Sodaholic

September 17th, 2010: Going out this Friday night…way past my bedtime, I hit the streets for a diet soda…not just a diet soda…a 1.5 liter diet soda. Who wants to go dancing and clubbing when you can sit in your room drinking a nice luke warm beverage? Walking and walking and walking…I couldn’t find my fix anywhere. I ran across people selling beer, regular soda, cocaine, pot, a woman who was renting her private parts, a tank, and an arms dealer who had a special - an Uzi and an AK-47 for the price of one. All this – at least some of it…and I could not find…a lousy diet soda. Making it to this one street…I remembered my guide book telling me it is not a safe place to be and even more now that is was so late. I could not turn back…I was committed to providing my body with the nourishment it needed from the healthy chemicals that composes diet soda. Putting my hand in my pocket, I held onto my pocketknife ready to slice/dice and even mince anyone who was going to come between me and my fix.

With some guidance from some small time soda dealers on the street…I came across a proper soda dealer. Getting my fix I sort of quickly made it back to my hotel - after stopping at a hair salon that was open at 10pm. Strange to be open so late on such a random street…but to me, this was a sign…a sign that I am not meant to have head hair anymore. Going in I sat down and was skinned for about $1.30USD. I was about to get up prior to the sheering but I was now committed sitting in the chair. I am now once again a nonracist skinhead. I would like to have said to my friends that wanted me to grow my hair out, that I had to much soda and not claim responsibility for my actions - but I did it with a level head…just tired of thinking that if I just let it grow just a little more…It will look better.

One day when I get myself a girlfriend and if she wants a comb over, I will give it to her…a back to front comb over, left to right, or right to left comb over…but until then…I will keep my hair low maintenance and keep on drinking whatever cancerous soda I please.

I challenge all street sellers to food poison me

September 15th, 2010: I am officially expanding my eating options and opening my mouth to all food stands as of today…not most…I said “all.” It was open in the past but now, I am opening it all the way. After traveling for as long as I been, I should be able to eat the shight off someone’s shoes and not get sick.

Why should I waste my time and go to a different street stand because it looks like the meat has been laying out all day if not weeks as the flies take a break, resting there poor tired lil’ ole wings. As of today…they can drop babies on it and I will still eat it because today…today, I am not wasting any more of my precious time and I will eat where I choose, challenging all street vendors to food poison me – just please don’t do it right before a long bus trip…I said, please. END

Partial electrocution at the shower

September 15th, 2010: As I was doing my daily scrub down in the shower…I spent a moment thinking about why there was some type of strange material which was wrapped and barbarically taped around the water knob. It didn’t take me long to figure it out as I was trying to squeeze out a little bit more hot water from the electric contraption heating the water with the exposed wires coming out from the top, feeling the friendly electric grip take control of my hand when I grabbed the knob – still feeling the aftermath as I sit here typing. Strangely, I had the biggest smile on my face right after it happened and even a little laugh seeped out my lips.

It FINALLY happened I thought. Everyone seems to get shocked while traveling and for about 17 months, I had not one recordable experience. In the past I could have stood on a chair and stuck my tongue on the exposed wires and still not have been shocked – I thought the only reasoning behind this was that my parents must have been praying for me a bit too much. They must have forgotten about me the other day or this was just a reminder that I am not Ironman, Superman or even Spiderman.

When it was time to adjust the temperature again I stood to the side out of the waters path as the biggest smile on my face exposed itself again as I hesitantly touched the knob anticipating another bite, but received nothing but being rewarded with hotter water.

This partial electrocution could have been my punishment that was issued by the hotels internal spirit because about 10 minutes prior to the event, I moved a huge stinky rotting vegetable that was next to my door which was accommodating about 1,000,000,000 vegetable flies that had been consuming it all day, relocating the sloppy mess it as it spewed a trail all of the floor as I dropped it closer to the front desk – this was after my first failed attempt as I pushed it with my foot a few doors down along with the miniature bag of trash…later realizing I didn’t move it far enough and that it was still too close to my room.

I don’t think the two women who I asked earlier if they could removed it heard me “very well” but the man that worked at the hotel must have seen me “very well” as dropped it, smiling, telling him to have in good night in my handicapped Spanish walking back to my room.

Normally I wouldn’t have done anything…but when you are paying $4.93USD a night for your own room, you expect more – laughing. I am not going to survive when I finish my trip and head back to the United States. I will need an adjustment period – no dating, no eating out, no leaving the house even – it might put me into a comma from the sticker shock.

Rapist

September 14th, 2010: I will be leaving for Cochabamba in the morning with the intention to plan a visit to a couple of the not so easily assessable national parks without the assistance of a rapist. A “rapist” is my new term for a travel agency that takes more than a reasonable amount of money for a tour. Perhaps one day I too will be a rapist…taking advantage of the elderly and the travelers that live in fear, but for now I would like to stay rape free.

Racing a bunch of international antisocial mutes

September 14th, 2010: Today I stumbled up Chacaltaya which tops 5,450 meters (17, 880 feet) in the mountains outside La Paz in Bolivia with a bunch of antisocial mutes from all around the world. This exceeds my prior 5,093 meter (16,170 feet) hike by…a lot feet. Just because I have been at a high altitude e for quite some time, didn’t mean it was any easier. I internally raced everyone to the top without them knowing about it, beating them all – I was the champion of the international antisocial mute world for a brief 20 or so minutes.

I would have taken more breaks and enjoyed more of the view while going up to the summit but it is so much easier to just look down and keep stepping up, trying to walk that straight oxygen sobriety line, trying to not pass out from the dizziness due to the lack of oxygen at this height. Today would have been a day to have hauled up my sack of coca in my cheek…but, it was forgotten back at the hostel.

For those reading this in the US…the highest mountain in the lower 48 states is Mt. Whitney coming in at 4,417 meters (14,494 feet) and the highest mountain in the US is Mount McKinely at 6,193 meters (20,320 feet).

I finished up the day taking a series of photos of the mud creations what they call “Craters of the Moon.” This sort of mud…is the type of mud I feel that it is worth seeing - the type that is not manipulated by the hands or feet of man, woman or child.

Cholitas Wrestling...WWF style with a Bolivian twist

September 12th, 2010: Cholitas Wrestling…WWF (World Wrestling Federation) style with a Bolivian twist. I never been to a professional wrestling match before, but if it was like this…it should be a once in a lifetime experience – I stress “ONCE” in a lifetime experience.

It was highly entertaining and I truly enjoyed the show that was full of pumped up locals and tourist surrounding the ring, coming to see the same thing…a smack down. I wanted to see some blood and I got blood – fake blood…but blood. An added bonus was the chair that got smashed against this girls face and I will of course never ever-ever-ever forget the few good panty shots of one of the Cholitas.

This wrestling experience reminded me about when I was a child sitting on the lawn next to my old childhood friend, Mike Head and discussing whether WWF was real or not. I am happy to say that I always thought it was fake.

Bribing the Bolivian police…got me into prison

September 11th, 2010: Some people in Bolivia bribe police and judges to get out of prison…today, bribing the Bolivian police got me into prison. After reading the book, Marching Powder, by Thomas McFadden and Rusty Young about living in a 3rd world prison, I wanted to see what it was all about…first hand.

This morning I was determined to get into San Pedro Prison. Hearing that the police stopped taking bribes a few months ago while I was in Colombia, I accepted that my money will not be put to good use corrupting law abiding police officers. But while in Colca Canyon, Peru, I heard from a tourist that they are again letting backpackers in. They told me that I needed to go to the Plaza across from the Prison and this is where someone will meet me, asking me if I want a tour.

A few days ago I did this but nothing happened…but today was different. A woman approached me asking me if I wanted to go inside – my friends from Colca Canyon were right. Going into the entrance I was directed away from the others into a small office paying the lady where a police officer sat behind a tiny desk. Another officer came in to search me and my shoulder bag, making sure I didn’t have a camera or anything that I don’t suppose to be bringing in like such as WMD or IED’s. Once she was finished, I forgot that I had a knife in my little side pocket. Pulling it out…I handed it to woman that just searched me.

Getting a number written on my arm to identify who I was, I was only moments away from getting into prison. Being send out next to the iron bars that separated me from the inmates in the courtyard, the women I was dealing with set me up with a guide inside. When the time was right, the gate quickly opened and there I was…now in one of the strangest prisons where money will get you almost anything.

Here my tour began and I was taken around the prison with 4 other tourist that arrived later. Our guide was one of the prisoners and we had 3 bodyguards who were also prisoners…totaling 2 murders and 2 people that were in there for drug related charges.

The prisoners here are not in cells…the murders, drug offenders, thieves, rapists and the individual with too many parking tickets moved around freely between the 7 sections (sort of like a suburb) from during the day from 6am – 10pm. At this time they have to go to their sections but still they are not locked up. They have to purchase or rent their cell…the more money you have the better section you live in. Kids and wives also live here and can freely come and go…if you have the money.

There are even restaurants and shops that the prisoners set up to make a living. Seeing some of the rooms with beds bunked up for those who don’t have enough money for a private cell, it sort of looked like a hostel – some even better than I stayed at during my travels. They can have visitors spend the night for about $0.75 a night. Not bad, if you have a girlfriend.

My visit to San Pedro really didn’t feel like a prison…it felt more like a small South American village. Working with a federal prison in California, I thought they had it made in what some Americans call a “Country Club” with all of the luxuries they have. If they only knew about San Pedro…

During this tour I realized that not much changed since the book came out which exposed the corruption of the prison system. I was amazed that when my guide told me…he told me…he told me, nothing because “What happens in San Pedro Prison stays in San Pedro Prison.” Not for my benefit, but more so for the safety of my guide.

It is scary on what money can drive people to do at all levels…from the street criminal to the people that are supposed to enforce the law. This morning, I bribed my way into a prison system and I am so happy that I didn’t have to bribe my way out. I am sure it is much easier to always get yourself in…than to get yourself out.

31 dead mountain bikers piled up...

September 10th, 2010: Today I successfully completed a 64 kilometer (39.7677563 miles), 3,400 meters (11 154.8556 feet) downhill bike ride on, “The Death Road.” This year…only 1 Israeli mountain biker died shooting off the edge, when yearly this road use to average anywhere between 200 – 300 deaths for those in cars, buses, trucks and anything else in four wheels before the “new” road opened about 4 years ago.

Over the last 15 years…31 dead mountain bikers piled up at the bottom and I can see how people died on this because the scenery is beautiful making it hard to stay focused on the narrow road. I guess if I was going to plummet to my death…this would be the place to be – there would be a lot of air time before impact…a lot.

When starting the ride, I told myself I was just going to take it slow. This is just what I did…I would take it slow letting everyone get far ahead, then needing to catch up I just “had” to go…fast. I reinforced my realization today that sometimes…I don’t always make the smartest choices.

Thinking about it, when riding down this road…if nobody dies on it anymore, the tour companies would no longer be able to sell their tour for a premium because it wouldn’t matter what types of bikes or safety equipment they provide. And, if nobody dies on “The Death Road” the name of the tour would have to change due to false advertisement. After abandoning the current name and changing it to “The Happy Road”- who would even want to do it let alone get a t-shirt saying that they completed “The Happy Road”?

With this said, the companies can’t possibly eliminate all deaths and only have serious injuries…there needs to be a sacrifice or two every year in order to maintain the excitement and heavy flow of income to the tour companies and t-shirt manufactures so that they can feed their families. Today...I was obviously not one of those sacrificed, since you have to be a virgin – a female virgin.

A friendly visit to a Coca dealer

September 9th, 2010: I am having some continuing difficulties with this altitude in La Paz, Bolivia (11,482.9396 feet)…or perhaps it is just that my lungs are simply failing me at my ole age. To counter my inability to fall asleep and my lack of breath going up the hills, I decided to go to a coca dealer in the streets yesterday who was sitting in front of two hug sacks and bought some plant ashes and a big bag of coca.

As I said in earlier posts…coca leaves are completely legal in Peru and Bolivia. It is medically known to numb the senses and staves off hunger and exhaustion, mitigating the effects of high altitude.

I just recently heard from a local that if you chew coca leaves, you don’t even need to brush your teeth (his grandfather didn’t brush and died at 80 something years old and didn’t have one cavity) - umm…I must say…I don’t believe him so I will continue my good hygiene practices. For the hard core coca users, they will stick some leaves on their forehead with spit to help them get them through a headache or a hellacious bus ride. This too, I have not yet tried...and don’t plan to in the near or…late future.

So now where are the Titi’s

September 7th, 2010: Arriving in Bolivia yesterday afternoon and I already think I have fallen in love. I am now staying in my very own pink room and purple curtains with electricity for only $2.98USD per night. My place is only one block away from Lake Titicaca…what more can you ask for? Okay, I guess I could ask for the price to include some toilet paper or maybe a towel…and perhaps a shower with the knobs on the outside of the bathroom, not the inside. It is a bite awkward having to tap on the bathroom window when you are ready for the water and having someone in the hotel come up to the bathroom and turn on the water…and the same goes for when you are done, so that you can get dressed – all you do is tap on the window.

This place is a bit strange I suppose. Going to the toilet last night I walked into the tiny bathroom and there is a random soup sized bowl with a huge wet fecal deposit in it sitting in it right in front of the toilet bowl. In my way I cautiously picked it up…very very cautiously picked it up, to prevent it from coming over the sides and moved it outside sitting it on the bench next to the door – of coarse breathing through my nose to prevent any possibilities of gagging.

So now that I am at Lake Titicaca...I have seen the “caca.” So now where are the Titi’s?

Titi + caca

September 4rd, 2010: When growing up Titicaca was one of those words you could say right in front of your mom, dad or even a virgin nun and not get in trouble for saying it. It sort of falls in the same category as Jackass (a male donkey), Bitch (female dog) and other childhood favorites. I can still see those words roll off my brother Joe’s mouth right in front of my mom, defended himself saying that they were not swear words and almost getting away with it. I was such a prude when growing up, because when younger I could not say most inappropriate sounding words that were technically…non-swear words, but I was able to say Titicaca. It wasn’t until I was in high school, looking into the bathroom mirror when I decided to expand my limited vocabulary…looking more like a censored episode of Sesame Street.

Now that I just officially saw a portion of Lake…Titicaca while on the Peruvian side of the lake for a two day tour, I can say it is not what I envisioned it to be. It looks like just a big lake with really really cool name. What is even better than a lake named Lake Titicaca is that it drains into a lake further south and this lake is called…Lake Poopo - seriously. I cant believe that these were just innocently made up names…I cant.

During my tour of some floating reed island, I was able to interact with a large colony of tax evaders. How can you pay taxes on grass tied together which makes a man/woman made island? Thankfully most islands seemed to be equipped with solar power so that the women can knit tourist paraphernalia in all hours of the night under a proper light.

The kids that live here have the luxury on these islands to not get hurt if they fall on the spongy dried grass – no scraped knees and no need for band aids. Living here on the island the children in a way are imprisoned in a small confined area with what it seems, nothing to do besides run from one end to the other and perhaps sip their mother’s breast milk until an inappropriate age to quench their thirst - but without having any cows or goats on these islands, I guess this could be an effective way to be more self sustainable. These islands are a prime example on how tourism can extremely alter and perhaps destroy someone’s lifestyle. They dress up and waving to every boat trying to get you to visit them and once on the island as they try to push their big puffy handmade items of uselessness onto you.

Exploring a few of the real islands on Lake Titicaca, one thing that was impressive is how many islands were altered and some might say destroyed by terraces from pre-Incas. I have seen a large amount of terraces around the world but these were so excessive, covering almost entire islands it was actually almost as beautiful as strip mining.

The family’s house I stayed at was quite nice. It was a little deceiving though…because the kitchen did not fit the niceness of the guest rooms or bathroom. I think it would have been better making our food in the bathroom using boiling toilet water. Fortunately there was not much bacteria and dirt we could eat because I have a strong inclination that they were trying to starve us by feed us the absolute minimum. Can’t ask for much though when you pay about $19USD for: Hotel transfer to the dock and back, 3 meals, a night’s accommodation, a tour of 2 islands and one floating island getting there by boat totaling about 8 hours of boat time.

Having to dress up for this party the locals through for us, I dawned a poncho and a typical Andean hat. The girls were dressed in the traditional woman wear. Do I need to remind you on how much I am attracted to women in tradition wear? I did notice that seeing some of the skinny tourists dressed up were instantly turn into human bells…it smashed my thoughts that most Peruvian women are storing stuff in under their dresses or that they have jelly bellies from eating too many potatoes.

As I write this post on paper, a shadow is casted on the wall with my flashlight. I am tempted to make some animal shapes but there are two other grown adults in this room…not quite sure if they are sleeping yet. I need to grow up…or get some kids of my very own so I can do it and be cool…not a “strange backpacker.”

Jihad, Joaquin Phoenix and Bed Cheek

September 3rd, 2010: I woke up today with…”bed cheek”. I made up this new term that will eventually make it to Webster’s Dictionary’s 110th edition - it is a modified version of “bed head”. Bed Cheek is when the hair that forms a human beard sticks up and you need to wet it down to tame it. The past 1.5 months trying to grow myself my very own Jihad beard and I feel… I am on the verge of failure. Every day that I look in the mirror, I see this dust collector not to mention drool trap that is stuck to my face. Even worse is that every time I sneeze, my beard acts as a hairy environmentally friendly tissue that keeps any foreign projectile from going too far.

I started to grow out my facial hair because some of my friends said I looked good in facial hair – I forgot to ask, ”how much facial hair?” Anyhow, I was always wondering on how it would be to have a full on Jihad beard without needing to Photoshop it. Looking less like Jihad and on my way to looking more like Joaquin Phoenix (former actor now musician - photo courtesy of Getty Images) I am thinking it is time to stop and go back to shaving.

We will see if I am a quitter or not since I told myself I wasn’t going to shave until after Bolivia. I cross over the border into Bolivia in 3 days and as in most countries I visit, I don’t know how long I will be there. Anyone want to place a friendly bet on how long it will be before I go mentally insane with this facial toupee? (PLEASE NOTE: It is now September 7th and I destroyed my facial toupee – next…head hair?)

38 years…takes a lickin and keeps on tickin!

August 31st, 2010: It’s my Birthday…38 years and growing older by the second. It seems that the older I get the more random the places hair seems to grow - not to forget mentioning that my eyebrows has seemed to get its second wind growing at astronomical rates while my head hair has come to a slow turtle like crawl. Never taking an anatomy class in my life, I just can’t seem to get a grip on what it is doing. My back needs a painful tweezing every few months now with an underlying mental fear that it will be mowable sooner than later, needing to make that awkward request at the barber to take a little off my back when I go in for my next hair cut.

My karma has seemed to come back to me. Yesterday two blokes from England took me out for an early birthday and treated me to my first real beer in 16+ months – wow, it was good!

Today, two women that work at my hostel surprised me and got me a cake and sang me “Happy Birthday” – the cake was much too small for them to come out in a bikini and it was much too cold even if they wanted to. After me making an unmentionable wish I was told to get a photo of me biting the cake – thinking that this is a tradition here in Peru…I leaned into the cake with my teeth sunk into the cake, patiently waiting for the photo…surprising me as she pressed the cake into my bearded face creating my very first bearded cake…she had me.

I wonder on where I will be next year for my birthday? Last year I was in Quito, Ecuador and this year in Cusco, Peru. Hmmm…so many roads to choose from to really know anything - much too many roads. Ahhh….growing older. Whatever happens this upcoming year…it hope it continues to be an adventure each and every single breath – may the waters of adventure never go stagnant!

Back from Amazonia!

August 31st, 2010: I am having one of those moments. I been gone in the Amazon at Manu National Park for the past 9 days and unless I decide to sit down and write you a top selling book on my experiences…you will have to get the minimized 2 or 3 paragraph version.

I went to the jungle and saw a lot of monkeys, birds, fauna and insects that are typical in cartoons and other Hollywood type jungle settings. All gave me satisfaction, even some of the birds – does this mean I am now going to join a birdwatchers club when I get back home? I am not that old, so that is a big “NO.”

One of the greatest moments that will be etched into my brain for years to come was seeing my old High School Mascot in person…a Jaguar. It looks much better in real life than the fool in a furry Jaguar costume supporting an Allen Park Jersey running about the football field or basketball court bouncing around as if they had a constant intervenes feed of caffeine being pumped directly into the heart.

Another memorable occasion was seeing a Spider Monkey hanging directly above me by its tail as the loose leaves would shower me as we had a moment staring at each other. Seeing these and 7 other species of monkeys this past week in their natural environment, witnessing the suicidal jumps from tree to tree to their basic monkeying around…it was difficult to think of them in the small residential cages they typical reside at in the zoo – not saying zoos are bad…just, different. In a way, some people living in concrete cities can be considered voluntary caged animals, but that is just a random comment with not much thought.

I have always known that dreams inside tents can be somewhat questionably strange…but the ones in the jungle in a mosquito net can sure send a partially sane man into insanity in record timing. My dreams and memories are too strange to write about and to add to this…I have no desire to remember what went on in my grey mass residing deep inside my skull - I will leave these dreams up to my poor memory to retain.

Move over Euro Disney…make some space for Peru Disney!

August 17th, 2010: I have heard along the “gringo trail” that Peru is a place that is quite efficient on squeezing ever dollar out of the tourists that come through here. I don’t know if I really believed it…until I reached southern Peru. I am thoroughly confused on what is real or not anymore…feeling as if I stepped into Disney’s new theme park…Peru Disney. Let me make this clear…I like Disney – except for that mouse. It just feels like everyone is in costume screening me from seeing what this region is truly about…being overrun by the hordes of tourists and those who are trying to capitalize off the tourists.

I am now back in Cusco after originally arriving and then quickly leaving the next day, making my way to ancient Inca city named Machu Picchu…via train and bus. As planned, I performed no unnecessary hiking.

The equation for Cusco: Cusco = πr^2, cold nights, 1,000’s of women wanting to give you massages without happy endings and many art dealers roaming the streets selling paintings in convenient mobile carriers. There are also plenty of women and mangy men selling snacks, dolls, hats and anything with the words “Machu Picchu” carved, etched, sewed or drawn on it.

Indigenous women and the modern day hippie seem to fill the sides of the streets and plazas as they are all busily making something. The majority of Indigenous women make these brightly colored straps which actually aren’t that bad since they have a multitude of uses, unlike the common hippy accessories such as bracelets that are sold throughout all of northern South America – I am seriously beginning to think they all took the same class: Introduction to Hippie Bracelets 101.

I thought of one good use for the straps that the indigenous women sold. Perhaps it can be used to choke one of the many restaurant employees that escaped the confines of the eating establishment with the sole purpose to hang out in the street with their overpriced tourist menu trying to get you inside. If they are not selling carrot cake or apple pie with ice cream…they have a slim chance getting me in. It would be nice though, if there was a sticker a restaurant could give you after you eat or get coffee, putting it on your shirt so that other restaurant employees can reduce vital loses of calories by saving their breath and help me save some calories by not having to say, “no gracias” (Translation: no thank you) ever 0.0004 seconds. This place reminds me of blog post about Cartagena in the north coast of Colombia, but instead of being attacked at sea level by these people, I am now being attacked at 3300 meters(10800 feet) in Cusco.

All throughout southern Peru I noticed that a lot of parents here seem to have this bright idea to put their children to work…some jobs seem better than others but none have been as bad as the dried poop patty sellers in India or the road workers in Cambodia. Never the less, they are put to work to earn their keep. Some kids’ jobs are being sent out into the streets dressed in traditional bright colored clothing holding baby sheep as they ask you if you want a photo with them.

The going rate for a photo with someone is S/.1 (Conversion: $0.36 USD). Even though this is the going rate…I saw tourists give these three girls tooth brushes for payment instead of cold hard coins. The kids looked all confused like they never seen a toothbrush before as they analyzed it. One of the girls showed her appreciation and took the tooth brush, understanding the concept and brushed something…it just wasn’t her teeth. She brushed the baby goat she was holding before she put her brand new, now dirty toothbrush into her pocket. The toothbrush idea was a great idea, I thought…but I don’t think it went over very well with the kids. It is sort of like getting healthy stuff for Halloween back home when combing the streets, trick-or-treating - you don’t like it, but the parents do.

Some of the children’s jobs are not as easy as walking around with baby sheep. One morning during my stroll in the small town of Pisac, I saw some boys taking these bulls to some unknown location. I observed that when a bull wants to go somewhere, it will go somewhere no matter how big or small you are…especially when you are 50 pounds (no – I didn’t weigh him). This one little boy was struggling with one of the beasts and kept pulling him trying to guide him to go down a different street. The bull stopped after a brief battle…turning toward us. Moments later after the lost battle, I saw the boy run around the corner dropping the rope.

What I was seeing, reminded me of the scene of the crazy men who run with the bulls in Spain down a narrow street - at times when they are too slow, getting a free flight or get raped by a horn. Standing there, I was so busy recording the event that quickly unfolded before me with my camera, taking photos…I paused when the bull changed his stance looking at me. I was now the only person in the street and I was directly in the bull’s path. My brain did not seem to function at that moment as my eye was glued to my camera worrying more about the photo possibilities. Thankfully…I didn’t interest the bull.

I am pretty sure I have seen all the rocks and mud piles I am “suppose” to see around here the past few days. It was like a painful checklist that I am happy to have completed. Actually not all of them were that painful. My camera and I really enjoyed Machu Picchu and some salt and circular dry terraces.

Others were so ridiculous I too enjoyed them because of the good laugh it gave me.

The past two days I have been trying to get a bit organized as I am will be heading off to the Amazon basin for a 9 day trip. Writing for a travel website can be so tuff at times – laughing. The last time I visited the Amazon, I transported a parasite from the jungle to the big city of Quito - free of charge as it caused me great discomfort until I decided to go the doctors. This time…I will swim with my mouth closed so tightly, nothing will be getting in.

The French Invasion!

August 9th, 2010: Being in Arequipa for over a week, it is time to move on. This city is the second largest city in Peru coming in at about 1,000,000 Peruvians, about 1,500,000 dogs and about 20,000 French tourists which I think is also home to the most spectacular plaza to date (Plaza de Armas).

My activities were quite basic during my visit here ranging from seeing a billion churches, a few museums and even a brief visit to see the world renown Ice Princess – which scientist claim to have been extremely beautiful when she was alive but really…how can you tell with skin that looks like leather from her extended stay in a brick of ice?

One of the best parts of my visit to Arequipa was the visits to the untouched areas by tourist as my friend and I would shoot ourselves far into going to the countryside and slums making our way back by foot…until we were too tired or it was too late to go on.

The visit to the local watering hole was not too bad either giving me an opportunity to improve on my bar tricks after one whole entire beer that I would milk like a cats teat during the night as we listened to live music.

I leave for Cuzco tonight with my French friend, Cecil. I am hoping that on the 10 hour night bus she will have a moment to again try to teach me a little French so that I can attempt to communicate with the hoards of French travelers I am meeting along the way in their native tongue. France has seemed to have peacefully and stealthily invaded Peru without the Peruvian intelligence even knowing about it. Soon, they will take arms and claim that Peru belongs to France. At least if this happens, travelers can be assured french fries will continue to be a staple in the Peruvian diet.

Hit by a natural land mine...

August 7th, 2010: Walking – I mean, doing an accidental dry hillside slide I managed to slip backwards landing on a natural land mine…resulting in 100 or so projectiles imbedded into my right hand – unfortunately the hand that does much more than write. This natural mine is commonly known as the M1A3 Cactus mine.

After being hit…I stood up a bit shocked as I saw the result of what just happened, looking at my hand I was seeing 2 cactus bodies and an uncountable number of thick needles deeply imbedded into my hand. After pulling off the two bodies, I hand to rip out the remaining needles by the hand full. Now, I am an official transporter as I have a bunch of bits still hiding inside, feeling it when I close or touch my hand…hoping they will naturally work themselves out without having to amputate.

Next time, before I recklessly perform an accidental dry hillside slide…I will more thoroughly checkout my path. Now, I will just be painfully reminded of my actions until the needles decide to vacate the premises.

Deeper is not always better

August 4th, 2010: Did a 3 day trek to Colca Canyon…supposedly the 2nd deepest canyon in the world. Not to sound biased, the Grand Canyon and the Canyon Lands National Park crush this hyped up Peruvian tourist Mecca proving to me that, deeper is not always better. The trip had some highlights which I would like to tell you about but I am extremely busy at the moment…traveling, so I unfortunately don’t seem to have the time.

Hiking down into Colca Canyon I was seeing a lot of donkeys…reminding me the lovin that goes on between them and some of the Colombian and Venezuelan men in the countryside - who lose their virginity to these love machine perhaps a little too often (never asks the local Ecuadorians so this I don’t know). Walking the road with my guide, I looked over and said, “Can I ask you a strange question?” Giving me permission, I asked her if it was common for men to have sex with donkeys. She confirmed it…Peruvian men love donkeys too. Every region in the world seems to have their secrets…whether it is a whispered in the ear of a donkey, sheep, chicken or even prostitute – men can at times can truly fit the saying, “Men, will f@#k anything.”

I did see some amazing stars on this trek (a trend it seems in Peru), beautiful trails, condors and even a dog with its eye hanging out - just wanting to cut the connecting string like tissue so he can continue his life lounging around in the canyon.

This hike to Colca Canyon officially, officially, officially confirmed that I am not going to do a 3,4 or 5 day trek to Machu Picchu. I decided to hang with my people…the old balding men and grey/purple tinted haired ladies and capitalize on the easy access via train. Even though I get great internal satisfaction after every struggle up or down the hills, mountains or canyons…I think at this point in my adventure, I need a break and am not going to do what a large majority of people my age are doing. So, yes…the train will be fine, thank you.

Backpack stolen…free ride in police car

August 1st, 2010: Sitting at a local restaurant in Arequipa with my new friend from France, I took up the job of being a tour guide since it was her second day in South America. For some forgotten reason, Ms. France II, went to grab something out of her bag and she reached and found nothing. Looking around on the back of her chair, under her chair and around the restaurant it could not be found. We double and triple checked, and even looked around some more…and some more. It was gone.

Once upon a time it was sitting right next to her chair as we sat in the corner of the restaurant. There was only one person that could have had an opportunity to steal it…and it was him, without us ever noticing a thing. It was her second day in South America…second day on vacation and she already lost, her $500 camera, $600USD in cash, her travel journal from the previous year which she was going to add to, passport, credit card, travel guide, a 15-inch dildo (a lie for that item – are you paying attention?) and some other misc items.

The police came by to pick us up and we sat in back as we went down to the station. You will not believe this but I knew enough Spanish to translate for my friend. Of course I was not perfect but I was able to help complete the police report in Spanish.

So, at the moment, I am now on high alert with thievery…thinking that, my day will come. My losing my wallet yesterday keeps me from getting that stolen. About that, I think I left it on my lap and it dropped to the ground as I was paying for a tour to see dead bodies - lots of them. Since I have left it on my lap quite often the past 15 months, it was bound to come up missing some day and yesterday in Nazca was that day - losing only 20USD - could have been worse.

Nazca Coaster

July 31, 2010: Flying in a tiny plane…tiny plane, I took off to see the Nazca lines. It was as if I was seeing graffiti from the skies. It was nice but once again…the ride was better that the sights, as we would bounce around taking some tight turns in the Cessna dropping and gaining altitude quickly as if we were on a roller coaster without the restrictions of those silly things called tracks or wheels.
A girl in front of me stomach didn’t seem to care for it too much as she disposed of her lunch in the bags provided – I say “bags” because it must have been a big lunch. I soon as realized what was going on I instantly reverted to breathing through my mouth to prevent any possible chain reactions or unneeded barf-o-ramas in such small confines – only every so often I would test the air…out of curiosity, but just briefly - thankfully my nose is not very functional anyhow.

The girls boyfriend had me internally laughing thinking he was sort of like…me. He first rubbed her back to show that he cared as she made her deposit…then about 20 seconds later, his camera turned toward her and started taking photos to record the history. Good man.

Desert Oasis

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

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

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

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

Sluts in the short skirts and 15 inch spiked…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pimp my Bus

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

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

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

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

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

Massive coca intake at Lake 69

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yella teeth just don’t get yella from nutin!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice is better than rock

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

Santa Cruz Trek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 man + 4 women camping trip = Human mule

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Icebox

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

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

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

Vive Le Canada, eh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The United States and Colombia has failed me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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