Sluts in the short skirts and 15 inch spiked…

July 27th, 2010: It is almost 12:30am and the backpacker sluts in the short skirts are rolling or being carried out of the hostel’s bar with their 15 inch spiked stripper heels - how these weapons fit in their backpacks I will might never know.

I am here to write-up another party hostel. I swear…as I said before, I feel so old at these places. It is not that I don’t like this place…it is great, but every girl seems to be 18, 19 and some random strays in their 30’s dressed as if they are 18 or 19 – which sometimes it can be really funny…but other times, this can be very – very – very frightening with horrific images that will be etched into my brain for eternity.

The past week I have been enjoying the fruits of Lima, from the museums, churches, parks and fast food restaurants. Today I did a marathon and didn’t even break a sweat as I finished up everything I did not yet see visiting 4 museums, 3 churches and 2 parks. At the finish line I ended the day with an entire Papa John’s pizza for myself not needing to share even a bite.

One of the best things I saw today besides the 200 pound 30 year old in a tight little skirt, was a creation made by an artist that was commissioned in Spain to make a bronze crown for the statue, Madre Patria. The person was told to give the lady a crown of flames. The word “Flames” in Spanish is “Llama” which is also the furry creature everyone hates or should hate since it likes to spit on you if you get too close. With that said…the artist put a llama on top of the woman’s head – what an idiot. I am still laughing at it.

Throughout the week I have been meeting up with my Peruvian friends and wonderful families who live here. They have taken me to some places I would never have gone and that I really enjoyed such as a visit to a run down fire station for lunch and to a school’s festival where I tested my luck in Bingo while attempting to comprehending the called numbers over the muffled speakers.

Tomorrow is Peru’s Independence Day and my friend’s Maritza’s 33rd birthday…for the second time. I guess she failed at it and is taking it over for good measure. So a double party...this is going to be dangerous.

I have a feeling that I will be lucky if I make it on the 4 hour bus ride the next day to Ica to do some sand boarding. I keep thinking that if it is going to hurt when I fall and...for how long and...for how many days. I can feel the pain now.

Pimp my Bus

July 21, 2010: I feel that the bus I was on yesterday to Lima was the end product of MTV’s silly show…Pimp my Ride. But this case it was, Pimp my Bus. It had 2 toilets, seatbelts, an overhead light that worked, a button to push if I wanted service, Wifi and even a computer with a printer. They had a safety video showing the exits and what to do in case of an emergency and a movie with John Travolta who was dubbed but had English subtitles – a rarity. Another odd rarity was that my two bus drivers that shared responsibilities somehow didn’t seem like addicts to some sort of illegal stimulants. Lunch was an added treat for it was hot and served with sturdy plastic utensils. The bus seemed to have everything I always wanted or dreamt about a bus having but it was lacking one minor thing...seats that converted to life jackets in case we went off the road into a large puddle or body of water.

My experience was so similar to an airplane, it assisted me in directed my mind right to the toilet making me think how nice it would be to join the 5 foot high club. Forget the mile high club – that is so 90’s…anyhow, FAA regulations has made this almost impossible to perform without getting interrupted and potentially becoming a candidate to getting mace to your face or even worse...your exposed “parts”. It doesn’t matter though, since I am traveling alone…no matter how hard I could have tried, this obstacle was unlikely to be overcome in such a short period of time.

Rolling into Lima gave me flashbacks of rolling into Los Angeles, California. The red lights extended beyond my vision. The traffic here is unbelievable…unbelievably bad. Remember that for every minus there is a plus and the pluses here are big pluses because today was my day to capitalize on these pluses – actually yesterday night I capitalized on my first plus and had KFC. My second plus was McDonalds and the third one was Starbucks. So…nice.

I know I brought this up before but I cannot believe how much joy I get when walking into these large international fast food establishments – my smile today extended from ear to ear, looking like that clown Ronald. It really is not because of the success of some of these Northern American companies…it is because walking into one of these places really does takes me home…in my mind. I am sure it is the same for people here in Peru and anywhere else in the world that is traveling internationally who perhaps gets a little homesick and would like some sort of food that reminds them of home without having to go home. It is not anymore just a place people from the US grow up on…it is also a place that people from around the world grew up on.

Being on the pimped out bus where I was served some good food to eating at all of these fast food places...it is going to be difficult going back to eating mostly food from the street vendors - where it is common to find multiple hairs in one meal with some of them unfortunately…being curly.

Massive coca intake at Lake 69

July 17th, 2010: Hmmm…who was the innovative person who came up with creative name Lake 69? Why couldn’t it have been Lake 21, 50, 68 or better yet…Really Blue Lake – better describing what it really is…not what people do here? This lake is the BLUEST lake I have yet to see. Bluer that lake Tahoe in the United State and bluer than the blue sky on a clear unpolluted day. It was so blue it looked as if I had some sort of blue enhancing filters wedged into my eyes as I gazed around after our 3.5 hour hike up to the top.

Today was my last day of enjoying the surrounding mountains area. Taking an estimated 51,200 steps to reach Lake 69 in which the pounds of coca leaves I dumped into my mouth - consuming more than 10 free range goats…still didn’t help provide me more oxygen to my blood. I am beginning to think that coca leaves really doesn’t do anything besides provide an excess amount of spit that I have to constantly swallow in addition to leaving a bitter taste in my mouth with that mild numbing effect.

Out of my group of about 14 people, Myself and my legalized drug dealing pharmacist friend (my primary dealer the past month when I was sick) reached the top…dead last, with just enough time to take some obnoxious photos and eat a quick lunch before having to head back down to our bus – in which we were sadly 20 minutes late.

Lake 69 was a nice grand finale hike in this region. Most people can safely say that the most rewarding things in life are the most difficult to achieve. Today’s hike was difficult for me, but the reward reaching the top was worth the struggle to get there…every breath and step forward.

I will be heading off to Lima on Tuesday morning instead of my intended Monday due to the bus company I wanted to go with did not have a front seat available on the top of the double decker bus. The luxury of not having a time schedule…

Now it is time that I see some massive manmade pavement creations in the ever so crowed city of Lima and to enjoy all of the places I miss back at home without having to go through customs, pay an airport tax in addition to an excessive baggage fee. Such places on my “to visit” list, includes McDonald’s, Taco Bell, KFC, Burger King, Wendy’s, Papa Johns and Little Caesars – did I forget any? – Oh, and yes…Starbucks!

During the next week I will have no food budget and will be eating everything. When my stomach reads “full,” I am prepared to revert to vomiting any previous value meal so that I can consume another as I attempt to show my love and support of Corporate America who successfully infiltrated these foreign lands to provide locals and travelers a piece of the US without ever having to leave. If I don’t leave Lima with a Buddha Belly…then I didn’t really enjoy Lima.

Yella teeth just don’t get yella from nutin!

July 17th, 2010: I have been traveling long enough in South America to notice some strange things as I am attempting to become the first man with Crayola Yellow teeth. To do this effectively you can either get a yellow grill or do it the natural way…coffee. I seem to get different contraptions when ordering coffee from country to county. To date, I think the best coffee I have been served is in Venezuela where coffee prices are regulated by the good ole president, Hugo Chavez. The strangest way coffee has yet to be served would be Peru. Here is a quick little breakdown of my coffee ordering experiences.

Ordering coffee with milk in Colombia: In one of the finest coffee producing regions of the world you get a cup of hot water and a jar of Nestle Instant coffee. As for the milk, if you don’t stop them when ordering and asking for it separate, you will get more milk than coffee. If you do stop them and ask for milk on the side – and they understand what you want, you typically get a cup of milk heated up on the stove much too long leaving a curdled film you have to pull with your spoon.

Ordering coffee with milk in Venezuela: Here you get a miniature Dixie cup large enough to quench the thirst of a hobbit filled with some great rich coffee produced in those special looking machines and nicely heated milk. Too bad they have never heard of 7-11 and the 64 ounce coffee.

Ordering coffee with milk in Ecuador: See above - Colombia.

Ordering coffee with milk in Peru: This is most unusual place so far to order coffee with milk. Here you get the cup of hot water or milk and they give you some sort of server that is typically used for creamer and in this, is some cold concentrated coffee for you to pour into your cup.

Who knows how I will be served coffee in the other countries. All that I do know is that I will continue to work on my gradual yellow tinge to my teeth that most coffee users will too enjoy after many years of hitting caffeine. I am not sure what is better…the yellow tinge smokers get between their fingers or yellow teeth from the coffee bean, but… I will stick with working on my goal of Crayola Yellow teeth and worry about the aftermath at a later time in my life – say…when it is time for wedding photos.

Ice is better than rock

July 15th, 2010: Today I headed out to do some ice climbing on a glacier. It didn’t start off well hiking for about an hour in my uncomfortable yellow plastic boots which were extremely similar to ski boots. But, when tied into the ropes and the crampons (metal spikes) where attached to my boots...it all made sense. I sort of liked this method of climbing more than rock climbing – except for the unexpected rocks and sheets of ice that would rain on me from above…taking on some self repairable damage. During my climbs, I am happy to report that my body didn’t perform the sewing machine, the Elvis (Definitely a love/not so love relationship Blog Post) or even the mash potato.
I felt extremely powerful with my two ice axes as I would swing them into the vertical wall of ice spraying me with bits of debris as I would slowly move my way north. When holding the axes, I thought that maybe this power I was feeling, is how the characters from the movies Edward Sissorhands or Freddy Krueger felt as they reshaped bushes or bodies. I made it to the top of my first climb but the second one was extremely challenging as I would break free falling from the ice as I tried to get up an overhang. Not succeeding after several attempts and at times I would see myself hanging by one or two axes with my feel dangling, trying to pull myself back to the wall – still, I finished the climb extremely satisfied.

Santa Cruz Trek

July 14th, 2010: I just came back the other day from one of the most popular hiking trails in the Cordillera Blacno Mountain range. The 5 hour drive getting to the trailhead in the van made for either those who stopped growing at age 7, midgets or amputees was one of the best parts of the trip. The vans shook as it went along the crater riddled dust filled roads so much it didn’t just help me see double but offered a free massage from the luxury of my own seat, without an optional happy ending…but, with views that are still embedded into the depths of my brain. The ribbon-like mountain views here might just have topped whar I saw on my trip to the Himalayas years ago which I thought were not toppable.

Along the trail the first day, junk food addicted children would come from the depths of the countryside…with most of them looking as if they were coming down from a serious candy crash as they would stand straight, slurring some words in Spanish, repeating it several times…”sweets”…”cookies” as they would follow us with their emotionless expressions with dried snot and caked on remnants of their last feeding, reminding me of the old film, The Night of the Living Dead.

The nights were cold and uncomfortable but the morning sunshine was gratefully rewarding. The stars once again provided a good show and even provided me with an opportunity to make a wish as one came tearing between the mountains. I do believe in wishes and I am hoping that one day my patience will pay off and that I will be able to capitalize on at least one of them.

Having the option to bathe in the fresh cold water the slithered through our campsites, I decided it would be best for me to get back to the “Ice Box” (Previous blog post) to take care of any hygiene matter...using baby powder to mask any unpleasant order I picked up over the 4 days - to make my time in my sleeping bags (2 sleeping bags) more bearable.

Since donkeys carried all my stuff except for my water and a few personal effects, I was able to proudly be the slowest person on the hike as I concentrated on trying to walk a straight line (with the assistance of someone’s hiking pole) and getting enough air into my lungs as we climbed higher and higher into the clouds topping 4750 meters (15,583.9895 feet) - at times feeling as if I was being invisibly choked. To help combat altitude sickness Peru has this thing for consuming unprocessed coca leaves to increase the absorption of oxygen in the blood – yep, the same coca that can be placed into your nose or even your veins when illegally processed. For me, drinking coca in tea form or by placing the bitter leafs into my mouth and chewing them had enough of an effect for me, numbing my tongue and the side of my mouth.

A question arose on our hike. Was it the lack of oxygen that made it so funny or was it really that funny? Our guide called the man responsible for getting the donkeys from Point A to Point B a Donkey Driver. That just didn’t seem correct since he never really sits on the donkey. Putting our minds together, I came up with a new title…Donkey Handler. One of my friends came up with the term Donkeyboy deriving from Cowboy – but I, for some gut feeling think, Donkey Handler sounds more proper.

The group of individuals that I was with for the 4 days and 3 nights were great. I haven’t laughed or had that much fun in the longest time. My English did not have to be altered or slowed down, since most of them were at a level that helped me feel I was back at home as I was able to act as silly/stupid as I wanted. I have a strong inclination that it will not be that last time I see some of my newly acquired Facebook friends. Perhaps someday, our friendships might grow to become a coveted Hotmail friend…time will tell.

Back from the trek, I am sitting here and I cannot believe how much time I spent in this small town, Huaraz. As the saying goes, “time flies when you are having fun.” I feel I need to move on even though inside I am not ready. I can’t explain why but something inside is telling me to pick up the pace. So…I will be leaving here…Monday, to make my way to Lima to meet my Peruvian friends living there, giving me a little extra time here to finish a few things that I came to do.

1 man + 4 women camping trip = Human mule

July 8th, 2010: My friend and I all made it back from the backcountry at Lake Churup, unscathed from our one night trip…packing for what seemed a 1 week expedition. I went with my 4 women friends who all but one have never been backcountry camping. They all came to the hostel dining area with itsee bitsee teeny weenie backpacks when it was time to distribute the weight. This obviously made me the human mule since I had the largest backpack.

I rarely go backcountry camping with anyone besides myself since it is so difficult to round up people who are willing to do it – so this was a treat to go with such a large group of women who were all positive about the limited luxury’s from going to the toilet on the hillside, too filling up their water bottles from suicidal insect filled lake

In the evening, my friends made a fire to boil our massive amounts of ramon noodles with the assistance of my portable compact tree-like notebook and a lighter. During the slow process of building a fire, I became more appreciative of my camping stove which makes life so much more easier. These are one of those luxuries you don’t appreciate until you are laying on the ground blowing air into a fire, taking some big hits of campfire smoke every few breaths as I was effectively charring my lungs for some future High School science class jar.

For everyone who knows me…I had no part in the managing of the fire except to randomly poke sticks into it, as I poorly listened to the commander of the fire and unintentionally destroyed it as I tried to make it larger when nobody was looking - since deep inside there is a controllable little pyromaniac in me.

The evening was beautiful when the stars decided to expose themselves as they were so plentiful and seemed to overpower our fire at times as we all pleasantly sat around the campfire taking in the warmth.

When heading back from 1 night of camping, we needed to avoid the park ranger who we lied to at the entrance, saying we were just going up for the day as I passed him with 4 sleeping pads strapped to the outside of my pack in addition to the exposed sleeping bags of my friends with their childlike size flimsy school packs. When the park ranger saw my stuff, he stopped us and said we didn’t have to carry our gear up and could leave it at this local’s house. He was told we wanted to be comfortable once we reach the top. Hmm, anyone with an IQ of 10.43448 would have known we were going to camp at the top.

There was a reason for this lack of truth besides being a group of compulsive liars. If the truth was told we would have had to pay the $23USD entrance fee for each person instead of the $1.75USD – a lot of money for my 3 Peruvian friends – including myself.
Taking a shortcut down the mountain through the marsh and through the grassy countryside, we escaped the grips of the park ranger making it to safety. Lying on the roadside, relaxing we waited and waited and waited for a local van/bus as the sun began to bake us a nice golden brown or red. Seeing some mules coming along the road, we ended up hiring them to take our baggage to the next town for about $0.30USD as we cut through the tiny towns on the mule paths. Our packs didn’t stay on very well on these animals as they would fall off, scaring them as they would perform mini sprints dragging the packs tied by ropes down and off the road. It was more of a laugh and an efficient way to prematurely wear out our packs rather than making it easier for us.

Now back in Huaraz, I am currently in the process of taking off again to the mountains for 4 days to do the Santa Cruz trek. This time I will be with an organized tour, with myself carrying zero equipment. It should be easier on the body, though it will have a different feel being with other customers rather than friends, but still good times.

The Icebox

July 4th, 2010: Standing in my room that felt as cold as a walk-in icebox with only my flop flops on…I had to choose to shower… or not shower. I think about how can there not be a heater in a hostel that is at an elevation of about 10,013 feet (3,052 meters) and how can there not be hot water? Sticking my hand through the shower curtain, every 30 or so seconds, I am hoping for a miracle…just a little one. Seeing that miracles can only happen to my sock (Holy Sock, blog post) I stand there with just, hope.

My shower is basically a pipe in the wall with cool to cold water pouring out that gives me an economical shock treatment in addition to helping me rough up my language a bit. The fridged cold water easily turns my mouth into a mouth of a sailor as I say every written word of profanity in the English language not just once but multiple times as I jog in the shower quickly rubbing my body…most parts – one part obviously can not to be found in conditions such as these.

If I commit to taking a shower tonight, exiting the shower can even be worse…feeling like a cold balding seal coming out of its hole in the arctic only to experience a clubbing by the cold air. Life offers us so many choices…some of the most easiest ones…can sometimes be the most difficult - and the most pointless to write about.

Vive Le Canada, eh?

July 3rd, 2010: Usually I will cringe at the travelers that have a Canadian flag sewed to their daypacks, backpacks, hats, shirts, shorts, socks and let’s not forget those proud to be Canadian shoe laces to keep themselves from being identified as a resident of the United States of America. I love everything about Canada and I can at times understand separating themselves because I myself at times (lots of times) am embarrassed by the behavior of my fellow comrades. But today…I was so – so – so very happy that one of the most rude, obnoxious travelers I have met had a good sized Canadian flag plastered right onto the side of her daypack. This would have been a good time for her to leave her daypack at home.

The amazonian sized Canadian girl with a table in the rear decided to pick a fight with two frail Peruvian senior citizens, taking their seat in the middle of our 12 hour endurance tour seeing a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains to some knocked down stones and tunnels of Chavin de Huantar dating from 1000-200BC.

When the elderly lady kindly asked if she could have her seat back, the Canadian girl gave her a look a teenager would give someone adding a rude comment saying that there are no seats. The woman again asked kindly for her seat. Now that the entire bus was becoming aware what is going on, her strength of 10 men was not as intimidating because we had at least 11 men on the bus. I can see why the girl was in desperation mode wanting the old couples seat because they definitely had two of the worst seats right next to the toilet in the very last row of the bus that didn’t even seem to have the luxury of reclining seats.

Now it was a battle of patience. Eventually they lost, getting up as they had to do the walk of shame to the back of the long bus, with the Canadian flag proudly showing everyone that they were not from the United States. Today…I liked those flag toting Canadians that wanted to show the separation of the two. Vive Le Canada, eh?

Definitely a love/not so love, relationship...

June 30th, 2010: Some climbers call it “the sewing machine”, others call it “the Elvis”…I call it another case of, “what am I doing here?”

I spent my past few days at a climbing refuge for rock climbers with the idea that I would be taking classes to add some skills to my current natural monkeylike abilities. But, it ended up being more like here is a harness, some shoes and there is the rock you are going to climb following it with the silly question asking me if know how to make a figure eight knot. I wanted to tell him that could tie a good granny knot…and of course, didn’t say anything but, "no".

Yes this was another case of, “what am I doing here?,” for my first climb especially when I didn’t see a place to grab to keep from falling except to wedge my leg in a rock and hug the outer walls to rest thinking if the person belaying me below was even paying attention as they smoked their non-tobacco cigarettes. This is the time my leg began to perform “the sewing machine” and/or “the Elvis,” – whatever they want to call it, I was unable to hide my rapid leg movement until I internally removed myself from where I was. Today was definitely a day I would have liked a helmet whether it was a climbing helmet, bicycle helmet, hockey helmet or even the very same helmet Neil Armstrong wore as he took his first step on the moon.

Finally after clearing all – more like, clearing enough of my crazy thoughts…I managed to free my leg with some effort and slowly pulled myself higher by my elongated finger tips and toes. Once reaching the top, the internal reward made it clear on why I do silly things like this, exhausted… as my adrenaline has taken a beating on me.

Climb after climb, they became more and more technical but easier as my confidence grew and my system on telling the person below belaying me to please pay attention when I did not feel confident with my lack of stability on some portions of the climb as I clung to the wall to potentially reduce the distance of my fall.

After today I rediscovered that climbing is definitely a love/not so love, relationship for me. Once on top, I love it and once clinging on the side seconds away from falling…I not so love it.