4x4 tour of the Gran Sabana

March 22nd, 2010: The past 4 days I have been in the depths of the Gran Sabana on a excellent 4x4 tour. The company I was with sells itself on being an adrenaline tour. This is definitely true, especially when my guide tossed my camera containing over 1,500 photos that were not backed up over to our driver - NOT our major league baseball player, who was standing on top of one of a the waterfalls we were climbing so it wouldn't get wet. In slow motion I saw what was taking place, as I froze unable to say anything, watching it fly through the air as if it was floating...so...so very slowly. Overall the trip was quite exciting as we climbed up/down/around/in back and in front of the waterfalls that hid deep in the Sabana.

At night we would ride on the roof rack on top of the Land Cruiser looking at the stars as the drinking quickly doubled the amount of stars and somehow transformed us contestants on the TV program, dancing with the stars. When the Land Cruiser stopped, we would turn the road or roof into a modified dance floor whether in the middle of the highway or far back off the main road down the dirt tracks. On this roof is where I was given some free salsa classes. The only thing that I had to pay was close attention to every time I placed down my foot - to keep my foot from falling between the gaps on the rack...which would certainly mean a trip to the doctors - from the fall, or from my driver after he saw the damage I made to his vehicle.

Looking at my dance instructor who was a local, I had to smile...thinking that I will never understand fashion as she earlier in the day purposely pried her shorts open forgetting the purpose of a zipper and a button - fortunately she didn't forget the use of a belt as that was the only thing fastened. Strange looking...but fashionable to her and maybe to this region I suppose.

The following night my salsa instructor was a Russian woman with some great skills making me feel like I knew what I was doing. A bit confident...too confident, I tried to dance with her one friend, the Russian Jumping Bean. Quickly my confidence was killed as she would defy the law of gravity and the relativity of motion and physics (maybe...I really don't know the laws and other complicated stuff such as this, it just sounded right) somehow spinning the complete opposite way I was trying to spin her as she continuously sprung in the air over twice her height.

During the daylight hours the dancing didn't stop. Instead of salsa we quite successfully performed with style and grace the puri puri (biting fly) dance with our hands slapping ourselves and legs quickly moving in no specified motion. I must say, this dance is almost as easy as the funky chicken but much more pleasant to watch and for surely more enjoyable than the dreadfully Acky Breaky Heart dance by Billy Ray Cyrus - I truly HATE that dance!!!!

Our guide, was great. He liked to drink straight out of the two liter bottles as the backwash would flow right back in breaking off the debris in his stained teeth making the drink not just a drink but also a snack. Not to mention that his bathing suit...in typical Colombian fashion it is his underwear. Thank goodness it was black because after 4 days the sight might have been even more unbearable than it already was. It seems as if he had every job in the world...from being a dentist, to a restaurant owner, hotel owner, truck driver, factory owner, a mass murderer and the list goes on. With how comfortable he was walking around in his tight womanlike underwear...he might have even been a male dancer, but this he did not admit to, nor did I ask.

The driver was really helpful to everyone at first, but after a short period of time he had no interest in helping the men under the waterfalls or other such objects. He was so into paying such special attention to the needs of the women it was unbelievable. I think the tummy rubs and the c-cup grab from behind so a woman could be lifted up onto a potentially dangerous rock was very thoughtful. I never thought a woman's or man boobs are multi-purpose objects that can be used for handles.

The rats seemed to have a stronghold on the kitchen in the village we were staying. In the evening they would sprint and jump around the kitchen as if they were performing time trials for an upcoming track and field event. The overweight spectators would look at us from above with their eye peering from the grassy roof top.

The last day of the trip there was a storm system was sweeping across the Sabana so instead of walking along a potentially hazardous canyon...we went to Brazil for lunch and spent some time explore the boarder town, which took...minutes. Since it was Sunday, most people don't work on this day except for the poor restaurant and hotel employees, which I will say this again...is great - minus the hotel and restaurant employees that is.

I am leaving another great Venezuelan town tonight heading for a larger place named Ciudad Bolivar - which I am told has a McDonald's. I am hoping my bus ride is quicker that it was to this destination. I am a bit tired and frustrated from the extremely slow internet connection making it almost impossible to do anything and would like a nice rest in the ice box which is known as a bus in Latin America.

Strange pet

March 15th, 2010: I was invited to a friends place to see his strange pet. He has one horse (not so strange), a cow (also not so strange) and some animal that looks like an super small elephant with a short trunk or snout (very strange). Since my friend wasn't there when we arrived, we walked in and it came quickly toward me. Not sure what it was going to do, I was scared it was going to bite me because it was making a strange noise as he lifted his head opening his mouth showing me his dirty teeth. After taking a quick photo I dashed towards this piece of farm equipment to separate us. We soon became friends after feeding him a couple of giant bread rolls, satisfying his appetite and thankfully losing interest in consuming one of my few appendages.

Life around the Gran Sabana

March 14, 2010: Today was a most excellent day as I sat behind the wheel of a Toyota Land Cruiser flying at times and crawling at others attempting to clear the obstacles and keep up with a woman that must have been driving in the back of this hills for over half her life. Yes, she was good and I was...less good. We were on our way down to pick up all of the paragliders who left the hilltop.

When I was asked to drive, I casually said yes, but inside I was...YES! It has been 11 months since I drove a vehicle and I cant remember the last time I drove a manual. As for driving off road, it has been over 15 years since I drove in this sort of terrain in a proper vehicle - my cars do not count because I pretended they were meant to go places where at times, obviously weren't.

The past few days I have been hanging out with a group of locals who belong to a paragliding club. It has been a lot of fun just sitting around the hills far out of town and learning about all the information the clouds and eagles can tell us about the wind. They also let me strap into a paraglider as I would try to pull it up - not fly, just learning to control it before you take off. This bored me considerably but I did it anyhow not wanting to offend anybody. The more I learned about paragliding the more complicated it seemed. Skydiving seems so much easier - I suppose it is because you are falling and not gliding or at times flying.

In a few days, I decided to save a bit of my money and do a little bit of work writing up a piece on a tour company for a 3 day Gran Sabana tour. This company sells themselves as being an adrenaline tour. I am not sure how much adrenalin can be injected into my system on a Gran Sabana tour but I am off to see if this is false advertisement...or not.

Trek to Hell

March 12th, 2010: I never thought taking a trip to hell could be as simple as paying some nominal fee. I even thought I had to do something bad or not so good lots and lots of times to make it here. But I guess if you can go to space for millions why not hell? Taking a 6 day trek up to the top of what I indentify as hell is the table top mountain of Roraima. Making it to hell is actually much worse than being there...that is if you like tons of grey rocks.

Yes, the top was grey...very...grey with a bunch of exciting puddles that lost its excitement after 7 hours of jumping from stone to stone which eventually turned into walking in them due to my ability to jump gradually decreased as the day went on. Animals and plants can be quite spectacular with its ability to live up here. The top of Roraima was huge! From the bottom it looked small but that was definitely not the case. Exploring the top for a few days let me appreciate the area much more. Watching the clouds claw the top as they would sprint along the surface along with the views from the edge of the cliff seeing the other table top mountains, towering waterfalls that would form after heavy rainfall and the Gran Sabana seemed as if I was in some sort of dream - I am glad this sort of dream was not one that I thought I could fly.

On my visit to Roraima I was fortunate enough to run into swarms of biting flies (Jejenes) that I truly enjoyed killing - I hated them so much I would have torn leg by leg off if they were big enough and not felt a bit or remorse. The bathing situation was only for those with some sort of medical condition that they could not feel the knife like pain in the frigid water, but there was one body of water which was unfortunately guarded by those dang biting flies, making my wash time minimal. This was a good thing because in some bathing areas there was a large number of male ball washers...nothing wrong with cleaning the twins but only if the body of water was bigger than a large jacuzzi, but...it wasn't.

I am happy to say that the mafia did not "eliminate" (knife motion going across the throat) my czech acquaintances. Hearing about a "crazy guy" sighting the night before from my group members...I laughed and told them it was probably the czech guy I met when they described a guy walking around the campsite in only his tight white underwear with his backpack on supporting bright red legs from all the exposed skin to the sun - clearly needing some classes in the advantages of clothing. Seeing him in the morning, I said hi to them as my group seemed startled I was talking to him, later telling them that he was the czech man I told them about.

As the cold nights set in on top of Roraima, at around 8pm I would call it bed time. I would climb in my sleeping bag I was given by the tour company overflowing from the top since I have a feeling this was made for small children's slumber parties, not camping. Being creative, I modified my CLEAN boxer briefs into a hat which I only wore in the confines of my wretched smelling tent from the socks I managed to wear for almost 12 days straight (I am so proud). These were the days I was glad to be sleeping alone in my tent for two.

The toilet situation...was interesting. From the holes being dug at lower elevations and the plastic baggy that was to be held against the cheeks on top (to later be carried down by a man with one of the worse jobs in the entire world) they both would have been humiliating moments if someone came up from over the hill or around the corner as I squatted like a girl. But as I squatted my fear subsided as I would have spectacular views of the milky way and shooting stars making these deposits the most scenic that I can recall.

Even though at times I would not be able to walk a straight line, staggering...I made it. The sense of accomplishment I had once crawling into the parking lot was extremely rewarding. Next trip....Machu Picchu - or maybe not - a bus to the top doesn't seem bad to me at the moment as I sit in the comforts of the internet cafe. Maybe my memory will fail me and I will forget how I straggled behind most of the others by 30 minutes to an hour.

The day I saved $12.50

March 5th, 2010: After 12 hours of rolling my backpack around the bus terminal and people watching, I ended up not being able to get a ticket out of the bus station for Santa Elena. This was not because of the Mafia...just me being picky about getting an earlier bus and my inability to purchase a bus ticket in time. Not wanting to stay in Cuidad Guyana for the night, feeling it would have be a wasted day, I went along with this older woman on a bus who told me I could transfer 4 hours away in a town on the way to my final destination.

Getting dropped off on a dimly lit street in Tumeremo...at midnight. I sat on the streets joining the other 20 or so people also waiting for a bus to Santa Elena. Some individuals made the sidewalk their beds as others joined in on my 12:00am English class that lasted until about 430am. Buses would come through the town along with the drunks originating from some unknown location but neither would stop, some going faster than others. Thinking that I was never going to leave this town, the taxis started showing up circling us with their wrecks, trying to legally stealing from us charging outrageous rates to get us to our destinations. I had an advantage because I had all night, now becoming all morning and was not willing to pay the $12.50 more to go by cab than by bus.

Around 4:30am a jeep passed through town stopping when someone waved him down. Two people jumped into the car as others made a dash for the windows as if there was a natural disaster and he was issuing food. Beating them with my speed by 0.0002 seconds, I was pointed out giving me permission to enter his vehicle, hitching a ride for the same price as a bus...saving me $12.50. Finally after around 23 hours, I was on my way to Santa Elena.

Please note that the saving $12 was not just to save money but to not let money separate me from those I was with for the evening who didnt have it. I did not want to be the american with the money to just pay myself out of a bad situation when most of those I was with couldnt.

Paranoid Czechs go into hiding from the mafia

March 4th, 2010: Traveling with others you don't know very well can be sort of entertaining and at times...short lived. The next time I wait a few days for someone, I must make sure I talk with them for more than 20 minutes. Take for instance my experience today at the bus station with my new friends from the Czech Republic.

Taking a three hour taxi ride to a town to transfer to a bigger bus, we purchased a ticket which we ended up returning for some strange reason and sat around to wait for another departure.

Two hours into our wait, my Czech friend Susan sort of saved me from this awkward situation I got myself into when I was practicing my spanish with these three women - who after an hour, told me they wanted to make babies with me and one of them even threw in that she wanted to go to Las Vegas. Susan comes barreling up to me, barking in broken english, "We need to get out here now!" She continues, "The mafia controls this place and they are not letting us leave!" as she panics. And the paranoia keeps rolling out of her mouth..."Cant you see! Don't you know anything about the mafia in the US?!!!" I told her we had gangsters as I laughed.

Susan seemed as if she just injected a whole vial or some illegal narcotics straight into her heart or secretly consumed a six-pack of Red Bull. Her words were so fast I seemed to understand czech more than english at that moment.

"It is not safe and we need to get out of here quickly. They are going to eliminate us (simulating a knife across the throat). We stand out and it is bribery - you do know what bribery is!?" Susan snaps at me. "They just sold us bad tickets and keep changing time and I don't trust them. We go!"

Telling her that I was going to stay at the bus station she was shocked telling me, "You are not going with us? Why?" I questioned how they were bad tickets if we just got our money back. Susan said, "We got our money back to silence us and keep us quite. We exposed them and they will get us. They keep changing the departure time to keep us here, cant you see this!"

I let my czech friends go and get a hotel room to go into hiding from the mafia. Her husband was pretty quiet on the matter. I think Susan wears the pants, underwear and condom in the relationship. That must be the reason he was walking around the hotel in speedo like underwear - she is wearing the boxers and he is wearing the panties. If anything I was in more danger with them around as the stood next to me in their shorts and money holder swinging outside their clothes. No wonder why they were robbed in Caracas.

So, I now wait at the station with no tent and equipment for my upcoming trek. I decided early this morning that I wasnt going with them anyhow - they are going to do the trek in two days (12 hours up and 10 hours down) when I want to do it in no less than six. This sort of changes my plans so I will have to figure something else out. I might have anywhere from a 10 to 14 hour layover so I have plenty of time. I have not yet purchased my ticket because as she said...the mafia is keeping me here - laughing. It is nice not having any time constraints. If I get a bus out of here tonight, I do...if I don't, I will tomorrow - it will all work itself out.

The Orinoco Delta...where anything can happen.

March 2, 2010: I just got back from a successful trip deep into the Orinoco Delta for 3 days...where anything can happen. Yes, anything...such as a woman trying to get with me as she was in a drunken state with her boob hanging out flapping around as a three month old baby was attached to the tip. Standing inches away from me as she looked up to talk...it felt extremely awkward as I keep trying to step back. Besides seeing a random boob, I saw pink dolphins, parrots, monkeys, sloths and a jumping spider...on my hand. I was a bit too close to the spider as I attempted to take a macro shot of it, first jumping on the camera and then on me right after I quickly put the camera on the ground as I couldn't shake him free. As if I wasn't human, my hand moved faster than the human eye could see, as I violently shook it off.

The people in this region lives in dried leafed roofed shelters on stilts along the delta sleeping in hammocks. The older people believed in clothes and the New York Yankee by looking at their hats and the kids believed in the art of streaking. The delta seems to provide for the people who seem to almost have nothing materialistically. It was their bath, toilet and a place to catch fish in this gigantic toilet to feed their families and tourists. My spanish skills were put to the test the past few days as nobody spoke english where I was staying. So if I was to be graded...I received an D- (or a 1.0).

On the delta, I caught my first fish in years right off the dock that I just bathed in and performed my first aqua deuce (it was either while in the water of from above in a wooden shack on stilts that rested in the water with two slits for two people to either face each other or in case someone makes a mess and misses I suppose). The fish I caught was small but it was a piranha - so the size doest really matter to me. It also doesn't matter that I didn't want to touch it as it smiled at me waiting for my fingers to get close to its pearly whites. Not wanting to risk it I had assistance to remove the hook embedded in its lower lip as it continued to smile waiting for the moment someone made the slightest mistake.

One afternoon, coming back to the house after a relaxing swim I saw in the kitchen a bowl filled with legs and heads. We were having turtle soup for lunch. I am glad I did not see the execution of these harmless creature that were too slow to escape the executioner. Eating it - one tiny bite of the grey foot with the little toes pointing at me...and one bite of some unknown part, I was done. It wasn't bad tasting but I was not hungry enough to eat a turtle. To easily get out of not eating the rest I lied and rubbed my stomach simulating that I wasn't feeling well - which somehow eliminated me from dinner and instead they gave me Jello.

I will be leaving for Santa Elene de Uairen in 2 days. This town is on the boarder of Brazil (which I am not allowed to enter at the time due to not having a visa). I met this nice Czech couple the other day and they are also going that way, having space for me in their tent for about a 6 day trek up to the top of one of the mountains. It will be nice to travel with someone for a few days but I am bit concerned about her husband who seems to like to walk around the hotel in his speedo like underwear. I will suggest that in the tent that his wife sleeps in the middle for my own safety and well being.

"It is dangerous," the Troll hisses...

February 24th, 2010: The dirty man obviously does not work for the National Park Service as he stands in front of the trail for the waterfalls and hisses, "It is dangerous...", trying to get me to hire him for a guide and bodyguard. He was missing his two front teeth...either he is ineffective in helping people or just never got his two front teeth for christmas from santa clause because he has not been a good boy. Okay...I heard that dangerous line before, another man feasting off peoples fears. I told him, no thank you and stepped off the trail and walked around him thinking that he was not going to do anything to stop anyone nor did I need a tour in spanish. The others that he stopped moments before were walking away because they did not know how to get around the troll. Seeing me pass, they too made a run for it following me down the trail.

Seeing one of Venezuela´s largest caves I was not too impressed. They were missing the high tech lighting, head sets and a concession stand in the center for those who might get a bit thirsty from all the walking. So it wasn't spectacular visually but the noises of the main resident which is the Guacharo bird was quite amazing. It was different hearing their loud screams and seeing them flying around in a bat like fashion from far far far into the mouth of the cave while I am use to seeing bats and hearing their small squeaks. There were other creatures that roamed about the cave. There was a large amount of blind rats and huge hand sized crabs...yes, this seemed strange having to watch out for them on the trail in a cave and not to step on the crabs let alone step on a blind rat. The guide stated they were blind...I am not sure about that but, he did wave his hands in front of a rat face perched up on a rock and it did not doing anything - it could have be just...just...dumb.

It took me a very long time to get to the caves and waterfalls. Not because of the distance, but because of my cheapness. I tried to get a local bus for $0.25 but after a hour of no success, I ended up just paying the $2.50 for the 12km cab ride. I did get a local bus back which involved a 2km workout walking down hill - I am exhausted just writing about it.

Trinidad and drinking...

February 22, 2010: At the airport heading to Trinidad, I witnessed a 70 year old man who sort of looked like an old version of Benny Hill get sucker punched by a 30 year old drunk tattooed man with the ink running up his neck at the Venezuelan airport. The youngster obviously drank too many beers with the scantily dressed woman in a bikini printed on the can - I truthfully think the woman on the can told him to do it. And no these people were not from South America...they were from somewhere in the European Union - probably France - laughing.

The past 2.5 weeks have been mighty insane on the Anthony´s craziness scale. It seems to me that Trinidad and drinking fits quite nicely in the same sentence. Too much to write and to make sense at the same time when paying by the minute at this internet facility so I am going to just write it out and not look back at edits and entertainment value. If you noticed, I stopped with the short stories...it takes me too long preventing me from getting out and getting myself more stories, but most of all it doesn't pay me anything. I will build on those stories another day in another country where it is cheap to travel and to rest a while. Venezuela has not been the cheapest place to be so far.

At about 3 in the morning on the day of Carnival, I put on my clothing made for wife beaters and headed to the streets with a freshly shaved head covering my body in what seemed to be industrial grade paint as I staggered down the streets from the over consumption of alcohol. I then obnoxiously humped my friend, her sister, her mother and didnt want to leave her aunt out so I humped her too. The people in Trinidad call in wining but it is clearly humping...sort of dry humping doggy style. Now that I look back I laugh and am slightly embarrassed wanting to blame it on the alcohol or on how early this party started but I am not going to do it because it was neither...it was the spirit of the Carnival that made me do it and I am...sticking to it.

Went to several parties during the week that had a start time of about 9pm and an unknown end time since the old ones could not make it till past 3am. When we were leaving it seemed that the parties were somehow getting bigger. It could have been due to my double vision though. I do remember an unforgettable sight. It was of a 300 pound woman shaking her wet cheesy butt in spandex and she somehow, pulled off a spectacular gymnast / stripper move...the splits. The crowd went wild.

For two days during carnival I watched scantily dressed women ranging from pencil like bodies to jumbo sized markers participate in an enormous hump fest in the middle of the streets at impressive angles and heights. Here I was able to see my first butt implant. It was so amazing I had to take a photo. I can not believe doctors are allowed to do such a thing. It was seriously disgusting.

When night time came, I would go back to my friends place sleeping in a room of horror film stature as the 50 or so dolls that lined the walls and rested in the crib would stare at me. They did not move or even blink...when my eyes were open. I later found out that the women who lives here told a young girl that the dolls talk to her - gulp. Maybe it was the dolls that did something to my eyes at night as I peacefully slept. I would wake up in the morning and the were seriously sealed shut by some yellow glue-like substance. Thinking about it...maybe it was the residuals from an possible eye infection when I dipped my head in a wheel barrel of paint at that one party in the wee hours of the morning - carnival spirit.

Staying at a house on another island for a few days, it felt like some posh survival / summer camp. I learned a lot of new things here, starting with a few techniques from the cutest older woman who would tend to the family when on the islands. These techniques might take away profits from the pharmaceutical companies so they of coarse dont want you to know this. For example, if you are feeling sick...have a male pee in a cup, add some salt and drink it. Another one is that if you have a headache...no problem, have a male pee on a towel and gently place on your head. Unwilling to try it myself, I will be happy to provide anyone with some medicinal fluids for a small cost.

I was also taken out by one of the neighbors and taught how to spearfish. At first I was all gung-ho about the sport but when out there...I didnt want to kill anything. I realized I would rather order something already prepared if I want to eat fish and not kill it myself. This is why the McFish sandwich at McDonalds is sometime such a good option for those who are not barbarians and want to support the locals economy.

From my friends house I was able to do some snorkeling. Here I would tease the jelly fish by pushing on the mushroom top head until I was painfully kissed on the ankle by one of them. I dont typically drink too many fluids so I did not have enough medicinal fluids to douse the fire like burn nor did I want to ask for any assistance.

The past two weeks I did not do as much studying of spanish as I would have liked. I had hard enough of a time trying to understand the Bob Marley like accents coming from the locals. It was kind of strange seeing a white guy speaking like Mr. Bob Marley himself without the dreads or a splif resting between his lips.

Just arrived back to Venezuela yesterday evening, I must say that I really do miss Trinidad. Not so much the country, but the friends I made. Today is my first full day back on the road and I am excited to get out of the sand and into the mountains and deltas. No more beaches until Peru and that should will be a while - Yahoo!

I am an Addict

I am an Addict. This is the first step to recovery so I am told, so today I am telling you that I have a problem and I need help for the sake of if I want to live till I am a ripe ole age of 40, I must get help. I am addicted to...McDonald´s and Ronald himself is my dealer. I find myself taking a 30 minute bus ride out to this town every night to get my fix. Due to the expense, I am skipping lunch to make up the cost for the dinner. My mouth salivates just writing about it. When I was at home, McDonald´s was not my first choice. In the US it would have been at Dinky´s - yep that damn chihuahua at Taco Bell was also giving me my fix. If it was him it was at that gingers place, Wendy´s.

Today will by my last meal at McDonald´s for I don't know how long. I am taking a flight to Trinidad going into detox and to meet up with the "Massy Girls" for Carnival. For some reason...I feel it is going to be a crazy next 2 1/2 weeks. I am not sure how easy it will be to get access to the internet at their house so until then...signing off.

Out and about in Margarita

February 2nd, 2010: no wonder why some kids have tantrums...they just don't have the vocabulary to say what the want. So they cry. I can verify the frustration as at times I feel as if I am never going to be able to speak spanish as a developed Cro-Magnon baby. It can make life exciting...but when it is not exciting, it is a little upsetting.

The Police here in Margarita seem to be not as friendly but still not bad. I feel like a kid, knowing the police suppose to be all big and tough as I attempt talking to them, smiling as they hold an expressionless face. Either they say nothing or just shake there heads up and down as the look forward with the dark tinted sunglasses on. They are probably thinking something is wrong with me because I suppose to be scared of them like everyone else.

Only in South America can you get on a full bus and have just enough space for one foot on the door platform as he pulls away to do his route. It is also nice to be able to get on and off whenever you want without having to wait for that designated bus spot.

I wanted to kill...

February 1st, 2010: I wanted to kill...my first dog today - I didn't know how though. With my bare hands? A rope? A wooden stick? A lawn mower? A pen or perhaps a pencil? I could not make up my mind...so I didn't. I didn't help put him out of his misery even though he didn't look miserable. He had one ear and the skin from his head was missing so I could see a little less than half of his skull. It was...discussing and sad.

This country is full of mangy dogs spending most of their days chewing fleas too having uncensored sex in front of adults and even young children. I still laugh at when I was in Ecuador observing some hot unprotected sex in the middle of the street as traffic stopped not being able to get by - as an older boy was covering his younger brothers eyes.

Problem...resolved

January 30th, 2009: My hotel room today is filled with not the scent of a garden of flowers, a woman or even the pleasant odor of mold, but strong smell of gasoline. After a while of sitting there and watching some documentary on how the United States is an evil country, the fumes were getting the best of me as I began to feel sick. I hesitantly went to the front desk manager twice to get rid of the odor or to change rooms. First, a man shut the window and said it was coming from outside. As time passed, I was feeling worse due to the thousands of innocent brain cells being slaughtered. After my second visit to the manager, this time a man brought incense and then poured half a gallon of some pleasant smelling blue chemical on the floor all over the room and left, not to return to mop it up - okay...but it worked. Putting on my flip flops, I carefully walked around my room the rest of the night...problem...resolved.

Dealing on the streets of Caracas

Moving up in the world, today I made my first large deal after roaming the streets for a bit in Caracas. I was so nervous as I asked the man behind the desk if he wanted to buy any US dollars as I looked around speaking very softly. Asking me how much, I told a sizable amount. Saying that he has a few friends that might be interested and asked for me to come back later...I hesitated and agreed, later thinking that those friends will be meeting me before or after the transaction down the street.

Later in the day I went back making sure my shoes were tied and ready to run. Thinking I would arrive an hour early, I would mess up any imaginary plan that they had in place. After I used the negotiation skills I acquired at Marriott getting about a half percent more, he went in back to get the money. As he placed the stacks of money on the table, I had to internally laugh at how big the stacks were, having no clue on where this money was going to go. My pants are already tight enough with the extra sock roll I am carrying - laughing. Placing it in a secret spot...I quickly made my way back to the hotel. There I tossed the money on my bed and rolled in it for hours upon hours feeling as if I just won the lotto - get over twice the amount of money I would have received from the bank. As I was building up a sweat I figured it was time to put it all away and go out and celebrate. Time to get crazy and get an ice-cream and a soda! Oh yeah!!!!

I was almost robbed by a ginger...

January 28th, 2010: Roaming around the city...sort of hungry, dazed and confused, I came across the popular U.S. restaurant represented by a ginger (aka Wendy´s). For those who watch South Park might know what I am talking about when I use the word, "ginger" to describe red-headed children whether or not they are a red-headed step child. Missing Wendy´s chicken sandwich and french fries I decided to go in and get myself a value meal, crazily thinking there would be some sort of value. Stepping up to the ropes to look at what I wanted, I was shocked by the prices. For almost $18 (non-black market price), I could get myself something to eat from this ginger girls fast food restaurant. Walking out hungry with my head down kicking some imaginary napkins, I realized that I was almost robbed by a ginger.

Caracas...a big city

January 26th, 2010: When I wrote my last post, I gave Caracas two potential options on what it will be...a living hell or an angry kitten. I was wrong and should have listed a third choice...a big city. As every big city, it has its problems but Caracas´s problems are greatly inflated in the backpacker community. Staying in the section of the city my travel guide suggest I shouldn't due to muggings being a common thing...I have yet to see anything exciting such as a good knife fight, clubbing or gun fight. The hotel I am staying at is a hotel that has a first floor dedicated for those who want to use the place on an hourly basis such as those partially undressed workers outside, their pimps and drug dealers/users who might need a nice clean place for a nice power nap due to their crazy hours.

Getting here on a bus yesterday I used a great word that my good friend Martha taught me to say in spanish before I left Colombia...nervous. Telling the woman next to me that spoke not a lick of english, that Caracas is such a big city and I was a bit nervous...worked quite nicely as it had the college student walking me from the bus station through the streets to the underground metro system. While this was taking place she gave me a ticket and explained to me what I should and shouldn't do on my quick intro to the city - only understanding 1/4 of it (hold my bag in front of me and no phones or cameras). Getting on the train with me, she guided me to the station I needed to get off at. Now who said the people in Caracas are all uptight and not willing to help?

The most dangerous thing that has come across my way so far was exiting the train at the metro station. People were pouring in as I followed my lead blocker as he cleared a path out of the train as people were about to fight the people that squashed their babies.

Again, I have come to the conclusion that all those who said all this awful things about this place must have either been home schooled or were one of those children who only did play dates due to their over controlling petrified parents. So with this said, perhaps my next vacation should be...Iraq. I hear all of these awful things about that place too...so why not?

It is almost 7pm so I must not push my luck too much and start to make my way back to my cell on the second floor, which happens to be room number...13.

Off to Caracas...

January 24th, 2010: I will shed the last one of my friends that I have been traveling with the past few days tomorrow. She will be waiting for my email to see how Caracas really is before she decides to make her way over there. I still only hear horror stories of the place along with the rest of the country which I have proved to not be completely true. So, tomorrow...I will see if this is the city of hell or just an angry kitten.

Now how do you supervise a Jungle dance?

January 23rd, 2010: Went out to listen to some drums at the beach last night and learned to dance "Jungle." Well, I learned by observation not participation, but it seemed to be quite easy...you just shake your hips and hump the girl going in circles around her. If you are really good you can lift up your shirt or take it completely off pulling your pants up so it is tight letting your appendage take cheap feels on the consenting participant. It must be hard when you are living in the jungle and supervising a school or church dance.

True Venezuelan hospitality

January 22nd, 2010: Running out of boats to hop crossing a stream, a man offered me his back and carried me across the rest of the way...true Venezuelan hospitality not even wanting to rob me or call me childish names.

Dude...wheres my backpack?

January 22nd, 2010: Taking a bus to another beach town we had to do an unexpected transfer. Going to the back of the bus, the luggage door was wide open with only one bag in the back and that bag was not mine. Slow motion moment - Duuuuuudeee whereeeee is my backpaaaaaack? Five seconds later my friend said she saw it being transferred to the other bus as my world continued to run in slow motion gradually picking up speed as them minutes passed.

Black Market

January 20th, 2010: I need to change money on the Black Market. It seems much more devious than it is. If I didnt exchange my US dollars by finding someone on the street or someone who knows someone who knows someone...Venezuela would be so expensive. For example, my battle against the sun cost me a mere $10.50 for a small bottle of sunscreen instead of $24.00 at the official exchange rate. It would have been cheaper to pull a five finger discount but my heavenly self is not ready to stoop that low.

When water is more expensive than gas

January 20th, 2010: Went to the store to purchase some water for solely the plastic bottle. Costing about $2.00 USD for a liter, I had to think. Seeing a man fill up his gas tank a few days back for about $0.50 USD for 24 liters (6 gallons of gas) I wonder if my water purifier could clean the impurities out of the gas so I could just drink gasoline instead of water? I will have to see if there is a test subject out there for my experiment...maybe a dog or cat will have to try it first, then...a backpacker.

Butt implant needed

January 20th, 2010: I might possibly need a butt implant. After a treacherous boat ride yesterday hopping from island to island, jumping the tops of the waves instead of taking it slowly and going peacefully going up and down, my left and right butt bone seems to have taken some damage. Perhaps if I get an implant at a reasonable price, I can not just have the necessary padding for rough boat rides, but for bus trips and skinny bicycle seats too. Besides looking freakish, it seems like a good idea. I wonder if a woman would appreciate a nice silicon butt to squeeze?

Cruising in a Caprice Classic

January 17th, 2010: Cruising in a 1973 or 1980 Caprice Classic - I have no idea - along the hillside floating above the massive potholes with suspension that no longer exists in modern day automobiles, happy memories came to me. Sitting in the front blue velvet seat barely being able to see over the dashboard without my seatbelt on, it brought back memories of my brother´s and his friends gas guzzling battleships when I was younger. With the windows down and my hand holding onto the stub of what was once a holder for the mirror, we traveled back to Coro to transfer to a bus and to another bus and whatever else it takes to make it the our next destination.

I am now traveling with a Swiss guy and a woman from Holland - that seem to debate as if they were in bad marriage. Tonight, there was only a matramonial room available. So I called the floor and they get the bed since I am up till the wee hours of the morning and wake up before they even think about getting up.

Thank you Mr. Chavez!

January 16th, 2010: Hiked the Spanish Trail and explored some caves on the hillsides for around 4 hours. A group inside one of the caves had lifejackets, helmets, special suits and headlamps on while we had on just our five day old clothes - now muddy clothes and a pocket flashlight including a flashlight that didnt desearve to be called a flashlight. Underdressed or overdressed...I am not sure. Mr. Hugo Chavez seems to take care of the poor as we used the local buses for some great distances free of charge instead of taking an expensive tour or use of taxis. Thank you Mr. Chavez!

Drug users sighted by Mr. Eagle Eyes

January 15th, 2010: Did a hike with a very old man who was 73 or more years old. He was a bit slow but impressive with his speed. I thought it was funny when he saw some people down the hill saying he didnt want to go on the trail they took because of how he saw them with drugs - must of had eagle-like vision from the hilltop. I didnt believe Mr. Eagle Eyes saw anything and it was more so that he didnt want to walk down a very steep hill that he would have to soon walk back up - later thinking how are we going to carry his dead body out if he dies. Paying for a tour, we said that was okay and we still wanted to go down as my friend Ben told him that we had someone that was in the Army - yes, but people seem to forget that it was over 15 years ago.

Hot Shower!

January 14th, 2010: Pulling back the shower curtain, I see two knobs. Strange, I thought since I havnt seen a hot water shower or hot water on my body for over 1.5 months. A spark of hope came to me. Turning on the water with one of the knobs, it was cold. Thinking that it was another trick shower I turned on the other knob just to do it. Hearing the water pressure get stronger, I stuck my hand in the water, holding it there with my heart beginning to race - for those who know me...I am known to take hour long showers practically living in there at times. Thinking I might no longer be feeling icy water, I began to get excited. The water became hotter and hotter to the point of melting flesh off my skin. Today was a GREAT night, reminding me of all the luxurys back at home that I would take for granted. Tonight I had to dig deep to justify taking a nice long shower in the mountains which there is a water shortage...but I did it, thinking that it is better to have a happy person instead of a dead person.

Fu#ky Fu#ky...

January 12th, 2010: Meeting a mother and a daughter combo the other day, myself and two others ended up going out with them to the ocean with their family paying them for the transport instead of a tour agency of an area you can not get to by public transport. The mother was clearly trying to give her daughter away to someone and was quite discusting about it as she would go, "Fu#ky Fu#ky" to my friend who was already actively trying to practice making babies with her daugher and now has full parental consent. Not concerning me, I sat as I watched what was unfolding before my eyes in back of a beaten up pickup truck as we had an excellent tour for 1/3 the cost. From singing songs in the back to being obnoxiously immature about donkeys, I could not believe on how crazy traveling just became.

Going to the womans brothers house after seeing some flamingos and a beautiful sunset to teach us how to make empanadas...is when everything got really...interesting. Noting feeling good about this decision, I went anyways. Going down all of these dark desolete back roads, I would have thought it was time for our soon to be limp mutalated bodys to be dumped at the side of the road. Instead of being feed to nature we safely make it to the ancient ranch with not another house in sight. Taking a tour around the place they had a large range of animals. From dogs to several extra large man eating pigs - not to mention a brothel of donkeys - and yes, I did ask her if guys in Venezuela are known to lose there virginity to donkeys such as in the north coast of Colombia and she confirmed it informing me she could find me one if I wanted to try it - where is PETA when you need them for real world issues.

Now that the woman had her 18 year old daughter thrown at a potencial one night husband, she began to hunt for herself. I could feel the akwardness as she would make these crude sexual packed jokes. She then went for it telling me she liked me. Not knowing what to say, I just said I didnt understand hoping she was not going to say it again. Then she had my freind translate to me what I already knew. I said thank you and didnt know how to say, I was not interested in a fhilthy woman who would encourages her daughter to be a slut all day. My friend told me to be nice about it but I just thought thank you was good enough. She did not give up on me and later to me she began to pump her fists saying "Fu#ky Fu#ky". I guess I am not use to women being so aggressive, needing to leave right away.

She wanted us to spend the night and I said I had to go back with my friend Tim as the my other friend, Ben decided to stay with her daughter which was obvious. Her brother was now not going to drive us back to Coro for free since I did not want to make a personal payment plan with his sister. He decided to pull rate out of his behind and charge us $100 Bolivars each when the entire tour was about $36.50 Bolivars. But, he did say if I would spend the night a bus convienently passes right by his house at 4am. I felt as if he was trying to trap me for his desperate sister. Willing to walk through the desert with no water to I dont know where...the debate began trying to get us back to my hostel. Eventually I thought he folded but it ended up that he just took my friend and I to a cab station not to our hostel. I led the debate as we sat in the back of the pickup bed since the guy I was with only knew how to say hello in Spanish and a few other words.

After the words cleared we took a cab saving money, with this experience adding to the excitement level of the perfect trip that was getting better and better as the night grew older. I did learn something important today...to not relax so much and let not let others do the negociating.

Having to clear a military checkpoint were told that we needed to exit the car. The large powerful looking man kindly asked for our identification. Handing my passport over to him I smiled and kindly spoke to him. Looking at my stamps he handed my passport back and we had a small conversation in English. When finished he shook our hands and welcomed us to Venezuela.

The past two days I have felt no aggressiveness toward me for any reason. Okay, I had someone who tried to get a few extra bolivars off me but that is just a part of traveling and he was never agressive or rude about anything. In the street people will go out of their way to help me and nothing changes when I tell them where I am from. It seems like the younger people really like to see travelers wanting photos with us to saying a few words in english as we pass eachother in the streets too those being all the way across the street. I must say the South American Hospitality has not changed much in this wonderful country.

Myth Buster?

January 11th, 2010: Gulp...The bus rolls to a stop. Feeling as if I am back in the Army and somehow the bus became a C130 aircraft and I am preparing to exit the door at 1200 feet. When standing up the lump in my throat disappeared as my brain shut off as I shuffled out the door for the one foot jump into the frontier of Colombia. Quickly I cleared the Colombian immigration as I followed my 70 year old hunch-backed Colombian bodyguard who sat next to me on the bus helping me through the hoops. Walking across the boarder I was afraid that her frail body would not make it to the other side but somehow she got there without my assistance.

Reaching the window after a two hour wait, I was quickly processed Immigration without having to say anything through the tiny hole in the mirrored glass that separated us. Grabbing my passport I was cleared to begin my Venezuelan adventure. As soon as I entered my bus one of the passengers were collecting the bribe so that we would not have our baggage inspected at all of the check points. Not having anything but dirty underwear and all the time in the world, it wasnt a problem for me so I didnt pay...until the chatter on the bus began safefully assuming it was about me - not wanting to attempt to translate it, I think they were tellng the guy I was with the other woman trying to get me out of paying. Since the chatter continued as I passed the guy and sat down...I paid the $1.50 (blackmarket rate) due to everyone else doing it and then jumped off the cliff with the rest of them. We were stopped 5 times and only had ID checks thanks to our extra funding to the public servents.

The bus dropped me and some others off at Manicaibo. Sharing a cab to the bus station after a minor sqawble with the shady driver I began my search for some sort of transport to Coro which is 3 or so hour trip. Asking 10 different people throughout the bus station I had 10 clearly different answers. Not liking any of them...ranging from the taxis leaving at 4am to tomorrow evening - as would a child I continued to ask around until I found an answer I did like, which was there is one leaving now.

The taxi were not some typical obnoxious cab color...it was more like several colors, depending on how many different car parts that the car was made of. It seemed that anyone can be a cab driver - I dont know...it is just that the cabs seemed to be hoopties (Sir Mix Alot) that where basically junk on wheels. These cabs sit along the side of the bus station are used when buses and other forms of transportation do not exist or are readily available. With 6 people in total filling the Impala we made our way to Coro being stopped by the military and the police for about 10 times. Some of the stops we were able to stretch our legs for great lengths of time too short little ID checks. The stories I heard about these in Colombia were horror stories and I found them to be fine even after they saw that I was from the US. Was I just lucky? I dont think so...if you look at it statistically, out of 15 or so stops in total, everyone of them were fine - that hints to me that I might have been hearing words with not much meaning.

Getting to my hostel at 12:15am which I had a reservation for the 12th when techniqually it was. Knocking on the door then reverting to the doorbell. The man behind the iron cage and massive wooden doors - who seemed to me as if they might be holding Hannible Lector - would not let me in telling me they were full. Standing out in the dark street next to a sketchy park with the taxi cab driver that rapped me within the first minute meeting him - charging me a ridiculous price ($3.00 black market). I choose not to leave until he let me in. At first I asked for a bed, then a hammock and finally the floor. Being a good salesman or begger (you choose) he went away for a few minutes and then the doors opened - there was an unfilled bed he wasnt aware of. Day number 1.1 done and I am going to bed with a smile thinking that I just might be a myth buster about Venezuela.

Venezuela or Bust

January 11th, 2010: I leave in 4 hours to go to Venezuela. I think I am pretty much ready to go except for lagging on sleep and hiding my money in anyplace I can think of…almost anyplace. I am feeling much better now that I have consumed McDonalds and made a reservation for a place to stay on my arrival to Coro. Not traveling with my computer or a lot of my other weight bearing comforts, I am beginning to get excited for a new adventure that wont completely set in until I cross the Venezuelan border. Goodbye Colombia and helloooooooo Venezuela! - Gulp…

1,000,000 foot waves!

January 6th, 2010: Went to a nude beach at Tayrona National Park and it was just as I unfortunately expected…a sausage party - except for the one women with two plastic balls mounted to her chest who was accompanied by her husband...and son. Even though the view was not that great, the waves were. They were huge as it would go over my head beating me into the ground giving me a natural swirly as I would consume the salty water by the glassful in addition to pulling down my underwear (didn’t want to get my bathing suit wet) to embarrass me at the same time. It was so much fun that I could have stayed for hours!

Moments before I saw the waves I had been hiking for about 2 hours dragging my two little ole feet, tired from the heat and I was extremely sleepy from the night before. But as soon as I saw the wonders of the ocean I quickly ran into the water as would a 4 year old getting a burst of energy that lasted until I stepped out of the water to hike back to the campsite. That is what 1,000,000 foot waves will do to you.

Tramp Stamp

January 5th, 2010: Saw the best tramp stamp on this woman today at the beach…it said, ”Rios” (meaning God). How can a woman be a successful tramp and have the word, “God” staring at the guy as he does…something?

If it is not one thing, it is always something else

January 2nd, 2010: Quickly making it to my tent from across the street in a panic, I at once asked my friend for help. I was afraid that someone was going to enter the restroom I just left…before I was able to drown my children. With no running water I resorted to dumping half of the drum of saltwater from outside the front door which was apparently set up for this sole purpose. With a toilet that had an undiscovered cup lodged inside, it was still a difficult task seeming as if my unwanted children took some unauthorized swimming lessons while they were inside on me.

After resolving this issue, I tried to take a shower and noticed that the pipes lead to nowhere. Was this a sick joke or it is this the aftermath of someone stealing plastic pipes? Realizing that the pipes really didn’t lead to anywhere, I had a short lesson on how to toss a light bucket (much too small to lay in) into the depths of a cement storage tank to pull up fresh water for a bath. At first, I couldn’t seem to get it to sink, only bringing up enough water to perhaps bathe a pet hamster. Being told to throw it harder, I listened and finally brought up a huge bucket of water with a minor problem…I cracked it, realizing that this was the reasoning of my short term success as the water would quickly drain out onto the dessert sand.

Standing there, I remembered how I recently internally complained about having to take cold showers…but now, I would be happy with a cold shower as long as I had running water. Same as the toilet…in the past I whined about having no toilet seat and now, all I want is a toilet that flushes. How does that saying go? - If it is not one thing, it is always something else.

No Shame

January 3rd, 2010: Today I found out that the puffy poodle Tony, who is a resident at my campsite…really likes his blanket as he vigorously humped it in front of everyone with absolutely no shame.

Preparing for war

January 2nd: Preparing to go to Venezuela. It feels as if I am preparing to go to war, since war stories is almost I hear. Ranging from Hugo Chavez, corrupt police, expensive accommodations, violent thieves, to the brain washed locals with hatred toward those from the U.S. Now the question is…is this just a few traveler stories that spiraled out of control or is it propaganda fueled by the western countries to keep travelers out of the country that wants to be explored? On January 11th, I will find out as I cross the border into the wild, wild east. Could someone really be that rude if you give them a big smile? Can it melt away the anger? We will see…

2010…Anthony’s Odyssey

January 1st, 2009: I Enjoyed New Years Eve at my friends house as I sat drinking soda (aka pop) when the others consumed Budweiser, a foreign beer company that amusingly claims on the can that it is the King of Beers – perhaps for those who enjoy drinking an expensive glass of urine.

Four minutes before it was really New Year’s…the drunkard with the concert sized speakers lining the outside of his house mistakenly started the New Year’s music too early. As if someone shot the first round in a crowd of trigger happy Infantryman…there was no stopping the song or the carnage of male hugs and women cheek kisses that filled the narrow streets of the caged compounds. It was nice to see how neighbors know their neighbors and are not locked into their houses but enjoying it with a much larger family. I really miss having quality neighbors such as in my youth…the sort of neighbors that felt like family members, not just someone who has no name and habitats the house next door.

Last night, I learned how to score 12 wishes in one night – a lot compared to the just one wish you get when you turn a year older. All you need is 12 grapes that represents 12 months and consume the grapes at midnight making one wish for each grape. I also discovered a way not to look like a pyromaniac and found an acceptable way to light on fire a pile of stuffed clothes resembling a human. This ritual is to get rid of all the bad things that happened in the previous year and to start a new year – and of course to give you a reason to light something bigger on fire than some firecrackers or a few sticks in a measly little ole fire pit.

When I see “2010” I can’t help but think about outer space due to the film, 2010 A Space Odyssey. When I was a child, I thought that 2010 was so far away…and now, it is 2010. Time does go faster than we would all like at times - so did the creator of 2010 who I suppose probably thought we would be much farther along in the exploration of space than we really are. I can safely say that the word “Odyssey” is a good representation of my life. Not just now, but since I was born life has been a long series of travels and adventures. Whether it has been spent sitting on the porch where I grew up in Allen Park or sitting on the street in some chaotic city in Asia - it doesn’t matter where I physically am. So welcome 2010 and to the continuation of my odyssey.

Why not pee from the sandy shore?

December 28th, 2009: Today was perhaps the 2nd best beach I have been to since traveling. The beaches name was…Concha Something. My friend and I had to take a motorcycle…totaling three adults, two large backpacks and one helmet that was of course for the driver. Originally, I intended to take the safe confines of the back of a jeep but everyone kept getting motorcycle taxis since they didn’t have the patience to wait for the jeep to fill up. Not having time to call shotgun on the motorcycle, I had to mount the back seat having no extra space for my already tiny behind as it was almost hanging off, awaiting “that” bump to so unkindly eject me off as we traveled down the pot holed dirt road.

Having access to a $10 tent I was able to sleep in the comforts of the shade without the bugs – minus the bee that stung me in the chest after I messaged him into my skin as I applied sun screen without looking…ouch – as it swelled up destroying my 8 pack of imaginary abs.

The views in the ocean was not as spectacular at the views from outside the water. Shortly after drying my white pasty skin and bathing suit as an iguana would in the sun, I realized that I needed to go to the toilet. Thankfully it was just frontal fluids that needed to be released – but question is…where? With no known toilet I had to make a decision…should I go back into the water and get wet as I released my toxins or lift a leg and go on the nearest tree. Sitting there on the most beautiful beach I have yet to see in Colombia, I had to think about what difference would it make if I just stood on the sandy shore of the ocean and went directly into the water rather than entering the water to do it. Not wanting to get wet, to just have to dry off again, I decided to…get into the water and do it along side of the 100 others.

I believe in miracles!

December 24th, 2009: I saw a miracle today with my very own eyes!!!!! It was performed by an everyday teenager on his motorcycle taxi. A 300+pounder man with a gigantic butt that could devour a baby mounted his motorcycle wanting to be taken to some unknown destination. The bike almost performed a wheelie without moving. The driver of the motorcycle looked at me, wanting to laugh as I smiled back internally dying inside as he slowly rolled away into the distance swerving left to right not knowing if he ever made it.

I enjoyed Christmas at my friend’s family’s house in Santa Marta. They celebrate Christmas here on the 24th. Starting the eating festivities at around 8:30pm, I could only make it till 1:30am going to bed much earlier than the group I was with who was averaging 60 years old. The only excuse I could come up with was that I only had 2.5 hours sleep the night before (went out to the bars with some backpackers…wanting to come back early but stayed out to do some needed research on what happens in Colombia at 3:30am).

Mud Volcano?

December 7th, 2009: Today I made it to a well known mud volcano outside Cartagena. This was a kid’s dream – and an adult’s dream who might still think they are kids. Looking at the people next to me I said with a straight face, “I hope nobody else peed in here besides me.” I just implanted in their head that…people might actually go pee in here and other unspeakable things. With no known way to clean the mud, I could somehow see the thinking that was going on in their heads…as they questioned what the milky mud is actually composed of.

The Lost City Trek

December 14th, 2009: Today I experienced why most of the travel guides inform backpackers on how demanding this six day trek can be, completing several kilometers and seven hours of hiking for the day…reaching a mere 660 meters higher than I started after a roller coaster of hills and a multitude of river crossings. Unfortunately for me, the final stretch to the Lost City had no escalator to whisk me to the top, meaning that I was forced to put my weak chicken like legs to work. Slowly, I made my way up, one step at a time climbing up the 1200 awkwardly shaped steps as my body threw a tantrum as I painfully directed it to continue moving forward, vowing that I am going to give up hiking in three short days…questioning why I agreed to write this tour up.

Reaching the Lost City, I was clearly reminded on why hiking can be so rewarding as a smile of accomplishment came tearing across my face as I stood there with a temporary loss of words, trying to describe on paper what rested in front of me. Here I had magnificent views overlooking the dense jungle and rugged terrain, enjoying the sight that a miniscule amount of the white wheel chaired license plate holders get the opportunity to see back in the U.S., making the moment even more special.

The Beach

December 6th, 2009: Please note: “No gracias” translated into English means, “No thank you.”

Making it the tourist mecca of Colombia, I sit on the beach that rests beneath the shadows of the manmade structures that rise from the ground to great heights. Within the first 3 minutes I was swarmed by the walking salesman. No time to relax, I laughed as I heard myself say, “No gracias (no massage), no gracias (no bracelet), no gracias (no crab), no gracias (no oyster), no gracias (no freestyle personal rap session), no gracias (no whatever that is), no gracias (no painting), no gracias (no sunglasses), no gracias (no cigarettes), no gracias (no photos), no gracias (no necklaces), no gracias (no candy), no gracias (no beer), no gracias (no carved turtles), no gracias (no carved dolphins), no gracias (no hat), no gracias (no soda)…”

Overlooking the beach between the salesmen, 100’s of people stand like bowling pins lined up in the ocean, looking like a poor attempt of people trying to join hands across America.

Needing to consume so some required calories, I headed over to McDonalds for a Big Mac to complete my mental confusion on where I was, feeling as if I was no longer in Colombia.

Sexual intercourse with a donkey

December 3rd, 2009: Tomorrow I will be entering the north coast of Colombia. I am told that it is common for men in the sticks of this region to lose their virginity to a donkey and to continue having sexual relations with them. With this said, women seem to not think it is a big deal if they are with someone who has sex with donkeys.

So, if a man has sex with a donkey…could they transfer STD’s? If so, would it be a valid argument if you pass a sexually transmitted disease onto your wife, to say that you didn’t cheat on her but you got it from a donkey? Throughout my travels I heard of chickens and sheep, but a donkey? – it seems that a nice swift kick to the twins would put this activity to an end.

Expressing how it must hurt the donkey, my friend from the north coast laughed and asked if I have ever seen the appendage on a male donkey, insinuating that a man…even a man of porno star potential would not distress a female donkey.

In the border towns of Mexico, men will pay to see a donkey show involving indescribable activities with a woman and a male donkey. Now the question is…would women pay to see a female donkey with a man? If so, there could be a lot of money made out there, someone just needs to…do it.

Seat #13

December 2, 2009: Handing over my 1000 pound backpack to the conductor at the bus station to place underneath the coach, I was issued a receipt for my baggage, making my way to seat #13 as I comfortably sat down, pulling out my book and iPod awaiting my 10 hour journey to small town of El Banco, Colombia. I was extremely happy to finally get the opportunity to truly relax, since I arrived at the bus station 8 hours ago. It is not like I enjoy hanging around bus station for extended periods of time, I just decided that there was no reason for me to leave the station after an 18 hour bus ride to a town I have already been to. In addition to this, the first time I was here I was taken advantage of by an old crusty mischievous man in yellow automobile who was soliciting his services. Even if I did want to spend the night, I didn’t even remember the proper name of where I stayed except for the name I gave it…the Drug House - it was better that I didn’t leave the bus station.

Shortly after sitting down, I realized that someone else was issued a ticket for the same seat. A woman asked me if I could sit in her seat (my misinterpreted translation) so that her kids can sit together. Not minding where I sat since I already had an aisle seat, I happily agreed. The bus continued to fill up as the people were pilling on, soon to find out I was occupying a seat that belonged to someone else. Not understanding what was going on and to avoid playing a late night game of musical chairs, I waved for the conductor as he came down the aisle to see what the issue was. The issue was swiftly resolved as I was…kicked off the bus before it even left. Everyone seemed to be staring at me as I did the walk of shame down the aisle as I made my way toward the door. What a horrible time to find out that I waited at the bus station for 8 hours to discover that I somehow bought a ticket that was to leave tomorrow night at 10pm, not tonight.

Getting off the bus that had no more space, I was a bit frustrated since this company has only one bus a night that leaves for this destination…meaning that I might have to get a room for the night - defeating the whole purpose on why I was at the station the entire day. Quickly I made it up to the ticket counter as I successfully faked a smile informing the man who previously sold me the ticket on what happened. He tried to issue me a ticket on the full bus - not surprised of the expression that overtook his face. Having a whispering match between himself and his manager, they seemed to have an answer. Quickly they gave me my money back as the manager walked me over to the next ticket counter to a company that also transports people to El Banco, which thankfully happened to have some available seats.

When the ticket was placed in my hands for a bus that left in 20 minutes, I was able to take a deep breath -that was immediately lost as soon as I realized something important…I forgot my backpack in the luggage compartment on the bus that should have left 8 minutes ago. Painfully sprinting (another story) down 3 flights of stairs I made it to the security gate seeing my ex-bus through the glass window with its headlights on. Trying to clear security, the man wouldn’t let me through the exit point nor would the ticket agent let me through the entrance point since my bus that I just bought a ticket for has not yet arrived. My mind went blank forgetting how to say anything in Spanish, reverting to pointing and making silly shapes with my hands. I did not know the terminology to explain what happened, nor did I have the time to pull out my dictionary and look it up. Managing to speak some hard core Spanglish very quickly, I showed the woman a tiny crinkled piece of paper that slightly resembled a receipt for my baggage on a different bus. She kept shaking her head left and right when I needed it to go up and down. Eventually she let me through not knowing if she knew what I was saying or just saw the panic on my face. Clearing the gate I ran down the loading area, dodging porters and boxes that occupied my path to my bus that was slowing backing up. Hitting the front windshield, the driver stopped the rotating wheels and looked at me as if I was crazy. Showing him my receipt and pointing down he seemed to realize what was taking place as a smile came across his face.

Pulling out my luggage from the depth of the bus, I would not look up at the passengers in the window, too embarrassed on what just happened as the sweat poured from my face with my heart about to rip out of my chest and run away. Still in a daze, I could not help to think of my initial hesitation when I received my ticket for 13…seat #13.

Champion of the World

November 24th, 2009: I played the final match of a 7 game series of Yatzee tonight with my friend. After my running throws from the front door to the dining room table, the fake spit, obnoxious exaggerated shaking of the dice, yells of joy and my frequent use of the infamous double pinky curse…I came out victorious. With an ending score of 548 which involved 3 Yatzee’s - 2 of them where all 6’s… you would think that I made a deal with the devil.

Sadly, at the end of the game, I didn’t feel like the champ since my friend who lost acted as if she just lost an unborn fetus, misplacing all emotions. I was unable to comfortably play a few key songs by Queen such as, “Another One Bites The Dust” or “We Are The Champions” as I did yesterday thinking it was not wise to potentially push her to a point where my physical safety might be in jeopardy.

The circus lives!

October 24th, 2009: I went to the circus in Popayan tonight, warning my friend Martha that circuses are not what the use to be and that it will more than likely be entertaining due to how bad the shows are, not good. I was so…wrong. Some of the shows were amazing not to mention unbelievable. As others, I am not sure what word or words would describe it. Such as the act where a scantily dress woman would squat over a happy volunteer’s face in her little skirt rocking her hips in a motion that is usually done in a back sit of a car as he laid on his back with the young children watching – which was incredible that they could perform this show without parents creating an uproar.

There was a performance that a motorcycle rider would go quickly around in an enclosed metal hamster ball containing a man with zero brain cells standing there in the center. They should have given him a cigarette and a blind fold but he had nothing…as I previously said, not even a brain cell. To make it more exciting, later in the act the man exited the ball and they brought in another motorcycle. The motorcycles engines mechanical screams masked the screams that came from the audience. I forgot to breathe – it was that exciting.

I am always looking for some good photo ops, but not today…I knew that the slightest mistake in some of these acts would have been resulted in a seriously injured circus employee who made me once again believe that the circus can still be the, “Greatest Show on Earth.”

During one of the clown acts the speakers in the background were putting out some uncensored music from Too Short, teaching the fine young kiddies how to pronounce the necessary street terminology school kids are taught in Oakland, California…such as the words shit, bitch, pussy and some other fine obscenities. I was looking around to see if anyone else was realizing what was being said but everyone seemed oblivious to the vulgar language as I laughed.

Originally I wanted to see the lion show but after watching them perform…I no longer want to witness another one. They looked so sad as the animal beater was cracking his whip – he doesn’t hold the right to be called an animal trainer. It would have been enjoyable to see some upcoming footage for the TV series, “When good animals go bad” but it didn’t ended up not happening…tonight.

After today’s shows I have complete faith that the circus is not dead and shall continue to live with performances such as these.

I officially dedicate today to be…

October 16th, 2009: Staying at a family’s house outside the town of San Jose de Alban, I had the opportunity to make some bread…by hand. Never again will I barter for bread trying to get it $0.50 cheaper of the already ridiculously low prices. A 55+ year old woman and myself took turns spinning this wooden non-electric kitchen utensil between our hands, looking as if we were attempting to start a fire at the bottom of this humongous bowl with a billion egg whites.

Pretending that it was not that difficult, I was exhausted thinking that this woman had some nicely hidden muscles behind her excess flab. I can control how I look, but unfortunately it is not possible for me to control how much sweat is to be released and the ability to keep my baby soft hands from getting blisters. Today I am grateful that I was raised in such a physically lazy society that kept one of these wooden hand mixers out of my draw of kitchen utensils. I officially dedicate today to be…Electronic Kitchen Appliance Day, to appreciate the inventors of time and calorie saving appliances.

Off the beaten path

October 16th, 2009: Shortly after arriving to San Jose de Alban, which is a small rural farming community in southern Colombia, I was invited to the local pool for a swim. Every move of mine at this body of water was clearly being watched, feeling as if the pastiness of my skin was drawing some extra attention. After a while, someone eventually sat near me as I could see that he wanted to say something. Saying, “Hola” broke this invisible barrier between us as almost everyone cleared the pool, surrounding me. There I sat with about 20 people as I spoke some impressive Spanglish. I must say…I am definitely off the beaten path.

I was invited here for 5 days to write a piece about this new agro-tourism project that just began giving tours. The activities range from eco hikes, visiting local farms, learning about rural life in Colombia and about the sustainable farming practices that they do as well as learning more about how coffee, panela, fique and other products that are cultivated and processed here.

The argo-tourism project’s itinerary is similar to a famous quote from the film, Forrest Gump that has been slightly modified, “This tour is like a box of chocolates…you never know what your going to get.” This experience has no set itinerary, it all depends the season and the activities that members in the association are doing that day.

No longer do I need to try to peer into the house of some local during my travels trying to get a glimpse on how they live without bearing the harsh label, “Peeping Tom.” This argo-tourism project out here has given me the opportunity to see what goes on in a small Colombian community not yet infected by tourism, but is patiently in line waiting to be.

Facial Leak

October 14th, 2009: Waking up in the morning on the top bunk, I look down and see a young Israeli man in a thin sheet curled in the fetal position looking as if he was left to die in base camp at Mount Everest. I felt bad because I was nice and warm under my blankets next to the window which I opened last night - which is not a common thing for me to do but a situation arose that it became necessary for my own survival.

Waking up at about 2am, I noticed a smell. Thinking that it was a strange smell, I inhaled again, having trouble identify what it was. Thinking that it was kind of late to be eating, I discovered what was going on underneath my bunk as soon as I was coherent enough to understand what was being said. The girl below me who was drinking earlier seemed to have consumed too many beverages as she sprung a leak in her bed soaking everything in a 1.5 foot radius around her facial opening.

The Israeli helping her is the definition of a true gentleman because he wanted nothing from her since he already swapped spit with another girl from a few beds down, not to mention on who would want to swap anything with someone who obviously needed to brush her teeth and the pull the mess out of her hair besides a rapist? He did not just help out vomit girl last night by assisting her in covering the moist bed with toilet paper but also gave her his blanket so she would be warm after discarding her soiled blanket in the corner of our room. I need to write his Israeli mother for raising such a fine son. As for myself…when I was hearing what was going on, I relied on my iPod to muffle unwanted noises - I have little sympathy for over consumers. The odor was so strong that putting the blankets over my head didn’t filter the odor, opening the window as I went back to sleep…hoping that she didn’t fill my shoes or backpack that laid next to her during her uncontrollable outbursts - figuring that it was too late now to do anything about it. What have I done to be around so many people that perform this type of activity at such close proximity?

The BBQ Belly

October 10th, 2009: Wanting to save some money and to test our stomach strength, my friends and I went to dinner where the locals ate. The street was lined with BBQs making it difficult to decide on what table to sit at. I ended up making the selection by not the cleanliness of the tables or by the amount of people that occupied these tables…my decision was based solely on the size of the guys’ belly that was controlling the grill. I figured that a guy who supports a third trimester and controls the BBQ has to possess a PhD in art of Barbequing.

When our meals arrived at our table, it was time to test my selection process. Taking a bite, my method was confirmed, the meat was cooked to perfection. So when in doubt, go with the biggest belly…the BBQ belly.

Vomit Sandwich

October 8th, 2009: Sitting on a bench seat on a 3 hour boat ride from Isabella Island to Santa Cruz Island, I was fortunate enough to seat between two people with stomachs that didn’t appreciate the rough sea. I originally thought the man to my right was eating something due to the smell that drifted over to my nasal passages and when I looked over, I realized that my guess was slightly off since he wasn’t eating anything but was producing something that was eaten. Looking over to my left I came to the realization that I was involuntarily involved in a real life vomit sandwich as a woman had a black bag sealed to her face making a deposit. Handing the woman a moist wipe the side of her face, I closed my eyes as I turned up the volume to my music, hoping my hearing damage will be minimal as I tried to muffle the noises around me.

Iguana crossing

October 3rd, 2009: A guy who blatantly ignored an iguana crossing sign was punished today for his inability to read pictures as he went over the handle bars as the bike toppled to the ground when trying to avoid hitting the large mobile speed bump as it sprinted across the gravel road. Quickly looking back to see if anybody saw him, I was there and unfortunately could not contain the noises that came from inside. Learning from him, the next time I see a deer crossing, pedestrian crossing, duck crossing or even a turtle crossing…I will slow down and will be ready to take evasive action.

Altercation with a hostel manager

September 30th, 2009: I had an opportunity to speak to a hostel manager today. Perhaps she was having a bad week, year or even life. Maybe this explains why she is alone. Her physical appearance can’t be criticized since it was her parents fault for recklessly bumping uglys’ but her internal ugliness is her own doing. This altercation stemmed from being charged a room rate for two people. They wanted to charge me for a friend who was at that moment thousands of feet in the air on an iron bird flying back to the United States from Quito which she arrived at the day before.

The housekeeper, who was clearly mistaken, claimed that she saw my friend leave my room the morning in question. The manager asked me what does she supposes to do, when she is being told her employee saw her. Her voice became elevated as she began using ghetto like gangster gestures momentarily throwing me off guard since I am on the Galapagos Islands, not Compton, California. Translating what she told me, I wanted to verify what she was saying. Asking the manager if she was calling me a liar…she paused for a brief moment…and said,”yes.”

Ten dollars seems like a really small amount but it was that she didn’t believe me and accused me for being a liar - I am not claiming that I am a saint or that I never lie. Not to mention $10.00 could cover a future room night or even a payment in full for woman to tell me, “Me love you long time” (Full Metal Jacket). Her mother happened to overhear our conversation and thankfully stepped in to help settle my bill.

Please, pick me up or run me over

September 28th, 2009: Seconds away from renting a quality bike for the entire day…I hesitated. Instead of choosing a higher quality bike, I decided to look for something more…economical. Finding a shop that rented bikes for $10 a day instead of $20, I quickly said I will take it before even looking at it - only remembering my other bike experiences after the words exited my mouth. The old gentleman went in the back of the office and disappeared for a little bit. I am not sure if he had to steal someone’s unlocked bike that had the notion that nobody would ever steal such a “piece” to coincide with my special price, but out came something with two wheels and a seat. I am happy to say that the bike did have functional brakes. Paying the $10, I was not asked sign anything, give them a name or even tell them where I was staying – as I previously said…it was probably stolen and the guy didn’t want the bike to be traced back to him if I was stopped.

Riding down the street on the bike which happened to weigh much, much, much more than myself, there was a lot of chatter coming from all over my economical tubular mode of transportation. Disembarking the bike I thoroughly made a delayed inspection and noticed that my headset that was loose…and a twisty thing next to the crank…and…and the main bolt that connected the rear shock to the bike also needed to be tightened. This work was all performed by my 10 little friends since I did not have anything that resembled tools except these fingers of mine.

I quickly learned on what gears not to go in when standing up due to the chain wanting to skip or leave the crank completely. There were also some gears that my chain did not like to shift into and would only listen to me if I would hold its links and manually place it on my desired gear of choice. I was still happy with my bicycle selection since I never liked having all those easy choices on what gear to go into anyhow.

Asking a woman for the directions to Puerto Chino beach, she looked at me as if I was crazy and waved her hand forward about 30 or so times to stress on how far it was. Smiling, off I went up the first hill that lasted for about 10km with a few miniscule downhill sections. I vigorously peddled for about the first 0.5km and it felt as if I walked the remaining 9.5km since it was easier to push the 140+ pound bike up the hills than to ride it. The remaining 10km were almost completely downhill, rewarding me for making it the first bit without quitting. I clearly remembered the condition of my bike and the haphazard maintenance I performed earlier in the day, choosing not to go too fast in this long downhill section incase my headset or some other important item decided to leave my bike without my permission.

As I was dropping down to a lower elevation, I was unfortunately completely aware that I was going to at some point, push my bike back up everything that was I passing. Calculating the time it was going to take me to get back to where I rented my bike, I figured it would be well after closing time. I decided to worry about it later, figuring that it will all work out and kept gliding down the road.

Making it to the National Park center that helps restore the tortoise population in San Cristobal, for some odd reason I locked up my potentially stolen bike in this abandon parking lot and made my way inside. Hiking on a trail that wrapped around the park I came upon several gigantic tortoises. Whenever I would approach too closely to one of these prehistoric looking reptiles, they would make this noise sounding as if this was the noise Steven Spielberg was trying to reproduce when Darth Vader would breathe.

Eventually, I made it to the end of the road. I spent more time on the mediocre beach than I should have because I knew that a long 20km road needed to be conquered in order to get back to my hostel. Leaving the beach, I began pushing my bike up the steep endless incline. The thought of how long of it took me to get down from the midway point would not leave my head. Playing some music on my iPod, I was hoping that it would help muffle my gasps for oxygen and to somehow keep me from passing out from exhaustion and dehydration. Prior to my bike ride I made the executive decision that I was not going to bring water. This was a well thought out moronic decision since I usually never drink it, and secondly, I couldn’t fit it in my camera bag. Each step up the hill became harder and harder as my body somehow began to operate on its own as I continued to move forward.

Exhausted, I wanted to just lie on the road so someone would stop and pick me up or just end my misery now and run me over – whichever came first…but the roads were silent. Swaying left and right along the road, I tried a variety of positions pushing the bike realizing that the weight was not going to change. Passing a small town with a house selling drinks I stopped for some ice cold thirst quenching lemonade. When sitting here, I decided that I was not going to ride my bike all the way back to town. Thinking that it would be nice to take a taxi, the cost from where I was would be about a $35…which I was not yet willing to pay. My plan was to hitch a ride, with a backup plan that if I had to take a cab…I would tell the driver to take me as far as $5 would get me - hoping my tears and pleas would get me to at least the midway point. From there, I would be okay since it is mostly downhill.

Finally, some cars passed by me going in the other direction…giving me hope, as a smile slowly came to my face. I knew they were going to have to come back my way at some point. I continued to walk just in case I was not able to get a ride. Still swaying, I noticed that I had the ability to move slower than the tortoises that I saw earlier today. Hearing a car coming up the hill in my direction, I got off the road and imitated the face of Puss in Boots (Shrek). It worked! A pickup truck pulled over on the side of the road as I somehow found enough energy in me to lift my bike in back without a crane. The woman told me that they were going town but it was going to be slower than a cab. Of course this was not an issue, as I sat in the back seat with a huge smile on my face. The smile was so big and was there for so long, I thought I was going to be left with some permanent stretch marks by the end of the trip. Up every hill my smile was somehow getting bigger, eventually looking like the smile of the Joker (Jack Nicolson, Batman).

I did not understand why we were moving so slowly along the gravel roads until we pulled over. The passenger in the front seat handed a guy sitting in back with me a plastic bag and one rubber glove. “Huh?” I thought. The man left the vehicle and crossed the road to pick something up…road kill. Putting the bird into the bag, he got back into the truck as we continued our trip back to town. After a while the bag seemed to be getting quite large with rotting birds and other small critters. I could not figure out why he kept coming inside the truck with the bag of death instead of placing it in the back of the pickup. Happy that I don’t have a good sense of smell, I sat there…continuing to smile thinking about all of the peddling I was wasn’t doing.

Eventually, I made it back to town as I painfully rode my bike, returning it to the shop I rented it from. Handing it over I felt as if I was just released from some prisoner of war camp as I wanted to kiss the ground knowing that is was over. Sitting down at my favorite local dive, as my legs throbbed… I was extremely grateful for being picked up…rather than run over.

BIG mistake in my choice of words

September 27th, 2009: Feeling like drinking something different than my usual glass of blackberry juice with breakfast, I decided to try expand my horizons. Thinking that pineapple juice would be nice choice, I casually asked for, un hugo de pene – realizing at that moment I just asked for Penis juice, wanting to stab myself with the butter knife that sat at my table and laugh at the same time. Thankfully the owner understood that I did not want to drink his personal protein fortified juice and said, “ok, un hugo de piňa.”

Exploring the Galapagos Islands

September 24th, 2009: Today was the last day of an 8 day organized boat tour of the Galapagos Islands and first day of my 18 day independent exploration of the 3 inhabited islands. Already taking perhaps over 5000 photos, I was told that I took more photos than Japanese people…by a Japanese woman. Yes, on this trip I don’t think that I had to worry too much about raccoon eyes from my sunglasses but I did have to be concerned about camera eye…looking like spot. The itinerary on the boat was so full and after curling my 10 pound camera all day, by 9pm, I had no energy left to write, change clothes or to even shower as I sprawled out on my tiny bed, dead to what was going on around me.

Most of the wildlife that roamed between and on the islands would just go about their business as you would walk or swim by them treating you as if you were just another animal not in the food chain. I needed to be alert when walking on the trails since if I was not aware of where I was stepping, I could have easily squashed a pile of tanning iguanas or tripped over a female sea lion that would engulf the path with her fatty body exposing her impressive leaking sandy nipples. Crying baby pups would fill the air as they scooted across the beach looking for their mothers that all dressed the same making it difficult for them to be located. At times the momma sea lions would lash out at the little rogue titty suckers that were true coinsures of milk trying to sampling the makings of the other parents.

I am not the Sea Lion Whisper but I could swear that some of the unhappy mothers seemed to be wishing that their children had some nice white furry coats so that someone would club them and take away their responsibilities as their children would eventually become some designer jacket, wallet, or a domesticated pet’s chew toy.

There is too much in my journal to try to figure out what I should and shouldn’t expand on. The few photos that I posted pretty much tells the story of the trip to the islands.

Most backpacker will skip this trip due to the expense. I try to explain to them that if they are traveling alone, to think of the overall price being half off. I say this because if they decide to go later in life and are married, the trip would cost twice as much. If I missed this trip, I would have missed out on one of the top ten trips in my life.