Bottle of Red Wine and Ms. Agua Ardiente for the liquid dancing (aka liquid courage) which is fortunately becoming less and less of a requirement the longer I am here in South America.

Fountain of Youth? Superpowers?

June 8th, 2010: Every time I go through Popayan I seem to find some time in my extremely – extremely – extremely busy schedule to make it to my friend’s school in the tiny little town of Timbio which rests outside of Popayan, Colombia. Today’s visit was as wonderful as my others seeing some of the familiar faces who I haven’t seen for around 7 months.

Timbio seems to be a temporary fountain of youth for me as it is common for the high school students who attempt to guess my age to easily reduce it by 13 or so years. Either they have difficulties aging people with the absence of color or they are doing it on purpose to make older people feel good. Whoever said by guessing that someone is much younger than they really are, only flatters women…is a liar.

Today was a little different than my other visits. About twenty, 6th graders surrounded me on the second floor as they backed me up into the railing trying to speak to me in English. It was adorable as they stood there looking up at me with their toothless smiles, with all their necks seeming as if they were on the verge of snapping, committing an accidental mass death. Children seem to have superpowers as they can at anytime throw an extremely contagious smile that can break even the most hardened souls.

The 6th graders were introducing themselves too asking me about football (soccer), basketball and the LA Lakers. Being here today made me miss being around kids even more than I already do. Once again, I wonder if I should make lots and lots of babies when I get home or if I should just find some simpler way to be able to enjoy being in the presence of these wonderful little monsters with superpowers.

Saving money creates criminals

June 5th, 2010: Went to the movies to see Robin Hood (the only film in English) with my friend Ms. Roxidania (name changed to protect the offender) the other night and we decided to mutually smuggle in some contraband. We both had different ideas on what would be the best place to hide the goods. Since I have almost no butt, placing an icy cold soda and some gummy worm back there doesn’t change my appearance…significantly. I quickly pass security at the door who is checking bags but thankfully not backsides. As for my friend Ms. Roxidania, she thought placing the items deep inside her gargantuan purse would bore anyone before reaching the bottom who might decide to take a peak.

Ms. Roxidania was obviously wrong as the security officer sniffed out the items as if he was some airport security snack scenting dog, pulling the contraband out of her bag holding them high to show the others who were waiting to get through the door. As her stuff was carted away, I looked at her shocked on how she could have done such a thing trying not to laugh…as my butt was getting painfully numb from the time the soda spent resting between the crack of my…pants. So tonight…I learned that almost anyone could be influenced to be a criminal with the need to save some money and the desire to not be voluntarily raped at the concession stand.

A Power Washer in my mouth

June 4rd, 2010: Dental clinics in Colombia seem to make things easy here without a need for all of the paperwork. No medical history and no name is required or even requested. As long as you know that you have to sit in the chair that resembles some crude restraining device, minus the hand straps…you will be served.

Had my teeth cleaned yesterday in an extremely modern dental clinic by a dentist in Popayan for a grand total of $15.00 USD. My dentist with a huge plastic face shield was using a supposedly new technology sort of reminding me of a mini power washer. I sat in the chair trying not to laugh and smile too big as she was spraying my teeth as water was pouring out of my mouth and down my neck as the mist blanketed my face. Thankfully my clothes were dirty because they too needed a good washing.

I must say this office was much more sophisticated than my last two cleanings…being that my last one was out of a small garage with a chair behind a temporary wall. Here when they told me I had two cavities that needed to be fixed as I stalled until the next day so that I could get a second opinion - which ended up in my favor…no dental work needed.

With prices like these, when I am back in the US, I might have to fly to Colombia when I need a cleaning, a good teeth darkening or other types of perhaps costly dental work…as long as it is not out of a garage or some other creative makeshift dental office, a golden grill shouldn't be in my future anytime soon.

Taxes and Underwear

June 2nd, 2010: There is nothing like doing a boring thing like sitting at a table at around 1:00am, while filing taxes that were due April 15th…and getting a free underwear fashion show - front row. One woman appearance was brief as she did the cat walk. The other decided to sit in front of me on the couch and kept getting up and doing the occasional, “I dropped my pencil” pose. "Did she want me to put a few thousand Colombian Pesos in the elastic band of her underwear?" I thought. Or did she want something else? I wasn’t at some Victory Secret fashion show, brothel or a strip club…this was all done in the comforts at a table in my…hostel.

Both women had underwear model body potential except for one having the face of a German man with stereotypical German style circular glasses. I caught myself giving her longer than appropriate panty gazes, attempting to see any signs of tuckage. Her face and body was so out of place I thought about those childish toys that you can place different heads or appendages on different animal bodies.

Who would ever think filing taxes could be so exciting?