In Monkeylike fashion

September 29th, 2010: For breakfast I stopped off at the central market to grab a sandwich for breakfast. Decided to be extra healthy today and instead of having a soda to wash down the nutrition…I chose to get some freshly squeezed juice. Walking up to the first juice stand, I noticed something that could have been a scene in the local zoo with the monkeys – no specific species of monkey…just monkeys. The scene looked a little something like this: A woman was hovering over her friend surrounded by a nice variety fruits and a blender…extremely focused as she was going through her friend’s hair with a pair of tweezers…picking out, something.

I can only assume it was lice that she was picking out in monkey like fashion. I decided to go over to the next stand to get my orange juice where the woman…didn’t seem to be as busy.

A nudist colony in its infancy?

September 28th, 2010: Sitting at a roadside restaurant today - sort of a restaurant…it has chairs and tables – I ate a popular cuisine throughout all of South America, so far as I can tell…chicken and french fries.

A pregnant looking man in his third trimester was not far from me, cutting a bucket of potatoes as he sat on a bucket almost naked (I am sure it was for sanitary reasons)… in his underwear and sandals as his man boobs were reaching for the rim of the bucket as the sweat would roll off his nipples naturally salting the fries. It was fortunate that he didn’t have any Italian in his bloodline because if so, besides the bucket of salty fries, it might have contained another foreign additive…chest hair.

When the man finished cutting potatoes, he walked by me saying that it was hot out, probably knowing that it wasn’t normal that he was walking around and working in his underwear on the somewhat busy road. His wife was standing close by not seeming phased by her husband’s lack of clothing. Moments later, another old guy past me in his underwear and he too just said it was hot out - as I was trying to eat without laughing at the strangeness that seeped out of this midsized developed Jungle town of Villa Tunari. Is this town about to become a full on nudist colony and is in its infancy…or was it just too hot?

60 Vampires in my Shower

September 28, 2010: There were 60 bloodsucking vampire mosquitoes (remember guys always like to exaggerate) in my shower yesterday…and 66 vampires in my shower today. All of these insects were possibly carriers of the wonderfully pleasant Malaria virus. I say this because the CDC randomly sends me an email for Malaria area updates and today, I happened to get one – hmmmmm…coincidence or a sign? I am currently not taking any medication due to me being a genius a while back mixing all my malaria pills in one container to save space in my backpack…once one of my three Costco sized bottles expired, I couldn’t tell which ones did or didn’t by looks, touch or smell.

I had only a few options to resolve this matter. I could have taken the expired medication but reading the warnings on the internet, this could give me some serious trip ending side effects. My other option was to give some to one of the mangy dogs or kids in the form of wrapped sweets who are walking around the street and see if he or she still looks as mangy as the next day or sadly, worse. Being much too complicated, I decided it was easier to flush them all and just kill a few fish.

Thankfully, once standing in the shower I was safe from these vampires since the sign of the cross with my two fingers didn’t work nor did my wooden cross. Hollywood is once, again a bunch of liars…or…the cross is not as powerful as it use to be. Never the less, being in the shower for extended periods of time was not bad because I could live in the shower if I was given the option…you could then call me “shower boy”. But, I am now not shower boy and meaning that I had to get out. Also, when I pay so little for a room…I actually feel bad if I take too long of a shower - if the workers are nice.

Standing there, the mosquitoes were surrounding me…waiting for me to make my exit. Looking at my towel, my clothes, and my soap dish I did a precise calculation on every move on what will take me the shortest time to get out of the shower and out of the kill zone. My best bet was to wrap the micro towel that covers half my body (a little more than half - from my Oscar Mayer Wiener to a little over the crack of my butt –laughing…I haven’t used the word wiener since I don’t know when) , don’t dry off in the shared bathroom, grab my clothes and soap dish and make a crouched dash out of the bathroom toward my room hoping nobody will see the partial streaker…even though this place is a nudist colony in its infancy.

The scene worked out like an old B&W western movie as we were waiting to see who made the first move in the dirty shower. My calculations worked out quite nicely as I made my mad dash out the door and to my room with zero injuries.

Now if I could only master going to the toilet without having to look around the whole time afraid that these vampires were going to give me a surprise attack from below, or all other imaginable direction as they decide to pull a Japanese-like kamikaze attack on me as I am trying to peacefully drown my kids in the pool.

As I keep trying to tell everyone...amazing adventures or misadventures don’t just take place in the jungles or high on the mountain tops. It can happen in the depths of your house, toilet bowl or even at your cage in the office…adventures happen every day, everywhere…you just need to, open your eyes.

This is not just a bus…but a super bus!

September 27th, 2010: Took a bus that ended up being a super bus with a super but forgetful driver (didn’t stop at the town I asked him to stop at). A strike was taking place locking up the traffic today – Bolivians like to strike – and our bus decided to take the high road in the hills of Cochabamba driving the bus as if it was his personal compact 4x4 except for it not being so compact coming in at 14 or so meters (no idea). At one point we had to disembark the bus to clear a drainage area. The locals seeing this giant bus were too as surprised as me on where we went. One little girls eyes were about to pop out of her little skull as we went by her mud house on the hillside mini-farm.

On the bus, there was a girl in front of me that seemed quite hungry. As she looked at me she picked and pick and pick her nose and consumed the treats one by one. I was grossed out but strangely, I kept watching. She was a cute plump baby whose mom didn’t seem to want her on her lap anymore so she gave her a bag to sit on in the aisle. I was just waiting for a quick stop so that the 3 year old would take off to the front window but it thankfully didn’t happen.

I have seemed to not worry as much the more I travel about the safety of others. Not that I have become cold or insensitive…my standard of safety is just a lot higher from living in the US my entire life.

I missed the city I wanted to get off at, the bus driver seemed to have forgotten. It could have been much worse if it wasn’t for the guy who I did know - nor did I know he knew where I was going - but thankfully he came up behind me, asking me if I was going to Villa Tunari because we just past it.

That was nice of the Good Samaritan to help me because I never spoke to the gold riddled gangsta. Though, we did have a friendly connection earlier when we were waiting for the bus to fill up as we stood outside the busy main street in Cochabamba. Our connection was through us both being caught checking out at a girl who was walking by on the sidewalk. I am not sure if we were checking her out for the same reasons though. I was looking at her because she had enough tape on her face to wrap a Christmas present - the skin colored tape teenagers seem to use to cover acne here in South America. He on the other hand was thinking about other features that I am unable to say without ruining the vision of the Good Samaritan that went out of his way to help me. A Good Samaritan, Saint or Pope…a guy will always be…a guy.