The Good, the Bad and the Ugly... Palomino, Colombia.

I know its been centuries since I had time to update my blog but the time has come for my fellow companions and vagabonds to know what adventures can take place here in South America. It appears the last blog was when I was entering into Ecuador... 2011. In order to avoid writing several chapters that have lapsed amid 2011 and 2013, (Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, United States and the return to Colombia) its best to skip through to 2013... Palomino, Colombia. Palomino is a tiny town of maybe 1200 people, counting those who live on the outskirts. It is a passage way into the sacred territory of the Kogis and Arwaquos. It is a passage way that leads deep in to the mountains which rise up more than 5000 meters to the Sierra Nevada. These snowy peaks birth a panorama of the ocean, desert and decending mountains though very few have the opportunity to observe such raw beauty. 30.000 natives between the Kogi and Arwaquo tribes exist, plant and protect these mountains and confide in only a handful that are not natives.
This was my second time in Palomino. The first time I spent a month entering only a Kilometer into the mountains. My relationship with the natives was not strong because I lacked understanding. I saw them as a very close community and quite machista but the land that surrounded Palomino was breath taking and full of hidden mysteries. There was a peace I felt within the earth that somehow was deflowered by the government, narcos and internal conflicts between the natives themselves circling the area. When I left the first time I knew it was inevitable that Id return. OVer a year later I find my feet retracing the cobbled streets of Palomino. This time I was staying in one of the hut of  SImon Gey, an old hippy Kogi from the mountains. It was a finca lavished with avacados, pineapple, plantains and bananas, natural herbs like basil, culantro and lemoncillo. Most days I woke with the sun taking in the splendid vision of mother nature surrounding our hut. The hut itself resembled, in the words of my tiny amiguito Leon, an enormous elf hat. THe water we recieved came directly from the mountain streams and the shower (around 15 steps from the hut) was a V of bambu with a small black tube that spout out water. Beside the shower was a worn plank sported by two branches so we could wash out dishes and laundry. In the heart of our hut was a small fire that gave us our food, light, smoke and gravity that brought us all together. The hut was an octagon with a small loft blackened by the constant flow of smoke that passed out its window. The hut had no walls and a cool dirt carpet resided as our floor which rose up a 1/3 of a meter from the rest of the finca in order that when heavy rains fell, the hut wouldnt flood. It was a divine home and most days were spent cooking over the fire, washing, cleaning and producing art.  I began to build more confidence with the natives and ventured further and further into the mountains bathing in the crisp river waters and admiring the quartz and feldspar that resided on the banks of the river. Rio Palomino. The air echoed with sounds of hundreds of birds that sung their peculiar songs producing a insomniac harmony.From the moment the sin rises to the moment it falls there is a constant theatre of rptiles and insects that carry on thier paths focused but interactive. Watching the smallest insect meander curiously through a jungle of matter and obstacles searching for something.... food, love, sex, company, solitude... freedom? Or it could be searching for something without knowing what it is, something that is simply telling it to move. Amidst a hurry of life where an infinite bundle of lifeforms exist and co-exist it seems there almost always are crashes and chaos as well as harmony and tranquility. The shadows and light, the good and bad, positives and negatives are always circling about, moving and flowing. Each being has the freedom to move in the directions they choose and choose the energies they want conciously or subconciously. From start to finish, life into death... it is all a circle-spiral and ¨life¨is that experience with the circles. COnstantly chooseing between the two opposites we (human, reptile, fish.. insect) reside with one foot on each side teetering back and forth. The more I understand the differences between the shadows and the ligh the more I realize there are many detours and trap doors that mask the true essence of such energies of light and darkness; lvoe masked as hate and viceversa; pain masked as pleasure and viceversa; sadnesses masked as hapiness and viceversa; emotion, actions, decisions that create a world upside down when objects replace spirits and the most basic education is to do the opposite of what one wants or feels. Its no wonder we are all crashing into each other. When one gives way to these energies without knowing what is happening its as if such ignorance traps them in a shallow sea of misunderstanding and chaos. Individualism. Seperation. Fear. Greed. These all add fuel to a burning mass thats consuming us all. Unconsciously suffering because to be conscious and aware to such energies isnt widely enforced in school, work or recreation rather the reverse. Ignorance is bliss. The more one enters into this society, like the one Im describing, the more one sees the guidelines all askew. In Palomino I had time to reflect on my own shadow and light and began to analyzing the path I had been creating. I began trying to create moer consciousness, more love, more hapiness and began trying to share it with everyone... ojo. Not so easy but there enlies the challenge lest patience be too far away. . Darkness always casts shadows distorting the light but this too is part of the cycle of consciousness. I began learning from the earth, the insects and the natives themselves that walked ever so sofly without disturbing a pebble. Thier eyes like black coals staring humbly into me. They smiled like children but worked like warriors. THier voices soft and tender but wit ha spiritual force deep within the center of their words. Simple words. The have a connection with naturem light and dark, life and deaththat allows them to have a spiritual consciousness much greater than mine for example. Its impossible to deny the energetic potency that exists in these mountains; the unwreathed and savage beauty that one has at its fingertips. Its taught me to acknowledge my fellow companions; from the vagabond on the street to the fly buzzing around ones head. It seems like we are all on the same instinctive search that eventually braids us all in together. Its then when one realizes that we are all tiny mirrors of each other. 

In the jungle, the mighty jungle....

Returning to Cerro Azul was not an easy mission and staying there seemed even harder. After two months of patiently waiting Andres and I finally broke out on our first full throttle adventure and it was quite uncertain in which direction our energies would flow. From Cerro Azul we headed to Lima so we could buy supplies and renew Andres`passport before paying for a direct bus ticket to La Merced. I suppose from previous blogs one might remember that I had already spent a week or so in La Merced but this time it was gorgeous and without a drop of rain. The sun beamed gloriously over our formerly frigid bodies for the coastline and sierra. La Merced is fairly big for Chanchamayo and the streets seem to rise and fall. Walking from our hostel at the very bottom was I suppose what woke us up in the morning. I ran into, Joseph, or aka el Iquitos, who I previously had met back in Montañitas. He was trying to make his way up to Iquitos though no all too enthusiasticly.We spent around two weeks in La merced and left with a nice fat wallet along with a comparable belly and ganas to continue our amazonian experience. Andres, el Iquitos and I pulled roots and leaving La Merced, the jungle began to turn into sierra as we arrived to Oxapampa which was previously an Austrian/German colony and had several traces of its past history. The houses were quite akin to that of ours with peaked roofs and wooden walls. It was beautiful and I suppose quite agreeable for such familiarities. The people were a few shades whiter and their mixed heritage seemed to show in their foods and customs. The people were a bit closed or maybe they were too consumed in their daily routines to really open up by themselves but once one was able to crack open a door, the light came shining through. We stayed for the festival Selvanos but seeing that after a week we had seen all we wanted to see. Without much money we began heading ever so slowly north until we reached Pozuzo, the head colony of all the austro/greman colonies. Arriving it seemed as though we stepped into a twilight zone. Whites with blues eyes seemed to be on every corner and they were even more padlocked then in Oxapampa. Selling was essensially impossible. We tried everything even a bit of fireworks to call attention to our displays but the people were only intrested in watching but at a 15 meter distance or more, never actually breaching the border. We left as quickly as our little wings could carry us and ended up in el Codo del Pozuzo after several hours on a highway that looked a lot like crunchy peanut butter as we bounced around like little jelly beans in the back. In el Codo were were able to set up our tents and I sold a bit of jewlery which helped us finally leave after waiting two days for any transportation to arrive. It was quite beatiful and much more rustic then Pozuzo. There was a river a few kilometers away and we all bathed in the shallow waters trying to remove the dirt ground into our faces and extremities. When the truck finally arrived we slowly forged down the highway as it turned from peanut butter to a glutinous muck and what could be an hour`s journey turned into 4 hours and left us with burning heat rashes. We arrived at what they called Sungaro, which was a around 4 hours from Pulcallpa, our following destination. An enormous river streamed through the center of this dusty town. The locals took turns bathing and washing clothes while we rested 60 meters above taking advantage of the short rest before trying our luck at some of the trucks passing through. One of the numerous trucks stopped just after the collossal red beams supporting the bridge. We wandered over and with very little presuasion they told us to hop in the back of the truck and they brought us to el metro 86. From there the highway returned to asfalt and we were able to arrive in Pucalpa in under two hours. Andres, Iquitos and I arrived with the final caminero fairly late at what seemed to be a odd hostel called 5-mentorios but the rooms seemed nice and most importantly there was a fan which disapated the sweltering heat that lingered through the night. The hostel wasnt the most appealing considering its name implied ¨without comments.¨ We decided that another would be more suitable and economical. Our trio took off towards the central parts and asking around we finally found a proper hostal with a private bathroom for only 7 soles which is roughly $2.50 per day. Iquitos found sales too arduous of a task for his taste sending an email to his mom, in few hours he had his passage set for Iquitos. Andres and I on the other hand stayed in total around 4 weeks trying to make enough money for the 7-day boat ride to the jungle/island of Iquitos. At one point we finally left Pucalpa to make some money in Tingo Maria while staying with one of Andres' aunts, Helda. I felt a bit strange on the trip and by the time we arrived at the house I was running a fever and had some sort of accompanied cold. Helda was a tiny lady maybe around 45 earth cycles with a husky voice from the 201 cigarettes smoked daily. She was fairly antogonistic at times presuming that my illness was an exageration. Though she offered us food daily it seemed there was always strings attached. It wasn't by any means an inviting situation and I finally convinced Andres to leave heading anywhere but there. Sadly the option choosen was to return to Pucalpa for a proposed job on one of the boats which in the end never happened. We returned for another two miserable weeks and my fever lasted the first week then shifted its fury onto Andres though this time it lasted only a few days. Finally I had persuaded Andres that our best option was to head to Tarapoto and see if we could embark from there. Leaving Pucalpa was like leaving Dante's inferno. Tarapoto was nothing like Pucalpa.. The first night we met up with a couchsurfer (from couchsurfing.com) named Jorge at a bar called Stonewasi. As we cheersed our first beer along came an acquaintaince of Jorge's named Hugo. It seemed as though we were old friends telling tales of a traveler´s past and in a brief moment suddenly we were set up in his restaurant which was in its last touches before the grand opening. Fortunately the resaurant included a shower and a washing area. Slowly we began encountering other members of the padilla and every night seemed to be an new adventure. The boys took us to the river where we could bath and relieve ourselves of the intense heat that the jungle emits. Along with so many we happened upon Jenna and Conney, two fellow travelers, Jenna from France and Conney from Germany. Conney stayed only two nights before taking off to Ecuador. They too took part in the hospitality of Hugo and his partner and we soon began our very own hostal.... gratis. We met Luciano, an argentinian who played a sort of hand piano flute, Daniel our friendly borracho who convinced us almost daily to take in a few beers before retiring, Daisy and her brother who provided us with breakfast, lunch and dinner daily and oh so many more that pasted through these Tarapotent days. Jenna and Hugo took off to Chiclayo so Jenna could get to know a bit more of Peru before heading north. Andres and I stayed roughly a week more because our dear drunkard had continued to push his depature date back and therefore we obliged and pushed ours. Finally realizing that he was never leaving we packed our bags and headed for the coast realizing that Iquitos was never going to happen and we had been in the jungle for roughly 4 1/2 months. I was ready to get back on track and start heading north to Colombia. We decided the best bet was to pay for a direct bus ticket to Piura then on to Mancora. Jenna and I had stayed in contact and she told me that they too were in Mancora. Dropping our packs off at the hostal we headed over to reunite with our pandilla yet once again. It just so happened that we arrive in time to feast on some homemade hamburgers made by an Uruguayan couple, Diego and Maria. Alongside our dear Uruguyan enamorados was another extremely dynamic couple from Argentina, Joaquin and Clara who were traveling in their ¨hippy van¨from the southern tip of Argentina, Ushuaia, to Alaska. Jenna, Joaquin and Clara had met first in the Carretera Austral which is in the southern part of Argentina then again in Cusco and once more in Mancora. Such moments one realizes how small the world really is. We passed Mancora elegantly taking in the sun, waves and beach as much as possible. Sales were extremely slow for me and even more so for Andres. There had been several problems along the way and in the end Andres and I decided that it was time to take seperate routes. He seemed to disappear and then suddenly reappear in Mancora and I had really not seen him the majority of the time in Mancora. He took off first, then Joaquin and Clara along with Diego and Maria which left Jenna and I to break into our journey north which was in the commune. It took us half a day to arrive in Cuenca, Ecuador passing by the hippy van at the border. After 6 months in Peru I finally was making progress toward Colombia....

Where´s the exit?

Instead of presuming el Che was our best option we decided to wander the Plaza de Armas a bit asking around for hospedajes. The plaza was chock-full, crammed with gringos, natives and indigenous the like. We set up shop but fate had other plans. Otavalo´s bipolar climate gave out spirts of rain every 10 to 20 minutes and the masses seemed to concentrate more towards the artisal tents set up around the main center every saturday than to our tiny displays on the ground. After a few hours passed we headed for the hills itching to peal our packs off and rest up a bit before returning downtown. La casa de che was not the cleanest and with all the fellow mochileros sharing such small spaces it seemed that a bit of bonding was inevitable. As the days passed we soon realized that the climate was not on our side and the constant rain seemed to destroy any chance we had at making the basic salary needed daily. Otavalo had an ample amount of spirited indigineous people that took great care of their daily apparel. The men wore dark, round hats and garments of pure white; even their shoes appeared to sparkle white. The women adorned themselves with golden chain necklaces and earrings or hung thick red corral necklaces that twisted in numbers around their necks. Their gowns were hand stitched with simple but colorful floral patterns just above the breasts. The majority of the locals seemed impenetrable and selling in the restaurants appeared to instill more fear then anything else. We had been at each others throats and our trio was breaking apart every so slowly. The tension between Seba and Roberts was escalating and what seemed like a friendly prauding turned out to be more like a roast on both sides. About mid month into our stay in Otavalo we decided to head up to the waterfalls celebrating the birthday of a dear argentinian friend, Polar. We hauled sacks full of meats and fresh veggies so we could have a reknown argentinian parillada and I must say it was one of the most delicious meal we had eaten in Ecuador. The waterfall was around 30 meters high but it was the surrounding forest that seemed to hold me captivated. A deep bluish-green aura filled the trees and plants and a slight touch enchantment lingered in the air. The campsight had tipi like cabañas that sat to the left though camping wasnt necessary unless one was completely tanked... much like us that night. Though I do remember desmounting around dawn dying of thrist. As semana santa, or spring break, started to show its numbers Seba and I along with Malki, a fellow artisan peruano, decided to pay our way to Cotocachi which was only 20 minutes or so north of Otavalo.
Cotocachi was quite gringofied with a heavy portion of the pop. being californians. It seemed quaint though after a few days we heard supposed stories of some of the locals robbing from the gringos. I suppose considering that they have so much, it wasnt all too shocking. We sold triple to what we did in Otavalo and for much more. A fellow patriot approached and asked where we were staying. We explained that we still hadnt found a place and with suprising eagerness her and her husband offered us a few days stay at their house where we finally washed our clothes, sleeping bags and other odds and ends. we each had a mattress and downstairs there was a beautiful big screen TV just asking to be turned on. We bought food and cooked grand meals, cleaned up the house and tried our best to be good housemates though it seemed the misses was a bit loopy for the boys. We stayed until the offer was removed from the table and after 4 days of luxuries we were tossed out the door by the misses with some excuse that her husband was addicted to marajuana and needed help.... strange couple to say the least. We thanked them for their hospitality and set sail towards Baños seeing that we still had yet to save up money and Baños was well known for its generosity in hard cash. There was yet another route leading from Baños to Colombia by jungle and we decided it might be a good choice. Once we arrived to Baños our mission was quite clear: $$$$$$. We headed downtown and set up our displays hoping some eager foreignor would be swooned by our irresistible exhibition. I met a few Scotish chaps and they invited me to a vigorous game of something similiar to P and A... a game very well known to my fellow college classmates and as the game persued we gained more members and finished at the crack of Baño´s precious dawn. That morning I learned that my grandmother was gravely ill and in the hospital after suffering a stroke. To say the least I was thwart with a flood of memories and the fear that quite possible I may never see one of the great instigators of my best and most lofty dreams. Aside from such saddened events I had a strange lapse of heartburn due to a dear partner I left behind in Cerro Azul. I called Andres to see how he had been passing those sunny Cerro Azul days. It felt like all the blood in my body went straight to my head when he told me that he loved me and that he would do anything possible so that I would return to Cerro Azul. He opened the door to a river of nostalgia to which I thought I had closed after leaving Peru. He painted a picture of us traveling together through colombia and Brasil and it seemed so perfect. After I hung up it seemed I was more confused then ever and needed some serious alone time to think things through which wasnt an option as I met back up with the boys at the bus terminal. Though sales were not as high as hoped we made enough to catapult ourselves directly upon our familiar amazonian city, Puyo. The idea was to keeping heading north to Tena but as we rested in front of the city hospital one of the gaurds had mentioned a space available by the hospital garden in order to put up our tents while firmly warning us not to do so before night. So we waited. The boys practiced a bit of juggling while I suffered from extreme inertia due to the previous night. Finally the sun set and we headed for the hospital doors trying to find the next guard who took over the night shift. As we began explaining the events to the night gaurd a short, stauky, gray-haired women stepped out from the front entrance and revealed that under no circumstances could we stay on hospital grounds... BUT... that she had a space at her house where we could set up our tents without any problems. To our surprise she was just leaving from her shift and led us 10 blocks down to where she lived on the border of city limits. She lived with her three children on a small terrain about 2 acres or so. Her house sat cozyly towards the back of her land while her oldest daughter and son´s house cradled the east side. It was night and a tad difficult to set everything up, or so we thought but we hadnt a clue we would be tested even further before retiring. Big, fat drops of rain started to pour down. It rained in such a away that I thought the mami´s house would cave in. Our tents were soaked along with everything else we had left inside. Thankfully the youngest of the three, Bobbo, took out an enormous plastic tarp and we immediately draped it over the tents diminishing drastically our oxigen levels but we hadn´t many choices and we were drained from the trip. We survived the night and the following morning the mami invited us to a nice breakfast of boiled yuca and fried eggs fresh from her chickens with lukewarm tea and sugarcane sugar. Thanking her for the deliteful meal we rounded the bend and started arranging the tarp so we would not tempt fate yet another night. We strung the tarp over their clothesline creating a roof that seemed to stretch about 5 meters with about a half a meter in girth. We were set. We had organized a tiny utopia in the mami´s front yard. We couldn´t sell anything and the little money we had was slowly draining down as the rain continued consuming days. I was divided in two. At the same time that I enjoyed traveling with the guys, carefree and ready for Colombia, I was also quite engrossed in the idea of returning to Peru and traveling with Andres to Colombia. I expressed my feelings to the guys and it seemed there was a mixed response. Malki who had years traveling around South America gave his support but Seba seemed quite insecure about being on his own and responded, wraught with what seemed like a case of constipation, that he would most likely return to CHile. He was not capable of accepting his own self sense and strength. I tried my best to explain to him that he was completely apt and able to continue traveling and would surely meet many more people that would bring light into his travels. It was obvious that he enjoyed traveling. After a few days of heavy thought I reached a decision. It was better to test out a bit of love; run the risk to see where it led because all I ever managed to risk in love was what it took to pay for a bus ticket out. I gave both the boys a big hug and promised to keep in touch. That day I payed for my ticket to Riobamba with sweaty palms and my heart in my throat. I was returning to Cerro Azul, Peru.

The Grand Frontier and Beyond: Part 2

Entering into Montañitas was probably not my best seller as a traveling composition... decision. It is a what many consider a sort of babylonia if not settle in the right hands. It`s the United State`s Las Vegas, Peru`s Cusco, Argentina`s Buenos Aires with international companionship and what happens in Montañita stays there... ideally. It was Lucas` birthday and this was what he asked for. The boys spent a good deal of the time entertaining themselves in the discos or on the beach where big bonfires lined the ocean shore and people with various nationalities from all over the world would gather around drinking and singing until well into the waking hours. If one is too careless it could give a nasty sting that being physical, emotional and/or economical. I took my precautions as I had previously become acquainted with the tiny surf town but even as such it was a loss in all retrospects with my display being run over by a bemused soda vendor in a large white pickup whilst the other boys were thouroughly seduced by the neverending allure of montañita nights. We left empty pocketed but hopeful, as it seemed that when things went down they most often came back up to heads. We ended up the coast up to Manta with the Germans still at our sides and eager to see what was next to rise up from the midsts.

We arrived in Manta late in the night and decided that our best bet was to find a hotel and we started heading in the directions given to us by some of the taxi drivers at the terminal. It was cheap, in every aspect and one room had a huge window which gave access to anyone that gave way to such an opportunity as to jump up a floor and enter into the room. We decided against. Leaving the haggard hostel we headed back to the malicon and walked a few kilometros until finally we found a taxi that took us to our last alternative which ended up being the best with the price raising only a few dollars for the whole heap of us. I believe it was $20 for the four and it included a private bathroom, two beds, AC, TV, cable and an unkept pool on the top of the roof. We agreed to stay for the night and used the following day to get to know Manta, a town with a bit less than 200,000 inhabitants. We met a fellow juggler named Kique. A loner maybe since a tike but strangely open and quite the considerate chap finding us a nice hot meal for the night free of charge. He gave Seba rubber from a car tire so that he could start practicing stick which is where the juggler lances a stick about half a meter or more in size with two smaller sticks, one in each hand. It becomes a sort of dance between the three pieces and the rubber helps the sticks to resist any inevitable contact with the ground. It was supposedly time for the crew to take a split down the center and the two germans admitted that they were to begin their travels south as we had our sights well set towards the north. As a parting gift the two invited Robert, Seba, Kique and I to a scrumptious meal of our liking on the beach. We each indulged in our choice a la carta and drank our share in beer, coca-cola and I suppose there was more beer and somehow or other the two began discussing ever so meticulously in german. Suddenly they turned to us and stating they too fancied the idea of continuing north and yet once again we set sail north until we Bahia de Caraquez.

Bahia de Caraquez was absolutely nothing like what we expected, just one of the many travel guide tourist traps that one falls into unwittingly. It was expensive, dirty and the people seemed closed and unpleasant. We decided that really we would rather take our chances setting up tent in the plaza seeing as it was fairly low key and there were people patroling throughout the night than to come out with some kind of disease or infestation from the hostal rooms. As the germans were quite notatorious for their fondness to the bottle, they arrived with happy faces and what seemed to be a two liter bottle of 'El Abuelito' rum and maybe a three liter bottle of Coca-cola. I took part in the first two rounds but was tired and ready for bed leaving the boys to their evening entertainment. The next day we took a boat to the other side of the river in order to get to Canoa, our next stop on the 'ruta del sol'. We split ways for the arrival as Malte and Lucas had a hankering to splurge on a mototaxi to Canoa while we had nothing to splurge and decide on the more economic means.... bus.

We arrived to Conoa a bit tired and the boys a wee hungover but none the less vehement on gettting to know Canoa. It was a rustic town made up of cabañas, palm trees and hamocks and consists of maybe a 20 block radius in the entire pueblito. Id say it was one of my favorite spots in the ¨ruta del sol¨ though sales were slow. We made ceviches, steamed fish in tin foil covered in butter and spices with a giagantic salad that survived the night. It was delicious and a great end to our adventures with Malte and Lucas as it seemed it was time for us to say our goodbyes and they split town just after dawn. We stayed a few more days cooking feasts which wasnt at all strenous considering the enormous amount of fish that came in from the coast. A couple of our new compañeras de casa headed out with one of the local fisherman to attempt their first experience fishing in the ocean. They brought back maybe 5 Kilos of fish and other seafood. Lenguado, which is a fish that appears flat like a pancake and has both eyes on only one side; squid; oyesters, etc. The girls explained that they caught quite a few sharks and sea horses as well that were intwined in the nets. Once again we created a centerfold of food and went to bed early... every single one of us wih extra full bellies. Reaching the weekend we had to conclude our stay in Canoa and we gave ourselves one heck of a going away party with what they ¨Uña de la gran bestia" which was a mixed of herbs (ya tu sabes) and coca so you can imagine the effects. I was the first to be taken out and made my way to my tent and as usual the boys resisted more than I though I think everyone went a bit nutty. We made amazing friends in Canoa and some still seem to travel with us as treasured memories. We left Canoa nostalgic but coherent of our destiny and what was to continue. Next stop.... Mompiche.

Mompiche was not any easy task and we had to take three buses just to arrive with little or no money BUT... we arrived. It was one of the most beautiful beaches I had seen yet in my journeys. It was a combination of jungle hugging ever so tightly the white and black sands that led into the ocean. Coconuts, bananas, pita, almonds and much more were in plenty and took little effort to take a few off the chakra. When we arrived the sun was in its last stages and we had little time to look for a spot to set up tent. Luckily we met two fellow foreignors that offered us a sector of their cabaña. Ron from Chicago, Uma from Russia and their tiny furball yogi. We relaxed with a cold beer that Ron had offered us and ate some leftover peppers rellenos which werent half bad. The following day they had to move to another cabaña but offered us another night in their new cabaña which was double the size and had a spare room with three beds but it wasnt free. they wanted a pair of leather sandals that El Roberto made in exchange. Not one of his sandals fit Uma and the exchange began seeming too costly to continue though it was already signed and to back out would have been quite uncomfortable for us all. In the end we attempted to remake a pair but we didnt have the time and our ganas had diminished quite drastically. There was problems with the owner of the house and though the attendants were incredibly generous the owner and manager were niether of the sort. Avoiding any further problems we decided to search for another place and the the couple that was taking care of Uma and Ron`s cabaña had spoken to another attendant and he offered us shelter for the tents, a grill to cook and even a bathroom with a shower. Not a bad trade and sincerely good people. We stayed maybe less than a week in total and headed out to Atacames.

In Atacames we stayed only the day trying to sell some jewlery for our pasage to Quito. It wasnt easy and the majority of the day we spent walking the beach and setting up our display at one of the local resaurants/discos. I believe we make just enough to get to Quito with a bit to spare on bread and tuna. Leaving Atacames we spent the night trying to sleep for it was our transportation and hostal for the night. Around 7 in the morning we arrived to a large bus terminal with two floors. We found our tickets and walked out the doors looking for the bus that said "Otavalo."

It was a long trip mainly due to Quito. It was huge and the bus stopped at almost every corner to pick up more passengers. It took us two hours just to get out of Quito and another two or three hours to reach Otavalo. In Otavalo we took our first few steps still pulgosos and exhausted from the 20 some hours in a bus and went straight for our luggage. As the bus pulled away Seba jumps up suddenly running for the bus door. He goes rummaging throught the above luggage racks and after 5 or 6 minutes detaining the bus his speed slows and he deboards the bus with his lip almost dragging on the ground. It turns out he had absent-mindedly left his fanny pack somewhere on the bus which contained his camera, cell phone and other important odd sorts. It was some kind of bitter sweet because though it hurt to lose such things one never leaves their baggage above especially leaving Quito. It was a tough lesson but one nonetheless essential for traveling purposes. From there we began heading down the colonial Otovalan streets as a cold moist breeze hit our face. We were hungry and ready to drop our packs before trying to set up shop and just as our bellies set stage for their grand show we walked right smack into the local market. We started to search the isle for some cheap food and found a bag full of legumbres and a peanut sauce that was not all that bad. For 50 cents you cant ask for much more. We ran into the owner of ¨La Casa de Che¨who gave us some beta on where to sell and how to get to his house which was only a few minutes from the waterfall. We agreed not knowing that this last stretch of time in Ecuador would be the coldest and most challenging concluding chapter together as a trio.

The Grand Frontier and Beyond: Ecuador: Part 1

As always time seems to slip by and conecting to the great web of internet mush seems to grow harder and harder. Seeing as a few 3 or 4 months have passed by since I was able to tell my tall tales of south america, I will have to start with my border crossing between Peru and Ecuador. I spent a good 3 1/2 months with my britches stitched to Cerro Azul with the help of Andrecito, one of my friends whom I met back in 2009 in Cusco, Peru. After finally cutting a few of the strings that held me captive I once again stepped out with two great leaps and finally leaving Peru with an expired visa a nice fine of around $20. I had, for the first time, a direct offer to prostitute myself instead of paying the fine by a slimy taxista of whom I left with a nice verbal hand slap before taking out my $20 and bording my bus. Arriving to Guayaquil I took the very next bus straight to Montanita avoiding any wasted second in one of the most dangerous cities in all of Ecuador. When I arrived to Montanita ran into one of my old trekking pals I had met back in the Torres del Paine, Patagonia, Chile. Seba had been traveling with a fellow companero chileno, Nico, since last January and had all the ganas in the world to keep the trip going though funds were low and time was short. Montanita is a place where one can make lots of money but at the same time lose it really before it even enters the wallet. Between selling sandwiches on the beach and jewlery on the street we tried our best to keep our heads above water. A fellow artisan, Joseph or aka Iquitos, offered us a tiny terreno with a bamboo hut lacking in the essentials like a bathroom and for a short period any running water. We were a pack of seven: Martin (Argentino); Luis, aka Tortuga, Iquitos and Roberto (Peruanos); Nico and Seba (Chilenos) and little old me. One night a spanish amiga came running screaming something about a Tsunami that was about to hit the coast but knowing her and her persona shall we say I rolled over and fell back into a deep sleep. In the morning the town seemed vacant and we slowly crept out asking for a bit of news. Unfortunately we learned that Japan had been hit by an enormous Tsunami and that it was suposedly heading this way. We decided that the best idea would be to get the heck out of Dodge and we hitched our way to Dos Mangas, maybe a half hour into the jungle.

Martin and Robert discovered a few routes days prior and appeared to be our tour guides up to the waterfalls. Passing by a medley of exotic fruit we hiked a few hours up and found ourselves in Paradise. We broke throught the jungle with a borrowed machete and began seeing waterfalls, natural baths, monkeys, exotic birds and extremely thick vegetation. We took turns jumping into the baths and each one trying to outdo the other. A few hours before sunset we headed up some quite steep bamboo stairways until reaching a cabana practically in the middle of nowhere. Martin attempted to make papa fritas using almost an entire bottle of veggie oil but in the end it turned into some kind of mashed potato with oil aggregation forming in the center. It wasn't the most tempting dinner I have ever eaten but with a hungry belly anything is possible. We started making our way back as we heard the deep bellows of monkey echoing above the trees. We made it back to Dos Mangas but it was late and there was no camionetas to be seen. We had no other choise but to pay double so that we could return Montanita and upon returning we realized that the Tsunami alert was still in affect. Each time they said it was ending another hour was added and we decided to take the risk of setting up tent so we could rest our tired bones.

Nico had to return to Chile to finish his degree and seeing as Seba really had no other reason to return aside from some very light pockets, he decided to tag along for a bit testing out the life of a mochilero. I began my ecuadorian adventure with one chileno patagonico and a young Peruvian. Making an obligated connection to Gauyaquil we spent almost the entire day searching for brasillian waxed string before heading east to Riobamba.

We arrived to Riobamba and found out that it wasnt such a tiny town with a population around 200,000. More or less rustic and a bit dirty we shuffled through the town getting to know the hot spots where the sales flowed a bit more. We had a contact that made amazonian hand-carved tagua pipes and we bought up as many as the resale was almost triple the price. The following day we headed to a small fair in Chambo maybe 20 minutes from Riobamba where we had our first encounter with a magic-name-bracelet-making machine and spit our bracelets by the second for 50 cents. To say the least we hadnt made much money that day. Seeing that we had spent enough days in Riobamba we headed to Banos to take advantage of the weekend being such a tourist town.

Arriving on a Friday to Banos we took up our first few hours searching for a cheap hospedaje which seemed slim to nil. We pealed off our backpacks and rested a bit before starting the big jewlery production of which was imminent considering we had maybe 20 bracelets between us three. Not much happened until the following day when we spent the whole night selling to a mountain of gringos that simply handed us money in exchange for a few bracelets. We were blessed. A few of them began talking about why they were there and what they had planned for their lives. In the end one of them, Joshua, gave me $25 so that I could go with them that Sunday repelling down waterfalls. He doubted my arrival obviously due to the lack of familiarity but I appeared bright and early and seemingly much more alert then the rest due to their excess in alcohol the prior night. We headed out fully dressed in wet suits and helmets enjoying the breeze in the back of truck. we arrived at a bridge and disembarked. Hiking only a few minutes we arrived at a series waterfalls gushing down. The actual first repels weren't very exciting until the finale which was a 70 meter drop with water beating down turning into light mist at the bottom. I was first to go and with a big grin decended down in around 5 seconds enjoying the brief adrenaline rush pumping in my chest and the brisk water hitting my face. We returned to the hostel and I met up with two germans, Malte and Lucas, whom I had met the night before. They took out one of their travel guides and we indulged ourselves in conversations over the amazonian jungle. They lent me the book with the promise of returning it the following day. I arrived around noon the previous with Seba and Roberto and within an hour we became traveling buddies heading out on an adventure further into the jungle; the first stop being a waterfall called el Pailon del diablo which was another massive waterfall around 90 meters. We ran up and down it like kids playing in the rain as the mist soaked us from head to toe. That night we had met a colmbian woman and she offered us her patio to set up our tents but in the end it began to rain and she referred us to a small basketball/soccer court with an enormous roof and numerous children running around. We armed our tents and started on a nice dinner of guacamole and bread as the kids ambushed us playing in the tents and shouting "Guacamole, guacamoleeee." Lucas was a nanny in Germany and an outstanding playmate. He jumped around chasing the kids and in the end we were all involved. After a few hours we had to send them home though it was obviously contradictory to what they wanted. It didnt matter, we had our fill and were extremely exhausted. The following day we paid a taxi driver so that we could make it to San Jose where we had heard of another enormous waterfall hidden even deeper in the jungle. The taxi driver was either daft or drunk and began making circles around the dirt trails. He was completely and obviously lost though too proud to admit it and we were not ready to waste any more time. We told him to go to San Jose and he had the nerve to try and charge us more which was out of the question. We sent him packing without a cent more. When we arrived we began looking for a place we could set up camp and the boys came back with extremely good news. We were able to sleep on the second flour of the community center but it would be free for another couple hours. The boys took off to try their luck at a bit of fishing which didn't seem to provoke much interest and I decided to stay upstairs taking a tiny siestita. Upon returning I saw Seba covered in mud leading almost up to his waist. Not extremely suprising that it would be Seba to fall in the mud I began looking at the pictures that seemed to explain everything. We headed down to the local store to see what we could eat for the night hoping that we would also find a place to make a bonfire because bread and guacamole just doesn't cut it. I had previously spoken to the couple who had recently returned from the states and were quite generous. They allowed us to use their grill and we cooked up a nice feast that lead well into breakfast. In the morning we awoke nice and amply hungry taking the remainder of our dinner with pleasure. We were told by one of the locals and fellow community center workers that he would take us up to the waterfall when we were up for it.. which of course we were. We started trekking down a thick , gravel road and took a hard left and little by little the trails became smaller and smaller and it seemed that the jungle was encroaching on the little space that was left. I soon realized how quickly one could come out covered it thick brown mud. We were all sliding and slipping up and down the trail that our guide had been cutting with his machete. If it werent for him I believe we would still be lost in the jungle of San Jose. After maybe a good two hours of bug biting and mud slides we arrived at our destination. A waterfall reaching around 90 meters. We ripped off our drenched clothes and started making our way to the waterfall. The mist was heavy and cold and with each gust would take my breath away literally. As I slowly began approaching the beast I realized that it was not something to take lightly and if one came too close they would surely be beaten alive though I did venture a good deal out while the boys stayed behind weary of its alluring power. The return was non the lighter and I believe Seba fell belly first into the mud with a nice face -plant finish. He is awfully good for a laugh whether he means to or not. Upon arriving we shed off our clothes and put on what may or not have been semi-clean/dry alternate. I suppose I was the dud of the group and fell asleep after a few minutes while the boys stayed up playing cards. The following day was our adieu and we headed our to our next objective.. Tena and then Puerto Misaulli
This time we decided to hitch our way down seeing that traffic was entirely native farmers who traveled between towns selling fruit and we needed to save the little money that remained from Banos. We arrived at Tena really looking for a place to set camp, sell a bit in the streets and finally write my family at the internet cafe so they knew I was still alive and extremely well. We found ourselves another court almost identical to the one in El Pailon del Diablo filled with kids running around and causing mischief.... just like us. We joined in a game of soccer though sadly Lucas' had forgotten about his miniscus and strained it again creating a quite the predicament. For the following two weeks he was limping around and was a bit of the odd-man-out considering his lingering injury. Upon arriving to Puerto Misaulli we hurried to find a place to set up camp considering that it was raining and we were beat from the travels. We set up tent, ate and sent ourselves to bed at quite the early hour. The following day we feasted on the remains of our dinner when out of nowhere a band of monkeys arrived shouting and screaming while slipping down and stealing our bread and lighter. It was both entertaining and quite bothersome at the same time. There were a few that seemed laid back and others that appeared to be the deliquents of the group terrorizing everyone and everything. Sadly we hadnt the time to continue our journey and later that day began our return south. We headed back to Baños, gorging ourselves with our famous feasts... homemade oregano bread, omlets, fruit salads with yogurt and maca and much, much more. In Riobamba we decided to stay with a Malte´s friend creating once again a enormous meal for 10 but this time the main course was Cuy also know as Hamster. As brave as Id like to thing of myself I simply could not swallow the cuy. As it reach the crevass of my mouth I realized that I wasnt kidding anyone, pulled the pink, greasy meat away and generously gave my share to the boys. From Riobamba we somehow and unwittingly ended up in Montanita once again; Babalonia all over again.....

Into the Depths of the Amazon

Well to say the least the trip from Merced to Huanuco was indeed one that I will not forget. The boss said the trip was to take 8 hours even though we left late maybe around 10 at night in what seemed like a miserable and poorly kept bus. Most of my fellow compañeros were that of the chakra or farm; practically all in couples with at least one or more kids clinging to their pant leg. Imagining the upcoming journey was all too much as a tall moreno began passing out tiny plastic bags so that if one might and most definitely did have the urge to vomit it could be contained within the bag. An hour or so into the ride we stopped but because the windows were fogged all I could see was a wet stone wall as the sound of a rushing water echoed from behind. It seemed quite unlike me to feel the sensation of clastrophobia but with the amount of people and the smell of several sweaty human bodies packed in like mexi-illegals crossing the border I felt like I was about to burst through the bus wall. I pounded on the door and finally after a 5 minutes the chofer slowly opened the doors and I blew out of the bus as fast as I could. As I had come to find out there had been a landslide and it wasnt to be fully cleared until 4 in the morning. Seeing as it was only 1 am I took advantage of the fresh air for awhile. Looking down I saw a long trail of trucks and bus that twisted into the darkness and just below the first bend of the road below a river gushed in full potential. The mountains held mossy vegatation with sturdy rocks beneath. After a half hour or so I decided to reboard with the chofer promising not to close the door on me again. I drifted off and when I awoke at 5 in the morning I felt the bus`engine turn and we finally began making our way to Huanuco. Between the three seperate times that the bus broke down and the two times that it ran out of gas, my supposed 8 hour trip turned into 16 hours and when we entered into Huanuco the bus finally gave out its last breath never actually making it to the terminal. I was happy to escape and took the first moto-taxi that I could find. He brought me to another terminal from where I was to leave in order to arrive in Tingo Maria. To say the least this bus too broke down twice and by the time I arrived to Tingo Maria there was little daylight left. One of the taxistas offered a very reasonable price to Pucallpa and seeing as my luck with buses wasnt the best I accepted his offer and as the road began practically breaking apart with water streaming everywhere I was quite happy with the decision I had made. Right now I am in Pucallpa, one of Peru´s biggest cities in the Amazon and as anyone who knows me knows... I hate big cities. With the pounding rain my first days were spent inside my hostal producing as much jewlery as I possibly could and when finally the rains had stopped I set out my display in the PLaza de Armas de Pucallpa hoping that maybe one eager customer would save my day. They didnt but I did meet some of the local artisans and the following day the led me to one of the m0re famous areas of Pucallpa called Yarinacocha. We spent the day in full sun though sales where way under par and by the end of the day I made roughly $10 or so. These days of rain impede any sort of artisanal work and even without them sales just are not enough to support myself in the jungle. I have decided to head back to Lima with only a day for my visa and then start making my way up to Ecuador. I have promised myself that one I will return in the dry season to fully take on what the peruvian jungle has to offer in the meantime Im preparing myself for the 20+ hour bus ride back to Lima. Im only praying that the rains will cease and the passage is clear. Wish me luck!

From The Coast To The Jungle Of Chanchamayo

Pulling up roots 2 months deep in the sands of Cerro Azul and Cañete I have finally embarked into the lush twines of the amazonian jungle. Taking a heavy right from the coast of Lima I began entering bare hills which turned into naked mountains. As the bus continued to climb miles up the steep twisting highway the hot, sticky air slowly began to turn cold fogging up the bus windows. Leading into the Chanchamayan region I was able to see quite a diverse array of land ranging from valleys with thick rivers, sierra then straight into what seems to be the almost impenetrable amazonian jungle. Its a hearty clash from the coast. The beach has its own culture and Cerro Azul even more so. Its heavy tourist push, which begins in the summer months (Jaunary- March), seems to inflate all their prices as the locals take adavantage of the supposedly thick-pocketed-Limeños and foreignors. The common crowd in which I passed most days was that of the more laid back surfer though not all were technically surfers. It was not uncommon to hear dirty jokes, pulled pranks or a bit of locura that comes with this residential crew. The ocean was a heavy part of their day. If the waves were not prime it never seemed to detour much from the daily paseo to ¨the point¨ where they stood around hoping a nice pacific push would change the day. As for a general perspective of peruvian costal people it seemed that though soft in the center their hard coating left me occasionally more frusterated than ever. It wasn´t unusual for people to shout out commands instead of asking politely. Overall it seems that in Peru el chisme or gossip is unbelievably rampant and a nightly stroll could end up being quite a saucy town fabrication. The townsmen are a bit resistant to any unfamiliar or outside interactions. Of course this does not include everyone and even the worst of them participated in the town´s persona giving it a sort of strange charisma. As for what I have seen here in Chanchamayo the common person seems to be more open and sincere then those of Cerro Azul though have less respect for personal space. I suppose I may draw a bit of attention seeing as Im a foot taller than the grand portion of the population and several shades whiter. Currently I am in San Ramón whose erect mountains are completely overgrown with vegetation of every sort. I climbed up to one of the cataratas near San Ramon with a few of the locals and it seemed like the weight if the water pounding down had created various pools where locals and tourists alike could take their pick from the lot. The sporatic rains leave trails of life in every inch of the land. I will admit that it is hard to sell jewlery when the ground is always wet but where there´s will there´s a way. I am planning to stay in San Ramón until Friday for their artisanal fair then to Merced with the same intent. I have been taking photos but have not been able to sync then to any computer. I am trying to work out the quirks.