ive talked with the fellas with the beat back in the day. drunken nights and frolicing in streets in san francisco and of course having a pint with jacky boy in portland, maine and discussing all types of shit but most importantly creative ways to not pay taxes, not sooo important really but it is now cause i gotta drop a load to the man in a few days. dont get me started.
rambling through the forests and talking to myself, being alone, following the flutters of the birds, carressing trees and limbs like lovers, climbing and falling and slidding down random patches of mud and wet earth are a few things id like to do more often and i had the opportunity a week or so ago. more on that below but for now, most importantly...
howler monkeys have some lungs and some ferocious calls in the nights and early in the morning. for the days that i was in this forest i searched, followed the leader with the calls, tried myself to make a few but i reckon that put the little tailed devils in a shiver and got them moving a bit faster away from me than i had imagined. but, in my last few hours i put a call out to them and said very plainly that i would like to see yall and hook me up with the chance. they did...
a few minutes later i was beneath a tree hearing the howls and watching a group dance from limb to limb in a game of tag or some monkey shit that i cant comprehend but loved and as i stared up and the blood started to rush from my head to other parts i got dizzy and then found the tranquil, lucid existence as i allowed visions of allen ginsberg, kerouac, neil and the lot to soak in and before i knew it the howls were turning into a group reading of ginspergs howl and we were all sitting crosslegged at the top of the forests, snapping fingers, grinning like drunken teenagers and barking with the monkeys that darted to and fro with arms and tails clutching all types of things and as the noise settled, mariposas began to dance above ginsberg as he read howl and i wanted to fly and kerouac passed me a join the size of this cigar that this woman had rolled for me a month or so ago and before i knew it the vision was gone and i was back, alone in the forest calm, lucid and able to sense all movement and the march of the bigass red ants that were beneath me.
glorious day in selva negra
so, i can negotiate. that is that. blessed by having an incredible mom and an ability to emit loving kindness with a twinge of, "seriously, i wont pay more and youll be better for it" i got to enter the land of selva negra which lies in the mountains of nicaragua and not only has this crazy hotel and funky vibe cause a bunch of germans settled it a hundred years or so ago with an invite from the government to produce coffee, they produce the most coffee in nicaragua, employ 600 plus folks in the fields and have a lot of folks that live on the land, a school and a bunch of random projects for forest conservation, organic processing, trails into rainforests and bird sanctuaries and of course, they have a chapel but it is alive with air plants and other forms of vegetation that spring forth from the walls and the roof and makes one feel in a fairy tale and waiting to either get married to a rabbit or fall down a hole or some shit, those that recall childrens books can insert image and story...here
it was a glorious time in a land where i met a bunch of great people, got food from a rediculously warm waiter and friend under the table cause there was no way i was gonna drop two days worth of living expenses on a some fries and a few pieces of bread. played the guitar about seven times a day at a lake or in the woods, drank strong coffee and walked the hills and found my pace and ability to embrace insects on me like i never had before, danced down swampy slopes with a bit of the hawk of walt, slept like a baby that had just had his firsts steps and drempt of birds and that is something i dont do.
it was a glorious time and im forever indebted to the folks in those parts, forever. what glory and all i can say is that ducks can be vicious and the classical style guitars make my heart flutter, and so do the butterflies that i was able to encounter on the journey. mariposas...ah
just finished 100 years of solitude and feel i failed to embrace life in the same way because i took to long to read that book. got some love for it.
3.25.2006
a few visions...part one
from the last few weeks
an eleven year old girl rocking the jellies, shoes and if you know what im talking about you are smiling, crossing the street dolled up with a miniskirt, bright shirt, sun setting and she is staring at me in the eye for at least 15 seconds as she walks slow across the street and picks her nose the entire time, digging with calm, focused attention and not an ounce of emotion is displayed. fucking brilliant.
encountering a journalist in leon nicaragua that had more opinions, and never hesitated to share them, than me and wow, that was an intense conversation. we both dogged, subconsciously, being shat upon by pigeons in the high beam, old colonial house that we were sitting infront of as the sun was setting.
strolling around leon at night, an old colonial town that is historically the 'left' town of nica and wanting to encounter a procession for the special friday in catholicism that i dont know the name but folks dont eat meat...and finding now one but four within five blocks with marching bands, sound systems, big traveling altar of jesus with solemn men carrying it around 30 meters and the crowd either singing or chanting and then they stop for a prayer, move on with a slow swagger and jesus is kinda dancing and either holding the cross or nailed to it and there is often a small child that sits solemnly dressed in gold or purple with a spotlight that is powered by a loud, fucking loud, generator and she, im certain will go blind and the tears are not rehearsed or for the path of jesus but because she is literally going blind before everyone's eyes and i have this debate in my head to urge the folks to shift their energy and prayers from jesus and whatnot to the child that whose life they are destroying. trippy.
also, as these catholic processions are going about, literally i encountered four!, i also passed evangelical churches that were having services with folks singing and praising the lord and one catholic procession stopped infront of the doors of the evangelical church and did their thing. Interesting to say the least.
im gonna write a special drop about my time with the monkeys and visions of allen ginsberg but that is in my mind right now...great moment
talking about palestine in spanish. nuff said on that. hours of very delicate chats. yep.
drinking fruit juices out of plastic bags and having solidarity with kids that were adventurous with the mixing as well and comparing colors and textures of the seeds that were dropped in for what reason we didnt know but we had no complains
staying in a hostel, in a room without fresh air with 15 other folks and smelling more odd shit than i had before...there was an etheopian restaurant in rochester, ny that warrants its own time and attention, having a brass band rocked he hostels foundation and old doors for four hours and loving the trumpet more than i have. thinking seriously about rocking the mouth trumpet for some dough here in granada, gringolandia...
platanos and my search for the best platanos. for those that know inno you love him, to be sure. also, he is a man that knows how to embrace a mission and is my inspiration. when he went to cuba for four weeks he tried a mojito, or five, in every establishment he entered regardless of the time to find the perfect mojito. i reckon i could sell the new travelers bible and compete with lonely planet with my thorough analysis of the plaintain. for shizzle. i got the 411 on that shit, yall. if you have friends in these parts that have a similar passion and addiction for the golden fruit tell them to email me and i will give them my personal recommendation for the best stalls and kitchens for the gooey glory.
a four hour bus ride through the lush, volcanic mountains of nicaragua and drinking the dirt. dropping into a few spots and having a glorious time chatting with folks on horses and being amazed at the children and their ability to ride bareback and fucking fast through the mountains in search for the lost calf. beauty.
visiting esteli, an area that was heavily hit during the war and talking with a mother of a fallen soldier, having lunch together and talking about womens activism with a grandmother whose passion for justice and efforts were and are inspiring and watching her walk down the crowded street alone with a bag of tacos and seeing her vanish in the crowd, engulfed by a sea of money changers.
watchign a movie about the revolution and the role of women during the struggle here in nica. it focused on a womens battalon and in particular two women that were photographed and filmed by a woman from germany i think. the woman from germany searched out these women to see what they were up to and more or less used their story to shine a light and have a little discussion on the efficacy of the revolution here in nica and where folks were before and are after. so, one woman is now a struggling lawyer and the other sells avon, one of the most opportunistic capitalist models we have. very interesting film.
missing and craving marcus' homebrew or microbrew in general and only finding solice in the homebrew from corn and others...the fermented elixirs down here can cause some damage but instigate some pretty fast bonding on street corners and whatnot, that is for certain.
visiting cathedrals and feeling quite distant from the church but more connected to the people...a strange equation that will take a lot more time for me to fully understand it but it is there and the variables are a bit crazy but i hae to say that i have seen some woodwork in these parts in the church, black jesus and saints of all figures and prostrations that im learning to embrace time within the halls of the churches.
halls of torture is another story. went to some old jails where acts of torture put abu to shame, alla are awful but what folks at the school of americas tought these folks and still teach in fort benning, georgia ... shit, i cant attempt to write on this now, maybe never, but i have been floored and had to sit in silence often in el salvador and nicaragua and for sure in guatemala. as the weeks pass and my ability to comprehend spanish and the stories increase my heart gets heavier and more open at the same time.
an eleven year old girl rocking the jellies, shoes and if you know what im talking about you are smiling, crossing the street dolled up with a miniskirt, bright shirt, sun setting and she is staring at me in the eye for at least 15 seconds as she walks slow across the street and picks her nose the entire time, digging with calm, focused attention and not an ounce of emotion is displayed. fucking brilliant.
encountering a journalist in leon nicaragua that had more opinions, and never hesitated to share them, than me and wow, that was an intense conversation. we both dogged, subconsciously, being shat upon by pigeons in the high beam, old colonial house that we were sitting infront of as the sun was setting.
strolling around leon at night, an old colonial town that is historically the 'left' town of nica and wanting to encounter a procession for the special friday in catholicism that i dont know the name but folks dont eat meat...and finding now one but four within five blocks with marching bands, sound systems, big traveling altar of jesus with solemn men carrying it around 30 meters and the crowd either singing or chanting and then they stop for a prayer, move on with a slow swagger and jesus is kinda dancing and either holding the cross or nailed to it and there is often a small child that sits solemnly dressed in gold or purple with a spotlight that is powered by a loud, fucking loud, generator and she, im certain will go blind and the tears are not rehearsed or for the path of jesus but because she is literally going blind before everyone's eyes and i have this debate in my head to urge the folks to shift their energy and prayers from jesus and whatnot to the child that whose life they are destroying. trippy.
also, as these catholic processions are going about, literally i encountered four!, i also passed evangelical churches that were having services with folks singing and praising the lord and one catholic procession stopped infront of the doors of the evangelical church and did their thing. Interesting to say the least.
im gonna write a special drop about my time with the monkeys and visions of allen ginsberg but that is in my mind right now...great moment
talking about palestine in spanish. nuff said on that. hours of very delicate chats. yep.
drinking fruit juices out of plastic bags and having solidarity with kids that were adventurous with the mixing as well and comparing colors and textures of the seeds that were dropped in for what reason we didnt know but we had no complains
staying in a hostel, in a room without fresh air with 15 other folks and smelling more odd shit than i had before...there was an etheopian restaurant in rochester, ny that warrants its own time and attention, having a brass band rocked he hostels foundation and old doors for four hours and loving the trumpet more than i have. thinking seriously about rocking the mouth trumpet for some dough here in granada, gringolandia...
platanos and my search for the best platanos. for those that know inno you love him, to be sure. also, he is a man that knows how to embrace a mission and is my inspiration. when he went to cuba for four weeks he tried a mojito, or five, in every establishment he entered regardless of the time to find the perfect mojito. i reckon i could sell the new travelers bible and compete with lonely planet with my thorough analysis of the plaintain. for shizzle. i got the 411 on that shit, yall. if you have friends in these parts that have a similar passion and addiction for the golden fruit tell them to email me and i will give them my personal recommendation for the best stalls and kitchens for the gooey glory.
a four hour bus ride through the lush, volcanic mountains of nicaragua and drinking the dirt. dropping into a few spots and having a glorious time chatting with folks on horses and being amazed at the children and their ability to ride bareback and fucking fast through the mountains in search for the lost calf. beauty.
visiting esteli, an area that was heavily hit during the war and talking with a mother of a fallen soldier, having lunch together and talking about womens activism with a grandmother whose passion for justice and efforts were and are inspiring and watching her walk down the crowded street alone with a bag of tacos and seeing her vanish in the crowd, engulfed by a sea of money changers.
watchign a movie about the revolution and the role of women during the struggle here in nica. it focused on a womens battalon and in particular two women that were photographed and filmed by a woman from germany i think. the woman from germany searched out these women to see what they were up to and more or less used their story to shine a light and have a little discussion on the efficacy of the revolution here in nica and where folks were before and are after. so, one woman is now a struggling lawyer and the other sells avon, one of the most opportunistic capitalist models we have. very interesting film.
missing and craving marcus' homebrew or microbrew in general and only finding solice in the homebrew from corn and others...the fermented elixirs down here can cause some damage but instigate some pretty fast bonding on street corners and whatnot, that is for certain.
visiting cathedrals and feeling quite distant from the church but more connected to the people...a strange equation that will take a lot more time for me to fully understand it but it is there and the variables are a bit crazy but i hae to say that i have seen some woodwork in these parts in the church, black jesus and saints of all figures and prostrations that im learning to embrace time within the halls of the churches.
halls of torture is another story. went to some old jails where acts of torture put abu to shame, alla are awful but what folks at the school of americas tought these folks and still teach in fort benning, georgia ... shit, i cant attempt to write on this now, maybe never, but i have been floored and had to sit in silence often in el salvador and nicaragua and for sure in guatemala. as the weeks pass and my ability to comprehend spanish and the stories increase my heart gets heavier and more open at the same time.
bless the straight razors and those with calm, strong hands
sad but true, a substantial portion of my energy the last few days has been searching for the right barber, setting with fan, music and random art on the wall to have my beard shaved. for those that dont know, ive been rockin the lazy man since i left san fran and have had the curly rollie fingers stache for a while now and that has been a blessing and a curse at times here. foolish to think im not noticed more, that is for sure, and with the beard it has been a topic of conversation with talks about style contrasted with pure laziness which i reckon could go on my tombstone...so, that is a perfect transition to note what im rockin now >> the huckleberry, val kilmer, stache with the rollie fingers vibe. love it and for some reason only folks from north america give me the child molestor look and others are having fun...i have women, and a few men in this stronghold of gay culture in guatemala, touch my stache...what a funny thing.
anyway, i found the barber and thought all was glorious as i saw this man across the way with a chizzled face that reminded me of clint eastwood in the glory days of "whatchya gonna do, punk?" and bigass guns and he, the barber, has grey eyes that are magic and demand more time to stare into but im already floating on many borders of social and political border lines and dancing, at times, with cultural issues and the like...not a new thing for me in general but mi pie es en mi boca, a veces...por supesto, my foot is in my mouth at times and the thing is that im able to rock the spanish to get myself into trouble but getting out is a weeeeeee bit trickier, that is for sure.
anyway, i got a shave felt the glorious sun and wind on my face for the first time in months and it im reminded of how my body feels naked at baker beach in the mornig after swimming and feeling like my skin is new and i just made that transition that our ancestors did a shitton of years ago from water creatures to land creatures...clearly im on the ramble cause ive embraced coffee at sunset hour in granada and im feeling the surge or romantic energy coliding with colonial history and my mind races at a pace that, despite my gulping of the dark liquid, my fingers are unable to dance with.
so, as i write im on the fresh, new babys ass face and feelign rejuvinated and im gonna write a bit more about some other experiences in a second but for now, here is my homage to juan carlos, the son of the chizzled faced man that inspired the shave of nicaragua....
masaya has a feel mixed with open sexual freedom, destruction during the war, machismo and youth that cycle on old monuments and attempt to do extreme games tricks with wacky, little bikes. towns that are listed in the travelers' bible, the lonely planet, in my opinion, are really trying to appeal to tourists with big banners noting how safe the town is and urging everyone to use the trash cans which is an admirable campaign seeing that everyone throws shit everywhere and the rivers are not, here, meant for water...especially now with the dry season, but for plastics. at times im inspired to sit by a trickling river and contemplate like the gold ol trancendentalists but what i end up doing is picking up plastics....i think the best campaign is to gather all of the plastics here and then go to the the "house of plastics" literally that is the name of the fucking store and all they sell is plastic shit. fucking nuts. anyway, dump it at their door and get the tv crews there. funny how to think like an activist here but, clearly, plastics and trash is so low on the scale of importance here with rediculoulsy high poverty, unemployement and illiteracy on the climb. i reckong there are other things alittle bit higher on maslows scale for a lot of cats here.
so, the shave cause for me,that is like the top of the pyramid. it was glorious and i had a chair that talked to me and made me tingle, i was massaged by a vibrator of sorts...one of those old school vibrators you would find at good vibrations in san francisco, that place is gold, btw, in a case and some story of women utilizing it back in the day...juan carlos did me right. i fell into blissful existence and incredibly happy with each stroke of the straight razor and the smell of brut aftershave bringing me back and forth into consciousness. what a glorious day. nuevo hombre, he told me. that is for sure.
okay yall. coffee is strong and free internet is here and there are church bells ringing, bebel gilberto playing and the trickle of a fountain in this open courtyard with crazy colors on the walls and a slight breeze from the southeast. contentment.
--
anyway, i found the barber and thought all was glorious as i saw this man across the way with a chizzled face that reminded me of clint eastwood in the glory days of "whatchya gonna do, punk?" and bigass guns and he, the barber, has grey eyes that are magic and demand more time to stare into but im already floating on many borders of social and political border lines and dancing, at times, with cultural issues and the like...not a new thing for me in general but mi pie es en mi boca, a veces...por supesto, my foot is in my mouth at times and the thing is that im able to rock the spanish to get myself into trouble but getting out is a weeeeeee bit trickier, that is for sure.
anyway, i got a shave felt the glorious sun and wind on my face for the first time in months and it im reminded of how my body feels naked at baker beach in the mornig after swimming and feeling like my skin is new and i just made that transition that our ancestors did a shitton of years ago from water creatures to land creatures...clearly im on the ramble cause ive embraced coffee at sunset hour in granada and im feeling the surge or romantic energy coliding with colonial history and my mind races at a pace that, despite my gulping of the dark liquid, my fingers are unable to dance with.
so, as i write im on the fresh, new babys ass face and feelign rejuvinated and im gonna write a bit more about some other experiences in a second but for now, here is my homage to juan carlos, the son of the chizzled faced man that inspired the shave of nicaragua....
masaya has a feel mixed with open sexual freedom, destruction during the war, machismo and youth that cycle on old monuments and attempt to do extreme games tricks with wacky, little bikes. towns that are listed in the travelers' bible, the lonely planet, in my opinion, are really trying to appeal to tourists with big banners noting how safe the town is and urging everyone to use the trash cans which is an admirable campaign seeing that everyone throws shit everywhere and the rivers are not, here, meant for water...especially now with the dry season, but for plastics. at times im inspired to sit by a trickling river and contemplate like the gold ol trancendentalists but what i end up doing is picking up plastics....i think the best campaign is to gather all of the plastics here and then go to the the "house of plastics" literally that is the name of the fucking store and all they sell is plastic shit. fucking nuts. anyway, dump it at their door and get the tv crews there. funny how to think like an activist here but, clearly, plastics and trash is so low on the scale of importance here with rediculoulsy high poverty, unemployement and illiteracy on the climb. i reckong there are other things alittle bit higher on maslows scale for a lot of cats here.
so, the shave cause for me,that is like the top of the pyramid. it was glorious and i had a chair that talked to me and made me tingle, i was massaged by a vibrator of sorts...one of those old school vibrators you would find at good vibrations in san francisco, that place is gold, btw, in a case and some story of women utilizing it back in the day...juan carlos did me right. i fell into blissful existence and incredibly happy with each stroke of the straight razor and the smell of brut aftershave bringing me back and forth into consciousness. what a glorious day. nuevo hombre, he told me. that is for sure.
okay yall. coffee is strong and free internet is here and there are church bells ringing, bebel gilberto playing and the trickle of a fountain in this open courtyard with crazy colors on the walls and a slight breeze from the southeast. contentment.
--
3.10.2006
so, i was on a golden streak. one of those where all falls into place and body, mind and spirit are one and im smiling at random cracks in the street that make me think of bunnies and shit. a good fucking week. then, food poisoning.
now, all in all im one to roll with the punches but my stomach has been getting a beat-down from mike tyson (pre face-tatoo era) and the psycho will not quit. while many of you might not want to read on, i suggest you do cause this is one of those times where you can laugh at me and not with me...hopefully theres more of the latter.
so, i wake up in this mountain town with tiered land on the cliffs of volcanoes, crops are rotating and coffee beans are drying and yielding that all-too sweet smell that makes you want to make love outside and i try to bend my torso and yelp like an alley cat that was just stepped on by the out-of-town drunk, not even the local (there are so many folks passed-out here that im no longer shocked to see folks step over their heads to get to the nearest store) drunk where there was already some relationship established.
i think to myself that i can make it to the next town that has this night market where all is lit-up by candles that are held in these local baskets and i just think that will dreamy, truly. so, i pack my shit rolling humpback style cause i literally cannot stand up straight and chug some water and breathe halfway and want to cry and find the bus. i chat with the driver who tells me he thinks there are hotels in this town and im like, "lets roll daddy, starter-up". and my man and i roll in the bus early morning style. he drops me off and what i find out is that NO, there are no hotels and i have two options, turn back or move on and of course i chose move on.
i have no energy at this point so in my mind im like, were moving on but that is not happening. an old woman expresses her pity for me as she sees me fetal laying on my bag and staring at a wheel to an abandoned truck. we chat for a while and she confirms that i gotta move on. so, after a few i get the energy to catch a bus that takes me to this town that in the lonely planet reads -- hot town that you do not want to stay in.
so, im like, lets make it home. i get dropped off in the second tier of hell in a zillion degree weather and i feel lucky i still have my teeth. dodgy as folks, dodgy. i found a taxi, first ive taken since i got here, and we roll to a hotel that is one of the nicer ones. i drop my 12 bucks cause they got tv and a fan and im happy like tucan sam.
i lay down and of course have to use the bathroom and low and behold, there is no water!!! no running water for shit (or to handle it). and im left to my own creative devices. the only thing this hotel had going for it other than cable was a huge mango tree. that, i only saw when i left. i spent the next 20 hours balled-up sweating and trying to drink around 8 ounces of water. shat my brains out but i did sleep and got to watch random movies in spanish and pat myself on the back cause i could understand what was going on.
the hour before i left the water came on and i got a shower adn the first flush of the season. that hotel will be in my mind for a long, long time. i think i might of hit rock bottom in some ways and so im looking forward to embracing the cracks in the road again.
now, all in all im one to roll with the punches but my stomach has been getting a beat-down from mike tyson (pre face-tatoo era) and the psycho will not quit. while many of you might not want to read on, i suggest you do cause this is one of those times where you can laugh at me and not with me...hopefully theres more of the latter.
so, i wake up in this mountain town with tiered land on the cliffs of volcanoes, crops are rotating and coffee beans are drying and yielding that all-too sweet smell that makes you want to make love outside and i try to bend my torso and yelp like an alley cat that was just stepped on by the out-of-town drunk, not even the local (there are so many folks passed-out here that im no longer shocked to see folks step over their heads to get to the nearest store) drunk where there was already some relationship established.
i think to myself that i can make it to the next town that has this night market where all is lit-up by candles that are held in these local baskets and i just think that will dreamy, truly. so, i pack my shit rolling humpback style cause i literally cannot stand up straight and chug some water and breathe halfway and want to cry and find the bus. i chat with the driver who tells me he thinks there are hotels in this town and im like, "lets roll daddy, starter-up". and my man and i roll in the bus early morning style. he drops me off and what i find out is that NO, there are no hotels and i have two options, turn back or move on and of course i chose move on.
i have no energy at this point so in my mind im like, were moving on but that is not happening. an old woman expresses her pity for me as she sees me fetal laying on my bag and staring at a wheel to an abandoned truck. we chat for a while and she confirms that i gotta move on. so, after a few i get the energy to catch a bus that takes me to this town that in the lonely planet reads -- hot town that you do not want to stay in.
so, im like, lets make it home. i get dropped off in the second tier of hell in a zillion degree weather and i feel lucky i still have my teeth. dodgy as folks, dodgy. i found a taxi, first ive taken since i got here, and we roll to a hotel that is one of the nicer ones. i drop my 12 bucks cause they got tv and a fan and im happy like tucan sam.
i lay down and of course have to use the bathroom and low and behold, there is no water!!! no running water for shit (or to handle it). and im left to my own creative devices. the only thing this hotel had going for it other than cable was a huge mango tree. that, i only saw when i left. i spent the next 20 hours balled-up sweating and trying to drink around 8 ounces of water. shat my brains out but i did sleep and got to watch random movies in spanish and pat myself on the back cause i could understand what was going on.
the hour before i left the water came on and i got a shower adn the first flush of the season. that hotel will be in my mind for a long, long time. i think i might of hit rock bottom in some ways and so im looking forward to embracing the cracks in the road again.
i heart el salvador
so, were gonna start from backwards, if that makes sense. im on the first fast computer i have been on since i landed in this amoeba-infested land of beauty and i can finally type with a third of my mental ramble so i hope theres some good flow here. im in a mall in san salvador that reminds me of overland park, kansas or any other suburb mall with a lot of lights, huge tvs, large folks gorging on something excessively sweet, kids yelling at parents (though, a lot less here), random massage machines made of water and folks hawking anything and everything under the sun.
i stopped by here cause im hoping to catch a friend whos staying across the street and i figured it was worth the experience to rock the internet amongst the corporate throngs...even if i wont be able to swallow for a few weeks cause my integrity is caught in my throat.
think of a corporate chain and it is in this town. my bus pickup to venture to the romero museum is in front of the fucking blockbuster, to roll into town i need to forge my way through mcds, burger king and campeo -- more or less kfc but better, so some say.
i fell in love with el salvador the second i crossed the border and got {questioned} by an immigration official that just wanted to talk politics and see where else ive been. nothing like drawing a map of nagorno karabakh and talking oil politics. love it.
the last few weeks has been a hodgepodge of mountain villages, volcanoes, incredible juice, exceptionally warm people and the flow of buses like you wouldnt believe. for a while i thought i had the special touch cause i was catching buses like carlton fisk caught behind homeplate -- solid, routine and with no excess of energy expended. for real, i thought i was the golden child of travel for a few until a driver noted the ridiculously fast rhythm of all buses in el salvador...then he dropped me off at a random intersection where i waited an hour and read the same three pages of 100 years of solitude around 30 times. murphys law.
a few brubujas from the last few week: mountain air and a town of people all producing one persons art for mass consumption. the entire fucking town, yall. check out las palmas, el salvador. trees and the smile of earth, reunited once again. split for the bus and the mountain town of suchitoto and have the surreal timing of a, meeting aryeh in a sea of red (fmln rally) and dancing and chatting all night AND b having the timing coincide with the 45 year anniversary of the peace corps so attending their {function} and trying to wrap my mind around that...and sliding in chats about tlc or cafta in the states with the ambassador...got nowhere. no surprise, but i learned he has a huge house on a secluded island. tough.
suchitoto is a town that deserves a story or two. while i was there i was routinely greeted by cackling birds and trickling waterfalls. i had one of those hikes that where one fears for his or her life while on the hike and then feels alive and like a badasssssss when one is done. a glorious frolik down to a group of waterfalls with two pools to swim in, slippery rocks to fall-off of and of course the friendly, low flying bats or birds or whatever the fuck that haunt my nights. on the way back i got lost and literally had to indian-jones it with twine and swings and jumping and gliding from cavern to cavern. fucking brilliant but i tore my pants for the third time and decided i could no longer let the package breathe to such an egregious extent. i now have nice linen pants i bought a few towns down the road from a woman that loved god and talking about god more than jesus himself. the longest and most difficult experience i have had trying to buy pants since i tried to haggle with a smoked-out hippie running a thrift store that needed thirty minutes to debate the 50cent difference. why did i stick around and wait, cause that 50 cents just bought me a jug of fresh oj, yall!
back to suchi and random folks like tito who is 25 and has a smile like a child that rockwell might of painted who loves his parakeets and macaws and talks soo sweet i really wish i had a recorder. also, his boss that invited me to sit in these MASSIVE chairs they put in the road and just watch the day pass...of course, we talked politics and they threw down their version of history and whatnot. loved it.
met a norwegian woman, need i say tall, and she and i had a day of rambling and i got to learn of her and four other womens project in a village up the road an hour in a community that as a group fled during the war, lived in panama for ten years and then returned to el salvador and had to fight for their right to land. needless to say i visited those cats, stayed the night, got some good history lessons, embraced the hammock and rose with the sun and rolled with the morning dew to santa ana and lago de coatepeque -- a volcanic lake that is clear and cold and was very, very needed.
before i go on, back to suchitoto adn my love for cigars. some know this, others not so much, but, i love cigars and clearly, i love commas as well. back in the day i think it was a way to embrace the manly side of my father...ill just let that sit for now, then my uncle got me hooked and when i have the opportunity to smoke a cigar that an 85 year old woman rolled im gonna drink that stick, for shizzle. amazing times.
so, the lake and random chats and a cold ass night of sleep in a hammock cause i ran out of money and my charm did no wonders on the cat or anyone else. all in all a delightful experience and a treat, for sure.
then, i started the path of the flowers. all of these little mountain towns with artisans and random festivals, trees and glorious paths to get lost on, or not. some highlights were a sunset run to a small lake, apaneca, and racing political trucks with loudspeakers and out of principal not getting a ride with the wrong party even though i was hella, hella tired and out of shape.
street soccer is what makes the world go around. after this epic run and chat with the only family that lives on this lake in a crater in the shadow of a tippy volcano -- see if you can get a picture, a - fucking - mazing...i got back to town and joined a game where i held my own for the first time. it was great cause a few days before i played with the kids in copapayo, the community i mentioned above, and got kid-handled and relearned my inadequacies as a northener. im just waiting for my chance to play basketball...i will school some kids down here. ill just have to make sure they are not over 18 and 5-10...the latter shouldnt be too hard.
woke up with crazy pains and ill write a few notes on that cause i know some of yall dont like the bowel movement stories but seeing this is my journal....hang in there. i did!
i stopped by here cause im hoping to catch a friend whos staying across the street and i figured it was worth the experience to rock the internet amongst the corporate throngs...even if i wont be able to swallow for a few weeks cause my integrity is caught in my throat.
think of a corporate chain and it is in this town. my bus pickup to venture to the romero museum is in front of the fucking blockbuster, to roll into town i need to forge my way through mcds, burger king and campeo -- more or less kfc but better, so some say.
i fell in love with el salvador the second i crossed the border and got {questioned} by an immigration official that just wanted to talk politics and see where else ive been. nothing like drawing a map of nagorno karabakh and talking oil politics. love it.
the last few weeks has been a hodgepodge of mountain villages, volcanoes, incredible juice, exceptionally warm people and the flow of buses like you wouldnt believe. for a while i thought i had the special touch cause i was catching buses like carlton fisk caught behind homeplate -- solid, routine and with no excess of energy expended. for real, i thought i was the golden child of travel for a few until a driver noted the ridiculously fast rhythm of all buses in el salvador...then he dropped me off at a random intersection where i waited an hour and read the same three pages of 100 years of solitude around 30 times. murphys law.
a few brubujas from the last few week: mountain air and a town of people all producing one persons art for mass consumption. the entire fucking town, yall. check out las palmas, el salvador. trees and the smile of earth, reunited once again. split for the bus and the mountain town of suchitoto and have the surreal timing of a, meeting aryeh in a sea of red (fmln rally) and dancing and chatting all night AND b having the timing coincide with the 45 year anniversary of the peace corps so attending their {function} and trying to wrap my mind around that...and sliding in chats about tlc or cafta in the states with the ambassador...got nowhere. no surprise, but i learned he has a huge house on a secluded island. tough.
suchitoto is a town that deserves a story or two. while i was there i was routinely greeted by cackling birds and trickling waterfalls. i had one of those hikes that where one fears for his or her life while on the hike and then feels alive and like a badasssssss when one is done. a glorious frolik down to a group of waterfalls with two pools to swim in, slippery rocks to fall-off of and of course the friendly, low flying bats or birds or whatever the fuck that haunt my nights. on the way back i got lost and literally had to indian-jones it with twine and swings and jumping and gliding from cavern to cavern. fucking brilliant but i tore my pants for the third time and decided i could no longer let the package breathe to such an egregious extent. i now have nice linen pants i bought a few towns down the road from a woman that loved god and talking about god more than jesus himself. the longest and most difficult experience i have had trying to buy pants since i tried to haggle with a smoked-out hippie running a thrift store that needed thirty minutes to debate the 50cent difference. why did i stick around and wait, cause that 50 cents just bought me a jug of fresh oj, yall!
back to suchi and random folks like tito who is 25 and has a smile like a child that rockwell might of painted who loves his parakeets and macaws and talks soo sweet i really wish i had a recorder. also, his boss that invited me to sit in these MASSIVE chairs they put in the road and just watch the day pass...of course, we talked politics and they threw down their version of history and whatnot. loved it.
met a norwegian woman, need i say tall, and she and i had a day of rambling and i got to learn of her and four other womens project in a village up the road an hour in a community that as a group fled during the war, lived in panama for ten years and then returned to el salvador and had to fight for their right to land. needless to say i visited those cats, stayed the night, got some good history lessons, embraced the hammock and rose with the sun and rolled with the morning dew to santa ana and lago de coatepeque -- a volcanic lake that is clear and cold and was very, very needed.
before i go on, back to suchitoto adn my love for cigars. some know this, others not so much, but, i love cigars and clearly, i love commas as well. back in the day i think it was a way to embrace the manly side of my father...ill just let that sit for now, then my uncle got me hooked and when i have the opportunity to smoke a cigar that an 85 year old woman rolled im gonna drink that stick, for shizzle. amazing times.
so, the lake and random chats and a cold ass night of sleep in a hammock cause i ran out of money and my charm did no wonders on the cat or anyone else. all in all a delightful experience and a treat, for sure.
then, i started the path of the flowers. all of these little mountain towns with artisans and random festivals, trees and glorious paths to get lost on, or not. some highlights were a sunset run to a small lake, apaneca, and racing political trucks with loudspeakers and out of principal not getting a ride with the wrong party even though i was hella, hella tired and out of shape.
street soccer is what makes the world go around. after this epic run and chat with the only family that lives on this lake in a crater in the shadow of a tippy volcano -- see if you can get a picture, a - fucking - mazing...i got back to town and joined a game where i held my own for the first time. it was great cause a few days before i played with the kids in copapayo, the community i mentioned above, and got kid-handled and relearned my inadequacies as a northener. im just waiting for my chance to play basketball...i will school some kids down here. ill just have to make sure they are not over 18 and 5-10...the latter shouldnt be too hard.
woke up with crazy pains and ill write a few notes on that cause i know some of yall dont like the bowel movement stories but seeing this is my journal....hang in there. i did!
3.05.2006
nothing like being at a dusty border town with sticky air and a wacky carnival with neon lights and nothing for miles. gotta love the cross-section of honduras, el salvador and guatemala. peole criss-crossing from all directions and selling shit that should not be sold in public. seriosly.
so, the last few days have been a bit challenging. after getting robbed, saying goodbye to an exceptional friend and trying to figure out what the fuck i should do i found myself wandering aimlessly in the wee hours of the morning in antigua, singing with drunks and playing the rock game that all kids play, especially single children, where you just throw rocks at something until you hit it and while the feeling is great, there is no one there to celebrate with; so, one is left with, or i am i should say, great feelings of loneliness that lasts for five seconds and then i pick a new target or start rambling to the closest drunk that too thinks cats are honry fuckers and we become immediate friends in the dimlight of mcdonalds and all its glory.
i took an early ass bus after partaking in exceptional elixirs on a rooftop in antigua with four chilean women artists and four quebequois men that could speak some wicked good spanish and had laughs that you wanted to bottle and lick when you summited a volcano...why? simple, after one climbs a volcano, one cannot smile or, especially, laugh. hence, we need to bottle those laughs that makes us smile from our toes and the cells at the tips of our hair. es la verdad, no?
ok, early ass bus, border negotiations with money folks and i wish i paid attention to, or attended for that matter, math classes. but, i love hagglin and got hooked-up. copan ruinas, yall should google the land. folks say it was like the paris, or art center of the mayan world and i can verify that my four hours getting lost and having my indiana jones experience while no one was around was epic and i never thought i would be transfixed by sculptures of birds and pumas and the like, but, i was...for sure.
also, they have these massive macaws -- read: big ass parrots. they feed them early in the day and i was the first person in the park fording my way through a field of hungry birds eyeing me like i planned to eat them for dinner. hichcock was all up in my mind.
copan was dreamy. i split for this town gracias and hung out with this exceptional indigenous woman that made the most amazing, natural food and wove stories of indiegenous myth and present struggle like a prophet and we celebrated life and our mutual passion for platanos. on top of it all, i wandered to hot springs and soaked solo for four hours. epic. climbed a series of barbed wire and danced the tango with a calf until the mom got a little snorty and i cleared a fence for my life. all in all, good day.
learning to find houses to stay at, not hostels. very important...for those that are on the road and have yet to embrace the tactic of random room in houses...give it a whirl.
went to santa rosa de copan, this hilly colonial town for ash wed and watched ceremonies, ate overpriced foot and met an awesome belgian guy and we got teary-eyed talking about beer and had more bonding at santa rosa de copans cigar factory...a bit of a strange setting. they didnt like my questions about sweatshops, ill just leave it there.
then, border town for a great night and very strange eats and conversation. notably, with a guy that works for the government to help eradicate poverty and so that was a few hours of beers and philosophical ramblings and then he just retreated to talk about how white (!) his wife was. very fucking strange and i found the door at that point.
carnivals in honduras. wow, what a great experience. highlight, all of the guys that are already packing REAL guns using bebe guns to shoot little soldiers to win their kids some stuffed cartoon characters and then the kid in the bumper cars that was getting throttled by the other cars and crying as every car repeatedly rammed him. no, i repeat, NO, sympathy was flowing in the place. wow.
clarity and perspective: okay, so i was robbed, lost some, a lot, of money; BUT, i was not stabbed three times with a grim-reaper like blade in my car. i had this chat with a guy that was in guate and got stabbed three times in the face and arm a few days ago for about 300 bucks. he was in his car, no words were exchanged but the fella lost some serious flesh and will wear a scar like the lion in lion king, scar. for real.
my thoughts until honduras and el salvador. got more but shit is more expensive here! ill drop a note later.
especially my love for el salvador!
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