The Donkey saga continues…with video footage

I need to stress to my friends that might be wondering the unthinkable - I have never been with a donkey…never in that sense. I might have spanked one on the behind and even rode one fully clothed in Egypt, but never have I touched one below the tail – and…what happens in my dreams or in my mind doesn’t hurt anything – so those countless encounters don’t count.

Wanting to know more about these acts of indecency, I decided to do an internet search to see if someone has already researched this subject matter to give my findings more credibility. I found out that there was an investigative report done in Colombia and it explains this in a more professional way.

Click on the link and the video on the page...it shows everything that I been telling you...everything. After watching it, you will probably be laughing with tears and be disgusted at the same time. It is suitable for all ages but I wouldn't let little boys see it just so that they don’t get any ideas.

http://www.prosebeforehos.com/video-of-the-day/05/14/donkey-love/

With this said, I will not bore you with my details on my research in Argentina except for that I did ask a man and he confirmed it…Donkeys get good loving here also in Argentina - as good as in Colombia? I don’t know.

I must say this again; this is a market segment that nobody has yet to exploit. I am thinking about a possible business opportunity if I partnered with a Chinese manufacturing company to produce economical inflatable donkeys’ (with optional 100% washable fur on its sides for more control) to put out into the market. My direct competition will of course be the “real thing” to the inflatable sheep and inflatable women that are currently for sale in the sex shops around the world. Yes, it might have to be a pigmy donkey for cost purposes, but nevertheless I could be a millionaire at this time next year from this invention.

Even if I only make a million Colombian Pesos, I would still be happy that someone somewhere is enjoying my product….”Dolly the Donkey” and more importantly…getting horny boys off a real donkey's back.

Argentina, the country known for its meat…

November 20th, 2010: Argentina is world famous for it quality of meat. With this said…I have been doing my best to enjoy all the meat products I can. From the Big Mac to the McNifica, I been eating it all. You cant blame me…Bolivia hasn’t owned a McDonalds since December 1, 2002 and I haven’t enjoyed the fine cuisine since September 1st, 2010 in Peru – yes this is the last time and it is not a random date.

Remember that I like enjoy tracking expenses as some people enjoy smoking crack. I could also tell you to the dollar on how much of my money I spent at McDonald’s during this entire trip or even going as far back as 2003, but I won't bother you with such silly details. Anyways, McDonalds is not my favorite fast food establishment – perhaps even at the bottom of my list…but, I have adapted because they are a strong international fast food chain that is everywhere and it reminds me of home…when I miss it.

Me encanta. This is McDonalds slogan throughout most of South America. Translation: I love it (literal meaning: It enchants me.)

Photo pulled from: LaMalaPalabra

Disturbing self guided tour of Prison

November 20th, 2010: Doing a self guided prison tour topped my list of things to do today. I didn’t even have to bribe the guards this time, as I did in Bolivia. The prisoners did not seem very happy here…especially in this one section where the cells were quite bare. Though, I guess when you are in prison you don’t suppose to be happy...except if you are in a federal prison.

Walking by the cells they would run to the bars with their hands extended wanting some food. Being in a prison, I completely understand that they have to have strict rules as for not being able to have a razor – meaning, they all looked like members of Jihad or a hippy commune. The hair on these inmates were to the point of making them unrecognizable…surprising me that the prison facility can get away with this in such a developed country as Argentina.

Never the less…these are prisoners, serving out their life sentences for whatever crimes that brought them here. Whether it is because of murder, theft or because of being solely pointed out due to ethnicity; they are here to serve out their sentence to society…to pay the injustices they did or did not perform. So who really care about their level of comfort, right?

Here is a photo that I was able to take quickly before leaving the facility. Murderer? Thief? Rapist? What crime do you think he performed to deserve being sentence to life behind bars?

White men can’t jump - seriously

November 17th, 2010: To not feel so guilty from the excessive relaxation and to save a bit of money, I decided to do a little bit of work for the travel website I write for. From doing a few treks outside of Cafayate to cruising on a quad bike…I came to the conclusion that I enjoy working.

After a little bit of time on the quad bike, I seemed to be thinking less as my confidence grew. It was clear when I got a bit crazy as hit a jump attempting to get massive air so that I could scale a path of imaginary ants – unfortunately crushing them all due to my lack of height.

I heard the saying before that “White men can’t jump” but I didn’t realize it meant for everything. I now have more of an appreciation of the height reached by those extremely brainless psychos that live for jumping motorized machines off of rickety ramps and natural jumps in their back yards with all of their brothers who are also coincidently named Earl.

Temporary wino

November 17th, 2010: Wow, I haven’t seemed to add anything to my journal in 5 days! It must have been all of the wineries I have been visiting – becoming a temporary wino. According to Microsoft’s dictionary, a fulltime wino by definition is: an offensive term for somebody who is addicted to alcohol, especially wine, and is usually also homeless.

I am now in the small town of Cafayate which is Northern Argentina’s 2nd most famous place for producing wine. Much better than the Bolivian wineries but I sort of miss the posters of women in scantily dressed clothing - I guess you can never have it all. This place is not just for adults. There a shop here that produces an ice-cream made of wine to legally assist parents in putting hyper kids into a peaceful rest without the intervention of pharmaceutical companies…leaving all the work up to the wine laced cones.

Lately I have been so confused on where I would like to go next due to all of the locals acting as the most friendly unpaid travel agents you will ever meet…telling you everywhere you should go and everything you should do. The list has become so huge I don’t know how I will possibly see or do it all…putting me into a head spin. I found that the easiest solution to this is to just pack your bags and go to the bus station. Unless you enjoying sleeping at bus stations, a somewhat quick decision has to be made.

So when I decided to go to Cafayate, I didn’t even make it to the bus terminal, it wasn’t until I was in route and someone approached me asking if I needed a ride to Cafayate - having one more seat available in his car. Figuring it was a sign, I said yes and jumped in going 3.524 hours west. Coming here was a most excellent choice. The rocks have created some of the most amazing scenery, adding to my list of “top views from the window of speeding car” – somewhat controlled by a man that must be really into NASCAR or just likes the feel of his tan colored meshed driving gloves. We somehow made it here...without an accident.

Volunteer Argentinian police officer for the day

November 10 2010: Being only first day in Argentina, I was able jump in a middle of a gruesome fight as local bystanders just stood in the walkway watching the blows the fighters were sustaining to head and body with their fists. Not thinking, my body just reacted placing my own life in jeopardy as I intervened to separate them. Perhaps they wanted it to stop as I pulled them apart, grabbing the more aggressive one by the arm and walked him off...ruining the free entertainment they were giving the other adults.

This is how a police office must feel when he needs to step in and maintain the peace. But if I was a real police officer, not a self appointed volunteer, I would not have needed to even place my hand on them due to having the luxury of face painting the two with some mace or getting a few swings on them with a club. Though in this case, it might be considered child abuse since it would have been against two…12 year olds. Sheesh…do you actually think I broke up an adult fight?

Reason #18 on why you should be cremated

November 10th, 2010: Today, I saw an almost perfectly preserved 6 year frozen dead girl found on the 22,000 foot summit of Mount Llullaillacoin in 1999. Since there was no nametag on the body who has been sitting around for the past 500 years, she was given the name… Lighting Girl. This name wasn’t given to her because of her speed – if she was that fast she should have taken off down the mountain escaping from being sacrificed. She acquired this nickname because she actually got struck by lightning after she died, leaving her a bit…charred.

Now lightning girl is an official member of the exclusive mummy club she hangs out in a refrigerator 27/7 with 2 others, being put on display every few months - reason #19 on why you should be cremated.

Photo: Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana

Would you like to see some porn with your wine?

November 6th, 2010: Today was an internal battle between Napa Valley, California and Tarija, Bolivia...two countries wine producing regions power houses. In the upper northwest corner stands California and in the south corner sits Bolivia. Going to a variety of wineries today from the big guns to the little ones, it ended up that not much resembled or tasted like Napa Valley.

Today, I mostly saw struggling vines resembling weeds growing along the countryside to some outstanding wine selling strategies looking more like legal office porn for men used to sell wine. Latin America seems set that a woman in skimpy clothing will increase sales of anything from crayons to bread. After seeing the advertisements for some wine at a winery, the strategy almost...worked. I found myself tempted to purchase multiple bottles to see how many of them were necessary for my personal set of wine goggles to form in order to make a one of the local women or...donkeys to somewhat resemble one the woman on the advertisement.

Though after accessing the risk, I might have ended up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning to achieve this…so I decided to do nothing but take the free stuff for sampling. The samples itself on my tour had me drunk by 11:30am…it must have been the altitude I thought as I headed to bed for an extended siesta lasting about…4 hours.

I know that beer companies use this porn strategy to increase sales with women in little or no clothing - depending on what country you are from…but wine companies? I thought a long time ago drinking wine was for the sophisticated. Not here it seems…not here.

The $17.14 Bolivian Teeth Cleaning at Dental Museum

November 5th, 2010: Keeping up with my visits to the Dentist - trying to see one every 4 months or so to minimize the looks of a country’s mouth I don’t want to say…today’s visit landed me into a sort of…Museum of Dentistry. The good thing is that it cost me about as much as a museum ticket would cost back home, $17.14 but this was better than a typical museum since it was a hands on museum with my Dentist using the same tools that might have been used on my great great grandfather – god bless his rotten corpse.

Thankfully, during my visit my dentist, there was no reason to do anything more than just a simple cleaning in which under my circumstances, a monkey could do if given the proper tools. But if something did need some attention…I would have probably searched for a place that had slightly more up-to-date equipment, dating back to at least my parents era…even though that too is quite…old.

Ex-World Champion rock thrower uses me as Target

November 4, 2010: I am usually quite respectfully and ask people if it is okay if I can take their photo. Today…I didn’t ask but didn’t see me needing to ask as these bulky women road workers of steel were busy lifting these giant gut busting boulders…who might I add did not need a back brace due to the natural “tummy tire” back brace. Really, I would never have asked at home if I could take a photo of a road worker, why should I here…I thought?

As soon one of the stocky women noticed that she was my subject, a rock was thrown at me showing me her lack of interest in having a photo taken. Thankfully her days as a world champion rock thrower are over because she missed me. Walking up to her right after one more photo to show her she missed, I for some reason wanted to see if she was going to do it again. She didn’t, it was a bluff…so I…apologized for taking her photo. Reaching out with her man hands, she clung onto my camera strap, briefly becoming nice asking to see her photo. Doing as grandma asked, she then forcefully demanded money. Two other of her friends now surrounded me and also demanded money for their photo that I took. I would perhaps have given these grannies some money if they would have posed for me in say…a 2 piece thronged bikini or perhaps some sexy lingerie, but in their traditional wear including the ever so famous outdoor apron? Mmmmmm…no.

This all took place next to the center of the plaza filled with people that I was more than likely entertaining…so my safety was not a concern. My concern was how I was going to release her grip off my camera strap. Asking nicely for her to let go several times but she would not listen - only having to hear her repeating her demand for money. Little did she know that I am a single traveler without a girlfriend so my right handed grip was far stronger than hers…unless…she managed to do some prostitution on the side.

Grabbing her hand that was locked onto my camera strap, I continued to nicely ask for her to let go and repeatedly told her I was not going to give her any money. My grip became harder and harder and harder and harder, beginning to sound like a parrot with my perhaps too friendly of requests…until she finally let go…going into a rage. Throwing off her gloves she quickly searched for a nearby rock for close combat. Not wanting to see if this next incoming rock was going to make contact, I did a brisk jog out of her range.

Today I learned my lesson…next time someone throws a rock at me…don’t say anything and just throw a bigger one back – or better yet, do what the Israelis would do…throw 20 bigger ones back leaving the well educated to take care of the carnage.

If you are black...stay away or DIE!

November 3rd, 2010: If you are black - in political correct terminology: African Bolivian, African American, African Canadian, African Jamaican, African African and anybody else who’s skin is naturally black…you cannot live in Potosi, or you will die. My tour guide even said when people with black skin would die…within 6 months after arriving here because black people are not made for the altitude - remember that Potosi claims to be the highest city in the world at 4090 meters (13,420 feet).

I thought it was ridiculous when I first heard it, having to ask my guide again to make sure that I didn’t misunderstand what she said. So, the past 2 days I was trying prove her wrong, going on a hunt searching for someone with even a smidgen of African decent to ask them how long they have been in Potosi. On my search, I did not find even one person that was even close to being black – not even the miners after being in the mines all day were black. I only seemed to find people with dark natural tans and a bunch of white gringo crackers. So…where are the black people?

Even though I have no proof, I will still place this myth in my bucket of other myths I come across during my travels…such as, if you eat too much chicken you will turn gay. Lets not forget the one: if you eat piranha you will can have sex all night. To have these myths properly busted, perhaps I should write the TV program Myth Busters for their assistance and their credibility…or…perhaps not.

Inside a 3rd world cooperative mine

Potosi is an amazingly…different place. Potosi is a city that use to claim being one of the richest cities in the world – which is obviously not the case anymore after Spain’s mass raping of the silver that was discovered here back in the year 1544. Potosi now only claim to be the highest city in the world…but with all claims there will always be some sort of conflict because according to Wikipedia, it is the 3 highest city coming in at 4090 meters (13,420 feet) – who cares…it is still very very very high. In a city that you can buy dynamite at any age on the street without a permission slip…perhaps it is better to let them think what they want to think
Going into the stores of this mining town and seeing all of the nicely selection of wrapped sticks of dynamite that anyone can buy. I was thinking it would be nice to travel with a few dynamite sticks in my backpack or even a couple taped around my chest in orderly fashion to possibly make any potential kidnapper or robber think twice if they really want to try to get anything involuntary form me. To make Potosi even better, besides the easy purchase of dynamite…you can get, 98 percent alcohol at most of the miners shops that is somehow meant for drinking. Trying some because….everyone else was, I could feel the alcohols entire path as soon as it entered my month, starting with my tongue all the way down my throat as it trickled into my stomach…I am no doctor but it must not be good for you.

Seeing some of the miners today working in these cooperative mines and even having the opportunity to provide some free labor for a minute or so, made me think…I don’t want to grow up to be a miner – ever. Thankfully I don’t have a working visa in Bolivia so this is not even an option…even though I would be the best miner in the whole wide world. The miners I visited today did it “ole school” with all hand tools in the scorching dusty tunnels that were so small we had to perform the “wiggly worm” to get through some spots.

After leaving the mines today I appreciate my future job even more…whatever it might be. It is unbelievable that kids as young as 10 years old are working the mines. No matter how you look at it, a dead end job when you are only expected to live till 35 to 40 years old. What people do for money will always amaze me.

The colorblind shoe shine gang

October 29th, 2010: After a morning of successfully shedding off a multitude of scrubby kids wanting to clean my already clean shoes in which I personally pulled off every speck of dirt a few days back, I noticed that I was internally breaking…becoming more and more acceptable to saying yes, after every, no. Just at the right moment a gang of three shoe shiners approached me telling me how dirty my shoes were. I know it was just a script of theirs…if I had food at that moment I would have eaten off them – even the soles, to show them that they were not even close to being as dirty as the claimed. Thinking about it, they could have been my military boots after spending days of pulling out spit from deep within as I shinned them and the savages would have still said they were dirty.

The shoe shine gang was very smart for their age and they must have noticed my weakness, capitalizing on my shortcomings. Talking to the gang members a bit whose ages I suppose ranged from 7-10 years old, I collapsed giving in and gave them clearance to somehow shine my shoes.

Not wanting to tell these experts in shining shoes how to properly do their job, I decided to sit back and watch as 2 kids went to work on my shoes as the younger boy talked to me to obviously distract me. After the reasonable brush selection and unreasonable polish selection (black) for my brown leather shoes, I became quite interested on what they were going to do.

Starting to polish my black rubber toes with the polish I was relieved that it looked like they were not going to use it on the leather. Making my rubber toe shinny and black, they continued possibly feeling they needed to do something else to my shoes for the ridiculous prices they were charging me in Bolivian standards. And…that is when they then caked black polish along the sides of my shoes making the grey spongy porous material of my soles…black, along with the bottom leather portion giving my shoe a crazy two-tone look confirming to me that they were all unfortunately color blind.

Watching them, I was attempting to hold in my laughter and I didn’t bother stopping them as they were continuing to destroy my shoes figuring I would buy a brush later in the day and wash them up at the hostel. While all of this was taking place I thought the kids would have known more about shining shoes but I still didn’t want to correct them – this is their profession, not mine…so I let them finish the job they started.

Once they were done, I had to lie to them and I told the shoe shine gang that they did a great job, happily thanking them as I paid them there fee and a little extra for a tip. What they were going to do with the money…I don’t know, perhaps purchase some gasoline to huff, crack to smoke, or some fresh clean needles for their veins - but more than likely, just a candy fix.

I must say…kids are great…just not great shoe shiners…especially those who are color blind.

...elephantiasis of the nuts

October 28th, 2010: This morning on the bus ride to Sucre, the man who entertains the driver during the night came back to where we were all herded and I immediately noticed his cheek…in my half awoken daze. It was HUGE filled with coca leaves busting out his lipped seams. It somehow looked as if his cheek was a shaved nut of some large animal – I cant tell you what large animal because I don’t typically stare at these things, but it was sure in the hell not the size of a typical house cats balls even if he was suffering from elephantiasis of the nuts.

I guess if I keep chewing coca, my cheek will continue to stretch to some great proportions to someday have a face that looks like a hairy nut - if I decide not to shave…or even looking like the cheek of a hamster getting ready for the great escape. Who wants that? Perhaps…I should think about getting back to being more civilized and begin to drink more coca tea rather chew the stuff.

Looking at the widescreen, it really doesn’t matter since in a about two weeks…I will not be able to take any coca leaves across the border once I enter Argentina, unless that is…I decide to stick it up my arse.