The headline may be a little misleading, maybe i'm just trying to use an old media ploy to get you to read my rant, maybe its a little more pertinent to this blog post than you think...
I'm sitting here writing this at 3:30am because I can't even get myself to sleep my brain is running at such a high speed. Now I know what that may allude to, being that I am writing this at 3:30am in Medellin, Colombia, and I can say with all true and beautiful honesty that the reason I can't sleep is not because I've gone on some crazy coke binge in the world's coke capital. I actually have not done any coke in Colombia, so please do not jump to any conclusions here.
The reason I can't sleep is because I've recently begun reading a book that I happened to come across randomly in my travels called HEAT: How to Stop the Planet From Burning. Now, ask anyone who knows me and they would tell you that I am quite the self-educated expert on any global warming related topic, so much so I would often experience sleepless nights much like this one back home, and would find myself often dipping into long bouts of depression about the massive implications of the un-precendented, looming catastrophe that is hanging over everyone's heads like an anvil hanging precariously from a tattered rope whose last thread is about to give -while-everyone-is-watching-american-idol-and-worried
-about-the-price-of-gas....
But to be perfectly honest, that was a problem that I haven't suffered in quite some time. Who knows why, maybe i've had so many wonderful things to do and experience, I didn't have time to read the news and fret over such things. maybe its because the beautiful nature i've seen, and the positive books and activities i've experienced that made me feel like, hey, there are a lot of good things being done out in the world. Then there has been long bouts on my trip where I've really just forgotten about all that depressing shit, and i've just began to enjoy life, drinking, being merry, only living in the here and now, like so many people in my life have just advised me to do in the past, and hey, its great, maybe ignorance truly is bliss... because this book has brought back all those same feelings like smelling salts to an unconscious person, bringing the reality crashing right back down onto my brain... in just the first chapter. Granted, this is a book about suggestions for solutions, but the author really has laid on the doom and gloom thick in the first chapter, stating that there is 30% chance that all the awful shit that we're only just seeing the beginnings of now is irreversible and the point of no return has already been reached... and that the Amazon is practically at the tipping point of collapse already, and the beautiful forests i was just in are going to be gone (adding 73 years worth of current fossil fuel burning into the atmosphere) by 2030...
oddly enough, on coming back to the hostel tonight after having a few drinks at a bar, some travelers were watching the second installment of Lord of the Rings. Now, revealing dorkiness i sometimes keep to myself, being a big fan of the books and movies i sat down to watch the the remaining half hour of the film. Part of the reason i love the story so much, was that J.R.R. Tolkien was an anti-industrialist and throughout the story there are parallels with the destruction of nature and the whole thing can seem like a symbollic story of the enormous task human kind must now face, way ahead of your time Tolkien, i commend you. I could go on about how the particular scene I watched that hit home with feelings in my head, but honestly one can't go on describing in detail something like Lord of the Rings without starting to feel like a fantastic nerd....
but i digress, i lie awake with all these thoughts in head, feeling like Frodo, with such huge hardships for the future feeling hopeless and like giving up, just finding a good front row seat to witness the largest extinction of life since the Permian era, woo-hoo! having fun and getting the most out of what i can the whole way through, or continuing to do.... what... that's the thing, what the fuck can i really do? what should i do? just go back home, try to live the most non-polluting life possible while the rest of the world gorge themselves silly on fossil fuels? How can i really even pretend i'm not guilty myself, i have to take 5 fucking 4 hour or more flights to get home, causing any lack of car-driving, energy-saving lightbulb using/distributing, organic food eating i do for the next 5 to 10 years to be completely pointless, even more discouraging is even if i did just find a sail boat ride home somehow, those flights and hundreds of others are still going into the air? So really, maybe i should just try to keep these kind of things out of sight, out of mind... why even get a completely sleepless night, i'm in colombia right now, i can go scuba diving, paragliding, hiking, partying till i can't stand up anymore. But does doing that just makes you an empty, selfish person?????? rah rah rah... bloody fucking helllll..... i dont know what else to say, but i pretty much thought all this in bed before getting up to type it out, and i really just wanted to get it out, mabye i just need some encouragement, maybe just some good news i haven't heard about yet besides food shortages and the spreading of diseases due to... oh hey, global warming!!
oh and another i hadn't seen yet, California wildfires... wait, didnt we just have an emergency crisis like that last year... and wait, the year before that too, and hold on, shit yeah, i remember schools closing in San Diego the year before that because, WILD FIRES, and its not even fucking may yet, wildfire season is suppose to start in late july-august...
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sacred Sueños Finca 23/2008
While writing on the bus, I frequently stop to look at the mist that the surrounding forests have rising from them. It makes it easy to understand the reason for being referred to as ¨cloudforests.¨ I left the farm this morning, after the most vivid sunset I had yet experience on Sacred Sueños, I felt it was a good omen for me to continue with my travels. Being away from society´s frivolous luxuries for a month was a inspirational and educational experience. Albeit, I can not quite say I really know the nuts and bolts of organic agriculture, or permaculture for that matter, I do think I have planted the seed of basic understanding, if you´ll pardon my metaphor, hyuck hyuck. What benefitted me most were the things I began to learn about myself while I was there. The concept of leaving main stream society, and attempting to live off the land on your own had seemed an appealing, romantic notion before my visit. While an ideal situation for some, I learned while walking on one of numerous trails all over the mountain, hunting for the precious piles of donkey shit (something I learned quite a lot about as well, shit, that is, in general) , that it isn´t really where my interests lie. And I feel this is a pretty big milestone for me, knowing now that my desire is to really focus on broader community based transitions to sustainable living. I am, after all, a pretty social person, and enjoy the larger group based work of Hand´s On Disaster Response, and larger communities and cities in general. This epiphany taking place in the first week of my 4, allowed me to focus some of my reading from the extensive library that was at my disposal. This provided so much inspiration for my future plans in Hurricane Katrina-devestated Southern Mississippi and then for rural Kenyan communities after that. I also was able to write down numerous titles to get once back in the states that will further these goals. I can easily say the farm will benefit me for years to come.I also learned a lot about my tolerances. As mentioned earlier, shit was an aspect one interacted with on a daily basis at least. From the animal´s to our own coming from the composting toilet. 
(Humanure is amazingly beneficial to growing plants, only after proper decomposition renders it soil-like, and yes, I touched it in this farm, without gloves! shrrriiieeek. J/K. Little known fact, Chinese agriculture used humanure extensively and would pay the European colonies in their borders for their wastes, and give preimiums to the Germans, their dung being like eggs of gold, due to their high protein diets (mmmm, sausages, be strong Mike)) weird, parentheses within parentheses, is that allowed? Its amazing high cyclicalnature is when you are able to observe it as an active participant, all the food and plants the animals and ourselves would eat would eventually go back to the land after being processed by our digestion and the numerous bacteria and organisms who aide in that, then the fungus, bacteria, and bugs who then break it down to a state that returns it to the plant. One of the most wasteful practices we currently do is flush all that copius amounts of fertility into our oceans and rivers. But I dont´see us all composting our waste anytime soon due to our feces squemishness. (Something Yve said would greatly benefit any community farm or garden I attempt to create in Biloxi, but come on, public composting toilets, that´ll be the day...)
(Humanure is amazingly beneficial to growing plants, only after proper decomposition renders it soil-like, and yes, I touched it in this farm, without gloves! shrrriiieeek. J/K. Little known fact, Chinese agriculture used humanure extensively and would pay the European colonies in their borders for their wastes, and give preimiums to the Germans, their dung being like eggs of gold, due to their high protein diets (mmmm, sausages, be strong Mike)) weird, parentheses within parentheses, is that allowed? Its amazing high cyclicalnature is when you are able to observe it as an active participant, all the food and plants the animals and ourselves would eat would eventually go back to the land after being processed by our digestion and the numerous bacteria and organisms who aide in that, then the fungus, bacteria, and bugs who then break it down to a state that returns it to the plant. One of the most wasteful practices we currently do is flush all that copius amounts of fertility into our oceans and rivers. But I dont´see us all composting our waste anytime soon due to our feces squemishness. (Something Yve said would greatly benefit any community farm or garden I attempt to create in Biloxi, but come on, public composting toilets, that´ll be the day...) The squemishness is something I myself had to deal with after emptying that bucket for the first time. Its really shocking, however, how quickly the daily chore of finding the animal´s shit becomes easily mundane, into even one of my favorite tasks. It was like a treasure hunt through misty forest trails, finding the animal´s fresh tracks, following them until EUREKA! Then you could brag at lunch how you hit the motherload and brought up 4 buckets that day.
Another one I got to test my limits on was spiders. Now, I wouldn´t go so far as to say I got over my fear. Merely confronted it, kicked the tires, know its there, and accepted it, and that´s as about as good as I can be asked to get. My friend Amy marveled at how skilled I was at finding them in every place, joking I must of had years of spider-tracking experience, due to my fear. I found one in my bunk one night, large and hairy (by large I mean about the size of a half dollar), and I regret to confess, promptly killed. Sorry, it is a sacred space for me, where I sleep. The most interesting encounter being one night, I saw a neon green glowing coming from the bushes. 
I was informed it was a glowbug, which I had never gazed upon, and it sounded sort of cool, so yeah, I´ll shine my flashlight over to chec... HOLY JESUS CHRIST!!!!! The unfortunate insect was trapped in the fangs of one nasty hairy spider (okay, it was the size an apricot, but shit, that´s still huge.) I did not flee in fear though, I was able to stay and document the rawness of the glowbug´s glow slowly growing fainter until it was finally extinguished as the spider slurped up its insides. During my stay, I feel like I became able to tolerate the arachnid presence, but its still with effort.
I was informed it was a glowbug, which I had never gazed upon, and it sounded sort of cool, so yeah, I´ll shine my flashlight over to chec... HOLY JESUS CHRIST!!!!! The unfortunate insect was trapped in the fangs of one nasty hairy spider (okay, it was the size an apricot, but shit, that´s still huge.) I did not flee in fear though, I was able to stay and document the rawness of the glowbug´s glow slowly growing fainter until it was finally extinguished as the spider slurped up its insides. During my stay, I feel like I became able to tolerate the arachnid presence, but its still with effort. 
My other raised tolerance is personal cleanliness. Now, I know, I can hear those few objectors saying how much lower can it go? Quite a bit actually, you see, the farm has a solar shower overlooking the valley, outdoors. While showering there is an enthralling experience, it was wet season, and apparently my tolerance for cold showers is a lot lower than the tolerance I have for the stink I get from 5 or 6 days of farm labor in a row. (Hey it was raining all the time anyway, right?)
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Bombas and Foam 2/3/2008
Da de da duh... The opening beats of ¨I´ve Got the Power¨ begin to blare on the sound system in the main plaza of town. Everyone is soaking wet, with varying mixtures of water, tomato sauce, flour, eggs, and a soapy spray, bobbing up and down with the rythm. The five of us are moving steathily through the crowd, muscles tensed, clutching bombas (water balloons for the non-spanish slang inclinded), waiting for the unlucky sap who thinks its safe to mess with the gringos. Phhhbbbttt, the sound of soap escaping a can from under pressure escapes the overbearing beats of the music, revealing how close in proximity its origin is. I turn to see one of our party being coated in its frothy residue. A bomba wizzes past missing its intended target, spraying a crowd so saturated and accustomed to the constant bombardment they harldy take notice. It was a tall, spikey haired Ecuadorean that decided to make the first move. We begin to unleash our onslaught in the thick of the crowd. I suddenly feel the line of a strong stream of water absorb into the back of my shirt. I whirl around lifting the thin membrane filled with water in my hnd. The perpetrator winces to prepare for the impending impact and turns his back to me. HA! Big mistake buddy. I take a moment to make my aim pinpoint n the back of his neck to ensure that the liquid will spread down for maximum effect. The bomba hits its mark - popping on impact with a force that more than likely left a red mark on the skin.
Its the second day of Carnival in Vilcabamba. We have been eating, drinking, dodging, running, attacking the entrire previous day. The tradition is to load up on squirt guns, water balloons, eggs and flour, and any other mess making substance and then coat any unsuspecting passerby with your weapon of choice. The day before, we stocked up on water balloons and beer then perched ourselves on the balcony of the room we are staying in. With our first batch of the hand-held bliss inducers, we sighted a huge group of older teenage Ecuadoreans. They were probably the worst-best group to instigate a fued with. Our first attack was unexpected and successful, but sent the group off with a determination in their eyes that we knwe would come back to haunt us. As we were just completing the 2nd shift at our balloon assembly line, the revenge had alread been beset upon us. Water balloons began flying over the balcony into the hallway with the bathroom we were filling our arsenal in. We scattered to avoid most o fthe water, but it soon dawned on that we must face the music, or risk flooding the small hallway of the building. We grabbed our ammo bag and loaded our hands, counting to three before the 4 of us rushed out the door of the building to face 10 or more, fully armed local adolescents. It was a massacre of epic proportions. One doesn´t realize how growing up counting down the weeks to Carnival can effect the dodging and catchign skills of an individual. When I thought my balloon´s trajectory was tried and true, on ekid would use his shirt and a spin technique to catch it and fling it right back in my direction. After exhaustin gour supplies, we re-grouped back at home base and went for shift number 3 at the balloon factory, each of us settling into our priorly determined roles in our impromptu assembly line. After the whistle blew, we made our way to the main square where the youth gang waited, critically low in their balloon supplies. A huge street brawl ensued, a smaller group getting involved in the fray. The streets were lined with Carnavallers, laughing at the antics being played out before them, sometimes taking collateral hits and taking it as all part of the festivities. Our battle was quite the spectacle in the middle of the road, sloyly dying out as each side exhausted heir supplies. Once I ran out of my own balloons, I attempted to replicate the shirt catch technique that dazzled me previously, but rather than catch the bombas, I was merely putting myself in their path. With each bursting bomba that soaked every layer of my clothing, I could hear the wave of laughter emanate from the crowds lining the street. Each member of our possé (huh, dont know how to spell it, dont feel like looking it up, sorry), including myself, looking like drowned rats in the middle of the street.
And so it continued on for the rest of the day, making multiple trips for more beers and more balloons, finding the time to stop at the vendors for as many meals as our stomachs could stand to fit. One stand we stopped at 3 or 4 times throughout the day. 3 of rthe 4 of are ¨vegetarians¨(the 4th actually being a real vegetarion, without the earrings of quotation marks), and we could not even try to resist the meat sticks sold at one stand. It started with the best sausage I´ve tasted in recent memory, then a long strip of marinated steak, followed by a piece of hot dog. Smothered in a pesto mayonaise sause we apply librally, we just continued to tell ourselves that it was probably local meat, slaughtered at the local slaughterhouse, so we were just stimulating the small town´s economy, only to find out that was the farthest thing from the truth from our farm manager later that week. I wouldn´t even want to imagine if you added all the kebabs I had that weekend onto one plate, it woudl be soe disgusting mound of meat. This is what has caused me to decide to give up meat for my observance of Lent. It will be rather easy i think, after that weekend, i never want to look at a sausage again. As the day fades into night, the assaults subside aas a quiet understanding that these activities are reserved for the day time and a whole different range are reserved for the night. Our beers were traded in for Rum, and the night regresses into a cloudy haze of drinking, dancing, and of course, more eating.The timing of this raucous festival, that I hadn´t even planned for, could not have been better. While on the farm, life being quiet and remote as it is (Its amazing to not be able to hear any roads, or any other city noise for that mater, just frogs and crickets. One day I heard a constant humming/ roaring, looking around for the freeway I was hearing, I realized in my city slicker ways, I had mistaken the sound of a mighty waterfall for that of a fast moving Californian highway.) I had read Hemingway´s ¨The Sun Also Rises,¨which anyone who knows their literature would know is about a group of expatriates partying it up in Pamplona during the San Fermin Festival in the 1920´s. (The running of the bulls festival for anyone who doesn´t know their festivals) While reading it, I couldn´t help but think about my night at the San Fermin Festival and how much fun it is to enjoy a city sanctioned drunk fest that everyone paricipates in. I finished that book the night before finding myself in the crazy freak show in town. Funny how it is the second time (now there´s been a third time, more on that later) that I´ve read a book at the perfectly fateful time on this trip (god, you got to love reading books eh? I feel sorry for any sorry sap that says they don´t like to read, one my favorite things i must say, maybe i should just become a librarian and get paid to read all day.)
Needless to say, I´ll remember Carnaval in Vilcabamba for the rest of my life.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Vilcabamba, the 1st day
After such an extended stint in Peru, its refreshing to find myself in a new country and new terrain. Although, Vilcabamba is a major destination for westerners to visit as well as live, you can easily see why. After being here for just one day, I am completely content twith this surrounding area being the setting for my next extended volunteer location. Tucked into the mountains, but still at a relatively low elevation, the valleys here are lush and teeming with life. As I sit here and write this on the porch of my hostel, numerous multi-colored butterflies flutter past the dense forest that is a mere 10 feet away. If one just sits back and listens, you can see and hear the sounds of multiple birds´songs, huge bugs hitting themselves against walls doing their best to recreate the sound of a leaf blower, the large cobwebs of spiders I´ve never seen at the ready to ensnare the aforementioned bugs. This is a place where just sitting and being aware of the natural world around you can rival anything that television would attempt to entertain you with. Although, having abundant life can also cause abundant discomfort, having worn my sandals last night, I counted exactly 40 bites from various creatures all below my ankles. Its has made both of my feet feel like large fleshy paddles of sever irritation, I´m like a junkie whose devil on their shoulder incessantly persuades them to take just one more hit, reach down and inject the pleasurably scratch. The hostel we stayed at last night has small little bungalow type cabins tucked in the vegetation with hammocks on the front porch, complete with free bicycles to check out! That last point, if you don´t know me enough already to know this, is the most exciting part. Yesterday, we tore off down the hill the hostel sits on overlooking the valley the small city resides in, and it was amazing to feel the wind blowing through my close to unruly mane. The feeling of freedom that travel with a bicycle affords oneself is simply unrivaled. Granted, the town is small, but we only needed to agree on a destination to visit next and in a matter of minutes were there. I really think its the best way to explore new locales, and makes me look forward to experimenting with traveling with my bicycle in any future traveling. I can only imagine the joy of visiting Europe again, but seeing every place from the perspective of two wheels. (Brief interruption, a bird whose call closely resembles the sound I´d imagine a teddy bear makes just flew into our clearing)
We visited a small internet courtyard / hut that again overlooked that valley and green mountains, then rode toa nature reserve just outside of town, where I got my first taste of mountain biking since the trip in Huarez was beautiful but the route unfortunately only took us on paved roads. Then topped by Craig´s Book Exchange, whcih was run by an extremely friendly man named Lee, whose literary knowledge seems expansice and he is quick to share. Its really funny down here, how much a book becomes a coveted item between long term travellers. When you have a good one to trade, you make damn sure its for something worthwhile, and the negotiations begin to be like some haggle match of times of yore (did i just write that, shit, i´m too rushed to try and think up some other kind of illustrative imagery...) Lee has an extensive classics section full of writers I´ve been meaning to explore, like Steinbeck and Hemmingway, but being such valued possessions, he only loans them with a deposit, trusting the goodwill of humanity that he will ever see them again. Luckily, I´ll be in the area for a few weeks so I snatched up Hemmingway´s Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises. From reading the back, I think it sounds like something that could really be beneficial for me to take something away from, the main character sounding like someone I could identify with. After a ride to the square at dusk, we enjoyed beers and dinner outside, dessert being a couple of Vilcabamba cigarettes. The box being an over 100 year old man enjoying a cigarette in feference to how long people live here. They are rolled kind of like a joint, very similar to hand rolled cigarettes, and are some of the smoothest cigarettes I´ve enjoyed, I´ll have to keep a look out on how many I smoke. After a tough ride (ahem, mostly walked) up the hill it was time to crash after one of the most contented days I´ve had so far. Today, we meet with a farm worker, and tomorrow we make the two to three hour journey through the national park to see what may be home for the next few weeks.
I have a couple of blogs to write about experiences with leaving Pisco, my dislike of Lima, and my love of Huarez, but jeez it takes so long, plus its weird to try and write so retroactively.
I´d love to include pictures but internet is so slow, I´m going to have to do that retroactively as well...
Talk later, devoted readers (if there are any, let me know, its always nice to know i didn´t completely waste my time with this...)
Mike
We visited a small internet courtyard / hut that again overlooked that valley and green mountains, then rode toa nature reserve just outside of town, where I got my first taste of mountain biking since the trip in Huarez was beautiful but the route unfortunately only took us on paved roads. Then topped by Craig´s Book Exchange, whcih was run by an extremely friendly man named Lee, whose literary knowledge seems expansice and he is quick to share. Its really funny down here, how much a book becomes a coveted item between long term travellers. When you have a good one to trade, you make damn sure its for something worthwhile, and the negotiations begin to be like some haggle match of times of yore (did i just write that, shit, i´m too rushed to try and think up some other kind of illustrative imagery...) Lee has an extensive classics section full of writers I´ve been meaning to explore, like Steinbeck and Hemmingway, but being such valued possessions, he only loans them with a deposit, trusting the goodwill of humanity that he will ever see them again. Luckily, I´ll be in the area for a few weeks so I snatched up Hemmingway´s Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises. From reading the back, I think it sounds like something that could really be beneficial for me to take something away from, the main character sounding like someone I could identify with. After a ride to the square at dusk, we enjoyed beers and dinner outside, dessert being a couple of Vilcabamba cigarettes. The box being an over 100 year old man enjoying a cigarette in feference to how long people live here. They are rolled kind of like a joint, very similar to hand rolled cigarettes, and are some of the smoothest cigarettes I´ve enjoyed, I´ll have to keep a look out on how many I smoke. After a tough ride (ahem, mostly walked) up the hill it was time to crash after one of the most contented days I´ve had so far. Today, we meet with a farm worker, and tomorrow we make the two to three hour journey through the national park to see what may be home for the next few weeks.
I have a couple of blogs to write about experiences with leaving Pisco, my dislike of Lima, and my love of Huarez, but jeez it takes so long, plus its weird to try and write so retroactively.
I´d love to include pictures but internet is so slow, I´m going to have to do that retroactively as well...
Talk later, devoted readers (if there are any, let me know, its always nice to know i didn´t completely waste my time with this...)
Mike
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Long busride to where???
This post is kind of old, i wrote it while i traveled to Macchu Picchu, which will have to hashed out in further detail and pictures but at the moment these computer´s I´m using are utter shite... (prounouncing in my head Shy-ite, cause i like it better that way..)
So me and my companions have discovered the cheapest and sometimes easiest, due to sold out buses, way to travel around Peru. It does require, however, a certain tolerance for the lack of comforts other methods can boast. Basically, we´ve begun taking the cheapest, less gringoest bus lines possible. We decided on this after more luxurious, expensive lines were sold out and we wanted to keep moving, not having to waste another day in the desert. The seats are more cramped, there are no bathrooms, your to suppose to ride them at night for safety reasons, AND they´re about 30 - 50 US dollars cheaper and not sold out. Even with a bad case of traveller´s stomach (to put it nicely) for the last week, I can handle these minor discomforts (most of the time...) The one thing that is beginning to get on my wits end are the salesmen. On every bus, right as it pulls out of the station, a Peruvian stands up and begins a rehearsed spiel to his captive (literally, not figuratively) audience. PIcking small pieces from what i understand, its always being sold for their family or sick mother, and it very well well could be, i´m not trying to be insensitive, but they go on and on for 20 to 30 minutesbefore finally passing around what they are selling. Some are salesmen in cheap suites peddling some kind of miracle health product. "Cures foot odor, healthy hair, gives you an erection, while cleaning your teeth ALL AT ONCE." (I like to make up what it does since i can hardly understand anyways...) The one standing over me right now has a suitcase with a speaker in it, so no matter where he walks on the bus the speaker is blaring in my ear. Between concentrating on my rioting intestines and not trying to throw this suitcase out the window over the huge gorge I worry we´ll fly off at any moment, i think this will be a long ride. (everyone likes to jabber about bus rides in the Andes and how crazy they are, but i must say it definitely lives up to its hype, not for anyone afraid of heights at all, ahem, yuri) We´re taking the "back way" to Macchu Picchu, it sounds like quite an adventure (note: it seriously was, I´ll need to come back and reedit the experience with pictures for further detail, definitely my top 5 craziest things i´ve done, now i guess i´ll move over to the past tense, or oooh, i wonder if it will be more fun to continue my overuse of parentheses and write along with my expectations and the actual reality...) One of our fellow volunteers recommended it, We take a local bus to a town near Agua Calientes (near is such a relative term, by near its a tiny little one road town somewhere in the jungle, still 2 and half hour drive away followed by another 2 and half hour hike, the local bus went through so many different landscapes and took 7 hours, and yes, i had to go poo that entire time. We saw crazy glaciers and highlands that reminded me of something i´d see in Scotland or something, then broke into a valley down the steepest, windy road that was completely jungle, while we were driving down we were passing people clearing landslides, driving over landslides, meanwhile, its rainy season and more rain is accumulating on the hills looming above us. One of my companions foolishly says, "well at least there´s tarmac" (or pavement, sorry he´s European) and shortly thereafter, the bus starts lurching and bouncing. Yup, adios tarmac. Once in the heart of the jungle valley, the bus breaks down, no word from the driver, we just stop, and wait... on a full bus... in humid heat... and they dont open the door to let people out, people finally start climbing out the windows to try and relieve their bladders, I waited for the door to finally open, climbing threw small windows would put a squeeze on my torso that could end disastrously, but with such a crowd present, wasnt willing to do the squat my body so desperately needed. After about a half hour, the bus begins moving again, almost leaving a couple stragglers behind. All the while we are wondering if the bus will get us there in time to make the rest of the journey to Agua Calientes, or if we might just lose another night in Santa Maria.) Once there, we take a taxi to a hydro-electric dam, (now, its funny how my western upbringing interferes with how i picture the description of something, i imagine a gentle glide into a bus station, we get out, have a stretch, a bite, i get something to eat and a visit to a W.C., get in a taxi, who knows, maybe even in a yellow one, for a 15 minute jaunt to a large feat of engineering, and we take a stroll the rest of the way... In reality, its just a small town, no bus stop, middle of jungle, the bus stops just long enough for us to get off and continues on its journey, having taken so much longer than expected, we jump immediately into a combi (like a Matatu in Kenya, just a van that can pack in people) with other diehard travelers, and left in such a rush we had time to buy bread rolls and mangoes to enjoy mango sandwhiches on our hike, and yes, no bathroom break) Now if the first bus ride gave me the heeby jeebies, than i must call my past self a snibbling wimp. Here we are packed into bus to the brim, off-roading on the dodgiest of dirt roads, the driver beeping the horn at every corner to announce our presence as we careen around the corner, in a heavy rain, cause after all, it is a RAIN forest, without windsheild wipers, our driver would periodically get out and wipe it off with a small rag, just so it could get completely covered by the time he shuts the door. At one point a piece of the road was covered with a landslide, and it was slanted towards a cliff right over a rushing river. The driver stops, considers his choice for a moment, and guns it over the pile in the road, i happen to be in the window seat facing the cliff, and without having to look down, i sit and look at the speed of the water that i am facing as our van is tilted from the rocks. Escape plans and where the current would be best used to find the shore begin flashing through my head, if i´m still conscious after the roll... Obviously the suspense is kind of weak, cause otherwise i wouldnt be here writing this to you. We arrive safely, the entire time telling myself the driver does this everyday, he knows what he´s doing) Hike up the train tracks to Agua Calientes, (this was most pleasant part of the trip, hiking through the jungles getting some physical activity, however, the toilet paper in my pocket is completely soaked, and i was unwilling to pop the needed squat and use leaves...) the whole hike was glorious, as it was dusk, and the at the end of the 2 and half hour walk, completely pitch black, pouring rain the entire time... we were fine until the damn Nederlander that brought us on this whole affair says, "wow, if i wanted to rob some tourists, this would definitely be the place that i would wait." KNIVES OUT EVERYONE... we walk the last half hour of the hike, knife in one hand, flashlight in the other, scanning the tracks. Anywhoot, we get to the city allright, i rush to my glorious porcelain god, and eat Pizza and Mojitos to celebrate and promptly go to bed for Macchu Picchu in the morning...
P.S. The reason for my carefulness with anything concerning my body, Seido, my fellow traveler reminded me to include while i wrote this, was that the previous night i had a little accident having to do with the same situation with my digestive track, or: I shit myself okay, fine, i´ll admit it, could happen to anyone, actually the more public the news has been, the more encouragement you recieve from those with the same experience in Peru, i guess its really not that rare for us Gringos... I do however think i am a level 10 degree master of bowel control after this trip, confirmed by my 2 travel amigos.
So me and my companions have discovered the cheapest and sometimes easiest, due to sold out buses, way to travel around Peru. It does require, however, a certain tolerance for the lack of comforts other methods can boast. Basically, we´ve begun taking the cheapest, less gringoest bus lines possible. We decided on this after more luxurious, expensive lines were sold out and we wanted to keep moving, not having to waste another day in the desert. The seats are more cramped, there are no bathrooms, your to suppose to ride them at night for safety reasons, AND they´re about 30 - 50 US dollars cheaper and not sold out. Even with a bad case of traveller´s stomach (to put it nicely) for the last week, I can handle these minor discomforts (most of the time...) The one thing that is beginning to get on my wits end are the salesmen. On every bus, right as it pulls out of the station, a Peruvian stands up and begins a rehearsed spiel to his captive (literally, not figuratively) audience. PIcking small pieces from what i understand, its always being sold for their family or sick mother, and it very well well could be, i´m not trying to be insensitive, but they go on and on for 20 to 30 minutesbefore finally passing around what they are selling. Some are salesmen in cheap suites peddling some kind of miracle health product. "Cures foot odor, healthy hair, gives you an erection, while cleaning your teeth ALL AT ONCE." (I like to make up what it does since i can hardly understand anyways...) The one standing over me right now has a suitcase with a speaker in it, so no matter where he walks on the bus the speaker is blaring in my ear. Between concentrating on my rioting intestines and not trying to throw this suitcase out the window over the huge gorge I worry we´ll fly off at any moment, i think this will be a long ride. (everyone likes to jabber about bus rides in the Andes and how crazy they are, but i must say it definitely lives up to its hype, not for anyone afraid of heights at all, ahem, yuri) We´re taking the "back way" to Macchu Picchu, it sounds like quite an adventure (note: it seriously was, I´ll need to come back and reedit the experience with pictures for further detail, definitely my top 5 craziest things i´ve done, now i guess i´ll move over to the past tense, or oooh, i wonder if it will be more fun to continue my overuse of parentheses and write along with my expectations and the actual reality...) One of our fellow volunteers recommended it, We take a local bus to a town near Agua Calientes (near is such a relative term, by near its a tiny little one road town somewhere in the jungle, still 2 and half hour drive away followed by another 2 and half hour hike, the local bus went through so many different landscapes and took 7 hours, and yes, i had to go poo that entire time. We saw crazy glaciers and highlands that reminded me of something i´d see in Scotland or something, then broke into a valley down the steepest, windy road that was completely jungle, while we were driving down we were passing people clearing landslides, driving over landslides, meanwhile, its rainy season and more rain is accumulating on the hills looming above us. One of my companions foolishly says, "well at least there´s tarmac" (or pavement, sorry he´s European) and shortly thereafter, the bus starts lurching and bouncing. Yup, adios tarmac. Once in the heart of the jungle valley, the bus breaks down, no word from the driver, we just stop, and wait... on a full bus... in humid heat... and they dont open the door to let people out, people finally start climbing out the windows to try and relieve their bladders, I waited for the door to finally open, climbing threw small windows would put a squeeze on my torso that could end disastrously, but with such a crowd present, wasnt willing to do the squat my body so desperately needed. After about a half hour, the bus begins moving again, almost leaving a couple stragglers behind. All the while we are wondering if the bus will get us there in time to make the rest of the journey to Agua Calientes, or if we might just lose another night in Santa Maria.) Once there, we take a taxi to a hydro-electric dam, (now, its funny how my western upbringing interferes with how i picture the description of something, i imagine a gentle glide into a bus station, we get out, have a stretch, a bite, i get something to eat and a visit to a W.C., get in a taxi, who knows, maybe even in a yellow one, for a 15 minute jaunt to a large feat of engineering, and we take a stroll the rest of the way... In reality, its just a small town, no bus stop, middle of jungle, the bus stops just long enough for us to get off and continues on its journey, having taken so much longer than expected, we jump immediately into a combi (like a Matatu in Kenya, just a van that can pack in people) with other diehard travelers, and left in such a rush we had time to buy bread rolls and mangoes to enjoy mango sandwhiches on our hike, and yes, no bathroom break) Now if the first bus ride gave me the heeby jeebies, than i must call my past self a snibbling wimp. Here we are packed into bus to the brim, off-roading on the dodgiest of dirt roads, the driver beeping the horn at every corner to announce our presence as we careen around the corner, in a heavy rain, cause after all, it is a RAIN forest, without windsheild wipers, our driver would periodically get out and wipe it off with a small rag, just so it could get completely covered by the time he shuts the door. At one point a piece of the road was covered with a landslide, and it was slanted towards a cliff right over a rushing river. The driver stops, considers his choice for a moment, and guns it over the pile in the road, i happen to be in the window seat facing the cliff, and without having to look down, i sit and look at the speed of the water that i am facing as our van is tilted from the rocks. Escape plans and where the current would be best used to find the shore begin flashing through my head, if i´m still conscious after the roll... Obviously the suspense is kind of weak, cause otherwise i wouldnt be here writing this to you. We arrive safely, the entire time telling myself the driver does this everyday, he knows what he´s doing) Hike up the train tracks to Agua Calientes, (this was most pleasant part of the trip, hiking through the jungles getting some physical activity, however, the toilet paper in my pocket is completely soaked, and i was unwilling to pop the needed squat and use leaves...) the whole hike was glorious, as it was dusk, and the at the end of the 2 and half hour walk, completely pitch black, pouring rain the entire time... we were fine until the damn Nederlander that brought us on this whole affair says, "wow, if i wanted to rob some tourists, this would definitely be the place that i would wait." KNIVES OUT EVERYONE... we walk the last half hour of the hike, knife in one hand, flashlight in the other, scanning the tracks. Anywhoot, we get to the city allright, i rush to my glorious porcelain god, and eat Pizza and Mojitos to celebrate and promptly go to bed for Macchu Picchu in the morning...
P.S. The reason for my carefulness with anything concerning my body, Seido, my fellow traveler reminded me to include while i wrote this, was that the previous night i had a little accident having to do with the same situation with my digestive track, or: I shit myself okay, fine, i´ll admit it, could happen to anyone, actually the more public the news has been, the more encouragement you recieve from those with the same experience in Peru, i guess its really not that rare for us Gringos... I do however think i am a level 10 degree master of bowel control after this trip, confirmed by my 2 travel amigos.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Reflections on my Experiences
Sitting here on my last night in Pisco, I can´t help but be forlorn and sad. Its really strange how, in the midst of such a horrible tragedy, you can so easily forget the experiences that people had to go through. We have such a wonderful time helping the people, but I think I sometimes forget that I am living in a disaster zone. Often, on many mornings our leader gives us the instructions, ¨We are going to take these rocks, move them over there, and, uh, try to not to get hurt and die.¨ But when you begin to sit back and think of what this was, why you are here its terribly heartbreaking. On our last day of doing rubble removal, we were working with a lovely family. They had brought out their speakers and radio, and blasted classic 80´s tunes and rock songs the whole time we worked. Me and my fellow workers danced on top of the piles that we were moving, and afterwards the family had brought us a whole tub of ice cream and hot chocolate. It was AMAZING, Awesomely amazing, and i think they really enjoyed looking at us have such a great time. Then the 13 year old kid who was on crutches, who i just assumed must have gotten hurt at Futbol practice, showed us a newspaper article that he was on the cover of. It showed his leg, completely mangled, and little skin left, i can easily place it on the top 3 list of most disturbing things i had ever seen, and proceeded to lift up his leg and show us the large contraption and pins that were holding it together, and there was a piece of his hamstring completely missing. I did everything i could to hold back the tears that i felt welling up inside of me at the sight of it. He was smiling and was having fun showing it off to us, but it was another moment that i have had on this trip where the overwhelming realization of it all catches up to me. I was later comforted by my friend who works in physical therapy though, saying that it made her happy to see that he was able to move around like he was, and that after seeing the newspaper picture, that he even still had a leg, and survived the ordeal. It was just an interesting realization, and now i am looking at pictures before i leave, seeing this for what it was and trying to let it sink in....
Friday, December 21, 2007
Rubble Work Site 12/19
Yesterday was an interesting day. While most people we rubble for are friendly, generous people that you feel the utmost warm-fuzzy-fuzzies working for, there can be exceptions... The man who´s former house we were clearing happened to be what I can only describe as a dirty old man, in its truest form. He began by describing to us his affinity for Coca. And how much of it he has taken over the years. Duly noted, and expected in this culture. ( I have sampled the Maté de Coca, and was surprised at its strength, most people say it isn´t as strong as coffee, but i was pretty tweaked after drinking it, luckily someone visited Arentina and brought back a glorious kilo of my beloved Yerba Maté so I could be craddling my Gourd as I write this... it has the great tendency of making you forget any feelings of sickness, but i digress) It was really only when the old man began to repeat ¨Pokey-Pokey con Gringa¨ that the perversity of this man became apparent. Now, being as physical as rubbling is, that does not mean that there are not women present in the least, one of our team leaders being among them. So as we tried to converse and pull meanings from this man we realized he was really only trying to reitereate over and over his desire to have sex with a white woman... How pleasant... In the best spanish I could muster I attempted to somehow express that it was improper for him to keep doing that. ¨Señor, por favor, es muy improper [pretty sure that´s spainglish] dices cuando las mujeres presente.¨ Yeah, anybody is welcome to correct me if they can. Well, that got him to stop talking, or he just decided he had better things to do. He proceeded to sit on a part of the foundation and pull out a porno mag. At first we were unsure if it was solely a porno mag, you see, down here its seems that the line between a newspaper and a smut rag is very ambiguous. They are sold side by side on the same ¨news stands¨and apparently some of them have a little news in them, I guess? After he read, uh, the article [no, I didn´t read that article, Yuri...] for a couple of minutes he begins to try to show us his favorite girl. ¨Mira, mira,¨ showing the girls at the site after the guys were obviously disinterested. All the while we are hard at work shovelling and hauling, don´t get me wrong, he was a nice man and he meant well, but he put the dirty in DIRTY old man. So remember that if your grandpa´s or uncle´s are letting loose with some crude jokes or comments this holiday season, it could quite possibly be worse...
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