First Look - Thailand

I have been in Thailand for over a week now (Chiang Mai only), and this story has already been minimalized in my mind by other experiences over the last few days but I thought it was an interesting night and will tell you about it anyways.

My flights from Berlin to Bangkok and Bangkok to Chiang Mai went fine overall. I forgot to mention an old German man dropped a 25 lb carry-on on the top of my head. I was sitting there looking straight ahead zoning out when I heard a woman scream. The next thing I know I feel a cut on the top of my head and it feels like my neck is being pushed into my chest. It wasn't a glancing blow, it was a direct hit. I just wanted peace and quiet so when everyone freaked out I told them it wasn't a problem and not to make a big deal about it, although I was a little afraid to fall asleep in case I had a concussion.

The second night in Chiang Mai I started craving some food at 8:30pm. The great thing about Thailand is that there are tons of street vendors outside almost all the time, no dirty dishes and time spent in a kitchen here, only sifting through traffic and crowds on the street to find what smells good.

Diagonally parked mopeds line the streets and a constant stream of traffic in both directions provides much of the light for the crowds.

At this point I really have no idea what my options are. My Thai is completely non-existent and I need to walk around and take a look at what these guys are cooking up before I begin to decide what I want.

Both sides of the street are lined with vendors and small plastic chairs. I am navigating through a slightly denser crowd, walking on the edge of the sidewalk and the road when I hear a tire squeal. Ah, here we go again.

This time I didn't have to turn to see people flying in the air, all I had to do was look up a little. A moped was backing out of the diagonal parking when it cut off another moped that was coming down the street. I'm not sure which moped was carrying two people, but three people were thrown to the ground.

The strangest thing I noticed was that everyone was completely silent.
After the squeal, crunch, thud there was nothing. Well that's not completely true, the moped's hot engines/mufflers were making slight hissing and ticking noises.
When they fell down none of them moved or groaned, and no one made a move to check on them and do damage control. I looked at the crowd of people on the sidewalk, then the people in the street, then back at the sidewalk. By now one man made a move towards the heap in the road. I set down my plastic bag with yogurt and water from a nearby 7-11 (they are everywhere) and joined him. Two of the people in the street had these hissing/ticking hot mopeds on top of them. We gently pulled the mopeds off and collected their sandals (the furthest one went only 10 feet, they don't have the weight to carry momentum like shoes). I look back towards the sidewalk, I see 80+ people frozen mid-stride, traffic both ways has come to a halt. Still silent.

One guy is still laying on his back in the road, I spot him slowly slipping his hand into his pocket. He delicately pulls out an Apple iPhone and checks the screen for cracks, taps it and begins to send a text message-- still in the position he landed-- still in the road. It seems like a good time to make an exit so I silently walk away, I'm almost across the street when I spot a nice calculator. Aw, I would have guessed these were all college kids. I picked it back up and gave it to one of the students in the crash that had a backpack and some text books under their arm, either I guessed the right owner or they decided to take the "free" calculator.

Earlier I was checking for pictures on the signs hanging above each little restaurant when some of the workers started talking to me. I gave them the typical "I'm just looking, I'll come back in a little bit" bullshit hand motion with no intent of eating there. Before the moped crash I had scoped out most of the places, so I decide to go back to that place as it was on the way back to my room. I guess I'm not a liar after all.

At this point I'm starving and tired of looking at restaurants. I say something like, "Hello, I'm not sure what I want but some chicken and noodles would be great" to the three people cooking in the front of the "restaurant". The two younger guys look towards to older woman, she says, "cheek-en and rye?" (chicken and rice?). Me: "Yes!" Older Lady: *Motions for me to sit down.

I see her shout at a worker across the crowded table section in the other kitchen (there are two areas, both in front on either side of the entrance), he nods, looks at me, looks back and her, nods again, and turns around.

I sit down on a wooden stool at the first open spot I find. I start to take in my surroundings and realize I'm the only Westerner in the packed restaurant (it has a tent you would see as a carnival for the majority of its roof, so "restaurant"). A beefy Thai guy who looks like a muay Thai boxer looks at me and then takes the open seat to my left. At first he sat a few tables away, but moved to my table after a few minutes. Was he tempted to try some English on me? Did he think I was into muay thai too because of my size? We'll never know because I didn't say anything to him, and he never said anything to me. I was too tired and hungry to be Mr. Social.

A plate with chicken, rice, and greens ends up on the table in front of me, and man is it good. Now I have no idea how much this thing costs, I have a few baht in my hand when the server tells me an amount almost half of what I was predicting on paying.

I leave a tip (uncommon here) and try to say thank you to my new mother figure as I walk towards the front (which is also the entrance and exit). A guy that looks to be her son (around 20) gets brave enough to say "have a good night" in English, she isn't about to be outdone and says semi-brokenly, "hope to see you again".

She did.

The Beginning : Thailand

I.. live.. in Asia..

The Asian thing didn't become very "real" until the airport in Berlin. I constantly felt like a foreigner in Colombia because often, my appearance didn't match the local complexion (other than in Medellin). I sure as shit won't be blending in where I'm about to go anytime soon. My gringo status can now be changed to Farang status, or even foreign devil status, your choice.

As I checked my luggage in at the Air Berlin stand the presence of South East Asians became quite pronounced. At our departure gate the ones on either side flew to Paris and Geneva, and another to Madrid = European looking folks surrounding a mass of tan colored Asians.

An unorganized crowd begins to form as people make the move to board the aircraft. I see 6 white family members wearing matching white polo shirts with "Thailand 2010" written on the front in black marker. On the back they have "Pops" or "Mum" or "Robby" written on, below is a giant 1.5 foot diameter smiley face version of themselves..

How cute.. A families first vacation together.. except the kids are over 30. They're probably the kind of people that have a dresser full of _ _ _ _ _ _ 200/6/7/8/9 shirts.

To board the plane we walked through the normal metal thing that connects the terminal to the plane, only there is no plane. There are however, ghetto stairs leading down onto the tarmac. Walking out to the plane in Germany? Really? I thought that was reserved for tropical or extremely poor locations.

My seat is located at the back 40% of the plane so I'm steered towards the second entrance to the plane. They have created a funnel out of caution tape, similar to the finish line of a cross country race. As I near the mobile stairs a worker up at the top starts waving to the worker lady at the bottom and she stops anyone else from going up the stairs. He locks the plane door from the outside, runs down the steps, runs around to the driver seat of the mobile stairs, we hear a motor rev but don't see any movement.

He jogs back around to our side of the stairs and pulls out one of the extend-able "don't walk here" ribbon thing and attaches it to the other hand rail, then bounces back around the vehicle to the drivers seat, while we bake on the tarmac on a blistering hot German summer day.

He reverses the mobile stairs a foot or two, inches it forward again at a slightly different angle, repeat, repeat. Still sweating on the tarmac.

Finally he decides it is right this time, run back around and undoes the ribbon at the bottom of the stairs, runs up to the top to check the gap again between the stairs and the plane, re opens the door and gives us a thumbs up.

I'm now walking with my carry on through the cramped plane counting down from the 60's to the 50's looking for the 40's and seat G. I spot it and set my bag in my seat and being to look for room in the overhead compartment when I realize who I am sitting next to.

The family of 6 is in my row and the one in front of me, sprawling over the seats taking cutesy "oh em gee we're in an airplane" photos they'll probably use for Christmas cards this year. Kill me.

Shortly after take off I noticed there was a hand with highly polished nails resting on his inner thigh, most likely on his dick, slightly stroking. Maybe that's not his sister to the left then, and thankfully this is a short flight, only 10.5 hours...

A well stocked kitchen

Sweet Baby Ray's

Leaving Medellin

My last hours in Medellin were a little chaotic. When you arrive in a city with the intent to hang around for a while you take your time visiting the tourist sites... 5 weeks in and I had only ridden one cable car and visited Parque Arvi (Dutch and I had planned to return with the girls [L, his girlfriend and her roommate] to do some horseback riding but it never happened, plus we fled Medellin for a few days after L's baby-daddy put a hit out on Dutch, that didn't help). 1 different cable route, Pablo Escobar tour, day trip to El Penol, many museums, Jardin Botanico, etc all still on my To Do list.

I scurried to El Penol on my 2nd to last day, bolted across town to the other metrocable, and squeezed in a stroll around the botanic gardens before sunset as it began to rain. I decided the Escobar tour was kind of bullshit. Not sure how I feel about someone making money off one of the most violent people in human history, I'll look up pictures of his shit on Flikr and google images instead.

Dutch and I often talked about "the future", future plans to finance further travels, what we were going to do when we got home, if we would ever go home, how he was going to get to Caracas for his flight home in the next few days. But we never directly talked about my leaving, even on the day I left. We had cooked up some fish for dinner at the guest house, our conversation just the same as any other day. I bought one last $1 DVD off the street for some evening entertainment, Prince of Persia--only... the street people fucked up, the disk really had a 40 minute Assassin's Creed mini-movie marketing/promotion thing on it.. at 8pm it was too late to find the vendor on the street and threaten him with physical harm.

I normally bought my dvd's from the same guy near Parque Berrio, 2 blocks south of the metro line about 20 feet away from the corner near a bunch of fruit and vegetable stands. One day I was flipping through the flicks when I thought I felt water (or something) land on my head, as I reach a hand up to feel my head the guy responded with the Spanish equivalent of 'aww shit, those fucking kids are at it again', a few kids lived on the 2nd or 3rd floor of the building and would periodically spray people with squirt guns. So we all lined up with our backs on the brick building wall hiding behind a slight ledge between the 3rd and 2nd floor, and continued our conversation for a few minutes before poking a head around the ledge checking if the coast was clear.

This guy didn't have the best selection of DVD's but he had the worst limp I have ever seen (probably hit by a car or motorcycle accident). Plus when we talked he didn't treat me like a cash-cow gringo nor was he hostile towards me. Normally a single dvd would cost about 2 mil but after I talked to him a few times he would sell me one for 1 mil (.50 cents). If the DVD didn't play on my laptop I could come back and switch it without and grief or fear that he wouldn't be there. Honestly, it was just nice to come around the corner and see a familiar face-- give him a wave, stop by and say hey, chat about the day, pick up a movie for the evening, and continue my stroll. Plus if I was giving my money to a shady guy on the street I felt better about giving it to him than a perfectly healthy young male who could be working in construction or something, or maybe it was just white guilt.

Global festival list

My unemployed self has been lurking on travel sites/forums like crazy for the last few weeks. I have never, ever, evverrr seen such a comprehensive layout for "things to do" / "what country is gud" in a list or graphic layout such as this.

I suggest everyone takes a look at a few of these pictures to understand just what they are looking at, and how much effort GlobalNomad !!XMTpdWLTIMZ on /trv/ put into this.

The People you Meet : Part 1

This will be one post of many detailing someone I met in hostels in Colombia and Venezuela. During my time there I wondered why I spent so much time agonizing over my destination, when the most influential factor of your trip is the people you meet.

Profile 1: J

I knew J for 2-3 weeks before I knew his name. When you meet 5+ new people everyday you eventually forget to introduce yourselves, or you hear them say their name but it never sticks in your mind. I never found out his last name, but maybe that is for the better.

J is an American expat living in Colombia on and off for the last 15-20 years, he has spent the last 7 years in Colombia (other than little trips).

His Colombian experience begins in Bogota, where he ran various small businesses and managed his stock portfolio. He made a few hundred dollars a day with his stocks in the early 90's, this allowed him to live in extreme luxury as Colombia was extremely cheap at the time.

When he went to top-tier Bogota restaurants, he would often tip more than 50 USD (possibly more than the weekly income of a typical waiter), so when he occasionally showed up without a reservation on the busiest nights, the employees would run into the back and bring out a table just for him and his guest.

Eventually his small businesses attracted (his "baller" lifestyle was also to blame) the kind of people that required him to pay a monthly "you want to do business here, you pay us" fee. The perks of shelling out to these people that threatened physical harm was that they periodically asked J if anyone was hassling him. One time J said yes, these guys are hanging out front and follow me after I lock up.

The next day was the last day on Earth for the "leader" of the thugs giving J a hard time. No one ever heard from him again, and a body was never discovered.

The thugs either completely avoided eye contact with J or called him by the nickname they used to call their leader--kind of awkward for J as he thought the leader would be beaten or maybe just threatened.. not whacked. Oops. From this point on he was a little more careful what he said to the guys he was paying for protection.

J was(still is) also subject to money grubbing women asking for some cash to tide them over. Nearly everyday we sat in the lounge area of the guest house talking for an hour or two. Every conversation was always interrupted by text messages or phone calls from different women asking to borrow $$. He had it worse than I ever did, although the girls I was talking to were from 19-27 while his were 30-45 (he's an older guy), so maybe that has something to do with it.

I cannot remember the name of the popular drug/mix that is often used to rob people in Colombia. Once the chemical is on your skin you will experience a rohypnol-like reaction, this is when the robbers either clean out your pockets or take you to an ATM for some withdrawals. Instead of putting it on a business card and having J touch it, he is pretty sure he had it sprayed in his face (and subsequently breathed it in). He remembers walking down a street, and then he wakes up in the hospital a few days later. For the next few months J experienced periodic memory loss, yikes.

One night J was out with some friends at a small mob-run casino. His possibly drunk/buzzing/doped up buddy got into an argument, pulled a gun and actually shot and killed a guy. A small crowd developed on the street in front of this casino/bar, a crowd containing J and his friends.

Normally.. if you just killed someone in public.. wouldn't you leave the scene?

"When the cops came they didn't touch us, they were paid off. Do you know how I know they were paid off? -- I paid them off."

There's more, I'll continue J's profile later.

Bang Bang

It's been a while since I've talked about people killing each other so I will break the dry spell with a bit more of L's history. I want to play with my dog so this will probably be really short.

During my last day or two in Medellin I found out some more information about L. You may have noticed I always say she has killed "at least" 8 people, that is not an accident, no one is really sure.

Dutch and I talked about a lot of things I never saw myself ever discussing with another person, but I never asked if he knew the exact stories of each of her at least 8 murders. I feel kind of bad sharing this because most of the things we shared in this particular conversation were just for our ears, but, ...I can't think of a decent counterpoint. I'll say, I need to tell these so you can fully understand my future posts including her (I have had one in mind but it's going to be really long and I haven't gotten around to it yet).

I still don't know about all of them but here are a few:

- After her brother was gunned down she needed to vent. So she called a friend and told them to pick her up with their car, and make sure they had their gun on them. She tells this friend to drive. Drive where? Just drive.

When it felt right she leans out the window and shoots a complete stranger in the head.


- I'm not sure if she had a problem with this next person, or if she was ordered to take them out. This one also involves shooting out the window of a car.

Medellin has perfect weather nearly every day. The temperature is usually pretty hot and a little humid even in the early morning hours, so some clubs have a front "gate" type thing that creates a wide opening into the club from the sidewalk instead of a small normal sized door. The person she was planning on shooting was on the edge of the club crowd and the sidewalk/street. After she squeezed off a few rounds from the road into this crowded club the car took off.

The target lived (oops, can't be perfect every time) but who knows what happened to the 4 rounds that went into a crowded club.

Progress

I awoke to an email this morning from EPIK that began with,
"Dear EPIK Teachers, (oh fuck, I'm actually going to be a teacher soon)

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have become a successful EPIK teacher for the Fall 2010 semester. "

Woo! I still cannot crack open the champagne and party because they could still change that. It isn't final until I receive my hard copy contract and notice of appointment(NOA).



I also FINALLY bought my flight to Germany last night. The night I gave myself to "sleep on it" I realized I couldn't apply for my S Korea work visa until I received the NOA.. which could be anytime. I contacted my recruiter and he said he can send it to Thailand and I can do it at the Korean Consulate in Bangkok instead of Chicago. However.. this email I got this morning says I should have it by the end of June, now I may be able to do it here in the US.

I cannot win

This teaching Englishee in South Korea thing has been a dark cloud above my head since January. After learning the last week in February that my program fucked up and I wouldn't be able to start with EPIK until JULY instead of March, which was repeatedly promised to me. I snatched up that one-way flight to Cartagena and had some good/interesting experiences for three months.

Now, I'm home in a small suburban midwestern 'murican town, unemployed, rotting.

The good news is that my TESOL certification starts late July. I passed my EPIK phone interview a few weeks ago so things were going well on that end. Once they changed the application rules for Seoul (actually they made the application process much more difficult this session for all the cities, but especially Seoul) it was clear Busan was going to be everyone's new first choice.

I was one of the earlier phone interviews, and Busan was already full when my recruiter passed my info along to them. My second choice is Incheon, which (depending on which part I end up) may be indistinguishable from Seoul as the two cities have basically grown into each other (I like that). I am now waiting and waiting and waiting for some news from EPIK, hopefully that news is a mailed copy of my contract.

Recent conflicts:
North Korea being a bigger douche than normal. South Korea needs to be there when I show up. I'm not sure if I'm too stupid to figure out the link function here or maybe it doesn't like Google Chrome as a browser.. but here is an aptly named article on this topic -> http://koreanrumdiary.blogspot.com/2010/05/retarded-kid-with-gun.html

Thai civil war.
My 5 months of work with EPIK is meaningless if I do not have my TESOL cert completed before the position starts in Korea. My certification is taking place in Chiang Mai, Thailand (at least it isn't BKK), so if things get too crazy there my program may suspend or outright cancel the certification "batch" and I am fucked, last minute, again.


One way flights to CNX are about $1,400 at the moment, in March I could have gotten there for about $500. If I'm shelling out that much, I want to stop halfway and take a few days to hang out.

-A flight to Singapore and then to Bangkok (the short flight with Tiger Air) totals about $800, not bad. A few days in Singapore could be a good time too, and I've always been intrigued in this city/country so I would be satisfying a childhood dream.

-A flight to Frankfurt (FRA) and Berlin to Chang Mai will go for about $1,150 plus I get to crash at my German friend's places, which will offset the higher European prices than Singapore. I MIGHT even swing by and see Dutch for a day or two, this would be pretty cool as I didn't expect to see him again for a few years.

-Flight to IST (Istanbul) to BKK, will be about $1,000ish.
I still want to check this place out, here's my opportunity.

Other options are Amman Jordan, New Delhi or Mumbai India.

I am leaning towards Germany the most but.. ANOTHER POSSIBLE CONFLICT
Eyjafjallajökull, please, please, please do not fuck me over, that goes for you too Katla. I know you like to shut down Europe for a while every couple hundred years, but please relax for the upcoming weeks. Plus I am not sure what to believe, if the ash was a con or an overreaction, what I do know is that if I chose Germany, this is going to be primary point of stress for me until my flight takes off for Thailand, my entire life literally hinges on that goddamn flight.



If my flight is delayed from Germany to Thailand more than a day all of my Englishee in Asia dreams/efforts are gone/wasted. Honestly I cannot rationalize taking a risk like this. A longtime favorite quote of mine is "what is the difference between reality and fiction? - Fiction has to make sense"
I see myself going down Italy and taking a ferry to Tunisia if shit goes bad trying to get a flight out of Rome first or whoever is still operating. Or I'll go north to Moscow and look for a teaching job (without a TESOL Cert, my pay will be much less, if I am even hired without it), or Zagreb Croatia, or shit maybe that would be a good time to see what I can get to work in Turkey (as long as they aren't fighting with Israel too much).




I flipped a Colombian coin last night at around 3am while I was laying awake weighing the risks. I have the Michel Thomas German audio course now, and I am enjoying it a little more than the Spanish one. Although this time I have to start with the very basic beginner disk.. gotta start somewhere. The coin toss was between Singapore and Germany, Singapore lost. Maybe Eyjafjallajökull was just an overreaction anyways.

I feel like I should at least see someplace new on this stopover to Thailand, and since I've already been to Germany and Holland maybe I should branch out. The counter point to that is being alone in a big cold city again can be a good time, but staying with locals and having someone to hang out with that you already know in a cool place is sooo much better.

We will see what the universe wants me to do, I told the parents I am buying my one-way to Germany tomorrow if it stays at the same price (or close) as there is only one cheap flight within my window in June. I discovered it a few days ago, but I don't know how long it will last (don't you dare read this and book it before me).

Oil Oil Oil

http://www.ifitwasmyhome.com

http://blog.ted.com/2010/06/aerial_photos_o.php

A Day in the Life : El Centro Medellin

After moving into my place in Prado Centro L and Dutch took me knife (switchblade) shopping, I have never even owned a knife before. If I was ever going to use it it would probably be at night, and most of the clubs here pat you down quite rigorously as you enter.. so I would have to be careful not to get it confiscated.

While traveling along the Caribbean coast Dutch mentioned one of his friend's has an "office". The friend that owns this office is the one who just went to prison for getting caught killing someone. The only other details I had about this place was that "it will be the saddest place you have ever seen, people hanging out laying around tripping out" and that L wanted to lure some semi-homeless girl to the office so she could taser her in a 'safe'(or maybe 'controlled' is a better word) environment.

Dutch and I meet up with L at her place in El centro before we went to the knife shop they normally use. I don't know why we went to the office but it was on the way, this might have been a little 'initiation' or something.

In front of this 2 story crumbling cinder block building some of the office owner's buddies were selling coke etc. If you needed a place to dope up, you went upstairs.
L introduces me to a few of these people, one of them blurts out, "aww man, I used to live in New York City. Taxi driver, lived there for 11 years."

I barely stop myself from asking why he left NYC, shit he probably got deported. I'm thinking don't bring it up, don't bring it up.

"..So, uh, why did you leave?"
Fuck.

"aw yea I would go back. I would go back in a second, I loved it there" He replies, giving me a good view of his crack teeth. He has major yellow and brown discoloring on his shriveling front teeth, with the root starting show on one of them.

Oh phew.. I think this guy misheard me, he probably hasn't spoken English with anyone lately. -- or he didn't want to talk about his deportation.

"Shall we go in?" Dutch says, "You ready for this?".

On our walk to L's apartment he told me if anyone in the office hassles us they're dead. "Oh, so someone will fuck them up a little?" "No, they'll just kill them on the spot if they step out of line".
L has status with these people, so we're supposedly untouchable.

Someone shouts up the stairs that people are coming up and it's cool, don't freak out.

"Oh man it smells" Dutch says as he begins up the stairs, L follows, and I'm the caboose.

The first thing I notice are the walls and the ceiling covered with a wetness you get with concrete and humid rooms. At 6' 4" I'm also hunching over so I don't drag my head on the ceiling. My elbows are curled in towards my body creating a stance that looks like I'm boxing, with my fists level together out front.

As I come up the last few steps I see that there aren't any lights up here, nor furniture (excluding the wooden bucket I discover a few minutes into the future in a smaller room used for shit and vomit). The only light source in the room is sunlight streaming through the cracks and holes in the crumbling cement ceiling (I'm sure that's stable...).

My eyes adjust and I see about 50+ people laying on the floor all over in filth. We have to step over their bodies to pass through the hallway which leads to a larger room also packed with more people on the floor. This larger room was darker than the hallway, I see and hear the flick of a lighter against tinfoil in the corner.

After checking the place out someone from a corner in the dark shouted in a deep slow voice, "Norte Americanos..." L later said they thought we were looking for whores to fuck. We decided it was time to leave and made our way to the stairs, once again hopscotching over the mass of bodies covering the floors in every room and hallway, hoping no one stabs me in the leg with a knife or a needle. Once again I was the last one out, delicately walking down these dark steps trying not to touch the walls HOPING (again) no one grabs me from behind. If they had, the stairs were too narrow for me to turn around, I would have been fucked.

A few years earlier L saw the husband of the school administrator her roommate works at fucking two hookers up here. In the ass. Without a condom.
He also has 2 young children, if it matters.

As we walk into the bright sunlight and along the sidewalk L and Dutch shoot me inquisitive glances. "..So.. how was that?"

When I first met L I didn't think she liked me very much, I probably looked like the hundredth gringo trying to fuck her roommate. But after this day she was much, much warmer towards me. When Dutch took the Brits up there they looked nervous as hell, she even had to pat one on the back to make him chill out. My facial expression for the entire thing was the exact same; nothing, and I guess she likes that. L's daughter, S (4.5 years old), has expressionless eyes, and L has been heard saying that's how she wants them, expressionless and cold.

What I will not miss about travelling

And to be specific.. Hostels. (The computer I{m on has a different keyboard, and I can{t figure out how to make quotes or apostrophes, so bear with me)
Last night I awoke to a

ohh UHh

sound.

I was not happy.

Sure enough about 15 seconds later the sound maker gets out of bed awkwardly hunched over and delicately walks out of the room to the bathroom. Did that dude just wet dream?

The layout
This guy has his top sheet looped around the rail on the top bunk (he sleeps on the bottom bunk) so he has a sheet wall creating a little private cubby. When I went to sleep the sound maker also had his laptop back there .... SURFING THE INTERNET, oh god. For the hour before I fell asleep this mouth breather was breathing even louder than usual, and I swear I heard some wet noises. Ill derail for a second and bitch about loud, mouth breathers. Do you not notice how fucking loud you are? Doesnt your mouth dry out?

Also
My mp3 player is ancient. When I first showed it to Dutch he exclaimed
Holy Shit! It also comes with a workout plan!

I stared back with a confused look. He picks it up and pumps it like a barbell.

Oh you sonofabitch

My iRiver H320 from 2002 kicks ass. I had this bitch playing video years before the iPod Video came out, AND I can listen to radio, and record the radio. The feature all you apple jerks wish you had? Two lines out, so two people can listen without using a splitter or putting one headphone in each persons ear, because if you even have a splitter, you can{t find it when you need it.

Downside to my iRiver h320..
It stops working at high altitudes. It says there are zero files on the harddrive, and thats that. I run into this issue every time I fly. I eventually realized if I turned it on early in the flight (before you{re really high up) it worked just fine. You cannot turn it on and expect it to work once youre way up there.

In Merida I had a big problem. The city was so high up, my mp3 player never worked. And there was NOTHING to do during Semana Santa, fuck. On day 2 or 3 I had a brilliant idea.. put the mp3 player in a plastic bag.. turn it on.. squeeze bag for the 30 seconds it takes to get going therefore simulating a lower elevation with the increased air pressure. BINGO! It worked! I had the same problem in Medellin (except when there was a high pressure weather system. Medellin is right on the edge, so if it was rainy or anything the pressure dropped just below the threshold and the mp3 ceased to function again)

Bogota is so high up (I guess, or there might be a problem with my baby) that no matter how hard I squeeze the plastic bag it still tells me there are no files.

Why is this relevant?
I couldn{t drown out noise makers shenanigans with some Tupac or David Guetta, I had to push through it without any help.

Later today noise maker started chatting me up. Said he had to get up early and teach a 6am class (freelancing gringo English teacher) and that he always sleeps through his alarms that early. So on the occasional days he has the early class he stays up all night. STAYS... UP... ALL.. NIGHT... ......

This mother fucker didn{t wet dream, he fucking busted one out in a room with 7 other strangers attempting to sleep. ahhhhh, not cool. This reminds me of a time I was at a computer lab in Auckland and the guy next to me started jacking off to erotic literature. To be fair this computer lab was trying to be modern looking and was really dim, but damn dude, you looked like you were having a seizure.

This afternoon I was hanging out at the Platypus hostel (like normal) and the Mexican guy in the group wanted to hear some terrible jokes. The group consisted of myself, black american guy, white brit, white aussie, half colombian half american girl, darkish israeli guy, and the darkish mexican.

Some people went for it and threw down some pretty rough black and jew jokes. When people ran out of their most offensive jokes the mex said he had a really terrible one. He was right, it{s pretty bad. Nothing I couldnt handle, but the colombian american girl didn{t find this one tolerable.

He says..
What sound does a baby make when you put it in a blender and turn it on?
Fuck, I dont know I was too busy jacking off.

Ba dum pshh
Thats all folks.

Bogota

I have a lot of things I want to write about but I have been feeling extremely lazy the last few days. I am in Bogota now with a flight home on the 25th... not sure what I am going to do with myself when I am home, but hopefully it will be constructive. I honestly dont feel like being a tourist anymore, and I wonder if I should have spent the last 3 months going through Bolivia, Peru, and Argentina (maybe I would still give a shit about museums, or maybe I would be even more burnt out, who knows). That way everyday I could have a new city in front of me every few days, and maybe feel like I actually accomplished something during my time in South America.

I never even made it to the Coffee region in Colombia! Fuck. I am also regretting never making it to Giron, Villa de Leyva, and San Gil. I will tell myself that this might be a good thing, as it gives me something new to do when I come back to Colombia in the near future, but I dont think its working.

Mexican Cartel - Baby daddy

A few days ago I woke up to a text from Dutch earrrly in the morning (5:30) that didn't make much sense. He normally isn't awake until 9-10ish, I didn't think too much of it and figured he'd call me later and explain.

Sure enough around 9 he calls me sounding very nervous and rushed. His first words are..
"B, is there room at your place?"
Groggily, "Uh yea, I think some people left yesterday or the day before. Why?"
"Ok, good. I'm coming over. I need a room."
"Yea? What happened?"
"I'll explain when I get there, see you soon." Click.

I met him at the door and helped him check in and get his room. I'm staring at him silently waiting for him to explain what the fuck is going on. Dutch has been sleeping at L's place for the last few months. Did they break up? Have a fight?

He finally understands my dirty look and motions for me to follow him into his room and close the door so no one else can hear our conversation. (this must have looked suuuper gay)

Sitting on the corner of his new bed fidgeting, rubbing the side of his face and looking down at the floor he finally begins..
"It started a couple days ago. People calling my phone asking questions about me, all on different numbers. Last night someone kept calling over and over, I answered at around 3:00. It was some girl asking if I remembered her from Leticia, says we fucked a lot and that she misses me and wants me again. L is lying next to me in bed listening to all of this, so I had to explain to her that this was all lies man, uhgg that took forever. This girl kept saying she wanted to meet me somewhere in Medellin, and using the same nickname L uses for me."

"This sounds like the guy in Mexico fucking with you."
"Yea, we determined that. She's trying to get me isolated man, this guy is trying to fucking kill me. L told him I left last month, but he obviously knows that's a lie. One of her cousins who is good friends with this guy has my number, he even has pictures of my face. Fuck man, I can't walk around the center anymore. L wanted me to set a time to meet this girl, but then she would go and fuck this girl up."
"I don't think that's very safe for her."
"She said he might kill her to get S (L's daughter)."
"Hm, yea. Killing you or her makes his life easier".

Now, a couple weeks ago Dutch and I have already had some conversations about this guy working as muscle for the Mexican cartels. That consisted of this bit:
"That guy better fucking die soon man, he's really pushing it working with the cartels. In his position, it's only a matter of time"
"We can only hope"
"L mentioned setting something up to kill him, but if it didn't work he would definitely come and kill her. If this gets too bad, I'll just marry her and take her with me."
"How will that work with her black list thing?" (L can't leave the country, she's on a gov't watch list of some type)
"Shit I don't know, but I can't just let her die here. I was thinking about sending those people in ------ (a small colonial town) a message asking if they would let her live there if things got really bad, I would send them the money. It would be some place for her to hide out, no one would know where she is except us."
"That might be a good option to have."

L recently told Dutch that while we were in Cartagena one of her friends called in a favor. L dressed up all hot and slutty and went to a certain store to distract a guy. Her instructions were to get this guy to walk to the very back of the store so her friend could shoot him, it was a success. This is basically the same tactic being used on Dutch.

The Spiral / Mother's Day

The first time L killed someone it was on accident. She intended only to put fear (I don't know why) into this girl by surprising her with the barrel of a revolver pressed to her temple. In all the excitement a finger found a trigger and split this girls head open.

Dutch compares the life of L to the main girl in "Rosario Tijeras", I just watched the movie a few days ago and it is surprisingly close. L's older brother bled out on the street from bullet wounds right in front of her at a fairly young age, which was a contributing factor to L's future violent actions. After she accidentally wasted that girl, she started to freak the fuck out and got involved with her Uncle's antics. L's mother recently told me this Uncle used to cut the feet off of live cows for fun, this guy is not a good influence on anyone.

It's midnight the day before Mother's Day and I receive a text from Dutch saying, "B, you're coming tomorrow".
I already knew he was going to L's sister's apartment for a family get-together, but I had no intentions of inviting myself or coming with.
"But.. I don't want to crash your thing with her family."
"I knew you would be like this, that's why I told you were coming, I didn't ask."
It was final.

I didn't even consider to ask where this family hangout was taking place until we had been in the cab for 20 minutes. I forgot the name of the barrio 30 seconds after they told me, but it was in the North of Medellin, a fair ways up the valley wall.
(In Medellin, a basic rule of thumb is the further south you go, the safer the neighborhoods are. The north consists of barrios resembling the shanty-like buildings you see in pictures of Rio de Janeiro. Another generalization of safety here is the higher you go up the mountain the shittier the neighborhoods get, of course there are a lot of exceptions, but it's generally correct.)

We walk up their steps, through their front door, and there are a bunch of faces I have never seen before.
"Aqui", the apparent man of the house (everyone is dressed up and he's in his boxers, nothing else) says to me and puts a cold
beer in my hand.
"Oh, hey watch out. They're going to get us hammered today, it's only a matter of time until the break out the whiskey." Dutch warns me.
Sure enough 2-3 hours and several beers later I get a glass with a few ice cubes in it and about 6 shots of whiskey. Fuck.
I'm trying to be polite and converse with these people, and they keep impeding my efforts by making my brain useless.

Someone brings out a chess board and a conversation of who vs who runs on for a few minutes. Thankfully I dodged the bullet and the first match (match? game?) is between Dutch and Boxers Only.

They apparently have two chess boards and L challenges me to a duel. We prop the table on a stool on the front balcony overlooking the street and a small community park. The day is beginning to cool off, the sky is a few shades darker, and children are out playing soccer in the park. Aside from the drug dealers hanging out in the part of the park with a few closely placed tree's, the atmosphere is heaven.

This was one of those moments you capture in your mind and cling to. It was during this time I began to realize how hard it is going to be to leave not only Colombia but specifically Medellin. I really felt like I belonged, L's sisters apartment and awesome family are giving me flashbacks to my home-stay in Suva, Fiji (one of the best experiences of my life).

Now, I haven't played a game of chess since 3rd grade. Which was also when I first learned how to play it..
I polished off the glass of whiskey only to have it replaced with a splash of coke and another 3 inches of rum. uhh "What are the rules again?" I struggle to muster up. L on the other hand, is 100% sober.

She begins by taking 6 of my pieces and severely neutering my attacking ability. My ego damaged I swallow the remainder of my glass and devote all of my focus on showing some cojones. L's sister comes by and throws 3 more inches of rum in my glass before I can politely decline, god dammit people. Somehow I am able to kill a few of her pieces, so if I lose I at least have something to show for myself.

All the while I'm wondering.. do I let her win because she's a girl? Nah, chivalry is pretty much dead anyways, ladies want equality, I'll show her equality. Do I let her win because she's Dutch's gf? Or because she has invited me to a family gathering and pumped me full of alcohol and food, or do I let her win because she has killed at least 8 people and I know she has a tazer stronger than the electrical outlets in The States resting in her back pocket?

Nah I really want to beat this bitch. I'm finally getting into the chess game and really, really, do not want to lose.

Nearly an hour later I finally hit her with a check-mate. In order to show her the upmost respect.. I stand up on my stool (quite wobbly as L's sister filled my glass for a THIRD time during the match) and shout some "whoo's!" and "in your face!"'s.

Instead of tazing me she just put her face in her hands and moped a little, I'll call that a success.

Aimless Abroad - Now with (a few) more pictures.

I jammed some pictures inbetween the blocks of text on my previous posts. I think they disrupt my rants a little, but that might be a good thing. There are more to come!

TOV - Aids, and L's background

While Dutch, myself, and the Brits traveled along the coast up to the Guajira Peninsula (pic below) he was waiting for some news from L. She is really paranoid of Aids and takes a test every few years. She does the 2 part series where the 2nd round comes 3 months later to guarantee that you didn't contract it a few weeks before your first test.



L has a little girl of 4 (I think) years.

Her baby-daddy is up in Mexico working with the cartels you're probably reading about in the news (if you're in the USA right now), making some $$ and sending it back to L to kiss her ass.

Dutch was feeling a little nervous about her Aids test because he wasn't as smart as he should have been with a girl in Ecuador - he came to Colombia after Ecuador. He wanted to get the phone call from L that her test came back negative before he went back to Medellin, because if she was positive.. she would probably kill him. And if not kill him, try to cut off his dick or something, she wants to be around for her daughter, so anyone standing in her way is going to get fucked up.

L lives in El Centro, which is one of the worst parts of the city to live. The pollution and homeless beggers laying on the sidewalks hit their highest density here. There is a hooker that will fuck you without a condom for about 30 US cents that hangs out around their street. Last weekend Dutch and L woke up in the middle of the night and looked out their window to see a crowd of people fighting and screaming.

A bunch of white guys had caught a black guy (he stole something) and were trying to hold him down while a guy swung a machete at him. Half the crowd was calling for blood, and others were shouting to let him go. Apparently shit like this is not all that unusual for them, so they went back to bed.

Two weeks ago L found a homeless guy sleeping in their stairwell on the top floor, which is where they live. My place in Prado Centro a few blocks away has two main gates/doors that require keys, their door off the street just swings open.

L first filled up a pot with water and threw it on this guys face, jolting him awake and confused.
She began screaming at him and kicking him in the stomach and face, stomp, stomp.

The man tries to get up while being fiercely kicked and falls down the stairs.

The edges to these stairs are not rubber like they are in some places in the States, each lip here has a sharp metal plate screwed to it. This stair well also does not have hand railings..

This lack of hand railings means when the man barrel-rolled off the top floor instead on crashing down one flight of stairs, he rolled off the sharp edge and hit the stairs after the landing that were further down. Crashing down face-first and then grinding down the remaining starts until the second landing he came to stop barely conscious in a growing pool of blood.

As he tried to get up and run (before his tumble off the stair ledge) he was shouting, "Porque Yo, porque Yo?!?!". (Why me, why me?!?) This haunts me a little.

Later that day Dutch and L saw him laying on the street, possibly unconscious.

The thing about this that bothers me the most is that because this guy was homeless, he hardly had enough money to feed himself. He DEFINITELY does not have money to go to the hospital and get some help. This guy's teeth were all fucked up (those that remained in his mouth) and his life just became that much harder.

"Tales" of Violence - Continued 2

During our strolls around Cartagena, and over a few beers from a Balcony in the Old Town at night before we hit the clubs Dutch brought me in on more happenings.

It is important to point out that L (his gf, remember?) is nearly 30 years old. This means that she grew up in the most violent times in Medellin, when Pablo Escobar was doing his thing. ($5,000 to anyone who kills a police officer). -> a small fortune at the time.

When L was around 7 years old (I'll check this and correct it later) her mother took her to see a dead black dude. This guy was murdered on the street and left on the sidewalk to rot for over a week. When L saw this rotting body, it had sat in the sun for about 5 days, while people stepped around him and went upon their daily routines.

Dutch said she was still able to describe the scent and sight of the maggots boring into the discolored flesh, also, this man was not shot to death. He was hacked by a machete.

L's Uncle apparently was involved in a lot of shady dealings and brought her into the shit as she grew up.. it shows.

"Tales" of Violence in Colombia

Before I go any further I'm going to post this warning in case anyone in the DEA or legal person of any kind would like to use my words in court.

"The stories and information posted here are artistic works of fiction and falsehood.
Only a fool would take anything posted here as fact."

One of my favorite things about traveling is that you can make a "close" friend in a day. You typically cut through the bullshit and will give up secrets you normally wouldn't tell anyone at home.

Even though these friendships are forged over a short amount of time, I think they're just as strong, and in some case even stronger than "normal" ones.

Over lunch that first or second full day in Cartagena with Dutch he told me about his hellish experience in a hospital in Ecuador. He's 23, and has some major kidney stones, after numerous tests in ghetto Ecuadorian hospitals finally deterined.


[Cartagena]

I decided to tell him about my hydrocele, one of my balls has a bunch of fluid surrounding it. Pretty sure it was caused by a hit to the groin during soccer or the time I caught the business end of a metal baseball bat in 5th grade. The doc's won't do surgery on this bad boy until it's causing me extreme amounts of pain, which will probably slowly increase over the course of a few weeks, months, or years because recovery time is 6-8 weeks of hell (so they tell me). Dutch on the other hand is going to feel completely fine one minute, and then the fury of god will be striking him down when he tries to take a piss.

He is going to be in incredible amounts of pain with absolutely no warning. I told him I would rather keep my hydrocele than trade with him, he on the other hand preferred his issue. Comparing our trips to the urologist with someone you have only known for a few hours definitely opens the doors for more conversation.

It also turns out we have both experienced very similar pregnancy scares, the interesting thing is we were both freaking out at the same time for the most recent ones, laying awake in bed during the same nights.

At this point either of us really has nothing to hide from the other, he decided to let me know about his girlfriend in Medellin named "L", and her acquaintances.

One day Dutch was sitting with one of L's coke dealing friends for lunch. The tables were near or on the sidewalk and some guy walks over towards them shouting giving them shit. Words are exchanged with the coke dealer and random guy. The random guy is holding a big pink bunny stuffed animal and throws it at the dealer, Dutch is still sitting at the table, fork in hand, wondering what is going on.

Random guy calls the dealer some word that sounds like gonorrhea (this word is apparently extremely offensive).
Dealer jumps up from the table, pulls out a butterfly knife whips it around in front of this guy's face, whilst holding the knife in his right hand punches the guy in the face (note what that would look like from the random guys view).

Random guy falls down on his back, dealer stands over him and starts stomping on this guys face and throat for a few seconds. Takes his foot off his face, looks at the damage, decides it's not enough and continues to stomp in this guys throat/face a few more times. He flips the butterfly knife back into it's smaller shape so it fits in his pocket, strolls back other to the table, sits down, and goes back to eating.

Confession - Bar

I.. like.. a reggae bar.

I don't know the name, but from the South East corner of Parque poblado, you walk about 50 meters and it's on the left. There's a big patio thing with tons of people sitting around.

I'm not sure why I feel embarrassed to like a reggae bar, I know a year ago I would have said it with no shame. I think it's because all of the gringo hippies here are so fucking dirty and annoying. They all seem to have weed farms at home and wear nothing but hemp, and carry around 6 little bags filled with string and other crap they made and are trying to sell.

These people are the reason for comments like, "fukkin' hippies". If I had to touch their hand, a large glob of purel would be the next thing touching my hand.

Within the first few minutes of my arrival they played a Caribbean/Latin American version of Rihanna's You Don't Love Me, and Akon's Mama Africa, they were very well done, and I was smitten.

The clientèle is pretty much all college kids, which is pretty nice after navigating through old dudes in Blue or other bars near Parque Lleras.

Disorganized Thoughts - week 2.5 in Medellin

Yesterday the guesthouse I am staying at received some new faces. For the first 10 days I stayed here the group of people didn’t change at all, now in the last three days we went from half-full to turning people away for a lack of space. Semi-related, the longest staying resident (6+ months) just moved out less than 5 minutes ago because he found a cheap place within walking distance of his school. He was a cool guy (taught English in China for a few years, so we had a lot to talk about), but I won’t miss waking up in the late morning to his girlfriend’s squeals while they fucked. His room was the penthouse upstairs, so her uh’s and ooh’s echoed down through the open laundry space right through my bedroom window.

Annyways, I was hanging out in the foyer area when three newbies poked their heads in. One was/is a cool older Jew(we talked about Israel and Jordan a lot, plus he gave me about 25 movies off his hard drive) named Moses, maybe 60. I think he’s in Colombia just to see what it’s like post-Escobar before he dies, the other is a couple from Florida.
“So, what is the area around here like”, asks the guy with his novia.
“Crack heads and underage prostitutes”
*Moses throws his head back as a flinch and grimaces, then nods with acceptance pursing his lips together.

Throughout our conversation I tried to tone down how shitty our neighborhood was, but I couldn’t lie and mislead them. If you want a nice clean safe neighbor hood that feels like an extension of the US, get your ass back to Poblado and don’t leave your padded room. Voluntarily living in Prado Centro is to live in the “real”, grimy, disgusting Medellin that is a much more accurate representation of the city.

“Is there any good nightlife around here?”
“Only if you take a cab or walk straight to the Metro, the streets aren’t safe at night”
“Oh..”
“Well, I guess you can—in some places—but you have to turn on your ‘don’t fuck with me face’”
“What does that look like?” He smirks, waiting for me to provide an example.
Christ, this guy is going to get eaten alive out there.
“It’s your atmosphere, you have to eat and breath confidence, walk like you know where you’re going no matter what. Like you’ll rip anyone who gives you shit apart”
I will fill another post on just this matter later..

This guy made me think how green I must have looked in Cartagena.
“Omg there’s nearly naked street beggers covered in 2 months of filth pissing and shitting in the streets”
“Eek, no traffic rules, or driving lanes, how do I cross the street?”
“That hooker is looking at me, oh no, aids!”

Later in the evening I was out having a few drinks with some of my local friends (in Poblado, I’ll mock the neighborhood, but Poblado has 90% of the cities bars, alright?).
It was my first time “partying” near Parque Lleras (full of gringo chumps paying for sex or taking girls they barely know on shopping sprees and shit so they can fuck them later).
Thankfully we were about 4 blocks off the square and around bars that actually had near-local prices again. We sat on this little ledge overlooking the street, I had a local girl under my arm, surrounded in good company, speaking Spanish well enough to carry a conversation; life was good. I think back to my first few days in Medellin and reminisce on my “green-ness”, once again struggling to even remember what worries were on my mind at the time.

The rumors about Medellin being a hotspot for gorgeous women is completely accurate. You can’t go on the Metro without running into a Colombiana that would stand out in a crowd back home. All of this hotness DOES come at a cost though.
Bitch list:
-Sex tourists, fuck off you pervy twats that can’t get laid at home. You are pathetic. You ruin it for every other man by throwing cash at these girls all day long. I woke up two days ago to a text from a girl saying, “Corazoon! No tengo dinero.. :(“

She invited me to go to a Finca with her friends this weekend, two days before we’re supposed to go she says she doesn’t have enough cash, and that she can only go if she can *somehow find the dinero* -> i.e. convince me to pay for everything, perhaps even for her friends too.

Another guy at this guesthouse gets calls everyday from women asking for 50mil or whatever to “tide them over” for a few days.

Two weekends ago the female friend of a girl I was hanging out with (I had only known this girl for a few hours) goes up to a street vender late at night, grabs a bunch of shit, then looks at me and sticks her hand out silently waiting for me to put some paper in it.

Bitch, I am not an ATM.

I can keep going with these examples but I want to save it for another post to really do it justice.

All it takes is a few guys without backbones to give in to these stupid demands and the whole city is wrecked. Every girl here seems to have a friend who is extorting cash from a North American or European, so when they meet one in a bar.. they want a sugar daddy too.

The girl I was out with last night went up to the bar (on her own) and bought me a beer while she got her own drink. I was absolutely astounded. I told the guys back at the guesthouse and received, “that’s when you know she’s a good girl”, “you better hold on to that one” and similar comments. The only problem is that I don’t get the “butterflies” with this one, that could be another post on it’s own.. again.

To wrap up this spiraling mess of a post, cute girls in Medellin that don’t want your money DO exist, it just requires a lot of searching, and that’s a shame.

Travel Disappointment

There may not be a volcano over South America but there is a cloud of dust spewing from the DAS (immigration) office. Dutch is a really smart guy, but he's also really fucking dumb. One of the Brits even called him Autistic, but I think it's more of a semi-savant thing.

The first or second day we tooled around Cartagena he shared his experience with a shaman in Tena, Ecuador. He made the entire experience sound quite awful.

Cliffs of the conversation from my fuzzy memory:
"So, before you drink the ayahuasca a Shaman cleanses you, which basically means spitting water in your face and beating you in the head with a branch. The translator said my spirit was far away, so he had to do it for over an hour. There are these tribes that base their entire religion around ayahuasca and trip out on it all the time, it' basically a cleansing ritual. And by cleansing, I mean hours of shitting and vomiting in the jungle when you don't know what's going on. Forget about your body man, it's all about the mind".

Yep, he really sold me with that..
A week or two later when we started hanging out with the three Brits he told them the story too, at that moment they planned to do ayahuasca together in Tena whenever they left Colombia (their final destination is Buenos Aires, nothing unusual there). I said ayahuasca didn't appeal to me and that I would stay in Colombia or Venezuela, depending on where I was at the time.

7 weeks of pondering and countless google searches later I decide to man up (a few days ago). Fuck it, you don't get to trip balls in the Amazon with a shaman everyday, let's do it. Some of the comments online about ayahuasca were quite fascinating, someone described it as unlocking a door, walking through it, and turning around to go back only to find that the lock has changed -> meaning that ayahuasca is a one way street; it'll change you forever.

Dutch said his trip lasted nearly 10 hours, and for the next 30+ hours he was basically a zombie. Sitting hunched over thinking and thinking and thinking. He had some major life changing revelations and I was already letting myself imagine what I could possibly think about for my trip as we planned to leave this Sunday, meet the Brits in Quito and then head over to Tena by Wed for the Shaman.

During lunch this afternoon I asked him how long he has been in Colombia, he nearly drops his fork and looks at me with wide eyes as if a strange hand just grabbed his balls from under the table. "Fuck fuck fuck man, how the hell did I forget about that?!"

*few seconds of silence

"So you're over the 60 days then, huh?"

My question actually was directed to his total time in Colombia (because you can only stay 6 months every 12 months, [although I later remembered that the rule is now 6 months every calendar year, so if you timed it right you could actually stay for a straight year]) but it made him realize he's overstaying his tourist visa... by 20 days.. that's going to be quite a large fine.

We quickly polished off the rest of our rice, chicken, and fried plantains then Dutch ran off to figure out how fucked he was. I get a call a few hours later.

"Uh B, I'm not going anywhere on Sunday. I'm really sorry man. I have to come back to the DAS office on Monday to figure out how much my fine will be."

CRASH
My dreams of rolling around on my back in the dirt staring at the sky through the tops of the trees is taken away from me. The Shaman Dutch was going to take us to wasn't just any Shaman, I guess this one is really famous, it wouldn't be right to go without him, I don't even know if we could find the right spot without him. Plus I was going to have to spend about 30 hours on various buses just to get to Quito, only to turn around and reverse the path a few days later.

I can't really be mad, because he didn't have to invite us do it with him, and no one is more pissed off than he is. We still haven't gotten a response from the Brits yet from the Facebook message bearing the bad news, I know they were all looking forward to it for the last month.

But I am definitely disappointed :/ maybe we can find a shaman around here but it won't be the same without the Amazon backdrop and accompanying sounds, but I guess it's better than nothing?

If I ever have the opportunity to give it a go, I'll definitely write a follow-up.

Cheers

Back to Santa Marta after La Guajira Peninsula

I wrote this 3-4 weeks ago and never got around to posting it.. It became irrelevant when l met up with Holland in Medellin last week and the Brits came the day after. However, they have all gone to Manizales and beyond for the hot springs and shit down there, so yea.. I guess it works again.

Last night we lost the Dutchman. We were planning on parting ways once our bus arrived to the terminal in Santa Marta (from Riohacha), however as we were getting off the driver told (screamed over the sound of traffic) Dutch it would be easier to get to Medellin from Barranquilla, so with a moments notice he jumped back on the bus as it began to pull away. A bus employee was also hanging onto the outer edge of the door, shouting something about Marijuana, it was quite chaotic.

It was during this crowded and confusing exchange I realized how different the rest of my time in Colombia and elsewhere will be from the last 3 weeks. I met Dutchman my very first night at the Northstar in Bocagrande, Cartagena, 99% of my trip thus far has been with this insane stranger at my side. Today I am still with familiar faces, the Brits and I are spending one more night (we ended up staying 2 nights because it's an awesome place) at the Brisa Loca before they head off to Taganga, and I Bucaramanga. In the lobby area we stumbled across another Brit the other Brits traveled with for a while in Venezuela, ha, so he’s back in the group once more.

Once the Dutchman left all Spanish conversations became my responsibility. If I learned one thing from Dutchman it was that Colombians lie, a lot, and on purpose.

Before packing our bags in the taxi’s trunk we made sure he knew where the Brisa Loca was, Si Si, he assures me. All is well, the Brisa Loca is right in the center of town across from the main square, and is the most popular hostel in all of Santa Marta, surely there would be no issues..

After 15 minutes of driving the cab stops in front of Pollo Loco, a fried chicken restaurante.
Aqui aqui! He shouts and starts to unload our bags.. uhh what?
Senor, senor… this is not it I explain. He points and says Pollo Loco. Yes, we see the massive sign. We need La B-r-i-s-a L-o-c-a. He gestures towards Pollo Loco one more time furiously nodding his head. No no no.

Es un lugar para dormir, lo no es un restaurante x3
(It’s a place for sleep, it is not a restaurant)

We want to take all of our baggage to a fried chicken fast food joint?

10 minutes later explaining that it is a bright orange building in the main square of town we finally arrive, I know my Spanish sucks but I wonder what the fuck is wrong with this guy.

Below, a blurry shot of Brisa Loca from their terrace down into the court yard. And a bit of the dorm room.

Losing our Humanity

I have only been in Colombia/Venezuela for a little over a month and I am already seeing the changes it has had on me. Holland once told me his sister was worried he was losing his humanity in Colombia. I’m not sure what he told her that deserved that reply, I forgot, sorry.
When I first arrived in Cartagena I was overwhelmed. I can’t say it was culture shock, but I think a better term is disgust. I could not believe humans allowed themselves to live in such terrible conditions without making an effort to change it. Local Colombians throw their trash wherever they feel like it, just to walk around the same pile of trash the next day until they are literally walking through a path carved through trash that should have been in a garbage from day 1. The half completed demolitions and partial construction projects were more than an eye sore, many of these buildings looked like they could collapse at any time. It appears as though a local found it, ignored the leaning brick walls, tossed a corrugated tin roof on top of it and called it home.

I wondered if I would ever be able to tolerate such an environment as my “home”, and although I’m still not sure if I can call it “home” it only took a few weeks for the edge to wear off. I still notice all the shit, but now it doesn’t surprise me. I step over the human feces on the sidewalk with the rest of them and dodge cars crossing 6 lanes of traffic with a bored look on my face.

A few days before I arrived in Merida, Venezuela a (British?) girl was traveling from Caracas to take an adventure trip to Los Llanos organized by our particular hostel, a 4 day South American safari. Bus drivers on night buses and the big intercity buses are supposed to drive to their destination without picking anyone up. Supposed to.. Nearly every bus driver tries to grab more people off street corners to make more money they don’t have to report to the bus company, as there is no hard proof there were any more passengers once the bus leaves the terminal.
The bus driver stopped to pick up some more customers, instead of taking a seat, they took the bus hostage and held everyone up. When told to hand over all of her belongings this girl clutched her bag and hesitated. Boom. They shot and killed her on the spot, I don’t know where they shot her but I hope for her sake it was in the head. If she lay there on the bus dying from a stomach or chest wound, she would have too much time to regret the decisions that lead to her being on that bus.

About 5 days later (my third day at the hostel) a Frenchman showed up with just a small backpack. On his bus from Caracas they were all forced to take all their bags off and run them through a mobile x-ray scanner—a big truck/semi thing the Venezuelan military drags around the country. All of the bags in the storage below the bus were lined up in the median between the two directions of traffic waiting to be x-rayed. A motorcycle with two people on it rolls to a stop, picks up his bag and takes off, the VE military was too busy to be bothered and did not do a thing to help this guy.

Yesterday I witnessed my first motorcycle accident. No less than 5 minutes after leaving my hostel for the first time in Medellin to take a stroll and explore the area I heard the *baawwwk* sound of a tire losing grip and beginning to slide. I turn over my shoulder from the sidewalk to see three people in the air and hit the ground like rag dolls. I didn’t pay too much attention to how they fell because the motorcycle was flipping in my direction but stopped about 15 feet away.

Two of the people in the air were policemen.. strange, I thought. They both stood up, brushed themselves off and walked towards the woman on the ground. It appears as though the woman chose a bad time to cross the street and was hit by the two policemen on the motorcycle, awkward/bad luck. She did a complete flip and landed on her left hip/elbow only a few feet from the curb. A few seconds after landing, she opens her eyes, looks around and starts to push herself up only to begin screaming and screaming. She collapses and her eyes close, with no more movement for the next few minutes. The two police are now standing on either side of her. I know it is bad to move someone who may be really hurt, but they didn’t even bother checking her vitals or anything. A man steps out of a shop behind me, “Ella es muerta?” (or something like that). I replied that I wasn’t sure, and that she had just tried to get up a few moments earlier.
Two more cops show up, take a cellphone out of her pocket and soon there are 5 people (4 of them cops) standing in a circle around this lady all on cellphones, not actually paying her any attention.

After focusing on her for a bit you could see she was still breathing, she opened her eyes a little after I noticed this. A big crowd of people appeared right behind her, with her cheek on the cement she was facing my direction ( on the other side of the road). When her eyes first opened they darted around, her body completely frozen. After glancing up towards the sky (probably looking for the murmuring voices behind her) she looks at me. Her stare hits me right in the eyes and she holds it for a few seconds before closing her eyes again. She does this two more times, more eye contact.

I won’t pretend that, “Oh man, Colombia has made me so hard brah” because I really did not feel good about meeting her eyes, but the whole situation felt so casual. A guy on a motorcycle had parked right next to me, he saw the crash too, started saying something about his bike. I was looking for a park when the accident took my attention, I asked the man where the park was and he gave me directions. We stood around a little longer but left before an Ambulance showed up.
I wonder if the woman lived, I mean if you’re hit in the pelvis/stomach by a motorcycle with two people on it at 40 mph, do a side-flip and hit your pelvis/stomach on the concrete again… there are probably some internal issues.

Later that day I found myself accidentally walking through a part of Medellin with a lot of Motorcycle shops. I stopped and took a peak at a Kawasaki store and went to the street bike section, with the image of those people rag-dolling through the air the motorcycle looked a little less appealing, but I had spoke with a Swede in Merida for a while about his 1000 GSX-R and I was starting to get hooked again.

I promise I'll write today... err tomorrow, yea, I'll do it tomorrow.

For over a month now I have tried to start writing shit that happened in Cartagena and the first few weeks of my time in Colombia. I have even written new posts about things that had just happened only to find myself physically unable to sum up the effort to dig up the 'old' memories.

I blame at least half of this laziness on the heat in Cartagena/Mompos/Santa Marta. You couldn't even think without sweating.

The first morning in Cartagena, Colombia was to be spent at the international film festival watching El Secreto en Sus Ojos (the secret in your eyes) an Argentinian film that was supposed to be really good, with Holland, Argentina, and West Coast USA (I seem to remember where people are from better than their actual names).

The night before our Hostel's owner had a party for his girlfriend who just returned from visiting her home (Spain) and invited a ton of his friends to hang out at the hostel. At the time it seemed pretty cool, you just arrived and you're already mingling with a local crowd. It was a lot less cool when they kept hanging out the next few days taking up all the spots on the couches, watching shitty tv, and hogging the computer.

Anyways, within the first 8 hours of life in Cartagena I had already encountered a really hot Colombiana. I did not spot her from across the street or through a shop window, she was sitting on the couch across from me, staring.

A lot of the black/really dark girls on the coast seem to have really light gray eyes, I think this was the first time I had seen this great combination. A bright yellow top thing with 4in heels and shoooort black shorts never looked so good.

"Hey man" the 25 yr old hostel owner says to me, "you should go talk to her". I don't understand what it is about me that makes other guys think I need help (see my Bucaramanga - Zona Rosa post) but I thought it was pretty obvious that that was what I was already moments away from doing.
Before I can reply he has decided to change plans, and calls her off the couch and introduces us.

Earlier in the day I showed him how terrible my Spanish is/was (it's still pretty rough), so he knows I can only carry a conversation in English. This friend of his, ONLY speaks Spanish. The whole night felt like a cruel joke. All in all this was a great motivation maker for improving my Spanish.

The next morning I chill around the hostel looking for the guys to go to the movie and they aren't in sight. Damn. I end up taking the 30 minute stroll down Bocagrande's beach to El Centro, the old Colonial part of Cartagena with this very unique 55+ yr old Black lady who was really into Ebonics. She has been all over Latin America (especially Cuba) so I actually did enjoy talking with her.

In the evening I run into West Coast USA.
"Oh here you are now" she says.
"Hm? I should be saying that to you"
"What do you mean, you stood up Holland."
"What? No way, I was here at the time we said, where were you?"
"I went out in the morning and Holland stayed behind to pick you up"
"Well god dammit, I don't know how we missed each other."

Holland and I both thought we were stood up, the next day we were both sitting around the hostel looking for something to do. The beach is our best option, and gets our votes.

While we're walking 1.5 blocks to the beach (Bocagrande is only 3 blocks wide, our hostel is in the middle, no matter which way we walk, we get a beach) Holland gets a phone call from his girlfriend in Medellin. One of their friends was shot a few times earlier that morning (dead), and the night before, one of their other friends shot and killed some guy and was caught by the police. In one phone call he lost two friends, less than 20 steps from the hostel.

He paused a little after the conversation, filled me in on the details and then we continued to the beach. At that moment I should have understood it was likely we were going to have more conversations like this, I was naive though and chalked it up to a one time event. I was wrong..