It takes two to Tango…and steroids

March 3rd, 2011: For four days I tore through Buenos Aires. As most people know, Buenos Aires is known for its shopping, Tango, world famous meat and stunning women – which to some, stunning women is the same as world famous meat.

With plenty to do and a limited amount of time till my return back to this enormous city, my friend and I decided to do a little, a lot and a lot a lot of shopping with a side trip to a tango class and show.

Playing follow the leader with my friend Sabrina, she reminded me of the great joys of clothes shopping with a woman. It has been a while but, she let me show off my previous skills of being a professionally purse/backpack holder as she would disappear in the dressing rooms for extended periods…at times wondering if she might have escaped out the back window when I wasn’t looking.

One evening after completing a Tango class, I was issued my official certificate of completion. With my confidence being really high…too high…I thought that somewhere my future, I had a smidgen of hope to become a successful Tango dancer - giving me an opportunity to get some legitimate cheap feels without the need to serve time or explain my actions to anyone.

After folding up the certificate which was going to make it in the trash shortly following the show, the other graduates and I were then corralled into another room to see the professionals perform the Tango… crushing – more like nuking my hopes to ever be able to Tango – that is unless I believe in dropping the age limit on who I will date to 12 year olds. I say this because the men would easily toss the women dancers around with subhuman strength as they somehow did playful ball kicks between the guys’ legs without fazing them.

I don’t have any future plans dropping my age limit on who I will date to an imprisonable age, nor do I see myself spending half my life in the gym oiling my body and shooting up on steroids so that I can toss an average size woman with curves and some junk in her trunk around on the dance floor. So, I figured I will forgo learning how to tango at a high level of expertise and just continue holding up walls next to the dance floor. Better yet, I need to simply stick to my original plan and...learn to salsa.

Expedition to Antarctica comes to an end

February 26th, 2011: Back from a 10 days expedition to Antarctica I can’t possibly write at a level to help you experience what I saw all the way down here by the means of binary computer code in which you are now fixating on.

Of course I saw a multitude of penguin nudist colonies, crackling ice, treacherous penis shrinking water and was even fortunate enough to see the cartoon, “Happy Feet” which screened one night on the way back to human civilization. Obviously there was also a variety of birds, seals, sea whales and land whales in which miraculously through evolution are now able to walk on land with an extreme likeliness to humans. From weaving between icebergs, decrepit pale walking human corpses, living and dead hollowed out penguins, birds and sea lions…there were all memorable experiences for me to see.

The ship was not filled with the human colony of grey hairs in which I originally expected. Minus those few walking corpses, a lot of the people were rather young with many of them supporting much more head hair than me – whether it is natural or has pubic or back origin, I don’t know. Remember that my definition of “young” is fluid, in which is now...44 years old with an error margin of 5 + years with an upward trend the older I get. Of coarse there are exceptions to this definition, but this is just a general rule of “piggy that went to the market” – aka: your big toe.

My time on the boat when not on land, ice or in a Zodiac was filled with a variety of lectures in which I struggled to not sleep through and even worse…facially leak through - but was somewhat inevitable due to little hours of sleep and from the peaceful – at times extreme, rocking of the boat.

Being fed to the point of worrying about some potentially vicious self imposed stretch marks, I successfully packed down loads of amazing food, doubled up on desserts and heavily worked at attempting to empty three bottomless cookie jars that were available from 12:00am to 11:59pm. Toward the end of the trip I came to the conclusion that I will never be able to embark any sort of boat for a trip around the world without unintentionally creating job security for the medical industry that specializes in premature obesity.

Late nights of high school level discussions drawing out tears of laughter was something in which I didn’t expect from this expedition but truly enjoyed as my maturity dropped me to an age that I am unwilling to disclose.

Now that I am back on land, unable to go any farther south since it has already been done, I need to begin to make my way north. It is not that north is the only direction to go…I can think of two other directions…west and east. But for now heading north is my only option since my sister will be getting married in the next few weeks. I will be taking a 3.5 month break from traveling in South America and will be traveling around the US and Canada visiting family, old and new friends that I met along the way.

Returning to Buenos Aires in Argentina at the end of June, my South American journey will continue…but to where? This I don’t know…but starting March 4th, my North American journey will begin.

Temporary loss of an appendage in Antarctica

February 18th, 2011: Don’t know what got into me…perhaps, pure stupidity. For someone who would rather swim in a hot steamy outhouse in a pool of fecal matter before swimming in a cold river – today I voluntarily placed myself into perhaps the coldest body of water that I have ever been in, leaping into an icy bay with some goliath sized ice cubes. Originally organizing a group of individuals to join me in my stupidity to help me from backing out, all of them changed their minds when it was time to prepare for our infiltration into the water. A poor leader I must be, failing to lead my troops into a funnel of stupidity…so I did it alone.

Taking off from a dead start I began brainlessly running till the water was deep enough for a full frontal dive completely submerging myself, feeling as if I might have gone into a brief state of shock. Spinning around I did a mini-back float…and if my memory stands correctly, I added a mini-flutter kick for some style points before dashing to the edge of the water on the way out, getting a photo of myself holding a piece of ice as I stood there in my 2 year Jockey’s - thank god that they are naturally black (if they were white, I guess I would then be telling you about my chocolate-vanilla swirl Jockey’s – NOT a good visual). The camera toting individuals on the shore were surely admiring my pastiness, while amusingly noting how my appendage managed to mirror a turtle as I exited the water.

While catching the next Zodiac back to the ships conveniently placed sauna…my body performed a major workout attempting to keep warm as I convulsed in crack addict fashion – exhausted upon my arrival to the ship.

I still can’t believe I’m in Antarctica. I have not planned it, but I just realized today that I have officially explored all 7 continents. Not a goal I was striving for so it didn’t feel like a huge accomplishment but I did it never the less - so…what’s next?

*Please note that I uploaded a multitude of photos of this trip in my...Antarctica photo album.

Saving a Chinaman’s life with fishlike eyes

February 18th, 2011: Waking up this morning I thought I was going to do a lot of things in Antarctica but one of them was not saving an old Chinaman’s life. Did I really save his life? – well, let me say that I saved him from some great discomfort and perhaps some broken bones perhaps limiting himself from some late night action with his 70 year old wife in his suite on our ship.

Clearly Mr. Chinaman was walking up a snowy trail to a summit that he obviously shouldn’t have been on. Telling by his drunken walk of exhaustion, swaying left and right I was waiting for the obvious fall off the side...in which the right side of the trail was a steep angled slop supporting a high number of incalculable degrees with some rocks patiently awaiting a visitor.

Tipping over, he went to the right going face first with his $3,450.89 Canon camera necklace. My brain conveniently slowed time as he began a slow motion penguin slide on his man boobs down the slope. Quickly I lunged forward off the trail grabbing his toe of his boat with my pencil like fingers that somehow locked as if my hands morphed into the strength of pitbull’s jaw. His eyes became bigger than his oversized circular glasses as he looked at me in a panic.

As a scene from a poorly written action movie starring Keanu Reeves, I calmly said, “I got you buddy” to the old Chinaman. He tried to curl up to me with the abs that he lost some 40 year ago. As I managed to switch my grip to his frail forearm, I felt someone else grabbing my ankle to keep me from doing a head slide down the slope with the Chinaman.

Today, I was a hero to the Chinaman with big fishlike eyes as he graciously thanked me, when I should have been thanking him for a little bit of unexpected excitement for the day.

I predict a major boating accident in Antarctica…

February 14th, 2011: “Is there a photo of the Explorer?” I asked the travel consultant. Quickly looking up from her computer she fires off, “Don’t let them hear you say that.”

You see, I mistakenly asked for a ship that is no longer...in use, by GAP Adventures (the company I am I will soon be traveling with) thinking that the Explorer was the name of the ship I am going on - when it is actually the Expedition. Until November 17th, 2007 at 1900 hours, this ship no longer belonged to GAP Adventures, since at this time in submarine fashion it dived off the coast of Antarctica and parked itself at the bottom at a frigid depth of 1130 meters after hitting some less forgiving ice – making the insurance company its proud new owners.

I enjoy being reminded about things like this...30 hours prior to my departure on my 10 day expedition to Antarctica - it certainly makes things more exciting. But unfortunately, something extraordinary like this is unlikely to happen to me. My reasoning is quite simple…my parents pray for me too much.

I was just recently stripped of experiencing “Mr. Ferry meet Mr. Island” at 3am as the Navimag’s hull was torn during their introduction…taking in water, it created a delay on getting to Puerto Natales on its scheduled time. If I waited until just the next departure (7 days later), I would have been able to dawn my life vest awaiting for the signal to abandon ship creating a lifetime of better ferry stories besides my post about “Thong Girl.”

In addition to this boating mishap, I was about 2 weeks off when I was in the Galapagos Islands to experience the exciting emergency exit in the wee hours of the morning as the Comorant II (a different boat than what I was on) broke into pieces, sinking right after everyone was saved.

On this trip of mine to South America I have seemed to miss some rare sinking’s or boating accidents by just 2 weeks or less. With this said…I predict a major boating accident in Antarctica to happen in the next few weeks, but not involving me - that is unless, I kindly ask my parents to kindly cut down on the prayer.

*Photos: Explorer (Wikipedia), Navimag (La Prensa Austral) and the Comorant II (Sangay Touring)

Anthony Supertramp / Beaver Hunter

February 13th, 2011: Today I set off in Terra del Fuego National Park with a goal. My goal was to see a nice wet destructive furry North American Beaver. After about 5 hours of hiking I reached the Hoover dam of Beavers. I made myself a comfortable placement along its side and was ready to wait all day until a visual sighting.

After about 30 minute of patiently waiting with my camera along my side, ready to take a shot of a beaver as soon as it surfaced for some air, or better yet…watch its tail in action, back tailing her loved one who might have given her some lip – in this case, given her some teeth - laughing...I can think/write of the most supudist things.

Thinking about my positioning and lighting, I was reconsidering if I was in a good spot...until I thankfully overheard a tour guide’s spiel stating that beavers are...nocturnal. Being only 3 pm, I was not wanting to believe him so I stayed a little bit longer, hoping there was an insomniac beaver or even a workaholic so that I could still see one of them. I even tried to telepathically ask a beaver to show herself - obviously not working.

Leaving the park today I was unable to see a North American beaver here in South America. With better timing, a little work and a smidgen of luck, perhaps the next time I go beaver hunting, I will score some…photos. With some persistence and some good timing, the odds will hopefully be in my favor.

176,924 penguins – excluding the 12 dead decomposing ones

February 9th, 2011: Taking a extremely large zodiac on steroids, I with which a bunch of other camera touting tourists to Magdelena Island right outside Punto Arenas – a towns name that make me think, “ Punto Anus” every time I say it or type it. I left Argentina and came back into Chile just to see these penguins. On an official government pamphlet in which I was given by the park ranger upon entering the natural monument, read that there was something like 65,543 penguin couples.

How in the – how in the…heck, do they know there are 64,543 couples?! What about the single parents, widowers, divorcees, bachelors, bachelorettes and kids? The tour agency seemed to tell me conflicting information saying there was over 180,000 penguins - though was much better than only identifying the couples, but still…180,000 penguins? Needing to know the true number of penguins, I thought I should do thorough recount…counting only 176,924 penguins – which includes the 2 that were Siamese twins counting them as 4 penguins and excluded the 12 dead decomposing ones.

Through my observations most penguins are well mannered in front of others unlike dogs, monkeys or those human couples at Santiago’s spit guzzling park. I on this island I happily didn’t see any penguins performing any copulation – meaning no public monkey style or doggy style shows…even though thinking about it makes me laugh with their paddle like hands not being able to do much except for perhaps a little spanking here and there.

Being told before leaving to the island to expect a rough ride (the captain later telling me 3 to 5 meter waves/swells were common) I needed to choose my boat wisely. Picking what looked like the nicest zodiac out of the two to choose from, I noticed after boarding the boat that the people in the other boat actually had to put life preservers on – thinking that I must have picked the better boat since our captain must have had enough confidence in his boat for the 45 minute boat ride on the Strait of Magellan to get us there.

Seeing all the penguins here made me feel like I was robbed on the island, Chiloe which is also in Chile - making the big effort a few weeks back to reach that place to see penguins. In Chiloe, I saw more penguins made in China being sold as souvenirs than what I actually saw. After today, I will never have to go out of my way to see another penguin colony again…except for perhaps the animated one in the cartoon, “Happy Feet,” but no more than that.

A 8 year old child wielding a handgun at the border

October 8th, 2011: Today in customs while crossing the border back into Chile, an 8 year old was wielding around a black handgun – a black plastic toy gun to be more precise, but it looked like a black gun. Pointing it at others he would pull of a few imaginary rounds every so often at the people standing around. This was all taking place while some other kids seemed to be quite resourceful in the long lines, turning the giant x-ray machine back rollers into a human slide while I think that its real purpose was to examine everyones baggage for fruit smugglers.

Customs seems to be serious about outside fruit from entering the country…but what about black handguns? I hope this doesn’t give any arms dealers any bright ideas but this wouldn’t be a bad idea if you needed to pass a shipment through…just give a school bus load of kids some unloaded handguns. But most importantly…make sure their parents didn’t pack the kids any fruit in their lunch boxes if you want to make sure they make it across the border without any problems.

The great peaks of El Chalten and my roommates…Ms. Peaks

February 6th, 2011: Walking into my 6 bed dorm at precisely 4:47pm after a long day of tramping around and taking photos of the numerous spectacular peaks that horseshoe the town of El Chalten…I overheard two girls whispering on the bottom bunk on the other side of the dorm. It sounded as if they were having a serious talk - thinking that girls are funny that when they have problems how they can just lay in single bed with each other just chatting away…if guys do something like that, you are gay.

Tired and not being in a social mood to talk to the two girls from Berkeley (California), I dug out my backpack from my locker, preparing for an exciting time of giving my backpack an abortion so that I can close it – yes, my backpack somehow got to be pregnant again. Hearing one of the girls asking me a question, I looked over to answer her - I was taken by surprise.

There she laid in bed naked with her arms behind her head exposing her peaks with a sheet covering only her shrubbery with another naked girl who supported hairy armpits next to her side - but she was fully blanketed. No, I don’t have Superman or TSA supervision to see through the sheets…Ms. Pits changed in front of me yesterday as we went over the basic dreaded backpacker questions with a topless twist on what is my name, where I am from, how long I have been traveling for, shoe size – blah, blah and blah.

Turning back around after I did a double, triple, and a quadruple take as I tried to bit on my inner checks to keep from smiling and to not laugh. What do I do to get myself into these strange hostel predicaments? - this can’t be happening…it just can’t be. What I walked in on was not just a casual conversation about a new design (god forbid) or knot used for their hippy bracelets/necklaces they must secretly sell on the side. What was taking place right before my ears was what lesbians MUST do better than guys after sex…talk. I should have listened to this conversation of theirs so that I could have picked up some pointers - instead of just asking the typical backpacker questions…what is your name, etc – laughing.

Ms. Peaks continued to talk to me as I leaned against a bed on the floor with my back turned as I multitasked, continuing to go through with my backpacks abortion. It seemed strange talking to them with my back turned, so every so often I would turn around and try to look at the girl with hairy armpits in the eye…I had some success. Then I would turn back around right before I couldn’t hold a straight face any longer. Ms. Peaks said I must have seen a lot while traveling as long as I did. I agreed and wanted to say that what I am seeing now might have been the weirdest, but I refrained.

Not finished, I zipped my backpack, deciding that it was time for me to take a well needed shower, so that they can finish…talking. I wasn’t even sure if I should have taken a shower so soon after our conversation because I didn’t want them to think it was because of them…but at this point, it didn’t seem to matter.

Dorm life…today was filled with peaks and adventure outside and inside my dorm. Traveling has a tendency to hand you stories without the need to even search for them…they seem to just happen at the weirdest times and places.

National Geographic photo shoot with a disposable camera

February 2, 2011: Today I was able to see the Perito Moreno Glacier via boat, bus and by my very own two 12 inch flat feet as I walked on the boardwalk of unbelievable web-like proportions. Observing what I could only have dreamt or watched on the National Geographic Channel in the past…I was so close to this huge-chunkus glacier, which according to Wikipedia is 30 km (19 mi) long, 5 km (3 mi) wide and 74 meters (240 ft) above the water with a total ice depth of 170 meters (558 ft).

When a section of ice would pull itself free from the glacier, it would do a spectacular cannonball like dive into the frigid water sending water shooting up to great heights disappearing before eventually resurfacing as it would come up for air. This was so unbelievably dream-like; it would cause my legs to shake – though I can only speculate that my shaky legs were the result of my eyes seeing something so surreal, that my body did not know how to react. Thankfully for me, my body didn’t decide to cry a river so I will not complain about my leg shake - though if compromised…can easily be covered up by a nice little lie by saying that I was cold.

Today, I truly felt as if I was right on a National Geographic photo shoot with my disposable camera slung around my neck. Photo or no photo…it was one of the greatest shows on earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dropping the soap in the ferry’s shower

January 23rd, 2011: Taking a mildly warm shower on the ferry, I dropped the soap. Fortunately I am not in prison so I was safe from any surprise attack from behind…but what the soap did is what amazed me. Without any rubber compounds it bounce like a bouncy ball hoping twice, once in the shower and the next bounce was in the private changing area and then between an 8.5 inch space out of the shower area and sliding along the floor.

Opening the shower door I was thinking that I could run out naked for a brief second to retrieve my soap without being noticed. Moving so fast that I didn’t think too much as I grabbed my soap in a pool of urine below the urinal – now what are the odds of it stopping in the worst spot of the bathroom? Quickly I jumped back into the shower, thinking that it is okay that it collected some of this body fluid of those men who had poor aiming skills because it is soap…and soap is almost always clean. But when I saw what else the bar picked up along its surreal bounce and slide is what sort of made me pause.

I seemed to pick up a variety of pubic hairs from all sorts of individuals. I was then forced by my cheapness to pick the strangers pubic hairs off the bar and then to make it worse…I had to struggle to get them off my fingers as I flicked and wiped the more difficult random male pubic hairs against the shower wall before they slide down the drain to help add to its already impressive collection.

Lesson learned…use soap on a rope whenever showering outside the home.

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

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

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

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

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

Hiking with Jesus

January 20th, 2011: Today I did my last hike in the Lake District before leaving to Patagonia…with Jesus. He was the spitting image of the man that you see plastered and marketed all over the world because this man was the real thing – and French never the less! I didn’t see him walk on water or anything extraordinary but I did see that he had a large following…unfortunately they were horse flies and not the sluts at the Playboy mansion.

As I walked along Jesus’ side I thought about how much I dislike these…these…darn horse flies wondering why I felt bad for them the other week when I saw a father and son from Chile sodomizing some, laughing at how they couldn’t fly with this log sized piece of grass impaled in there anus. But I now see the entertainment value on this harsh punishment for these flies who were clearly invading my personal space. I myself cannot do such an act and it is not just because I am now walking with Jesus. Hmmmm…WWJD?(What would Jesus do). I suppose he would kill them sons-a-b#tch@s, but…WWIK? (what would I know).

No Soccer ball? That is okay…we will use a dog.

January 17th, 2011: I spent the past weekend at some friends’ apartment in Osorno whom I originally met in Peru…and yes, I prescreened them prior to my arrival making sure they are not clam dealers or flour distributors (referring to my post on pregnant prostitutes and drug dealers). The brothers’ hospitality taking my homeless self in was above anything I would ever expect.

The schedule they made for the three days was filled with some great activities – some I did willingly such as the visit to the thermals and Puyehue National Park but others I deferred such as rub a giant bull’s balls that stood in the city - even though they claimed it was good luck. Not needing anymore luck I settled just for a photo.
One day we ended up going to their farm house…houses. I don’t know why but I ran around the pastures like a little kid in his new pair of running shoes chasing the cows and goats - not to have a girlfriend experience, but to catch them. As they ran from me it made me want it more. This” Chase” can be similar to chasing girls or dreams I suppose…if they are not interested or the dream is hard to get you sometimes see yourself chasing them, just to chase them never thinking about ever actually catching them. At the end when the chase is over and you are face to face with the catch, you are then sometimes oddly not quite sure what to do with it.

For almost the past two years on this adventure of mine, I have ridden all sorts of horses…from rentals, to what I thought was the real thing. Riding plenty of rental horses, it must have given me the false idea that I was actually becoming good at it. Sitting on this “real” working farm horse, I felt the power between my legs as it would seems to spring on its toes as we made it to the pasture going from 5 kilometers per hour to 80 in 2.564 seconds. I liked it for say…about 6 seconds as it was not even yet in 5th gear holding on for my life that seemed as if it was going to be abruptly shortened or I end up like Superman if I let the horse get up to its top speed. So, I quickly slowed him down to a reasonable fast rental horse speed. After this, I began to wonder if I really like horses because a “rental” horse and “real” are completely different creatures. It is like a pink battery operated Barbie car to high performance go-cart with the racing flames along its side.

On the horses as we roamed around the farm – since I couldn’t catch the cows earlier on foot I decided to chase them on the horse. I felt like I was in a rodeo with my smile somewhat pasted to my face as my friend watched me looking like a child in professional fashion teasing the cows going in circles - being a middle child, teasing is my second nature. I am sure all kids on the farm do what I do at some point in their lives…I am just a little behind.

Getting an audience of other animals as I ran in circles, one guest was not on the invite list. It was a big dog observing us from a hill. My friend seeing the trespasser who I was later told sometimes enjoy the little animals too much and started his own chase but he was well aware what to do once the trespasser was caught. Approaching the dog quickly, a dust cloud filled the trail as the dog was kicked by the horse, playing soccer using a dog as the ball with the horse’s hooves being used as an extension of his feet as the dog was giving a Messi (famous soccer player) style beat down. It is surprising that dogs don’t roll as far as you would think after being kicked by a horse’s powerful legs. Well, I didn’t really participate in the game since my friend was being a ball hog and I myself was obviously not skilled enough on horses for such an activity. After a few kicks the dog seemed to casually make it to the safety of the woods.

It is time for me to head back south in this heart monitor like travel pattern that I seem to have been performing in Chile. I have come to the conclusion that Chile might be one of the most hospitable countries that I have yet to visit during my travels. The most hospitable? – I am not sure about that yet…but it will definitely put up a good fight against the now reigning champ, Colombia.

The joys of killing a horse...in a batting stance.

January 11, 2011: On a tour of the outlying islands in Chiloe I found myself surrounded by about 20 horse flies wanting to tear through my clothes and violate me when I did nothing but take a few photos. I was not sure if I was in the middle of some herd initiation or if it was just that these horse flies have an uncontrollable temper without anyone there to discipline them. I was not going to go down without a fight, talking off my hat I did some batting practice on the scenic beach dazing some – surely killing others with the blunt force trauma I dished out like a cafeteria style cook.

I love the outdoors but when you add an abundant amount of annoying insects, it can make watching the Travel Channel on TV slouched on a comfy couch with a hand down the pants and the other with the remote seem much more enjoyable.

Are your roommates’ pregnant prostitutes or drug dealers?

January 9th, 2011: During my travels I was kindly invited by a friend of mine to stay with her at her house. The vision in my over imaginative head on how this was going to turn out was so completely off, immediately starting with me being picked up from the bus station…

Entering my friend’s house I was officially introduced to her 2 roommates. Looking around as I rolled my luggage through the living room I felt that perhaps I made a mistake…but at that exact moment, I didn’t know the reasoning behind my internal feelings. Making it to the bedroom to where I was staying, I passed a series of rooms with one room containing an older man in his 60’s looking as if he was buttoning his shirt. This man was one more than her 2 roommates that I just met. Asking my friend Callidora (name changed to protect her identity) on whom that man was, telling me she didn’t know. “How can you not know, he is standing in a bedroom?” I said, making me think that something is not right.

After some mental prying, she then she told me a “piece” of what goes on in this dark house – with other pieces following later in the evening – but never seeming to know the entire pie. Missing pieces, I thought that perhaps I already tasted too much, regretting even asking in the first place, helping me discover during this visit that it is sometimes better…not to know.

I stayed there two of the four days that I originally planned to be there. If I liked to play in the snow from a girl dealing out of a rented room during the weekends or wanted to get a discounted 2 for 1 rate with a pregnant prostitute who also had a strange nightly rental agreement, this place would have been paradise.

Coming to visit Callidora, I sadly didn’t see “her” my entire stay there as she filled her body with the Bolivian marching powder seeming to play Mario Bros and Galaxia the entire nights not requiring any sleep.

I am grateful that the roads I have chosen in my life have thankfully never taking me down any dark alleys - perhaps shady, but never dark. Leaving early, I transformed into a preacher – not of faith, but as a friend…hoping that I can create a spark.

During my stay here, I learned an important lesson that I need to ask more specific questions about friends living arrangements prior to accepting invites…such as, “Are your roommates’ pregnant prostitutes or drug dealers?”

7.1 earthquake from the comforts of my vibrating bed

January 2nd, 2010: This was by far the biggest quake I have yet to be in and it was a spectacular show. A much better show than the New Year fireworks and much better thing to experience than the canopying (South America’s longest), the scenic hikes in Huerquehue National Park or the dead horses I rode the past few days. It is not that these experiences were bad…they were also great but I have always been a great fan of the uncontrollable forces of our planet and today, I enjoyed an earthquake as it woke me up from the middle of my late “justifiable” afternoon siesta.

After being woken up by the back and forth motion of my vibrating bed, it took me a second to realize that I wasn’t at a hotel who’s rates were set by the hour and that it didn’t take a quarter or another person to get my bed into full motion. It didn’t stop after a high school like performance; it went on for at least a good sized preview of what is going to happen in 2012 – if you actually believe Hollywood, Bollywood and the ancient people without computers.

Laying there while I was enjoying what was going on as I was nice and cozy underneath the blankets…the quake seemed to be showing off for its endurance. Being on the second floor at this small town hotel the building began swaying more and more. Then I began to think…if it is time to go somewhere perhaps a little safer or if I should I just ride it out…in bed? So, the decision was made and I decided that, there is nothing like…a 7.1 earthquake from the comforts of my vibrating bed. I sure do love Chile.

I intentionally climbed a smoking bomb

December 29th, 2010: Today I woke up and intentionally climbed a smoking bomb with an unknown length of a lit detonating cord. To be more precise I climbed Volcan Villarrica, one of the most active volcanos in Chile that has a nice hot lava lake in its crater. There was so many others climbing the volcano that the 300 or so Gortex, ax carrying climbers in perfect lines that they reminded me of the stores in the US at around 5am the day after Thanksgiving (also know as Black Friday – the most popular holiday in the US for people with nothing better to do with their time).

I thought seeing the center would have been the best part of the 6 hour climb to the top, but…I was wrong. The best part was the a possibly Guinness Book of World Records length slide down on our butts / butt sleds on the snow to the bottom. This is a time it is good to have some extra natural fatty padding in which I have a minimal amount – reminder: Most people get fat after they get married and not before.

Today was one of those days my smile looked like the Joker (Jack Nicholson’s version) as I tore down the mountain uncontrollably at times almost colliding into the scared others who scooted down as snow sprayed my face impairing my vision, at times shoot off the track of the others going into a wild tail spin as I would attempt to straighten myself out with my ice axe being careful not to imbed it into myself or another. Today I came to the conclusion that bombs can be fun...when wearing Gortex.

The motion picture, “Yeast Me”

December 27th, 2010: I came to the conclusion that I must seek help…psychological help. It didn’t take a doctorate to figure this out either. It was all drawn up in the simplicity of what I have been selecting to eat. Today I had to make a decision that should have been an easy decision. I had a choice…McDonalds for dinner or Christmas bread (similar to its distant cousin, fruit cake). I must note to my readers that I should not be seeing another McDonalds for at least 2 months and this decision was much too easy for me, for I chose the Christmas bread. I must be sick…really sick. It is not like the bits in it are even fruit.

There was a movie made in the US named “Supersize Me” about a guy who attempted to eat McDonalds for 30 days straight and wimped out toward the end due to his health collapsing. I wonder how successful a movie would be if it was called, “Yeast me” - hmm…I will need a little work on the title but it will be the same concept. I will eat Christmas bread for 30 days straight and someone can record it on video. Anyone want to invest some money for this possibly blockbuster?

The more the bloodier…

December 27th, 2010: I been in a dorm room for the past few days that has 8 beds which is now filled beyond capacity, forcing me to share my bed with others. How many others? I don’t quite know. I am currently in the process of executing all of these freeloaders before they suck me dry.

The freeloaders are small and must have been fighting a battle for quite some time as I see all the old blood stains on my sheets making the white sheets look as if they were polka dots. I am now sustaining only a few injuries but it looks like it will be a long battle with these…bed bugs.

Not thinking it was a big deal…the first day I found out about my guests, I just pressed them up against the sheets forcefully expelling the blood they withdrew the night before, instantly killing them. I must keep misssing a few since they seem to keep showing up again, night after night.

Other people checked into the hostel today and it is now 2am and they are all runing around the room literly freaking out, pulling back the sheets on all the beds, catching the bed bugs as they quietly wait to do a surprise attack. Thinking about it now…I just might get what I want – to travel with others, wether I like it, or not.

(Self-modified Nursery Rhyme)
Good night, sleep tight
Don’t let the bed bugs bite
If they bite, bite them back
Then they won’t bite tomorrow night

One of the great joys of the Christmas holidays...

December 24th, 2010: I have eaten some unusual stuff during this trip and some might even think what I put in my mouth is outright wrong, such as the time I had the fetus soup in Colombia. But, the past few weeks I have acquired a taste for something much worse…Christmas bread. Yes, the bread that can last for up to 4 months which contains a healthy amount of fruit and nuts to keep your body strong.

I have managed to go through a whole loaf in the past 2 days and I am now diligently working on my second loaf with no end in sight. If I can only manage to make more space in my backpack I could live off the stuff till at least…Spring (US).

My Santiago layover

December 22nd, 2010: Staying at my friend Daniella’s for almost the past two weeks it has been a wonderful reminder on how nice it is to spend time with a friend for more than a few days and to be around a real live family. In the process I lost my Yatzee Chilean Championship Title to her Dad who consistently rolled dice as magician. I will have to set this behind me and move forward, either perfecting an undetectable way to cheat, or…just accept that dice games are all about chance.

From seeing a huge concert with musicians dressed like overgrown sperm to backcountry camping, throwing a football around – deep breath – seeing a ballet and wine tasting at my favorite Chilean winery, it was all great. One of (only one) of the best parts of this was the simplicity of lounging around a functional house. I could not have asked for anything more - almost anything more.

Santiago was a great layover to do some well needed internal repairs, refreshing my mind as I now head out to the Pacific Ocean to find myself a good spot for my most favorite holiday, Christmas.

Spit Guzzling Park

December 20th, 2010: I went to a park today in Santiago that was suggested by my friend to visit. As soon as I began making it up the stairs I noticed that it looked more like an outdoor hotel room than a park as about every grassy spot and patch was taken up by couples and their hands. I felt like it was wrong for me to stop to look around or take photos for that matter since I didn’t want to come across as a voyeur.

Step after step, passing body after body tangled on the ground, this was definitely not the place to go if you are single making it more and more of a depressing park each step up leading to the top. Reaching the peak there was a nice view point of the city, with even an option to jump off of if you didn’t pass the mental test of Spit Guzzling Park.

Occupying the only empty bench of 10 benches at one lookout, I sat there enjoying the views of the city as couples deeply tongue each other, guzzling each other’s spit making me…thirsty. Deprived of the tasty 100% natural beverage, thinking that if they could only bottle the stuff I would be completely self sufficient and not need to get anyone else involved. If Coca-Cola would consider hiring me, I could make them billions and at the same time get a lot of homeless people of the street and employed as they could have a job filling up bottles.

Today, I managed to I successfully towered Spit Guzzling Park right before Christmas…making it without contemplating suicide or hiring a prostitute – remembering from the moving Pretty Women…that prostitutes don’t kiss on the lips anyhow.

2 cups of fruit a day…does that mean 2 Double Gulp sized cups?

December 9th, 2010: I have been happily stuck in Mendoza for about 1.5 weeks waiting for my new Visa card to arrive. Needing to pass by time I happened to visit about 10 wineries during 3 of those days to help me exceed the United States Department of Agriculture’s suggestion of consuming 2 cups of fruit daily - with them carelessly not clearly noting on how big or small the cup suppose to be – thinking that maybe they meant 2 Double Gulps (64 ounces each) sized cups from the convenience store 7-11 in the US. Trying to be healthy this also assisted me in getting through the incompetence of my bank, Wells Fargo who might have been more effective if they moved their call centers internationally to the Helen Keller Institute for the deaf.

From the two blurry self guided bicycle tours to the decrepit horse that took me to a few of the grape manufactures, I at one time effectively lost enough brain cells so that my body forget how to process my prior items of consumption in the proper order - which is typically the mouth, stomach and bowels to the miniature porcelain pool. Instead, I somehow miraculously reversed this order going from my mouth, to stomach and back to my mouth skipping the porcelain bowl and going directly to…to…it is not that important.

Needless to say, I think I was trying to be too healthy and will continue to try to be healthier consuming my 2 cups of fruit a day, but maybe…just maybe I will need to look further into what the United States Department of Agriculture means when they say two cups of fruit.

Life as a Grey Hair for the day

December 5th, 2010: Yesterday I took a trip into the rugged mountains running along the Chilean border. This ended up not just being a trip to see a beautiful mountain pass that was used for the movie set Seven Years in Tibet but it turned out to be a wonderful opportunity for me to experience life as a senior citizen for the day - which was not my original intention. It just seemed to happen as I stepped onto the bus that picked me up from my hostel, looking around and noticing that the bus was filled with grey hairs (at least they have hair). At that moment I realized that I might have paid too much for the tour since the mathematical formula for grey hair tourist is the following: Grey Hair tourist price = Fair tour price + 50% markup.

Worldwide, seniors seem to be targeted by tour companies due to the larger profit margin than the cheap, mangy backpackers. The backpacking community typically lives off the penny’s they have accumulated over the years and doesn’t seem to have a pension/allowance such as some of the older tourists. Unfortunately for them, the tour companies clearly know this and are sadly taking advantage of them.

On my tour today there was a few other stray backpackers asking the guide if we were going to do any hiking, gimping, walking, hopping, crawling, rolling or anything else besides stopping the bus and getting out for photos. Our guide made it clear that they are not able to do anything else because she was not sure if everyone was physically fit enough to do that…needing a waiver if they did. To support her case she informed them that on this tour she had 2 people died on her tours from exerting themselves too much.

A lot of people in tourism seem to think that all seniors are extra fragile, reminding me about the trip I took out to the mountains outside Cordoba, Argentina a week or two ago. This is when my friend and I went to this hiking area and wanted to make it to the top but arrived too late for the 4 hours accent – which I was internally grateful for. Standing at the information counter I noticed that the sign said if you were 60+ years old, you needed to hire a personal guide to go on the hike with you - that was quite expensive. I had to laugh but it was at the same time disturbing because I come across a quite a few 60 year olds that were in better shape than me. So how can you just come up with an age making it a requirement and not know the persons physical abilities, I don’t know? Where is AARP when you need them?

My day acting as a senior was extremely pleasant and relaxing, taking plenty of photos from the window of the bus to several photos only a few steps outside the bus doors. Perhaps it would have been nice to be able to walk a little bit more, by say…parking farther from the restroom doors. If I wasn’t a cheap mangy backpacker and decided to enter the restaurant for lunch when the rest of the bus did, I could have added to today’s excitement and used the typical senior citizen terminology to those individuals in the service industry such as “honey,” “sweetie,” and “darling” and get away with it. Never the less, I was still happy to see what I came to see and to have experienced a trip living life as a grey hair.

Shoulder bag accidently stolen…or not

December 4th, 2010: New traveling security rule created. Rule #1234: Don’t approach subject who has possession of your belongings until 90% certain of the intentions for the subject in question.

I say this because when soaking in the water I noticed a group of seemingly law abiding individuals in their early 20’s or late teens place all of their stuff around my shoulder bag that I had sitting next to a rock wall. One oddly even placed their shorts on top of my bag. As time passed they ended up moving to different hot springs and one guy seemed quite awkward by how he was looking around and then casually grabbed my shoulder bag with about $800 USD in belongings and walked away.

Perhaps it was a mistake I thought, confusing my stuff for one of his friends? Not giving him enough time to make it clear if it was a mistake or not, I came up behind him, putting my hand on his shoulder telling him that was my bag. He apologized saying something else that I didn’t understand.

Was it done on purpose or…not? It would have been nice to know his intensions but I would like to think that it was an accident thinking my filthy shoulder bag was one of the many girls he was with. This reminds me that I need to not relax my personal security policies, if anything, add a few more rules. So this was how Rule #1234 was created: Don’t approach subject who has possession of your belongings until 90% certain of the intentions for the subject in question. This will in turn then give you greater options as for what the next step will be…whether it is legal, verbal or physical.

My roommate worships satin

December 1st, 2010: My roommate worships satin. Okay…I cannot confirm that he worships the beast…but, when you have a male tramp stamp that covers half of your lower back and it is the face of satin (I am not joking or exaggerating) he must at least like him a little bit. It is a safe assumption; because why would you say…get a tattoo of silly parrot on your arm or a tattoo that says mom, if you didn’t like them?

Since he does sleep all day and leaves late at night, not coming back until 4 to 5 in the morning…I might have to restructure my sleeping habits. As for tonight I will practice sleeping like a fish…with my eyes open.

Do you want it…Monkey Style?

November 30th, 2010: Going to another animal prison, this time in Mendoza, I observed that this monkey compound was much different than in Cordoba. This one had a lot more activity, reminding me of a horrific porno I once accidently clicked on when searching for…camping gear.

With an overcrowded cage of about 100 nasty looking red bottomed monkeys, the males ran around chasing the females doing indecent activities in public right before my very own eyes…pulling off the 4 to 5 second “doggy style” position with such finesse. This made me think…why is this position called “doggy style” and why are men called “dogs” for that matter when we look much more like “monkeys” performing this act. Then why are we not called “monkeys”? There is a closer link between men and monkeys than dogs anyhow.

So…from now on, you should properly label men as “monkeys” not “dogs.” Perhaps the positional name changes will be expedited with help from the porn industry by expanding the vocabulary of the stars to 16 words instead of the standardized 14. Another effective way to quickly implement these needed changes could be by the Pope authorizing one more acceptable position besides the missionary.

Before you know it the term “doggy style” position will only used between the grey carpeteers, with the majority of the population soon to be identifying the act as “monkey style.” These new aged labels are much more accurate and should be changed immediately.

ATM card stolen…

November 30th, 2010: The past 20+ months I have held my ATM card really close to me. To be more precise…on my leg in this skin colored holder that has accumulated 20+ months of dirt and calf sweat mixed with about 500ml or so of anal sweat that made it down to my calf on those extremely humid days. The odor itself helped keep all unauthorized…people, away from it.

But…a few nights ago at about 10pm, I was walking around alone in the dark streets of San Agustin del Valle Fertil that contains about 3,903 people. Stopping, I ever so briefly lowered my guard and it happened…my ATM card was stolen. It wasn’t just stolen, but the thief had the audacity to give me a slip of paper, admitting to taking it. The thief didn’t even need to touch this protective holder of mine resting on my calf because I handed it over, thinking that the...ATM machine was going to return it to me with the cash I kindly request. Instead, it consumed my card. After several failed attempts calling the bank and the ATM company - they seem to not believe in 24 hour customer service…resulting in a cancelled ATM card – my lifeline to Argentinean Pesos.

Now, I sit patiently waiting in the city of Mendoza for my new ATM card after two women rescued me by extracting me out of San Agustin del Valle Fertil with the assistance of Hertz rental car. Will I ever get this card of gold, I am not sure. After spending hours and hours on the phone dealing with the incompetence of the banking industries customer service associates and supervisors for their supposal premier customers, I think…I think that I should be getting my new card within the next week or two.

I am happy that I have all the time in the world and there is a lot to do here – such as to continue being a wino since this is Argentina’s top wine producing region. From now on…I will have to carry an extra backpack filled with cash or better yet, just travel with two ATM cards. Lesson learned…the hard way.

I am thankful for not having a sense of smell

November 27th, 2010: My bus ride to the town of San Agustin del Valle Fertil to visit a couple of National Parks to see more truly colorful rocks and canyons turned out to not be, just a boring bus ride. There was plenty of unexpected entertainment seeing a 9 year or old boy about 7 rows in front of me leaning over his chair and expel about a few liters of vomit on the floor.

The people across the aisle handed the mom some toilet paper for the boys face but as for the vomit…it just sat there on the floor, untouched for the remaining 3 hours of our bus journey. It was extremely fluid as it would go up and down the aisle…as I was sitting there with a big smile. Today I was happy that I was at the back of the bus, next to the typical bad located seats besides the toilets and even happier that my nose is not very functional…except to breath.

The Donkey saga continues…with video footage

I need to stress to my friends that might be wondering the unthinkable - I have never been with a donkey…never in that sense. I might have spanked one on the behind and even rode one fully clothed in Egypt, but never have I touched one below the tail – and…what happens in my dreams or in my mind doesn’t hurt anything – so those countless encounters don’t count.

Wanting to know more about these acts of indecency, I decided to do an internet search to see if someone has already researched this subject matter to give my findings more credibility. I found out that there was an investigative report done in Colombia and it explains this in a more professional way.

Click on the link and the video on the page...it shows everything that I been telling you...everything. After watching it, you will probably be laughing with tears and be disgusted at the same time. It is suitable for all ages but I wouldn't let little boys see it just so that they don’t get any ideas.

http://www.prosebeforehos.com/video-of-the-day/05/14/donkey-love/

With this said, I will not bore you with my details on my research in Argentina except for that I did ask a man and he confirmed it…Donkeys get good loving here also in Argentina - as good as in Colombia? I don’t know.

I must say this again; this is a market segment that nobody has yet to exploit. I am thinking about a possible business opportunity if I partnered with a Chinese manufacturing company to produce economical inflatable donkeys’ (with optional 100% washable fur on its sides for more control) to put out into the market. My direct competition will of course be the “real thing” to the inflatable sheep and inflatable women that are currently for sale in the sex shops around the world. Yes, it might have to be a pigmy donkey for cost purposes, but nevertheless I could be a millionaire at this time next year from this invention.

Even if I only make a million Colombian Pesos, I would still be happy that someone somewhere is enjoying my product….”Dolly the Donkey” and more importantly…getting horny boys off a real donkey's back.

Argentina, the country known for its meat…

November 20th, 2010: Argentina is world famous for it quality of meat. With this said…I have been doing my best to enjoy all the meat products I can. From the Big Mac to the McNifica, I been eating it all. You cant blame me…Bolivia hasn’t owned a McDonalds since December 1, 2002 and I haven’t enjoyed the fine cuisine since September 1st, 2010 in Peru – yes this is the last time and it is not a random date.

Remember that I like enjoy tracking expenses as some people enjoy smoking crack. I could also tell you to the dollar on how much of my money I spent at McDonald’s during this entire trip or even going as far back as 2003, but I won't bother you with such silly details. Anyways, McDonalds is not my favorite fast food establishment – perhaps even at the bottom of my list…but, I have adapted because they are a strong international fast food chain that is everywhere and it reminds me of home…when I miss it.

Me encanta. This is McDonalds slogan throughout most of South America. Translation: I love it (literal meaning: It enchants me.)

Photo pulled from: LaMalaPalabra

Disturbing self guided tour of Prison

November 20th, 2010: Doing a self guided prison tour topped my list of things to do today. I didn’t even have to bribe the guards this time, as I did in Bolivia. The prisoners did not seem very happy here…especially in this one section where the cells were quite bare. Though, I guess when you are in prison you don’t suppose to be happy...except if you are in a federal prison.

Walking by the cells they would run to the bars with their hands extended wanting some food. Being in a prison, I completely understand that they have to have strict rules as for not being able to have a razor – meaning, they all looked like members of Jihad or a hippy commune. The hair on these inmates were to the point of making them unrecognizable…surprising me that the prison facility can get away with this in such a developed country as Argentina.

Never the less…these are prisoners, serving out their life sentences for whatever crimes that brought them here. Whether it is because of murder, theft or because of being solely pointed out due to ethnicity; they are here to serve out their sentence to society…to pay the injustices they did or did not perform. So who really care about their level of comfort, right?

Here is a photo that I was able to take quickly before leaving the facility. Murderer? Thief? Rapist? What crime do you think he performed to deserve being sentence to life behind bars?

White men can’t jump - seriously

November 17th, 2010: To not feel so guilty from the excessive relaxation and to save a bit of money, I decided to do a little bit of work for the travel website I write for. From doing a few treks outside of Cafayate to cruising on a quad bike…I came to the conclusion that I enjoy working.

After a little bit of time on the quad bike, I seemed to be thinking less as my confidence grew. It was clear when I got a bit crazy as hit a jump attempting to get massive air so that I could scale a path of imaginary ants – unfortunately crushing them all due to my lack of height.

I heard the saying before that “White men can’t jump” but I didn’t realize it meant for everything. I now have more of an appreciation of the height reached by those extremely brainless psychos that live for jumping motorized machines off of rickety ramps and natural jumps in their back yards with all of their brothers who are also coincidently named Earl.

Temporary wino

November 17th, 2010: Wow, I haven’t seemed to add anything to my journal in 5 days! It must have been all of the wineries I have been visiting – becoming a temporary wino. According to Microsoft’s dictionary, a fulltime wino by definition is: an offensive term for somebody who is addicted to alcohol, especially wine, and is usually also homeless.

I am now in the small town of Cafayate which is Northern Argentina’s 2nd most famous place for producing wine. Much better than the Bolivian wineries but I sort of miss the posters of women in scantily dressed clothing - I guess you can never have it all. This place is not just for adults. There a shop here that produces an ice-cream made of wine to legally assist parents in putting hyper kids into a peaceful rest without the intervention of pharmaceutical companies…leaving all the work up to the wine laced cones.

Lately I have been so confused on where I would like to go next due to all of the locals acting as the most friendly unpaid travel agents you will ever meet…telling you everywhere you should go and everything you should do. The list has become so huge I don’t know how I will possibly see or do it all…putting me into a head spin. I found that the easiest solution to this is to just pack your bags and go to the bus station. Unless you enjoying sleeping at bus stations, a somewhat quick decision has to be made.

So when I decided to go to Cafayate, I didn’t even make it to the bus terminal, it wasn’t until I was in route and someone approached me asking if I needed a ride to Cafayate - having one more seat available in his car. Figuring it was a sign, I said yes and jumped in going 3.524 hours west. Coming here was a most excellent choice. The rocks have created some of the most amazing scenery, adding to my list of “top views from the window of speeding car” – somewhat controlled by a man that must be really into NASCAR or just likes the feel of his tan colored meshed driving gloves. We somehow made it here...without an accident.

Volunteer Argentinian police officer for the day

November 10 2010: Being only first day in Argentina, I was able jump in a middle of a gruesome fight as local bystanders just stood in the walkway watching the blows the fighters were sustaining to head and body with their fists. Not thinking, my body just reacted placing my own life in jeopardy as I intervened to separate them. Perhaps they wanted it to stop as I pulled them apart, grabbing the more aggressive one by the arm and walked him off...ruining the free entertainment they were giving the other adults.

This is how a police office must feel when he needs to step in and maintain the peace. But if I was a real police officer, not a self appointed volunteer, I would not have needed to even place my hand on them due to having the luxury of face painting the two with some mace or getting a few swings on them with a club. Though in this case, it might be considered child abuse since it would have been against two…12 year olds. Sheesh…do you actually think I broke up an adult fight?

Reason #18 on why you should be cremated

November 10th, 2010: Today, I saw an almost perfectly preserved 6 year frozen dead girl found on the 22,000 foot summit of Mount Llullaillacoin in 1999. Since there was no nametag on the body who has been sitting around for the past 500 years, she was given the name… Lighting Girl. This name wasn’t given to her because of her speed – if she was that fast she should have taken off down the mountain escaping from being sacrificed. She acquired this nickname because she actually got struck by lightning after she died, leaving her a bit…charred.

Now lightning girl is an official member of the exclusive mummy club she hangs out in a refrigerator 27/7 with 2 others, being put on display every few months - reason #19 on why you should be cremated.

Photo: Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana