headed to cali

We left Popoyan and headed to Cali, the augmentation Mecca.

We greet our taxi driver with caution “How much?” I ask, the driver replies “metoro”- we jump inside.

We found Hostal Calidad, embedded hillside overlooking the many full breasted hookers of Cali. Buzzing to get in, now my speech may become a little harsh and biased solely because I lived this moment prior to writing it, but this four eyed, nerdy hand flailing, loose-lisped, greased up, temper-tantrum prone, steamrolling with power, Napoleon complex, anally raging, Colombian homosexual opened the door- we didn’t have a good vibe from the start.

We took the room, strictly because it was late- luckily there was a good group of people chilling about, otherwise the almighty glory holed manager would have lead a lot more heat on us.

We ran into Jeremy, an old mate we met in Mancora, Peru and the three of us went for a jaunt to the local mom and pop liquor shop. After shelling out pennies for a bottle of aguadiente, a sweet licorice liquor resembling zambuca, i realized I just threw away a few good pennies.

Anyways it was already bought and we had some schwepps to mix so I said farewell to sober hood. The first club we hit was a 20,000 peso all you can drink orgy. But getting there with an hour before close left us in a rush to down as much booze… fast!

I… am not a good all you can drink drinker, nor am I a good all you can eat eater. It’s a complex of mine- but that’s where the parties at so I indulged.

Rum and cokes. Vodka and juice. Whiskey this and that’s. Then Jeremy walks over to me with a drink “ taste this” he says handing me the drink “I know the bartender”. I immediately puked in a planter that was thankfully standing right next to me- and I could feel the fire growing inside of me.

The lights flash- beastlike Colombian bouncers circle the terrace. “I’m trapped”, I mumble crouched in the corner.

A beckoning call brews through the thick sweaty air “todos vamos”. The bar is closing and they want everyone out- they don’t want me, I’m not in trouble and I won’t have to perform anything with my ass- I’m saved!

Exiting the club I met a metal head in a jet black Metallica shirt- who says hes from the states. We shoot the shite for a little while about his childhood and returning to his family that once let him go- he seemed to be at peace and not harboring any anger the only difficulty is that he doesn’t speak Spanish and his parents don’t speak English- talk about awahhhh!

He told us where the after party was – the famed discotech district of Juanchito. We grabbed a taxi and drove through the night to our unknown destination… the tires rolling along dirt roads through foreign neighborhoods until lights started beaming through gaps… it got brighter and brighter until we crossed a little bridge into the famed town- it resembled the Vegas strip in the only sense that it didn’t sleep and you knew things happened here that wouldn’t be making its way back home.

We entered a club and I made eyes almost immediately with a chocolate beauty, middle aged with a sexy figure, and we were drawn to each other through music. We salsa’d around the room swinging and swaying and shaking our sweaty bodies to the fiery tempo. What I learned was that after each dance both of you would part ways and wait for the next song to be played before you’d be back up on your feet again.

The lady and I met up on the floor throughout the night, locking lips and swaying hips, bodies bound by the music. The art of dance can be very beautiful and moving and it can be erotic and nasty much like they art of reggaeton- which is like ass fucking only with clothes on.

winay pichu

The world is in the palm of my hands, a mere seed waiting to be planted.

Hidden in the clouds a secret garden consumes energy and breeds life in heavenly amounts. An overwhelming state sends my body into chills knowing I am in the presence of something magical.

Worlds and cultures collide at soaring heights.

A looming peak dances over the infamous Machu Pichu for adventurous trekkers who wish to see true beauty and magic come alive in a new perspective.

I choke for words to describe my feelings.

Slowly my dreams are coming to life, as I claim my stake on this world. The amazement of becoming familiar with new lands draws me to the brink of tears, as I mould my existence.

I’ve seen a miracle. My eyes scarred by the touch of magic. The seed has been planted.

May.8.08

three dollars and a lifetime of memories

Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.

            We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.

            The boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty.  As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.

            The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core.  This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.

            Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued.  I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.

            The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.

            Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.

            We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.

            The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.

            The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.

            It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.

            The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.

            The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.

hobos hideout

Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.

We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.

he boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty.  As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.

The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core.  This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.

Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued.  I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.

The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.

Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.

We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.

The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.

The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.

It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.

The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.

The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.

played in quito all day

Played in Quito all day- we danced through the streets taking pictures in cop cars, befriending peanut vendors and hopping on trolleys. My energy was over-flowing today that it could have lit the New York Skyline.  We walked to the dodgy part of town, Mariscal, to pick up a steak for dinner. Leaving the grocery store with a 1.6 kilo steak, we were ready to feed our little community of travelers. I was the bbq’r and no one got sick, which is my only concern.  With the soft sound of jazz underneath dinner conversation it was the first true feeling of embracing a close knit group of friends- as we cooked and laughed all night.

june 2008

plaza da armas

The pecking heads of pigeons move in sync to the footsteps of the locals who came to gather at the Plaza da Armas, Arequipa Peru. The suns rays beating down, leaving a contrasting glow to where my flesh was hidden.  The fountain being focal point to snapshots and refreshing thoughts in this bathing heat.

Cast iron rungs and detailed hedges outline green pastures which are understood as out of bounds.  Couples embrace in the cities beauty- minds at east, ignoring the looming volcano in the distance.

Palm trees and illuminating floral give color to the properly named “white city”. Locals pass like clockwork selling vibrant gelatos, homemade popsicles, and postcards- while self acclaimed photographers, weighted down with ancient cameras: that hang like tacky jewellery on the elderly- quickly dart to and from holding down their cornerstone business block.

With my shades obscuring the sun, I soak it all in.

                                                                                    May/08/08  

feet from the oceans arms

I awoke mere feet from the oceans arms- taunted through my sleep; wild dreams crash my nerves backing me to the edge. I have always feared the ocean- its strengths and depths leave me in amazement. Give me a cliff and I’ll call it my home, but the sea- it’s for the fish.

We have been making our way up the coast, stopping in Mancora and Montanita to take in the beach and taste the local fisheries.  The stops bear resemblance, but also share contrasts within it- but most beach towns still have the same laid back, stuck up feel.

I am working on decoding the theory behind one-upmanship and searching for the truth behind the band’s name the “Butthole Surfers”. I still remain at a loss...

I just reached another deciding point in my life- balconied over the brewing Ecuadorian sea, reading a paperback of Ginsberg- I decided to go back to school. I don’t know why I just had this thought, maybe because I would love to have my works published one day. And if not for that- my love for writing would not be an ounce thinner than the hairs on Homer’s head.

peru- mancora

To document a life- that’s a masterpiece in itself. It’s not a fear of forgetting, but more of a passion towards life and appreciation.

last night in bogota

It was our last night in Bogota, Colombia and I was craving Mexican food. We just went on a two hour chase to find the post office of all places and they were going to charge us forty dollars to send a few postcards home. So we walked out disgruntled and craving Mexican even more- the thought of getting what I wanted, something tasty and meaty, was my new driving force. So Ry and I started cruising the streets in search of a restaurant.

The night was setting in when we stumbled upon a jam packed street market with everything from artists making hand crafts and puppeteers to toy vendors and cross-dressing street performers.  We stared in amazement at what we had just come across when a beautiful Colombian woman in her early 20’s, with silky brown hair down to her small breasts that were hidden underneath her tight red top held together with thin white laces passed us without acknowledgement, but seemed a little distraught, or lost- so Ryan and I continued on with our pursuit for Mexican. As we walked down the street, the thousands in attendance acted as barricades towards our departure, so instead of walking around, we took our time mingling through the crowd and taking in the atmosphere.

Lucky we did, because all of a sudden, the foxy young miss, was heading right towards us. As we stood there gazing at her, she approached with flyers in her hand. She smiled and asked us if we wanted a coupon for ice skating in Bogota; we flirted with her for a while, but told her we weren’t interested because it was our last night her- and that we were really in search for Mexican food. She told us she knew the perfect spot and would show us the place. Well, now how to you like the looks of that.

So Ryan, the beautiful dark skinned woman and myself ventured on towards food.

The night prior we had gone salsa dancing with another beautiful woman by the name of Rosio at a little hole in the wall discothèque in a dodgy little neighbourhood in Bogota. Rosio and I really hit it off, and I actually shared one of the most intimate times of my life; not during sex, but rather dancing. We embraced each other arm in arm, sauntering across the barren room, alone. The bar twinkling from the warm glow of the candles that leaked from aged wine bottles and with the rawness that sprung forth from the crackling of the record player, left the two of us buried deep within each other’s souls, eyes locked, and to the point of knowing each other’s next move- I was moved to chills.

Since I had found a lady in my life, I decided to let Ryan have the honours with the new pretty young miss.  Along the walk she was very flirty and jovial towards both of us, as she told us about herself and spoke fluently in four languages; English, Spanish, French and Japanese- knowing this, helped take my mind off of her being a whore, because no whore knows four languages and that’s a fact.

So we arrive at the restaurant after a long hike up a cobblestone road, passing the Plaza De Armas where we hung out earlier that day taking pictures and searching for the police museum. We sat down and ordered drinks as she got up and started posing for pictures- bending over and showing off her pouty face that would put any mans marriage in danger. She went behind to talk to one of the waiters, returning later with an oversized sombrero   and a free round of drinks for all of us- I don’t care what she had to do for it. I love this girl.

Ryan and I ordered food, and I left to make a call to Rosio before dinner arrives- I excuse myself and she tells me that she will come and help me find someone with a cell phone. We hit the streets and I tell her about this awesome girl I met the night prior, and about our dancing and the magical night we shared. 

We finally found a convenience store with a woman with a cell phone, and I make a call to Rosio, to no avail. I call a few more times leaving messages, and decide to come back after dinner to make one more.  We returned, and I finally got the taste of Mexico I had been craving- this restaurant was amazing, every bite was packed with such flavour. So I finished eating and ran back to make a call. She once again never picked up the phone, so I bought some cookies from the shop, and returned to the restaurant and finished our drinks.

By this time it was about to leave, so we asked our lovely lady of the evening if she would like to come back to our house and drink some rum before going salsa dancing. She happily accepted and the three of us walked arm in arm in arm down the cobble road back to our hostel.

We got back to our room and cracked the rum, we lied on two beds passing the rum back and forth before she stood up and starting playing with her shirt. “How much”, she sternly said.  “I can’t believe it dude” I said “she is a whore”.  We joking played it off and turned the roll vice versa and asked her how much it would cost to sleep with us. Then she starts unbuttoning her pants and once again sexily says “how much?” “Are you kidding me” I replied, before she dropped to the bed and grabbed hold of Ryan’s cock.

I was sitting on the opposite bed watching this whole ordeal take place for about thirty seconds before I said fuck this “I am getting a part of this action”. I switched beds and grabbed a hold of her as she rotated around to start riding Ryan; she bent over and started sucking my cock. We were both in shock and giddy as hell for this to be happening to us on our last day in Bogota- so we did what any good friends would do, they would fuck the shit out of her for nine hours and go salsa dancing in between.

Well the sex was sex, and as much as I would like to get into detail, I was lost in the moment and much as I can relive it in my head, I cannot go through all the manoeuvres and details- let’s just say she was passed back and forth all night and she loved every minute of it, craving more the second we finished.

One thing I can recall is that she didn’t listen well and gave the worst blowjob I had ever had in my life- you wouldn’t believe the teeth she used, it was like she was peeling a carrot. And try to get her lick your balls; the girl wouldn’t take any constructive criticism at all. Aside from that the night was unbelievable and a lifelong dream been fulfilled that will follow me to the grave.

So back to the night, it was around twelve at night when we decided to go salsa dancing. We got up, pushed all the condoms aside, washed up, and were about to leave, but this young lady wouldn’t put on a shirt.  She stood there, bra on, refusing to put on her shirt, so we came to an understanding and she put on her leather jacket and off we went passing through countless faces in the lobby in our hostel, that for better or not, know what’s going down.

We get to the first bar and walk down the stairs. Ordering three drinks for our crew, we sit down and have a sip before she takes her jacket off, revealing her bra, getting up on the dance floor and starts shaking it. When does this happen honestly, so we jumped right in, dancing to the electronica and making out with her on the dance floor as she sways and moves across the floor appearing drunk to all the wide eyed viewers of this amazing spectacle. When do they ever get a chance to see, two white guys dancing with a topless Colombian chick- if your guess is never, then consider us blessed.

We ditched the bar for a more authentic feel, and found this amazing hot spot brimming with life on the second floor of this average building. We climb the steps as the sound of salsa begins to beat deeper and deeper it is getting hard not to dance- not that we were avoiding it. We slid into the room as eyes gazed our way, especially bringing a topless woman, I am sure not all the attention was on us gringos. The smooth styles of Hector Lavoe, Richie Ray and the Cubana all star band cleared the chairs as everyone in the house was on their feet.

Ryan and I took turns dancing with her and she lit up the room, swinging her naked body to the music, I kept getting approached on the craziness of the ordeal. Colombians were trying to make sense of the night and who she was with, Ryan or I, and if they had a chance to get with her. We laughed it off and just told them she was a gift from god to fulfill both of our needs.

As I sat in the corner, smiling like I never have before, taking in the scene of the hot salsa bar in Colombia, I could not believe what was happening.  Little miss walked over to me, turned over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, then dropped to her knees, pulling my cock from out of my pants and started giving me a blowjob in the corner of this bar, the size of your average classroom.  And I thought this night just keeps on getting better- that’s it, I can finally die a happy man.

As the club started to settle down around 4 in the morning, we walked down the stairs with a crew of people, all wanting a piece of this action, but unfortunately Ryan and I are greedy Canadians and were not passing up a lifetime opportunity, so we hoarded her for ourselves- stopping at the corner store picking up 2 more packs of condoms to return for more loving. 

I couldn’t wait any longer, so I piggy-backed her to the hostel, throwing her on the bed and ripping off her clothes as if it were the world was going to explode any minute and this is how I going to die- fucking. Ryan burst back into the room and the party continued for another 2 hours of passing, swapping, high fiving, singing and moves I that I didn’t even know I was capable of, until this dream maker showed up in our arms.

The night came to an end as we shared a cookie and lay conqueror like in our twin beds. I let her sleep with Ryan, so I could sprawl out and have a comfortable sleep after such a rewarding and uplifting night. A night that no one could ever take away, even if I was stripped of everything and left locked in a Colombian cell filled with burly, Spanish men- I could relive a life of better times and shelter myself from the pain, knowing I have conquered a lifelong dream so early in my youth.

We all fell asleep, only to wake up at 6 to push her off to work- she, naked and spread out across the bed, laid motionless to our calls. I sleepy and deserving a great rest, fell back asleep, only to wake to her kissing me on the cheek and saying farewell.

She walked out the door the next morning, without even telling us her name. But I knew who she was from the moment I met her.  She was fucking god. And all I have to say is amen.  

prelude party taganga

I went canoeing today with this very lovely Swede, Linn- our venture for paradise got crashed into a hard hitting cove, ending us with minor scratches- I explained to her “that this experience has brought us so much closer together:. Great day, tiring, stood up at a baguette shop- over all still a pretty good baguette.

I met two keen Canadian sisters last night at the baguette shop- they came by my house, the first to do that in my six day stay in Taganga, and we talked about travelling, life in Canada and where to visit when I go to Montreal with my mother in three weeks. We all crashed by two- the girls in hammocks- I on mattress.

Tonight I had my first party at my hillside cabana- the house was a hit, but patrons left to get speakers twice. The sun is up and a beautiful Swede lie in my bed. I lied next to her as she clung to the edge. What is it about me that pushes girls away- am I not attractive. I am clueless and feel let down. I need a warm touch- a meaningful embrace- I want to be loved even if for one night.

coke pary in taganga

I freestyled for everyone last night- real good chaps boosting me up and what not john selected different beats and I flowed atop of it all- picking on people in the room. The girl with red toenails that matched her dress; John sweating after walking up 75 stairs; Carlos and his pile of cocaine; and I the host of this merry fiesta- I awoke to a cold shouldered Swede, who in my books isn’t as genuine a person as I once thought her to be- she didn’t offer to clean, no thank you for last night; just “I’m going to the beach”. This morning she pulled a stolen maraca from her bag and last night she told me to roll her a join- very demanding and two-faced to get what she wants. I was fooled to thinking she enjoyed my company- though fooled no more. Her friend Ida showed interest in me last night rubbing my thigh, with her head rest upon my chest- real sweet girl; perhaps we will meet again soon.

cartegena

I don’t really know when the night ended, all I remember is salsa dancing till the sun burst through the horizons husks. We had a short stopover in Cartagena and were on our way to take a 24 hour bus to Bogota.  The beauty in traveling is that even the smallest interactions can give birth to so much light- and the truth is that this day almost blinded us.  The day began quite normal for being in Colombia- we left the pastel city in a taxi that snaked its way through the littered canals, passing grinning children at play. Murky water and heaps of wasted treasures lay playground to the innocent youth who were out enjoying an average day in the life.

As our taxi emerged from the village, we continued on down a main road bursting with life and decorated tuk tuk’s, which are three-wheeled open-air taxis that are in itself the cheapest and most exciting way to explore a city- even more so if your driver happens to be a little tipsy off some local hooch.

We finally arrived at the station and had to part ways with our driver- As he drove away we could still make out his head swaying in unison to the sound of salsa pulsating from his taxi. Some people are so vibrant and genuine that they can affect your whole outlook on the day- and here I am 7 months later still missing the guy to death.

We entered the station with intentions of purchasing a ticket and munching on some grub to tie us over on the trek across the city that made Cocaine famous.

Now, at bus stations in Colombia there isn’t one bus that goes from A to B there are dozens and each one has their own company- which is nice because it leaves the ball in play, allowing the penny pinching traveller to put his bartering skills to use. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you expedition.

So we managed to maybe save a couple of dollars on our trip- no big deal-. We paid for our tickets, about 90 pesos (roughly 30 dollars Canadian) and went to go look for a place to put our bags for the duration of our stay. Walking around we spot a police officer and ask him if we can leave our bags behind his station- he tells us there is a lockup; and says it in perfect English.  So the three of us get to talking and he turns out to be a really nice guy. When we are about to leave I ask him for a lapel, something on his uniform to remember him by. I told him I would trade him something from along my travels, but that I packed light for my two month journey and I don’t have much to offer.  So after looking at his shirt he gives me this gold colored pin that has two guns crossed at the necks- a very cool score I might say. So I am searching through my bag and everything I own is either used, worn-out or smelly and the only thing I can find is two fun condoms (one glows in the dark and the other is studded) and a bag of fireworks, those little m-80 ones that have a real kick. He happily accepts and we joke that he is going to go home to his girlfriend with fireworks in hand throwing them at the floor and jumping into the bedroom with two condoms in his hands saying “baby, its love making time”. By the time we said goodbye to the police officer over an hour had gone by, so we decided just to keep our bags with us and bring them to the lunch table, where a group of women were crooning us into eating at their restaurant.  We instinctively agreed, I mean it’s hard to say no to five beautiful Colombian women, especially ones that know how to cook. So we order one of the meals that you find regularly throughout Colombia and it is a potato soup with fish meat (cebiche) accompanied by beans (frejoiles), fried plantains and piece of chicken.  The food was so delicious and the women were so friendly that I walked behind the counter to thank them. They invited me in and we danced to the salsa coming from the boom-box.

They placed an apron and chef’s hat on me and posed for some pictures, but not before capturing my lifelong dream of cooking in a Colombian kitchen with five women on video.   I really don’t know how the topic was brought up, but there was talk of getting a haircut. One of the ladies grabbed my hand as Ryan and I were dragged across the street to a where a man had a barbershop set up outside underneath a tarp hanging from surrounding trees.  This man was one of the friendliest guys I had ever met, just happy about life and had a huge smile on a perfect day. He told us he has been cutting hair at this location for 15 years, and we joked that Ryan’s mother Monica was a hairdresser too and that both of them could start a business together in Colombia.

He asked me how I would like my haircut, and the easiest way to explain it is by saying David Beckham because Colombians love their Football (American soccer), so now he is joking to me that I look like Beckham because I now of course look like him after receiving the haircut. Now let me tell you this was a real haircut, he put so much time and detail and even trimmed my side burns with just razor in hand. Ryan looks more like Tom cruise so he gets his haircut accordingly. Our bus was leaving in minutes, so we paid the man 8 pesos plus a two peso tip (three dollars Canadians total) for the both of us, thanked him graciously and wished him luck, and returned to the restaurant for the rest of our bags and some snacks for the bus ride to Bogota. Filling our bags with chips and soda, we can see the captain waiving us on.  As we run through the terminal, we are cheered on by locals who are roused in suspicion, jumping on board we move to the back of the bus and get ourselves comfortable for the 24 hour ride across the country.  With a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s biography in hand, I can only think about how much fun we had today and how excited I am for more adventures to come.  

peru- flight to hike

So I guess how this trip all started was sort of on a whim- I was in Korea at my good friend Ryan’s house and he casually asked me to go to Peru. Obviously I wanted to go, but without any thought I just said “yah, lets do it” and 4 months later when our contracts ended- I was waiting for them at the airport in Toronto. And them- turned out to be a lot of people. For the first two weeks of our trip I would be travelling with his father, brother, uncle, one of his good friends.

The flight was alcohol induced and set a pace of how the trip would take shape. So after landing in Lima the 6 of us loaded up into two taxis and departed for our booked hostel.

With permanent smiles on our faces we took off into the moonlight, motoring through the poorer region of lima, passing through Miraflores (the tourist section that in know way gave you a feel for Peru) and all along the coast- with music blaring from the taxis duelling each other down the side roads giving us time to yell back and forth at our compadres. We finally located our hostel and parked in front of the desolate gated community. All lights were off and no one was responding to the ring- so instead of getting down, we hopped back into the taxi and went to the next worst place- Hotel Nirvana.

Now this place wasn’t anything special, aside from the courtyard in the back and Cecebell, the cleaning lady/chef/hostess. As the boys went to sleep I stayed up and chatted with Cecebell until helping her with her morning chores as the sun rose. I cut pineapple as she prepared fruit juice to be laid out for the customers the next morn.

I ended up parting ways around 6 and headed to bed for a couple hours before waking up to Teresa, a tour guide that would be planning our trip for the next 2 weeks. I didn’t really have a say, being that the crew (aside from Ryan and I) was only here for a short time and wanted to pack in as many things as they could- so I played along.

With that being said, Teresa organized a trip for us in a matter of minutes to go to, Salkantay, Machu Picchu, the Colca Canyons, and the Nazca Lines. With bags packed and our first flight leaving to Cuzco in an hour- she brought the visa scanner and swiped all our credit cards on the way to the airport, arriving minutes before departure. South American travel, in and out, no fucking lines or terrorist scanning procedures- beautiful.

So once again we touch down, but this time we are in Cuzco. We leave the airport and are surprisingly awaited by a taxi driver- Teresa really did her homework. We all load up and make our way to our new hotel- Now you wouldn’t believe this place, it was Spanish village all enclosed with a courtyard in the centre shining light on the cobble stoned terrace. All in awe we through our bags in our rooms and I saddled up with Henry, Ryan’s father, before hit the town.

Leaving our room, we met up with Alex a bloke from the airplane and the 7 of us went to an Italian joint in the heart of Cuzco. On our walk we were bombarded with little runny nosed children selling finger puppets and gum anything to make a sole (Peruvian currency)- during dinner they tapped on the window making silly faces, waiting for us rich foreigners to leave the restaurant to once again try their luck. As we made our way through the children we walked across the plaza and went for some drinks at a local club called Mama Africa.

The next morning was a breath of fresh air- there is nothing like waking up in a new city with intentions of exploration. Cuzco is a little city resting in the mountains and from any angle you can see the mountainside groomed to show its ‘coat of arms’ and pictures of alpacas. Inside the city, sits a plaza centre that is bustling with taxis making there rounds around the block; and inside the block sits a park with fountains and park benches and blooming flowers and salesmen selling balloons and circus-like expenditures. On three sides of the plaza lie rows of buildings that resemble an old western saloon- the stores varying from jam packed alpaca shops, booming cafes, to the traditional and repetitive souvenir shop.

We made our way to this area on the side of a hill called Sal Plaz where we took pictures and tried on luchadoro masks. As Henry stopped to bargain with a street vendor over a necklace, I found a child playing with the cap from an exploded firework. I walked over to him to play catch and soon we were immersed in a game of catch- soon more children came and we were throwing the cap all around the street. As much as I could have stayed there all day playing catch and soaking up my childhood, we had to meet our tour guide Hugo, who was going to be trekking us through the Salkantay Mountains.

We all met Hugo at an alpaca house, which is where I got my first bite of the hairy creature. Hugo seemed like a respectable character and we all got excited about our trip into the mountains. After dinner we picked up some beers and managed to score some reefer among other things, and we celebrated in our room, watching Spanish family guy, drinking Heinekens and getting high.

The next morning we packed our bags and boarded a bus to meet the other trekkers at the base camp. Once we arrived, all the workers unloaded our bags and told us to wait for lunch- so we broke out the Frisbee and had the mountaintop to run free- with nothing but snow-capped peaks and chickens running wild we were finally at home.

Lunch came and more trekkers soon arrived and we all introduced ourselves and enjoyed our chicken sandwiches (little did I know that it would be our best meal of the trip, or I would have savoured it even more). We grabbed our bags and loaded onto yet another bus for to be dropped off where we would finally start our climb. Honestly, the bus ride couldn’t have been more fun, with a playlist including Elvis, James Brown, Jackson 5 and all the other classics that Peruvians are finally getting. The bus illuminated with life, as we swayed to the music and grinned with enthusiasm of our unknown adventure that was looming around any corner.

As the bus trudged up the narrow Cliffside, any slip and we would have been better off getting stuck in a blender- but I am here to tell my tale, so you know the outcome. We finally got off the bus and throwing the sack over my shoulder marked the beginning of my endeavour. We grouped up and with wide smiles hiked the rocky road that snaked up the mountain, cutting through brush and man made trails to show our adventurous side. Soon rain gave way, but not to dampen the mood- I was thrilled to be alive and living my dream. All the packs of hikers caught up and we rested at our first check point for some lunch. Off the side of the path, our guides were bent over inside a makeshift tent pealing potatoes and cutting carrots for our soup- now my mother raised me to always lend a helping hand, especially when it comes to food that way you always know if it’s safe to eat. So I hopped into the tent with them and helped prepare lunch before it was time to smoke a joint with the crew.

I remember now, frolicking through the hillside, along a rolling stream in awe of where my life has taken me. I began searching for a branch to form into a walking cane- just to differentiate myself and let the others know that I take this business seriously- and that I may or may not have a slight lower back problem. So I fetched this ridiculously big branch and thought out to shave it down a notch or two with my swiss- but all of a sudden one of the tour guides, lets call him Limb Shaver, steps in and takes over my chore- I didn’t know to be a) under the impression that he was better at it than b) he was he trying to show off in front of the ladies c) he’s a genuine guy or d) he’s working for tips- so I chose e) he just really loves wood and this option saved me a few dollars and any ill resentment.

So now with new walking cane in hand I could motor up these mountains with style and a new sense of agility. After walking the rest of the path, we finally reached an open field, and after only hiking for 3 hours, we were kind of bummed out to learn that this was where we were camping for the night. All the tents were set up in an open field surrounded by mountains that were littered with mad cows and crazy horses- literally these animals were reaching out to god as they scaled the hillsides aiming for the peak.

We picked our tents, and saddled up for dinner and a few drinks at the vendor conveniently located at the entrance of the park. The night came to an end after a million laughs under the night sky.

The next morning we woke to snow and icy asses as we took turns on the communal toilet, which was nothing more than a bucket surrounded by four sheets and herds of eyes staring at our rumps and shrivelled balls for once- the tables has finally turned, and now that I think of it, the cows and horses were just preparing the night before to get a good seat for the show the next morning. Who knew it snowed in Peru? Not me for that matter, as I packed 3 pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans, expecting to be basking in the sun all trip- wow was I ever naïve.  Anyways it was just another obstacle for us to tackle, so after breakfast we began our trek to the peak of Salkantay 4600 metres above my mothers home cooking.

It’s hard to describe the hike, but the scenery, along with the climb itself was literally breathtaking. Amidst glaciers peaking at 6500 meters- I felt like a pebble in the ocean or for a more graphic comparison a single hair on Robin William’s knuckle- a thank you!

After hiking for an hour- I decided to fight sobriety by chewing on some coca leaves.

This is an ancient remedy for fighting through the altitude change as well as sluggishness- if you are like me, and you probably are, then we have all taken a line off our fathers armoire and know what wonders is has worked us through- now just take the purest form, the coca leaf, and put a handful in your mouth and suck on the leafy concoction for a few hours and those peaks not only become reachable, you’ll actually enjoy climbing them too.

Along the walk, I stopped to let everyone pass as the fog was clearing alongside an adjacent mountain, leaving an impression that has been prodded into my mind- two waterfalls named grande and chico ate away at the hillside, with tunnels that stemmed and protruded through the earths crust- I envisioned being a microscopic me floating on a similar sized inflatable tube surging down the waterfall, dipping beneath the surface through the dark membrane only to escape back into contact with the radiant sun- as if passing through life and death in one breathe.

flat in ecuador

A naval plane just flew over my flat in Ecuador, but the crashing of the waves eliminated the roar of the engine. I have never been a fan of flying- just the thought of an unknown individual having my heart in a clench, eats at me the entire flight. Thank the lord for on-flight booze, especially international flights along Thai or Korean air where all the hooch is free; that is until you are cut off.

But, then you tell the steward that you would feel more comfortable because of your fear of flying, so they give you another drink to shut you up- then you go back five minutes later with the same story to another steward. I love flying.

tayrona

As I bargain my way past the closed gates of Tayrona, I really have no idea what I am in for. I opt to walk the five km instead of the bus because I was pissed at the system and being schlepped around bus after bus after bus. So here I am walking with sun an hour from setting and I’m in my glory- I haven’t even entered the park and id seen a monkey. Thought after ten minutes into the walk I saw another bus and talk the guy down 1000 pesos and jump on. Arriving at the camp, I’m directed to the path leading to the beach. Thinking that the beach was just beyond my sight- I end up on an hour journey through army ants persistently at work, a deafening flutter of wild birds, a rat the size of a baby pig and upon finally reaching the beach, running to catch the sunset the beach is flagged for being too dangerous- taking the life of a careless photographer. His body was left floating on shore for the next four days. I strike up a deal for a tent to avoid mosquitoes and hop in the shower to cool myself off. Then I sat and wrote. 

arequipa

The pecking heads of the pigeons move in sync to the footsteps of the locals who came to gather at the Plaza da Armas, Arequipa, Peru.  The sun beats down leaving a contrasting glow to where my flesh is hidden. The fountain is focal point to snapshots and refreshing thoughts in this bathing heat. Swinging chains looped through cast iron rungs separate the detailed hedges and green pastures- which are understood as out of bounds.  Couples embrace in the cities beauty- minds at ease ignoring the looming volcanoes in its milieu.

Palm trees and illuminating fauna give color to the adequately named “white city”.  Visitors pass like clockwork selling vibrant gelatos, homemade popsicles and finger puppets, while photographers weighted down by obsolete cameras make their rounds about the city center.

With my shades obscuring the sun; I sit and soak it all in.   

May.8.08

taganga

The sun’s in retreat upon my castle

            Perched abreast the town,

Thatched atop bamboo and reeds

            Pockets of salsa wave from hill to hill,

I, king in nature

            Muse at the local futbol

                        Parading ‘neath my nose,

With feet perched

            I Size the infinite ocean,

Chirps of foreign birds,

            Swatting the persistent fly,

                        Strung fish knotted through aged fingers,

                                    Baked bodies at sea,

Peecheeleelo and I

            Are eaten alive raw,

A still fierce heat,       

            Blazes off tin roofs

                        That pierce though tree tops,

 The swaying big top

            Echoes circus torment

                        From wild barefooted children,

A single road

            Bearer of life and loss,

                        All while the sun vanishes in one bite

machu picchu

The world is in the palm of my hands- a mere seed waiting to be planted. Hidden amongst the clouds, a secret garden consumes energy and gives off rays of life. An overwhelming state devours my psyche, knowing I am in the presence of something magical.

Worlds and cultures collide at soaring heights. A looming peak dances over the infamous Machu Picchu for adventurous trekkers who wish to capture true beauty and enchantment through a gripping new perspective.

I choke for words to describe my feelings. Slowly my dreams are coming true, as I claim my stake on the world.  The amazement of becoming familiar with new land draws me to the brink of tears.  My life is in the palm of my hands and I am moulding my existence.

I have seen a miracle- my eyes now scarred by the touch of magic will never be able to see life through the same light. My life is a dream. 

drunk rooster

The clock read 12 15am

But the roosters had a plan of their own

Raging drunk cuckolds

Blaring throughout the fishing village

“Are you mad”? I shouted

There isn’t an ounce of light left

To which the rooster replied

“Fuckofffff”

salento

This moment in life was not captured by film- but with starving eyes, craving more and more of the unknown world. Now amidst a hideaway in the Colombian jungle, I gaze out amongst the clouds sweeping over the mountain tops- leaving the backdrop in a foggy abyss.  The flutter of hummingbirds chills me to the bone, as I sit to take in ‘a day in the life’. I embrace the solitude- and can only imagine greatness transcending from such a spectacular surrounding.

  

 -June.11.08 hills surrounding Salento 

bus ride

Rolling through the hills of Colombia- where mountains kiss the clouds and the streets scream life. Our bus sways to the vibrant salsa. Let it rain!