So after 36 weeks of living out of a bag, making new friends, and experiencing truly amazing things, it's over. Less than two weeks ago, I arrived back in Albany, OR where it all began, making the past nine months seem like a dream that flashed by all too quickly. And all I have to say is......HA! And you all thought I was going to die.
Alright, so perhaps I do have a bit more to say in this wrap-up edition of my South American adventure. Here are a few numbers just give you a little concrete summary of the trip...
38 - Different buses I rode
392 - Hours spent on those buses.
17 - Books I read to keep myself occupied on those buses. No, none had pictures.
77 - Different beds/couches/floors I slept on.
6 - Countries visited.....according to my passport.
24,901 - Circumference of the world, via the equator, in miles.
25,118 - Total distance I traveled, in miles.
So there are the numbers, but they do nothing to tell of the jaw-dropping things I saw, or the incredible people I met. Upon returning home I was asked if I would do anything differently if I were to do it all over again. It didn't take long for me to answer. I can honestly say that if I were to do it all over again, I would do absolutely nothing different. Just one decision to stay somewhere a day longer, or go somewhere else and it would have totally disrupted the chain of events that led me to the places I went and introduced me to the people I met. I could never wish to change any of it. I am incredibly thankful for everything that happened to me, whether it was by design, by accident, good, or bad, I loved everything for what it was - part of my life.
Oh! I'm sure you were all dying to know, and the answer is no. South America did not let me down. I was successfully able to get robbed before I left. Exactly one week before I left, to be accurate. Well played SA, right when I thought I was safe. You really loaded up on the good stuff too. Camera, iPod, cash, credit cards, and toothbrush! That was the real kicker, the toothbrush. I was upset about the other stuff for all of two minutes, because I had expected it to get stolen the whole time, but my toothbrush? Really? Definitely went for the inconvenience points when you took my toiletry bag. Touche. At least you didn't get my passport, otherwise I would probably still be there. Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad...
While I was sitting in the airport, waiting to catch my flight out, I was having some sitting/reflecting time and jotted this down:
It's times like these, when a glorious part of your life is coming to an end, that it is difficult not to feel sadness. But instead of mourning the sunset, be happy and give thanks for how brightly that sun shone on your days. Furthermore, embrace the fact that the sun will rise again, and it will bring with it a time of fresh experiences and new adventure. Get excited for the unknown that is the future, because it holds the rest of your life. Go live it!
Hopefully that provides a little comfort or inspiration for you like it did for me.
I have been asked quite a bit what is next for me in my life. How will I follow up this crazy time in South America? With an encore of course! Yup, after spending the holidays with my family, I will be returning to South America in January. This will be a much shorter trip, about two months, and will be different in the sense that I'll be attempting to work while I travel. Just a little test run to see if I am able to use a computer to support myself while seeing the world. Bring on Colombia!
That's right, this blog hasn't worn itself out yet! Check back in Jan for more tales when this Ese gets back to SA. Plus, I'm sure I will get a few travel related posts up between now and then so feel free to check those out. Also, I plan on giving my blog a little makeover in the near future so try and maintain a handle on your excitement for that.
Well, I just want to thank you all so much for keeping up with me and my travels. I had a ton of fun writing this whole thing, so it is my hope that it provided a bit of enjoyable reading for you. Your feedback and encouragement is extremely appreciated and I guess as long as there is someone interested in reading my stuff, I shall keep bringing the words.
Again, thank you all so much and, as always, so much lovsies!
Monday, November 21, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
Home Is Wherever I'm With You
Still can't call it quits. As I keep this travel train rolling, I fulfill my unrelenting desire to create interesting situations, see and make new friends, and snag a few more new and unforgettable experiences along the way. After NYC, I have continued making my way back across the states with the hear/now in focus while Oregon waits in the distance.
Having never been to the head of the nation, I decided it was indeed time to pay DC a visit. Couldn't hurt that I've got a pair of amazing friends living there as well. It was quickly clear that four days there was nowhere near enough time. If I were to live there, I would be super smart, because I would just hang out in museums all the time. With all of those, the monuments, and other historical places of interest, DC has the talent to keep anybody busy for as long as you've got. While watching the sunset from the steps of the capital, I was not only in awe, but I couldn't help being a little uneasy thinking about that scene from Independence Day and knowing I was sitting directly in the line of fire.
Next up, Austin! Plans to spend the Halloween weekend in Texas had been in place for quite a while. And for good reason, because Austin tears the face of Halloween, uses it as a mask, and has a blasty blast all weekend. We partook. In hefty amounts. While I originally went to visit my Cara, it turns out that Austin is full of tons of amazing people. Plus some fantastic food. I enjoyed all these things for several days, but nowhere near long enough. I recall riding back in the car with my friends, fresh off a crazy beautiful lake sunset, rocking out all the way, and just thinking to myself how absolutely perfectly happy I was. Nothing can can defeat your moments of ultimate bliss. Surround yourself with those people in your life that help create those times. Live for those moments. Hey Austin, thanks for cementing Halloween as my favorite holiday ever!!!
Up until Austin, I had been relying on buses and planes for the majority of my transportation. Time to switch it up. Perhaps a form of modern hitchhiking? Yes, please. I check out Craigslist rideshares and find a dude headed towards California the next day. I get in contact, he picks me up. The following days we cruise around New Mexico and Arizona, checking out some pretty cool stuff. At night we hit up some people on couchsurfing.com for place to sleep. Then I was on my own again as I needed to get to LA to reunite with my sister. This time I employed the old school hitchhiking methods. Stick out your thumb and rely on the kindness of the world. So, the most awesome Navajo Indian picks me up and we cruise all the way to LA, chat about the film he's working on, all kinds of Navajo stuff, South America, the world, and life in general while taking a break every now and then to headbang to some classic rock.
Lots of people question my sanity when they hear about me jumping in the car with total strangers or going over to random houses to stay with people I have never met. The truth is that I just don't see it like that. It's not scary because "strangers" truly are just friends you haven't yet met. One thing I have learned is that the world is full of good people. Obviously there is a small percentage of bad ones who taint the pot and give us negative connotations about a lot of things. But, truth be told, people are good. And all it takes is opening up, and taking that chance to make a connection. So worth it.
Now that I have effectively made myself sound like a hippie, I got business to attend to. Gotta get myself up to Fresno to watch my sister rip through her xcountry race. After that, Oregon isn't too far off in the distance. Here I come!.....As soon as the universe smiles upon me with a ride.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Finally! Some Good Pizza.
So my South American adventure is over, but my trip is not. I couldn't deal with the idea of everything just ending with a flight straight back to Oregon. Plus, exploring all those other countries reminded me of how little I've actually seen of my own. So, I flew back to the opposite coast with plans of checking out a few places I've never been in a cross country tour of goodness. First stop, NYC. I've got three things on my to do list: eat a bagel, eat a slice of pizza that I have to fold up, and yell at an infringing cabby as I'm crossing the street, "Hey! I'm walkin here!" If there is still time after that, I will hunt down the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and we will fight crime together.
I figured life would get easier since everything would be in English. Wrong. I found some humor in the fact that my first conversation with someone here was in Spanish. Then, I attempt to decipher the metro system maps. I'm pretty sure I need a cryptic decoder to be successful there. And finally, even though I think the black people here are speaking English, it seems like Spanish, but only in the sense that I can understand just half of what they are saying.
Yes, I now realize that my choice for readjustment back into the states was an interesting one. Just a week ago I was stranded in the Amazon jungle, wielding a machete, doing battle with mosquitoes and crocs, (I do understand just how ineffective a machete is against mosquitoes, but at least I looked hardcore). Then, my first day here, I stumble upon a place called Times Square just two hours after landing. Talk about a mind explosion. From places and people who have nothing, to Times Square where there is such an excess that it is just ridiculous. I was only able to giggle, shake my head, and wander off.
Another thing I was quick to notice involved the girl to guy ratio in my age range. There are a ton of ladies here. Everywhere I go, girls, girls, girls. And when I do see a guy close to my age, he is usually holding hands with another dude. So, I guess whichever team I choose to play for, I'm hitting it out of the park.
So I'm checking out Brooklyn by just strolling around and I soon realize that a poo is on the cusp of needing to happen. Panic sets in. It takes me a while to realize that not only do I not have a hostel I must to retreat to, but that it doesn't matter that I'm far away from the place I'm staying. Public restrooms are abundant here, and even better, they supply their own toilet paper. So I just pop in the closest store, do my thing, and carry on. Afterwards, it takes me several blocks to realize that I totally could have tossed my used TP in the toilet instead of throwing it all in the garbage can. Oops. I suppose this readjustment process could take a while.
Anyway, I love the vibe this city emits. There is just this tangible energy that you can feed off of. It is impossible to run out of things to do, the food is amazing, and the people, in general, are way friendlier than any stereotype would have you believe. This would be a super fun place to live for a couple years. I am definitely putting NYC in my maybe pile.
Next up, our nation's capital. Show me what you got, DC!
I figured life would get easier since everything would be in English. Wrong. I found some humor in the fact that my first conversation with someone here was in Spanish. Then, I attempt to decipher the metro system maps. I'm pretty sure I need a cryptic decoder to be successful there. And finally, even though I think the black people here are speaking English, it seems like Spanish, but only in the sense that I can understand just half of what they are saying.
Yes, I now realize that my choice for readjustment back into the states was an interesting one. Just a week ago I was stranded in the Amazon jungle, wielding a machete, doing battle with mosquitoes and crocs, (I do understand just how ineffective a machete is against mosquitoes, but at least I looked hardcore). Then, my first day here, I stumble upon a place called Times Square just two hours after landing. Talk about a mind explosion. From places and people who have nothing, to Times Square where there is such an excess that it is just ridiculous. I was only able to giggle, shake my head, and wander off.
Another thing I was quick to notice involved the girl to guy ratio in my age range. There are a ton of ladies here. Everywhere I go, girls, girls, girls. And when I do see a guy close to my age, he is usually holding hands with another dude. So, I guess whichever team I choose to play for, I'm hitting it out of the park.
So I'm checking out Brooklyn by just strolling around and I soon realize that a poo is on the cusp of needing to happen. Panic sets in. It takes me a while to realize that not only do I not have a hostel I must to retreat to, but that it doesn't matter that I'm far away from the place I'm staying. Public restrooms are abundant here, and even better, they supply their own toilet paper. So I just pop in the closest store, do my thing, and carry on. Afterwards, it takes me several blocks to realize that I totally could have tossed my used TP in the toilet instead of throwing it all in the garbage can. Oops. I suppose this readjustment process could take a while.
Anyway, I love the vibe this city emits. There is just this tangible energy that you can feed off of. It is impossible to run out of things to do, the food is amazing, and the people, in general, are way friendlier than any stereotype would have you believe. This would be a super fun place to live for a couple years. I am definitely putting NYC in my maybe pile.
Next up, our nation's capital. Show me what you got, DC!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Electric Amazon Lovefest
It was decided long ago that I would finish up this South American adventure with an event so epic in proportions that it was the only thing suitable enough to bring this trip to a close. What could be more exellent than building a raft with a pair of my best friends and then racing through the jungle down one of the longest rivers in the world in the longest raft race known to our planet? While it was indeed an amazing experience, it was also not quite what I expected.
They really push home the point that this race is a survival test and anyone who can even finish is a winner. Of course I considered this to be just some cutsie rubish and paid it no mind. We had plans of building the sweetest raft ever, doing some intense rafting and finishing the race in a respectable position, as in, ahead of all the other white people. It is common knowledge that the Peruvian teams just destroy it every year and win by large margins. So we had no illusions of beating them, but it turns out there were plenty of illusions about other things. Okay, everything else.
We flew to the isolated jungle city of Iquitos. At a population of 500,000, it is the largest city in the world that is unreachable by car. Solid sized city, but there is nothing but jungle around it, as we quickly found out. They loaded us all up in busses and drove us hours into the rainforest to our base where we would construct the rafts and spend the night on an island before starting the race the next day. Let the horror begin.
Silly us believed that this would be a well organized event and that we would show up on the island with all our raft building materials available and food/water/accomodation provided. How nice that would have been. Instead, they drop us off on an island with no food, no water, and some logs. The only thing we had lots of was heat. Actually, there was an over abundance of that.
It was once said that anyone who says they like the Amazon jungle has never lived in the Amazon jungle. I could not agree more. I´ve never had to experience a nasty combination of heat and humidity like that before. And given our lack of supplies, all we could do was just sit and marinate in our own sweat for hours. Finally, water arrived. A dramatic improvment.
Eventually, we began construction on a raft, but as it turns out, none of us had actually built a raft before. We pretty much just went with the strategy of watching the Peruvian teams and copying their design. So after a mad scramble for some logs, hacking away with a dull machete and waiting until it got dark for some rope to show up, and lashing logs together in the dark, we had something that resembled a raft.
Bed time. This should not be confused with sleep time. Even though it´s dark, its still hot, but now we´ve got the added enemy called the mosquito to deal with. So with the looming threat of Malaria and all other kinds of nasty jungle funk hanging over our heads, we all piled underneath a stupid makeshift tent. Then it started raining.
For some reason I had forgotten that we were stationed in a rain forest. But I was quickly reminded. Crazy amounts of rain and wind ripped apart that poor excuse for a tent and all our things were soaked. We just had to hang in there and wait for daylight. We joked that we had been forced into a refugee camp situation. Well, it wasnt really a joke. And we probably would have been better off in an actual refugee camp.
Eventually 5 AM came and brought his buddy daylight with him. So, with zero sleep under our soggy belts, we ate our meager rations and wrapped up preparations for the beginning of the race.
Its go time. All 45 teams shove their rafts out onto the water and hop on to see how their designs faired. It was soon discovered that our raft was a bit unbalanced. We all sat down and one person was already partially submerged as one corner of our raft dipped below the surface and just stayed there. After a goofy series of Chinese firedrills, we more or less found the best seating combination that kept our raft mostly on top of the water.
The starting gun sounded and we tore out of the gates. Im not going to lie, we absolutely rocked it, for about 2 hours. In those minutes of glory, we hung with the top teams and all we did was pass raft after raft. Unfortunately we still had about 5 hours more to go that day and then 2 more days on top of that.
One thing I didnt realize about the Amazon is how wide it actually is. I knew it was long, but its crazy wide too. And if you want to do well in this race, you have to find the currents because the Amazon is also super slow moving. We expended so much energy just trying to find those currents that we puttered out pretty early. There was also a bit of internal raft conflict and mental breakdowns to deal with. Also, it was still super hot with periods of intense rain that kept you guessing if we were soaked from river, rain, or just sweat. Oh yeah, and our raft floatation kept getting worse.
By the end of the day, and for the rest of the race, we became known by all other teams as the Underwater Team. Our logs soaked up a ton of water and when we were on it, it actually looked like we were just sitting in the water because 90% of our raft was actually hidden below the surface. This ment we had super increased drag and had to paddle twice as hard as any other team just to go half the speed.
Eventually, it became clear that given our crappy sinky raft that liked to veer to the right and our unbalanced paddling capabilities, we were in no shape to finish in a top spot. Finally we floated our way to the base for day one, having been repassed by many of the teams. Glorious, another evening/night of constant mosquito attacks and terrible refugee conditions. Only 2 more days to go.
We put a different plan of attack into motion for Day 2 of the race. Operation Just Have Fun was deployed. It was decided that we all wanted to stay friends and since there was no hope of dominating that race, we just wanted to finish with our lives, frienships, and a few good memories all intact. Floaty time. We stuck to one side of the river instead of crossing back and forth, wasting time and energy to find elusive currents. Paddling didnt happen a whole lot either. But we did see a fair amount of pink dolphins. And I even caught a glimpse of one of the Amazon crocs. Yes, there are dolphins and crocs in the Amazon.
So even though we were rocking last place, we were having a good time doing it. Then it started getting dark. And we were still a loooooooooong ways from the next check point. Also, a storm was brewing. Just like the fear in our hearts.
This is when the majority of our paddling for the day happened. We were in a small arm of the river that was too shallow for any support boats and our only chance of getting picked up was to make it back to the main river before it got too dark to see us. Some of the darkest clouds Ive ever seen were racing us there from the other direction. We paddled like Peruvians and got our submarine raft into the main body just as the storm was coming overhead. But no other boats were to be seen.
Just around the next bend we caught sight of a Peruvian National Coastguard boat that had picked up the team in front of us. We headed for it and caught them before they took off. We tied our raft to the back of their boat and we took off. Then the real show began.
Those dark clouds were packing a lightning storm of epic proportions. As one of the most brilliant lightning shows Ive ever seen ripped apart the sky around us we realized our situation actually had not improved much. We had abandoned our nonconductive raft for a massive hunk of metal and the only target for a lightning strike for miles. Normally I love lightning shows, but this one was so massive and close that I was actually a tid bit worried for our safety. Plus we still had to locate the remaining 8 teams that hadnt made it back yet, in the dark.
With the storm still at full rage, the waters of the Amazon resembled a turbulant ocean. We had found a couple more teams and one of them had even signaled us with their camera flash. Our boat was already over capacity. Then the coast guard asked us if they could cut the two rafts in tow loose. Basically they said, you can keep your raft or we can go save some lives. No brainer. As much as it sucked to surrender our raft to the will of a crazed jungle, there were other people that needed our help.
I climbed up on the deck in the pelting rain to help try and spot other stranded teams. One of our biggest dangers was also our biggest help as the lightning continuously lit up the world for a couple seconds at a time.
Soaked and raftless we finally gathered all the teams and made it back to the check point. It turns out we were still 5 rafting hours away from the base when we got picked up. There was no way we would have made it in the dark storm.
Feeling happy to be alive, but defeated at our race being cut short, we bunked up for the night and even got a couple hours of sleep. It turns out near death experiences can exhaust you even more than refugee rafting outings.
The final day we climbed on the support boat with the other raftless teams and cheered on the remaining teams. It was great to not have to do all the work that day, but still a bit defeating all the same. We watched the teams finish the race on one of the most difficult streatches that actually required paddling against the current for a time. I dont think our raft would have made it anyway.
During the award ceremonies and closing party the race coordinator approached us and handed us the sunday paper which is the most popular in Peru and has a circulation of nearly one million. Guess what team graced the front page. Check out either of these links.
http://elcomercio.pe/impresa/2011-10-09
http://www.todanoticia.com/31627/aventura-extrema-amazonas-carrera-balsas/?lang=en
Thats right, despite not finishing the race, team Electric Amazon Lovefest was all over that front page and looking good while doing it. The picture was taken early on the first day of the race when we were actually dominating. They thought they had captured a promising young team out of Oregon for the front page. Little did most people know, we ended up repping last place and never finished. I´d say this is a one sweet consolation prize. Oh, and I also got interviewed by a news team and was on TV. No big deal.
Summary time: The Amazon river is a brutal place. Even though it can be beautiful, it is not to be taken lightly. It has the capacity to unleash a brutality that is unmatched by most places in the world. And I want another hack at it.
Yup, I plan on one day returning to the jungle to take part in the world´s longest raft race again. Next time I can go prepared. And I will finish.
So thats it. My final South American adventure. For now. Its been nearly 8 months and I wouldnt trade my experiences for anything. This will not be my final blog post though. Check back a bit later for a wrap up, final thoughts, and all that good stuff.
Thanks for reading and as always, lovsies!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Final Arequipan Adventures
Pictures to be included after I find a computer that was made after 1957. Anyway.....
19,000. As in, feet. As in, feet above sea level. As in, I decided to try to climb a mountain with a summit at just over 19,000 feet. As in, the entire US only has one mtn higher than that. As in, bring it on.
Wait, didn't I have serious issues at only 15,000 feet last time I tangled with altitude? Yes, yes I did. My entire body committed a savage mutiny against me. So what made me think this time would be different? Well, nothing. I fully expected to get sick again and never reach the top. No sense in not being honest with myself about it. But mountains are for climbing and I was going to give this one everything I had.
So day one of hiking ends at base camp number one. Yeah, that's right, this mountain has base camps. You know where else there are base camps? Oh, just a little hill named Everest.*
There I am at base camp, which happened to be at 15,000 feet, my tent is all set up, it's starting to get dark, and dinner is almost ready. "You know what" is primed to hit the fan.
Just like last time, it began with the headache. Then, I was unable to finish dinner because the nausea set in. Finally, to make matters even less appealing, the sun disappeared. Along with it went every single degree of temperature. And then some.
I had been warned that it would be cold, but come on, I'm the guy who did Patagonia in the middle of winter. As prepared as I thought I was, it turns out that there is no perfect way to prepare for subzero temperatures. Throw in some nasty harsh wind chill and I was effectively the coldest I have ever been in my life. Roll that in with the altitude sickness goodies I was experiencing, and it's safe to say I wasn't the happiest camper. I believe the phrase "biggest mistake ever" may have been uttered more than once.
To combat the elements both internal and external I resorted to my greatest weapon: the fetal position. Curled up in my sleeping bag, I was wishing for death, or sleep, whichever came quickest. Unfortunately both did quite well at avoiding me.
I think I had just lost consciousness when the 3 AM wakeup call came. Yes, 3 AM, because what else would I want to be doing that early in the morning? On the bright side, the nausea had subsided and the headache weakened, but it was still colder than the inside of a frozen cow.
Two members of our party decided base camp was about as much altitude/climbing as they would like, so they stayed put. I promised them I would most likely be back to join them shortly as I was confident the altitude sickness would make a vengeful return after about another hundred feet. So, all bundled up with head lamps in place, our dwindling group set forth into the darkness.
After several hours of climbing, and a beautiful sunrise, I was feeling surprisingly well. Looking down upon base camp, it seemed we had covered a good bit of ground, but why was the summit not getting any closer? Sigh. Onwards and upwards.
More hours and more elevation later, we were still going up hill at a slow pace, but my situation was headed downhill, and at a much quicker rate. My head had once again set back to throbbing and each step sent a wave of nausea surging through me. Just a little farther, I told myself. Hit that 17,000 foot mark, pat yourself on the back, and retreat.
Reaching that point, I collapse. Oversimplified, I'm not doing well. The summit still seems so far off. And it's so steep. I think it's time to turn back. Others in the group would not make it today either. There is no shame in setting a new personal record. Besides, the higher I go, the worse I'll feel. It's not worth putting myself through more. But what if I stand up? And what if I just go a little farther? Improve that personal best just a little more with each step?
Something inside me picked me up and convinced me to push on, just a little more, just to see what happens. That's when I decided that I would just go until my legs refused to carry me any farther. Simple enough. Go until the body says stop.
It said stop. My shaking legs dropped me several times. My head threatened to explode. My stomach warned that it was primed to evacuate all occupants. Laying on the side of that mountain, I had reached my limit, but no matter, because I had told myself that it would end like this. My mind had already accepted this. But hold on. Doesn't the top look a little closer? My heart was obviously a little slow accepting anything other than one thing: 19,000.
Up to this point, I had been telling myself that I didn't need to summit, that I would be proud of myself if I just put forth a solid effort. The whole trek I had been devising this metaphor about how mountains are like challenges in life and how it doesn't matter if we climb to the top of those problems as long as we do our best and so on and so forth. That's when I decided: screw metaphors.
I had come this far and now the truth was out there. I wanted this. I no longer cared about how poorly I felt or how unwilling my body was to cooperate. I was taking that summit.
The last couple hours cemented my suspicions that climbing that mountain classifies as one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did do it. All 19,000 feet of it. Standing triumphantly at the top, looking over all I had conquered, I had one thought: I gotta get down before I poop myself.
Thankfully, the going down was not only fast, but a good deal of fun as well. Sprinting and sliding down a super steep combination of volcanic sand and tiny rocks, it felt as if you were running on the moon. Crazy feeling. Almost made all the prior suffering worth it. Almost.
But what truly did make it all worth it was witnessing the triumph of the human spirit and the magic of an individuals will power and blah blah blah bahahahaha! Forget all that nonsense. I climbed a 19,000 footer and I'm pumped about it. Next up: that Everest* bump.
* Yes, I realize that Mt Everest is over 28,000 feet, making it the tallest mountain in the world. Baby steps people, baby steps.
How's about I make this a long one and include Colca Canyon adventures as well? Here goes...
After one day of rest and recovery from the mountain, I set forth in search of a canyon twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. No tour. No guide. Nobody but me. This is how I like to fly. Just go for it and see what happens. And that's exactly what I did.
Surviving a six hour ride on a bus that no one over 5 foot had any business being on wasn't the worst thing in the world. Besides, I made it to my little pueblo along the rim of the canyon where I would begin my trek from. I knew all about the popular hiking routes and places where tourists liked to stay. I would have none of it.
A local helped me plot a three day course, pointed out places I could stay, and warned me of some of the dangers. Perfect. Let's do this. And this I did.
Day 1 took me down, down, down to the bottom of the canyon. Didn't see another soul until I rolled into the village I would be staying the night in. I say village, but six makeshift structures and 4 people was the entirety of it. Oh, but I'm pretty sure historians have got it all wrong, because the Garden of Eden is actually located in the bottom of a canyon in Peru.
This place was seriously the definition of perfection. Not only could I swim in the river, relax in the hot springs, enjoy the million dollar view, and eat like a prince, but I got all this with my own little two bed bungalow for only ten bucks.
Laying in my cozy bed in my hut made of bamboo and mud, listening to someone playing a peruvian harp, doves cooing, watching butterflies flirt with flowers, life was quite super. It crossed my mind that the only
thing that could possibly make this scene any more innocent and serene was if a pile of kittens popped up on the bed next to me and did kitten things. Guess what happened next.
Five kittens popped up on the bed next to me and started doing kitten things. I'm totally serious. I had to literally laugh out loud at the absurdity of how perfect this place was. Ridiculous.
Day 2 was suppose to take me up the other side of the canyon and then back down to an oasis at the bottom again. I struggled with this. Here is where my desire for an "alternate" route got me in trouble.
All went well for a couple hours after kissing my Eden goodbye and then the rocks attacked. I'm not sure if you've ever been standing on a path, heard a rumbling noise, looked up and noticed you are in the direct path of a rockslide, but let me tell you, it's something to wet your shorts over. I'm sure I had the deer in the headlights look, but then I noticed how truly massive some of those boulders headed my way were, and the survival instinct kicked in. So I ran.
Unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just running. I had to keep an eye on the path so I didn't fall off the steep edge, but there was also those rocks. Trying to forecast their path of destruction, deciding which ones to try and out run, and which ones to hit the brakes for was rather difficult. And terrifying.
I made it out with my life still intact. Obviously. A small distance later, I witnessed another rock slide block the path in front of me. At least I wasn't in the middle of that one, but now I was trapped.
That's when I had to get creative with my route. I was able to locate a heading for an old donkey trail that hadn't been used in quite some time. It was overgrown, stupid steep, and mildly dangerous, but I considered myself lucky every time I stepped in old donkey dung because that meant I was still going the right way.
After far too much work under an incredibly hot sun, getting jumped by far too many cactus, and wondering if my water supply would hold out with this added detour, I finally made it up to another main trail. And how glorious it was. From this vantage point, I could see everywhere in the canyon that I had been, and where I needed to go. Also, it was a stunningly beautiful view.
The rest of the trekking that day passed without much incident. But goodness gracious the Colca Canyon is a fantastic looking place. And I got to see every bit of it as I trekked up and out the final day. I crushed 4,000 vertical feet of straight up intensity in just two hours. The strong desire to get it over with before the sun was at full force propelled me the whole ascent.
Well, those were my last adventures in the Arequipa area. Just a couple more days and team Electric Amazon Lovefest will be cruising through those jungle waters!
Finally, I want to thank my fantastic family in Arequipa. You are all so wonderful. Thank you so much for sharing your home, food, culture, and love. I will miss you all super mucho and hope to one day see you again. Te quiero y te extraño!
And lovsies to all!
19,000. As in, feet. As in, feet above sea level. As in, I decided to try to climb a mountain with a summit at just over 19,000 feet. As in, the entire US only has one mtn higher than that. As in, bring it on.
Wait, didn't I have serious issues at only 15,000 feet last time I tangled with altitude? Yes, yes I did. My entire body committed a savage mutiny against me. So what made me think this time would be different? Well, nothing. I fully expected to get sick again and never reach the top. No sense in not being honest with myself about it. But mountains are for climbing and I was going to give this one everything I had.
So day one of hiking ends at base camp number one. Yeah, that's right, this mountain has base camps. You know where else there are base camps? Oh, just a little hill named Everest.*
There I am at base camp, which happened to be at 15,000 feet, my tent is all set up, it's starting to get dark, and dinner is almost ready. "You know what" is primed to hit the fan.
Just like last time, it began with the headache. Then, I was unable to finish dinner because the nausea set in. Finally, to make matters even less appealing, the sun disappeared. Along with it went every single degree of temperature. And then some.
I had been warned that it would be cold, but come on, I'm the guy who did Patagonia in the middle of winter. As prepared as I thought I was, it turns out that there is no perfect way to prepare for subzero temperatures. Throw in some nasty harsh wind chill and I was effectively the coldest I have ever been in my life. Roll that in with the altitude sickness goodies I was experiencing, and it's safe to say I wasn't the happiest camper. I believe the phrase "biggest mistake ever" may have been uttered more than once.
To combat the elements both internal and external I resorted to my greatest weapon: the fetal position. Curled up in my sleeping bag, I was wishing for death, or sleep, whichever came quickest. Unfortunately both did quite well at avoiding me.
I think I had just lost consciousness when the 3 AM wakeup call came. Yes, 3 AM, because what else would I want to be doing that early in the morning? On the bright side, the nausea had subsided and the headache weakened, but it was still colder than the inside of a frozen cow.
Two members of our party decided base camp was about as much altitude/climbing as they would like, so they stayed put. I promised them I would most likely be back to join them shortly as I was confident the altitude sickness would make a vengeful return after about another hundred feet. So, all bundled up with head lamps in place, our dwindling group set forth into the darkness.
After several hours of climbing, and a beautiful sunrise, I was feeling surprisingly well. Looking down upon base camp, it seemed we had covered a good bit of ground, but why was the summit not getting any closer? Sigh. Onwards and upwards.
More hours and more elevation later, we were still going up hill at a slow pace, but my situation was headed downhill, and at a much quicker rate. My head had once again set back to throbbing and each step sent a wave of nausea surging through me. Just a little farther, I told myself. Hit that 17,000 foot mark, pat yourself on the back, and retreat.
Reaching that point, I collapse. Oversimplified, I'm not doing well. The summit still seems so far off. And it's so steep. I think it's time to turn back. Others in the group would not make it today either. There is no shame in setting a new personal record. Besides, the higher I go, the worse I'll feel. It's not worth putting myself through more. But what if I stand up? And what if I just go a little farther? Improve that personal best just a little more with each step?
Something inside me picked me up and convinced me to push on, just a little more, just to see what happens. That's when I decided that I would just go until my legs refused to carry me any farther. Simple enough. Go until the body says stop.
It said stop. My shaking legs dropped me several times. My head threatened to explode. My stomach warned that it was primed to evacuate all occupants. Laying on the side of that mountain, I had reached my limit, but no matter, because I had told myself that it would end like this. My mind had already accepted this. But hold on. Doesn't the top look a little closer? My heart was obviously a little slow accepting anything other than one thing: 19,000.
Up to this point, I had been telling myself that I didn't need to summit, that I would be proud of myself if I just put forth a solid effort. The whole trek I had been devising this metaphor about how mountains are like challenges in life and how it doesn't matter if we climb to the top of those problems as long as we do our best and so on and so forth. That's when I decided: screw metaphors.
I had come this far and now the truth was out there. I wanted this. I no longer cared about how poorly I felt or how unwilling my body was to cooperate. I was taking that summit.
The last couple hours cemented my suspicions that climbing that mountain classifies as one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did do it. All 19,000 feet of it. Standing triumphantly at the top, looking over all I had conquered, I had one thought: I gotta get down before I poop myself.
Thankfully, the going down was not only fast, but a good deal of fun as well. Sprinting and sliding down a super steep combination of volcanic sand and tiny rocks, it felt as if you were running on the moon. Crazy feeling. Almost made all the prior suffering worth it. Almost.
But what truly did make it all worth it was witnessing the triumph of the human spirit and the magic of an individuals will power and blah blah blah bahahahaha! Forget all that nonsense. I climbed a 19,000 footer and I'm pumped about it. Next up: that Everest* bump.
* Yes, I realize that Mt Everest is over 28,000 feet, making it the tallest mountain in the world. Baby steps people, baby steps.
How's about I make this a long one and include Colca Canyon adventures as well? Here goes...
After one day of rest and recovery from the mountain, I set forth in search of a canyon twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. No tour. No guide. Nobody but me. This is how I like to fly. Just go for it and see what happens. And that's exactly what I did.
Surviving a six hour ride on a bus that no one over 5 foot had any business being on wasn't the worst thing in the world. Besides, I made it to my little pueblo along the rim of the canyon where I would begin my trek from. I knew all about the popular hiking routes and places where tourists liked to stay. I would have none of it.
A local helped me plot a three day course, pointed out places I could stay, and warned me of some of the dangers. Perfect. Let's do this. And this I did.
Day 1 took me down, down, down to the bottom of the canyon. Didn't see another soul until I rolled into the village I would be staying the night in. I say village, but six makeshift structures and 4 people was the entirety of it. Oh, but I'm pretty sure historians have got it all wrong, because the Garden of Eden is actually located in the bottom of a canyon in Peru.
This place was seriously the definition of perfection. Not only could I swim in the river, relax in the hot springs, enjoy the million dollar view, and eat like a prince, but I got all this with my own little two bed bungalow for only ten bucks.
Laying in my cozy bed in my hut made of bamboo and mud, listening to someone playing a peruvian harp, doves cooing, watching butterflies flirt with flowers, life was quite super. It crossed my mind that the only
thing that could possibly make this scene any more innocent and serene was if a pile of kittens popped up on the bed next to me and did kitten things. Guess what happened next.
Five kittens popped up on the bed next to me and started doing kitten things. I'm totally serious. I had to literally laugh out loud at the absurdity of how perfect this place was. Ridiculous.
Day 2 was suppose to take me up the other side of the canyon and then back down to an oasis at the bottom again. I struggled with this. Here is where my desire for an "alternate" route got me in trouble.
All went well for a couple hours after kissing my Eden goodbye and then the rocks attacked. I'm not sure if you've ever been standing on a path, heard a rumbling noise, looked up and noticed you are in the direct path of a rockslide, but let me tell you, it's something to wet your shorts over. I'm sure I had the deer in the headlights look, but then I noticed how truly massive some of those boulders headed my way were, and the survival instinct kicked in. So I ran.
Unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just running. I had to keep an eye on the path so I didn't fall off the steep edge, but there was also those rocks. Trying to forecast their path of destruction, deciding which ones to try and out run, and which ones to hit the brakes for was rather difficult. And terrifying.
I made it out with my life still intact. Obviously. A small distance later, I witnessed another rock slide block the path in front of me. At least I wasn't in the middle of that one, but now I was trapped.
That's when I had to get creative with my route. I was able to locate a heading for an old donkey trail that hadn't been used in quite some time. It was overgrown, stupid steep, and mildly dangerous, but I considered myself lucky every time I stepped in old donkey dung because that meant I was still going the right way.
After far too much work under an incredibly hot sun, getting jumped by far too many cactus, and wondering if my water supply would hold out with this added detour, I finally made it up to another main trail. And how glorious it was. From this vantage point, I could see everywhere in the canyon that I had been, and where I needed to go. Also, it was a stunningly beautiful view.
The rest of the trekking that day passed without much incident. But goodness gracious the Colca Canyon is a fantastic looking place. And I got to see every bit of it as I trekked up and out the final day. I crushed 4,000 vertical feet of straight up intensity in just two hours. The strong desire to get it over with before the sun was at full force propelled me the whole ascent.
Well, those were my last adventures in the Arequipa area. Just a couple more days and team Electric Amazon Lovefest will be cruising through those jungle waters!
Finally, I want to thank my fantastic family in Arequipa. You are all so wonderful. Thank you so much for sharing your home, food, culture, and love. I will miss you all super mucho and hope to one day see you again. Te quiero y te extraño!
And lovsies to all!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Seven Months, One Stick Of Deodorant
No, the title does not have anything to do with the actual content of this post. While it IS entirely true, it is also irrelevant. I just thought I would use that little tidbit to draw you in. Cant quite argue with the results, can we? Aaaaaaaannnnnnyway.....
After six months of travel, being on the go all the time, riding a bus and sleeping in a different bed every few days, I decided to settle down. Well, for September at least. What better place than Arequipa, Peru's second largest city? I'm spending the month here being reintroduced to a little thing called routine.
I've temporarily traded in the hostel life for a different model of living. Now, I've got a cozy little homestay set-up with, what I am convinced is, the nicest family in all of Peru. My adoptive family is absolutely amazing and I could not imagine a more perfect situation.
One of the reasons I chose to set up camp for a bit is because it is important to me to get my Spanish dialed in a bit more. So yes, I'm back in school. As it turns out, when you actually take classes that you have an interest in, school is a pretty solid thing. But it's not easy. Four hours of intensive Spanish courses, five days a week makes my brain wish I had chosen the watch-paint-dry classes. In the end, I'm super glad I've given Spanish a legit shot and yes, I fully intend on adding it to my "known languages" on Facebook when this is all said and done.
Along with school comes schoolmates, and that translates into friends. I've got a great group of buddies now who also share the desire to beef up their language skills in the midst of their travels. We do normal friend things like go out to dinner, play fútbol, (the one with the round ball), go mtn biking, climb volcanos, and explore the world's deepest canyons. You know, normal friend stuff.
It's been fantastic to come home to the same bed every night. I love having a hot shower whenever I want. Something crazy happened and I even store my clothes in a closet just so I can enjoy the feeling of not living out of a bag. All good things. But even as wonderful as my new family, friends, and school are, I haven't quite got used to it. That whole routine thing hasn't really caught on for the long haul. I have to admit, I've still got the itch. No, not that one. The travel itch.
It has become clear that with so many places to see and things to do, I'm going to have a hard time sitting still for long periods. A month here is the perfect amount of time. Then, I'm due to move on to the next adventure. And I can already tell, it's going to be one I never forget.
At the beginning of October, I travel back to Lima to meet up with two of my best friends in the world. We will fly deep into the heart of the jungle because it is inaccessible by car. There, we will build a raft out of a few trees and then participate in the longest raft race on this planet. Four days sitting on some sticks while powering down the Amazon with a pair of sexy men sounds like my kind of trouble. But I still can't figure out why one of the necessary items to have on board your raft is a machete......
Well, those are the events of the now and the not-so-distant future.
Take care and may good dental health be with you.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Bus To Heaven
As you may or may not know, I was struggling to get out of Argentina for a bit there. So, I abandoned plans for Santiago and went North in hopes of crossing over into Chile via bus through the Andes and Atacama desert.
I set my alarm for 6 AM in hopes of catching that bus at 7. The following is an account of how everything played out.
At 5:59 AM I am awoken by a voice and a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
God: Mornin, Sunshine.
Me: Um, hi. If you don't mind, I've got another 57 seconds to sleep. Wait, what are you doing here?
God: Did you really want to wake up to that terrible alarm beeping?
Me: Well, no.
God: So shut it off before it wakes everyone else up. Now get moving because I've got something to show you today.
Me: Alright, alright. But if you wouldn't mind not watching for a second, I'm sort of super nude under these sheets.
God: Um, if you don't recall, I created you and know exactly what you're packin.
Me: Good point. Well then, feel free to feast your eyes on your handiwork.
God looked over all that he had created and said that it was good. I proceeded to gather myself, my things, and get to the bus terminal. Caught my bus without problems, found my seat and sat.
Me: Here I am, on the bus as you suggested. Now what?
God: Now what? It's still dark out. Plus you've already seen everything around here. Go back to sleep for a while. I'll let you know when things are about to kick off.
Me: Oh thank God! I mean, thank you. As you know, 6 AM and I don't get along so well.
So I slept for a couple hours. Then, I was awoken by a familiar voice.
God: Arise my son!
Me: Thanks, but I'm good right here.
God: Well, you know what I mean. Just wake up. The show is about to begin.
I look out the window to see nothing but a cloudy sky and rather dull landscape.
Me: Ummmmmm, not to doubt your almighty powers or anything, but this sucks.
God: Just wait for it.
Me: Fine, but just to warn you, I've seen some pretty amazing things on this trip. Things like Machu Picchu, Iguazu Falls, and there was that month in Patagonia. It's gonna take something pretty special to get me worked up.
God: Oh ye of little faith, you're about to get your face rocked off.
Me: Actually I'd rather hold on to my face. You did some good work on that piece too. But whatever. It's all you, Big Guy. Wow me.
God: I really appreciate your permission. Cuz thats totally what I was waiting for. Alright, so what say we clear this sky and give ourselves a blank canvas to work with?
Behold, I look up and there is nothing but blue sky and we are approaching the mountains.
Me: I've seen a blue sky or two in my day. What else ya got?
God: Remember, it's a canvas. Now strap in. The next several hours are gonna get groovy.
Me: Groovy? Tehehe. God said groovy.
God: Ever seen a purple hill before?
Me: Can't say that I have.
God: Well check this out.
Indeed, around the bend was a purple hill.
Me: Actually that's pretty sweet.
God: You ain't seen nothin yet. Now how bout I throw some red in with that purple on the next one?
Behold. A purple hill with red streaks through it.
Me: Beautiful!
God: Feel free to get your camera out, but just to warn you, any pictures you take just won't tell the story.
Me: I understand, but I'd like to at least try and give the folks back home a hint as to what's goin on out here.
God: It's kind of a "you had to be there" sort of thing, but by all means, give it a shot. Now, how's about some green and orange action on the next hill?
The next couple hours of the trip were packed full of the craziest colored hills, mountains, canyons, and valleys I've ever seen. As we progressed, the intensity, quantity, and proximity of these blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, and every other colored features increased. At one point I looked over and saw a couple sleeping on the bus. I knew it was my duty to make sure they didn't miss the show. So I woke them and gestured to the landscape. They thanked me more than once. It was also about this time that I gave up with the camera. It wasn't seein what I was seein.
Me: Wow! Ok, I'm actually very impressed and loving every second of this. Thank you!
God: Oh this isn't all I got on the menu. We are just getting to a respectable altitude. Time to throw in some white to this concoction of colors.
Me: Woah! Is that a frozen waterfall?
God: You can bet that pretty face of yours it is. Now, I know we aren't in Antarctica or in the Arctic up North, but I'm thinking this would be a good place for the only ice fields outside of those areas.
Me: Wait, can you do that?
God: We are at 13,000+ feet in the most beautiful desert on earth, of course I can do that. Plus, you know, I am God and all, so that helps.
Sure enough, I get bombarded by ice fields, insane frozen sculptures, fantastic lakes, and of course it wouldn't be complete without some salt flats as well. Mix all that in with the colors of the surrounding mountains, and words fail to describe how absolutely epic and overpowering the scenery is.
Me: I didn't even know this could all exist, let alone in one place. It's like you painted all this.
God: Actually, I put a fresh coat on it this morning. Just for you.
Now let me just say something. I never cry. Like ever. Well, I mean there was this one time a long time ago, but we have worn out the statute of limitations on that one.
Nevertheless, the magnitude of this scenery is so immense that the next thing I know, a tear escapes the blockades and makes a run for the southern border of my face. Then, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window, and what I saw was the happiest person in the world. He had a massive smile on a face decorated by a glimmering tear or two. The emotion just couldn't be held in. I was overflowing with a gratitude and happiness unknown for quite some time.
Me: (smiling, shrugging motions, other random gestures, but no words)
God: I know. You're welcome.
And then God and I totally hugged it out.
So that's basically what happened in my five hours in heaven. I have successfully exited Argentina and I could not be more pleased with how events played out.
And seriously, if you guys tell anyone I cried, I WILL hunt you down. Besides, it was hardly crying. Just a couple rogue tears, and nothing more. But still, don't tell.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Great Escape
Alright, Argentina, weve had some good times, but you gotta let go. Seriously, Ive got people to see and things to do that happen to be in a different country. Its not your fault, but you are going to have to accept the fact that we cant keep doing this forever. You´ve turned into that creepy host that won´t let guests leave, even when the party is clearly over. You are reminding me of that woman that George from Seinfeld dates and when he tries to break up with her, she won´t let him. Honestly, it´s nothing personal, but if you don´t let me go now, you risk tainting all the beauty we created together.
So, I planned on being in Santiago, Chile about a week ago now and I have yet to set foot on Chilean soil. My first attempt to bus from Mendoza, Argentina to Santiago, Chile met a bitter end when I decided that I couldnt be bothered by travel and opted for a nice sleeping session. Ok, my fault, but still, strike one. The next day, I found out the hard way that buses stop running at 1 PM and I was a bit late. I´m only taking half the blame here, but strike two. Finally, I´m on top of my game the third day. Bus station. On time. Let´s do this thing. What? The pass is closed? No buses for how many days? I take no blame for this. And yes, that´s strike three.
So, I flashed Santiago a choice finger and headed North. Back to Salta. Back to where my Argentine adventures first began. It only makes sense that I end the epic Argentine journey where it started. Well, not logistically, financially, logically, or really any other kind of sense. You know, except metaphorically. So that´s good enough for me.
Plus, metaphors aside, now I get to attempt a crossing into Chile at a different location and spend some time in the Atacama Desert. It´s the driest place on earth, but legend has it that it can also be one of the most beautiful. This is all assuming I survive the bus journey that crawls through the mountains to an elevation of 13,000 feet or so. The fact that the bus is equipped with oxygen makes me wonder a bit.
If all goes well, I should be in Arequipa, Peru in about a week to settle down for a bit. I´m super excited to live with my adoptive family and really try and get some Spanish dialed in.
Well, there is your update. Pictures and all that good stuff to come.
Soooooooooooo much love!
So, I planned on being in Santiago, Chile about a week ago now and I have yet to set foot on Chilean soil. My first attempt to bus from Mendoza, Argentina to Santiago, Chile met a bitter end when I decided that I couldnt be bothered by travel and opted for a nice sleeping session. Ok, my fault, but still, strike one. The next day, I found out the hard way that buses stop running at 1 PM and I was a bit late. I´m only taking half the blame here, but strike two. Finally, I´m on top of my game the third day. Bus station. On time. Let´s do this thing. What? The pass is closed? No buses for how many days? I take no blame for this. And yes, that´s strike three.
So, I flashed Santiago a choice finger and headed North. Back to Salta. Back to where my Argentine adventures first began. It only makes sense that I end the epic Argentine journey where it started. Well, not logistically, financially, logically, or really any other kind of sense. You know, except metaphorically. So that´s good enough for me.
Plus, metaphors aside, now I get to attempt a crossing into Chile at a different location and spend some time in the Atacama Desert. It´s the driest place on earth, but legend has it that it can also be one of the most beautiful. This is all assuming I survive the bus journey that crawls through the mountains to an elevation of 13,000 feet or so. The fact that the bus is equipped with oxygen makes me wonder a bit.
If all goes well, I should be in Arequipa, Peru in about a week to settle down for a bit. I´m super excited to live with my adoptive family and really try and get some Spanish dialed in.
Well, there is your update. Pictures and all that good stuff to come.
Soooooooooooo much love!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Bye Bye BA
Of the 35+ weeks that my trip will cover, the largest chunk of time in any one place, (6 weeks), has been spent in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I kept finding reasons to go back, thus resulting in three separate stays. Now, I must wave goodbye and hope that the rest of my travels provide as many good times and great people as I've enjoyed in this city. That's going to be a tough act to follow.
To Julie, Steph, Aidan, Sarah, Kelsey, Drew, Nick, Sally, Jenny and all you other API kids, thank you for adopting me into your amazing family. We had some crazy times that I'll never forget. I hope to see as many of you as possible when I get back to the states. So much love for you all.
To Harry, Mark and Nick, all that can really be said is, RACKO! Yeah that sums it up about right.
To Ana, Silvana, Sabrina and the rest of the Venezuelan chicos, you are all amazing. And crazy. But I love you with all my corazon. You are, without a doubt, my favorite Venezuelans. Thanks for constantly entertaining me and telling me how much fun your country is going to be when I come visit.
To Luis, Javier and Lars, you boys are ridiculous, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Those poor old people will never be the same after "the incident". I'm not sure we ever will be either. The damage is done!
To Dana, I never expected anything like this to happen, but it did and I couldn't be happier. As much as you will be missed, I am thoroughly looking forward, with great anticipation, to that right place/right time scenario that brings us back together.
To everybody that I haven't mentioned by name, but made my time in BA that much more fun, thank you. It wouldn't have been the same without your faces.
To Buenos Aires, thank you for sharing all these fantastic people with me. I will forever be thankful for your generosity. You are one of the greatest cities I've ever been privileged enough to spend time in.
To the rest of the places my travels take me, you'd best step up your game because the bar has been set high. I'm crazy excited to see what you've got cookin and I'm coming for ya!
That's it. That's all. Until next time,
Chau!
P.S.
Buenos Aires,
You failed to properly mug/rob me in any way, shape, or form. I guess I'll just have to come back and give you another shot sometime, because that iPod switcheroo shenanigan does not qualify.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Riddle Me This
This is just a super weird thing that happened to me. It's also ironic considering my last post on not being robbed yet. Well, I can no longer claim to not be a victim of theft. See if you can make any sense of the following tale, because I sure can't.
So a couple nights ago I decide to go out. You know, to take care of business. It is midnight. I take a few items up to my vacant dorm room, stash my iPod in my bag, throw some clothing on top of said bag, grab my coat, and head out.
Twelve hours pass. I return around noon the next day. My dorm room looks exactly as I left it, except for the two Venezuelans snuggling in another bed. Not suspicious. Venezuelans are notorious for their cuddle capabilities. I actually hope to go there and study under a guru.
I toss the clothes off my bag, retrieve the iPod inside, which is still in it's case with my headphones plugged in, just like the night before. All is well. Or so I thought.
I go downstairs and struggle to turn the iPod on. Battery is dead. I don't remember leaving it in such a state, but maybe I forgot to turn it off. Finally, after a bit of persuasion, it flashes to life. This is odd, the icon layout is totally different. And all my apps are gone. Did I accidentally do some kind of hard reset that wiped out my iPod? Well that would make some sense because now all my pictures, videos, and a ton of personal writing I had composed in the notes section are completely gone. Sadness envelopes me. Stupid iPod malfunction.
But wait, there is still something saved on the iPod. Music. The problem is, its not my fantastic collection of thousands of songs that have not only kept me company on this trip, but, in some cases, even evoked inspiration. Instead there is a small pile of less than one hundred tracks. Now the truly terrible feeling sets in, because the main contributors to this rubbish stash of tunes are the likes of The Black Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Enrique Iglesias, and Rihanna. This trash heap fails to qualify as music.
What kind of sick freak would defile my iPod like this? Hold the phone. I tear the case off my iPod and notice a couple things that were not there before. Oh nice, somebody also scratched it up. And also had Apple engrave it with the name Melody Etezadia?
Now I get it. This isn't my iPod. Somebody stole mine and replaced it with the exact same model. Ok I really don't get it. So I slipped into my pair of detective underwear and went to work on this mystery.
I team up with reception at the hostel to discover that no Melody Etezadia is currently checked in, nor has she ever been. What's up plot twist? Nothing I can't handle.
I dig into the iPods internet history. Looks like a Castor Abreu is the last person to log in to Facebook on this device. Hello email address.
I use the helpful world of Facebook to investigate these Melody and Castor characters. Melody lives in Massachusetts and is currently there. Castor is also from Massachusetts, but is traveling in South America at the moment. Melody and Castor are not Facebook friends. I return to reception to investigate Castor. I bet he's still around and I'm going to nail this thieving creep.
No! I'm too late. Castor has already checked out......a month ago!
Then a moment of true panic swarms me. My iPod had been in my bag when it was switched. Other contents of that bag were my passport, camera, cash, credit cards, and other things I'd rather not lose. I feel sick as I sprint up the stairs to see what all had been taken. I'm already formulating plans for the emergency mode I'm just about to shift into.
Wait. It's all still here? But why? Then again, why wouldn't it be? The person who stole my iPod obviously isnt a typical thief because they left me a replacement iPod. Who does that? So it's either a joke or I'm dealing with someone who is proper crazy.
I spent the next bit of time interrogating other residents of the hostel. No one knows a thing. It slowly became apparent that this is no joke. I was robbed by the most considerate criminal ever.
I was fairly upset over the loss of all my music, pictures, videos, and writing for about an hour. Then I just had to laugh. What a weird thing to happen. Cant be mad. Honestly, it just makes me giggle to think about.
As far as I can tell, this iPod has changed hands several times through sketchy means. Now that it's in mine, I'm going to do my best to hold on to it. Although, I wouldn't be upset if someone wanted to steal it and upgrade me to a similar model that doesn't leave me stranded in South America with only Katy Perry and Pink to keep me company.
So a couple nights ago I decide to go out. You know, to take care of business. It is midnight. I take a few items up to my vacant dorm room, stash my iPod in my bag, throw some clothing on top of said bag, grab my coat, and head out.
Twelve hours pass. I return around noon the next day. My dorm room looks exactly as I left it, except for the two Venezuelans snuggling in another bed. Not suspicious. Venezuelans are notorious for their cuddle capabilities. I actually hope to go there and study under a guru.
I toss the clothes off my bag, retrieve the iPod inside, which is still in it's case with my headphones plugged in, just like the night before. All is well. Or so I thought.
I go downstairs and struggle to turn the iPod on. Battery is dead. I don't remember leaving it in such a state, but maybe I forgot to turn it off. Finally, after a bit of persuasion, it flashes to life. This is odd, the icon layout is totally different. And all my apps are gone. Did I accidentally do some kind of hard reset that wiped out my iPod? Well that would make some sense because now all my pictures, videos, and a ton of personal writing I had composed in the notes section are completely gone. Sadness envelopes me. Stupid iPod malfunction.
But wait, there is still something saved on the iPod. Music. The problem is, its not my fantastic collection of thousands of songs that have not only kept me company on this trip, but, in some cases, even evoked inspiration. Instead there is a small pile of less than one hundred tracks. Now the truly terrible feeling sets in, because the main contributors to this rubbish stash of tunes are the likes of The Black Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Enrique Iglesias, and Rihanna. This trash heap fails to qualify as music.
What kind of sick freak would defile my iPod like this? Hold the phone. I tear the case off my iPod and notice a couple things that were not there before. Oh nice, somebody also scratched it up. And also had Apple engrave it with the name Melody Etezadia?
Now I get it. This isn't my iPod. Somebody stole mine and replaced it with the exact same model. Ok I really don't get it. So I slipped into my pair of detective underwear and went to work on this mystery.
I team up with reception at the hostel to discover that no Melody Etezadia is currently checked in, nor has she ever been. What's up plot twist? Nothing I can't handle.
I dig into the iPods internet history. Looks like a Castor Abreu is the last person to log in to Facebook on this device. Hello email address.
I use the helpful world of Facebook to investigate these Melody and Castor characters. Melody lives in Massachusetts and is currently there. Castor is also from Massachusetts, but is traveling in South America at the moment. Melody and Castor are not Facebook friends. I return to reception to investigate Castor. I bet he's still around and I'm going to nail this thieving creep.
No! I'm too late. Castor has already checked out......a month ago!
Then a moment of true panic swarms me. My iPod had been in my bag when it was switched. Other contents of that bag were my passport, camera, cash, credit cards, and other things I'd rather not lose. I feel sick as I sprint up the stairs to see what all had been taken. I'm already formulating plans for the emergency mode I'm just about to shift into.
Wait. It's all still here? But why? Then again, why wouldn't it be? The person who stole my iPod obviously isnt a typical thief because they left me a replacement iPod. Who does that? So it's either a joke or I'm dealing with someone who is proper crazy.
I spent the next bit of time interrogating other residents of the hostel. No one knows a thing. It slowly became apparent that this is no joke. I was robbed by the most considerate criminal ever.
I was fairly upset over the loss of all my music, pictures, videos, and writing for about an hour. Then I just had to laugh. What a weird thing to happen. Cant be mad. Honestly, it just makes me giggle to think about.
As far as I can tell, this iPod has changed hands several times through sketchy means. Now that it's in mine, I'm going to do my best to hold on to it. Although, I wouldn't be upset if someone wanted to steal it and upgrade me to a similar model that doesn't leave me stranded in South America with only Katy Perry and Pink to keep me company.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
My Walk Home
I'm refuse to pay for a cab unless in a group or I've got miles to go with bags and all. If I'm not crunched for time you won't find me on a bus either. I prefer walking because it's the best way to get to know a city. Plus it gives me time to be thoroughly entertained by my inner monologue.
So as if the title didn't give it away, you are well informed that I'm walking. But where and when? Buenos Aires. 4 AM. Trouble is brewing.
I've heard countless horror stories of muggings, theft, beatings, and all other sorts of shady activity associated with Buenos Aires. When is it my turn? I'm now in my 3rd stint here and have not one horror story of my own. Super jealous. Perhaps tonight is the night.
Faced with what is already a 30 min walk home through a less than friendly neighborhood, I can't be bothered to reroute along more pleasant grounds. Knowing full well the hostilities that may await, I arm myself with the only thing around that can double as way to make myself look even more hardcore and as a deadly weapon. With my toothpick perfectly inserted in my mouth at the most menacing angle I set forth.
With fantasies playing out in my mind of how I will soon become the most deadly man in the world with a toothpick I find the darkest street possible and go for it. Gringo begging for problems.
As soon as the two dudes in trenchcoats materialized at the other end of the street I immediately loathed the moment this sounded like a good idea. But it was too late. Walking towards each other, I knew a clash was imminent. What would their preferred mode of robbery be? How would I react? If things got rough it was two on one. No amount of deadly toothpick training could save me now.
As they approached perfectly in sync, I could now see the whites of their eyes peering at me from under their hoods. At once, with flawless execution, they both pulled back their coats, reached in with the other hand, and each quickly produced the weapon with which they would do their wicked deed. I was equally lightning quick with my draw.
So there I was staring down matching barrels of a pair of...... cell phones? All I was shot with was awkward glances as they proceeded to make their calls. I decided I had better repocket the cash I had already whipped out as an offering of surrender.
Disaster averted. Realization made. I would have made that way too easy if those had been real criminals. Next time will be different. Next time didn't wait long to arrive.
A couple deserted blocks later, a large man, with perhaps the world record for facial piercings, broke free from the shadows and rushed at me with a special kind of crazy in his eye. I fumbled to ready my toothpick for a counter attack which was difficult seeing as is had fallen from my mouth who was preparing a terrified scream. This wild man wasted precious little time in demanding my wallet. But wait. My Spanish isn't great and that demand for a wallet sounded like it might have actually been an inquiry as to if the 59 bus stopped nearby.
Did I really look like I would know that? I'm standing there fiddling with a large splinter, mouth agape and a freshly pissed pair of underpants. I obviously don't concern myself with trivial facts about bus 59.
Yet again spared a horrific tragedy. Over the course of the next few uneventful blocks I was beginning to make a few discoveries about myself and my true feelings towards being robbed and/or beaten. But before I could settle on anything concrete, it happened.
There I was on a lonely street corner waiting politely for my good time to cross sign. Toothpick casually dangling from my lips. That's when I heard it. More accurately, that's when I felt it. The hot breath of Buenos Aires wrath on my neck was unmistakable. But how could this be? I had just looked over my shoulder and confirmed my isolation. Now not one but two, no, three figures had stealthily flanked me and were now literally breathing on my neck, ready to make their move.
Showtime. I had to get it right this time. This was the real deal. With an elegance and swiftness not seen this side of the equator in years, I quickstepped into a spin maneuver while transferring my weapon from mouth to hand, thus becoming combat ready. Possibly could have even been a flip in there. It was all a blur.
There I was now face to face with the three most evil...... 14 year old girls in need of a lighter I had ever witnessed? What is this all about? First of all, why are you even out at this hour? Second, what would possess you to think that sneaking up behind someone and breathing on them is the best way to ask for a light? They don't even know how close they came to getting shish kabobed on my weapon of choice. Seriously, not cool. And no, I didn't have a lighter on me. Just a shiny new heart attack to go along with that wet pair of pants. Roar!
The last few blocks home is when I decided for sure: I don't actually want to be in a robbery/beating situation, no matter how sweet the story might be. And if it has to happen, I'm much better off forking over my 30 pesos, and running into the night than trying to become the world's most deadly man with any sort of teeth cleaning device.
So, Buenos Aires, if you're going to do it, just do it already and quit playing with me.
So as if the title didn't give it away, you are well informed that I'm walking. But where and when? Buenos Aires. 4 AM. Trouble is brewing.
I've heard countless horror stories of muggings, theft, beatings, and all other sorts of shady activity associated with Buenos Aires. When is it my turn? I'm now in my 3rd stint here and have not one horror story of my own. Super jealous. Perhaps tonight is the night.
Faced with what is already a 30 min walk home through a less than friendly neighborhood, I can't be bothered to reroute along more pleasant grounds. Knowing full well the hostilities that may await, I arm myself with the only thing around that can double as way to make myself look even more hardcore and as a deadly weapon. With my toothpick perfectly inserted in my mouth at the most menacing angle I set forth.
With fantasies playing out in my mind of how I will soon become the most deadly man in the world with a toothpick I find the darkest street possible and go for it. Gringo begging for problems.
As soon as the two dudes in trenchcoats materialized at the other end of the street I immediately loathed the moment this sounded like a good idea. But it was too late. Walking towards each other, I knew a clash was imminent. What would their preferred mode of robbery be? How would I react? If things got rough it was two on one. No amount of deadly toothpick training could save me now.
As they approached perfectly in sync, I could now see the whites of their eyes peering at me from under their hoods. At once, with flawless execution, they both pulled back their coats, reached in with the other hand, and each quickly produced the weapon with which they would do their wicked deed. I was equally lightning quick with my draw.
So there I was staring down matching barrels of a pair of...... cell phones? All I was shot with was awkward glances as they proceeded to make their calls. I decided I had better repocket the cash I had already whipped out as an offering of surrender.
Disaster averted. Realization made. I would have made that way too easy if those had been real criminals. Next time will be different. Next time didn't wait long to arrive.
A couple deserted blocks later, a large man, with perhaps the world record for facial piercings, broke free from the shadows and rushed at me with a special kind of crazy in his eye. I fumbled to ready my toothpick for a counter attack which was difficult seeing as is had fallen from my mouth who was preparing a terrified scream. This wild man wasted precious little time in demanding my wallet. But wait. My Spanish isn't great and that demand for a wallet sounded like it might have actually been an inquiry as to if the 59 bus stopped nearby.
Did I really look like I would know that? I'm standing there fiddling with a large splinter, mouth agape and a freshly pissed pair of underpants. I obviously don't concern myself with trivial facts about bus 59.
Yet again spared a horrific tragedy. Over the course of the next few uneventful blocks I was beginning to make a few discoveries about myself and my true feelings towards being robbed and/or beaten. But before I could settle on anything concrete, it happened.
There I was on a lonely street corner waiting politely for my good time to cross sign. Toothpick casually dangling from my lips. That's when I heard it. More accurately, that's when I felt it. The hot breath of Buenos Aires wrath on my neck was unmistakable. But how could this be? I had just looked over my shoulder and confirmed my isolation. Now not one but two, no, three figures had stealthily flanked me and were now literally breathing on my neck, ready to make their move.
Showtime. I had to get it right this time. This was the real deal. With an elegance and swiftness not seen this side of the equator in years, I quickstepped into a spin maneuver while transferring my weapon from mouth to hand, thus becoming combat ready. Possibly could have even been a flip in there. It was all a blur.
There I was now face to face with the three most evil...... 14 year old girls in need of a lighter I had ever witnessed? What is this all about? First of all, why are you even out at this hour? Second, what would possess you to think that sneaking up behind someone and breathing on them is the best way to ask for a light? They don't even know how close they came to getting shish kabobed on my weapon of choice. Seriously, not cool. And no, I didn't have a lighter on me. Just a shiny new heart attack to go along with that wet pair of pants. Roar!
The last few blocks home is when I decided for sure: I don't actually want to be in a robbery/beating situation, no matter how sweet the story might be. And if it has to happen, I'm much better off forking over my 30 pesos, and running into the night than trying to become the world's most deadly man with any sort of teeth cleaning device.
So, Buenos Aires, if you're going to do it, just do it already and quit playing with me.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
At The End Of All Things
Well Buenos Aires is pretty fantastic. But after a couple weeks there, broken up by a stint in Uruguay, it was time to move on. Destination: Ushuaia, Argentina. The most southerly city in the world. Yes, it is southerly and not southernly. No N. Don't ask me why, but if you dislike it then go read someone else's edge of the world blog.
Trouble finding another world's edge blog? Then you're stuck with my account and it goes a bit like this:
The edge of the world is a place where snow is friendly with seaweed. Where salt water and subzero temperatures get along quite nicely. Where streets and sidewalks bow out to a difficult-to-navigate combination of ice and mud. Where the lazy sun can't be bothered to rise before 10 but makes the wait well worth it by transforming the mountains into giant mounds of pink and orange sherbet upon it's ascent. Where pods of whales can be seen loitering in the frigid waters. Where mountains somehow conspire to surround you from all sides even while exhausted waves lap at your feet. The edge of the world is a place that begs contemplation, reflection, and snowboarding.
What? You didn't think I'd just go for the mind blowing scenery did you? No, when I found out I could snowboard while looking over the edge of the world, now that's when I was truly sold. It may not have been the most conventional 4th of July but it was definitely one to remember.
After a day of unleashing my Pacific Northwest bred snowboard skills upon the Argentines, I was all smiles. Descending to the base at the end if my last run, I was coming in with some serious speed. I decided a fancy stopping maneuver was in order to appropriately impress those watching. I went to carve hard to the left but my board refused to turn. It was only my binding who obliged. The combination of the failed loose rental binding and the laws if physics quickly teamed up to ensure some pain was in my near future.
The sound of someone getting the wind knocked out of them is unmistakable. Nevertheless I gave the nearby Argentines a refresher course.
You'd think it would be difficult to maintain a smile while your lungs are fighting, to no avail, for some air and your imaginative ribs are trying to convince you that they are shattered. Not this time. No high speed wipeout could rob my face of the smile it had been wearing all day. And just one second. Let me check. Yes. That same overly giddy, edge of the world smile is still right where it should be.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Five Bad Signs
Last time I discussed five indicators that lead me to believe my talents as a traveler are improving. Now, it´s time to take a look at my reminders that prove I have not achieved a pro status.
My Spanish is still atrocious
After full submersion in Spanish speaking cultures for the past four months, you´d think I´d have a grasp on the language. Surprise! I don´t. I´d call it more of a weak tickle. Yes, that´s it. I´ve made a feeble attempts to tickle Spanish and in turn, Spanish tends to deliver a slap in the face. But there is hope for me yet. Recently I had my first dream in which I spoke a few words of Spanish. Score one for me. Fear not, for I will get this language dialed in before it´s all said and done.
Unfortunate encounters with foreign objects
It has come to my attention that there are a few items that they use regularly here, but I haven´t quite got the hang of them yet. Example: I mentioned the emergence of butt-cleaning bidets in my life somewhere in a past post. Well for some reason we are no longer on a friendly level. I really don´t want to talk about how this happened, but one day a bidet decided to squirt me in the eyes. Not my brown eye. We aren´t talking about a small spritzing either. It was a total eye enema. A full on ocular douche. I was leaking juicy bidet tears for the next hour. Also hurt was my pride. It´s no fun getting blasted in the eyes with water that is meant for your bum bum.
I haven´t gotten robbed........yet
What is this all about? There is no such thing as a self-respecting world traveler who hasn´t gotten stuff stolen. I would consider myself a failure if I can traipse around South America for months without getting robbed. Im not worried about it though. There is still plenty of time for the criminals to come through. Until then, I´ll just have to rely on myself to continue losing my own stuff.
Tried to take a knife on a plane
As it turns out, the Argentines also frown upon attempts to bring weapons on their planes. In my defense, I had completely forgotten it was in my carry-on and I was running on a nights sleep of about 30 minutes. So I was pretty confused when they pulled me aside after going through the X-ray security check point. They said, ¨Hey buddy! What are you trying to pull here? Javier! It looks like we´ve got a terrorist on our hands.¨ Well, looking back that´s probably what they said, but at the time I had no clue what their Spanish words meant. I did understand the word I know in Spanish as ¨pen¨ but they were unamused when I whipped that out of the bag. They failed to use the word I know for ¨knife¨ but after some time I remembered that there was definitely one in there. Needless to say, they took that from me, but I was just happy/mildly surprised I didn´t get detained as a terrorist.
I miss you all
Boom! This just got sentimental. So I figure the best world travelers can go for years at a time without returning home and that can only be because they don´t miss it enough to go back. This is one attribute I´m not sure I will ever develop and I´m perfectly happy with that. Friends and family back home, you are thought of frequently and are definitely missed. Friends that I´ve met on my trip, you are already missed as well and I look forward to they day our paths cross again.
There you have it. These are the subtle hints I´ve received that indicate that I´m not quite a professional globetrotter.
Next up: The End Of The World!
Much love
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Five Good Signs
Here are five signs that lead me to believe that I am getting somewhat decent at this whole traveling thing.
I no longer need a ladder to get on the top bunk.
The majority of my sleeping quarters come in the form of a 6-10 bed dorm room. A common set up for these beds is bunk style. A bottom bed is preferred, but sometimes I can't help getting stuck with a top bunk. In my early travel days I would dread the top as it meant fumbling around with an awkward, unreliable, sketchy ladder to get up or down. But after some practice, I have gotten good enough to bypass that pesky ladder altogether. When I want up, I simply give myself a running start, use a proper J style approach, and high jump my way onto that bed. I've found that both the Fosbury Flop and the Western Roll are equally effective techniques. When I want down, I leap towards the ground below and upon contact, I tuck into a ninja roll for the perfect dismount every time.
My backpack hasn't burst with too much stuff.
Normally, when you go on a trip your bag is reasonably full when you leave, but when you pack to leave, somehow you've accumulated more stuff and your bag refuses to close and/or be under the 50 lb limit for flying. So far, I have done well to keep my bag from becoming too full. I left with it packed to the brim, have indeed added things along the way, but if anything, I've only made extra room. There is one key to my success in not overpacking. The secret lies in developing your skills at losing stuff. Falling victim to this phenomenon is a sock, 1 pair of pants, 1 shirt, 2 towels, and 4 flip flops. Watch out possessions of mine, for none of you are safe from my forgetfulness.
I've lost weight.
In four months I've lost 20 pounds. I suppose that's what eating less and mildly healthier does to you. But to be fair, the weight I lost was probably just the 20 pounds of muscle I brought with me, because I'm down to about zero of that commodity at the moment. Of course I could also attribute some of the weight loss to the fact that I haven't touched a McDonalds since I left and Taco Bell just doesn't exist. By the way, did you know Burger King delivers in Buenos Aires? Ridiculous.
I can drink the water.
Through a series of accidents and trickery, I've found that I have developed the ability to drink some of the tap water. I don't like to abuse this new talent, because I never know when the wrong sip will decommission me for a bit, but it's just nice to know I don't have to fully rely on bottled water wherever I go.
Transportation without cost.
Somehow I've managed to catch a ride with 3 taxis and 2 buses without paying a single peso. No, I wasn't being cheap I literally just didn't have any money. I've learned that it is always best to have some cash on you even if you don't think you'll need it. This holds especially true at boarder crossings. This holds truest at boarder crossings when you are trying to leave a country you weren't suppose to be in originally. Need a ride? Got no money? Here's how: be honest about the fact that you are broke, look pathetic, portray a lost person, and act confused. Of course it's always easier if you really are pathetic, lost, and confused.
So there it is, five ways I know that my skills as a traveler are indeed developing. Stay tuned for the next edition in which I'll keep myself grounded by discussing five ways I know that I haven't quite attained a professional level of traveler.......yet.
Much love.
I no longer need a ladder to get on the top bunk.
The majority of my sleeping quarters come in the form of a 6-10 bed dorm room. A common set up for these beds is bunk style. A bottom bed is preferred, but sometimes I can't help getting stuck with a top bunk. In my early travel days I would dread the top as it meant fumbling around with an awkward, unreliable, sketchy ladder to get up or down. But after some practice, I have gotten good enough to bypass that pesky ladder altogether. When I want up, I simply give myself a running start, use a proper J style approach, and high jump my way onto that bed. I've found that both the Fosbury Flop and the Western Roll are equally effective techniques. When I want down, I leap towards the ground below and upon contact, I tuck into a ninja roll for the perfect dismount every time.
My backpack hasn't burst with too much stuff.
Normally, when you go on a trip your bag is reasonably full when you leave, but when you pack to leave, somehow you've accumulated more stuff and your bag refuses to close and/or be under the 50 lb limit for flying. So far, I have done well to keep my bag from becoming too full. I left with it packed to the brim, have indeed added things along the way, but if anything, I've only made extra room. There is one key to my success in not overpacking. The secret lies in developing your skills at losing stuff. Falling victim to this phenomenon is a sock, 1 pair of pants, 1 shirt, 2 towels, and 4 flip flops. Watch out possessions of mine, for none of you are safe from my forgetfulness.
I've lost weight.
In four months I've lost 20 pounds. I suppose that's what eating less and mildly healthier does to you. But to be fair, the weight I lost was probably just the 20 pounds of muscle I brought with me, because I'm down to about zero of that commodity at the moment. Of course I could also attribute some of the weight loss to the fact that I haven't touched a McDonalds since I left and Taco Bell just doesn't exist. By the way, did you know Burger King delivers in Buenos Aires? Ridiculous.
I can drink the water.
Through a series of accidents and trickery, I've found that I have developed the ability to drink some of the tap water. I don't like to abuse this new talent, because I never know when the wrong sip will decommission me for a bit, but it's just nice to know I don't have to fully rely on bottled water wherever I go.
Transportation without cost.
Somehow I've managed to catch a ride with 3 taxis and 2 buses without paying a single peso. No, I wasn't being cheap I literally just didn't have any money. I've learned that it is always best to have some cash on you even if you don't think you'll need it. This holds especially true at boarder crossings. This holds truest at boarder crossings when you are trying to leave a country you weren't suppose to be in originally. Need a ride? Got no money? Here's how: be honest about the fact that you are broke, look pathetic, portray a lost person, and act confused. Of course it's always easier if you really are pathetic, lost, and confused.
So there it is, five ways I know that my skills as a traveler are indeed developing. Stay tuned for the next edition in which I'll keep myself grounded by discussing five ways I know that I haven't quite attained a professional level of traveler.......yet.
Much love.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The Waterfall Saga
The Waterfall Saga
So this one time, long ago, about a million waterfalls got together and said, "Hey, we should party here at Iguazu like every day."
So this one time, not long ago, I was invited to come take place in this legendary festival. Now I don't know how familiar you are with waterfalls, but when they invite you to their gala, you don't disrespect them. You go to their party. Maybe even take a fruit platter or bottle of wine, because it's a privilege to attend such a fiesta.
So I went. I went with a camera and a mission. No fruit platter.
As it turns out, the camera was completely useless. There is no model available that can capture the brilliance of this place. Even the human eye struggles to comprehend what it beholds. Seriously, Iguazu is like an epic novel and a picture of this place is like only reading the 3rd page of each chapter in the book. There isn't even one place you can stand and see everything. But nevertheless, my camera did it's best to capture but a hint of what I was witnessing.
Also, no one had informed me prior to my visit that these waterfalls were armed and dangerous. Turns out they are all equipped with rainbow guns. And they spare no one as they unload clip after clip while shooting from the hip.
The next day I paid to go back again just to make sure I hadn't been dreaming. Plus I still had that mission to take care of.
Mission: Cliff Jump At Iguazu
I had done my recon work the day before and knew exactly where to do it. It had to be done very covertly as swimming is strictly prohibited, plus I had to hop a fence and go where no one is allowed. What's the worst that could happen? Other than injury/death from the jump or prison for trespassing?
Let's just say it took a lot of work, but I am neither dead or in prison and I successfully cliff jumped at the greatest waterfall in the world. It wasn't the highest jump, (only about 30 feet) but swimming under the fall afterwards and bathing in the cascade and glory of the moment made it one of my favourite jumps ever.
After completion of the mission I spent the rest of the day in the park just looking. No camera. No distractions. Nothing but me and that amazing place.
Once my brain's 8GB memory card was maxed out with mental pictures and the park was closing, I departed. But I left knowing I had seen one of the most mind blowing places this earth has to offer.
Thanks for reading and until next time, much love.
P.S. If you ever find yourself on the South side of the Arctic Circle, you absolutely must make it a point to come visit this place.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Confessions
Having a bit of trouble getting pictures from the greatest waterfall in the world uploaded. Ellen, I beg your patience. You will soon be rewarded.
So for now, you all are stuck with this rubish. Plus unrelated pictures.
I´ve been at this whole travel thing for over three months now. I feel it is time to come forward with a confession or two on how my daily life has changed a bit since my time in the states. Perhaps this information will be best reflected in a before and after comparison.
Before I came to South America I never sewed a single thread in my whole life. After coming to South America I have used needle and thread to repair clothing two times. Not well I might add.
Before: Used a phone multiple times daily
After: I have no phone
Before: The bed I slept in was the same every night
After: I´ve slept in 37 different beds since I left
Before: Wouldnt be caught dead on a bus
After: I have spent over 150 hours on a variety of buses
Before: Shaved once a week
After: Four times total
Before: Brushed my teeth twice a day
After: Just once a day
Before: Flossed once a day
After: Bahahahahaha
Before: Showered twice a day
After: Every other day
Before: Applied deodorant once per day
After: Once per week
Before: Used the toilet sit down style 3 out of every 4 days
After: 1 out of every 3 days
Before: never seen, let alone used a bidet (that french thing that shoots water up your bum bum)
After: Argenina is full of them and it is awesome every time
Now that you are mildly grossed out, please remember that many of these statistics are based on averages. There are times in which many modern conveniences, such as showers, are simply not available. Or I just don´t feel dirty enough to warrant an impossibly cold bathing experience due to the lack of hot water. So yes, most of this is purely based on the circumstances I find myself in. Either that, or the frame of mind.
But have no fear! I can assure you that once I return, all personal hygiene will return to a level that is above and beyond that which is considered socially acceptable in our part of the world.
Next up, Iguazu! Hopefully.
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