Southern Peru and almost Bolivia (Part 2)

Arequipa

The whole reason for going to Arequipa is to see the Colca Canyon because it's "amazing." Arequipa itself is a pretty nice town. After being in Puno, it seemed like a relative paradise. It has a reputation as being dangerous and the cab drivers are supposedly especially sketchy, at least that's the story. There are lots of rules about which cabs you should take and which you should avoid. I stood inside the bus terminal and checked my notes to make sure I could identify a legitimate and safe cab. But sometimes you just know. I walked outside and saw this guy in his 50's with his cab parked inside the terminal parking lot, which was the only one inside the lot and knew the guy was ok. You have to read the cab warnings for Arequipa to understand what I was so worried about but I I could tell this dude was ok. He turned out to be great and I used him many more times while I was there because he was trustworthy and cool/funny. I checked into my hostel/hotel (some are just hostels, some are hotels, some are a little of both) and checked out the town. The town has good infrastructure and restaurants and a few good bars. It, like a lot of places in Peru, was a heavy mining and agriculture area that is becoming more dependent on tourism. Lots of foreigners in any case. I just kind of hung around town for a few days and did what I do in every town - walk it. It's amazing how many people don't get out and walk. For so many people, the entire purpose of their trip is to get out of a bus and take a photo of that real and imagined culture. They never go see anything that is not in the Lonely Planet books. I find the least interesting parts of most places are the parts that I am supposed to go see. Seeing a disgruntled customer get sprayed with mustard by the guy who works for the bus company, now that's interesting!

After hanging around town for a few days and going out drinking with gay Francois from Quebec, I booked a tour of Colca Canyon which is the big attraction in the area. There was one gay bar in town that Francois wanted to visit but his boyfriend back in Canada didn't want him going alone so he told him that he would take the straight guy that he had been hanging out with (me). I told him I would go because he really wanted to go but to my small relief, it was closed down. Oh well, I guess we had to go talk to women instead. We went back to the bar we had left and I was immediately accosted by a very drunk and horny Peruvian girl. She told me she would pay me to have sex with her. We never got to a price, I decided it was time to go home before something bad happened. It would soon enough. As soon as I got back to my room and laid down I was hit by a tidal wave of nausea. I knew right away it was going to be bad. I went to the bathroom and vomit launched my dinner and three Cuba Libres into the toilet. I staggered back to bed but that only lasted about five minutes. Back to the bathroom but with the added bonus of shitting my pants. I was the most violently ill I have ever been. I spent the next seven hours retching and lying on the bathroom floor in my own filth. I awoke to an IV in my arm and paramedics/a doctor working on me. The maid heard the silence from my room and opened the door to find me passed out on the bathroom floor. They called the medics and I snapped back to consciousness as soon as the started giving me fluids. Meanwhile, the maid cleaned me up with wet towels and took my clothes away to wash them. The doctor thinks the slutty girl in the bar slipped me something. I was lucky to get home. The maid and the girl at the front desk spent the next 36 hours checking on me every hour and bringing me Gatorade until I was strong enough to get moving. They took such good care of me and I am forever in their debt.

Colca Canyon is Amazing

The tour company took mercy on me and let me rebook my Colca Canyon trip when I was feeling better. Another stroke of bad luck. I was stuck on a tour with some of the most horrendous people imaginable. Now the Europeans like to think they are such great travelers and that they are generally far superior to Americans. I have to admit they are right a lot the time. I mean, I come from a country that elected GW Bush president twice (ok once, the first was a fraud orchestrated by his brother) and where half the country still believes that Iraq and 9/11 are somehow related. Right, as much as Canada and 9/11 are related. Wait, Canada is closer to New York so maybe they are more related. Quick, call the Marines, we're marching on Toronto! People don't actually still believe that, do they? Please tell me the answer is no. Anyway, the Euros don't get a free pass any more than than the ugly American does nor the Australian guy who thinks his accent and reputation as a crocodile-hunting big wave surfer and world class beer drinker puts him beyond reproach - more on this in my forthcoming book where I break down the various types of travelers (a preview: obviously the Australian guy, the slutty chick from let's say Finland who screws every night on the bottom bunk in the dorm at the hostel, the Canadian girl who just wants to be loved, the American with an inferiority complex). Where was I? Oh yeah, the horrible Euros on my tour. First of all, I don't do tours. For many reasons but mostly because the make me claustrophobic and they always take longer than necessary to show you what it is you want to see. The tour guides always over-explain everything and it's always a crapshoot in terms of who you end up with. Unfortunately you just can't see a lot of places unless you go on a tour and so it was for Colca Canyon.

Fine, when everyone first gets on a tour bus with strangers, nobody tends to talk much. But generally by day three people will say hello to you after spending two or three entire days with you. Nope. These German assholes, French bastards, and Spanish dickheads couldn't even muster a "buenos dias" in the morning. Every day, I would get on the bus and say buenos dias to everyone. Nothing. No eye contact, not a nod, nothing. Part of this of course is the difference between travelers and tourists. Travelers talk to each other, share information, and are always aware and sensitive of the solo traveler, generally inviting the solo people in and making them feel a part of things. These people all had folders with their itineraries where every minute of every day was planned by the package tour they were on. The entire object of their trip is take and collect photos with their $3000 digital SLR cameras. EVERYTHING is a photo op for them. All they care about is the camera. And the fake culture? They eat it up. It is amazing that exactly the things they find interesting are the things I find uninteresting - a Peruvain kid dressed in traditional clothing pretending to be a llama herder, an indigenous woman with a giant eagle on her shoulder that is supposedly some long lost relative, the people who pretend to live on islands that they make out of reeds (even though the speedboat they use to go back to town every day is moored to the back of the island). Now the whole traveler vs. tourist thing can be a very snobby, elitest thing and many of the so-called travelers think that they are very cool and are always trying to one-up other travelers or prove that they are "better" travelers etc. when all they are doing is following exactly the same route as everyone else. And they are always cooler than tourists. We're all tourists at the end of the day so they need to get over themselves but the mentality is a good reference point and many "tourists" have a good mentality and approach to what they are doing. It may just be that they don't have the time or (someone else's) money to travel with. That being said, the people on my tour represented the worst of the package tour, high-impact visitor with no real interest in what's actually going on in the places they visit. They just want a good slideshow when the get home. I compare it to the twenty-somethings who go to La Paz, Bolivia and stay in their hostel for ten days doing blow, go to bed at 6 AM every day, and then say that they have "been to Bolivia." You don't need to have been there to know what I'm talking about.

Well, to be honest, Colca Canyon is pretty amazing. It would be even more amazing if you could do a trek into the canyon and really get to see it, which is possible. I talked to someone who did that and it sounds like it was even more incredible from down inside the canyon. The tours all drive along a dirt road that runs along the rim of the canyon. And there are LOTS of tours. The area is a relatively new attraction in terms of people actually knowing about and it is being bombarded by visitors and traffic. Every stopping point or turnout on the road is jammed with buses and loads of people with loads of cameras all taking photos of things that are not going to look very good on the slide show when they get home (I know because mine don't look very good). The big attraction is the condors that "live" near Condor Point. You see, the condors really did live right below condor point on the cliffs a few years ago. And then the tourists came in droves and scared them off. So now they throw dead animals on the rocks to attract the condors. Nothing like keeping the environment in its natural state. The condors are cool but I've seen them in Big Sur but it was a good opportunity for the German and French people to take a billion photos.

After seeing the condors, it was back to the little town that we stayed in the night before (I can't remember the name) for an overpriced lunch at the restaurant used by a bunch of the tour companies because, after all, this is Peru and everyone wants your money. Many of the families in town make their livings through tourism so I guess it is good for them in the end. But there is so much cultural dilution and drugs and things like prostitution that come along with the tourist dollars that I am not entirely certain it's worth it in the end. I won't even get started on the trash and what to do with it. That is an entire entry of its own. After lunch it was back on the bus for five hours of nobody speaking to me or making eye contact. Needless to say, I was the FIRST person off the bus back in Arequipa. Douchebags.

One side story. I was walking back to my dungeon of a room at 2 in the morning in the little town and I stumbled (no, I mean stumbled) onto this Incan woman cooking french fries on this side street. I couldn't resist. I had no idea the Inca were known for their french fries. I knew that they built Macchu Pichu, hereded llamas, made cool hats out of Alpaca, and were slaughtered by the Spanish. But french fries? I need to franchise this lady. I tasted one and it was perhaps the best fry I had ever had. I was going to wait until I got back to my room and sit down and really enjoy with the one beer I knew I had left. I walked through the dark streets and was almost at the gate to my "hotel" and I said to myself, "oh shit, I don't need this." A pack of four dogs took up an aggressive stance around me and one had even grabbed my pant leg. I knew I should have gotten the rabies shots. I picked up a rock when he pulled away and slammed in the head with it. He yelped and backed off which left me three to deal with. One little terrier-looking asshole of a dog that I particularly wanted to kill. I had already thrown a rock at him earlier. I couldn't even lean down to get another rock because they would come at me when I did. I only had one other choice. Throw the fries and make a run for it. The little fuckers were more than happy to chase my snack across the street and I was able to get behind the gate. I drank my last beer on my bed made out of sandbags and vowed to return to this little town someday. With poison. Lots of poison.

Are we in Bolivia yet? I'm only three countries behind. Did I mention that I didn't like the people on my tour?

Southern Peru and almost Bolivia (Part 1)

Out of Peru and into Bolivia (almost)

A well-defined tourist trail exists from Cusco to Southeastern Peru that takes people from Cusco to Puno/Lake Titicaca and then to Arequipa, which is the base for Colca Canyon. When you get close to some of these places, you are obligated to go see the main attractions. After all, when am I going to be in Southern Peru again? The problem is, everyone tells you that [fill-in-the-place] is "amazing. The Dutch girl I was traveling with, Roos, and I look at each other and roll our eyes every time someone tells us that we "have to visit" someplace and/or that something is "amazing." Some people have to convince themselves that some things are amazing because they've traveled so far to see them. Some people really do believe that everything they see is amazing. Some people, like Roos and me, are just cynical and not as easily impressed. At least we don't lie to ourselves or others which is the nature of the cynic. So when someone asks me (or us) how some place is, we tell them that it is just ok, worth a visit, or, in rare cases, amazing.

Colca Canyon is Amazing

I had the guy at my hostel buy me a bus ticket for the 12 hour trip to Arequipa. Of course he told me that he would honor my wishes and get me a ticket on "the best" bus company. Fortunately he did. Except it was on the worst bus company. But this was Peru and everyone in Peru is going to steer you in the direction that makes them the most money, even if they know your bus is going to drive off a cliff. Mine didn't drive off a cliff but it was an interesting ride.
I like to ride in the top/front of the two-level buses down here to sit over the driver and look out at the countryside and craziness. The toothless attendant at the bus station was very nice and we talked for a long time about things, including my overall trip which she couldn't even fathom. The bus stations are very confusing and she assured me that she would get me on the right bus when it pulled in. Some non-Spanish speaking travelers in the bus station took advantage of my Spanish and my new friendship to make sure that they also were going to get on the correct bus amidst the chaos. Since I didn't know anything about the bus company chosen for me, I would check out every bus as it pulled into the station and say to myself "I hope it's not that one" or "that one isn't so bad." I saw a couple of buses pull in and I said "I hope it isn't that pink one." Just then my new toothless amiga said "este es tuyo." I thought "of course it is." The bus had an interesting aroma and a layer of something on the seats - sweat? food? dirt? oil? The guy next to me was pretty certain that the armrest and half of my seat belonged to him. It was about 97 degrees when we got on the bus (it would eventually plummet to 43 below zero) and across the aisle from us, a family of five occupied two seats. I actually thought it was a good strategy - buy the front of the bus and squeeze as many as you can on your side of the aisle. I'm not sure what they paid because I wasn't even sure what I paid. I know the guy at the hostel totally ripped me off. The bus pulls out of the station and you think you're leaving but the fun is just beginning. The bus makes several stops in town to pick up more passengers. For some of these passengers, it's a free for all and they run and fight for seats. Some of them seem to have reservations and calmly walk to seats. I do know that they all received serious discounts on their tickets.

I wasn't prepared for the first stop in Juliaca. For one thing, I had already passed through Juliaca once and knew it was a place I would never stop. Under any conditions. I had seen the town from the train but I still couldn't really entirely grasp the scale and craziness. We arrived at the "bus station" after driving down a bunch of alleys and side streets and dirt roads because half the streets seemed to be under construction or blocked by piles of rubble. The bus station is really just this insanely crowded street with bus company offices where buses park and pick up passengers. When we stopped and the driver opened the door, the bus was instantly under a full frontal assault by food vendors. They were selling trout, empenadas, jell-o, bread, big rounds of cheese, soft drinks. There must have been 25 of them and they were mowing down passengers who were trying to get off the bus. I stood up to get off the bus and the lady across the aisle (of the party of five in two seats) told me not to, that it wasn't safe for me outside. I was hungry and I wanted to get away from the smell of fried trout mixed with dirty bus and poor hygiene. In the end, I took her advice and just bought a coke from one the vendors on the bus. I didn't really want to take a chance with the bus or street food and give myself the shits on a bus with no bathroom for ten hours (even though the guy who bought my ticket told me it had a bathroom). Ater a few minutes in the station it appeared that we were about to leave and a bit of an argument starts behind me. It seems that the bus company has double-booked a seat and the guy who just got on the bus is trying to get the seat from the guy who has been sitting in it. The guy sitting in it is telling the dude that he's not moving and he should take it up with the bus company. Seeing the technology they use (i.e. none), I can't believe this doesn't happen all the time. How did they even know I was sitting in my seat and/or on the bus? Anyway, the driver's assistant goes back and gets the guy to leave the bus. They start pushing and shoving and the guy from the bus company sprays mustard in the would-be passenger's face (now that's customer service) and the guy starts chasing him around the bus. The assistant starts pounding on the bus to get the driver to start going. The bus starts to drive down the crazy, insane, crowded street with the door open and the assistant guy jumps in while fighting the mustard face guy off, Indiana Jones style. He eventually succeeds in knocking the guy off the bus and all the while I appear to be the only person shocked or entertained by any of this. I'm looking around with that "are you seeing what I'm seeing" look on my face but all the Peruvians have their usual faces of stone, looking very disinterested.

The bus ride was pretty uneventful for the next ten hours although we would stop in the middle of nowhere to add or drop off passengers with the vendors boarding and selling food or whatever. We did make one "bathroom" stop that was a little bit unexpected. The bus pulled over and everyone seemed to know this was the bathroom stop. I walked off the bus (we were in the middle of nowhere) and started to wander off into the rocks but there were people dropping deuces ten feet from the bus and I noticed that, uh, many buses must stop in the same area and decided that I was not going to walk off into that minefield. So I just walked around the bus and basically went in the road. And then got back on the bus as quickly as I could because I didn't want to see any more of what I had already seen. Spealing of vendors, this guy got on our bus at the turd stop. I'm not sure where he came from or how he got there. This is a cold, dry, windy, desolate place. I think he hops on buses and rides them one way and then rides them back, selling his product. Not sure why he chose this particular spot of all spots but I'm sure he has his reasons. As for his product, it was some kind of powder that I heard him say cures the following: rheumatism, arthritis, gastritis, heart disease, diabetes, impotence, hair loss, (some cases of) cancer, constipation, diarhea, and insomnia. The guy talked for 30 minutes and then something incredible happened - half the bus bought the shit. And these are poor people because this is a crappy bus. The guy across the aisle asked me what I thought. I told him that anything that claims to cure everything probably cures nothing. He told me that he hadn't really thought about it that way but he was thinking about buying some for his "gastritis." I have foiund that every stomach problem in Latin America is diagnosed as gastritis. I can't believe how many people I have heard say they have gastritis. Especially considering that I have never met anyone in the US with this common Latin American affliction. Having been cured of an ulcer myself and knowing the symptoms, I think most of these people have ulcers and most ulcers are caused by a bacteria and easily cured. I convinced him to save his money and to try and find a doctor who is aware of this cause/cure and see if antibiotics can fix the problem. Hopefully I helped the guy out.

Arequipa and Colca Canyon...

South from Cusco

South from Cusco

I left Cusco after being there for too long. Cusco is one of those places that everyone says you have to visit. I guess you have to go to Cusco because it's the gateway to Machu Picchu. It's a place that the tourists and travelers all visit but people talk about it like the place itself is something special. It's good in that lots of people are there to have a good time but besides the party and its proximity to archeological sites, it's kind of crappy. Everyone wants to rip you off and/or sell you something and lots and lots of fake culture. More about fake culture when I talk about Arequipa and Southern Peru. Anyway, I stayed too long. Had a good time but it was good to get out. On to Puno, Lake Titicaca, Arequipa, and Bolivia.

Puno

I took the train from Cusco to Puno, about a ten hour trip. We went through some cool villages and natural areas of the Andes, although the Andes are not particularly beautiful. They can be impressive but not necessarily beautiful. Part of the reason I have not been that impressed with the mountains themselves is that I am spoiled. California has the Sierras and the Siskiyous and places like Yosemite, the North Coast, and Big Sur. Plus I have spent so much time in the Rockies, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and other places in the Western United States. We have so much and so many people in the world have never seen mountains like we have. The Andes are relatively dry and the rivers in the populated areas are so polluted, it's hard to be impressed. Traveling always makes me realize how incredible California is. The rural villages were interesting but very desolate. Some were downright bleak. I passed through probably the bleakest place I have ever seen, a town called Juliaca. The entire town is a giant street market and a huge garbage dump. Dry, windy, cold, dirty, crowded, not close to anything. It ain't San Francisco or San Diego, that's for sure. I've lived in paradise most of my life.

I arrived in Puno just after dark and got off the train just in time to catch someone walking off with my backpack. They give you a luggage ticket and then throw the bags on the train platform in a pile and nobody watches. Obviously the local luggage thieves know the system and stand there and kind of randomly grab a bag and walk off. When you see someone carrying your bag, it takes a second to register. Mine is pretty distinct so I realized what was happening in time to walk up to the guy, punch him in the back of the head and grab my bag while telling him in Spanish he was a piece of shit thief. Gringo 1 Peruvian thief 0. I had a $7 a night hostel picked out near the train station which turned out to be the coldest, darkest place I have stayed so far. At least they had Wi-Fi. It's amazing, you have these luxurious places where the Internet doesn't work and you have places with no heat and barely any light with super fast Wi-Fi. Go figure. It was probably 25 degrees inside my jail-cell-like room but at least I could do some research for my fantasy football team. I was in puno for the "Great cultural experience" that are the Uros floating islands. The quotation marks are there because the Uros are one of many "cultural experiences" in Peru that seem to exist mostly, if not entirely, for tourists with cameras. And money. The Uros Islands are islands constructed out of reeds by the indigenous population around Lake Titicaca. They measure maybe 50x50 and are where the Uros people "live." The Uros people also make their living fishing on boats that they also "construct out of reeds." Understand that for so many people, their trip is all about taking pictures of things, real and imagined. It's kind of like getting off of a plane in a bunch of countries, going through customs to get your passport stamped, and getting back on the plane. They never go to a city and just walk around on their own, maybe wander into a bar or cafe and talk to some locals or just go sit in the park and watch what's going on. EVERYTHING is a photo op. To the point that it's annoying. And everyone now is apparently Ansel Adams and has to get THE shot. Sorry but I'm walking through your picture. The Uros Islands are made for these people. Literally. I mentioned fake culture earlier. The Uros, as far as I can tell, is mostly a fabrication of a culture that once existed. Germans and French with $3000 digital SLR cameras love this stuff. The islands are pretty cool and the people do build them. I took a boat out to one of the islands with about 30 people (one of 50 boats going to various islands that day). The first sign of trouble when we arrived was the craft market set up like everywhere else you go in Peru. Hats, necklaces, carved figurines, etc. It reminded me that this is Peru and everything is a sales opportunity. While the Germans and French walked around taking 100s of photos (I took three), I went to talk to a little girl. First, I asked her if she lived there. Confirming my suspicions, she said no. At least she didn't sleep there. Right. Then we started talking about the boats and she asked me if I wanted to know a secret. Well, yes. She took me behind the huts and showed me how they really built the boats. Under a tarp were hundred of plastic water bottles used for the hulls. They didn't tell me that in the brochure. Then, for a charge, some people could ride on one of the "reed" boats. About half the people piled on and the natives serenaded them with "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" as they floated away. Appalling. Fake culture at its finest and lots of photos for the Euros with their expensive cameras. We went on to some other regular island on the lake (after our boat caught on fire once) and saw other people pretending to live like they did several hundred years ago. I was over it by then. Back to my cold and dark room in Puno for the night before leaving for Arequipa.

How to get a bridge named after you in Bolivia

I have skipped over the last part of Peru and need to backtrack but this travel business is a lot of work and I´ve been busy. Anyway...

How to get a bridge named after you in Bolivia

It´s called "Crackhead Bridge." It´s named after a guy. Apparently a crackhead. It´s about a 50 meter (yes, I´m metric now) drop into a rocky crevasse. If you miss the bridge anyway. The bridge is on what is known as "The World´s Most Dangerous Road." It´s the old road built between Bolivia and Peru/Chile. There is a sheer cliff to one side that drops hundreds of feet in places. The last year it was still the only route over the mountains (2006), 100 people died in one bus crash over the side. The new highway is falling apart because they didn´t put in any drainage and they will be back to using this road again at some point but that´s another story. Now they run mountain bike tours down the road. You need to pay attention. You need to be sober. There are a lot of drugs in Bolivia and La Paz is a party town. Apparently this dude thought it would be a good idea to smoke crack all night and then continue smoking crack on his four hour downhill ride. Unfortunately for him, his timing, vision, and judgement were slighlty impaired from all the rock he had been smoking. He missed the bridge and fell 150 feet onto the rocks and broke both legs, both collar bones, several ribs, and many teeth. Then he had the pleasure of lying there for two or three hours waiting to be pulled out. As an added bonus, he had the good fortune of being treated in a fine Bolivian medical facility by a veteranarian/dentist/doctor/tow truck driver. But he did have a bridge named after him. Now we have Crackhead Bridge. Let that be a lesson to all of you crackheads out there. I am hoping that after my trip to Argentina they rename Iguazu Falls "LSD Trip Falls" or "Naked American on Mushrooms Falls" or something. Stay tuned.

Welcome to Peru

Went a little out of order in bringing myself all the way to Arequipa. There was more to Cusco than just horrible people at my hostal.


For one thing, Cusco itself is one of the most over-touristed places I have been. It seems to exist entirely for the tourist industry, anchored by its proximity to Machu Picchu. The number of tour companies is so overwhelming that it is next to impossible to decide which company to use. Some are much better than others but the whole business is so incestuous that they are all related in some way. It may not have more tourists than other places but the tourists are crammed into the center of the city, more or less. Nobody really owns cars so there are seemingly millions of taxis. The taxis are another story altogether. It's one of those places where you cannot walk ten feet without someone trying to sell you a tour, a trinket, a massage (every two feet), a pack of smokes, drugs, a meal, a sweater, a hat with ear flaps, or a photo with a pet llama. Just about everyone, it seems, is trying to rip you off. I think the people are both jaded by the presence of all the tourists and their perceived (and real) money and simply poor. Everyone is fighting over the same dollar or euro and there are just too many of them doing the same thing and selling the same thing with nothing to differentiate one from the other. I will give them a break there. It's tough to make a living, like everywhere I have been. I'm glad I'm not hawking tours all day on the corner or asking 500 people if they want a massage to get one taker. That being said, I still don't like being seen as a walking wallet. But nobody in that town has any interest in knowing anything about you. Everything is a sales opportunity.



A little story about the sales opportunity. Part of it was a great experience, part of it was a royal rip off. I walked up to the ruins just above town my second day in Cusco. It's a pretty good hike up the stairs above San Blas. San Blas is built into the hillside and is made of winding, steep, stone steps. When I got to the top, this guy with a backpack jumped down from the wall and approached me. Of course I thought he wanted to sell me something or perhaps rob me but he asked me if I had a boleto touristico or tourist ticket to get in. I said no and he explained to me that I could get in free after 5:30. I told him that I was just going to climb the hill to the giant Jesus statue (being the big Jesus freak that I am). He blesses me every day. Oh wait, he's dead. Anyway, the guy introduces himself as Armando and walks with me up the trail to see our boy JC. Cool guy, takes some photos of me and asks me if I wanted to go drink Chicha with him. I agreed and walked down this maze of steep dirt trails (the real Cusco) past the shacks and houses and several vicious dogs that we pelted with rocks until we came to a building with a low roof and a door that we had to duck under to walk through. Seated at long tables along the walls were mostly men 50 and older drinking a yellow liquid with both hands from large glasses. We were in a "Chicharia," or Chicha house. Chicha is liquor made by the Incas that is brewed by women who chew corn, spit it into an urn, ferment it, and add water. These men come and drink Chicha every day for three or four hours. I met several of his uncles and his father and cousins and we drank Chicha for several hours. We walked back to town, I fell down the trail (twice) and I thought it was a really cool, very unique experience. Which it was - I have not met anyone (Peruvian or otherwise) who has ever been to a Chicharia. Armando mentioned to me that they had horses and told me he could take me on a tour for 45 soles, which sounded cheap. I said that I would go the next day. Here comes the rip off/sales opportunity. I showed up to ride the next day and the price was 90 soles (I had to rent his horse, from his cousin, who is his neighbor and owns the horse). Oh, ok. Paid it, wondering if they would actually give me my 10 soles change. The horse was good, the equipment was terrible and I couldn't even put my feet in the stirrups, and most of the ride was on the road. The ride was half as long as it was supposed to be, on a different route than promised, and cost twice as much. We ended up going to the school where his girlfriend was the cook and she made us some delicious trout. The best I have ever had. During this time, his cousin stopped by because he worked for a bike tour company and I had mentioned that I was interested in a bike tour and Armando was telling me that I could live in the apartment above his house for free as long as I wanted. We walked back to my hostal as he and his cousin were both trying to steer me into their offers. His cousin visited me several more times in the coming days. Armando offered me the free place to stay a few more times but I knew it was only because I was a potential source of income. I honestly thought the guy had some good intentions but it was really just the first of many experiences that made me think everyone in Peru wanted my money, whether they obtained it honestly or not. I never got my 10 soles change.

Trying to get caught up on Peru and need to keep posting in parts. It´s part laziness, part disorganization, part sketchy internet access, part being sick twice, and part just being busy traveling and doing what goes along with that.

Peru, finally (Part 1)

Machu Picchu, blah, blah, blah

I need to post this in parts or I will never get it done.

I arrived in Peru on July 13th and spent the night in the Lima airport drinking beer to get me through the night. I was behind this guy from Oregon at the ATM when he left his Visa/ATM card in the machine (one of my biggest fears). He had no money, no plane ticket, and no clue what he was going to do. He said he was checking his balance and just spaced out. I saw him walk away and tried to grab his card but it was too late. I gave him 60 Soles ($20) and wished him luck.


The flight from Lima to Cusco was pretty amazing. The views I mean. Sunrise over the Andes was spectacular. I sat next to a couple of really cool people from Medellin, Colombia. They own a restaurant and invited me to come to Medellin. They said they would make it easy for me if I was worried about anything (why would anyone be worried about going to Colombia?).


Got into Cusco at 7 AM and was picked up by a super cool girl who worked at my hostel. Turns out she would be one of only two who were super cool there. The rest were borderline nasty. One girl who worked the front desk faked being nice and one couldn't even muster fake niceness. She was horrendous. Bitch. The rest of them ranged from weird to ice cold. The rooms were nice and the showers were awesome (something you learn to appreciate and ask about as you travel). They were so good that I let people I met who were staying in less desirable places use my shower. It's funny now how many people I have talked to who have used or let others use their showers. It's very common out on the road. However, the people who work in the place one stays make a huge difference. I was not impressed. I eventually moved after I met some people but I can't do the full time backpacker/hostel scene. Too old for that. I have to do more of a hybrid thing. Maybe I will do a hostel (even a dorm) for a couple of days and spend $8 or $9 on a room but then I need to go hide out somewhere and get some privacy (and perhaps a better shower and/or internet connection). I did all of the above in Cusco.


My second day in Cusco I was sitting in the Irish Pub and the most beautiful Peruvian girl sits down next to me. Joanna Vasquez from Lima. I won't go into details but I will say that she "showed me around" Cusco for the next five days during which I didn't go to bed before 5 AM. At the end of all that, having no sleep and being at 11000 feet, I had a respiratory infection. I remember hearing this guy at the hostel cough every morning when I first woke up thinking "that dude's got tuburculosis or something." Then I noticed so many other people coughing. I called it "the Cusco cough." Then I got it. Joanna went back to Lima and I was unable to breathe or sleep for the next four days and didn't recover until I arrived here, in Arequipa. Cusco and Puno were both coooold and very high (Puno is at 12000 feet). I came down here to 6000 feet and nice weather and instantly felt better. I had no energy for weeks, even though I was outside hiking etc. Met some good people in Cusco, including Joanna's friends, Gretal and Christina as well as Peter from Denmark, Ursula and Gabriella from Brazil, Roos (Rose) from the Netherlands, and the Ica crew (Sebastien, Santiago, and Alex). A couple of good expats too - mainly Richard Nisbett who I shared many beers and good stories with at the pub. Roos and Ursula were especially good finds. Good people.

Puebla (Adios Mexico)

End of Mexico

I took a trip to Puebla on my way to Mexico City. I need to finish Mexico so I can start on some Peru action.

Puebla was a fairly unremarkable place but I made it interesting. After a few self-imposed glitches, I was finally able to extract myself from Oaxaca. I got to Puebla in the morning and checked into my crappy overpriced hotel room. I need to go to Tripadvisor and straighten them out. I just kind of walked around town like I always do when I get to new place and ended up in what looked like the friendliest place for a beer (also like I always do). I was watching the Mexico vs El Salvador soccer game and I made the mistake of offering the extremely drunk guy next to me my peanuts because I didn’t want them. That, of course, made us best friends. He starts slurring to me in Spanish and poking me about every 20 seconds. I just want to watch the game. He wants to talk politics in barely understandable Spanish. Then of course I’m too good for him because I’m a pinche Gringo when in reality I just can’t understand a word he is saying. I am obviously getting annoyed and a couple of locals pick up on it and step and tell the guy to beat it (very cool of them). The waiter chases him down because he didn't pay and he comes back in and tells the manager that I am paying his bill. I deny that of course and the dude starts throwing glasses on the ground. Five minutes later the cops come in and drag him out. The bar pays my bill and I end up going out with the two local guys who helped me out and they invite me to a baseball game for the local team the next day which was a blast.

The next day was my last day so I decided to go to Popocatepetl. I hopped a bus to Cholula so I could find a collectivo to the general vicinity of Popo. Collectivos are vans that drive along and pick people up and drop them off as they go. Needless to say, you pick up and drop off a lot of interesting people carrying interesting items in the Mexican countryside. Being the only Gringo on a collectivo also makes you a bit of an oddity. The people are curious but polite enough to ask you what the hell you are doing. But if you speak to them they open up with a million questions. The cool thing about the collectivo is that the driver and passengers all work together to make sure everyone gets their stuff strapped to the roof or squeezed into the vehicle itself. People just spontaneously get out and help when the vehicle stops. There were pigs, lumber, sacks of seeds, bikes, plumbing supplies, a businessman in a suit, and many campesinos with farming tools.

I was dropped off in some little village that was allegedly close to the base of the volcano. I couldn't tell if the volcano was actually there because of the clouds but I started walking up a dirt road that some kids pointed me to. I walked up a path and eventually reached a trout farm where I met a teenage Mexican boy who explained to me that it was going to be at least a day's hike to the cone of the volcano. Nobody was home but he offered me food and water if I wanted to make the hike. I decided to head back to the main road which was a 30-40 minute walk. When I got to the road, I thought I would walk up a bit just to get some more exercise knowing that I couldn't even make it up to the restaurant/campground that was 20 km farther up the road. After walking for about 15 minutes, this guy comes flying around the corner in a beat up Nissan pickup with a camper shell and slams on his brakes. He motions towards the back to the truck and I figured, what the hell. So I hopped in the back of the truck and he continues FLYING up the mountain. I have video. This guy was going flat out and sliding around corners and tossing me around the back of the truck. The whole time I was thinking about how I hadn't considered how I was getting down, knowing I had to catch a bus to Mexico City the next day. He dropped me off at the campground and told me he would be going back down in two hours if I needed a ride. Relieved, I found a lady making food by the side of the road and ordered some thing that I couldn't name if you asked me. It was this blue corn tortilla stuffed with cheese, beans, and peppers and cooked over wood. Incredible. I ordered a second. I walked up to a little campground where the guy who gave me the ride was working on the stoves in the restaurant. I hiked around for a while and looked at some really bad Mexican development in a beautiful place. It started to rain so I walked down toward the campground and a bunch of people were sitting in this cabana and they started giving me (good natured) shit. "Hey Gringo, you're a long way from home. What are you doing? Where are you going? Come have some tequila." In Spanish of course. So I went into the cabana and the woman who seemed to be the ring leader told me to pour myself a drink. And then pour "tia China" a drink. And then pour "Tia Gueta" a drink. And this went on until I poured everyone a drink. They were full of questions about me and my life and we burned through two bottles of Sauza and then the dude who gave me a ride was ready to leave.

The guy invited me to ride up front for the ride down. His name was Santiago and his son, Miguel, was with him. He drove at the same speed (or faster) down the windy road and we just kind of talked about our lives and whatever. He just laughed when I talked about being divorced. He has three ex-wives and "we will never understand women" seems to translate in any language. We were driving past these trees and I was asking him what they were. He kept saying "nuez." I knew what nuez was and should have recognized the trees since I went to school in Chico and since my neighbor used to get drunk and blow them off a tree when I was a kid but I couldn't get it. We pulled over and picked a few green ones and Miguel started peeling them with his pocket knife. He extracted some of it and gave it to me and I said "oh, it's a fucking walnut!" And Santiago tried for the next 20 minutes to pronounce "walnut."
He dropped me off in the village and told me where to catch a collectivo back to Cholula and off I went with the most agro/angry collectivo driver I have ever seen. I was lucky to survive. Got on the wrong bus in Cholula and ended up who knows where. By the grace of some very nice woman, I finally got back to Puebla three hours later (it's 30 minutes from Cholula). Went to a bar/restaurant to have some food and a couple beers and met two very nice girls from Guadalajara. Hung out with them for a couple hours and was leaving and realized my Mexican cell phone was missing. I knew who took it and walked up to the guy, reached into his pocket, took it, called him a puto, and left. The guy who worked there chased me down and apologized, telling me that not everyone in his country was a thief. I told him that I knew that. He was very embarrassed.

I left for Peru the next day. I was sick with a respiratory infection for five days in Peru and also got distracted by a few people (well one in particular) but I am getting caught up now. I will update Peru next.

Stay Classy Oaxaca

3-2-1....and that's a wrap.

Adios Oaxaca

Or hasta luego more like it. I will return. I mean, I have to. Too many people expect to see me back here.

But I had to extract myself. I had a going away party because I needed one more night of staying up until 5 or 6. Matt from Australia and I ended up at the Tlayuda stand at 5:30 AM posing as a gay couple from San Francisco which was pretty funny for the other patrons. The amazing thing was that there were ten people there at 5:30 AM on a Tuesday. I was supposed to leave on Wednesday but I forgot my passport and my credit card at the place I was staying and had to go back and get it so I missed my bus.

I need to thank the following people for my time in Oaxaca: Paco uno, Paco dos, Paco tres, Carlos, Carlos, and Carlos, Oscar, Keni, Pinky, Fernando, Lalo, Flor, Alberto, Miguel, Gloria, Lily, Veronica, Jessica, Christy, Mayumi, Dale, Rebecca, Matt, Martin, Neil, Sandra, Jovani, and especially my good friend Heidy who was so generous with her time.

I had a good run and maybe stayed two or three weeks longer than I should have. I was kind of lost once Cafe Borgo closed because it was the center of my social life. Pretty much 80% of everyone I knew in Oaxaca was directly or indirectly through Borgo. The new Borgo is now open for business and I anxiously await reports from the front lines.

My last night in Oaxaca was interesting. It was actually uninteresting until the riot started. I walked into this little store and when I walked out these people were running down the street pushing motorcycles over. I started to follow them down the street to see what they were up to and they started smashing out store windows and growing rapidly in numbers. I looked behind me and police in riot gear were moving pretty quickly toward me. The rioters were apparently better armed with projectiles than I thought and started hurling rocks and bottles at the cops and I am trapped in the middle. I looked at the cops and shrug my shoulders with my palms up to say "what do I do?" One of the cops waves me toward him and I scramble his way and he drags me back through the line of cops to safety. I didn´t have an opportunity to get out my camera until I was behind the cops. I took some really bad video from behind the mayhem that includes me running away when the tear gas comes out. It also results in one of my favorite moments of the trip - the flower vendor running beside me yelling "orrale gueto" (run whitey) as his girlfriend runs by giggling.

I can´t get the video to post, I´ve been trying for a couple of days. I will try Flickr/Facebook to see if I have any luck.

Chiapas (Part 3) Comitan

I thought I posted this. Oops.

Comitan is a very nice little town. It is the cleanest city I have ever visited in Mexico. There is not one scrap of trash on the streets. I can't figure it out.

We left the ranch after a few days of relaxing, riding horses, and talking to a bunch of very interesting people. That morning, Cristobal and Flor were going to drive the Jeep into Teopisca for a shopping run. This another one of those "only in Mexico" or maybe even a "always in Mexico" kind of mornings. If you have spent any time in Mexico (especially on any kind of driving trip) you know that it isn't a Mexico trip until you pull a car out of a ditch, repair a car with aluminum foil, or perhaps buy gasoline from someone who lives in a camper shell and makes his pregnant wife siphon the gas (yes, that happened on a Baja trip). Cristobal tried to start the jeep, which had been sitting for a month but it was dead. Fortunately the ranch is up on a hill so we could just push the jeep down and bump start it. The Kernal, Flor, and I all got behind the jeep and started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. Until we go to the bottom of the hill. We couldn't push anymore and Cristobal realized that he had been in reverse the whole time and that the jeep was out of gas. Oops. What to do? The Kernal and Flor decided to walk the ten minutes up the road back the ranch for some reason. I can't remember why. Cristobal, Atman (three or four year old boy) and I stayed at the jeep. Some locals came along and Cristobal asked them if the could catch a ride into town. They said yes and off he went. And left me with someone else's kid. Now that might seem strange to you but remember this is Mexico. People just need to get shit done. They can't worry about following a bunch of rules or regulations. We are a very rule-based society. This British guy I met who is riding his bike to South America told me about being scolded by some random citizen in Orange County because he barely rode across the corner of a sidewalk. This is deep Mexico and we needed gas. The Kernal and Flor come back and there I am picking daiseys with the kid. The Kernal kind of says, "what the fuck?" I just told him that "hey it's Mexico", which of course he understood being a Mexico veteran. He said something to the effect that it was classic that someone would just leave me with the kid without thinking twice. And it would only happen in Mexico. Fortuantely Cristobal found a Gringo with a big truck and jumper cables to bring him back with the gas. He wouldn't have gotten it started without my automotive experise though. So, you're saying, "but you don't have any automotive expertise and are basically a mechanical retard." True. But I did mow a lot of lawns as a kid and I remembered that sometimes I needed to prime the engine to get it started, a concept Cristobal was not familair with. We eventually got the Jeep fired up and the three of them were off to town and the Kernal and I went back up the hill to wait for our taxi.

It's amazing the power of a 100 Peso tip. Our taxi driver made it up the someewhat sketchy dirt road and picked us up within 15 minutes of our agreed time. Then he told us he could take us all the way to Comitan for 200 more Pesos even though he was technically not allowed to do it. Another loophole. Something about picking us up on a dirt road and not the highway which made it ok. Whatever. He took us back to Teopisca to return our bottles and then made 20 more dangerous passes on the way to Comitan.


As I said, Comitan is a very clean little town. But the vibe is so different than Oaxaca or even San Cristobal de las Casas. We defintely had the "animal in a zoo" feeling at times. I mean, people stare at you like they are seeing Bigfoot walk down the street. I think, for one thing, people see lots of Gringos and Europeans in Oaxaca. We simply didn't see any Americans or Euros in Comitan so I think people were thinking "what the hell are you doing here?" At least that was feeling. People are much more closed. But it is also right next to Guatemala and there is a heavy Zapatista (rebel) influence in the area. However, like other similar parts of Mexico, people will totally open up to you once you speak to them, especially if you speak Spanish. The women will not make eye contact but they make more overt gestures (like yelling "papito" from cars). They will also say things like "guapito" (handsome) as they pass you on the street. But they just keep walking/driving. They don't hang around to talk. The men have a more aggressive or angry disposition than a place like Oaxaca. In Oaxaca they are just indifferent. Again, until you talk to them. We definitely got some glares and even some threatening stares in Comitan. But mostly people were just curious. "What the hell are you two Gringos doing here, anyway?"


The highlight of our trip was probably the torta shop and the girl who worked there. I don't think I have ever had a more charismatic person make me a sandwich. She was very plain looking but at the same time extremely attractive. As an added bonus, she let us bring beer into the restaurant because they didn't sell it. I can't explain it, but she just had this thing that pulled us both in. Ane then there were the tortas. If you are ever within 200 miles of Comitan (which you never will be), make the trip into town and go to Tortas Mickey. You will stay an extra day so that you can go back again and have more tortas. On our second day we didn't waste any time and just ordered two. Each.


The one thing that will stick with me the most was the girl that I spoke with from Guatemala. It was another reminder (although they come daily) of how lucky I am. She was 24 and had a four year old son who lived in Guatemala with her parents. She was working in Comitan as a stripper and sharing a very small and dirty apartment with another girl from her country doing the same thing. She simply could not make any money in Guatemala and had to work in some hideous club on the outskirts of town. She kind of dodged the question about whether or not they made her work as a prostitute although it was all in Spanish so I could have missed something. All she wanted was to buy a computer for her son. She said she had 4000 pesos saved which was a fortune to her (about $300). Everyday is a struggle for her and she was such a lovely person. Her story really moved me and I gave her 1000 pesos and made her promise me that it would go toward the computer. All she wants is another thing we all take for granted - an education for her son. She dropped out in 9th grade. She's not proud of that. She called it a loan and said she would pay me back some day. I told her that would be fine.

Then it was back to Oaxaca.

Bitch Slap the Iranian Clerics

Someone told me to do this so I set it up. A good way to support the protesters and subvert the Iranian Clerics. Plus I need to keep cornering the market on the andresmitchell username so I signed up for Twitter. Help a muslim brother out:

"If anyone is on twitter, set your location to Tehran and your time zone to GMT +3.30... Iranian security forces are hunting for bloggers using location/timezone searches. The more people at this location, the more of a logjam it creates for forces trying to shut Iranians' access to the internet down. Cut & paste & pass it on."

I'm not sure if you actually have to send a Twitter message but I'm guessing you do. My very first Twitter entry (to nobody in particular) was "I just shit my pants."

Post this on five pages

You know those things people send you where you are supposed to send them to some number of people and then something bad or good happens to you (maybe after pressing F6)? They are very popular on Facebook. Facebook, which, by the way, I am starting to hate. I am really hating it because I find out the political and/or religous views of some people and then start to hate them. Anyway, this is good. Do what you want with it. I know what I am doing with it. One down, four to go....

“ Since you already started reading you cant stop. My name is Kalena. I have black hair, and green eyes. I am 13. I was abused my whole life. I have no ears or nose, because my parents chopped them of with a rusty fork. I am dead. I will show up in your room in 13 days and kill you by chopping off your body parts with a rusty fork unless you repost this on 5 pages. THIS IS NO JOKE!!!! If you do, something good will happen to you within 13 days. If you don't believe this, just wait and see ”

Chiapas y El Rancho la Granada (Part 2)

The Ranch

On our second day in Chiapas we were heading out to El Rancho la Granada. We had to stock up first because my friend Anoushka told me we could bring "whatever we wanted." That leaves a lot of options. And certainly would include beer. This meant we had to snap our chinstraps and drop into the Central Market in San Cristobal for some provisions. As I mentioned in my last post, this market is something to behold. We mostly loaded up on tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, avocados, and squash. We would have picked up a couple of live chickens or turkeys but we didn't know how we would carry them around town. We bought three chickens al carbon, cans of beans, local cheese, bread, pastries, and a couple of kilos of tortillas. We grabbed a collectivo in town and asked the driver if he knew where the ranch was and of course he said yes. Because they always say yes. Even if they have no clue. There is a certain swagger and confidence to it, even if it proves to be really annoying when you realize the guy has no idea where he is going. So we rode down to Teopisca while the driver made the standard seven or eight passes into oncoming traffic where he has to force himself between two semis to get back in our lane. We dropped off a couple of passengers and pulled into the beer store. Four cases later we were on the road. When we got to where we thought we should be, we realized that the driver had no idea where the ranch was. We drove up a few dirt roads and saw a party up on a hill and thought maybe that was it. It was a party with a ten piece band and like 15 guests. It wasn't our place but you gotta love the Mexican party spirit. We drove a little further up the road and asked a campesino working in a corn field with a machete if he knew about the house with the gringos. His first response was "why didn't you ask all those people at the party?" Fair enough. We had a pretty good laugh at that one. But then he told us that we "might want to check the big house on the hill, pointing with the machete. We drove through the gate and pulled up in front of the house in a taxi which was the first time they had seen that. They only have a motorcycle and a couple of horses most of the time (and no electricity) so when we pulled out four cases of cold beer, their was much rejoicing among the residents who were all out on the front porch. We gave our driver a huge tip and asked him if he could come back in a couple of days. He agreed and so there we were.

The ranch is owned by a guy named Luis, who lives in San Cristobal. The place is kind of his vision and his son (Cristobal) is basically overseeing things. Cristobal is probably in his late 20's and has an American mom who lives in Florida. He looks like a Gringo and speaks English and Spanish with no accent. Luis wanted to create a self-sustaining place where they would grow their own food and where artists and other creative types could work. The idea is to get some things going to generate income. They do sell some things and trade other things but people are paying 10 pesos a day to live there (about $.80). That means I could probably retire there today with the money I have. They asked me what I would do if I moved there and I said I would make beer. That sounded like a very good idea to them.

The main house is a 500 year old Spanish hacienda. It has both a gas and wood stove and a big stone fireplace. The only light is the fire and candles. Everyone kind of cooks dinner together and then cleans up. They usually break out the guitars and people play chess by the fire at night. With no electricity and lots of physical work to do, bedtime is pretty early. The current breakdown of residents is three Argentines, two Spanish, two French, one and half Americans, one and a half Mexicans, and one Brit. They have built adobe houses that most of them live in. My friend Anoushka has one with a loft. It's pretty cool. I don't know all the stories about how people havre come to be there but I know that they just found the French couple sitting in a doorway on a street in San Cristobal as they were looking for a place to stay. The one American guy (Justice) rode his motorcycle down from Canada this time but originally he rode up on a horse from freaking Nicaragua! And that horse tried to kill me. More on that in a minute.

There were a lot of people there when we arrived because a few people had come up for the day. I spent most of our first day hanging out with and talking to this doctor, Antonio, and his wife Guadalupe. They had such good energy and we all just clicked once we started talking about the environment and politics, the general state of the world, and what the people are trying to achieve on the ranch. I will stay in touch with them and have an open invitation to their home whenever I want it. These are people who really get it. Guadalupe is a student of the Mayan calendar. If you haven't read about it or don't know about, check it out. Fascinating stuff. They were some smart motherf**kers. The calendar runs out in 2012 and there is a lot of debate about what that means. There are anthropologists and mathematicians here right now trying to figure out if it actually ends or if it resets (or if there is a way to reset it). In any case, they predicted some big changes in the world, a great awakening in 2012 that will be precipitated by some natural or man-made disasters. I'm kind of hoping all religion will disappear in 2012 and the concept will be erased from everyone's mind so people can actually wake up and address the coming man-made catastrophes instead of waiting for salvation from an invisible man in the sky. I know, I know he's coming. And in 1000 and 10000 and 50000 years he will still be coming. Someday. I will try to look busy in the meantime. Or get struck by a bolt of lightening.

Hay is for Horses

So this guy Justice rode a horse from Nicaragua to Mexico. It took him four months. He said they confiscated the horses first when going into Guatemala from Nicaragua and then when going from Guatemala into Mexico. Of course they had all kinds of signed waivers and paperwork from customs but, as I said before, all laws here have a giant loophole. Or, in this case, a reverse loophole. What's that called? I think the legal term is clusterf**k? So now Justice is here on his motorcycle that he rode down from Canada. And he's taking another four month horse trip around Mexico. He's also talked me into buying a motorcyle and riding through the Andes in about 18 months. I know, make my funeral arrangements now. However, I would much rather die on a mountain road in Bolivia than have a heart attack in my car on Hwy 101 driving (sitting in traffic) to the job that I hate in Mountain View (there is no mountain nor is there a view there) where my douchebag manager is giving another Power Point presentaion on the virtues of Who Moved my Cheese.

If you ride a horse up from Central America, the horse should have some attitude. Clearly, the horse that Justice rode up has a serious chip in his horse shoulder. "Andy, meet Dragon. Dragon, this is Andy. He will be riding you today. If you actually let him get on." That SOB of a horse wanted no part of me. They told me he may be a little difficult to get on. So someone holds onto the headgear and I try to get on. He swings his ass around and knocks me onto the ground (to some nice applause from the ten people watching). We get a couple more people to help hold him, I walk up, and he steps on me. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, he might try to step on you." With four people holding him and Justice pulling down hard on the headgear, I mount the bastard. We spend the next 20 seconds bouncing around the yard rodeo style with me hanging on for dear life. Once that stopped, Justice told me that he would be fine because now the horse respected me. Until we got into the trees. He tried to scrape me off his back on just about every tree and wanted to bite me every time I pulled on the reins to either steer him or slow him down. We ended up riding to some waterfalls where we smoked a funny cigarette, after which I decided I was terrified of the horse. Anoushka and I switched horses and the ride back to the ranch was much easier. At least after we got Anoushka back on Dragon and gave him another chance to step on me. Bastard.

Speaking of Dragon the Satan Horse, we needed tortillas and poche (the local moonshine) so Cristobal decides to ride Dragon into the village. We were cooking dinner and the trip was only about 15 minutes each way. After about an hour, I asked if we should be worried about Cristobal but everyone assured me he was fine. As it approached two hours, I asked if we should go look for him - "no, he will be back." At about the two and a half hour mark, we here "goddammn, motherfucker, I'm going to kill that horse." Cristobal comes through the door dirty and all cut up. His first mistake was not taking a light. His second mistake was not bringing an extra rope (which he says he always does). Apparently, after getting poche and tortillas, he was riding next to the corn fields and the Dragon's headgear broke. He got off, fixed it, and it broke again right away. Dragon, being a horse, has an affinity for fresh corn and corn stalks. So dragon bolts and Cristobal doesn't know which direction he went. He spent the next hour and a half looking for the horse and finally found him standing in the middle of the cornfield having a feast ("there is going to be one pissed off campesino tomorrow") but he has no rope and this horse is a pain in the ass. He ends up having to drag the horse by its mane a half mile up the trail back to the house. He lost the tortillas and poche. And he thought we should eat the horse.

The next day we would leave the ranch and go to Comitan. Another adventure...

Chiapas y El Rancho la Granada (Part 1)

Wow. What an incredible place. Both the state of Chiapas and the ranch. There is something about both places. Chiapas could be a place to spend part of every year when I start my next life which will look nothing like the one I had before. If anyone reading this wants everything I own, you can go to my storage unit in San Francisco and clean it out. I won't have much need for couches, knives, pots and pans, a bed, a desk, or a dining room table. My brother and sister can pretty much throw everything away that I left at their houses except for the photos, art, surfboards, and mountain bike gear. The way I look at it, I can live on El Rancho la Granada for 10 pesos a day (about $.80) which means I have already saved enough money to live there for the next 20 or 30 years. And electricity is overrated. OK, I'm not there yet but it isn't out of the question.

San Cristobal

After an overnight bus ride, we arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas. We were very disappointed to find out that we could not bring beer on the bus. Oh well, the lujo class (luxury) buses are very comfortable and have good seats for sleeping. Everyone was asleep and I stood behind the driver and watched out the front window from 2-3 AM on these crazy, twisting roads. No margin for error. These drivers are good. And they have an extremely difficult job. They are also very well respected here. After a while I went and passed out and woke up for the beautiful drive into the mountains out of Tuxtla Gutierrez. We met a very nice girl from Honduras who worked at the bus station and watched our gear while we went and looked for a place to stay. We found an Italian-run hotel and decided it was good enough. There are lots of Italians in San Cris and in Oaxaca, something I didn't realize. They are easy to spot because they are the white people with bad teeth.

Chiapas is the poorest state in Mexico and it's pretty evident when you visit the mercado central (central market) in town. It has the best market I have seen though. Fascinating and filled with colors and sounds that come at you as soon as you enter. The most beautiful fruit and vegetables I have ever seen displayed and with so much care and precision. The place is at the same time totally organized and completely chaotic. Live goats, chickens, and turkeys in one area. The newest Hollywood movies (all legal, I'm sure) in another. Herbs and bread and cheese and the best meat in the world. All stored at an FDA-approved 80 degrees and hanging in the market. Don't get me wrong, I buy all of my meat at the market. But something is missing for me. We have these strict regulations and rules we follow in the US and all of that is thrown out the window here. And people are not getting food borne illness here. Ecoli is more rare here than in the US. And again, I eat it every day. Not sure what to make of that. And it tastes so much better because it is fresher and hormone and chemical free. I do know that I come from a society that is fear-filled if not fear-based. It's the only way that certain political factions and industries can survive. Anyway, I don't know what the deal is but there is something wrong with the way we produce and distribute food in the US. And big US corporations would love to change the way it's done here. And people are aware of that fact. There are some pretty enlightened people resisting the influence of the Monsantos of the world and the fact that they are poisoning people. I'm not anti business but I do have a bit of revolutionary in me. Viva Zapata!

The part of the market where the market is located is a crazy, chaotic place. People will run you over with their carts, run push you out of the way with their baskets, and have no problems putting you onto the hood of their car. It is solidly third world. The rest of the town is a beautiful colonial place with cobblestone streets and Spanish architecture. Like Oaxaca, art is everywhere. It seems like everyone makes art and/or plays music. The Zapatista rebels are alive and well here also. They have broad based support and there are lots of photos around town of people who have disappeared at the hands of the governement or at least with their tacit support. There is also a lot of indigenous graffiti. It's a very indigenous place. People are very proud to be from Chiapas. I would be too. It's incredible and almost completely devoid of tourists.

After we grabbed our stuff from the bus station and checked into our hotel, we walked around town. There is a huge set of stairs that lead up to a church on top of the cerro in the middle of town so we decided to climb it. We were met half way up by two indigenous girls with pads of paper. They had names of people and what country they were from. They lived next to the stairs and needed money for school supplies. Sounds like a racket to me but we complied and gave them some pesos. The one girl told me that she couldn't afford a backpack for school. She was so cute and suprisingly spoke some English and I let her sucker me. I wanted to go to the mercado and buy her a backpack because I'm sure the money went for food. I never did. The Kernal and I hiked over the hill and down through the colonia on the other side. We saw some guys setting up a beer stand at a church and they told us there was a party and we should come back. We ended up returning to the party at about 10 or 11 and people were absolutely hammered. We soon figured out why - they were serving these giant, 40 oz micheladas. A michelada is a beer with chili powder, tomato juice, lime, and whatever secret ingredient you want to add. In this case, the secret ingredient was tequila. People were just stumbling and falling and throwing up. We felt like animals in a zoo. People were looking at us like we were from another planet. Not a place gringos go. And certainly not at night. But the guys who invited us back were great guys and poured us a couple of HUGE drinks. We drank them and stumbled back to town. We ended up finding a great band from Spain called Kaso Perdido. They were playing in this cool attic space above a bar. They were kind of a punk/ska band. We closed down the bar and of course decided we needed a beer for the room. We stopped into this little bar restaurant and asked them if we could take beers to go. They agreed to it so we grabbed a couple and headed out. Our hotel was extremely quiet and noise carried very well so we couldn't go back. We decided to ask four cops if we could do something illegal - drink on the steps to the cultural center...."I don't care, do you care, I don't care, I don't remember a gringo asking me if he could violate the law before but ok, I guess you can." So we did. And everything was ok until the Kernal decided to pee on a tree. Boom, four cops appear out of nowhere. Some of the same guys and a couple of new ones, including one scary guy with a black mask and a machine gun who was defintiely playing the bad cop. Kernal tried to apologize and they were talking about a mandatory 36 hours in jail. Someone said something about a 500 peso fine and I laid out 300 pesos and just walked away. Kernal was still trying to reason and I told him to just come on and we went back to our room a little lighter in the wallet.

The next day we were off to El Rancho la Granada.

Off to Chiapas

Where the heart of the revolution is still alive and well. Viva Mexico, Viva Zapata.

The Kernal arrived here Monday night and we proceeded to watch the sun come up the next two days. Ouch. We are getting on a bus for San Cristobal de las Casas tonight for the 10 hour ride. Tomorrow we are going up to El Rancho La Granada about 40 minutes out of San Cristobal where my friend Anoushka lives. We will stay up there at least one night and maybe more, depending on the accommodations and how we are feeling about the place.

Did some voice over work this week for a documentary these guys are making here. It's actually more like Catholic propaganda. But they paid me 500 pesos for my time. I had to entirely re-write the script as well but the guys doing it (some local filmmakers) were such good guys, I didn't mind. It was probably the most poorly written thing I have ever read.

I really am leaving Oaxaca for good at some point. I need to buy a ticket for Peru but these guys have a little more work for me and I just ran into a girl I have been looking for two months. I met her my second day here and have been trying to track her down ever since. I need to put in some quality time with her. I think I will go to Peru in about three weeks. But I will return to Oaxaca next Wednesday and start to wrap things up. I hope.

Barro Negro and the Wedding Fiesta (no lo hagas!)

I have been helping some high school students with their English studies and one of the girls in the class (Gloria) invited me to her village, a place called San Bartolo Coyotepec, where they make barro negro (black pottery). I am always amazed by how generous people here are with the most valuable commodity any of us have - time. I can't tell you how many people have taken an entire day and sometimes a night to show me around or help me out after doing something as simple as asking for directions. Americans are the most generous people in the world with their money. We are far and away the best tippers in the world (and whoever is second isn't even in the same league). But most of the people here don't have the money to share so they share something much more valuable. And without a second thought. They don't just invite you to their house for dinner, they invite you into their lives. You are part of the family. They will do anything for you. It's why I was never worried during the flu outbreak. I had an army of people who would have dropped everything and rushed to help me. However, of all of the generosity and goodness that I have been shown, Gloria stands out. I hate to speak in superlatives, but she is possibly the nicest human being I have ever met. She is completely un-jaded by the world and lacks even the smallest hint of cynicism. Except about the Mexican government of course. She invited me to her village to see the black pottery and go to a "fabrica" to see the process. The process and results are interesting but seemingly every person in the place makes the stuff. I have no idea how anyone makes a living when virtually every store on every block sells exactly the same products. I figured I would be there for a couple of hours and then catch a bus back to town. After walking around for two hours with Gloria and two other students, the other two left and Gloria invited me to her house to meet her family. We walked down a few dirt streets until we reached her house. Her mom was outside in the kitchen (outdoor kitchens are very common) and her sister and brother were playing Pac Man on an old classic console like youi would have seen in an arcade circa 1982. I guess by an American standard the family would be considered poor. I have a very hard time figuring out where people fit here. I don't want to judge, I only want to try and get some perspective or context. I do know that I have some rich friends here. I also know I have some fairly poor friends. People are very sensitive about using the word "poor" though. There is also city middle class, country middle class, and village middle class. And another very American assumption is that people are unhappy if they are poor or don't have as much shit gathering dust in a garage. Absolutely not true. On any level. These are some of the happiest people in the world and they have the same life expectancy as we do. And it's certainly not the stress that's killing them. Anyway, I think Gloria is pretty solidly middle class for where she lives. Her parents definitely have some foresight and resources if they sent her to a private high school and are sending her to a university. After we arrived at her house, her mother (of course) offered me some food which would have been rude to refuse. Gloria disappeared for an hour without saying a word (another very typical thing here) and her mother and I sat looking at pictures of her old Mixtec village up in the mountains. She also told me stories about Mezcal and the different types of agave and let me sample some of the goods. Gloria finally returns and tells me that I am going to a wedding with her. I said that I couldn't go because I wasn't invited and didn't have the right clothes. She explains to me that where she lives, I am her guest and therefore she can bring me. She also said that I am a guest of the entire village and it is a great honor for the novios (bride and groom) to have me at their wedding as a visitor and especially a foreigner. We weren't actually going to the wedding but to the fiesta/reception. It's funny because when we were walking by the church, the groom was walking in and I was saying "no lo hagas" (don't do it) not knowing they were friends of Gloria's. She thought it was hilarious. Kind of like when I call myself a pinche gringo. Always good for a laugh here if you can make fun of yourself. You will get a good response every time here if you call yourself a pinche gringo. No lo hagas from a gringo definitely got some good laughs. So, after Gloria changes her shirt 15 times (some things don't change no matter where you are in the world) we go the fiesta. The fiesta was at this little ranch or "ranchito." There were burros, horses, oxen, and lots of chickens and turkeys walking around. When you walk in, everyone gets a giant back of regalos (gifts). You get junk food, fruit, photos, and some handcrafts. There are people (not waiters but friends) walking around with trays of beer and Mezcal and you Will drink. Even if you are 15. The first course was hot chocolate and sweet bread. The second course was soup. The third course was a different kind of hot chocolate that you had to eat with a spoon. I didn't know how to eat it which was very entertaining for the people sitting across from me. I tried to drink it. The main course was pork mole and tortillas. The really interesting part was that they handed out bags for every to take food home. And everyone did. Gloria told me that the tradition for all parties there is to make a bunch of food so that everyone can take food home. At the wedding fiesta, everyone took their food home and then changed clothes to put on their dancing duds. The bride and groom don't even show up until after 9 PM because their immediate and extended families go to their homes after the actual ceremony and wait for them to visit. Then they show up at the fiesta, the band starts, and it is ON! I spent the next six hours (that would be 3 AM) getting salsa lessons from five high school girls while drinking Mezcal and getting introduced to basically every single person there.

All of this could be mine if I would go to a village and buy a girl. Yes, I said buy a girl. More on that and other things Gloria and her friends have told me later. However, I will say that Gloria told me that her family doesn't really buy into that tradition but I could change that according to her and her mother. Slow down, ladies.

In any case, I know that where I come from, nobody gives up an entire day and night to someone who was previously a stranger. I constantly feel like repaying people but A) I can't and B) they won't accept it.

Gay Gringo

Just a conversation I had the other day with some very confused guy while having a beer. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

"I'm not gay. Well I think there is a 10 or 20% chance I may be gay."

"Dude, I don't care one way or another. I'm not one of these right wing tools who say they are for personal freedom and lack of government involvement and regulation while at the same time legislating against what people do in the privacy of their homes. I don't care what you do or who you do it with as long as you aren't stealing or molesting children."

"Man, that is so cool. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not gay but there is a small part of me that is really open to anything. But I like your approach."

"OK, dude, you're gay. If one part of you is open to anything, you are gay. And again, I don't care but you need to quit talking about it. So do you want to come with me and meet girls or do you want to go off by yourself and meet guys?

"I want to meet girls. I don't want to meet guys but I wouldn't say that means I wouldn't be open to some other shit."

"OK, we can hang out but if you bring this up again, you are buying all the beers tonight. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"OK then, let's go talk to some nice Oaxacan girls."

"That's cool. Do I look gay?"

"Yes. And you're buying."

And he did.

Mexican Carpool and Miscellaneous Happenings

I wish people would quit sucking me into things. OK, I don't. But I keep ending up in places at 4 or 5 or 6 in the morning. This past week I had four nights that ended past 4:30. And I had class at 9 or I had English lessons to give. The following stories are true. Some of the names have been changed to protect people with girlfriends/boyfriends/wives/husbands.

Mexican Car Pool

Ahhh Mexico, you are always surprising me with new adventures. You know what a California carpool is? It's when several people get in their own cars (usually solo) and follow a bunch of other cars to the same place or places. This is the Mexico version. I was sitting in my local hangout minding my own business when the bartenders told me that I should really go out with them after they closed. I told them that I wasn't sure that I felt like it. Veronica said she was going and could give me a ride which instantly changed my mind. Vero would also change your mind if she offered you a ride. We went to some club where, as usual, I was the only gringo. The Mexicans sure like to dance. And, importantly, CAN dance. After downing two bottles of Johnny Walker Red between eight people, it was time to take some people home. Vero had left so I was getting a ride from Kenny. I told Kenny I could walk but he says "no, it's raining and we will drop you off in like 20 minutes." First of all, I've learned what "20 minutes" means in Mexico. 20 minutes usually means somewhere between 30 minutes and two hours. My walk home was about 15-20 minutes but we only had to "drop a couple of people off at their cars." Right. We drive for about 15 minutes, go down some dark alley on a dirt road and drop off two people at a car. We follow them to a house and pick up one person. We take him to his car and pick up three people from the house. We drive another 15 minutes (running all of the stop lights of course) and drop off two people. We follow two cars to a house and drop off one person but add a person from one of the cars. We drive somewhere else and two people get out and get in two cars (there are three of us left in the car at this point). We then follow two cars (with girls in them - we have to make sure they get home). We follow one car to a house and wait for them to get behind the gate, since everyone lives behind a steel gate. We follow the last car home and wait for them to get behind the gate. We drive 20 minutes back to town and they drop me off almost two hours after they told me they would drop me off in "about 20 minutes", at 5:30 AM. Classic.

Strip Joint

No time in Mexico is complete until you visit a strip joint. I hadn't been to a strip joint in maybe ten years. My friends who work at the bar (the ones who took me for a ride in the Mexican carpool) told me that I had to go with them at least once. It was a pretty unremarkable place except for the extremely high security. There were guys with big guns and a chamber with double steel doors where they thoroughly search you before you enter. When we passed through the doors, my first thought was "most of these girls have no business working in a strip joint." Not a pretty sight. Of course some of the "girls" were not actually girls. The beers were expensive for here but cheap by any American standard and a bucket included an up close and personal dance with one of the fine ladies. Knowing these guys, I should have known they were setting me up. I won't go into details but I will say that I could probably go the rest of my life without being that close to a she-male and be pretty happy about it. The fun ended when a drunk and shirtless Mexican truck driver pulled out his hunting knife and cleared the room. It seems impossible to have gotten that thing in there - who knows how he got it past security. Apparently he didn't get the memo that these girls only like you when your wallet has money in it and they don't like you for your winning personality (or in his case, his man boobs).

Fight at Santo Domingo

I was walking up a street called Alcala last Friday on my way home when this very loaded guy of about 21 years old stumbles into me asks me where I was from. I tell him California and he offers me a beer which I was reluctant to take because it's illegal to drink on the street here (and there are cops all around). He insists that they don't care today because there is a calindo (a street party) going on in front of Santo Domingo church. He takes me up to Santo Domingo and introduces me to his friends (who turn out to be great people and not nearly as hammered). He keeps trying to grab my hand and saying "sigame" (follow me) but I really don't want to because I can tell the guy is trouble in his current condition and he is going to get me and himself punched. And I definitley don't want to hold his hand. So everything is "tranquilo" and everyone is having a good time when all hell breaks loose. Out of nowhere guys start throwing haymakers - fight here, fight there, dude face down in a puddle across the street. I saw the guy get knocked silly and land face-first in a puddle. I had to weave my way through a couple of fights to get to him. His friends were standing there or I would have rolled him over myself. I didn't want to get kicked in the face for grabbing him. So I tell his loaded friends that they need to pull him out of the puddle. One of them tells me he's fine and I explain that he is going to drown. Luckily the women had some sense (as usual here) and understood the guy was going to die and they helped me roll him over. Meanwhile, the cops are telling people to carry their passed out and/or knocked out and bleeding friends out of the area or they will do it for them. I return to the group I was talking to and everything seems to be settling down. We're all talking and the original guy that had drunkenly approached me offers this very mellow (to this point) guy, Felipe, a cigarette. Felipe tells him that he doesn't smoke and the guy throws the cigarrete at him and slaps him while he's sitting down. They go at it a little bit and I tell the drunken fool he is going to get his ass kicked if he doesn't walk away. Dumb ass doesn't listen to me and before you know it, Felipe is on top of him beating the living shit out of him. Two cops roll up as this is taking place and they pull Felipe off and put the cuffs on him. Six more cops show up and Felipe's friends are trying to talk them out of taking him to jail but they aren't listening. I pull one of the cops aside and explain what I saw - namely that Felipe was sitting on the ground minding his own business and got cold cocked. They only saw the end of it. He grabs the cop in charge who also listens to my story. It appears the gringo has some pull and they soon release Felipe. Of course he invites me to his house where his mother feeds me and his father won't let me sit with an empty beer for more than ten seconds. Felipe won't stop calling me "the coolest gringo he has ever met."

The kid in the Tree and the Children of Paradiso

The Kid in the Tree



I don't know how I forgot about the kid in the tree. I only spent three hours taking direction from him. And he was 8. I was walking down the dirt road through the village in Paradiso when this kid walks up to me and pokes me with a long stick. He had a huge smile on his face that said he was up to something. He started signaling me to follow him so like a nice gringo, I did. He told me where to stand and then he made a falling and catching kind of motion to indicate what was going to happen and what he wanted me to do. He climbed the tree in his bare feet and when he got to the very top of this big tree he starting knocking some kind of fruit out the tree (the falling part) and I started catching them (the catching part). This went on for the better part of an hour. Every time I would catch one he would howl with laughter. Every time I would miss one (and especially when one would bounce off my head or splat on my shirt) he would laugh even harder. When he finished, he descended the tree in monkey-like fashion and showed me how to eat the fruit. I don't know what it was but it tasted like an apricot. I saw him throw one of the bad ones down the road and realized the kid had a cannon for an arm. I asked him if he liked baseball and he said that he did. I asked him if he had heard of NAMBLA and luckily he hadn't (Google it. No, I am NOT a member). I found some pits from the fruit and started pitching to him. I explained to him the concept of over the line (it's a SoCal thing - you NoCals won't get it). We made a single, double, triple, and homerun line and I kept score for him. We bounced back and forth between rotten fruit wars and the game of over the line until it was getting dark and his mom called for him. She mouthed a "Gracias" to me and he pulled the old rotten-piece-of-fruit-in-the-hand high five trick as he ran buy. I had to act surprised by the rotten piece of fruit I saw him put in his hand. I Wish I could buy the kid a baseball glove.



The Children of Paradiso



These people truly do live in paradise - warm water, beautiful beaches, fresh fish, close families and friends, and the most perfect wave I have ever surfed. From the time they are born until about 18 or 19, they live what I would say is the ideal lifestyle. It's is almost exactly how I would want my children to be raised. They are active, constantly outside, eating good food, living in a beautiful place with the afore-mentioned friends and family, everyone knows everyone else's name in town, people watch each other's kids, they bring each other food when someone doesn't have any or runs out, and the kids respect authority and the adults in general (and don't mistrust them). And then there's that wave. That perfect right point wave that has forever changed the place - for better and for worse. For better because everyone's standard of living has gone up and for worse because of some of things that the kids are getting exposed to (and general cultural dilution) and the environmental impact. But the crazy dichotomy of a place like this is the perfect life the kids have until about the age of 18 and then the rough road ahead for many of them when they need to work. I mean everyone over the age of about 10 works in some capacity but all the men get their 16 and 17 year old girlfriends pregnant when they themselves are 18 or 19 and the prospects for work are pretty grim. They either have to leave or travel a long way for work. Or somehow try to make a living in town which is tough. There is middle ground somewhere between the lives we lead in the US where we have so many opportunities and access to information but where we constantly buy more and more crap, work too much, and don't know our neighbors and the life these people live where life is fantastic in so many ways (very pure) but everyone drops out of high school and has poor access to things like health care. I personally like both places and what they have to offer but I am lucky because I can live in both worlds if I choose to.

Puerto y Coco

Puerto

Puerto was deserted. More people I feel horrible for. The people who live there told me that 2009 is a total loss. I heard the same thing here in Oxaca. My Aussie friend and I were the only people in the two restaurants where we had dinner last weekend. It's a total disaster. This flu really screwed them. The economy and the flu delivered a 1-2 punch that is going to take years to recover from. Puerto was not as hideous as I thought it would be though.
I saw five of the worst wipeouts I've ever seen at Zicatela which is the famous wave in Puerto. That wave is HEAVY. None for me, thanks. It's like Ocean Beach in San Francisco but hollow. Frightening.

Coco

Coco was my waitress at the hotel in Puerto. Another one of those incredible people that I have run across. My traveling partner was not feeling well our first day there so I went to the deserted restaurant/bar for a beer at about 5:00 because it had a great view of the guys getting macked by the wave. She sat down and we talked for the next three hours. We just talked about life, the world, the economy, environmental problems, the ocean, our families and friends, and about what a positive change for everyone our new president is. It's amazing how little respect or admiration virtually everyone in the world had for Bush. Anyway, Coco was an incredibly warm and extremely funny and insightful human being. She told me that I absolutely had to have kids or she would never forgive me. Funny. I need to go get fixed - quickly. And no, she wasn't trying to get into my pants. But it was unexpected to meet someone who's working in a restaurant in deep Mexico with such a firm grasp of news, current events, sports, food, business, politics, religion, and especially the environment. But I'm surprised by something every day. It's nice to have my brain engaged. I've almost forgotten what a cubicle looks like. I never want to see one again.

The next day I went back to the restaurant and we talked for another three hours but this was almost entirely theoretical/philosophical stuff. Smart woman. You can tell that if she would have had the opportunity to go to college she would have thrived. I again realize how lucky I am - I am lucky to have been given the opportunity at an education and lucky to have met Coco.

Back in Oaxaca, Despues de Puerto

Back in Oaxaca after a couple days in Puerto Escondido. And back out with Carlos and Oscar again last night. And Carlos' cousin whose name I can't remember but the dude is super chido (cool). He wants to snowboard so badly but he can't afford it - he's a skateboarder. I was telling him how easy it is to learn, especially for a skateboarder. He didn't get that surfing was by far the hardest thing a person could ever learn to do and that snowboarding could be learned in two days and you could be good in one season. He thought the opposite was true. I wish I could help him get on a mountain. Oaxaca is a hard place to do anything outdoors. There's one park where you could kind of ride a skateboard, a kind of a mountain-like thing where you can hike or mountain bike (but it's fairly hideous), no golf course (at least that's what Carlos' cousin told me last night), one tennis court (that's an exaggeration), and not a lot of sports facilities in general. It's not a place I would live permanently but it's definitely got it's own cool energy....and really beautiful women. I just need to be outside more. I say that but my entire life here is outside but it's different. Everyone lives outside here. You eat outside, school is outside, bars and restaurants are all open to the street which is cool. And people aren't fat because they walk everywhere. But they don't do a lot of "formal" exercise or seem to play a lot of sports.

Going to San Cristobal in a few weeks to meet up with Anoushka who I met in Barra. She's been traveling for about two and a half years and lives on an organic farm in the mountains near San Cristobal. Cool chick. Surfer, trippy/hippie from the UK. We had a good night of talking and drinking beers on the beach in Barra. She said the music scene in San Cristobal is huge and that I have to go there just for that if nothing else. She's going to show me around and introduce me to some of the freaks who live up in the mountains with her on the farm. Not sure what they farm but does it really matter? I just know that it's something "organic" and that's good enough for me.

More on Puerto and my new friend Coco in a bit.

Paradise

"Should we go or should we not go? The Internet said the town was closed so I don't know. And I don't know how long the drive into town is." Town was supposedly closed but things had mellowed so much here in Mexico with respect to the flu and the fact that it was completely blown out of proportion by basically the entire planet that there was a chance the town would be open. So we decided to ask the three old ladies at the bus stop - "Esta abierto el pueblo?...Si, el pueblo esta abierto y pueden manejar por aca...Pues, podemos surfear?...No, no pueden surfiar porque la playa esta cerrado." But we decided that even though the beach was supposedly closed to visitors we would go anyway. We almost drove past the turn off and back to Puerto Escondido but thought we would check it out. Everybody had been kicked out of the town (all the tourists/surfers/vistors) so we weren't sure if someone was going to stop us and tell us to leave or what. We drove into town until we hit a locked gate (the road to the beach) and asked in the little store if the beach was closed. They said that it was but that we could walk (I guess our car might be contaminated). We got down to the beach and the waves were perfect. Only the locals were out and I had no board. But the day was beautiful and the water was warm. We met a fisherman named Leo and I talked to him as I helped him pull in his nets. He rented rooms and his wife cooked and he offered us a place to stay. We bought fresh tuna from another passing fisherman (Leo mostly catches sardines) and walked back to his house with him. He cut up the sardines and and he made ceviche with them....wow, unreal. A couple hours later his wife cooked up the tuna and served it with tomatoes, onions, frijoles, and homemade tortillas. I washed it down with seven or eight Coronas and knew we had come to the right place.

Before I got to the place, my brother told me to ask for a kid named Chocho because my brother had left a surfboard with him five years ago because the kid wanted to learn to surf. All the boards in town are donated by visiting surfers because none of the local kids can afford them. Anyway, I couldn't find Chocho but Leo had a couple of boards that he rented. If you know Mexico, you will appreciate this next part. I woke up the next day and was waiting for this guy Joel who was an American who lived there. He showed up and I grabbed the board I wanted to use. It only had two fins so we had to find a third. We walked around the village looking for a fin - one guy had a left fin but not a right, one guy had a right fin but it was the wrong fin system. Finally we found the correct fin but we didn't have screws. We found screws but we didn't have a fin tool. We found a fin tool but the screws were stripped. We were so close. Where could we get screws? I saw the light go on in Joel's head - the sign for the restaurant was a painted surfboard. It used to be his and it had FCS fins and he thought they left the screws in. We pulled down the sign and sure enough, there were the screws. We put the fin on my board, they opened the road to the beach at 10 and we drove down to the point. There were about eight guys in the water when we got there. We paddled out and I was having trouble figuring out where to take off because it's next to a big rock. I paddled around for about an hour and then everyone left. Just me and a perfect, head high point break. I surfed it alone for the next three hours until my arms were about to fall off. I caught what turned out to be my last wave and lost the fin we had replaced. I was done anyway. I saw some kid catch a nice yellowtail from the rocks and I bought it from him from the water. I had found Chocho - he's the best surfer in town now.

The next two days were solid double overhead. Too big for a lot of people, especially with the current. Including (or especially) me. I didn't have a board anyway. But I had just had the best day of surfing in years. I was happy to watch people get barrelled for two days and bodysurf the inside section, eat fresh fish, and throw coconuts for Shakira the Wonder Dog.

So it was off to Puerto.