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I'm trying to get some activity on the blog here so if you have any comments, feedback, questions, or suggestions please post them up. Google gives stats on how many people read the blog and last month I had a couple hundred page views and about 10 comments. I appreciate the comments on FB or via email, but I'd like to transfer this into a writing gig if possible so companies need to know people are reading it. Leave some love, tell me how to make it better, tell me what you like, give suggestions on where to go, whatever's on your mind. Holla

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Drugs, politics, and bikes.

I'm not much of a guided tour sort of guy - I like to go where I want, when I want, and I don´t like someone else telling where I should be looking or for how long. That being said - when I heard there was a tour of Pablo Escobar´s house where visitors got to sit around in his living room and chat with his brother... I had to do it.
Juan, our tour guide came to pick us up and I jumped in the car with Julia, an Aussie girl I had met at the hostel and two other kids from hostels in the city. As we wound our way through Medellin Juan told us the brief history of the Escobar family and we marveled at how much the city has changed in the past 20 years.
Two decades ago Medellin was one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Escobar was warring with the Cali Cartel, bombs were planted in the streets, kidnappings happened on a regular basis, and it was easy to get caught in the crossfire. It was a complete non-destination for tourism and even those brave enough to go to Colombia in the early 90´s avoided Medellin. Today Medellin is a beautiful and safe city, complete with museums, botanical gardens, and a ¨golden mile¨ of high end restaurants and night clubs. It even has a metro system which was strategically built so it encompasses some of the most downtrodden areas of the city and attempts to reincorporate them into the social fabric.
When we arrived at the house we were told no area was off limits, we could take pictures of anything we wanted, and Roberto was happy to answer any and all questions. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Roberto came out and we all introduced ourselves, shook hands, and exchanged small talk. Work was being done on the garage so the first things we saw were a 1950´s pickup truck, the first vehicle Roberto bought, and a fully bulletproof Chevy 1500. Not only was the Chevrolet bulletproof, it also had fog machines, oil reservoirs to drop on the road, and a few other James Bond inspired gadgets to help evade police. We all hopped in and pretended to drive it for silly photo ops.
Next up we were shown the Harley that Pablo used for his first drug smuggling mission. In one purchase he turned a $50,000 profit, and in the early 80´s that was a lot of money.
Just inside the front door there is a bullet hole through a picture frame and into the wall, however oddly enough this wasn´t from the gun slinging days of drug running. About a year ago Roberto was tipped off that a small gang was planning on ransacking the house looking for buried treasure that the Escobars supposedly hid there. The police showed up and a shoot out ensued, taking the lives of 3 young men.
Then we moved on to the bike room. I try to keep it under control most of the time, but sometimes the bike nerd in me explodes and this was one of those times. One wall of the small room was filled with pictures and newspaper clippings from Roberto´s racing days before he got involved in drug dealing. He spent 4 years racing on the National team before coaching it for a decade, and even has a picture with Eddy Merckx. Opposite the pictures is a specially made Colnago with gold plated chianstays, head set, and fork - one of four ever made that Ernesto specifically gifted to Pablo, and Pablo gave to Roberto. So. Effing. Cool.
Outside we hung out with Roberto for a while asking him questions and getting a little better idea what his life has been like. No one wanted to step on his toes - he was so nice to let us into his home and share his experiences with us that no one wanted to offend him with hard questions. I couldn´t let this opportunity pass though, and as things got more comfortable I started asking him about the toll of the drug business and a formally Wanted man´s take on US foreign policy. He was very open, and oddly it was our tour guide who had the most amount of uncomfortable pauses.
Before we left I had to get Roberto back into the bike room to take a picture with his Colnago. Earlier that day I had flipped on the TV in the hostel and found the Giro d'Itallia on. I´m a little out of touch and the broadcast was in Spanish so I was surprised to see the Trek team in all black move to the front of the peloton with 5K to go. As I watched a little more I knew something was very wrong and then found out a rider had crashed and died the day before. I was actually very moved by the solidarity shown by the peloton and with it fresh in my mind talked to Roberto about it a bit. And since I know the words for cyclist, downhill, and bike race in Spanish I could talk one on one without a translator to one of the world´s most notorious drug dealers - unlike when I needed words such as assassinate, smuggle, and foreign policy.

After saying bye to Roberto we saw the house where Pablo was killed, his grave site, and his former penthouse which was rocked by a massive bomb from the Cali Cartel. All of it was interesting, but the high mark was definitely seeing the human side of a legend - talking to Roberto Escobar

Roberto and I with his 1 of 4 Colnago.

Hanging out in the James Bond pickup.

Old meets new

Every bit as hot as the jungle and almost as humid, the city of Cartagena still managed to capture my heart. The history is rich, largely preserved, and accessible in the old town, while Boca Grande offers new architecture with stunning skyscraper apartments on the beach, and the Getsanami district has a great mix of local culture, abundant hostels, and is within walking distance of nearly everything. And I feel like Dickens, starting off with a huge run-on sentence.

Aimee decided our day in the jungle was now going to be called “Best day ever” but the day that followed wasn’t so bad either. We woke up after sleeping on mattresses that would have been softer if they had been made of plywood, walked out and headed toward the old city following its walls towards the beach. We soon found ourselves on Boca Grande, a large peninsula of affluence and high rise apartments, where we were immediately greeted by Kelly who really wanted to give us massages. She offered a demonstration and since my shirt was already off began giving me a massage despite all the “No gracias” in the world. Now that I was in one spot a second beach vendor came over to offer oyster shooters with lime juice. I’ve never done an oyster shooter, and I really had no intention of doing one, but I could think of no better place to do one than on the Caribbean beach in Colombia while I got a massage demonstrated to me. I wasn’t a fan of the texture on the first one, or the second or the third for that matter, but I had little choice in the matter as the man continued to pop the shells and thrust them in front of my face.

Now a third woman came over and attempted to give Aimee a massage. Feeling that things were getting a little out of control I stopped the oyster shoots at number 7, told Kelly thank you and tipped both of them before making a run for it. Nothing was stolen, they didn’t try to follow us, and although she didn’t eat random uncooked seafood from strangers ironically it was Aimee that got food poisoning the next day, not me.

Later that day we were walking though a small city park when a kid in his late teens started pointing at something. Following his finger we saw a monstrous iguana meandering around freely. Then he pointed into a tree where another one was snoozing lazily. I couldn’t believe we had walked almost ¾ of the way though the park and not seen this. Then he blew my mind pointing into the high reaches of another tree where a sloth was dangling from a branch. A sloth! Wild, in a city park! Next up was a couple monkeys teaching their skittish baby how to climb and jump around but we were completely let down by the grand finale, fish swimming around in a really dirt pool. I told him we had fish in the States and I wanted to see another sloth. He shrugged not knowing where another one was, but then looked up and found one literally in the tree above us. We gave him some money for his “sick daughter” but really I would have been happy to pay him just for showing us all that. I tried to climb the tree to get a better look at the sloth but my progress was halted by a bazillion ants and thinning tree limbs. Either way I got a pretty good picture and this time, unlike when me and Aimee met, I didn’t almost get arrested for climbing trees in a city park.

Our final day in Cartagena was spent climbing around on an ancient castel. Pictures below.

Tunnels through the castle.

Exploring the tunnels.

Feeding wild iguanas.

Close up of the sloth.

Fun times two

A quick hello to Becker - hope your mouf is healing up.

After two months of traveling solo I got an adventure buddy when Aimee came for a 10 day scramble around Colombia. After a night in Bogota we flew to the beachside town of Santa Marta and then a day later took one of the most rickety collectivo (privately owned local) buses to Parque Nacional Natural Tayrona. The park is approximately 15000 hectares of jungle along the northern coastline of Colombia with immense biodiversity and strong offshore currents. The air is thick with humidity, creeks form in any low lying area, and the bugs are abundant to put it mildly - but that’s about what I expected from a jungle.
About 5 km into the park our shuttle van came to a stop and opened the door. As we climbed out we realized this was the one and only departure because the road just doesn’t go any further and the only way to access the park is by foot - either your own or a rented mule’s. Opting for the more hearty option we slung our packs over our shoulders and started walking.
Seven minutes into the hike Aimee predicted rain and almost if on cue thunder started rolling. There is so much vegetation in the jungle that we heard the rain and the humidity level was ridiculously high, but oddly we seldom actually got hit with water droplets. Having no other choice we kept walking - sometimes the trail was as wide as a dirt road, sometimes it was winding single-track though dense vegetation, but what every single part of the trail had in common was mud. Thick, sloppy, slick mud.
When we arrived in Aricifles, the first designated camping spot, we dropped our bags and spent the evening hunting toads, frogs, and lizards, and even got to see two praying mantises. We went looking for sea turtles which lasted until Aimee told me to watch out for alligators in the shallow pools. I cannot convey the primal fear I felt on a deserted jungle beach when the thought of alligators was introduced to my mind. We made a bee line for the campground.
Hammocks with mosquito nets are the en vogue place to sleep and having never spent an entire night in one we thought that would be cool. Let me tell you - hammocks are great spots to relax and read a book or doze off for a midday siesta, but they are less than comfortable when used for an entire night. For this reason as soon as the sun rose enough to see Aimee and I got up and started hiking along the coast to Cabo for breakfast. Along the hour and a half hike we saw a couple cool beaches, lizards, people collecting coconuts from the ground, and hundreds of what we dubbed “jungle crabs,” a beautiful multi colored variety of the species that lives pretty far inland and borrows into the soft jungle soil. Aimee thought they were awesome.
We ate breakfast and hung out on the rocks around Cabo for a while before starting our hike back. In the middle the trail we stopped for a minute and as I looked up not 3 meters above us were a group of monkeys. Completely wild monkeys just chillin in the trees above us!
Shortly thereafter we swam in La Piscina, one of the few beaches without strong offshore currents attempting to drown unsuspecting tourists, jumped off some rocks, and then continued our hike out.
Overall it was an amazing experience. We saw some awesome animals in their wild habitat, experienced a thunderstorm in the jungle, explored some deserted jungle beaches, and escaped with a (relatively) minimal amount of bug bites.

Leaf-cutter ants on the move.

Jumping into the Caribbean.

Not a bad place, I could get used to this.

Idiomas

One of the main goals coming to South America was learning Spanish. Most of my Spanish is self taught though computer programs and Google Translate, which translates to having terrible Spanish. However as I spend more time here, fully immersed in the language, more and more people understand me which I claim as my abilities getting better.

The first major milestone was drunkenly talking to some girls during Carnival. Alcohol lowers inhibitions so I thought I was doing a great job although that's probably not the case. However, it was the first time in my life I've held a conversation in another language and I was stoked. Since then I've talked with street vendors, artisans, and a few other people in party settings although pounding music still destroys my comprehension.

There's a mountain on the edge of Cali with three crosses on top. Its a popular hiking destination for tourists with its panaramic views, and during Semana Santa (Easter Week) local catholics make the pilgramage by the hundreds. When I did it, the Thursday before Easter, there were a couple hundred police spread along the trail but most of the religious people were finished making for a lot of police with nothing to do. Most of them were looking very bored...or sleeping in the bushes, but one of them started talking to me as I walked by.

"Where are you from?" he asked in annunciated uncomfortable English.

"Estados Unidos" I answered, two words which I've practiced a lot.

"What part?"

"San Diego en California"

He looked around at his friends who were in various stages of relaxation and tried to get them to walk with us. It became apparent they weren't moving so he started walking with me alone. We hike for a couple kilometers talking about where I was coming from, where I was going, and what I liked about his country, but what made it interesting was that the whole time I was speaking in Spanish and he was speaking in English. To be fair his English was better than my Spanish so I had to ask him a few words, but we were close to the same level and it was fun to practice with a native speaker that also understood the difficulties of learning a new language so spoke slowly and annunciated.

I felt good about this experience for a whole hour or so until an 8 year old tried to talk to me. I quickly realized I didn't have his vocabulary and I needed to study a lot more.

Mildly moderated chaos

The best way to describe Ecuador’s social infrastructure is mildly moderated chaos. No prices are set, no hours adhered to, traffic “laws” are viewed as mere suggestions, and business licenses are a joke. Canoa is such a poor and small town that I could understand why no one cared but I started to get a clearer picture when I got a photocopied vehicle title to show police if I got stopped on the motorcycle in Banos. International driving license or insurance not required. Also completely legal in Banos is “bungee jumping” off a 100-meter bridge using a climbing rope and figure 8 belay device. (Climbing ropes have a small number of falls they are rated for and a Figure 8 belay device is great for smooth repelling but hardly has the lock off friction I’d want to stop me from a very long purposeful fall.)

It seemed like every other day in Cuenca was a reason for parades, bands, and street closures. “Its Saturday” seemed to hold just as much validity as Cuenca’s founding weekend – which lasted until Tuesday. It was the fireworks displays during these arbitrary parties forced a punk rock anarchist smile of affirmation across my face. Cuenca is a World Heritage site and one of the prettiest Colonial era cities in all of South America, yet no one minded as tissue paper hot air balloons, sparking spinners, and rockets were launched from the main city square by random citizens. As their burning embers fell back onto schools, businesses, and churches I started to realize why brick shingled roofs are still so popular.

Days later dancers in elaborate costumes covered the bridges of the city while spot- and strobe-lights swept across the crowd - everyone moving to the music of a band playing in a 4^th story window of the nearby apartment building. Soon the sky began lighting up and we realized that every major railing-support on the bridges had an arsenal of fireworks attached to it. The dancers moved away a bit but the crowd stayed – a couple thousand people packed inside a half km of the launch zone.

Coming from a place where millions can be made by spilling coffee on yourself and sidewalks have to be repaired before someone trips, its nice see a society that hasn’t been reduced to robotic answers and solving problems though flowcharts. There are benefits to first world culture – drinkable water certainly being one of them – but taking responsibility for our actions is underrated. Getting under a roof if lit fireworks are raining from the sky or stepping out of the way when a motorcycle rolls down the sidewalk is common sense, we don’t need legislation and litigation to do our thinking for us.

Moving on

I took the fastest, scariest bus of my life from Cuenca to Quito listening to the transmission fall apart and the right rear brakes make a hideous metal-on-metal sound all through the night. After 24 hours in Quito I walked to a city bus which took me to the trolley, the trolley took me to the bus station where I got a shuttle bus to another station, and boarded an extremely slow intercity bus bound for Toulcan. At Toulcan I took a taxi towards Colombia, walked through Ecuadorian customs, over the bridge, through Colombian customs, and hailed another taxi to the bus stop where I got a night bus which took 12 hours to make it 450km. 36 hours in Cali is about all that’s needed to walk around the tourist part of the city, dance some salsa, and scale the mountain to the Tres Cruises. A 3^rd night bus in 5 days landed me in Bogota where its been raining constantly, thunder storming intermittently, and cold.

Bridge Festival lighting up the sky.

Yes there's bunnies, chickens, and hamsters here, but think of it as more of grocery store than pet store...

Street art in Cuenca.

Breakdancers come out in force every Sunday in the main park. Here one practices headspins.

A slightly longwinded rumination

Cuenca is considered the cultural and educational capital of Ecuador, and with its numerous universities, upper class dining and shopping hotspots, and cobbled stone streets it’s easy to see why. Oddly though what struck me most during my time in Cuenca had nothing to do with the city at all.

How it started

I had come to Cuenca in part to see friends who were instrumental in my decision to travel. They had offered me a place to stay but I thought I’d get a hostel instead – hostels are cheap, a great place to meet people, and I’d be out of the way. When we met up though, Kent handed me a set of keys to my own 6^th floor apartment furnished in a hip, minimalist style with a beautiful view of the church outside. I put my bag down.

The next day I got a FB message from Manuela and Carmen (previous blog) who had also arrived in Cuenca. I went to their hostel to meet for dinner and saw Colm who was part of the “Yo no quiro agua” night during Carnival. Colm and another girl from the hostel, Victoria, joined our table while we waited for Zane, an Aussie riding his moto from Colorado whom I had met in Quito. After having dinner with Manuela and Carmen it was back to Colm who was hanging out with Sarah and her friends, some local girls he had met though CouchSurfers.

As the week progressed I saw with Damien and Grainne (recipients of shaving cream on Yo no Quiro Agua night) and met Cian, the forth Irish of their group. Meeting up with the crew a few nights later I was introduced to Shane who’s taken just about every mode of transportation available over the last 6 months to travel from San Francisco to a wedding in Ecuador. I went to get a drink at the bar and met Hattie and Fiona, two girls from England who had met a few days before and just arrived from Banos together. A night later when Damien invited us over for home cooked curry I met Michael who’s trying to travel around the world without using an airplane.

A day later after Shane, Hattie, Fiona, and I explored the local market I invited people to my apartment for dinner and to hang out. A few days after arriving in a completely foreign city I had 11 people crammed into an apartment cooking food, sharing stories, and giving travel suggestions.

Reflecting

This, to me, is what traveling is all about. I am in a foreign land, learning foreign languages, doing things that most of society considers outside the realm of normal behavior. I am alone, I am vulnerable, and I have nothing that doesn’t fit in a backpack. However, this kind of insecurity promotes a state of mind where I live in the moment – finding adventures, having new and unique experiences, and talking to anyone who will talk back.

Traveling also builds trust – when I was in Banos I stashed my bag with everything I own (including a laptop, camera, and travel journal) in two Germans’ room whom I had met 36 hours before. Anytime I needed something from it they handed me the key to their room and all of their belongings. Solo traveling is an experiment in self-sufficiency, but every time I extend trust to people my faith in humanity is reconfirmed. We come from all over the world with different backgrounds, different educations, and different experiences but somehow friendships are formed faster and stronger than at home where we have more similarities.

This is not to discount the strength of friendships at home - I couldn’t do what I am without the help and support of a network of great people in the States. I had a dream Friday night that reminded me of the incredible comfort and security that is found in a close relationship and it left me with a beautiful warm feeling well into the afternoon.

The cycle continues...

And as the original Cuenca group started trickling away new friends were made. Shane and I went to a museum with 5 British girls we had just met, hung out with Mel, he introduced me to Yara, the bride in the wedding he had travelled so far to see, I introduced him to Tara and her mom who I had met in Canoa, we shared some drinks with Shivonne, and Luke gave me keys to his place when I locked myself out of mine like an idiot.

There is a fairly defined Gringo Trail between Colombia and Bolivia and I’m guessing I’ll see at least some of those kids again before heading home. Even if I don’t though, they’ll be part of a formative life experience and memories I’ll never forget.

Dinner in the dope pad.

After Damien cooked awesome curry we met Lobo, a traveling native artisan. Unfortunately for him, we had finished the curry already.

Stuck in the lift.

I used my limited Spanish to steal this kid's bike for a minute.

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