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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dropping the soap in the ferry’s shower

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hiking with Jesus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are your roommates’ pregnant prostitutes or drug dealers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.1 earthquake from the comforts of my vibrating bed

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

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

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

I intentionally climbed a smoking bomb

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

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

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

The motion picture, “Yeast Me”

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

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

The more the bloodier…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Santiago layover

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

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

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

Spit Guzzling Park

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life as a Grey Hair for the day

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

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

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

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

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

Shoulder bag accidently stolen…or not

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

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

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

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

My roommate worships satin

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

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

Do you want it…Monkey Style?

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

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

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

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

ATM card stolen…

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

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

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

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

I am thankful for not having a sense of smell

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

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

The Donkey saga continues…with video footage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Argentina, the country known for its meat…

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

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

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

Photo pulled from: LaMalaPalabra

Disturbing self guided tour of Prison

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

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

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

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

White men can’t jump - seriously

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

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

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

Temporary wino

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

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

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

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

Volunteer Argentinian police officer for the day

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

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

Reason #18 on why you should be cremated

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

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

Photo: Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana

Would you like to see some porn with your wine?

November 6th, 2010: Today was an internal battle between Napa Valley, California and Tarija, Bolivia...two countries wine producing regions power houses. In the upper northwest corner stands California and in the south corner sits Bolivia. Going to a variety of wineries today from the big guns to the little ones, it ended up that not much resembled or tasted like Napa Valley.

Today, I mostly saw struggling vines resembling weeds growing along the countryside to some outstanding wine selling strategies looking more like legal office porn for men used to sell wine. Latin America seems set that a woman in skimpy clothing will increase sales of anything from crayons to bread. After seeing the advertisements for some wine at a winery, the strategy almost...worked. I found myself tempted to purchase multiple bottles to see how many of them were necessary for my personal set of wine goggles to form in order to make a one of the local women or...donkeys to somewhat resemble one the woman on the advertisement.

Though after accessing the risk, I might have ended up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning to achieve this…so I decided to do nothing but take the free stuff for sampling. The samples itself on my tour had me drunk by 11:30am…it must have been the altitude I thought as I headed to bed for an extended siesta lasting about…4 hours.

I know that beer companies use this porn strategy to increase sales with women in little or no clothing - depending on what country you are from…but wine companies? I thought a long time ago drinking wine was for the sophisticated. Not here it seems…not here.

The $17.14 Bolivian Teeth Cleaning at Dental Museum

November 5th, 2010: Keeping up with my visits to the Dentist - trying to see one every 4 months or so to minimize the looks of a country’s mouth I don’t want to say…today’s visit landed me into a sort of…Museum of Dentistry. The good thing is that it cost me about as much as a museum ticket would cost back home, $17.14 but this was better than a typical museum since it was a hands on museum with my Dentist using the same tools that might have been used on my great great grandfather – god bless his rotten corpse.

Thankfully, during my visit my dentist, there was no reason to do anything more than just a simple cleaning in which under my circumstances, a monkey could do if given the proper tools. But if something did need some attention…I would have probably searched for a place that had slightly more up-to-date equipment, dating back to at least my parents era…even though that too is quite…old.

Ex-World Champion rock thrower uses me as Target

November 4, 2010: I am usually quite respectfully and ask people if it is okay if I can take their photo. Today…I didn’t ask but didn’t see me needing to ask as these bulky women road workers of steel were busy lifting these giant gut busting boulders…who might I add did not need a back brace due to the natural “tummy tire” back brace. Really, I would never have asked at home if I could take a photo of a road worker, why should I here…I thought?

As soon one of the stocky women noticed that she was my subject, a rock was thrown at me showing me her lack of interest in having a photo taken. Thankfully her days as a world champion rock thrower are over because she missed me. Walking up to her right after one more photo to show her she missed, I for some reason wanted to see if she was going to do it again. She didn’t, it was a bluff…so I…apologized for taking her photo. Reaching out with her man hands, she clung onto my camera strap, briefly becoming nice asking to see her photo. Doing as grandma asked, she then forcefully demanded money. Two other of her friends now surrounded me and also demanded money for their photo that I took. I would perhaps have given these grannies some money if they would have posed for me in say…a 2 piece thronged bikini or perhaps some sexy lingerie, but in their traditional wear including the ever so famous outdoor apron? Mmmmmm…no.

This all took place next to the center of the plaza filled with people that I was more than likely entertaining…so my safety was not a concern. My concern was how I was going to release her grip off my camera strap. Asking nicely for her to let go several times but she would not listen - only having to hear her repeating her demand for money. Little did she know that I am a single traveler without a girlfriend so my right handed grip was far stronger than hers…unless…she managed to do some prostitution on the side.

Grabbing her hand that was locked onto my camera strap, I continued to nicely ask for her to let go and repeatedly told her I was not going to give her any money. My grip became harder and harder and harder and harder, beginning to sound like a parrot with my perhaps too friendly of requests…until she finally let go…going into a rage. Throwing off her gloves she quickly searched for a nearby rock for close combat. Not wanting to see if this next incoming rock was going to make contact, I did a brisk jog out of her range.

Today I learned my lesson…next time someone throws a rock at me…don’t say anything and just throw a bigger one back – or better yet, do what the Israelis would do…throw 20 bigger ones back leaving the well educated to take care of the carnage.

If you are black...stay away or DIE!

November 3rd, 2010: If you are black - in political correct terminology: African Bolivian, African American, African Canadian, African Jamaican, African African and anybody else who’s skin is naturally black…you cannot live in Potosi, or you will die. My tour guide even said when people with black skin would die…within 6 months after arriving here because black people are not made for the altitude - remember that Potosi claims to be the highest city in the world at 4090 meters (13,420 feet).

I thought it was ridiculous when I first heard it, having to ask my guide again to make sure that I didn’t misunderstand what she said. So, the past 2 days I was trying prove her wrong, going on a hunt searching for someone with even a smidgen of African decent to ask them how long they have been in Potosi. On my search, I did not find even one person that was even close to being black – not even the miners after being in the mines all day were black. I only seemed to find people with dark natural tans and a bunch of white gringo crackers. So…where are the black people?

Even though I have no proof, I will still place this myth in my bucket of other myths I come across during my travels…such as, if you eat too much chicken you will turn gay. Lets not forget the one: if you eat piranha you will can have sex all night. To have these myths properly busted, perhaps I should write the TV program Myth Busters for their assistance and their credibility…or…perhaps not.

Inside a 3rd world cooperative mine

Potosi is an amazingly…different place. Potosi is a city that use to claim being one of the richest cities in the world – which is obviously not the case anymore after Spain’s mass raping of the silver that was discovered here back in the year 1544. Potosi now only claim to be the highest city in the world…but with all claims there will always be some sort of conflict because according to Wikipedia, it is the 3 highest city coming in at 4090 meters (13,420 feet) – who cares…it is still very very very high. In a city that you can buy dynamite at any age on the street without a permission slip…perhaps it is better to let them think what they want to think
Going into the stores of this mining town and seeing all of the nicely selection of wrapped sticks of dynamite that anyone can buy. I was thinking it would be nice to travel with a few dynamite sticks in my backpack or even a couple taped around my chest in orderly fashion to possibly make any potential kidnapper or robber think twice if they really want to try to get anything involuntary form me. To make Potosi even better, besides the easy purchase of dynamite…you can get, 98 percent alcohol at most of the miners shops that is somehow meant for drinking. Trying some because….everyone else was, I could feel the alcohols entire path as soon as it entered my month, starting with my tongue all the way down my throat as it trickled into my stomach…I am no doctor but it must not be good for you.

Seeing some of the miners today working in these cooperative mines and even having the opportunity to provide some free labor for a minute or so, made me think…I don’t want to grow up to be a miner – ever. Thankfully I don’t have a working visa in Bolivia so this is not even an option…even though I would be the best miner in the whole wide world. The miners I visited today did it “ole school” with all hand tools in the scorching dusty tunnels that were so small we had to perform the “wiggly worm” to get through some spots.

After leaving the mines today I appreciate my future job even more…whatever it might be. It is unbelievable that kids as young as 10 years old are working the mines. No matter how you look at it, a dead end job when you are only expected to live till 35 to 40 years old. What people do for money will always amaze me.

The colorblind shoe shine gang

October 29th, 2010: After a morning of successfully shedding off a multitude of scrubby kids wanting to clean my already clean shoes in which I personally pulled off every speck of dirt a few days back, I noticed that I was internally breaking…becoming more and more acceptable to saying yes, after every, no. Just at the right moment a gang of three shoe shiners approached me telling me how dirty my shoes were. I know it was just a script of theirs…if I had food at that moment I would have eaten off them – even the soles, to show them that they were not even close to being as dirty as the claimed. Thinking about it, they could have been my military boots after spending days of pulling out spit from deep within as I shinned them and the savages would have still said they were dirty.

The shoe shine gang was very smart for their age and they must have noticed my weakness, capitalizing on my shortcomings. Talking to the gang members a bit whose ages I suppose ranged from 7-10 years old, I collapsed giving in and gave them clearance to somehow shine my shoes.

Not wanting to tell these experts in shining shoes how to properly do their job, I decided to sit back and watch as 2 kids went to work on my shoes as the younger boy talked to me to obviously distract me. After the reasonable brush selection and unreasonable polish selection (black) for my brown leather shoes, I became quite interested on what they were going to do.

Starting to polish my black rubber toes with the polish I was relieved that it looked like they were not going to use it on the leather. Making my rubber toe shinny and black, they continued possibly feeling they needed to do something else to my shoes for the ridiculous prices they were charging me in Bolivian standards. And…that is when they then caked black polish along the sides of my shoes making the grey spongy porous material of my soles…black, along with the bottom leather portion giving my shoe a crazy two-tone look confirming to me that they were all unfortunately color blind.

Watching them, I was attempting to hold in my laughter and I didn’t bother stopping them as they were continuing to destroy my shoes figuring I would buy a brush later in the day and wash them up at the hostel. While all of this was taking place I thought the kids would have known more about shining shoes but I still didn’t want to correct them – this is their profession, not mine…so I let them finish the job they started.

Once they were done, I had to lie to them and I told the shoe shine gang that they did a great job, happily thanking them as I paid them there fee and a little extra for a tip. What they were going to do with the money…I don’t know, perhaps purchase some gasoline to huff, crack to smoke, or some fresh clean needles for their veins - but more than likely, just a candy fix.

I must say…kids are great…just not great shoe shiners…especially those who are color blind.

...elephantiasis of the nuts

October 28th, 2010: This morning on the bus ride to Sucre, the man who entertains the driver during the night came back to where we were all herded and I immediately noticed his cheek…in my half awoken daze. It was HUGE filled with coca leaves busting out his lipped seams. It somehow looked as if his cheek was a shaved nut of some large animal – I cant tell you what large animal because I don’t typically stare at these things, but it was sure in the hell not the size of a typical house cats balls even if he was suffering from elephantiasis of the nuts.

I guess if I keep chewing coca, my cheek will continue to stretch to some great proportions to someday have a face that looks like a hairy nut - if I decide not to shave…or even looking like the cheek of a hamster getting ready for the great escape. Who wants that? Perhaps…I should think about getting back to being more civilized and begin to drink more coca tea rather chew the stuff.

Looking at the widescreen, it really doesn’t matter since in a about two weeks…I will not be able to take any coca leaves across the border once I enter Argentina, unless that is…I decide to stick it up my arse.

Death Road part II

October 27th, 2010: Going back to La Paz last week for my third and final time, I ended up repeating a mountain bike ride down Death Road…this time for work - if that is what you call it. And again, I am sad to report that…nobody died. You could probably put a child on a bicycle with training wheels and there still would not be any deaths. As I said before, they really need to reconsider relabeling this road to perhaps the “Disney Joy Ride” or something in that effect.
Even though this was my second time down this road, I must say that once finished…the trip back to La Paz was much better this time around since it was during the day. Between my nap breaks, I was able to see the spectacular surrounding looking as if I was on the coast of the Hawaiian island, Kauai. This drive back must be added to one of my top 10 drives of all time. I couldn’t help but take a multitude of mostly blurred photos from the window of the moving van.

Needing to move on, yesterday I felt torn if I should go up north to explore more jungles and fight the mosquitoes with my bare hands (which I would like to add which are registered as deadly weapons in the mosquito community) or to start making my way south. Walking to the bus station with now only the mildest limp, I decided to sit there until I made a decision. I thought and thought and thought, finally deciding to go south, buying myself a 12 hour bus ticket to Sucre. So, I leave the high city of La Paz tonight to go to Sucre that is the official capital of Bolivia and another god forsaken high city.

Please note: I am going to attempt to write less and to post more photos, telling my stories with bigger captions in hopes to have more time to read a few enormous books. This is so that I can lighten my backpack for my upcoming trip to Patagonia and to make more time for other things. And please...don't be scared to post comments, it at times feels as if I am writing into a black hole.

Would you like some wildlife with that table salt?

October 21th, 2010: The past 5 days I was on a trip to Uyuni which is the world largest salt flat coming in at 10,582 square kilometers (4,086 sq mi) according to Wikipedia. Viewing lots and lots and lots of future table salt was only a fraction of this 3 day tour (2 travel days). I ended up seeing a billion flamingos, plenty of other animals and a bunch of volcanoes doing my best to record it all…in photos.

Sticking my camera anywhere and everywhere such as would a horny teen, taking so many photos…my camera tried to keep up but when it no longer could, it took up the strategy of the local Bolivians - if you don’t like something…block a road. A camera obviously can’t stop traffic but it blocked me from adding more photos to my memory stick. Fortunately this was only in the morning and in the evening giving me opportunities to overwork it during the day to make up for the lost time.

During the three day tour I took a mere 1,100 photos (more or less). This was before I went through deleting all of the bad ones. Now I have 1,098 photos…should be much less since spots fill many of my pictures due to my cameras filthy internals.

Immediately upon my return I took my…third eye to a camera doctor and had it cleaned it, hoping it is going to stay spot free since nobody likes spots – not even horny teens, adults or…donkeys.

Bolivia’s new motto? “Bolivia is for Donkey lovers”

October 20th, 2010: Standing by the Toyota Land Cruiser, I went up to my guide after 3 days and thought that if I was going to continue my research throughout South America, this was the best time to do it.

The following is my conversation translated from Spanish to English.

Me: “I have a question.”

Guide: “Yes.”

Me: “In Colombia, Venezuela and in Peru it is normal for boys to have sex for their first time with Donkeys. Is it the same here in Bolivia?”

Guide: “It is the same…when they are 17 - 18 years old.”

Me: “Thank you.”

I tried and successfully maintained a straight face…not knowing what else to say after. My friend said I should have asked, “So, how was it?” I thought it is best that I just stick to asking if it is common or not. Though being that my guide was so casual about it might have indicated that he too had sex with a hot looking donkey for his first time. From my point of view his answer was an honest, solid answer. So, with this said, I am not going to do anymore research in Bolivia and I will too label this country as a donkey loving nation.

Perhaps if the State of Virginia in the U.S. doesn’t mind, Bolivia could have the motto: “Bolivia is for donkey lovers” modified from Virginia’s motto, “Virginia is for lovers.” Though seeing all of the llamas around I am surprised that these animals are not prime candidates for this sort of activity– they are much cuter. I suppose that due to the llamas height (needing a ladder for some of these small Bolivian teens) and since a llamas head can turn almost completely around…it might be awkward being starred at and potential spit upon while in action if the llama is not enjoying what is going on back there.

In a few short weeks, my research will be taking me to Argentina. I don’t think this country will be any different than the others…but who knows, maybe they will surprise me – what do you think?

A REAL football enters Bolivian Aerospace

October 18th, 2010: I can’t seem to get too far without having to change plans while walking around the small villages of South America with a REAL football (North American Football). Entering a village with an easily forgettable name – actually for me…every name is easily forgettable. Anyhow, my friend and I took my football and was going to head over to the local cemetery to take a few photos of some stones and to throw around the ball a bit. Not making it more than 20 feet we were stopped by two local kids. They quickly multiplied by the minute growing to team sized numbers.

Trying to teach them how to play a little game of football was a total success – depending on how you look at it. The game of two hand touch became a game that looked a little similar to soccer, rugby, basketball and even a little bit like football. The best was how the kids changed a somewhat slow game at times (American Football) to an action packed event eliminating the end zone and adding a goal keeper to try to block the football from being thrown in. Not knowing enough Spanish to stop the madness and seeing all of the smiles…I didn’t think there was a need to stop them, just join them.

I was hit by…

October 14th, 2010: Last week I was hit by a HSB (human speed bump) that ran across the main street of Samaipata. The human speed bump looks just like an automotive speed bump with the sole purpose to slow things down. Not seeing it, the HSB came from nowhere…as I suddenly felt a pain shooting through my ankle. I did not know the severity of the injury until later…as it began to get worse and worse as each day passed. I am now unable to walk much unless I want to walk with a painful obnoxious limp. I must stress that is not a cool looking MTV gangsta limp…it is more like a blue automotive license plate qualifying limp or the, I have something stuck in my rectum limp.

Adapting, I have shifted the way I am exploring Bolivia until I get better. With my body being about as useful as a…(Blank) year old man, I am now having to travel like one…taking a lot of taxis and only leaving the hostel to get something to eat, hoping on a miraculous recovery that will take place in the next few days before my friend comes to visit. Bringing me a football…a real college football (not a soccer ball), how am I suppose to teach the youth of South America like this?