Desert Oasis

July 29th, 2010: A boys dream…perhaps. Standing there, I was watering a troth of moth balls – I wasn’t about to count how many…but there was a ton. As I was peeing in the pool of mothballs, I thought about the tight a## that made a complaint about not being able to take a shower for a few days and I think if I read it correctly…barely being able to go to the toilet due to the strong obnoxious stench of this white little targets. If anything he should have complained about something more important like the wall full of little cockroaches migrating to higher ground when talking a shower, reminding me of a National Geographic series I saw a while back with a bunch of African wilder beasts migrating somewhere special, I assume.

I once again learned the effectiveness of closing my eyes today. The jeep/sand boarding trip I participating in shocked me. I was not expected a jolt of adrenaline from the jeep ride but I was expecting some excitement from the sand boarding. It was quite the opposite. It had my legs violently shaking at one point and even closed my eyes – just a little…making me think on how much I am becoming like a girl – and didn’t even have to tuck it. I kept visualizing us flipping and my arm getting crushed as we flipped, rolling down the gigantic mountain of sand.

Toward the end of the trip, I offered my front row end seat to the guy next to me – making me feel much safer as I now had a human flesh safety bag in case there was an accident. Talking to the others later in the evening…it turned out the whole jeep momentarily turned into a bunch of girls. It was the combination of multiple launches off the tops of the dunes to driving more or less 1000 miles an hour down them or even having the back of the jeep sliding sideways downwards as he decided to ride across the steep mammoth mounds horizontally.

I don’t think I will be going on another jeep trip anytime soon, but if I do…I will make sure I start off in the middle, until I can judge the sanity of the driver and his appreciation for life and most of all…his lack of desire of earning a monetary tip, instead of the well needed verbal tip that he should slow the h#ll down.

Sluts in the short skirts and 15 inch spiked…

July 27th, 2010: It is almost 12:30am and the backpacker sluts in the short skirts are rolling or being carried out of the hostel’s bar with their 15 inch spiked stripper heels - how these weapons fit in their backpacks I will might never know.

I am here to write-up another party hostel. I swear…as I said before, I feel so old at these places. It is not that I don’t like this place…it is great, but every girl seems to be 18, 19 and some random strays in their 30’s dressed as if they are 18 or 19 – which sometimes it can be really funny…but other times, this can be very – very – very frightening with horrific images that will be etched into my brain for eternity.

The past week I have been enjoying the fruits of Lima, from the museums, churches, parks and fast food restaurants. Today I did a marathon and didn’t even break a sweat as I finished up everything I did not yet see visiting 4 museums, 3 churches and 2 parks. At the finish line I ended the day with an entire Papa John’s pizza for myself not needing to share even a bite.

One of the best things I saw today besides the 200 pound 30 year old in a tight little skirt, was a creation made by an artist that was commissioned in Spain to make a bronze crown for the statue, Madre Patria. The person was told to give the lady a crown of flames. The word “Flames” in Spanish is “Llama” which is also the furry creature everyone hates or should hate since it likes to spit on you if you get too close. With that said…the artist put a llama on top of the woman’s head – what an idiot. I am still laughing at it.

Throughout the week I have been meeting up with my Peruvian friends and wonderful families who live here. They have taken me to some places I would never have gone and that I really enjoyed such as a visit to a run down fire station for lunch and to a school’s festival where I tested my luck in Bingo while attempting to comprehending the called numbers over the muffled speakers.

Tomorrow is Peru’s Independence Day and my friend’s Maritza’s 33rd birthday…for the second time. I guess she failed at it and is taking it over for good measure. So a double party...this is going to be dangerous.

I have a feeling that I will be lucky if I make it on the 4 hour bus ride the next day to Ica to do some sand boarding. I keep thinking that if it is going to hurt when I fall and...for how long and...for how many days. I can feel the pain now.

Pimp my Bus

July 21, 2010: I feel that the bus I was on yesterday to Lima was the end product of MTV’s silly show…Pimp my Ride. But this case it was, Pimp my Bus. It had 2 toilets, seatbelts, an overhead light that worked, a button to push if I wanted service, Wifi and even a computer with a printer. They had a safety video showing the exits and what to do in case of an emergency and a movie with John Travolta who was dubbed but had English subtitles – a rarity. Another odd rarity was that my two bus drivers that shared responsibilities somehow didn’t seem like addicts to some sort of illegal stimulants. Lunch was an added treat for it was hot and served with sturdy plastic utensils. The bus seemed to have everything I always wanted or dreamt about a bus having but it was lacking one minor thing...seats that converted to life jackets in case we went off the road into a large puddle or body of water.

My experience was so similar to an airplane, it assisted me in directed my mind right to the toilet making me think how nice it would be to join the 5 foot high club. Forget the mile high club – that is so 90’s…anyhow, FAA regulations has made this almost impossible to perform without getting interrupted and potentially becoming a candidate to getting mace to your face or even worse...your exposed “parts”. It doesn’t matter though, since I am traveling alone…no matter how hard I could have tried, this obstacle was unlikely to be overcome in such a short period of time.

Rolling into Lima gave me flashbacks of rolling into Los Angeles, California. The red lights extended beyond my vision. The traffic here is unbelievable…unbelievably bad. Remember that for every minus there is a plus and the pluses here are big pluses because today was my day to capitalize on these pluses – actually yesterday night I capitalized on my first plus and had KFC. My second plus was McDonalds and the third one was Starbucks. So…nice.

I know I brought this up before but I cannot believe how much joy I get when walking into these large international fast food establishments – my smile today extended from ear to ear, looking like that clown Ronald. It really is not because of the success of some of these Northern American companies…it is because walking into one of these places really does takes me home…in my mind. I am sure it is the same for people here in Peru and anywhere else in the world that is traveling internationally who perhaps gets a little homesick and would like some sort of food that reminds them of home without having to go home. It is not anymore just a place people from the US grow up on…it is also a place that people from around the world grew up on.

Being on the pimped out bus where I was served some good food to eating at all of these fast food places...it is going to be difficult going back to eating mostly food from the street vendors - where it is common to find multiple hairs in one meal with some of them unfortunately…being curly.

Massive coca intake at Lake 69

July 17th, 2010: Hmmm…who was the innovative person who came up with creative name Lake 69? Why couldn’t it have been Lake 21, 50, 68 or better yet…Really Blue Lake – better describing what it really is…not what people do here? This lake is the BLUEST lake I have yet to see. Bluer that lake Tahoe in the United State and bluer than the blue sky on a clear unpolluted day. It was so blue it looked as if I had some sort of blue enhancing filters wedged into my eyes as I gazed around after our 3.5 hour hike up to the top.

Today was my last day of enjoying the surrounding mountains area. Taking an estimated 51,200 steps to reach Lake 69 in which the pounds of coca leaves I dumped into my mouth - consuming more than 10 free range goats…still didn’t help provide me more oxygen to my blood. I am beginning to think that coca leaves really doesn’t do anything besides provide an excess amount of spit that I have to constantly swallow in addition to leaving a bitter taste in my mouth with that mild numbing effect.

Out of my group of about 14 people, Myself and my legalized drug dealing pharmacist friend (my primary dealer the past month when I was sick) reached the top…dead last, with just enough time to take some obnoxious photos and eat a quick lunch before having to head back down to our bus – in which we were sadly 20 minutes late.

Lake 69 was a nice grand finale hike in this region. Most people can safely say that the most rewarding things in life are the most difficult to achieve. Today’s hike was difficult for me, but the reward reaching the top was worth the struggle to get there…every breath and step forward.

I will be heading off to Lima on Tuesday morning instead of my intended Monday due to the bus company I wanted to go with did not have a front seat available on the top of the double decker bus. The luxury of not having a time schedule…

Now it is time that I see some massive manmade pavement creations in the ever so crowed city of Lima and to enjoy all of the places I miss back at home without having to go through customs, pay an airport tax in addition to an excessive baggage fee. Such places on my “to visit” list, includes McDonald’s, Taco Bell, KFC, Burger King, Wendy’s, Papa Johns and Little Caesars – did I forget any? – Oh, and yes…Starbucks!

During the next week I will have no food budget and will be eating everything. When my stomach reads “full,” I am prepared to revert to vomiting any previous value meal so that I can consume another as I attempt to show my love and support of Corporate America who successfully infiltrated these foreign lands to provide locals and travelers a piece of the US without ever having to leave. If I don’t leave Lima with a Buddha Belly…then I didn’t really enjoy Lima.

Yella teeth just don’t get yella from nutin!

July 17th, 2010: I have been traveling long enough in South America to notice some strange things as I am attempting to become the first man with Crayola Yellow teeth. To do this effectively you can either get a yellow grill or do it the natural way…coffee. I seem to get different contraptions when ordering coffee from country to county. To date, I think the best coffee I have been served is in Venezuela where coffee prices are regulated by the good ole president, Hugo Chavez. The strangest way coffee has yet to be served would be Peru. Here is a quick little breakdown of my coffee ordering experiences.

Ordering coffee with milk in Colombia: In one of the finest coffee producing regions of the world you get a cup of hot water and a jar of Nestle Instant coffee. As for the milk, if you don’t stop them when ordering and asking for it separate, you will get more milk than coffee. If you do stop them and ask for milk on the side – and they understand what you want, you typically get a cup of milk heated up on the stove much too long leaving a curdled film you have to pull with your spoon.

Ordering coffee with milk in Venezuela: Here you get a miniature Dixie cup large enough to quench the thirst of a hobbit filled with some great rich coffee produced in those special looking machines and nicely heated milk. Too bad they have never heard of 7-11 and the 64 ounce coffee.

Ordering coffee with milk in Ecuador: See above - Colombia.

Ordering coffee with milk in Peru: This is most unusual place so far to order coffee with milk. Here you get the cup of hot water or milk and they give you some sort of server that is typically used for creamer and in this, is some cold concentrated coffee for you to pour into your cup.

Who knows how I will be served coffee in the other countries. All that I do know is that I will continue to work on my gradual yellow tinge to my teeth that most coffee users will too enjoy after many years of hitting caffeine. I am not sure what is better…the yellow tinge smokers get between their fingers or yellow teeth from the coffee bean, but… I will stick with working on my goal of Crayola Yellow teeth and worry about the aftermath at a later time in my life – say…when it is time for wedding photos.

Ice is better than rock

July 15th, 2010: Today I headed out to do some ice climbing on a glacier. It didn’t start off well hiking for about an hour in my uncomfortable yellow plastic boots which were extremely similar to ski boots. But, when tied into the ropes and the crampons (metal spikes) where attached to my boots...it all made sense. I sort of liked this method of climbing more than rock climbing – except for the unexpected rocks and sheets of ice that would rain on me from above…taking on some self repairable damage. During my climbs, I am happy to report that my body didn’t perform the sewing machine, the Elvis (Definitely a love/not so love relationship Blog Post) or even the mash potato.
I felt extremely powerful with my two ice axes as I would swing them into the vertical wall of ice spraying me with bits of debris as I would slowly move my way north. When holding the axes, I thought that maybe this power I was feeling, is how the characters from the movies Edward Sissorhands or Freddy Krueger felt as they reshaped bushes or bodies. I made it to the top of my first climb but the second one was extremely challenging as I would break free falling from the ice as I tried to get up an overhang. Not succeeding after several attempts and at times I would see myself hanging by one or two axes with my feel dangling, trying to pull myself back to the wall – still, I finished the climb extremely satisfied.

Santa Cruz Trek

July 14th, 2010: I just came back the other day from one of the most popular hiking trails in the Cordillera Blacno Mountain range. The 5 hour drive getting to the trailhead in the van made for either those who stopped growing at age 7, midgets or amputees was one of the best parts of the trip. The vans shook as it went along the crater riddled dust filled roads so much it didn’t just help me see double but offered a free massage from the luxury of my own seat, without an optional happy ending…but, with views that are still embedded into the depths of my brain. The ribbon-like mountain views here might just have topped whar I saw on my trip to the Himalayas years ago which I thought were not toppable.

Along the trail the first day, junk food addicted children would come from the depths of the countryside…with most of them looking as if they were coming down from a serious candy crash as they would stand straight, slurring some words in Spanish, repeating it several times…”sweets”…”cookies” as they would follow us with their emotionless expressions with dried snot and caked on remnants of their last feeding, reminding me of the old film, The Night of the Living Dead.

The nights were cold and uncomfortable but the morning sunshine was gratefully rewarding. The stars once again provided a good show and even provided me with an opportunity to make a wish as one came tearing between the mountains. I do believe in wishes and I am hoping that one day my patience will pay off and that I will be able to capitalize on at least one of them.

Having the option to bathe in the fresh cold water the slithered through our campsites, I decided it would be best for me to get back to the “Ice Box” (Previous blog post) to take care of any hygiene matter...using baby powder to mask any unpleasant order I picked up over the 4 days - to make my time in my sleeping bags (2 sleeping bags) more bearable.

Since donkeys carried all my stuff except for my water and a few personal effects, I was able to proudly be the slowest person on the hike as I concentrated on trying to walk a straight line (with the assistance of someone’s hiking pole) and getting enough air into my lungs as we climbed higher and higher into the clouds topping 4750 meters (15,583.9895 feet) - at times feeling as if I was being invisibly choked. To help combat altitude sickness Peru has this thing for consuming unprocessed coca leaves to increase the absorption of oxygen in the blood – yep, the same coca that can be placed into your nose or even your veins when illegally processed. For me, drinking coca in tea form or by placing the bitter leafs into my mouth and chewing them had enough of an effect for me, numbing my tongue and the side of my mouth.

A question arose on our hike. Was it the lack of oxygen that made it so funny or was it really that funny? Our guide called the man responsible for getting the donkeys from Point A to Point B a Donkey Driver. That just didn’t seem correct since he never really sits on the donkey. Putting our minds together, I came up with a new title…Donkey Handler. One of my friends came up with the term Donkeyboy deriving from Cowboy – but I, for some gut feeling think, Donkey Handler sounds more proper.

The group of individuals that I was with for the 4 days and 3 nights were great. I haven’t laughed or had that much fun in the longest time. My English did not have to be altered or slowed down, since most of them were at a level that helped me feel I was back at home as I was able to act as silly/stupid as I wanted. I have a strong inclination that it will not be that last time I see some of my newly acquired Facebook friends. Perhaps someday, our friendships might grow to become a coveted Hotmail friend…time will tell.

Back from the trek, I am sitting here and I cannot believe how much time I spent in this small town, Huaraz. As the saying goes, “time flies when you are having fun.” I feel I need to move on even though inside I am not ready. I can’t explain why but something inside is telling me to pick up the pace. So…I will be leaving here…Monday, to make my way to Lima to meet my Peruvian friends living there, giving me a little extra time here to finish a few things that I came to do.

1 man + 4 women camping trip = Human mule

July 8th, 2010: My friend and I all made it back from the backcountry at Lake Churup, unscathed from our one night trip…packing for what seemed a 1 week expedition. I went with my 4 women friends who all but one have never been backcountry camping. They all came to the hostel dining area with itsee bitsee teeny weenie backpacks when it was time to distribute the weight. This obviously made me the human mule since I had the largest backpack.

I rarely go backcountry camping with anyone besides myself since it is so difficult to round up people who are willing to do it – so this was a treat to go with such a large group of women who were all positive about the limited luxury’s from going to the toilet on the hillside, too filling up their water bottles from suicidal insect filled lake

In the evening, my friends made a fire to boil our massive amounts of ramon noodles with the assistance of my portable compact tree-like notebook and a lighter. During the slow process of building a fire, I became more appreciative of my camping stove which makes life so much more easier. These are one of those luxuries you don’t appreciate until you are laying on the ground blowing air into a fire, taking some big hits of campfire smoke every few breaths as I was effectively charring my lungs for some future High School science class jar.

For everyone who knows me…I had no part in the managing of the fire except to randomly poke sticks into it, as I poorly listened to the commander of the fire and unintentionally destroyed it as I tried to make it larger when nobody was looking - since deep inside there is a controllable little pyromaniac in me.

The evening was beautiful when the stars decided to expose themselves as they were so plentiful and seemed to overpower our fire at times as we all pleasantly sat around the campfire taking in the warmth.

When heading back from 1 night of camping, we needed to avoid the park ranger who we lied to at the entrance, saying we were just going up for the day as I passed him with 4 sleeping pads strapped to the outside of my pack in addition to the exposed sleeping bags of my friends with their childlike size flimsy school packs. When the park ranger saw my stuff, he stopped us and said we didn’t have to carry our gear up and could leave it at this local’s house. He was told we wanted to be comfortable once we reach the top. Hmm, anyone with an IQ of 10.43448 would have known we were going to camp at the top.

There was a reason for this lack of truth besides being a group of compulsive liars. If the truth was told we would have had to pay the $23USD entrance fee for each person instead of the $1.75USD – a lot of money for my 3 Peruvian friends – including myself.
Taking a shortcut down the mountain through the marsh and through the grassy countryside, we escaped the grips of the park ranger making it to safety. Lying on the roadside, relaxing we waited and waited and waited for a local van/bus as the sun began to bake us a nice golden brown or red. Seeing some mules coming along the road, we ended up hiring them to take our baggage to the next town for about $0.30USD as we cut through the tiny towns on the mule paths. Our packs didn’t stay on very well on these animals as they would fall off, scaring them as they would perform mini sprints dragging the packs tied by ropes down and off the road. It was more of a laugh and an efficient way to prematurely wear out our packs rather than making it easier for us.

Now back in Huaraz, I am currently in the process of taking off again to the mountains for 4 days to do the Santa Cruz trek. This time I will be with an organized tour, with myself carrying zero equipment. It should be easier on the body, though it will have a different feel being with other customers rather than friends, but still good times.

The Icebox

July 4th, 2010: Standing in my room that felt as cold as a walk-in icebox with only my flop flops on…I had to choose to shower… or not shower. I think about how can there not be a heater in a hostel that is at an elevation of about 10,013 feet (3,052 meters) and how can there not be hot water? Sticking my hand through the shower curtain, every 30 or so seconds, I am hoping for a miracle…just a little one. Seeing that miracles can only happen to my sock (Holy Sock, blog post) I stand there with just, hope.

My shower is basically a pipe in the wall with cool to cold water pouring out that gives me an economical shock treatment in addition to helping me rough up my language a bit. The fridged cold water easily turns my mouth into a mouth of a sailor as I say every written word of profanity in the English language not just once but multiple times as I jog in the shower quickly rubbing my body…most parts – one part obviously can not to be found in conditions such as these.

If I commit to taking a shower tonight, exiting the shower can even be worse…feeling like a cold balding seal coming out of its hole in the arctic only to experience a clubbing by the cold air. Life offers us so many choices…some of the most easiest ones…can sometimes be the most difficult - and the most pointless to write about.

Vive Le Canada, eh?

July 3rd, 2010: Usually I will cringe at the travelers that have a Canadian flag sewed to their daypacks, backpacks, hats, shirts, shorts, socks and let’s not forget those proud to be Canadian shoe laces to keep themselves from being identified as a resident of the United States of America. I love everything about Canada and I can at times understand separating themselves because I myself at times (lots of times) am embarrassed by the behavior of my fellow comrades. But today…I was so – so – so very happy that one of the most rude, obnoxious travelers I have met had a good sized Canadian flag plastered right onto the side of her daypack. This would have been a good time for her to leave her daypack at home.

The amazonian sized Canadian girl with a table in the rear decided to pick a fight with two frail Peruvian senior citizens, taking their seat in the middle of our 12 hour endurance tour seeing a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains to some knocked down stones and tunnels of Chavin de Huantar dating from 1000-200BC.

When the elderly lady kindly asked if she could have her seat back, the Canadian girl gave her a look a teenager would give someone adding a rude comment saying that there are no seats. The woman again asked kindly for her seat. Now that the entire bus was becoming aware what is going on, her strength of 10 men was not as intimidating because we had at least 11 men on the bus. I can see why the girl was in desperation mode wanting the old couples seat because they definitely had two of the worst seats right next to the toilet in the very last row of the bus that didn’t even seem to have the luxury of reclining seats.

Now it was a battle of patience. Eventually they lost, getting up as they had to do the walk of shame to the back of the long bus, with the Canadian flag proudly showing everyone that they were not from the United States. Today…I liked those flag toting Canadians that wanted to show the separation of the two. Vive Le Canada, eh?

Definitely a love/not so love, relationship...

June 30th, 2010: Some climbers call it “the sewing machine”, others call it “the Elvis”…I call it another case of, “what am I doing here?”

I spent my past few days at a climbing refuge for rock climbers with the idea that I would be taking classes to add some skills to my current natural monkeylike abilities. But, it ended up being more like here is a harness, some shoes and there is the rock you are going to climb following it with the silly question asking me if know how to make a figure eight knot. I wanted to tell him that could tie a good granny knot…and of course, didn’t say anything but, "no".

Yes this was another case of, “what am I doing here?,” for my first climb especially when I didn’t see a place to grab to keep from falling except to wedge my leg in a rock and hug the outer walls to rest thinking if the person belaying me below was even paying attention as they smoked their non-tobacco cigarettes. This is the time my leg began to perform “the sewing machine” and/or “the Elvis,” – whatever they want to call it, I was unable to hide my rapid leg movement until I internally removed myself from where I was. Today was definitely a day I would have liked a helmet whether it was a climbing helmet, bicycle helmet, hockey helmet or even the very same helmet Neil Armstrong wore as he took his first step on the moon.

Finally after clearing all – more like, clearing enough of my crazy thoughts…I managed to free my leg with some effort and slowly pulled myself higher by my elongated finger tips and toes. Once reaching the top, the internal reward made it clear on why I do silly things like this, exhausted… as my adrenaline has taken a beating on me.

Climb after climb, they became more and more technical but easier as my confidence grew and my system on telling the person below belaying me to please pay attention when I did not feel confident with my lack of stability on some portions of the climb as I clung to the wall to potentially reduce the distance of my fall.

After today I rediscovered that climbing is definitely a love/not so love, relationship for me. Once on top, I love it and once clinging on the side seconds away from falling…I not so love it.

The United States and Colombia has failed me

June 27th, 2010: Needing to support the US in the world cup, I made a friendly bet with my newly acquired Peruvian friend, Maritza who is here on vacation. After the US sadly lost its match, I was giving ever so kindly given another chance to lessen my losses.

Two women (?) were about to fight each other in a world title match on TV and the fighters happened to be from Peru and Colombia. The woman from Colombia looked like a shemale Coastano version of Mike Tyson and the Peruvian was looking more like a patch lickin skinny crack addict. I obviously picked the Colombian to win, but unfortunately after 10 painful rounds, I was too failed by Colombia and now needing to buy the winner a total of about four drinks - which is my total consumption of alcohol for 2 nights out.

Four drinks is that not that many for someone from South American except that she is on holiday and has been enjoying it to the fullest starting in the early hours of the day chasing it with toothpaste. Heading to multiple discotecs, I happened to show off my ability to sit at the bar or one of the multiple tables and on occasion I would show my skills and rip up the dance floor…white boy style.

By 4:00am Maritza was on her way to a KO. Perhaps I too was on my way to some distant land…more so from exhaustion (my photo could say different). Losing all of the other a long long time ago, we jumped into a cab to save ourselves from walking 4 or so blocks and up one step uphill…and possibly saved myself from fireman carrying my 4.8 foot, 70 pound friend (just a wild guess).

I heard about drinks putting hair on your chest but…on you head? All the hair I grew on the top of my head from the earlier consumption of the local drink, a pisco sour…it was quickly shed from the slow motion adrenaline spike the taxi driver caused. No worries though, I prefer not carrying shampoo anyhow.

After the brief one minute ride, we made it back to the front door of the hostel. Getting out of the cab which was parked on the cobble stoned San Franciscan style inclined street…the cab stalled and began an uncontrolled roll backwards. The door hitting me at least twice as I did a side run backward before getting out the doors way leaving Maritza to her death as she sat dazed in the back seat. I saw the panic in the driver’s eyes as the car was going unintentionally backward, but was somehow suddenly stopped a foot or two away from taking out a house.

A wonderful night out in Peru…but, once again I need to enforce my two drink limit...that is unless it is a picso sour with its head hair growing capabilities.

The people and peaks of Huaraz

June 25th, 2010: Huaraz…is just what I thought Peru would be. Many beautiful blinding white broken mountains making shapes that I have never seen. I want to visit every peak and completly explore this region and participate in some of the activities they have here like going on a trek, a rock climbing trip, take some ice climbing classes, a horseback ride and the most exciting would be a summit climb up to one of the mountains. Perhaps not enough oxygen is hitting my brain here at 10,013 feet (3,052 meters) because I must remember I need to get up to some of these places by myself – yes, I can hire some donkeys for my gear which I will definitely do that to help out with the local economy.

Things here in Huaraz seem a bit off key. For example: when ordering a café con leche (coffee with milk) I don’t get what I would get in most countries…a cup of coffee with some or a lot of milk mixed together or even with a little cup of milk on the side. Here, for the second time today, I was served a large hot frothy glass of milk and a tiny creamer size dispenser as if it was from a child’s Ms. Homemaker play set with coffee in it to pour into the milk.

As for the women here…a lot of them seem to be into men’s fashion supporting a nice ill fitted hat, 5 sizes too small for their head. I have seen this style before in other South American regions but these hats seem to be different. The height of these hats is what sets them apart. I would say that some are higher that a woman’s neck line to the top of their head. Is this something that they do to compensate for their lack of height, such as women in the US will wear high heeled shoes - or just date shorter men?

Vertically challenged pregnant man fight

June 24, 2010: I watched an extremely angry game of Peruvian old man soccer on the basketball court today. There were a few games going on but this one had the most yelling…everyone was screaming at everyone…so I chose this one first hoping I would be able to see a friendly fight between the vertically challenged (aka Peruvians) since I had my camera today.

I sat for quite some time and right toward the end…it happened. One man took off his belt as he struck his friend and the other guy grabbed a miniature backpack to defend his miniature self as he swung it striking the other man as they ran around the court chasing and hitting each other looking like two circus clowns. It quickly stopped after about 12 seconds…the men seemed to be a tad out of shape and pregnant, supporting a late second trimester - thus preventing them from going another 12 second round. Happening and stopping so quickly, I did not have time to pull out my camera. The man holding the belt tried to hug him after to make up but the other man didn’t seem to want the sweaty form of affection.

Not all games were that angry. At one game, some of the younger participants seemed as if they were having fun or at least having a good phone conversation since about 3 or 4 of them were multitasking, playing soccer and holding cell phones…including one of the goalies. I remember picking dandelions in the field when I played tee-ball since almost nobody could hit it that far…how nice it would have been to have a cell phone to talk to friends while participating in sports.

Yes…I am joking. Not having an active phone anymore has done me some good. Hopefully when I get home...one day, I will remember my current view on cell phones and not fall back into my old ways.

Peruvian Mud Piles part II

June 22nd, 2010: The piles are getting better…when is there a “part II” and it is actually better? Perhaps it is because some of them are 99.4458587% reconstructed to how some highly educated or highly imaginative people thought it looked before and/or after Mr. Christ. I don’t know why countries just don’t make their own reconstructed piles and keep the tourism dollars, pesos or dongs in their own country.

A meal fit for a Conman

June 22nd, 2010: I met this really kind woman that owned a cross between a coffee shop and a grocery store in Chiclayo. Since she worked 7 days a week 16 hours a day, it was always easy to go to her place to hang out and practice my Spanish – especially since she doesn’t know any English. They use a lot of different words down here and I am still trying to adjust. Teaching me not just Spanish, she taught me how to make Cerviche – a meal with raw fish, shrimp, peppers, onions soaked in lemon juice. Making a big plate, I forced myself to eat everything but the shrimp…I can only do so much kindness. Will I make Cerviche again?…no. Will I make it for someone else?...perhaps my enemies or a hungry conman.

Yes, I was able to sit at a table face to face with a conman who tried to take advantage of my kindness. He informed me he worked for Carnival Cruises as a cook and needed to practice his English so that he could out of the kitchen and make more money as a server. Working for an international hotel chain in my past life, I knew exactly what he was saying, hitting my weak spot. So I agreed to help him with his English for about 30 minutes prior to my meeting my friends.

He invited me for a soda while I wrote some common phrases that is important for servers like, “where is my tip?“ “this is not my table” and other important things we all love to hear. Coming back to the table with the soda he said the shop had no change for his 100 Soles (about $35 USD). The already red dim light that was shinning in my brain just jumped to a full red light…hmm…so did he just want a free soda I thought? - a lot of work for a free soda. Then it clicked, as he asked if I had change for a 100 Soles. This place is notorious for bad bills so I am told. Instead of leaving I decided to stay – worse case scenario, he couldn’t take anything since I had nothing on me…almost nothing. I told him not to worry about it and bought the soda.

Then he tried a different route to swindle me of my money. Now he told me he was leaving to Ecuador tomorrow afternoon and asked if I has some US dollars (Ecuador’s currency is the US dollar) I could exchange with him – when down the street there are a whole slew of money exchangers standing in the street with brick sized wads of cash. I wanted to laugh at his stupidity and was enjoying everything he was throwing at me without doing it the easy way by just attempting to beat me up for it. Thinking about it...I wonder if he was hungry?

You really never know a woman till you she her…

June 20th, 2010: Sitting at a park within the city with a billion others, I relaxed and people watched…my specialty. A woman caught my attention that seemed quite attractive as she was standing there dressed conservatively as if she was out of an clothing advertisement for Banana Republic. She seemed to be waiting for someone. When her friend arrived she exposed her smile…you really never know a women till you see her smile. I had to laugh.

She had the most “bling” I have ever seen in a woman’s mouth. Her upper grill was all gold except for the two next to the front teeth which were silver. The teeth even seemed smaller than normal sized teeth so she could fit more in her mouth…amazingly scary and funny at the same time.

I must add this to my requirement list for my future wife…no excessive amounts of gold or silver front teeth. If we are meant to be…buy her a set of dentures for any holiday that you can buy them something, even if it is not an obligatory holiday to exchange gifts like Saint Patrick’s day.

Peruvian mud piles

June 19th, 2010: Didn’t make it to ruins of Chan Chan…ended up changing my mind at the bus station going to Chiclayo instead, a town a few hours prior to the Chan Chan ruins. Here I had my first true experience to visit some Peruvian archaeological sites named Sipan and Tucume. After day one…I feel already knocked out…from boredom. So far, I don’t think I care too much for the archaeological sites in the Americans. The ruins really force you to use your imagination - of coarse when a lot of them are made of mud piles and not stone…which obviously lacks the ability to be very effective against the elements after 1000’s or so years.

You can really see a lot from a window

June 18th, 2010: Wow…as always, I prefer taking a bus during the day and today’s ride enforced this. Even though I don’t save on accommodations as I would on the night bus, I treat the day bus as if I was an immobile senor on a world tour looking through the window…and truthfully, it is not all that bad - if you can keep your eyes open long enough.

On the bus today I saw some amazing contraptions to sell guava (I think), these giant disgustingly healthy green bean looking things looking things genetically altered to grow 1,000,000 times its normal size. The 15 or 20 women selling them were standing there outside the bus were looking as if they were going to lynch someone with a smile. They were all holding a long wooden stick practically twice the height of them with a plastic container on the end in which some guava was strapped to so that the 4 foot tall grown women and 3 foot tall teenagers can lift it up to the double-decker bus windows with the plastic container to conveniently drop your payment in.

The terrain in this area is so flat and so dry with such large cracks in the soil that you could reach your arm into or happily lose an annoying girlfriends miniature dog. If you are lucky enough you could twist your ankle in one of the cracks and perhaps get an opportunity to sue someone, “North American Style.” But this is South America, so I don’t think it would get too far in a court of law.

I seem to be drawn to flat desserts…when there is no or very little greenery, just the multiple shades of browns and grays of sand or dirt. If you took the state of Iowa and tore out every living thing and all there was left was some dirt and a few scrubby bushes to catch some of the blowing garbage…you would have a good idea what Northwestern Peru looks like. It is amazing that so many people live out here in this unworkable land with the houses made out of scraps whether it is made out of bricks, manufactured wood or wooden sticks found by the characters from the book that stars three little pigs.

You can really see a lot from a window – all sorts of windows…cars, buses, planes, trains, homes and hotels. You just need to open those eyes and look.

I ‘m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…

June 17th, 2010: Sitting on the beach in a nice piece of shade, reading a book by my favorite author, Paulo Coelho, my mind went off into the past that wasn’t so past ago. I was thinking about Point Reyes National Seashore in California and was remembering how much I loved that place and the memories that stain the sand with it. Looking up I saw a puppy peering from the top of a sand bank near me. Locking eyes, he ran down and wanted to play…perfect timing, arriving right before I was about to get homesick.

He was a white puppy…a white puppy with lots and lots of little specks, black specks. Looking more closely, he was covered with fleas, large cities of fleas perhaps the size of NYC. Not wanting to pet him any longer, I tried to ignore him but he wouldn’t have it, barking and barking with his tail wagging as if someone was winding it up since birth and finally letting it go. I just could not pet him and tried not to look at him since I did want anyone of his miniature friends to disembark. After about 20 minutes of giving NYC (the puppies new name thanks to me) the silent treatment, he eventually understood and thankfully decided to grab a feather and carry it up the hill to play by himself. Feeling bad…but, I had enough mosquito bites to deal with.

Later in the evening, I joined the hostel for a campfire of about 30 people on the beach. The fire was large enough that we were all able to get comfortable as we enjoyed the warmth as we listened to the ocean rubbing against the shore between sets of the drunken man on the guitar - not knowing one complete song so it seemed.

Popping out from behind someone, I saw the carrier, NYC. Not needing to tell anyone of his issues, since everyone seemed to already know and also tried to push him away and in some cases a casual toss him when all he wanted to do was play…and drink a little beer.

He was getting none of it. Getting frustrated he started to bite people in the arm and feet, even showing his high jumping abilities going up toward their faces for a kiss with teeth. I’m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…with fleas. This should be a lesson for everyone, not just dogs…no matter how cute you are…if you have lice, crabs, scabies or other some other living thing enjoying the comforts of your hair follicles - clean or dirty, you will not be taken home.

Do good girls sleep bottomless…in a hostel?

June 16th, 2010: I woke up early this morning to enjoy the morning light to take some photos. I quickly noticed that the women in the bunk below me doesn’t sleep with underwear on as she laid there with her skirt pulled up all the up. I wonder if it was her that did that massive trim job in the communal bathroom since the toilet bowl rim was covered with an enormous amount of unexplained hair.

I had a full day of saving sea beach creatures, tossing them back into the water as I walked along the Pacific Ocean for about 6 hours taking photos of almost anything and everything. You would think after reviewing some of my photos that I have never seen a crab before in my entire life.

It seems like today’s theme was wildlife…most of it being dead – easier to take I suppose. I would also like to add, a bit more interesting too. I posted some of them in the new Peru photo album for your viewing pleasure.

Besides dead creatures I happened to see a lot of Spanish speaking hippies not yet learning that they cannot make the same pot bracelet everyone else is making and expect to sell them. They need to sell something that is different from the other 2,000 bracelet makers in the town of 10,000 - they must have stayed in school longer enough to learn at least the basic business principles.

The people above me on the second floor are now having sex. I can hear the bed a rocking and some noises as sand is falling through the cracks in the floor and dusting my bed…I think she likes it. Wait…they are done…they are now talking - how lame.

I really enjoyed the ocean the past few days reading some sappy girlie book and deciding on where I am going to go next. I might be leaving to head south to Chan Chan in a few days which has been called the largest mud city in the world. So…I will be seeing some really, really, really old mud soon.

And…the computer says?

June 15th, 2010: Clearing immigration, exiting Colombia, I made my way across a bridge to see if immigration in Ecuador could count to 90. Before finding out I was stop by some sort of Ecuadorian drug enforcement agency. I was pulled to the side and then to a dimly lit room. The questions began, “do you have drugs?”, “do you do drugs?”, “just once?”, “come on…tell me”, “did you have sex with any Colombian women” – giving them a strange look for such a strange question, he simulating a cock in his mouth. After my interrogation, they proceeded to take out everything – everything…this was before I was given a cheap feel by a man to make sure that I was only packing a dirty tube sock.

Little did the officers know on how much of an effort I put into making everything fit as they were unfolding my obsessively perfectly folded clothing. They kept asking me the same questions over and over perhaps thinking I would change my mind. After about 45 minutes, I was deemed drug free with the stamp of approval as everything I owned laid all across the room on two tables and some chairs. Before leaving me to repack my backpack…they told me they caught 10 backpackers today. So it wasn’t the huge blackened bags beneath my eyes… I was profiled.

Once I finally arrived to the Ecuadorian immigration desk, the officer behind the glass window swiped my Passport and began to process me into the country. On the form I was handed, I so happened not to fill out how many days I was in Ecuador last year…hoping he was not going to manually count. Looking at the computer for a moment, not even at the uncompleted form I handed him…he informed me I have only 7 days. I looked at him all confused as if I was completely unaware of reaching the 90 day limit for the year. Turning the computer towards me so that I can see, the computer said…7 days. I did almost everything to make him just change the 7 to some bigger number without having to slip him some Benjamin’s.

Me not completing my form obviously didn’t work nor did I suggest a charitable donation in order to see the number morph itself into some number that is more beneficial to me. It was not just me who I was thinking about…it is the also the Ecuadorian people and McDonalds, now not able to get my tourism dollars.

With no plans on being in Peru so quickly, I had to put away the Ecuador travel guide I picked up and deemed it worthless. Grabbing my general travel guide, South America on a Shoestring…I began to figure out a plan on what to do in Peru since I would be arriving there in about 27 hours via bus. I am glad the computer could count to 90, it gets an A.

I love soup, but NOT this soup!

June 13th, 2010: Okay…a few months ago I tried turtle soup. I didn’t care for it – at all. Today I went with a few of my friends from Popayan to the local market and had the courage to try…a different type of soup. In Spanish the soup is called ternero. It is the fetus and placenta from a momma cow. I took a healthy bite… after a few very short moments my taste buds became engaged. Slowly I chewed the bits trying to think about baseball (since it works for other things), to prevent my gag reflex from being engaged.

Not yet getting my soda, I was looking for anything…ketchup, hot sauce or even a nice bottle of bleach to get the residuals out of my mouth. No napkins were available to scrap my mouth clean and I seemed unable to throw up to get a more pleasant taste in my mouth. I know that onion breath and garlic breath is not pleasant…but what about fetus and placenta breathe? Spotting some rice across the table, I reached over friend Martha with my fork to inappropriately fill my mouth. I love soup, but NOT this soup!

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.