The Hangover

Well, it's all over. I highly doubt many of you are paying much attention to this blog now seeing as it has been quite some time since my last post. Sorry that it just kind of fizzled out there at the end, but I haven't been able to bring myself to write a conclusion. Until now.

So, with Colombia sadly distant in my rearview mirror, it has been nearly two months since I left. That means I have had roughly that amount of time back home to reflect. This go around it was much more difficult to leave South America, because I have no idea when I will be back. The past year has been the most wildly entertaining and phenomenal year of my existence. And now all I have left are the memories. And a few bracelets that still dangle from my wrist.

I have realized that I now mark the passage of time by thinking back to what I was doing exactly one year ago in South America to the day. And I do this with each of my days. It is interesting how the entire experience now seems like the most vivid dream I've ever had. But then I think about why that is, and I know it is because I was living The Dream.

As much as I now long to establish a community and finally stop saying goodbye to friends and people that I quickly grew to care about, I also find myself tangling with a conflicting feeling. I want more. I tried to tell myself that I didn't have a strong desire to strap a bag on my back and take off for another year so soon. Obviously I would enjoy it, but I figured I would have a bit more time before the urge to do it all again came back at full force. I was wrong.

I would pack up and leave tomorrow if I had the chance. But maybe that is just the hangover talking. And no, not the kind of hangover that goes away after a few hours of discomfort. I'm talking about a travel hangover. This thing lingers like no other. It's like coming down from the best high of your life, but you can't just wait it out. It won't be gone tomorrow, or the next day, and I can't get all fancy about it and just hook myself up to an IV to make it go away. It tears at you, leaving you with an empty feeling, a void you know can only be filled through stimulation and exposure to new people, places, cultures, languages, food, and experiences. No, there is only one way to cure this beast. The habit must be fed.

Unfortunately that will not be for a good while. The time has come for me to settle down somewhere, make some money, and plot the next great adventure. For now, working towards a goal of traveling again will be enough to make the pain bearable. In fact, I know that wherever I choose to set up camp for a bit is going to make me happy, because I can be happy anywhere as long as I surround myself with good people. I'm excited to get all the things that I have missed out on over the past year that come with staying in one place. But I will be keeping my eyes fixed on the prize.

That's right world, I'm not done yet. And yes, I'm coming for you. Rest up while you can, because once I pick up my anchor, it's going to be a storm of epic proportions.

Thanks to everyone for reading. I truly look forward to the day when I can begin another travel blog and share with you again.

Always and forever, lovsies!

Carnaval: Debauchery At Its Finest

Upon originally planning this trip to Colombia, it never crossed my mind that I would be here during Carnaval. But when I found out that the hometown of Shakira, puts on the second biggest celebration each year, just behind Rio in Brazil, I set my sights on Barranquilla for an undoubtedly good time.

Each stop up until the big show usually contained a similar conversation with some locals. They look at you like you are freshly ripened fruit freshly plucked from the loony tree, tell you its going to be out of control and dangerous, and wish you the best of luck. After multiple warnings from Colombians, I began to question how gnarly this festival was really going to be if even local people were wary of it. Was it really a good idea to go? I decided that, like with all travel, as long as I stayed smart, sensible, and grew a mustache, things would be golden.

People from all over the country, converged on Barranquilla for the four day shenaniganfest and few were disappointed. The entire city is decked out in festive bright colors and decorations. Businesses close their doors, hotels jack up their prices, and everyone packs the street for a continuous party that doesn't know how to quit.

Around mid day, each day, a 5 hour parade marches down one of the main streets, making it the epicenter of the party. Thousands gather to watch the elegant floats, crazy dresses, beautiful women, and overall awesomeness that ensues. Seriously, these parades are the wildest thing you've ever seen. So many elaborate costumes and floats that probably take all year to design and create. Tons of fantastic music just had the masses dancing in the streets like there was no tomorrow. And there wasn't. The days blend together as sleep takes a back seat to the nonstop party.

Things get messy too. People are constantly spraying foam and throwing flour in your face. Add all the drinks that get spilled all over, and you are one powdery, sticky mess before the sun even goes down. Can't do much but embrace the disaster that your clothes evolve into and go on loving every bit of the crowded madness.

So you watch these parades, you dance constantly, you get bombarded by nonlethal substances, and you it't kind of the best thing ever. Except for all the pickpocketers. I didn't get anything stolen, but you are constantly batting people's hands away from your pockets. I'm not sure why I even bothered. I was smart enough to not even have anything in my pockets. I suppose it was just because I wasn't fond of uninvited people being in my pants.

One of the last days of Carnaval, we positioned ourselves at the very end of the parade route. And I mean the very end. We were actually hanging out in an area where the parade was officially over and it was just all the people that were in it milling about, looking like they had just danced for 5 hours in high heels. But that was because many of them had. It was interesting to see this side of things and get a better understanding of the toll those parades take on the participants. Plus a few secrets were unveiled in the process.

So, all those crazy fine ladies on display during the parade that everyone is checking out are not actually what they seem. The depressing truth was that most either had too many years, too few years, or too much penis. Seriously, it was unsettling how many were revealed to be really old, way too young, or a man once the performance was over. They had so many of us fooled.

Overall, Carnaval was one crazy event infused with music, dancing, and a livelihood that only Colombia could conjure. I've never been a part of, or seen, anything else like it. The energy created by all those people in the streets, doing nothing but loving and embracing life was very symbolic of Colombians in general. Their zest and passion for living is contagious and I love them for it.

Thanks for the good times, Barranquilla!

Next up, a story about a cave. And bats. And spiders. And water. And Awesome.

Lovsies!

Mud Volcano

Volcan de Totumo

Legend has it that a mythical beast lies in wait just outside of Cartagena, Colombia. This creature lures unsuspecting victims into its grasp with promises of smooth, healthy skin. But once you get to Volcan de Totumo, its too late to save yourself. Sure, your epidermis may get a rejuvenating boost, but you are also doomed to endure one of the most awkward experiences of your life. And I loved every second.

Volcan de Totumo is an actual volcano, but just mini sized, and instead of spewing hot ash or lava, it oozes a grayish warm mud that supposedly has healing properties. So, I have the opportunity to cover myself head to toe in a mud hot tub and call it beneficial for my health? You can keep your perks, because I'm doing it either way.

So, you arrive at the little village encrusted at the base of Volcan de Totumo and ascend the stairs up the 40 foot high mound of dried mud with nothing more than a bathing suit or pair of underpants you can stand to get a bit muddy. There are already a handful of people submerged to their necks in the goop, but you slide on in to get a piece of the action yourself.

Upon entry, you are instantly overpowered by a wild new sensation. Your feet can't touch the bottom, (not that you can really keep them under you thanks to an instant lack of body control), due to the combination of the mud being quite deep and very dense so there is this whole buoyancy thing going on. You can try as hard as you want to submerge past your head, but the mud just keeps popping you back up.

About 0.72 seconds after getting in, a local grabs you, makes you lie on your back, and begins to massage you. First, I am fairly certain these dudes have never attended massage therapy school. Second, while this is an "optional" extra and they will obviously ask you for money later, you have no choice in the matter because that massage is happening whether you want it or not. Third, it actually feels pretty good.

So, they cover you, rub you down, then give you a good shove and you zoom over to the other side of the volcano like a muddy torpedo. You watch as more and more people pile into the ooze pit that is roughly the diameter of the 3 foot deep swimming pool your friend had whose house you would spend every day at over the summer in middle school. This is the time to watch other people's inevitably hilarious reactions to the mud and to also try and get your own body situated. The latter just isn't going to happen.

For some reason, you just can't control your body as you try to keep your feet under you and keep everything in an upright position. Volcan de Totumo won't allow for any sort of order as it prefers a humorous chaos. With more and more bodies packing the volcano to capacity and a dwindling amount of hope for control, it was best to just let go and give in to the squishy orgy. Arms floated into danger zones, legs surfaced in no-no land, and the occasional hand “accidentally” grazed random tenderness. It could have been rather sexy if half the people in there didn’t have more wrinkles than a bucket of raisins.

Eventually you get your fill of the goopy grope session and pull yourself from the muck. Careful not to slip and slide your way down the rickety stairs, you make your way down to the river to wash off. Once there, you are bombarded by ladies who want to take off your clothes and give you the best scrubbing you’ve ever had.

Unfortunately these are not young desirable women with soft angelic hands looking to do you any favors other than to get the mud out of crevices you didn’t even know you had. The wrinklefest continues as these old ladies tug at any shred of clothing you may still have on in their efforts to get you cleaner than you ever thought you could be after soaking in a mud volcano. Of course, they want to be paid too.

After all is done and said,(and the equivalent of 4 dollars has been shelled out for the extras), you have been put through an absolute sensory overload of new experiences. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feelings you could never imagine combine to leave you a bit stunned. Attempting to process all that happens over the course of one wild hour is rather difficult. You are far better off just accepting it all as one ridiculously unique experience that you are highly unlikely to ever encounter again. Oh Volcan de Totumo, as awkward as you may be, it’s tough not to love every squishy bit of you.

Well, I’m off to Parque Tayrona to replace the mud in my crack with a little sand. Lovsies!

Medellin

Medellin: World's Most Dangerous City. If you had read those words 20 years ago, they were certainly true. But no longer. Ever since the fall of Pablo Escobar in 1993, the city has been working hard to scrub away the blemishes that the drug cartel left here at the height of the cocaine trade. I came to Medellin to get a feel for a city with such a horrendous past that, even today, people from the States still frown from the bad taste in their mouths at the mere mention of Colombia. Here it is 2012 and, have no doubt, the city of Medellin has been reborn.


The people of Colombia's second largest city have been working feverishly to transform not just their image, but the fundamental roots of what makes Medellin a name you should know. Set in the mountains, a beautiful city rises out of an even more phenomenal landscape and the vibe here is no longer dominated by fear and terror, but by a proud hope that is nothing but deserved after what the people here have done to achieve their success.

You spend any amount of time in Medellin and you will quickly understand that it is a city quite unlike any other you’ve ever been in. You see a good amount of new, nice cars, which is of course common in many big cities. The women are very conscious of their bodies, and a large percentage are scientifically enhanced just as in places like Hollywood and South Beach. The difference is where all this money that is going to high rise apartments, fancy cars, and butt implants is actually coming from. Even though the power of the cartels has been greatly diminished over the last couple decades, there is still a huge amount of drug money that is fueling the lifestyles of these people.

It would be wrong of me to try and take anything away from the country’s leading textile operations that are found in Medellin, or from all the hard work the citizens of the city are doing to rebuild their reputation, because both are great things that are having a very positive impact on a once feared place. But, it would also be unrealistic and ignorant to say that the uncommonly good lives that many of the people in Medellin live is not due to money earned from the drug trade. Of course there is still a huge amount of poverty and the lower class struggles like much of the rest of South America, but you just don’t see the middle and upper classes living the way they do anywhere else down here.

While it was fascinating to observe, it was a blast to experience as well. While in Medellin, I got the opportunity to meet some pretty amazing people and rub a shoulder or two with the wild, extravagant people that live there. A couple of them in particular are a little difficult not to geek out over. So we end up meeting these guys who won at the Sundance Film Festival a couple years ago and they have done all these other amazing video projects as well. The best part is, they are super awesome guys and a ton of fun to hang out with.

On Saturday night, they tell us about this fancy sounding hotel rooftop party that they are planning on attending and ask if we want to go. Um, yes please! So I bust out my only pair of jeans that doesn’t have a hole, and dig out the lone button up shirt I brought along, and dang was I looking good. With a bold, yet classy amount of chest hair on display, we head out.

Strolling in like we own the place, the elevator shoots us up top where the doors open up to reveal a scene I thought only existed in movies. First of all, this place is straight up fancy. Lavish décor and tasteful lighting set the mood instantly. A swimming pool with glass sides begged to put on a show if the night got wild. The staff were impossible to miss as they were dressed the part in white tuxedoes. The view of the city was absolutely stunning as I gazed out upon the night from the highest vantage point around. But it was the clientele that blew me away the most.

While the dudes all looked like identical copies of each other with their very formal attire and slicked back hair, it was the ladies that cracked me up even more. I am willing to bet my favorite pair of underwear that there was not a 100% real woman there. Each female in attendance had gone under the knife at least once. There were fake racks galore and a good many of these ladies had also opted for the famous Colombian butt implant as well. No, not butt lift, butt implant. Yup, fake butts were on the loose everywhere your head turned. These women would have been quite attractive if they had just left themselves alone. But alas, some combination of social pressure, skewed views of beauty, and access to money led each and every one of them to alter their bodies in ways that are just unnatural. It might have been a little sad if all the Colombian Barbies strutting around didn’t strike me as hilarious first.

At one point it began to rain a bit. Can’t have all those fake boobs getting wet now can we? So the hotel just flipped a switch and this massive roof began rolling out over the top of the party. Five minutes later, the rain stopped and they got to show off their expensive toy again by retracting the roof and once again revealing the dark sky.

Pretty extravagant stuff, and while that’s not the world I want to live in, it was fun to at least get to take a little peak. While I leaned up against a wall, overlooking the city and enjoying my overpriced cucumber adorned beverage, it was just interesting to think about why the people of this city acted in a certain way and how much of it actually has to do with their past. While they have done well to shed their terrible image from years past, and bury it deep down, there are always pieces of history that never cease to shape people, communities, and entire countries.

I wish the people of Medellin only the best of luck as they continue their pursuit to reinvent themselves.

And now it's time to go to the beach. Lovsies!

Valle De Cocora

Chasing after the FARC, I left Bogota and ventured into the mountains. Ok, perhaps the rebel militant group was not exactly what I sought. I’d actually prefer to avoid them altogether. Instead, I was in search of the Valley of Cocora. Rumored to be home to some of the most beautiful scenery that Colombia has to offer, how could I say no?

Nestled into the hills is the tiny town of Salento which would by my jumping off point for exploring the valley. Equipped with a pair of rubber boots to combat the muddy conditions of the trail, I set out early in order to try and beat the rain that begins at 3:00 PM every day like clockwork. In order to reach the valley, one must catch a ride from one of the Jeeps that departs from Salento’s main square periodically. I had never fathomed that this could be half the fun.

The drivers of the Jeeps refuse to leave until they have packed more people than imaginable into one of these vehicles. I saw one about to leave, but stalled because it looked like there was absolutely nowhere left to sit. And indeed there wasn’t. Then I saw a guy climb up on the back, so I joined suite and off we went. With my rubber boots clinging to a narrow running board and my white knuckles clenching a piece of the Jeep’s frame, I hung on for all I was worth as we tore through the hills.

Upon arrival, the bug count in my teeth was at 18. That mild hygiene issue could have been easily avoided had I been able to contain my joy and just quit smiling. Alas, the wind in my face and the epic scenery on the way to the valley teamed up to sharpie a bug catching smile on my face that could not be erased.

While I did my best to remove the bugs, the smile stayed put as I set out on the trail into the valley. Cocora is home to Colombia’s national tree, the Wax Palm, which grows to over 250 feet in height. Hike far enough into the valley and you also find yourself deep within the mystical Cloud Forest. Closely following a river, I wound my way through the valley admiring my surroundings that put the scenery in Jurassic Park to shame. The insane amount of lush greenery, broken up intermediately by boldly colored flowers and trees led me to realize the Valley of Cocora is a special place. The term “breath-taking” has been used up, worn out, and holds no definitive power to describe this place. Instead, the astonishing views come at you from all sides, beat you over the head, and rob you of your breath in what can only be described as a breath-mugging.

Seriously. Amazing. So, I made my way through the valley and began my ascent into the Cloud Forest. To continue trekking, one must cross the river various times by means of hanging bridges that make even the one at the end of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom look safe. Indeed, it was all part of the experience that was difficult not to love.

Making sure my calves stay in pristine, chiseled condition, I chose the route that led me up one of the mountains to a lookout point. They call it the Cloud Forest for a pretty obvious reason as you actually ascend into the clouds on your way up. I made it to the summit and guess what I saw…..cloud. Not quite the encore type view I’d had in mind. Not one to settle, I became determined to locate a satisfying viewpoint.

Back down the trail I scrambled until I figured I was at the right elevation. Then, unsure of what may lie in wait to greet me off the path, I went trudging off into the forest, leaving the trail behind. A short while later, I emerge at a break in the trees and the valley was laid out before me with the clouds hanging just overhead. This was the money shot.

With the valley expanding before me in all its glory, the wax palms and brightly colored various decorations dotted the sides of the hills and slowly faded into the cloud above us. In no way was the cloud inhibiting any of the view as it actually acted as a lid that was somehow containing all the beauty beneath.

After only a slight bit of wandering, I found my way to the trail and made my way back down through the canyon, splashing mud everywhere as I went. After a few more hours of mudtastic hiking, I was back at the trail head and ready to get back to Salento for a nap. Only a severely packed Jeep ride stood between me and that snooze.
With room for realistically 7 people in this Jeep, we were able to squeeze a full 10, with me happily hanging off the back again. As the drive back developed, we paused every so often to pick up new passengers. By the time we hit town, that little Jeep was transporting 17 people! I may have been dangling by a boot and an arm like a few of the others, but none of us could stop giggling our faces off at the absurd amount of people using that vehicle.

Everything about Salento and the Valle de Cocora is inspiring and revitalizing. So glad I popped in for a peak. Next up, the former home of Pablo Escobar and the most powerful drug cartel the world has known. Medellin, come to papa!

A Tale Of Trouble

My first week in Colombia has been heavy on the research. My investigation of the country, the conditions, and the attitudes/feelings of the Colombians concerning violence and the drug trade is plowing ahead full steam. More on all of that action in future posts. For now, a tale of trouble...

After my eye opening visit to the National Police Museum in Bogota, I was feeling like a bit of exploring needed to happen. Off I went, deeper into the city, taking a turn here, and a turn there on a whim, basically just heading towards whatever looked interesting. I should have learned by now that a strategy like that can get me into bad situations. And it did.

Me and my affinity for wandering into parts of a city that can only be referred to as "Rapeville", is a skill that I rather I never developed. But I did. And its a thing I do. Usually not on purpose. Like this day.

Finding myself waist deep in a gringoless part of town that I clearly had no business being in, I kept my head up, moved with a purpose, and acted like I new where I was going and what I was doing. That is pretty much my standard mode of operation when finding myself in these situations and I've never had a negative experience to report. Until now.

I walked by a particularly sketchy looking side street that emitted enhanced levels of rapeyness and immediately decided that would be a poor route choice. About 3 steps later, I discovered the problem with walking with your head up - this prohibits you from seeing that ill-placed chunk of pavement sticking up in an effort to trip you. And let me tell you, it was a good trip. Like the kind that really sends you flying forward, complete with arms flailing in some poorly executed attempt to keep you from falling. Lucky for me, an unsuspecting gentlemen's back interrupted my less than graceful sprawl. Then I became unlucky. Quite quickly. Like, immediately when the gentleman turned around.

Im still not sure if this was the same dude I saw chasing another guy down the street my first night here with those insane, sharpish, metal nunchucks, or if carrying a weapon like that is just commonplace here. I'm thinking it was just the same lunatic. Either way, even after some back pedaling and my best Spanish apology, he rushed at me, weapon whirling.

Even though I've never fully seen those metal nunchuck things in action, I wasn't about to stick around to see how they worked. My flight instinct instantly kicked in and I booked it down the closest side street in an attempt to get away from the psycho. Unfortunately, that side street also happened to be named something that is roughly translated to Super Rape Avenue, the same street I had just decided NOT to go down.

Somehow, this tight, crowded street was darker than any of the others despite it being near noon. I'm not sure if it was the tarps hanging over each of the booths or if the ominous atmosphere literally blotted out the sun, but it definitely made dodging pedestrians, vendors, and random fruit stands all the more difficult. While no one made an effort to get out of my way, they had no problem clearing out for the nunchuck wielding crazy person behind me. So, while he was gifted with a clear path, I had to unleash a variety of athletic maneuvers that ranged from sleek ballerina spins to avoid women, children, and donkeys, to showing off my linebacker skills by straight up bowling over the dude carry lots of bread.

After a couple blocks of these stereotypical chase scene shenanigans, I had put at least a more comfortable distance between me and my pursuer. Time to ditch the fool. As soon as I hit the next block, I hung a quick right disappeared beneath one of the first stands I encountered. Peering from behind a pile of rip off Nikes, I was able to watch as the guy ran by, glimmering nunchucks swinging away. I was actually glad he had been twirling those stupid things the whole time as it wasn't very conducive to a proper running form.

I looked up from my hiding place and the lady tending the stand just sort of game me an understanding look that invited me to stay as long as I liked. I accepted her hospitality for another couple moments to make sure the guy was gone, and then I booked it out of there to double back the way I came. I'm not sure I stopped running until all of Rapeville and it's ridiculous Nunchuck Man were at least a full zip code behind me.

Back at my hostel, I reviewed these recent events and had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Except for the whole metal nunchuck thing, it was a classic foot chase through a dodgy part of town that I thought only happened in movies set somewhere in the Middle East. I have no idea what that guy would have done had he caught me, which of course was highly unlikely given my superior speed. He might have just been playing a harmless joke or he could have been a legit crazy person who meant to give me a nice slash or two. Either way, I'm pretty happy with never having to find out.

Travel moral of the story: Yes, it's one we all probably already know, but be smart and refrain from going into parts of town that are obviously infused with excess rape danger, well, unless you'd like to see how you fare against Nunchuck Man!

Fingers crossed that my next post features a significantly less potential for harm.

Lovsies!

From California to Colombia

I'm not dead yet. The first couple days in Colombia have been survived LIKE A BOSS! The few days leading up to my flight out of LA involved some sweet road trip action down the coast of California. I loved getting to spend some time with some great people in the Bay Area, Santa Cruz, and LA. But now it's business time...

Last night, it was not the obscenely loud traffic/street activity just outside my window that woke me up. Nor was it the man snoring at a stupid high decibel in the bed near my own that jostled me free of my happy snooze land. I have learned to sleep through distractions like these, ear plug free. Instead, I was ripped from my rather pleasant dreams by the terrifying sound of a mosquito in my ear. At this point I thoroughly freaked out. It was in these first few moments of awakening that I was convinced that I was back in the Amazon, being bombarded by all manner of massive bug life. The thought of having to face another day on the river being tortured by Nasty Hot and his buddy Gnarly Humidity crushed my spirit. I lay there, eyes wide open, envisioning all the things that would try and kill me in the waiting hours ahead.

About three seconds of horror quickly subsided and I realized two things. One, I am 8,000 feet high in Colombia's capital city of Bogota and not in the Rainforest. The things that are trying to do me harm here are of a completely different breed. Two, I am obviously not ready to venture back into the jungle to take on another raft race. I'm going need a little more time. Sorry Kyle and William. I know you were so anxious to get back, but I'm going to have to postpone until the night terrors cease. Also, I never heard the mosquito again and it is quite possible that there never was one to begin with. I may have gotten the bed a bit soggy for absolutely no reason.

So, here I am in Colombia and I have survived the first 48 hours like it ain't no thang. I have gone against the advice of the majority and ventured down here because of what I have heard from the minority. The reason I trust the minority is because they have actually been here, and have glimmering things to say about this country. The majority is made up of people from the States who are basing their negative connotations off of information that was relevant 10-20 years ago, but is now outdated.

My mission is to investigate all that Colombia has to offer, and hopefully bring a good report back home in order to change opinions and spread the word that Colombia is a super legit, amazing, and safe travel destination.

That being said, my first outing the night I arrived included looking outside the restaurant to see a dude with these crazy sharpish looking metal nunchucks chasing another guy down the street. I love it here already.

Tomorrow, I bail on Bogota via an overnight bus in hopes of finding the small town of Salento to partake in all the majestic natural beauty the surrounding area has to offer.

Until next time, lovsies!

Traveler Vs Vacationer

Here we go again! I am less than a week away from returning to South America after a couple months of spending time with friends and family. And while I loved my time in traveler rehab, I could not be more ready to jump off the wagon. So, as a kick start to the second coming of Ese in SA, I have decided to address a slight issue.

It has come to my attention that a misconception has arisen and it must be squashed. Apparently, some people are unable to differentiate between Traveling and Vacationing. Yes, there is a difference. Quite glaring contrasts actually. Allow me to break it down for you.

First, we shall define Vacationing and Traveling. A vacation is usually two weeks or less in length, includes one or two destinations, is an escape from reality, and 74% of the time a beach is involved. A Travel experience can range anywhere from 1 month to 3 years. Anything over 3 years and you are technically dealing with a hobo. Traveling takes people to many destinations, becomes a reality of its own, but beaches are still included in 58% of cases.

Now, you need to understand how to identify and distinguish between a Traveler and a Vacationer. Take a look at how they pack their belongings. If you see a suitcase, that is a dead giveaway that you have a Vacationer on your hands. If there are wheels anywhere on the luggage, that signals a Class 5 Vacationer. Watch out for those with multiple pieces of wheeled suitcases as they will most assuredly be taking up an absolutely ridiculous amount of space at the most inconvenient of times.

On the other hand, if you instead see a backpack, odds are you have some kind of Traveler. The size of the bag is usually an indication of what type of Traveler this is. If you see a Jansport like the one you were using in high school, this person is a minimalist and is probably rotating back and forth between the same two pairs of underwear. Either that or they have foregone the whole underpants hoax altogether. If you see someone with a backpack that dwarfs them, and is large enough to accommodate 36 boxes of Twinkies, Thomas Jefferson's oak desk, their own flight attendant, and a moderately sized Mexican family, this person plans on traveling for quite some time. In fact, they may already be pushing dangerously close to the hobo zone.

Take a look at the actual individual. If you see any of the following, a visor, designer sunglasses, a giant city map that screams, "steal from me", or a quick reference language guide than includes nothing more than basic greetings and the local word for bathroom, you are looking at a Vacationer. Perhaps you see someone that very closely resembles a hippie, gypsy, or any other kind of vagabond. There is a very real chance that this person is just a Traveler and hasn't been able to locate a shower for the past couple days. Just plug your nose and continue on.

Hopefully, next time you start to confuse Vacationing and Traveling you can help sort out the madness by referring back to this quick guide. If you have any further questions please feel free to send them my direction and hopefully I can set you straight.

In conclusion, a Vacationer goes elsewhere to get away from their troubles, real life, and exist for a short period in a fantasy world. A Traveler goes elsewhere to live their life on the move. Strange foods, foreign languages, different experiences, and saying goodbye to new friends more often than desired becomes reality. Travelers face day to day problems just like anyone else, but all they have to combat those issues is whatever they have strapped to their backs. Traveling: it's not always easy. It's not a vacation. It is a different way of life.

Vacationer and Traveler aside, each and every person that has been given the opportunity to get out and see another piece of this world is blessed. I am continually thankful for the chances I have been granted to explore and experience different places. And as long as I am able, I will never stop devising ways to make it happen again and again.

Colombia, let's do this thing!

Waking Up

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!

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.

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!

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!

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!

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.

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.