6 feet away…not under

September 24th 2010: A typically case of some major summarizing is about to happen. The past week I was in Torotoro which is a town of 2,124 people – give or take a few people that were not standing in line that day when they were doing a body count. It is south of Cochabamba, taking about 7 looooooooooooong hours on a local bus filled with some really stinky bodies. Torotoro is ironically home to Torotoro National Park that is not a heavily visited park due to it not being very accessible. This place is known for its canyons and dinosaur foot prints.

Getting to the bus company that transported me and the stinky bodies to Torotoro was an adventure in itself. I was dropped off in what the locals call the call “Red Zone” which was the wrong spot, resulting in me roaming the dark, dirty not so safe streets with everything I have at 5:40am in the morning. After bumping into several people that fit the profile of a thief, murderer and a male rapist…I eventually retreated to the confines of a taxi figuring it was safer to be with one criminal instead of many.

To locate the bus company, it took: a series of questions dispersed to random people roaming the streets who gave me all but the right answer, banging on a window of a bus that contained one drugged up bus driver that could barley sit up and finally the right answer came from a boy that I woke up out of his comatose state of sleep who was making an empty bus his temporary apartment.

Finally I arrived to the bus company I was riding with in which I was about 10 minutes late – this was a time that I am glad the bus was leaving at 6:00am “South American Time” not “Western Time”…meaning about 6:45am. Normally it wouldn’t have been a big issue if I missed the bus but, it was Sunday and the next bus that left for Torotoro was on Thursday. Once getting to Torotoro, the first bus out of town was Monday and the next one…Friday. Needing some good quality time to explore…I decided to stay till Friday.

Being that Torotoro is a town that just had electricity installed about 2 years ago and cell phone service as of 4 days ago…I didn’t expect much. What I really didn’t expect was to see Hugu Chavez’s puppet, Evo - who is known to the Bolivian people as their President – and the Puppet of Hugo Chavez. He came to pay a visit to inaugurate some stuff around the town. I was about 6 feet away from him as he left the market and got into the SUV.

This was the second president that I have ever seen in person - the first one being from the US. It really doesn’t matter as from what county a president is from…a president is a president and I could feel his power as he passed me. I should have tried to give him a hug to show him that us folk from the North aren’t all that bad since he is not so fond of the US…but I thought it would not make the man containing an undercover earpiece and the concealed handgun not too happy – even though getting around him would have been extremely easy to do.

Avoiding the “rapists” (Reminder: Rapist =Travel Agency) this week, I managed to find my own tour guides and arranged my own accommodations, meals and transportation costing me around $40USD for the same version of the trip where the travel agency wanted to charge me $380USD for 3 days/2 nights. Staying a few days longer, I saw everything you could see here in Torotoro and still saved hundreds. When you organize things yourself, you don’t have to be rich to travel for an extended period if you have the time, patience and are willing to flexible - not a contortionist, just flexible.

This trip to Torotoro was a 99.8% success. I met amazing people/animals, did some wonderful hikes, crawled around a cave, crawled around my room from exhaustion, saw some beautiful deep canyons and was even able to see some boring mud prints and even more boring marine fossil scraps (the ruminants of whatever fossils that were not stolen). In the middle of all of this, I unexpectantly experienced a somewhat painful tailbone skinning – originally blaming an extended adrenaline filled motorcycle ride to visit some nicely arranged rocks…but the more I think about it, the only logical explanation is that I was unknowingly abducted the other night by some dinosaur ghosts.

Tomorrow I am off to another small microtown, trying to get myself closer to Carrasco National Park. This park should be much more easier to get to, and into…I hope.

Please remember to open up the photo albums on the right hand column and read some of the captions. This keeps me from having to write 1000s upon 1000’s of unnecessary words since as that one saying sort of goes, “a picture can say a 1000 words.”

Sodaholic

September 17th, 2010: Going out this Friday night…way past my bedtime, I hit the streets for a diet soda…not just a diet soda…a 1.5 liter diet soda. Who wants to go dancing and clubbing when you can sit in your room drinking a nice luke warm beverage? Walking and walking and walking…I couldn’t find my fix anywhere. I ran across people selling beer, regular soda, cocaine, pot, a woman who was renting her private parts, a tank, and an arms dealer who had a special - an Uzi and an AK-47 for the price of one. All this – at least some of it…and I could not find…a lousy diet soda. Making it to this one street…I remembered my guide book telling me it is not a safe place to be and even more now that is was so late. I could not turn back…I was committed to providing my body with the nourishment it needed from the healthy chemicals that composes diet soda. Putting my hand in my pocket, I held onto my pocketknife ready to slice/dice and even mince anyone who was going to come between me and my fix.

With some guidance from some small time soda dealers on the street…I came across a proper soda dealer. Getting my fix I sort of quickly made it back to my hotel - after stopping at a hair salon that was open at 10pm. Strange to be open so late on such a random street…but to me, this was a sign…a sign that I am not meant to have head hair anymore. Going in I sat down and was skinned for about $1.30USD. I was about to get up prior to the sheering but I was now committed sitting in the chair. I am now once again a nonracist skinhead. I would like to have said to my friends that wanted me to grow my hair out, that I had to much soda and not claim responsibility for my actions - but I did it with a level head…just tired of thinking that if I just let it grow just a little more…It will look better.

One day when I get myself a girlfriend and if she wants a comb over, I will give it to her…a back to front comb over, left to right, or right to left comb over…but until then…I will keep my hair low maintenance and keep on drinking whatever cancerous soda I please.

I challenge all street sellers to food poison me

September 15th, 2010: I am officially expanding my eating options and opening my mouth to all food stands as of today…not most…I said “all.” It was open in the past but now, I am opening it all the way. After traveling for as long as I been, I should be able to eat the shight off someone’s shoes and not get sick.

Why should I waste my time and go to a different street stand because it looks like the meat has been laying out all day if not weeks as the flies take a break, resting there poor tired lil’ ole wings. As of today…they can drop babies on it and I will still eat it because today…today, I am not wasting any more of my precious time and I will eat where I choose, challenging all street vendors to food poison me – just please don’t do it right before a long bus trip…I said, please. END

Partial electrocution at the shower

September 15th, 2010: As I was doing my daily scrub down in the shower…I spent a moment thinking about why there was some type of strange material which was wrapped and barbarically taped around the water knob. It didn’t take me long to figure it out as I was trying to squeeze out a little bit more hot water from the electric contraption heating the water with the exposed wires coming out from the top, feeling the friendly electric grip take control of my hand when I grabbed the knob – still feeling the aftermath as I sit here typing. Strangely, I had the biggest smile on my face right after it happened and even a little laugh seeped out my lips.

It FINALLY happened I thought. Everyone seems to get shocked while traveling and for about 17 months, I had not one recordable experience. In the past I could have stood on a chair and stuck my tongue on the exposed wires and still not have been shocked – I thought the only reasoning behind this was that my parents must have been praying for me a bit too much. They must have forgotten about me the other day or this was just a reminder that I am not Ironman, Superman or even Spiderman.

When it was time to adjust the temperature again I stood to the side out of the waters path as the biggest smile on my face exposed itself again as I hesitantly touched the knob anticipating another bite, but received nothing but being rewarded with hotter water.

This partial electrocution could have been my punishment that was issued by the hotels internal spirit because about 10 minutes prior to the event, I moved a huge stinky rotting vegetable that was next to my door which was accommodating about 1,000,000,000 vegetable flies that had been consuming it all day, relocating the sloppy mess it as it spewed a trail all of the floor as I dropped it closer to the front desk – this was after my first failed attempt as I pushed it with my foot a few doors down along with the miniature bag of trash…later realizing I didn’t move it far enough and that it was still too close to my room.

I don’t think the two women who I asked earlier if they could removed it heard me “very well” but the man that worked at the hotel must have seen me “very well” as dropped it, smiling, telling him to have in good night in my handicapped Spanish walking back to my room.

Normally I wouldn’t have done anything…but when you are paying $4.93USD a night for your own room, you expect more – laughing. I am not going to survive when I finish my trip and head back to the United States. I will need an adjustment period – no dating, no eating out, no leaving the house even – it might put me into a comma from the sticker shock.

Rapist

September 14th, 2010: I will be leaving for Cochabamba in the morning with the intention to plan a visit to a couple of the not so easily assessable national parks without the assistance of a rapist. A “rapist” is my new term for a travel agency that takes more than a reasonable amount of money for a tour. Perhaps one day I too will be a rapist…taking advantage of the elderly and the travelers that live in fear, but for now I would like to stay rape free.

Racing a bunch of international antisocial mutes

September 14th, 2010: Today I stumbled up Chacaltaya which tops 5,450 meters (17, 880 feet) in the mountains outside La Paz in Bolivia with a bunch of antisocial mutes from all around the world. This exceeds my prior 5,093 meter (16,170 feet) hike by…a lot feet. Just because I have been at a high altitude e for quite some time, didn’t mean it was any easier. I internally raced everyone to the top without them knowing about it, beating them all – I was the champion of the international antisocial mute world for a brief 20 or so minutes.

I would have taken more breaks and enjoyed more of the view while going up to the summit but it is so much easier to just look down and keep stepping up, trying to walk that straight oxygen sobriety line, trying to not pass out from the dizziness due to the lack of oxygen at this height. Today would have been a day to have hauled up my sack of coca in my cheek…but, it was forgotten back at the hostel.

For those reading this in the US…the highest mountain in the lower 48 states is Mt. Whitney coming in at 4,417 meters (14,494 feet) and the highest mountain in the US is Mount McKinely at 6,193 meters (20,320 feet).

I finished up the day taking a series of photos of the mud creations what they call “Craters of the Moon.” This sort of mud…is the type of mud I feel that it is worth seeing - the type that is not manipulated by the hands or feet of man, woman or child.

Cholitas Wrestling...WWF style with a Bolivian twist

September 12th, 2010: Cholitas Wrestling…WWF (World Wrestling Federation) style with a Bolivian twist. I never been to a professional wrestling match before, but if it was like this…it should be a once in a lifetime experience – I stress “ONCE” in a lifetime experience.

It was highly entertaining and I truly enjoyed the show that was full of pumped up locals and tourist surrounding the ring, coming to see the same thing…a smack down. I wanted to see some blood and I got blood – fake blood…but blood. An added bonus was the chair that got smashed against this girls face and I will of course never ever-ever-ever forget the few good panty shots of one of the Cholitas.

This wrestling experience reminded me about when I was a child sitting on the lawn next to my old childhood friend, Mike Head and discussing whether WWF was real or not. I am happy to say that I always thought it was fake.

Bribing the Bolivian police…got me into prison

September 11th, 2010: Some people in Bolivia bribe police and judges to get out of prison…today, bribing the Bolivian police got me into prison. After reading the book, Marching Powder, by Thomas McFadden and Rusty Young about living in a 3rd world prison, I wanted to see what it was all about…first hand.

This morning I was determined to get into San Pedro Prison. Hearing that the police stopped taking bribes a few months ago while I was in Colombia, I accepted that my money will not be put to good use corrupting law abiding police officers. But while in Colca Canyon, Peru, I heard from a tourist that they are again letting backpackers in. They told me that I needed to go to the Plaza across from the Prison and this is where someone will meet me, asking me if I want a tour.

A few days ago I did this but nothing happened…but today was different. A woman approached me asking me if I wanted to go inside – my friends from Colca Canyon were right. Going into the entrance I was directed away from the others into a small office paying the lady where a police officer sat behind a tiny desk. Another officer came in to search me and my shoulder bag, making sure I didn’t have a camera or anything that I don’t suppose to be bringing in like such as WMD or IED’s. Once she was finished, I forgot that I had a knife in my little side pocket. Pulling it out…I handed it to woman that just searched me.

Getting a number written on my arm to identify who I was, I was only moments away from getting into prison. Being send out next to the iron bars that separated me from the inmates in the courtyard, the women I was dealing with set me up with a guide inside. When the time was right, the gate quickly opened and there I was…now in one of the strangest prisons where money will get you almost anything.

Here my tour began and I was taken around the prison with 4 other tourist that arrived later. Our guide was one of the prisoners and we had 3 bodyguards who were also prisoners…totaling 2 murders and 2 people that were in there for drug related charges.

The prisoners here are not in cells…the murders, drug offenders, thieves, rapists and the individual with too many parking tickets moved around freely between the 7 sections (sort of like a suburb) from during the day from 6am – 10pm. At this time they have to go to their sections but still they are not locked up. They have to purchase or rent their cell…the more money you have the better section you live in. Kids and wives also live here and can freely come and go…if you have the money.

There are even restaurants and shops that the prisoners set up to make a living. Seeing some of the rooms with beds bunked up for those who don’t have enough money for a private cell, it sort of looked like a hostel – some even better than I stayed at during my travels. They can have visitors spend the night for about $0.75 a night. Not bad, if you have a girlfriend.

My visit to San Pedro really didn’t feel like a prison…it felt more like a small South American village. Working with a federal prison in California, I thought they had it made in what some Americans call a “Country Club” with all of the luxuries they have. If they only knew about San Pedro…

During this tour I realized that not much changed since the book came out which exposed the corruption of the prison system. I was amazed that when my guide told me…he told me…he told me, nothing because “What happens in San Pedro Prison stays in San Pedro Prison.” Not for my benefit, but more so for the safety of my guide.

It is scary on what money can drive people to do at all levels…from the street criminal to the people that are supposed to enforce the law. This morning, I bribed my way into a prison system and I am so happy that I didn’t have to bribe my way out. I am sure it is much easier to always get yourself in…than to get yourself out.

31 dead mountain bikers piled up...

September 10th, 2010: Today I successfully completed a 64 kilometer (39.7677563 miles), 3,400 meters (11 154.8556 feet) downhill bike ride on, “The Death Road.” This year…only 1 Israeli mountain biker died shooting off the edge, when yearly this road use to average anywhere between 200 – 300 deaths for those in cars, buses, trucks and anything else in four wheels before the “new” road opened about 4 years ago.

Over the last 15 years…31 dead mountain bikers piled up at the bottom and I can see how people died on this because the scenery is beautiful making it hard to stay focused on the narrow road. I guess if I was going to plummet to my death…this would be the place to be – there would be a lot of air time before impact…a lot.

When starting the ride, I told myself I was just going to take it slow. This is just what I did…I would take it slow letting everyone get far ahead, then needing to catch up I just “had” to go…fast. I reinforced my realization today that sometimes…I don’t always make the smartest choices.

Thinking about it, when riding down this road…if nobody dies on it anymore, the tour companies would no longer be able to sell their tour for a premium because it wouldn’t matter what types of bikes or safety equipment they provide. And, if nobody dies on “The Death Road” the name of the tour would have to change due to false advertisement. After abandoning the current name and changing it to “The Happy Road”- who would even want to do it let alone get a t-shirt saying that they completed “The Happy Road”?

With this said, the companies can’t possibly eliminate all deaths and only have serious injuries…there needs to be a sacrifice or two every year in order to maintain the excitement and heavy flow of income to the tour companies and t-shirt manufactures so that they can feed their families. Today...I was obviously not one of those sacrificed, since you have to be a virgin – a female virgin.

A friendly visit to a Coca dealer

September 9th, 2010: I am having some continuing difficulties with this altitude in La Paz, Bolivia (11,482.9396 feet)…or perhaps it is just that my lungs are simply failing me at my ole age. To counter my inability to fall asleep and my lack of breath going up the hills, I decided to go to a coca dealer in the streets yesterday who was sitting in front of two hug sacks and bought some plant ashes and a big bag of coca.

As I said in earlier posts…coca leaves are completely legal in Peru and Bolivia. It is medically known to numb the senses and staves off hunger and exhaustion, mitigating the effects of high altitude.

I just recently heard from a local that if you chew coca leaves, you don’t even need to brush your teeth (his grandfather didn’t brush and died at 80 something years old and didn’t have one cavity) - umm…I must say…I don’t believe him so I will continue my good hygiene practices. For the hard core coca users, they will stick some leaves on their forehead with spit to help them get them through a headache or a hellacious bus ride. This too, I have not yet tried...and don’t plan to in the near or…late future.

So now where are the Titi’s

September 7th, 2010: Arriving in Bolivia yesterday afternoon and I already think I have fallen in love. I am now staying in my very own pink room and purple curtains with electricity for only $2.98USD per night. My place is only one block away from Lake Titicaca…what more can you ask for? Okay, I guess I could ask for the price to include some toilet paper or maybe a towel…and perhaps a shower with the knobs on the outside of the bathroom, not the inside. It is a bite awkward having to tap on the bathroom window when you are ready for the water and having someone in the hotel come up to the bathroom and turn on the water…and the same goes for when you are done, so that you can get dressed – all you do is tap on the window.

This place is a bit strange I suppose. Going to the toilet last night I walked into the tiny bathroom and there is a random soup sized bowl with a huge wet fecal deposit in it sitting in it right in front of the toilet bowl. In my way I cautiously picked it up…very very cautiously picked it up, to prevent it from coming over the sides and moved it outside sitting it on the bench next to the door – of coarse breathing through my nose to prevent any possibilities of gagging.

So now that I am at Lake Titicaca...I have seen the “caca.” So now where are the Titi’s?

Titi + caca

September 4rd, 2010: When growing up Titicaca was one of those words you could say right in front of your mom, dad or even a virgin nun and not get in trouble for saying it. It sort of falls in the same category as Jackass (a male donkey), Bitch (female dog) and other childhood favorites. I can still see those words roll off my brother Joe’s mouth right in front of my mom, defended himself saying that they were not swear words and almost getting away with it. I was such a prude when growing up, because when younger I could not say most inappropriate sounding words that were technically…non-swear words, but I was able to say Titicaca. It wasn’t until I was in high school, looking into the bathroom mirror when I decided to expand my limited vocabulary…looking more like a censored episode of Sesame Street.

Now that I just officially saw a portion of Lake…Titicaca while on the Peruvian side of the lake for a two day tour, I can say it is not what I envisioned it to be. It looks like just a big lake with really really cool name. What is even better than a lake named Lake Titicaca is that it drains into a lake further south and this lake is called…Lake Poopo - seriously. I cant believe that these were just innocently made up names…I cant.

During my tour of some floating reed island, I was able to interact with a large colony of tax evaders. How can you pay taxes on grass tied together which makes a man/woman made island? Thankfully most islands seemed to be equipped with solar power so that the women can knit tourist paraphernalia in all hours of the night under a proper light.

The kids that live here have the luxury on these islands to not get hurt if they fall on the spongy dried grass – no scraped knees and no need for band aids. Living here on the island the children in a way are imprisoned in a small confined area with what it seems, nothing to do besides run from one end to the other and perhaps sip their mother’s breast milk until an inappropriate age to quench their thirst - but without having any cows or goats on these islands, I guess this could be an effective way to be more self sustainable. These islands are a prime example on how tourism can extremely alter and perhaps destroy someone’s lifestyle. They dress up and waving to every boat trying to get you to visit them and once on the island as they try to push their big puffy handmade items of uselessness onto you.

Exploring a few of the real islands on Lake Titicaca, one thing that was impressive is how many islands were altered and some might say destroyed by terraces from pre-Incas. I have seen a large amount of terraces around the world but these were so excessive, covering almost entire islands it was actually almost as beautiful as strip mining.

The family’s house I stayed at was quite nice. It was a little deceiving though…because the kitchen did not fit the niceness of the guest rooms or bathroom. I think it would have been better making our food in the bathroom using boiling toilet water. Fortunately there was not much bacteria and dirt we could eat because I have a strong inclination that they were trying to starve us by feed us the absolute minimum. Can’t ask for much though when you pay about $19USD for: Hotel transfer to the dock and back, 3 meals, a night’s accommodation, a tour of 2 islands and one floating island getting there by boat totaling about 8 hours of boat time.

Having to dress up for this party the locals through for us, I dawned a poncho and a typical Andean hat. The girls were dressed in the traditional woman wear. Do I need to remind you on how much I am attracted to women in tradition wear? I did notice that seeing some of the skinny tourists dressed up were instantly turn into human bells…it smashed my thoughts that most Peruvian women are storing stuff in under their dresses or that they have jelly bellies from eating too many potatoes.

As I write this post on paper, a shadow is casted on the wall with my flashlight. I am tempted to make some animal shapes but there are two other grown adults in this room…not quite sure if they are sleeping yet. I need to grow up…or get some kids of my very own so I can do it and be cool…not a “strange backpacker.”

Jihad, Joaquin Phoenix and Bed Cheek

September 3rd, 2010: I woke up today with…”bed cheek”. I made up this new term that will eventually make it to Webster’s Dictionary’s 110th edition - it is a modified version of “bed head”. Bed Cheek is when the hair that forms a human beard sticks up and you need to wet it down to tame it. The past 1.5 months trying to grow myself my very own Jihad beard and I feel… I am on the verge of failure. Every day that I look in the mirror, I see this dust collector not to mention drool trap that is stuck to my face. Even worse is that every time I sneeze, my beard acts as a hairy environmentally friendly tissue that keeps any foreign projectile from going too far.

I started to grow out my facial hair because some of my friends said I looked good in facial hair – I forgot to ask, ”how much facial hair?” Anyhow, I was always wondering on how it would be to have a full on Jihad beard without needing to Photoshop it. Looking less like Jihad and on my way to looking more like Joaquin Phoenix (former actor now musician - photo courtesy of Getty Images) I am thinking it is time to stop and go back to shaving.

We will see if I am a quitter or not since I told myself I wasn’t going to shave until after Bolivia. I cross over the border into Bolivia in 3 days and as in most countries I visit, I don’t know how long I will be there. Anyone want to place a friendly bet on how long it will be before I go mentally insane with this facial toupee? (PLEASE NOTE: It is now September 7th and I destroyed my facial toupee – next…head hair?)