The wonders of Mr. Allah with a sharp sterilized ice pick

January 31st, 2011: Just came back from “W” in Torre del Paines National Park which was perhaps the best trek in my entire 38 years and 5 months of life. It was as if Mr. Allah himself picked into my brain with a sharp sterilized ice pick and miraculously pulled information out of my grey oversized mass in the depth of my skull and built my vision of natural perfection.

The 5 day trek itself provided nonstop visual beauty and a nice physical beating upon my body. Goliath mountains with white snow hair in all different lengths and thicknesses covered them with surrounding lakes speckling the land in a variety of shades of blues as a multitude of waterfalls from little and great heights pouring into the rivers, feeding this great natural machine. If it wasn’t for the obese backpack with unusable wheels that I hung off my back…caring everything but the junk in the trunk, it might have been a simple 7 – 9 hours a day walking up, down, around and under the trail as the vision of pizza, hamburgers, soda and thoughts infiltrated and stuffed my brain.

With it not getting dark until around 10pm, it was hard to not to stop hiking at a reasonable 5 or 6 pm. Not wanting to waste valuable daylight hours my friends and I ended up calling it quits from the trail averaging around 9:04pm with some extra time to add some spent calories prior to bedtime. I do love nature and I do enjoy hiking, but I feel that I might have been coming down from my hiking vertex/peak for the past 19 years.

The weather in Patagonia changed as quick as the Dow Jones Industrial Average for the better and worse. It ranged from the beautifully warm sun rays containing a ton of vitamin D with a strong dose of UV cancer burrowing additives, snow, horizontal rain and category 1 hurricane wind that happily kept away all things that fly – ALL things that fly…from drunken Japanese Kamikaze pilots off course to all hated horse flies.

The forces of Patagonia happened to create the perfect storm one night and great stories as I was natures toy as it violently shook my tent in as if it was Regan MacNeil’s bed in the film, Exorcist during the night with gale force winds…hearing it tear across the land prior to impact as I leaned against one of the tent poles as the other side of the pole was supported with my backpack to keep my tent poles from buckling, eventually flooding my tent in knuckle deep water - breaking my rental shops dreams of hiring a waterproof tent. Thankfully I didn’t drown since I was in a large sleeping bag that seemed to suck up a large part of the water during the night.

From the overall great weather for Patagonia standards (and mine), perfect views, wonderful memories of witnessing the glaciers suicidal jumps of faith off the face of the mountains while experiencing it all with my friends from Israel whom I met on the trail who so kindly let me join them on their honeymoon for the past 5 days – helping make this trip to Patagonia a hard place to forget…even if did happen to have a lapse in memory in the near or distant future.

REMINDER: Click on the Photo Album for Chile to see a fraction of my trip photos

Bunkmate tells me she is ready…as she stands in her thong

January 23, 2011: Noticing my bunkmate after getting out of the shower slipping next to my bunk in a towel only covering mostly her upper body…I respectfully stood in the walkway out of view telling her to tell me when she is ready. Shortly after she told me it was okay. Heading to my bunk I noticed that now she was no longer bottomless but bottomless…meaning that she now stood there in a thong but just that…a thong. A signal? I don’t know…I don’t read signals too well so I just went to my locker and pretended I was getting something…with only one cheap peek – okay…only two cheap peeks.

Heading upstairs to a party I met a couple from Argentina who I have been spending some time with on the boat. Telling them about my episode with “Thong girl” it ended up being much more tame after hearing about their traumatic story of catching two senior citizens having sex in their shared room, seeing the woman’s old butt in motion as she was taking a ride when they stepped into the room.

Sick I thought…not just the vision of this circus act but the smell of senior sex. Yes, you don’t need to tell me that this will be me one day – because I know I will not always be this…young. But, at this moment in my life…I would rather go to the zoo and watch monkeys have sex and enjoy the smell of cat p#ss in an unmaintained liter box.

Sitting there in the ships bar...I then realized that I am happy for my sighting in my dorm as I pointed out to my friends, "Thong girl" as she was on the dance floor...now, fully dressed. I am also happy I was able to share my experience with you, because what happens on the ship…doesn’t necessarily have to stay on the ship – a slightly modified Vegas slogan.

The boat struggles to not capsize as we hit the Pacific Ocean

January 22nd, 2011: Anthony’s Journal entry 687, from the Navimag. Beginning in the hideously wretched town of Puerto Montt, I have embarked on a 4 day journey on a ferry boat filled with cars, trucks, odd looking cargo and people, taking myself and a load of other tourists to the supposedly picturesque town of Puerto Natales, Chile, which is the gateway to visual wonders of Patagonia.

I am now laying here in my childlike space capsule with its curtains closed in a room with 18 other capsules that strongly resemble bunk beds. It is now 2330 hrs and we are all attempting to stealthfully pass the Pacific Ocean in this piece of stell on its outer edges in complete darkness before we go back into the safety of calmer protected waters. The boat ever so slowly rolls as if we were a top wobbling in its last seconds before its fall. The waves are coming at us in a series of volleys originating somewhere in the darkness from beyond my eyes or the eyes of anyone living I.
At times it feels as if the boat will not be able to regain its balance as it is continues to be pushed from all directions -unable to stop my brain before it leaks out the thought and vision…“what if?” This question does not really even need to be answered since the odds are in my favor, but it does create some extra mental excitement as I pause from time to time thinking about how much the boat just rolled and precisely that, “what if?”

Today was day number two which was filled lectures in 4 different languages, playing games with the other stowaways as I regain my Yatzee Champion status and a day of battling myself in trying not to fall asleep as I attempted to leisurely read a 20 pound book from hell - that I had personally delivered by a friend of mine during my journeys in which I have now been carrying for the past 16 months, 2 weeks and 4 days. I simply need to just throw it into the ocean…but I hear Woodsy Owl saying to me…”Give a hoot - don’t pollute – woo woo.

US knowledge 101: For my friends not from the US…Woodsy is a man, woman or shemale in an overweight Owl costume who is unable to fly and is paid for by the US government to tell kids that they should not to litter – woo woo! Thinking about it, this environmental campaign would actually be really helpful in South America…changing it up just a little bit to something like…Woodsy the Starving Dog or something in that affect.