Can Immigration count to 90?

June 12th, 2010: I am leaving tomorrow in the wee hours of the morning on a bus to make it over to Ecuador before the street lights are on. Here I will find out if Immigration can or cannot count. I say this because I was told by a credible source that I am only allowed to spend 90 wonderful days a year here which I already used up except for about 4 or so days.

If Immigration made it past 3rd grade and can count, I will have to make it down to Peru in record timing begging the driver not to stop in South American fashion every few kilometers trying to pick up passenger to fill the empty seats as if the driver was some John roaming the streets searching for women who are soliciting sex.

If Immigration can’t count or fall victims to my most excellent cartoon character impression of Puss in Boots from the film Shrek (when he is trying to get his way)…I will casually make it down to Peru sipping some instant coffee and snacking on guinea pigs along the way.

This visit to Colombia this time around has been more about visiting friends that I met along the way than exploring. I was almost snagged, but I am now moving south, attempting to complete South America in not so record timing.

I mailed some DVD’s of backed up photos and a few small handmade crafts for my traveling Christmas tree back home today after pinky promising to some narco trafficking enforcement agency that I am not mailing drugs…signing some document written in Spanish before getting fingerprinted. I can now travel without the need to fight anyone who might want to borrow my backpack without written consent even though they are not going to get too far with it due to the excessive poundage.

Liquid Dancing

June 11th, 2010: After finishing off a bottle of wine at my friends house…I looked down at my worn out pair of hiking shoes, conveniently transforming themselves into a worn out pair dancing shoes. They kindly walked me to two connecting grass huts with minor stumbling, to a place named…Rancho Grande. Tonight was singles night…a night that you have three different colored heart shaped stickers to choose from to indicate to the others at this meat market that you are: not looking, looking for a friend, or better yet…looking for a nice case of herpes to help you remember the night forever and ever and ever and ever.

Already dizzy enough to dance in circles, my friend and I continued to kill our brain cells as we purchased a bottle of Colombia’s p#ss, Agua Ardiente in order to have our own table for the night. This purchase was not a very wise purchase…pushing me way past my two drink limit - not good. Remember that typically whenever I go past this mark, I usually find myself humping a friend’s mom – I am sorry…whining a friend’s mom too other unwritable acts of indecency or wrong doing.

Being complemented on my massive improvement in dancing ability over the past year, I have to give thanks to all of the Ms. Colombia’s, Ms. Venezuela’s, Ms. Ecuador’s and Ms. Russia’s for all of their patience, free dance classes and for helping me reduce of my signature robotic dance moves. I must also thank Ms. Bottle of Red Wine and Ms. Agua Ardiente for the liquid dancing (aka liquid courage) which is fortunately becoming less and less of a requirement the longer I am here in South America.

Fountain of Youth? Superpowers?

June 8th, 2010: Every time I go through Popayan I seem to find some time in my extremely – extremely – extremely busy schedule to make it to my friend’s school in the tiny little town of Timbio which rests outside of Popayan, Colombia. Today’s visit was as wonderful as my others seeing some of the familiar faces who I haven’t seen for around 7 months.

Timbio seems to be a temporary fountain of youth for me as it is common for the high school students who attempt to guess my age to easily reduce it by 13 or so years. Either they have difficulties aging people with the absence of color or they are doing it on purpose to make older people feel good. Whoever said by guessing that someone is much younger than they really are, only flatters women…is a liar.

Today was a little different than my other visits. About twenty, 6th graders surrounded me on the second floor as they backed me up into the railing trying to speak to me in English. It was adorable as they stood there looking up at me with their toothless smiles, with all their necks seeming as if they were on the verge of snapping, committing an accidental mass death. Children seem to have superpowers as they can at anytime throw an extremely contagious smile that can break even the most hardened souls.

The 6th graders were introducing themselves too asking me about football (soccer), basketball and the LA Lakers. Being here today made me miss being around kids even more than I already do. Once again, I wonder if I should make lots and lots of babies when I get home or if I should just find some simpler way to be able to enjoy being in the presence of these wonderful little monsters with superpowers.

Saving money creates criminals

June 5th, 2010: Went to the movies to see Robin Hood (the only film in English) with my friend Ms. Roxidania (name changed to protect the offender) the other night and we decided to mutually smuggle in some contraband. We both had different ideas on what would be the best place to hide the goods. Since I have almost no butt, placing an icy cold soda and some gummy worm back there doesn’t change my appearance…significantly. I quickly pass security at the door who is checking bags but thankfully not backsides. As for my friend Ms. Roxidania, she thought placing the items deep inside her gargantuan purse would bore anyone before reaching the bottom who might decide to take a peak.

Ms. Roxidania was obviously wrong as the security officer sniffed out the items as if he was some airport security snack scenting dog, pulling the contraband out of her bag holding them high to show the others who were waiting to get through the door. As her stuff was carted away, I looked at her shocked on how she could have done such a thing trying not to laugh…as my butt was getting painfully numb from the time the soda spent resting between the crack of my…pants. So tonight…I learned that almost anyone could be influenced to be a criminal with the need to save some money and the desire to not be voluntarily raped at the concession stand.

A Power Washer in my mouth

June 4rd, 2010: Dental clinics in Colombia seem to make things easy here without a need for all of the paperwork. No medical history and no name is required or even requested. As long as you know that you have to sit in the chair that resembles some crude restraining device, minus the hand straps…you will be served.

Had my teeth cleaned yesterday in an extremely modern dental clinic by a dentist in Popayan for a grand total of $15.00 USD. My dentist with a huge plastic face shield was using a supposedly new technology sort of reminding me of a mini power washer. I sat in the chair trying not to laugh and smile too big as she was spraying my teeth as water was pouring out of my mouth and down my neck as the mist blanketed my face. Thankfully my clothes were dirty because they too needed a good washing.

I must say this office was much more sophisticated than my last two cleanings…being that my last one was out of a small garage with a chair behind a temporary wall. Here when they told me I had two cavities that needed to be fixed as I stalled until the next day so that I could get a second opinion - which ended up in my favor…no dental work needed.

With prices like these, when I am back in the US, I might have to fly to Colombia when I need a cleaning, a good teeth darkening or other types of perhaps costly dental work…as long as it is not out of a garage or some other creative makeshift dental office, a golden grill shouldn't be in my future anytime soon.

Taxes and Underwear

June 2nd, 2010: There is nothing like doing a boring thing like sitting at a table at around 1:00am, while filing taxes that were due April 15th…and getting a free underwear fashion show - front row. One woman appearance was brief as she did the cat walk. The other decided to sit in front of me on the couch and kept getting up and doing the occasional, “I dropped my pencil” pose. "Did she want me to put a few thousand Colombian Pesos in the elastic band of her underwear?" I thought. Or did she want something else? I wasn’t at some Victory Secret fashion show, brothel or a strip club…this was all done in the comforts at a table in my…hostel.

Both women had underwear model body potential except for one having the face of a German man with stereotypical German style circular glasses. I caught myself giving her longer than appropriate panty gazes, attempting to see any signs of tuckage. Her face and body was so out of place I thought about those childish toys that you can place different heads or appendages on different animal bodies.

Who would ever think filing taxes could be so exciting?

The man with a permanent "hang loose" sign

May 30th, 2010: Took a trip up the Nevado del Ruiz which is the highest active volcano in Colombia reaching 17,457 feet. Of coarse I didn't make it to the top...I just walked with a bunch of others for about an hour up before turning back around. Hiking this high again reminds me that no matter what shape I am in...I can always blame being out of breath because of the altitude, not because I haven't worked out since I climb out of my mothers womb - and that was tough. Thinking about it...perhaps it has not been that long ago, but it has been a while.

When heading off the mountain our 2 wheel drive van seemed to try to bury itself in the mud, starting wheels first. After getting out of the vehicle, by the time I tip toed through the mud pit, the back of the van was already filled with hands all shapes and sizes. Pushing forward the tires spun, thinking it was not a good spot standing directly in the back, doing nothing. Feeling as if I needed to help, I placed my hand on what I thought was a locking sliding door on the van. Little did I know as I pushed forward it was going to bite my fingers...every one of them minus my thumb and little ole pinky.

I don't know how I managed to get it out of the door before they were decapitated, but I somehow did. I didn't do anything but feel the aftermath. It looked like I will only be losing 3 finger nails and fortunately no need to visit the doctors to sew those nuggets back on. Close call to being the man with a permanent "hang loose" sign...forcing me to move to Hawaii or some other surfers paradise without being looked at as a freak.

A dogs poker face...

May 29th, 2010: Today I felt that I completely fell for a dogs poker face thinking it was going to bite me or some other walking chew toy in my group. The viscous looking bread of dog came at us from behind barking some unknown obscenities. I then stepped in front of a women to let the dog pass but then realizing it was not going to pass, thinking it was going to go for the woman in the back.

Why...did I then step aside and let her step in front of me as I closed the gap? - as if my skin is tougher than hers...which clearly isn't. I thought it would be better for me to take the injuries instead of her. After my body seemed to involuntarily take an adrenaline shot as I awaited contact. Stumbling a bit from the quick natural boost, I had to smile thinking that I just fell for this dogs wonderfully effective poker face.

It is almost 5:00am...

May 29th, 2010: It is almost 5:00am and I just finished watching the movie Hostel 2. It suppose to be a scary movie about backpackers traveling around and they of course get killed. I am now out in the countryside at a coffee plantation that is ironically a hostel, where I have been staying for the past couple of days.

No other guests or anyone else for that matter are here tonight and the woman who cleans the place is in a house out back somewhere. This is great if I wanted to sneak someone in, run around the hostel naked or be killed...but, I don't want to do any of the above. It is not because of the bug bites in unusual places or because of the cockroaches or rats getting some cheap peaks at me...it is just a little cold in here at the moment.

Trying to stay awake I drink coffee straight out of the machine with no need for sugar or milk. I feel as if I am becoming a "real" coffee drinker or I am just that dehydrated my body is tricking me into drinking almost anything. Thinking about it...why am I trying to stay awake...it is almost 5:00am.

The 8 Standardized Backpackers Questions

May 25th, 2010: Leaving Medellin 2.4505056 days ago, I took a 4.55505059 hour bus ride to Manizales which is a city in the coffee region of Colombia. I am once again a backpacker. Well, I have always been...it is just that I am now back in the hostel in the early evening instead of staying till the wee hours of the night at my friends house. Best of all...now I get to answer the 8 standardized backpacker questions list multiple times throughout the night typically within the first 2 minutes of meeting someone, over and over again.

Here are some sample questions (Q) with my typical answers (A). I think I got most of them. Don´t let me fool you, The reason I know them so well is that I also find myself going off this list from time to time.


Q1: What is your name?
A1: El Tony Taco, Anthony, Miguel Antonio or simply...Tony.
Q2: Where did you come from?
A2: Whatever city I just visited, today my response was Medellin.
Q3: Where are you from?
A3: California.
Q4: How long have you been traveling for?
A4: A little bit - if they ask again...I will say over 13 months.
Q5: Where have you been?
A5: Colombia, Ecuador, Venezuela, and Trinidad for Carnival.
Q6: Where are you going next?
A6: South.
Q7: How much longer are you traveling for?
A7:Dont know...perhaps I will be like Forrest Gump, running and running until one day, I just stop.
Q8: What did you do back at home?
A8: I was an auditor at an accounting firm.

It doesn't matter what language the person asks me speaks, this questions are all known in English. If someone only knows has 10 questions in their entire vocabulary, it would be these 9 questions with...Q10: Where is the bathroom?

Is fighting considered a hobby?

May 24, 2010: It is never good when a man with a flock (yes, the 80`s hair style) and about 15 metal bracelets and a huge girly nose ring at my hostel proceeds to attempt to pick a lock to set free the cold beers in a fridge with a swiss pocket knife. I said nothing as I sat in chair watching from above since his feeble attempt made him look more pathetic than he already was in front of his friends.

Since he is unable to pick a weak padlock, I wouldn't be concerned about my personal items in my room if I had a padlock, but I have a combination lock. I wonder how he is at combinations? Meeting people like this while traveling makes me want to take up fighting for a hobby...just a hobby.

Low expectations = Happiness?

May 20th, 2010: I decided to do a little work today and take a tour that included a horseback ride to some waterfalls outside the small coffee town named Jardin. Sitting on top of this gigantic mammal´s hairy back for a couple of hours went extremely well. I was thrown off guard a little bit when this Canadian girl told me how good of a rider I was and how relaxed I looked - giving it away that she was a complete beginner since I am still a horrible rider who still looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as I held the horn on the saddle in one hand and the ropes in the other.

Thinking about it though, I was doing really well by not even giving the horn a death grip ruining my baby soft hands - until...I wanted just a little more speed. Making the smallest noise and given my hairy friend just the slightest nudge to his body with my heels...my horse seemed to take off faster than a, "I have a small penis car." My heart seemed to break a few ribs as it tried to rip through my chest quickly transforming my soft grip on the horn immediately into my signature death grip.

Telling the horse "no" in english enough times to legitimately be considered by the medical community to have a stuttering problem, it didn't seem to work. What did work was the obvious. Since the horse didn't understand english, I had to revert to brut stregth with my 35 inch bicep and pull back on the reins to make him realize I didn't want to fly, but to stop.

After the huge shot of adrenaline my legs were like rubber the rest of the ride...including the downhill portion where I was leaning so far back as the horse was literally sliding down the step trail and at times dropping off ledges that seem to me, huge. It was one of those love-hate moments.

Once reaching the waterfalls, they ended up being spectacularly unique as it came pouring down through a hole in the rock. I went on this trip expecting only a decent horseback ride and happily got much much more. Having low expectations can sometimes make life so much more simple and happier. I wonder if this is something I should consider taking into consideration went I start dating again.

The Medellin StairMaster

May 17th, 2010: Why go to a gym to wait in line behind sweaty overweight women in tight spandex supporting a major camel toe to workout on the StairMaster when you can simply go on the Medellin StairMaster, have no lines, much more pleasant views and not even have to pay a membership fee?

Today I visited one of the low income to no income areas on the hillside of Medellin and even had 3 other white folk join my group. While walking up the hills of the barrio, I had to wonder if it was safer to travel in a group or alone. Yes, I don't blend in very well here...I am too tall and my clothes some how make me stand out since I don't have rhinestones pasted on my shirts and my nose is a bit too pointy...but, when you have 4 of us walking and talking in english, it is a sure give away that you don't belong.

While walking up the endless stairs weaving through the houses made of brick, metal, plastic and random wooden material we would hear random words of English being shot out at us from the houses or the streets by the verbal snipers saying such things as, "hello" or "how are you?". The poverty stricken houses were amazingly beautiful - as long as the big bad wolf didn't come to blow some houses down. Some individuals would even follow us wanting to say something but to scared to until they built up enough strength and leak a few words of english out. This is why my spanish is so bad...local people seem to want to practice speaking english...not spanish, but english. I have a feeling they don't see to many tourists up in the hills around their houses.

The only thing I lost today was a lot of calories as I struggled with the drastic elevation change of each step. While the others walked quickly ahead...I ran into a guy and spoke to him and his daughter that lived in one of these amazing houses. I briefly thought, perhaps he knows someone who would like to rent me a room made of plastic, wood or some other creative material for a few days. I am interested on what goes on at night...perhaps this would explain all the military that is situated on this hillside with their automatic weapons. When walking through...it seemed beautiful to me, why would there be a need for such a strong presence of force? Hmm. I would like to find out, but I must seriously start thinking about moving on.

A beer...and no donut hole!?

May 15th, 2010: When Police officers back at home take a break...they will usually enjoy some fresh donut holes and a fine cup of coffee. Very rarely you will see the uniformed officers who are armed, in public pouring out a beer bottle into a plastic cup in a store, handing the empty bottles to the store keeper, jumping into the police vehicle, starting it up and driving away as driver now enjoys the hops behind the wheel...without a donut hole in the other hand.

If this happened at home, it would have definitely be miraculously recorded by either the 4 year old with his or her first phone or pulled off of some security tapes as it would be quickly sold to some local news agency making this little observation of the officer not eating some sort of donut product with his beer turn into epic proportions.

Holy Sock!

May 12th, 2010: In the process of trying to see everything and everyone before leaving Medellin, it seems that I might have prematurely worn out my socks from all of the walking. I am not sure how the holes on the tops of the socks appeared but they miraculously appeared - HOLY SHIGHT!!!! - I mean holy sock!! I just noticed this...my left sock looks just like the Virgin Mary!! It is happened...she answered my prayers and visited me verifying it by means of my socks (quite a creative women that Mary is) and left an imprint of her face right on the top of it!

For anyone who is an active Ebay user, please contact me right away. I can see it right now, selling for thousands - any idiots out there looking to purchase a holy sock now before it goes to the highest bidder?

The other day I started to complete my "to visit" list and went to some gardens, observing some ducks getting molested by a mass of drunken teenagers at the pond. I also enjoyed my visit to an art museum named Perez Something and a cemetary also named Perez Something (everyone has Perez Something in there name so it seems). Some of the boxes here with bodies or ashes in them I suppose were so high up the wall, I am not sure how you can enjoy looking at your dead family or friend who is at such great heights in these cement capsules. To me, it is sort of like going to a high-rise building, picking out a boarded up window and saying...my grandmothers body is in there.

To finish up the day I did some grueling exercise and walked up the hillsides where all of the economically challenged live to add a bit of excitement to my life. Getting into sections that I felt I might be making an involuntary donation of my Ipod and camera...I decided to turn back. In the next day or so I am going to head back to the hillsides and attempt to lose a few inches in height to help blend in with the locals and attempt to get lost in the narrow passageways and streets. This might be a difficult task because it is hard to get lost when all you have to do it head downhill...but somehow I always seem to find a way.

My next visit to this area, my camera or anything worth taking will not be joining me. If someone wants my shoes that the soles are falling off, dirty underwear or even the shirt off my back...I will happily hand them over, folded. But if someone even thinks about taking my holy sock...there might be a problem...a big problem.

A Catastrophic Event

May 7th, 2010: Helping Genny relax a bit I decided to watching the 88 week old Samu...yep, 88 weeks (give or take a few days). Under my supervision he had an accident. An accident does not even effectively begin to describe this catastrophic event. Standing there I noticed an odor seeping out of his white Mickey mouse pajamas.

I assumed that he pooped his pants. Not a big deal I thought...he is okay squishing around in them for an hour or so until Genny woke up. Then I notice he was not supporting the typical bulky padded look around his lower disposal zones. Afraid to touch him with my hands to confirm this, I used my foot to give him a poke to his butt and then I discovered, that he was going commando. At that very moment I think I caused the leak to increase in severity as he now stood there with pee rushing almost unprotected out of the front of the pajamas and into his Mickey Mouse boots.

Thinking that is was a good time to wake Genny up...I decided not to and to watch Samu completely. So I tried to put him inside the laundry sink as he made a nice shape of a cat, unable to put him in the 3 foot deep tiled sink.

I must have been pure entertainment for the housekeeper who was watching me as she ironed clothes. In the back of my head I was thinking that if cleaning babies and there poopy pants is a task that she is required to do if told to do so. Not having time to go into telling her I needed help or asking her how much it would cost me to clean Samu up, I continued to tried to put Samu in the sink as he tried to touch me with his hands which where now covered in a fecal matter. My strength increased 10 fold as I held him straight out without the slightest shakes from the weight load.

Finally in the sink I was able to get him to play in the water a bit as it was now clumped on his behind, chest and feet. I hoped that he would play in the water for such an extended period it would just eventually break free. It was not going to happen. Taking a rag I dabbed him and then took a deep breath after putting a massive amount of cloth washing soap on my hands (didn't have regular bath soap handy at that moment) and squinted as I quickly went over his body breaking free the sticky substance. While doing this Samu tryed to grab his pants that rested next to the sink and there I saw the aftermath - I almost vomited at the sight and gagged for a second before I was able to block it out.

Once Samu was finished, I was going to leave the pants...but as I said, I wanted to help Genny and watch Samu completely - not just when the times are good. Again I began to gag as I shook of some off the poop and swished it down the drain. When finished, I was able to sit down to attempt to forget about what just happen as the smell of poop lingered in the air. It either absorbed in my skin or I was hit and didn't know it.

I don't know how parents do it. Perhaps it is easier when you start off doing this stuff when the kids are small along with the packages they so ungratefully deliver.

If I wanted some tongue, I would rather not pay for it

May 7th, 2010: As usual...Genny`s father, Mr. Perez and I typically go to lunch, eat at the restaurant and bring back some food for the inmates - meaning Genny and Samu. I don't typically say much while eating since Genny´s dad does not speak English but today throughout the entire meal I could not wipe the smile off my face as I would stare at his food. Hopefully he does not now think I am somewhat strange.

When ordering I try to make things really simple and if I don't understand what in on the menu, I will always go for chicken - I don't think it is possible to mess up chicken no matter how it is prepared. Looking at what Mr. Perez ordered, I couldn't stop staring. It was a huge tongue stretched across his plate. When he cut into it looked like how meat suppose to look, but on the outside,it is obvious that it was a huge tongue. Disgusting, I thought...happily consuming my chicken, briefly wondering if the tongue too tasted like chicken. Today was not a day for experimenting...figuring, if I wanted some tongue, I would rather not pay for it.

Living in the Now...

May 7th, 2010: I just used up about one branch from perhaps the last tree in a remote section of the Brazilian rain forest for this post. I thankfully will not lose any sleep over it but I must say that this post has been extremely difficult to compose. The past 2 weeks I have done absolutely nothing but did everything. How do I begin to explain this...I don't know.

Currently I am in the drug slinging border city Cucata that is more like city sized oven with its temperature averaging about 99 degrees Fahrenheit. I am here with my friend Genny and Samu visiting her father and many others in her family that is in total about 1,402,020,248 people...and this is just in Cucata! I am staying at their house which resembles the typical white collar federal prison back at home because of the Colombian standard that is the 104 locks to enter and leave the house with the heavily barred windows and roof in the open areas - keeping everything but perhaps an anorexic cat and rodents from entering the compound...and...keeping everyone in, if absolutely necessary or if so desired. Thinking about it, Venezuela is by far worse with bars on high rise buildings windows and balconies all the way to the 22 floor in case Spiderman decided to make a few extra dollars after hours.

At this place...I feel I discovered somethings I must have lost a long time ago or perhaps never truly experienced. One of them is that I discovered the joy of living in the now instead of the past or the future. I have always heard people say (high pitched voice) "you need to live in the now." Yes, that sounds really easy...but in the past I was only capable of being able to do it for a few minutes at a time and then having to re-remind myself to live in the now every annoying minute or so until the past or future would quickly infiltrate my mind.

I first did not want to take responsibility for my own lack of movement here in Cucata in addition to my lack of getting out of the house. I wanted to put the blame on the city I am in, then the weather and finally an horrid excuse that I brought nothing but some clothes and a book that I think would be better if used as toilet paper instead of study material. The book is so misappropriate named "How to learn Spanish in one week" - more like 3 years.

During my time here in Cucata, I have enjoyed what most people that work 5 days a week dread doing everyday once they get off of work such as: washing cars, clothes, floors and other household chores - that I have not done much of in well over a year. I have experienced something special which money can not buy and that was hanging out with a ton of wonderful people which includes Genny´s family, making me miss living around family and a life of some stability even more.

With this said...in a few weeks, I will be back on the trail and will be going south toward Popayan, Colombia to meet up with some friends for a few days, pick up a few of my cameras and my laptop, starting to make my way back through Ecuador (since I am now again allowed to re-enter Ecuador, maxing out my stay last year on a tourist visa) going to Peru.

In a perfect world, sometimes I would like things to go differently - "but"...I will of coarse be back someday...this is definitely a country I love.

Even the Virgin Mary loves Colombia...and perhaps Vegas too!

April 26th, 2010: Taking a 12 hour bus ride through some spectacular landscape, my friends and I finally arrived to the town of Ocana to attend a child´s 3 year old birthday party. I am saddened to announce that at this party I discovered that the walking, talking potty trained mouse known as M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E has also invaded this peaceful remote place.

While here in Ocana I was able to go to the same exact spot the Virgin Mary came to see while she too visited Colombia. This is actually my second VMS (Virgin Mary Sighting) location I have visited in Colombia. Why didn't Mrs. Mary ever decide to stop off at my house to pay a little visit? Better yet...land herself on a piece of toast which I could sell on EBay for a nice hefty sum. Needless to say...the Virgin Mary has seemed to made a quite a few visits, turning small towns instantly into tourist attractions. This is could be a good way to increase tourism in any city, no matter the size. I am surprised Las Vegas didn't think about this to increase tourism - but, I suppose as the slogan goes...what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Anthony Supertramp´s one year anniversary!

April 23rd, 2010: It has been one year today since I left for South America with the intent to have completed the entire continent by now moving my way up to Central America and out through Mexico back to the United States. But with only four countries under my pack (Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador and a brief 2 week jaunt to Trinidad) I am moving at a snails pace. Every day there are new adventures and new plans which are constantly changing on where I am going to go or what I am going to do. Sometimes those plans involve not moving at all and at other times it involves expanding my trip to cover the entire globe. I am trying to be fluid and move where the trip takes me or leaves me for that matter. At the moment...the trip has seemed to happily take me here to Medellin, Colombia. Now the question is...will it leave me here?

Since it is my anniversary...I was thinking about doing the "Best of" up till this point. I am not sure if it is too early for this or I should wait...another year. I will have to think about it...perhaps more will soon follow.

Run, Forrest! Run!

April 21, 2010: Close call today. Getting onto the 192 bus the driver said I wouldn't make it to the train in time after he kept going some distance in unfortunately the opposite direction. Not yet paying I jumped off the bus and I could hear Genny in the distance as I took off..."Run, Forrest! Run!"

I ran and ran and ran...stopping for a brief second to catch some life back into me and something inside of me told me I can not stop, so then I continued at my handicapped aboriginal like speeds - thankfully not barefoot. I kept running in my gimp like fashion making up for the Sound of Narrows race I weaseled my way out of 19 years ago and didn't rest until I made it to the bus stop. About 10.09004036578 seconds later...the 302 bus came whipping around the roundabout - the last one of the night. Getting on the bus out of breath I happily paid my $0.75 USD for the bus instead of the $8.00 USD for a cab and stumbled to the nearest open seat trying to catch my breath as my chest burnt as if someone started a fire from deep within.

This little run of mine will definitely cost me. It will cost me because now that I sweated profusely in my freshly laundered shirt, socks and even underwear, which I will now have to prematurely wash. In addition to this I also wore some valuable millimeters off my soles of my shoes which I will someday have to replace them a few days sooner than anticipated. We also cant forget about the calories burnt meaning I am somehow going to replenish them and apples surely don't grow on free trees here in Colombia or anywhere else in the world...unless there are your neighbors.

Thankfully there is almost always a positive for every negative. So pulling the positive thing I got out of this is that I am now 2203 calories lighter and when you look at me with a light directly behind me, you can see my heart beat. Now, all I need to do is put a can in front of me and stand on a milk crate in the street...I will surely recoup any lost costs in only a few hours. Time to find myself a can...and a crate.

Temporary Memory Loss

April 20th, 2010: The past few days I have been enjoying myself as I legally smother my friend Genny and her son Samu. Thankfully it is not the type of smothering that will result in doing time in a Colombian prison. Tomorrow I will make my way over to her house where she said she was going to forget how to speak English. Thankfully this is not because she is going to purposely sustain a head injury causing a temporary memory loss, it is meant to help me out with my Spanish. I tried to slip in asking if she can miraculously be cured when I ask a question about how to say something in Spanish and she said, "no." So I guess tomorrow, I will not be saying much except for things such as: Do you live here?, I like coffee, you dog is really cute and...so what do we get for ten dollars? (saying from the film, Full Metal Jacket) - laughing.

When my Spanish get to a certain level, forget teaching English. I am going to get a job as a Colombian security guard which seem to be on every street corner. At that time I will make the decision on what type of weapon I would like to carry. Will it be a nice shinny shotgun as I wait to put a few holes in a person who decides to perform a random act of violence? Or will I choose close combat and have only a club so I can happily perform a Rodney King type beat down on any offender whether it be jaywalking or littering? And when I get my key to the city of Medellin (do cities even do this anymore?) I will have to thank Genny for teaching me, "Nobody move, nobody get hurt." (famous rapper, Eazy-E)

"If you don't drink it...you are a f#%kin loser!"...

April 18th, 2010: "If you dont drink it...you are a f#%kin loser!" she said in broken English. Okay, this is not the first time that someone attempted to peer pressure me into doing something I didn't feel like doing nor do I typically fold to such childish statements, but at around midnight after being dropped off from the concert...I was tired. When people are tired they sometimes do things that they would not normally do such as fall asleep behind the wheel of a moving automobile, fall into dangerous machinery or catch a few moments of paid rest behind a desk inside a cubical at work. With that said, one shot of the typical Colombian foul liquor aguardiente somehow multiplied into two, three, six, five and...more. I had to quit at 4am after being introduced to a bunch of new words in Spanish that I have already forgot. Having a great evening with a bunch of wonderful Colombians from Medellin...I was happy to go to bed not a loser - not just a loser...but a f#%kin loser.

Small, small, small little ole world

April 18th, 2010: My friend Caro, a Colombian who I met in Santa Marta 4 months ago invited me out from the confines of my hostel to go to a local concert. Here we were to meet a good freind of hers of 2 years from Seattle who is living in Medellin. When meeting up, that good friend of hers I met about 8 months ago in Quito, Equador - he was one of my 4 other room mates who was having some paperwork challenges with Colombia. Small, small, small little ole world.

Please let it be a Popsicle

April 16th, 2010: Rapidogs...is (might be bumped down to was) one my favorite fastfood chains in Medellin easily topping anyone of the massive worldwide fast food chains. But today...my body liking it so much, it was getting a little bit crazy wanting to see how good they taste the second time around.

Thankfully I just switched hostels today to one that has a homelike feel as I kneal on the ground in the bathroom, looking at the green porcelin every so often when I would barely open my eyes to make sure my aim was not altered from my violent abdominal movements pushing everything out as great speeds. I can sort of understand on how I got the bits of food on my freshly laundered shirt but I am not too sure on how I got the pineapple bits in my eye - at least I think it was pineapple bits since it sure didn't look like a french fry. Finishing off my sessions I would spit into the toilet watching the long straw-like mass slowly touch the toilet water and then come back up toward my mouth...being somewhat successful by breaking it off with my finger prior to it re-entering my mouth.

Thinking about Rapidogs now...I don't know if hotdogs will continue to be my meal of choice here in Medellin. Perhaps rice would be better the second time around or even a hamburger. Time to curl up in my 6 bed dorm and hope my body cant find anything else down there, if so...let it be something good, like a Popsicle.

A Local or Loco

April 15th, 2010. My friend Genny last night informed me that I looked like this guy on this childrens TV program we were watching. It was some skinny english man with lots of hair and he seemed to bounce around the show as if he was on crack showing children on how to make interesting things such as finger puppets and bombs. Couldnt I have looked like Van Diesel, Justin Timberlake or even Ice Cube? Was this a hidden compliment? Hmm.

Simulating speaking like this crack addict in English with my mouth opening so wide as if I was in a wind tunnel, I had to laugh at myself, later switching to Spanish over emphasizing every word thinking it was even more funny - but, then Genny interrupted me telling me that I sounded really good and this is how I need to speak spanish. "Huh?" I thought. I know I need to open my mouth more and to emphasize words when speaking, but that much? Okay, if this is the case...lesson #1: I need to emphasize my words and open my mouth more - or...know when Genny is joking around with me.

Perhaps I will take lesson #1 to the street today and test it out. Here they will either think I am a local...or loco.

Priceless Scent

April 13th,2010: Slipping into my 4 bed dorm room to go to sleep, there was an amazingly foul odor seeping from a dirty towel right next to my backpack that smelled like a set of moist dirty twins. I think the longer I travel the more sensitive my nose is becoming. This could be a miracle to some but to me...it is just not good timing. Laying in my bed and closing my eyes it felt like I was in some unkept locker room at the local gym for the homeless. If women love the smell of a mens locker room with a hint of stray cat that likes that likes to use under the bed for an improvised litter box...then this is great, because now all of my belongings have this priceless scent no perfume company or actor would ever endorse.

Coming here to my hostel, so appropriately named the Black Sheep which I stayed at almost a year ago...I was hoping that it stopped shedding it´s hair. Looking at the bathroom shower drain it looks like a sheep somehow got itself into the shower as it dropped its thick winter coat. Pushing the hairy mass to the side with my protective sandals, I safely took my shower to strip my skin of my freshly acquired scent.

Colombia...I might just stay awhile, but just not at this hostel.

Seeing too much

April 12th, 2010: I dont think I care for being in the front seat of the bus...I can see too much. I earlier witnessed the drivers aide hiding packages wrapped up in black plastic bags with clear packaging tape wrapped tightly around it placing the objects far back in a ceiling compartment above the driver. Seeing all of the drivers amazing passes around the blind curves and not to forget mentioning that at 416am my driver was putting something in his nose, cleaning his fingers by placing them in his mouth...I just had to think, I might be, seeing too much. But...what do I know, it was at 416am.

Preparing for war with Venezuela?

April 12th, 2010: I entered Venezuela a few months ago as if I was preparing for war and it ended up being more like summer camp. I think the most dangerous part of my trip to this beautiful country was walking on a dirt road one day without my sandals on as my baby soft foot pads absorbed every jagged stone - or the time I shared a bottle of soda with some of my friends who could possibly have been a carrier of the ever so dangerous relationship breaker herpes virus type ABCDEFG.

Today I left Venezuela and stepped on Colombian soil at 1515hrs and it strangely felt like I was home. Each time I come through here my passport is kissed with the ink...which is made in China, as I am kindly greeted by immigration. Colombia...I am happy to say that I think I might just stay a while.

Drinking p#ss

April 10th, 2010: Last night I was extremely behind in sampling the local beers for this country, needing to confirm that there is no good beer in South America...just p#ss. Since I had some major catching up to do, I sampled all off them. Needless to say, it was a long night.

Inside the bar, I felt like I was back in California as the Oakland A´s and the Anaheim Angles were playing a baseball game on the 7 or so big screens. It addition to this, most of the music was in English and it was at a decibel level where I could not hear anyone speaking anything - they all could have been speaking Gibberish and I wouldn't have even known.

Meeting some locals, I ended up dancing...quite poorly might I add. I felt as if rigimortous might have set in over the past few weeks. Going back out tonight, I will see if I can get the built up rust out of my sockets prior to me doing a bus marathon in the next day or two. I am hoping that I will not take too much damage on my left and right cheek during this marathon nor freeze to death in the Arctic-like buses as I make my way toward Medellin, Colombia.

Next time I need to...read

April 8th, 2010: The next time I head to a town in the Andes I must not assume that it is going to be some cute little scenic retreat from the big city. I must honestly say that I was disappointed after passing all these beautiful scenic villages with my face plastered to the window not sure if the one I was passing though was the town I was trying to get to, Merida. Thinking that that this place was at most 12-15 thousand people ended up being 350,000. Staring out my window I passed a McDonalds...and for once...I was not "lovin it."

Tomorrow I will leave this city to do some hiking and head to the small villages where all of the tourist stands are selling a wide array of souvenirs items made by the locals...and China.

Los Llanos and a ton of animals

April 8th, 2010: This place has made a spot for one of the top places I have been to the past 11 months and 15 or so days. I had some great company and saw a ton of animals. Okay...a ton might be a slight exaggeration. Remember to take in consideration that men like to double the size and amount of almost everything...so I actually saw a 1/2 ton of animals. From the anacondas, caiman, pink crusty ill looking dolphins, colorful birds, not so colorful birds, frogs that lived in the shower and toilet that enjoyed traumatizing my friend to the three legged turtle with some extremely sharp nails and the capybara which I think the largest living rodent in the world who looked like a guinea pig on steroids...it all totaled a 1/2 ton of animals.

I even had the rare opportunity to feel like a hero, saving the life of an iguana that was too slow from a dog that had a death grip around its neck as I chased it through the fields of ticks. Later the next day I saw that the dog grabbed a baby capybara to fill his appetite instead of the iguana as his drug it though the fields with its umbilical cord and placenta still on its body. I will have to next time perhaps just turn my head...or pull out my camera for some good photos.

Who wants to catch a piranha when there are caiman?

April 5th, 2010: Well actually...my intent was to catch a piranha with teeth, but somehow I caught an extremely large caiman with teeth...lots and lots of them. When I realized the tug pulling me toward the water was a much stronger tug than a small piranha, its head surfaced with its mouth open about 8 feet away from me. I don't think he was too happy with a hook in his mouth. I didn't stand there for long nor did I put up a huge fight with my wire-like line and my one foot bamboo stick that I was using as a rod. This bamboo stick quickly became a baton such as they use in track in field as I backed up away from the shore handing it off to my guide. Cough - cough - since we were a team and he wasn't catching anything I thought he should partake in trying to get the hook out of his or her mouth.

Hunting with Elmer Fudd

April 4th, 2010: Today our guide Elmer Fudd (Looney Tunes) and our group skipped huntin for wabbit and instead went huntin for anaconda. Given a dull stick that wouldn't even be able to pierce the heart of a an open chested vampire, we went out into the muddy grassy area poking the ground trying to find a soft object...if it was hard, that meant we hit a caiman and not the anaconda which would obviously not be a good sign. Locating some anacondas, the guide, his helper and myself enjoyed pulling the snake from its tail since it had no hair out into the open, exposing it. Thinking about it now...I am not sure if my brain was working really well. If they were small...I might not have been doing this. The big ones just seem to be so slow and dumpy looking.

Teaching a child to play with fire

The Caura river was very very very long but extremly remote and not to forget beautiful river. We went about 300 kilometer up steam...5 hours of boat travel the first day and an 8 hour boat ride the second day to reach the nudist villages with plenty of participating members. At first I did some cheap looks and then after a while...I did more. It was nice to see that Direct TV has made it to this villages along the river. Powered by the generators, a quite a few huts had this basic nessicity for men....a TV that seemed to play either sports or music videos of women in bikinis as their topless wives were completely ignored as they did chores along the riverbanks.

Our guide brought her 5 year old daughter on the tour. It is nice that working moms can bring their children to work, fortunetly for me, making the trip even better. Everyone knew how to speak english, but they still spoke spanish most of the time. Good for learning spanish but hard to follow after a long day in the sun. But the 5 year olds vocabulary was much smaller than theirs but much greater than mine. Also...with kids, you really dont need to speak any language. For example, one night we had candles burning at the table and I taught the girl how to carelessly play with wax without saying anything. She stepped it up a notch when she grabbed some paper and lit it on fire, burning her fingers but showing no sign of lasting pain besides the first initial few seconds. I would have stopped her but I was so intranced in the fire, I thought it was a good idea, until I saw she was not going to let it go - remembering that she is only 5.

On the hike to the falls I was given the chef knife and it was not ment for cooking. I guess it was suppose to be use for chopping down overgrowth but the trail was really well used by the locals and there was no overgrowth until the last half hour of our 9 hour day. Looking at everyone on the trails...it seemed that they were all carrying some type of knife, ranging from the common little steak knife to the rare machettes. What good a small steak knife would do, I dont know but I truly enjoyed hiking up and down the trails swinging the knife like a wildman decappitating any dead branches, flowers or leaves that would stand in my way - telling myself I should grow up, but then ignoring what myself had to say.

This is another trip that I have so much to say, but it is not possible to do it in a reasonable amount of time. Too bad I can not make this blog a fulltime job. Anyhow, I am heading to a region on a night bus to explore the animal life in Los Llanos. I heard there were plenty of snakes to wrestle and hamster-like pigs. Hopefully no soup will be served out these or other potencially unusual wildlife treats.

My Routine and Viagra

March 26th, 2010: I sit here writing a post in my blog because the heat has beat me into hidding along with the cockroaches and the lazy cat that doesnt seem to move on the bed below me. I feel as if I have been in the Ciudad Bolivar long enough to have an opportunity to build somewhat of a routine the past few days as I wait for my 5 day trip on the Caura River which is starts on Sunday. Since I dont have much to write about except for some peacefully boring protest, I decided to extend my bordem to you letting you get a glimpse of my daily routine I created in this city.

If you continue to read from here on...I feel sorry for you that you have nothing better to do than to read the rest of this post. That is okay though...sometime life is not that interesting even if you look at it with your eyes wide open. But if you squint a little itsee bit, analyze things a little itsee bit more and begin to question the things around you...just a little itsee bit, almost anything can be interesting...except for this routine of mine you are or are not about to read.

I just figured that people can write the most ridiculous posts on Facebook and if people are actually interested in that someone is going to the store or such things as this...just maybe...just maybe, this will to date, be one of my most captivating posts for my readers.

My Routine:
630am: Wake up

700am: Float around the kitchen waiting for the coffee to be made

710am: Ask for a cup in my broken spanish, avoiding having to buy the high priced breakfast

715am: Eat a package of crackers and drink my free cup of coffee for breakfast

720am: When the staff is not looking, get a refill on the coffee

725am: Repeat last entree, refilling my coffee

830am: Walk to main park (Plaza Bolivar) and people watch

1030am: Walk to woman who sells ice cold slushes and practice spanish while consuming a beverage

1040am: Walk 45 minutes to..."a" restaurant to get my excersise for the day

1115am: Order by the numbers and happily eat lunch that I no longer need to order in a box

1200pm: People watch in the fine airconditioned eating establishment and study spanish

130pm: Walk 45 minutes back to main park or river and continue pushing my peripheral vision to its limits people watching and studying spanish

430pm: Go to river or main park after purchasing 1.5 liter of Pepsi and people watch, handing out soda to anyone who asks as I practice my spanish with them

545pm: Walk to main park or river and people watch

615pm: Go back to posada and eat some crackers for dinner telling myself that tommorrow I need to not eat lunch soo early

620pm: Finish consuming my now flat soda if any is left

645pm: Sign onto internet accounts and check Facebook, Hotmail and blog for any emails or comments

646pm: Refresh Facebook and Hotmail and for any new emails or comments

647pm: Repeat previous entry thinking that the computer is blocking almost all my emails except for the junk mail and my supposed need for Viagra

648pm: Repeat previous entry, clicking on my refresh button...again ignoring any new Viagra emails

649pm: Curse Facebook, Hotmail and my Blog

650pm: Refresh Facebook, Hotmail and blog for any new emails or comments

651pm: Refresh Facebook, Hotmail and blog for any new emails or comments before signing out and thinking...do I need Viagra?

652pm: Sign out of accounts

653pm: Sign back in accounts just in case someone on Facebook, Hotmail or my blog sent me any new emails or comments right before signing out

654pm: Sign back out of accounts and continue to curse...Facebook, Hotmail and my Blog

655pm: Read a sappy girl book I was given and study spanish, forgetting almost everything on what I learned today in spanish and what I read yesterday in my book

1000pm: Beginning to think that I am a goldfish and have no memory

1001pm: Look at travel book and try to think how I am going to complete my explorations in less than 286 months (for the mothers out there who like to calculate years into months)

1008am: Tell myself I will take it day by day and when I feel I am done traveling, I will stop traveling, planning only one country at a time or maybe just two not the entire world

300am: Wake up fully clothed in with book open and a trail of drool steaming down on the side of my face

304am: Take a shower

306am: Brush my teeth

311am: Get back into bed or the hammock

630am: Repeat cycle

MENTAL NOTE: This must be how it is when you retire except that I must add in lots of sudden naps, TV reruns and many visits to the local coffee shop so that I can perfect the art of flirting with the waitress. And now, I will finally be greatful for the junk mail...pushing Viagra.

When there is a string...

March 23, 2010: When there is a string...use it. This was my little life lesson today as I was sitting on the toilet on a large outdoor balcony with the wooden full length shutters used for doors. It was facing the bunk beds and hammocks...so when a big gust of wind came tearing though the courtyard, so did the door...tearing wide open. Sitting there where all could see (but lucky for me, didn't) I shot up very quickly in a crouched fashion closing the shutters and now...using that string, tying the knobs together. So, when there is a string...use it.

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.