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.

Anthony Supertramp´s one year anniversary!

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

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

Run, Forrest! Run!

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

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

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

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

Temporary Memory Loss

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

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

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

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

Small, small, small little ole world

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

Please let it be a Popsicle

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

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

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

A Local or Loco

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

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

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

Priceless Scent

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

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

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

Seeing too much

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

Preparing for war with Venezuela?

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

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

Drinking p#ss

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

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

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

Next time I need to...read

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

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

Los Llanos and a ton of animals

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

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

Who wants to catch a piranha when there are caiman?

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

Hunting with Elmer Fudd

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

Teaching a child to play with fire

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

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

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

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

My Routine and Viagra

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

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

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

My Routine:
630am: Wake up

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

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

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

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

725am: Repeat last entree, refilling my coffee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

649pm: Curse Facebook, Hotmail and my Blog

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

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

652pm: Sign out of accounts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

304am: Take a shower

306am: Brush my teeth

311am: Get back into bed or the hammock

630am: Repeat cycle

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

When there is a string...

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

4x4 tour of the Gran Sabana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strange pet

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

Life around the Gran Sabana

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

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

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

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