1/16/2011 - Valdivia, Chile: Reverse Vampires

An hour into cruising around Santiago, I´m tired of being lost, so I bust out my GPS (compass) and start heading South. I stop in for some giant empanadas and get some proper directions out of the city. Once I´m on the freeway I start getting a little more enthusiastic about Chile. It´s by far the most developed country in South America, and is nothing but a first world, well organized, and well governed country. Its a long sliver of a place, but it thrives on its vast and greatly managed agriculture. Don´t even think about bringing a banana across the border, you might as well have a fist full of crack. The agriculture is highly regarded and for good reason. Unlike Argentina, they in fact have fruits and vegetables. It was awesome stopping in for a snack at a little stand on the side of the highway. While eating a peach, the shop owner comes over and gives some mystery fruit, which I rather enjoyed. Then when I went to pay, he wouldn´t accept any money. What a country! Beautiful landscape, great wine, stellar empanadas, and free fruit. Sweet!

A rare healthy snack

When it wasn´t raining (which it did a lot) the terrain and camping were fabulous. Crystal blue virgin rivers and somewhat untouched forest (Chileans do love their chainsaws.) It all makes for a really enjoyable drive. The only downside is this one specific type of bug. While I´m off discovering new cultures and landscapes. I also get to discover evil little animals as well. The colihuacho (literally translated to fag) is the worst creature I´ve encountered thus far. They´re about the size of a bumble be, but are like little reverse vampires on the hunt for only human flesh. They don´t care about cow patties or whatever the fuck normal bugs are concerned about. So as the sun was setting one would find me, bite me, or buzz around me waiting to land on me and attack. It was no use trying to shoo it away. Those evil fuckers are persistent. There were only two options: let it bite me or kill it. Obviously, I grab my weapon of choice (a empty two liter bottle), and head into the sun so I can see its shadow then seek and destroy. I look like an idiot, half battering my self, half swinging at nothing. Eventually I manage to give it a good whack and kill it. I´ve never felt so satisfied killing another living thing. By the time I left one campsite, I was up to about ten confirmed kills and maybe half a dozen wounded.

The next few days I spent riding hard through long, cold, and rainy days. I was nearly frozen and soaked to the bone, so I stopped in Valdivia. It was a bit off the Pan-Am, but I needed shelter quick. I was lucky to find a budget room with hot showers and a garage. I stayed a few days because frankly, I was tired of the fucking rain. So in between spats, I ran out and did some touristy things. The best was this awesome little fish market. What made it so special were these humongous lazy sea lions. About six of them have gotten smart enough to realize that there´s always a free meal at the market. So probably by chance they swam fifty miles upriver and found a new home. It was fun watching them fight over fish scraps. And also just stand in awe of their enormous size. They looked the size and shape of a thousand pound football. Other than that, it was a cutesy little quite town at the start of Patagonia.

Lazy mofos

My first taste of the Futaleufú

Damage

I wanted to avoid taking a ferry, so I had to jump back into Argentina for a quick stint. On my way back over to Chile. I met some very nice and very enthusiastic older German guys. They were on a tour through Patagonia on some Yamahas geared more towards dirt. They were fascinated at how far I´ve come on my own. I loved the ego boost so I chatted a while with them. Then one guy, Dan, was really interested in my bike because he wants to start a tour group in the States and buy a dozen. (Nice. Another business option.) We all process our border paperwork and hit the road. They finish early, so they´re a bit ahead of me. I was glad to be back on pavement, so I let the throttle rock. It was a fun twisty, hilly two lane road. Only a few miles in, I hit a nasty spiral right hand turn that seams to be getting sharper and sharper. I give the breaks a good squeeze, and maintain complete control as I drop into a quick hard left. I notice the damage right away. There are two bikes crumpled on the side of the road. Two of the four guys just went down. Hard. I pull over and help the guy whose worse off. He´s badly shaken up, and has already fallen down after standing up. We all help him up, and soon enough he´s got his mind straight. He was wearing all the right safety gear, but still got pretty banged up. He´s going to need a lot of stitches and down time. The other guy was pretty well off. Just some bumps and minor cuts. It was a nice reality check for me because I´ve got way too much experience for that to ever happen to me. (Foreshadowing. Yes, I think so.) As the ambulance comes and I start helping load what´s left of the I bikes. I feel very well put into my place. Easily could have happened to me. Needless to say, I took the rest of that days drive a bit slower. It was only another twenty minutes until I hit my destination of Futaleufú. (Don´t worry, I can´t pronounce it either.) I´m only stopping there to white water raft on (according to my google search) the best river in South America. Tell you all about it later. Ciao!

1/12/2011 - Mendoza, Argentina: Seizure Nights

As you can imagine, I´ve had a lot of time to ponder sitting alone, musicless on my bike. A lot of things have come into perspective like life goals, friends, family, and careers. It´s becoming more and more clear that the things I once valued have evolved into new and drastically different goals and ideas. Though all my lofty life goals are generally the same: get super rich, find a smoking hot awesome wife, learn to play ´Piano Man´ by Billy Joel, travel the world, catch a foul ball at an Angels game and give it to a kid, start a family, and I guess make the world a better place. Anyhow, I now believe I have more options to achieve those goals. Take my career, I´m an Civil Engineer by trade and education. Whereas before I would have thought it´s a vast field with ton of different areas to work in. I now look at it as a means to an end. There is an entire planet ready to spend money and pay me for numerous different ideas, trades, and products. Therefore, I´ve decided to go into business upon my return to the United States. Life is just too fucking short to waste away in a cubicle doing something you don´t absolutely love. So, I´m off to become a self made man / millionaire. (I mean, come on, a million dollars isn´t that much nowadays. 1911 sure, but now?)


But before all that, I should maybe focus on this trip. Right-O. Anyhow, I´ve been traveling alone over the last month, and it´s definitely a new experience. There are ups and downs like anything. For example I get to meet tons more interesting and new people (it´s much easier to meet people on your own), I get to be totally selfish, and I don´t have to listen to anybody whine about stupid shit. Because I can just move on anytime I want. The downside is it´s lonely. Sometimes when I´m riding hard and camping, I only get to chat with gas station attendants and restaurant workers. No deep political convos there. But all in all, I´d have to say the pros outweigh the cons, and some solitude isn´t the worst thing for me.


Bored of all this serious mumbo jumbo? I am. So I´ll talk about something fun, like my stay in Mendoza. Which by the way is a super fun awesome city. It´s got fun locals, beautiful tree lined streets, and plenty of outdoor restaurants / patios everywhere. I get in and find what I think is a nice hostel. Then I met some people and saw the bathrooms. There was one guy in my room I wanted to shank so bad. First off, super rude to me as I´m reading in bed. There's a problem because my guitar is touching his trash bags full of stuff. Ugh. Then he slept under my bunk and snored and farted all fucking night. I´m a pretty heavy sleeper, but that was way too much. The last straw was in the morning when his fat ass woke up and turned on all the lights and was ridiculously noisy. For fucks sake it´s a hostel not your apartment. It was probably the worst hostel since the high strung, weird ass, Purple House in David, Panama.


Anyway . . . I switched hostels the next day because my friend Arielle is in town. You may remember her from such blogs as: ´The Terminator´, ´Quality Time With The Griswalds´, or ´Where Am I?´. (Man those are some pretty stupid blog titles when you look at them. Oh well.) I pull up to her hostel and find the big yellow bus parked outside. I´m stoked to see their stupid ´truck´ parked outside. I met them somewhere in southern Bolivia. I saw a group of gringos and the bus by the side of the road. They were all outside chatting and taking a break. It was about time for me to do the same, so I made the quick decision and stopped. It was super. They offered me coffee, and within minutes I had a whole bus full of new friends. Later that night we all met up again in Tupiza, Bolivia for dinner and drinks. It was a fun and albeit sane night.


Jump ahead a week and a half. I randomly catch up with them in Mendoza. I´m hanging at the hostel pool (yeah, the new hostel had a pool and no douche bags, instant upgrade) when all the yellow bussers come in. It´s a very welcome change to camping because I can converse with other humans in my native language. Later we all go out for some Mexican food. (Disappointing. I swear when I get back I´m going to be such a fattie and eat so many damn burritos and cheese burgers.) It´s a huge group, but we all make it work. And as the huge group windles down, I´m left with Arielle and two girls from the tour group. It´s pleasant chatting and drinking outside in the warm night air. Before we know it, it´s one in the morning. So we head back to see what the others are up to back at the hostel. There we play some pool and crack open another bottle of wine. I´d say about three, we all decide that dancing is best course of action. Not unusual since things in Argentina don´t pick up until three or four in the morning. Our cab driver eventually finds us an open club on a Wednesday, and we´re welcomed with five dollar drinks and a constant strobe light. We all definitely make the best of it, and have fun until the place closes. We all get back into the hostel and after a quick, cold dip in the hostel pool in our underwear. We all drift to sleep until the next afternoon.


The next day, I enjoyed doing nothing all day long. Then we all replayed the exact previous evening. Except this time we had pizza and free tequila for a half hour. Which BTDub is so dangerous. The bathrooms were wrecked, but at least the party livened up a bit. I guess cheap tequila has that effect. Later after leaving the same seizure inducing club, I´m brought home by a super nice local girl. I find all the yellow bussers packed up and ready to head out to Chile. It´s six in the morning, so people are either just waking up and grumpy, or have stayed up all night and are super cheery and perky. It´s funny to see the dynamics of a big group like that. I eventually decide that sleep is a good idea and pass out for a few hours. Much too soon, I´m woken up by a hostel worker saying it´s one in the afternoon, and I´ll have to pay for another night. No way. I jump out of bed and pack up only to find it´s eleven in the morning. Damn, well I´m up and have a border crossing, so I take off way too early and hung over. I fight the wind of the crossing over the Andes for a few hours, but eventually I find a nice sunny spot to eat some cookies and take a break. Still hungover, I end up taking a nice long nap by the side of the road. It was super awesome and refreshing. Thank goodness I´m traveling alone on a motorcycle, so I have the freedom to stop and chill where ever I want.


Later, I cross the border into the capital, Santiago (aka a whales vagina). I was greeted by the dirtiest motel / whore house in the city. Whatever, it was late and I couldn´t find a youth hostel. I was sad to leave Argentina, but I know I´ll be back soon. Next up is Chilean empenadas, wine country, fruit stands, forest and plenty of rain. Bienvenidos a Chile.

1/7/2011 - Cafayate, Argentina: Argentina Dreaming

It really felt like a legitimate road trip the other day in Argentina. I was headed on a scenic highway to wine country in Cafayate. It was a splendid drive where there were actual outlooks over scenic views and plenty of natural phenomena to gaze at along the way. I´d drive twenty miles then stop at a giant rock formation or huge millions year old crevices. It was great! It was just like Moab in Utah, except it had a giant natural rock shaped just like a toad. It was awesome, if only all the roads were that spectacular.

Toad rock. duh.

Finally! Wine country.

 Sadly that´s not always the case, as the following three days were long flat and boring. And as always filled with many roadside repairs. I´ve learned to just budget extra time for when shit breaks down on the bike. It´s too bad though because I was becoming a time liability for my buddy Ray. Eventually I told him to move on because I was broken down and it was going to take me at least an hour to fix my problem. So we said our goodbyes and he left me with some great inspirational words. I was pretty frustrated at the time because I didn´t have the proper tools to fix my bike on my own, so I had to see a mechanic. But what he said was: "the end of the world is waiting for you." I love it. I mean I´ve come this far, so no matter what happens I´m still going to make it. I instantly got in a better mood, and once my bike was fixed I took off smiling for a new destination.

Pretending to look cool with the self timer option on the camera. ha.

And now for something completely different. (Great segue, I know.) But really, learning a new language has been challenging yet fun and rewarding. Of course as an American, I only speak English, but it really did start when I was forced to take a second language for two years in high school. Luckily I realised that I lived near Mexico, so Spanish was probably a better choice than German. Like everyone else I slacked off and only did it for the grade. Luckily for me some vocabulary and most of the grammar stuck. Skip ahead ten years and I´m living in Spanish speaking countries for six months already. It´s always a new experience learning something new, but language is totally different. At first I surprise myself by actually thinking in Spanish. That´s a good start. It´s much better to start in Spanish rather than translate your thought from English. Then I started to learn the intricacies, and about how to say things we have no way of saying in English. It´s nice, but it´s like that in a lot of other languages too. In Danish they have no word for ´please´. So naturally you can assume all Danes are rude. :)

One of the last steps in learning for me was actually dreaming in Spanish. Now that´s crazy, but consciously lets me know I´m getting there. I can´t say something like: "I´m going to donkey punch you right in the baby maker, then slay a baby deer for breakfast", but really, how often am I going to have to get that thought across. Maybe once or twice max. I´m content with my current level of comprehension, but until I can understand everything in a random ass episode of Los Simpson; I´m not fluent. I´ll get there though.

Right now I´m practicing and camping my way ever southward. Soon I´ll be in Patagonia, fishing and hiking the days away. I´m nearing my hard fought goal of Ushuaia. It feels nice to be on the home stretch, but really there is so much to do and see before I head back to the real world. Unill next time..

1/6/2011 - Salta, Argentina: Emersion

I´m making the permanent switch to wine and beef here in Argentina. Wine, because it´s dirt cheap. For a good red it´ll cost about two bucks. And that´s not even bottom shelf! And beef . . . oh yeah. As soon as I crossed the border I got one of the best sandwiches I´ve ever had at, of all places, a runned down gas station. I had a Milanesa, which is almost like chicken fried steak, but super thin and topped off with a fried egg and veggies. It may have been because I spent four hungry hours at the border, but it was a welcome change from the soup and dry rice in Bolivia.

It´s weird, but yet again things drastically change at the border. No more goofy hats, round dark faces, or dirt roads. Here come Argentina with its uppity young travel scene, paved roads, and very Western / European culture. It all comes with a big price tag in comparison, but really I´m stoked to be able to find parts and have options come meal time.

First stop on the list is Jujuy (pronounced hoo-hooey). It´s New Years Eve and it´s a big city. I´m still traveling with Ray, so we hit the town for a drink. We find the one open bar, and it´s filled with sad drunks without family. I guess it must be a family holiday. It´s not really how we celebrate the new year in the States, but a relaxed New Years is just as well. While we were out, we did hear some very important information. The Dakar motorcycle rally is coming to town in a few days. So I stick around an otherwise desolate town so I can watch a bit of the biggest motorcycle race on the planet.

I find out there´s camping , so the day before I get all geared up to leave. On my way out of town, I hit a small ditch and notice my bike isn´t sitting right. Its another subframe bolt. They really are feisty little buggers. No big deal, I know where a tool shop is, so I head straight there only to find out it´s siesta time and they´re closed. Fuck siesta time. Everything is closed from one to five in the afternoon. What a hassle, so I head to another place for the slight chance they´re open. Then it happens again. My bike is snapped in two. This time I open the bike up to find that the extra stress of a missing bolt and water rusting out the inside of my frame has caused the actual frame to rip apart. So there I am again in a foreign country with my bike in shambles. No calling Triple A. Ray was kind enough to find someone who knew a mechanic. They arrived and told me that he´s bringing a truck to take my bike to the shop. Sweet. Saved again. I´m glad I broke down in the city rather than somewhere else. Too bad this giant fat guy arrived on the smallest motor scooter you´d ever seen. It was like a giant slobby, smoking clown, on one of those teeny little bikes. (I have the greatest picture of this dude, but its on my iPhone which finally died, oh well.) Not really what I was expecting, but he helped my jimmy rig the bike with my cable lock so I could get to the shop. Three hours, fifty bucks, and about twenty cigarettes later, I´m back on the road.

The next day was Dakar, and after a great nights sleep camping. I´m ready for the festivities. There are cool tents, bitching bikes, trucks, and motorcycle enthusiasts everywhere. After the madness died down, every passer by wanted a picture with Ray´s giant BMW. It was nice to kind of feel like a rockstar, since all the racers had their bike shipped to the start in Buenos Aires. Pssshh . . . pussies. Didn´t even ride there. It´s all in fun though, and it seems as if Argentina and Chile really are taking in the race well. It´s only been here three times in it´s long history. It hilarious when I´m buying empenadas on the side of the road or at a stop light and strangers ask if I´m in the race. I should probably lie, but it´s still fun.

Having fun and looking goofy at the rally

Then after late night and short days ride, I arrive in Salta. I set up shop for a couple of nights, as it´s supposed to be one of the coolest cities in South America, and I also desperately needed new parts. So after I got all my work done, I was ready to relax and have a drink at the hostel bar. Now I´ve been traveling for about five and a half months now, and this is the first hostel where all the backpackers spoke only Spanish. It was great, I got to practice and make some new Argentinian friends. We all go out for dinner, and have Parrilla. Which is some normal beef barbecue, but with a healthy portion of mystery cow guts. I´m guessing: heart, kidney, liver, intestines, and some crazy blood sausage. Intestines weren´t my fave, too chalky and chewy. But the heart was damn tender and tasty. Definitely a new experience. (Can you tell when I´m writing and hungry? Seems I like to talk about food a bit much. ha)

After our meal two new Argentinian buddies and I head out to down town. It´s a long walk, but when we arrive it´s awesome. It´s almost like the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. I´m begining to like Argentina. It was a blast dancing and chatting totally emersed in the culture. It´s funny we were all talking with these three girls who were totally uninterested until my buddies tell them I´m from North America. Instantly they were all smiles and eager to chat with us. It´s hilarious, but sometimes you´ve got to drop the "yeah, I´m on a motorcycle and driving to the end of the world" line. Anyhow we all dance for a bit then the girls take off. (Standard) and I somehow lose my buddies at the club. So I take the long stumble home solo, and call it a pretty awesome totally Argentinan night.

Too much fun in Argentina

12/30/2010 - Tupiza, Bolivia: New Friends And Street Food

I know my blogs have been kind of Debbie Downer lately, but things are picking up so they shouldn´t be so depressing.

Anyhow, it hasn't been long riding on my own. As luck would have it, as soon as I got back to La Paz I was able to meet up with a buddy, Raymond from Quebec. Facebook being of some use, other than a complete time waster, provided us with some nice random circumstance to meet up. In Oruro we met for the first time in two months. It was nice to be back on the road, heading South. Because I had to get the fuck out of La Paz. Party hostels are nice, but man every night is just too much. So I said my farewells to my new friends and took off.

Oruro was a little city, but it had a ton of cool giant sculptures. It reminded me a lot of Ecuador. I got there and again I'm the only tourist for miles. It's a nice change from La Paz. So after I get settled, I head out for some Internet and my new fave: salchipapas. Yes, more kick ass street food. I'm instantly taken in by locals because obviously I'm not from there, and I still love they're local food. It's funny when you are approached by people just because you're eating some greasy local specialty. After a night there I meet up with Ray and we head for the largest salt flats on the planet in Uyuni. A wrong turn later, and we take a gorgeous detour towards Potosi. The roads are actually decent and mostly paved, so I'm definitely ok with the error. The next day we made the trip to Uyuni. And I'm blessed with a mostly paved gorgeous ride. Bolivia is a stunningly beautiful country. And I definitely got to take a lot of it in. The colors were probably the most amazing I've seen yet. Purple mountains, blood red rocks, and deep green willow trees speckle the ride. All those people who were suicidal and depressed because they couldn't see the world in Avatar, are first off retarded, and second probably never got their fat asses off the computer. Because there really is some breathtaking scenery on this planet, and unless you get off your ass you'll probably never see it either. I'm lucky and happy to have the opportunity to see some of the things I've seen.

What a gorgeous drive.

The salt flats are next, and from what I hear they're truly spectacular. I  can tell you I wasn't disappointed. I pussed out and took a tour instead of traveling the flats by motorcycle. It was a tough decision, but eventually I decided that my chain is in such piss poor condition (it actually fell off the day before) to play it safe. Since if I camp in the middle of nowhere, and my chain breaks I'm pretty much doomed. A few German guys went into the flats, only to get lost. They were found dead three years later. Hence, the guided jeep tour. It starts off quite well, because my truck is filled pretty girls. Not so bad, then after a quick visit to a train graveyard we're off to the salt. You might think that just a bunch of flat land would be kind of boring. But really it was awesome being surrounded by nothing but white salt, blue sky, mirages, and far away glimmering mountains. After a bit we're taken to a cactus filled hill in the middle. It's astonishing to drive for forty minutes and not see a thing then, bam, a giant rock. It was so out of place. I actually took a few photos, and eventually we headed back. It was a simply stunning place that I'm super glad I visited.

These salt flats provide all the table salt in Bolivia. This is how they collect it.

Finally comes my last day comes in Bolivia, and I couldn't be more pleased. Though Bolivia has a lot of culture and beautiful scenery. It truly is the dumbest country I've visited. It's tough to say because Bolivia isn't necessarily a third world country, but it's close. It's because simple things that north Americans find easy, Bolivians struggle with. Simple business practices like being clean and friendly are just so far beyond them. It's so frustrating. Searching for a trashcan only to realize: there aren't any trashcans. Everyone just throws it on the street. It's really no wonder why they're the poorest country in South America. I'll be happy to get back to a modern civilization and kick ass beef in Argentina.

12/26/2010 - La Paz, Bolivia: A Very Merry Christmas Bender

There's only been one time on this trip where I actually wished I was back in cozy cubicle with a hot coffee and full day ahead. I was in a bank in Rurrenabaque. It all kind of hit me at once. I was totally alone, waiting in line to get money so I could go back into the pouring rain and try to fix my bike. I was finally ready to leave and drive the legit death road back to La Paz. Of course the day I'm ready to leave, it's pouring rain in the morning. It hadn't rained all week. Whatever, I was over the town and just wanted to keep on south, so I took off anyway. Only to find I can't shift gears, and as soon as I let out the clutch the bike dies. Damn it. I was not in the mood, but I've got no other options. I push my bike to some cover and address and fix the problems. Sixty bucks and a new battery along with some tinkering with my shift lever and I'm back on the road. It's been absolutely brutal with my bike lately. Every time I ride I encounter a new problem that fucks with me. I've got a good streak of eight straight days of crap. Here's a quick list of shit I've had to fix in the last week or so: battery, starter, chain, gear lever, clutch cable (twice), radiator, speedometer, hand guard, and chain guard. It's so fucking annoying when you finally get all geared up and as soon as you get on the road something like your clutch cable snaps again in the middle of the city. Thus is my life with a bike that's almost ten years old. Next bike I own is going to be a bit newer, but for now I can only dream.


I´m pretty sure this isn´t supposed to happen.

Anywho, bike problems haven't been the only problems I've had over the last week or so. It's been a pretty deep valley here around the holidays. I guess it's not always sunshine and puppy dog tails. I didn't want to be alone for Christmas, but I was kind of forced to. Baby Gay attacked and fought me, hence no gift exchange there. Then my sweet Danish travel buddy, Teresa, had to go home as well. I couldn't help but laugh as the irony was oh too sweet and calculated. I, unfortunately, had to watch her ride away on a motorcycle taxi to the airport. What a fucking trip. I first have to leave my poor ex girlfriend, Nicole, on a bike. I still can't imagine what she felt like. Then a quick five months later I've got to watch a new friend leave on a motorcycle. Trust me, the cruel irony is not lost on me. It was all too much. The inevitable loneliness of life on the road finally caught up to me. And I hate to admit this, but I was definitely bummed out. It was a combination of everything. Losing a great buddy of mine, wishing a fond farewell to a new friend, missing my family and friends from home, and not even being able to lose my troubles on the road since my bike has been fucked. As always though, I suck it up and point my bike south. It's a long damn road.

Inevitably, I do make it back to La Paz in time for Christmas. I check into a really nice party hostel for the next few days. I happened to meet some super fun and cool people in my dorm room, so since it's Christmas eve and we're in a party hostel we've got to have a couple of drinks. It all starts pretty tame as a group of us are chatting away over some beers. Then since we're a little too far away from the bar for comfort, we all make our way closer. Only to find we need to perk our selves up. Easy solution: Jäger Bombs! So after what seems like three or four, I'm not tanked, but damn close. The night continues with me being a chatty Cathy with everyone at the bar. It's going well, people are all in a good mood and happy to make small talk or dance with me. Inevitably our hostel bar has to close, and throw a bunch of perfectly drunk people back on the streets or worse their beds. My group would have none of this sleeping business, so out on the streets of La Paz we went. We all end up at a club then continue to dance and drink the night away. Later, I end up talking with some super cool dudes about everything from girls to religion and traveling. But before I know it they're heading back to their comfy hostel beds. Well that wasn't for me, not tonight. I've had too much shit go down, and I miss too many people to call it what I thought was an early night. Too bad I was so far gone I didn't realize it was eight in the morning. Time to talk to the last few people left at the bar. I make my way over to the last table of people, and find a giant group of Aussies. They're amazingly welcoming, and we all bullshit and drink for another four hours until we're all kicked out into the harsh Christmas daylight. I've just about had enough, so I leave my new buddies as they're staying at another hostel. I stumble back to my dorm and find my roommates almost dead. They're talking and still alive. So we all laugh as we recap the previous night. Then at about two in the afternoon I say goodnight and finally head off to sleep. Christmas bender complete.

12/18/2010 - Santa Rosa, Bolivia: The Terminator

My blog, my opinions. Tough shit.

Now this whole fiasco starts off with another bad idea. Here it is: don't go into the amazon jungle with five bottles of rum and ton of pent up anger. The results are far from delightful. Four bottles should just about do it.

The night began pretty well, since everyone is happy to be where they are. Watching another perfect amazon sunset with a big cold beer. At this point I've got my Danish girl, Teresa, our chick twinsies: Ariel and Christina, and BJ. Since it's our last night in the jungle, we all have plans to go big. Usual hilarity, drinking, toad taunting, and general goofing around ensues. All pretty normal, until the night starts winding down. Teresa and I are the last to head off to bed, and we see Christina outside of the room looking tired. After a giggly discussion we find out BJ and a Ariel are hooking up in the bed next to Christina's. She outside trying to wait them out. Then while us three are chatting Ariel comes out. Shocker! It meant that the dirty French couple in our room were hooking up the whole time. We also find out BJ threw up inside the dorm. It's an interesting turn of events for the night. So we get all chatty and giggly and razz passed out BJ about how he threw up in the room, how he didn't want sex, and how he's been a bad drinker since the dress incident in Panama.
Now what happened next I remember vividly. I hear the door open, and all of a sudden I get kicked in the back. I turn around to find the three girls scattering, as BJ is furious and yelling at me from the top of the stairs. He comes down on the jungle lawn and it starts getting intense because he's physically pushing me. I resist the urge to fight back, and I apologize to him because really I shouldn't have talked some shit about a good friend to some people I really don't know as well. It's to no avail, there's nothing I can do calm him down. He keeps pushing me, then while Christina and I are still trying to smooth the situation out. BJ starts slapping and punching me. That's it. I've resisted enough, I've told him repeatedly that I didn't want to fight him, but I'm done. He's going to meet my fists: Jack Johnson and Tom O'Leary. I take a wide stance, place my right leg behind his left, and give him a nice right cross across the jaw. He falls and is shocked to find we're actually into it. Christina, god bless her, is still helping, and pins BJ down temporarily and tries yet again to talk some sense into him. As this is happening, I walk away with hopes that it's over. I talk to the other poor girls that are watching two close buddies duke it out. I apologize because really, it's partly my fault. In hindsight I shouldn't have let up and really should have straight kicked the shit out him while his drunk ass was down. Would have saved me some trouble because I had no idea what was coming up next.

Then as I'm walking it all off by the river, BJ's back and is even more pissed because I "sucker punched" him.  I explain that I didn't sucker punch him because he was assaulting me. At this point the whole camp is awake, because there are only screen doors and he'd been yelling for a good time now. The guides are out and trying to calm the situations too, but there's no stopping BJ. Too much anger he needed to let out at me. Next up round two. I resist again, but I'm getting pissed. This is absurd, he was physically trying to hurt me, so we scrap again. BJ's too drunk to land any punches while I'm fighting back, so he does the only thing he can. He lowers his head and goes for my hips and a tackle. I keep my balance this time, steady myself with my left arm, and throw as many hard right uppercuts into his face before we topple over. We wrestle, and he gains dominant position, but I've got a good grip on both of his wrists, so he's not going to land any haymakers while I'm on the ground. Thank goodness for me, the tour guides are there and break it up before my grip slips away. We both talk more shit, and I walk away. Again.

This where it all becomes clear. I'm avoiding BJ because I'm totally over it. I lay in a hammock, and the yelling harassment continues. He's so wound up, that he talks shit on me for the next half hour or so. Everything from the women I see, to the amount of money I spend, blaming me for our accident, and even fucking motorcycle maintenance. Everything over the last four months that's ever pissed BJ off is coming out in the jungle. Whatever, I can handle it. He's still fucking pissed and continues to yell for me to come be a man and fight him. Again. I'm not having it, so I stay low with false hopes that things are going to blow over soon. Then he starts picking on Christina, Teresa, and Ariel. That's it, yell at me all you want, but don't pick on innocent girls. I come out again because things are heating up between BJ and Christina. So I emerge and try to calm him down and apologize. Surprise, surprise nothing works, and he wants to go again. We yell at each other for a bit, I mean what the fuck is going on? "BJ what are you? A fucking terminator? Calm down man." Again it turns to blows, then to wrestling. I just miss out on a sweet sleeper hold because we're sweaty and winded. He's a better wrestler, so he gets top position, and I finally let him know I'm done.


Hasta la vista. Baby.

We both get up tired, and it finally appears this babies temper tantrum is about done. I'm so over this, like I have been for the hour or so he's been on terminator mode, so I tell him four months was a good run and walk away for good. All in all the next awkwardly silent morning, I find I took some good punches to the face. I've got two black eyes, a broken nose, and a nice cut under my right eye.  BJ is pretty fucked up too, he's got some bruises on his face, his shoulder is so whacked out he can't even put his own shirt on, and he also has a very visibly broken pinky finger. Serves him right.


Damage.

I've realized that all these issues could have easily been solved with a serious discussion that never happened. A deep pent up anger isn't healthy, and obviously didn't turn out well for BJ as he lost a good friend that night. I'm done traveling with him, I don't need anything like that in my life. It was totally unacceptable behavior, drunk or not. I simply will not tolerate that kind of shit, so I'm now headed to the end of the road solo. Man breakup complete.

12/12/2010 - Rurrenabaque, Bolivia: Quality Time With The Griswalds

What's known as the touristy "Bolivian Death Road" is for pussies and grandmas. It's a beautiful road that has some ridiculous shear drops, and was once known as the most dangerous road in the world. But really it's not the case anymore because tourists are plucked from La Paz and driven to the top so they can mountain bike down. Now I'm not saying it's not extreme, it's definitely worthy of Bui's extremicle, but it's not even close to as extreme and dangerous as the road to Rurrenabaque. It was the most absurdly dangerous riding I've ever done. Period.

First off everybody drives on the wrong side of the road. Why? I have no clue, but after a few close calls and plenty of fist shakings I just accepted it. Next were all the crazy effing people. They're hauling ass all the time and just dodging obstacles while barely sticking to the road. Theyre all driving station wagons, so its like the latino Griswalds are coming to kill me. What made it worse was the actual condition of the road. It was a dusty, twisty, rut filled, one lane nightmare. Visibility was close to nothing when near anybody as the dust clouds were immense. My uncle died riding a motorcycle in too dusty of conditions. Needless to say I take that shit seriously. Lastly, I'm going down hill, so I'm on the big drop side of this one lane mess. So when cars come flying by, I've got to jump to the edge of what was usually another shear drop off. Scary shit, because randomly the road would crumble down the hillside, so if you were in a dust cloud hugging the edge of the road, you've got to hope that the road hasn't crumbled away in front of you. I was totally out of it. It was so fucking stressful, because during all of this I'm driving my Danish passenger, Teresa. There was simply no room for even the slightest error.

The touristy death road was fun, but after four hours of that crazy highway, I'm over it. We find a city midway to Rurrenabaque, and call it a night. I didn't think it was possible for the ride to get any worse, boy was I wrong. The next morning, it's just pissing down rain. Fuck. Teresa doesn't have rain pants, luckily I've got two rain jackets so at least a piece of us will be dry. I feel awful because I talked poor Teresa into coming, telling her about fun sunny rides on paved roads. While I take her on the two most ridiculous days of riding I've ever done. She's a trooper though, and even though she was obviously uncomfortable she didn't complain and was a stellar passenger.

The one positive about the rain, is that there's no blinding dust. But really that's the only plus about the days ride. Out of the frying pan and into they fire; if it wasn't rain, it was blinding fog. If it wasn't the Griswalds trying to kill us, it was the thick blood red mud that would pop up out of no where. I personally dropped my bike twice in the mud. Once doing a full 180 spitting up a huge rooster tail. Another time I hit a good strip of mud going about forty five and fishtailed all over the road for what seemed like two hundred yards. I thought for sure we were going down hard, but somehow I kept the bike upright. That was probably the worst of it, but after nine hours in the pouring rain we finally arrived in Rurrenabaque. Soaked to the bone, we couldn't have been more thankful for a hot shower. What a day!

The next day I'm ecstatic knowing I don't have to ride anytime soon. The whole point of coming to Rurre is to take an Amazon jungle tour, so with that booked for a grand total of forty bucks for three days. It might just be worth the drive. Then early the next morning we all stuff ourselves full of street food and head out. It's an awful three hour van ride on similar road conditions then a three hour ride up river to the jungle campsite.

Liam and I finally getting to ride a llama in La Paz.

The tour was awesome, food was good which was seriously unexpected since we paid next to nothing for the entire tour. Almost immediately on our boat ride the guide spots us a alligator. Then for the next three hours we're pointed out every living thing near the river. Tons of alligators, crocs, and caimans, as well as a couple different types of monkeys, pink river dolphins, turtles, capybaras ( giant rat / guinea pigs), and tons of different types of interesting birds. I was even stoked to see my first real wild toucan.

A nice capybara family.

The second day of the tour we went into the swamps to find an anaconda. We wern´t disappointed because not only did we find a ten foot snake to poke and annoy. We found a huge black caiman to fuck with. This gator was effing huge, it was at least fifteen feet head to tail. I walk up and take a picture coming pretty close. I thought that was it, but this other tour guide wasn't satisfied letting the gator sun bathe un molested, so this drunk ass grabs a stick and pokes the fucker. Eventually it gets annoyed and charges the guide, only for him to run away giggling. I'm totally dumbfounded. This guy is literally still drunk from the night before and he's fucking with a gator that could take his hand off without a second thought. Oh well, only going to be here once, so I get an escape route planned, and encourage this guy to poke him again. I'm standing right behind the guide telling him to poke it again and again. Same result. The croc lunges forward, faster and for a longer distance this time. I was the fucking flash, I was so out of there, if anybody's getting eaten, I'm throwing the drunk dude in first. Luckily everyone is fine, if not a little hyped on adrenaline. What a blast! Got to fuck with a giant gator and live to tell about it. Got some great pics, and BJ even got a pretty good video. Score!

This was one scary animal.

The rest of the day was spent lounging in the boat looking at pink river dolphins. They're fucking awesome. Dolphins in a muddy river. Are you kidding me? I didn't even know they existed. So cool. Even got to do some pirana fishing. What a cool tour, at a ridiculously awesome price. Too bad what happens in the jungle doesn't stay there. Some really serious shit went down, but that's for another entry. Stay tuned...

12/7/2010 - La Paz, Bolivia: The Mercedes Benz

There's a big lie in the travel community that's all too wide spread. It's that there's a difference between a tourist and a traveller. Others claim that the traveller is down to earth, ready to accept culture, and is open to see the world. While a tourist is somehow the opposite. Tourists are only there to stay in fancy hotels, see the major attractions and never attempt to speak the local language or enjoy the culture. I think these heady travel writer are full of shit. They're trying to act like they're so much better because they only need a backpack and they feel they have a better respect for the community. Give me a break, do you think Japanese tourists at Disneyland don't try and speak English or throw their trash in the bins. Not true. Why do you think the Eiffel Tower is one of the biggest tourists attractions worldwide? It's because it's fucking awesome. If you're near Paris, you're going to see it whether you're a penniless traveler or Bill Gates. There are just some can't miss things on this planet. And just because the traveler isn't wearing a full brimmed hat with sunscreen smeared on their faces while simultaneously reading a map with a camera around their neck, doesn't mean they're so much different than other backpackers. Crack open some travel books or articles describing some far off destination you've never heard of, and you might find the author a little too cheeky about how they themselves travel. Unlike other travelers, I don't define myself by where I've been. You shouldn't either because there's too damn much to see on this planet. Travel rant complete, fuck off snooty travelers.

Next up, leaving Perú. The ride out of Cusco was long, straight, and cold but I was rewarded with stunning sunset views of Lake Titicaca. It was easy to find the hotel where BJ and Liam were staying and after my arrival, it was straight to dinner. They found this place where you get three delicious well portioned courses and an alcoholic drink for five bucks. What a deal. If only Aguas Callientes was like Puno I would have been happy paying five six bucks for dinner, but no, they sucker you in and throw whatever they have in front of you. Then add a five dollar tip, just to say "it's not that much." Ugh. I digress though. Puno is a pretty cool little city, it's a bit different then the rest of Perú. I don't know if it's just poorer or neighboring Bolivia is spilling over. Things are cheaper, so we all book a tour of the indigenous people of the floating islands for the next morning.

These floating islands are ridiculous. First off they really are man made islands that people actually live on. I arrive and it's pretty cool that they still speak the native language, Quecha. We all received a hearty welcome from the dozen or so residents on our particular island. Then the president went on to explain their way of life. How they built the island, how they eat, sleep, and survive. It's all too much, it appears they survive just on tourism. They guilt you into buying they're handicrafts and knick knacks. Then the big seller is a ride on the 'Mercedes Benz' boat. (Seriously what it's called by all the islanders.) It really is a marvel of straw work and commitment. It's a beautiful native paddle boat that has two dragon heads, a roof, and room for about fifteen people. It's a great piece of heritage kept alive by these wild people. Originally these people built their straw floating islands to escape the Inca. Now, who knows what they're up to. Maybe those little pencil holders and mini woven table cloths provide enough essentials to keep them happy. I'm unsure, but I can tell you that they were stoked to see us. Each of the forty of so islands receives tourist maybe twice a month. So when the president was giving us the low down, he was absolutely beaming. It was adorable to see this guy run back and forth to his house to grab and show us the gun he hunts with. It was an experience. I guess with my western American eyes I just really don't understand these amazing people. I still can't figure out if the people living there are doing it for heritage, tourism, or because they're just dumb and don't realize what opportunities they have on the mainland. I'll probably never know, but at least I got to visit them.

Another day, another border crossing. This time Bolivia. I'm excited, this is supposed to one of the most gorgeous countries in South America. I received some hassle at the border, but nothing I can't handle. So when I got to Copacabana I was eager to keep moving to La Paz so I could meet up with Teresa, Liam, and hang with Danish Christina one last time before she flew out. It's really too bad the border took so long because it was too late to get to La Paz in the daylight. So regrettably I stayed the night in Copacabana. It turned out to be a super fun night because as soon as I got settled down. BJ and I went for a walk on the town, and met our friend from our shipping fiasco, Ian. We had been emailing trying to get together, so it was nice to see him. We all got a beer, and while sitting there, our chick twinsies Ariel and Christina show up. It's going to be a good night, since rum is two bucks a bottle. Everything was tame as our Cartagena reunion went swimmingly. It was definitely a fun night.

I wake up as early as I can with an awful two dollar rum hangover. It really did sound like a good idea at the time. As I'm about to leave I grab a quick coffee at the hotel, and watch the rain start coming down. Ugh. Not really what I was hoping for. Then the hail starts. It was crazy hard hail and coated the ground lightly. Looks like I'm going to wait for this to pass before I head out. So BJ and I watch an episode of How I Met Your Mother and afterwards I shoot out the door because the rain has let up. Little did I know, I would be following that storm all the way to La Paz. It was by far the worst weather I've ridden in. I can handle rain; you get wet, not really the end of the world. But hail, man I just can't ride in that. The hail was just dumping down. It hurt my knees too much to continue riding. I found the best cover I could, a big tree, and decided to wait it out. It's a no go. I waited about fifteen minutes and it only got worse. The ground in every direction was coated in an inch or so of white hail. Time suck it up and carry on. I went maybe fifteen miles an hour getting absolutely pelted by hail the size of rabbit poop. It was not only painful, it was cold as well. The hail would pile up on the seat under my crotch, and despite my best efforts to remove the ice, my balls were frozen. Not fun, but you can only laugh it off and continue on. Eventually it let up enough so that I could mostly dry out before I got into La Paz. Somehow I get lucky again, and even though it's a huge city, I find my hotel almost immediately. Nice, and as soon as I get in my friends Teresa and Liam are napping and hungry. Awesome, time to get warm and recover from a that crazy ass ride.

I spent a few days in La Paz and it was fabulous. It was cheap, had things to do, and since I stayed next door to the party hostel. I got to party as well as sleep. Definitely scored on that one. We walked around the city during the day, and got drunk with other tourists at night, it was splendid.

My time with traveling with Teresa is running short, so we had to decide where we wanted to go to with her last bit of vacation. Some of the big draws in Bolivia are the jungle tours, the death road, and the salt flats. With out really planning our timing, we chose the jungle and the death road. Unbeknownst to us we were making a huge mistake on a bunch of different levels.

12/4/2010 - Machu Picchu, Perú: Stop. Llama Time.

Traveling by motorcycle is a lot different than normal backpacking. First off what might take a backpacker twenty hours on an overnight bus, will likely take a motorcyclist a good three days. I like it because you get to see a lot more of the countryside. Enjoy a little more of the ride, not just the destination. Stupid shit happens all the time on the road too. Like roadside food is probably the most fun example. It can be an amazing success. Good local grub served up by humble hosts. While most of the time, it's just a crap shoot. Such is the life BJ, Liam, and I went through getting to Cusco. For some reason all the food has some ridiculous name that has almost nothing to do with the meal. Like Lomo Saltando, it translates to jumping loin, but it's really delicious beef fajitas mixed with french fries served over rice. It's really been my Peruvian staple because everything else you order here is a fucking mystery. The entire journey up the Andes, we all had to choose the mystery meal a few times too many. You know what hits the spot after a long days ride in the desert heat? Yep, soup. Accidentally ordered soup three times, fuck me. Then there are the endless options in little far off towns along the way. Like one day after visiting several lunch restaurants we were stuck with trout or more soup. Mmmm...remote.

Eventually, we did find our way to Cusco. And I'm happy as a clam to get off the bike, and chill out again. It's a nice rather large city, that really is the cultural capital of Perú. There are alpaca sweaters, goofy beanies, and colorful (apparently native) M.C. Hammer pants everywhere. I swear I've never seen so many foreign tourists grossly misinterpret cultural heritage. At our party hostel, there are tons of gringos mismatched in the best way. Literally endless amounts of llama print clothing. I wish I could show you what some of these people were getting away and getting laid with. It's like they're purposely trying to wear as many llamas on their clothes as possible. Now I admit I know nothing about fashion, but only in Cusco could tourists on a weeks holiday get away with that kind of stuff. If I wasn't so damn lazy I would have taken great photos of those douche bags. Next time in Cusco, fo sho.

Right now I've got a great little travel group. About seven of us off and on. Some cute blonde Danes, tall Canadians, an Englishman, and some goofy Americans on Kawasaki's. It was pretty nice running around together, hitting up all the touristy spots in Perú. One thing I'm glad I didn't miss out on was Machu Picchu. The price to get there is outrageous. There aren't any roads, and it's going cost a minimum of about a hundred and forty dollars. So since I'm traveling with the Danes who did not want to hike, I took the lazy way out and rode on a train and stayed in a hotel. Whatever, it turned out to be about sixty bucks more. The train ride was awesome, since the terrain itself is unlike anything I've ever seen. The mountains are shear, rocky, and jagged, but topped with green. It was really bizarre when you actually reach Machu Picchu. It really makes you wonder why on earth there's a five hundred year old city plopped on top.

I love llamas!

Extreme close up!  Whoaaooaa!

The lost city.

In order to get a pass to hike the adjacent mountain, you've got to arrive at six in the morning. At this time there's nothing but fog and grassy trails. On a small hike before our tour we found a llama waking up on one of the graded terraces. I'm stoked, so I take a ton of pictures and give it a big hug. Later, Teresa and Christina have to pry me away from all the other grazing llamas to take our tour. They're just so damn cute! I could have played with them all day. Anyhow, I guess the real story isn't the sweet llamas on Machu Picchu, it's the city itself. Which, by the way, is an expensive tourist trap, but is totally worth all the hype. Engineering wise it's great. I love the grading, there are old terraces that after fifteen or so flat landings drop off into shear nothingness. It's crazy to think how dangerous that construction job was. The city itself was once just a normal Incan city, it had all the necessary features, farming, water, people, llamas, but now it's remains are on display for forty bucks a pop.

The view from Huynu Picchu. Walked up in the rain, and was able to get this shot in a brief momment without clouds.

Don't get me wrong, the city is in a remote location and has some really cool features. I think the country takes too much advantage of this sight. Prices are outrageous for a fairly poor country. It's something you should want to see every time you're Perú, but since it's such a hassle to get there. I probably won't ever go back. It's too bad because tourists are really being taken advantage of. Seven bucks for a twenty minute bus ride, twenty dollar sunscreen at the top, and a even the forty bucks to get in is ridiculous. It isn't Disneyland for crying out loud, it's one of the seven natural wonders of the modern world. My favorite stories I've heard were about the Queen of Spain and a mudslide.

What a deal!

During heavy rains the road and path down from Machu Picchu were washed out. Hundreds of tourists were stuck up there, luckily for them the good hearted people of the nearby town of Aguas Calientes came to the rescue. It's too bad the locals gouged every tourist, already overpriced rudimentary supplies were sold for double the price. Tourism dropped like a rock the next month when word got out about it. I hope they were hurting for screwing with people like that. But alas, it's much too popular an attraction to be left alone for too long. I'm sure by now they've made a full recovery.


The last anecdote is about the Queen of Spain coming to Perú for a visit. The most luxurious way to get there from Cusco would be an hour by car, then another hour by train. She would have none of it, so Perú made special arrangements to partly destroy a piece of Machu Picchu so a helicopter can fly her in. Totally hilarious. I love how Perú still has to kiss Spain's ass. You'll notice that half of South America speaks spanish. It's because the Spaniards conquered everyone they could find. The Inca civilization was the biggest and most prominent empire on the planet around the 1500's. Not for long because the Spanish conquered the whole empire with a force of something like a hundred and eighty dudes. Having the advantage of a cavalry, canons, steel, and surprise they stormed and took the capital. Completely amazing how it happened. I mean could you imagine two hundred guys taking down Washington and controlling the United States? Shyeeah right. Anyhow the spaniards took or burned most of the original culture. While all the natives are now speak Spanish, love gold, and drink coffee. Even today, it cracks me up that their former territory still bends over backwards to make them comfortable. What a world.