Day Seven

Foot looks the same as yesterday, which leaves me pretty disappointed. Went through the same idle routine today--eat, read, eat, watch work being done, read, eat, go to be early. Actually slightly broke the routine by whittling the three missing wooden letters for our travel Scrabble game. Left a small piece of rough wood on each to ensure that I could identify them when blindly fishing for them in the letter bag--thus ensuring that I win all the rest of Joe and I´s games. As my wise Grammy once said--ïf you´re not cheating, your not trying.¨
Had lunch of PB&Js, using up most of the bread we have. After lunch, Otobo left to go visit his newborn, who just arrived with his wife from downstream. Spent 30 minute talking with Joe about the amazing legend that is Don Parton of KC.
Later afternoon, did what little I could manage on my foot and moved some logs up to Otobo and Conan, who were up on the cross beams of the comedor. They continued to walk around above perilously one step away from a 25 ft plunge. Our jobsite is a OSHA nightmare, but hey, this is the jungle, this building need to last a couple years. Thats what I love about this construction. No need for levels as what are you going to make the house level to--the crooked trees or slanting ground? Any sort of ¨precision¨ cutting is done with a machete as with the digging too. Although, a simple pulley would do wonders as lifting the heavy logs are starting to get old.
Later Conan does some housekeeping and sweeps our dirt floor in our ¨house.¨ The inherent ridiculousness of sweeping a dirt floor makes me laugh but in reality serves the purpose of keeping out ants and other creatures. And hey, dragging more ¨floor¨ in from outside is a non-issue.

Day Six

Another day of idleness for yours truly. Feel pretty bad watching all the hard work go on while I sit like a labor boss in the shade. Just training for my future life in politics.
While everyone else was putting up the huge beams for the comedor (with the Huaos displaying amazing balancing acts walking across the narrow poles 30 ft up with a log on their back), I decided that I would be of some worth and make lunch. Rice with basil and garlic.
Foot is slowing healing more but still in some pain.
Later we eat some spaghetti with lentils to get some protein. Ended the night playing a card game called ¨Burro¨ with Conan and Otobo. The rules did not seem to make much sense but whatever.
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Looks like at some point in the last few days Planetary Vagabond received its 10,000th hit--meaning that after that many page views it has successfully not even bought me a cup of coffee. No worries however, as I am more enthused than ever about keeping this damn thing online for all you freeloaders.

More pics uploaded to the album.

Day Five

After breakfast I anxiously removed the bandages half-expecting the gangrene infested mass of tissue that my mind had conjured up the previous night. With relief, I found a decently clean and only partially open wound. I`m highly optimistic although Conan does much to squelch that feeling saying that he thinks, sans stitches, I will be immobile for at least 20 days.

In the morning Joe, Otobo, Conan, I and some other Huaos take the canoe upstream so they can forage for plantains and sugar cane. Traditionally, a tribe of hunters and gathers, Otobos family still relies heavily on what they can gather and kill for their food. Because of their high protein consumption, although short, the Huaorani men are are solidly built with little body fat. Joe and I have begun to wonder the possibilities of bringing Otobo back to play middle linebacker for Mizzou. We would lose our ass in his hunting permits though.

While they were off gathering the food back in the forest, Joe stayed with my gimpy ass in the canoe. Our idleness proved fruitfull when we spotted some pink river dolphins surfacing downstream. Also, while alone on the banks Joe and I heard what we thought was a distant motor downstream, which prompted the discussion of what we would do if the boat ended up being bandits of some sort or drug smugglers coming up from the border. Our answer was a pathetic nothing as we could flee only to die a slower death of starvation away from camp. The noise ended up being a bush plane that we never saw.

Basically unable to walk, I feel ever more useless and more of a liability to the group. Wonder just how long I will remain as such.

After they gathered the food in the forest, Otobo states that since it is Sunday, it will be a day of rest. Thank you Jesus. The Huaos go back up to the community leaving Joe and I to christen the first ¨Sunday Funday¨ in the jungle. First we are happy just not to be working (or just Joe as I am now useless) so we relax and do a bit of reading. Joe is reading one of the three english language books that Otobo brought down to our campsite (proably left by Tom and Mariela previously)--Gary Paulsen´s ¨A Dogs Life,¨ which is an entertaining although creepy love storyesque account of the famous writer´s life with his former dogs. I find a bit of irony in the books presence here as his books ¨The Hatchet¨and ¨The River¨ were both childhood reads that are probably partially responsible for my trips such as this.

Sunday Funday lived more up to its name when Joe and I decided to treat ourselves to some jungle rum-runners, aka flavored TANG mixed with our precious reserve. Its deliciousness amplified by our lack of other options.

Later Otobo brought back part of a peccary or wild pig for our consumption. Apparently, Omallave had hunted one earlier in the day. Cooked over an open fire it did not have too bad of a flavor.

Our water situation has been addressed. Using a big piece of plastic that drains into a 55 gallon barrel, we have started collecting rainwater. After its collection we filter it and use the Steri-Pen that I bought back in the US to kill any viruses or bacteria in the water. The recently invented Steri-Pen is basically a magic wand looking device that emits germicidal UV rays into a Nalgene bottle. Personally, I think it appears too futuristic for my believeability, let alone what the Huaorani think of that gizmo. I could probably conquer an entire village just waving that thing around.

Boy With No Tongue continues to lurk around the camp during work hours--occasionally helping out but never speaking--not even to the other Huaos. Has the stone cold look of a killer and it has been decided that if they are going to send in an assassin to finish off the worthless, gimpy gringo--its going to be him.



I realize that I have been speaking of names, without proper description, and so I am going to give a little list below to help out with the clarity of my ramblings:



Otobo: Huaorani; Mutual friend of Tom and Marielas and the guy starting the eco-tourism. Known, respected and sometimes feared by other Huaos and outsiders alike, Otobo is a pretty solid individual, who deserves much of the credit for our enjoyment and well being during the trip. Much of our day to day interaction was always with him and the occassional other Huao helping out.



Conan: Huaorani; aka Cookie or Coney. Camp cook and Otobo´s right hand man. Aside from Otobo he was definitely the most hard-working and capable of the Huaorani. Strong and long-haired, his Conan the Barbarian look was contrasted greatly by his tranquill nature and desire just to be the cook. A deep thinker and often out of nowhere Coney would ask Joe and I life questions that apparently he had been pondering for sometime. Even through our cultural barriers he had correctly indentified me as a source of all lifes answers. As the only Huao that slept in our campsite when he was around, he was usually a good source of Huao information and gossip.

Caiga: Otobo´s brother; aka The Repeater---given the nickname early on for his repeated stories of the fatal Tagaeri attacks and other things we did not care to hear more than once. Also, repeated everything that Otobo said. We would come to think badly of him and later dispise him due to his refusal to listen to building suggestions by cutting us off saying ¨esta bien, esta bien.¨ Luckily, due to his laziness, he was not around the worksites for extended periods. Would later find out that during Tom and Marielas previous trip in, there group had nicknamed him ¨Fredo¨ from The Godfather, which we considered the most appropriate name.

Bartolo: Otobo´s younger brother: Are only encounters with him were our entry and exit from the territory. Never gained our trust and seen as us as a potential hindrance in the cause of Otobos project.

Omallave: Otobo´s father and leader of the community. One of the only Hauos who routinely preferred to rock the naked look. He is the real deal and gained a cult like following from Joe and I. He makes Chuck Norris look like a useless hippie. I swear I saw him kill a wild pig with just a mean look.

Typhoid Mary: Otbbos mother, who was rarely without a smile.

Lenny: Otobos bro-in-law. A massive Huao who was so soft spoken we never figured out if he was speaking spanish or what to us. Performed several AMAZING acts of strength and courage that will be acknowledged later.

Boy With No Tongue: Unknown. Made undistinguishable noises.

And more character sketches as they become relevant.

Oh Sh-T! (Day Four)

One swift stroke of misfortune and one awkward stroke of the machete has sealed my fate of inactivity indifinitely. The blow glanced off the log I was notching and sliced clean into my coveted rubber boot. My first reaction was tremedous disappointment at the maiming of my boot, thinking that the comprimising of its waterproofness was going to make my life in the jungle hell. My next thought, admittedly delayed, was ¨hmm, that cut is right where my toe should be.¨ After quickly pulling off the boot I discovered a bloody rag of a sock and then eventually a stitchs deep wound showing some tendions in my big left toe. Otobo jumped in quick to put pressure on the cut and to tell Conan to boil water while I was contemplating how bad of a situation I was in should this become infected in the middle of nowhere. Talk about being in a bad place for something like this to happen. We had just found out the other day that the radio that was supposed to be here to radio in a plane in case of an emergency was not functioning...and would not ever be.
We immediately cleaned the wound and bandaged it up. As I could not walk without opening the wound I was forced to sit under our house structure and spend the rest of the day pondering my predicament. I was trying to mentally regurgitate all I had read in Tom´s 1979 Red Cross First Aid manual that I had read while at the lodge. Although, I was not too confident in this book as it recommended blood-letting for most of the ailments and cauterizing for cuts. I am just going to try my best and not have this thing get infected or accept the fact that my nickname may change to Four Toe Brian.
Anxious to peel the bandages off tomorrow to assess the damage.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose,
Brian

Day Three

Spent morning making a table for our eating area out of an old canoe. When first constructed, the table was at about at chin-level to Joe and I, which means that it was above eye level to our vertically challenged colleagues. Although they didnt seem to think this was a problem we suggested that it be lowered considerably. Their solution was to dig holes in the floor and to bury the legs. I guess it pays to have a dirt floor.
You may be wondering just how we are communicating with the Huaoranis? Luckily, Otobo and a few other Huaoranis have picked up Spanish and that combined with a little good old trusty sign language comprises of the communication interchange. No enligsh is spoken by any of the Huaos, leaving Joe and I the ability to talk smack freely. A good thing about witnessing Huao conversation in their traditional tongue is that it allows Joe and I a creative release by doing our own live voice-overs spectulating what they are saying or just imputing what we want them to be saying at that moment. It has never been so safe to be a smart ass.
After lunch (of Hunts BBQ suace on rice) the work group takes a canoe upstream to cut trees for the large comedor (eating structure), which is to be our first project. Several enormous trees our felled and cut up, leaving them to carried to the canoe. One of the soft-spoken Huaos we have named Lenny (think Mice of Men) is carrying one of the 400 lb+ plus logs on his back, which serves as the first of many amazing feats of strength that we would witness during the trip. They gave Joe and I a log to carry saying that it was ¨very light.¨ We could hardly carry it together and eventually had to have two Huaos finish the job. One of the young Hoao boys made the comment about us ¨their muscles must only be for girls.¨ Haha. That boy later disappeared and was not to be found again.
After a hard day of work, we thought it prudent to take a bath for the first time in possibly a week. As we are fully aware of what lurks in the rivers here-especially the small fish that swims up your ureathra and lodges himself in with spikes should you happen to take a leak in the water. I have given Joe instructions and a pistol in case this fatal tragedy should ever befall on me.
We look at the Huao for precedence in what to do about the issue of bathing. They jump out of a docked canoe to wet themselves, then get out lather up and then briefly jump back into the water to rinse off. This sort of river bathing routine would be the norm for us for the rest of our trip.
The drinking water we brought in is running low so we will need to set up some rain water catchment system tommorow.
Brought out the IPOD after dinner and those present appeared to be very interested in the device.

For those interesting...during our last week in the jungle we visited at area called Bameno, where a peace corps volunteers ventured in to hold a crafts expo with the Huao women there. She wrote up her adventurous experience and mentions us in it. The site http://www.ciao79.blogspot.com/

ANTS! (Day Two)

Woke up to find an old naked man walking around outside my tent. And so, life is slowly becoming a little more bizzare. The man is Otobo´s father, Omallave, andhe is in climbing around the top of our house patching up the roof with leaves to keep the rain out. You think a little plumbers butt (or ¨builders bum¨ if you are from the UK) is an unwelcoming sight? Try having a fully naked handyman.
Annoyingly, the clothes that we laid out to dry yesterday, were now fully covered in ants. Little did we realize how much havoc these little creatures would reap on our lives during our stay.
Otobo arrived around 10 am with a shaved head---he explained that his wife had a baby girl the day before (day we arrived) and that he shaved his head because he was morning the birth of a girl since now he has two. I had read prior that the Huaorani used to practice infanticide in cases such as this, so I was relieved that a head shaving was the only reaction to the birth. After the birth, life apparently gets back to normal pretty quickly due to the fact that Otobo left wife and child back downriver to come and greet his volunteers. Everyone was eager to start working so with little discussion, most of the Huao men present start hacking away at the trees and foliage around our worksite. We would have preferred to have discussed a little strategy before we all jumped into a little land clearing but oh well. The work was a bit rough and I got my first taste of the biting ants. All over my neck and back--not fun but luckily they were not the conga ants that are also present at the jobsite. We have the man-power today and there were about 7 machetes chopping away at once--thought for sure someone was going to accidently lop off and ear--most likely us. During the day, my watch stopped, which I thought was pretty ironic, as time telling was no longer a necessary activity in my life now.
Had dinner of spaghetti sauce on rice made by Conan---the can of sauce had noodles pictured on the label and Conan was asking me where the noodes in the can were--my guess is that Conan´s culinary training may have slightly on the primitive side.

Day One (Part Two)

After another day of motoring, we have finally arrived to the community that is to be out home for the next 6 weeks. This community consists only of Otobo's family including his parents, a brother and his wife and a sister and her husband. We set up our camp under a traditional Huao structure that was built not long ago---this camp was about 500 downstream from the main community structures. Relieved when I arrive that our tents will at least be not fully in the open as the rain is likely to be a big factor. All of the Huoas go up to their main community area while Joe and I take this opportunity to unload what we deemed highly precious cargo--emergency food reserves and two handles of rum that was smuggled in for its medicinal purposes. It has already been dicussed that if sh·t hit the fan on this trip we are taking our air mattresses and the bottles of Rum and trying to float downriver into Peru. By eagerly agreeing that we would set up our camp by ourselves, we have basically broke Safety Rule number 1-Dont go anywhere and be left anywhere without a Huaorani. Deemed this rule break necessary to hide our emergency provisions.

Conan, who is Otobo's right hand man and also the camp cook, returns and goes through the food that we brought in...he appears pretty disappointed at our variety and even the amount. Acts as if we have not brought enough--I'm pretty certain we won't starve as we lugged in about 50 pounds of rice but I am already loathing the future outlook of our diet.

By a dim light we eat a dinner of rice, plantains, and canned tuna sitting on the dirt floor as there is no tables or chairs. Reminding myself that I volunteered for this and wondering if I may have made a mistake, which would be the first in my otherwise impeccable record of judgement.........

Updated pics on my album---the first several our from the trip out by the rest our chronological...use the beard as a time index. Still have much more but uploading as we go.

Day One (Part One)

Wake up in a ramshackle house to the sound of a group of jabbering Huaoranis. At this very moment in my tent it is apparent to me that things are about to get very weird for the next month and a half. We eat another simple breakfast in the house while sitting next to a woman we have nicknamed Typhoid Mary as she has been constantly hacking and spitting up nasty stuff (we would later discover that this woman is Otobos mother, which made me feel slightly guilty at the crude nickname, kind of).
After breakfast Caiga, Bartolo (Otobo´s bros), Conan (the cook), Typhoid Mary, Joe and I head out in the canoe down river heading farther away from the safety of the sensical world. Coincidently the week prior to our departure I had came across a free copie of the Apocalypse Now screenplay and the Heart of Darkness, both stories freshly in head as we head downstream.
After several hours of nothing but dense forest we pull up to the Shiripuno Lodge, which to many is considered far "inside" although we will be pushing on much farther. The place is mostly empty although we come across a peculiar character speaking almost perfect english but looking Ecuadorian and wearing a small music amplifier on his belt, which is connected to a microphone protruding from a fanny pack. It appeared that this man had departed the "sane train" long ago. Immediately he struck me as the spitting image of Dennis Hoppers character in Apocalypse. A brief discussion with him revealed that he was a biologist who had spent many years visiting the area to record bird sounds. He asked how long we were going in and our answer of 6 weeks produced a surprisingly amazed response from him, further adding to my suspicions about how we were going to last that long if this nut job was having trouble fathoming it. After a cup of coffee we reboard and set out. 6 more hours of riding with the ocassional sighting of spectacular wildlife---parrots, monkeys, and a "baby" anaconda that was around 10 ft. long. Once we were long past the lodge and way far from anything else, it was pretty obvious that we were now operating under the total trust of our Huao companions as our being left alone would result in one serious predicament. Later we spent about 3 hours travelling through the Tagaeri and Tanomanone (the two uncontacted tribes) territories, at which point Caiga repeatedly retold us the stories of the history of killings that the tribes inacted in recent years to loggers and the ocassional missionary (sometimes doubling as an oil rep). As Caiga is a future employee of Otobo´s eco-lodge, we are going to have to explain to him that his stories and re-enacted stabing motions are best left out of his guiding of future tourists as it is spooking us a bit, especially when we arrive at a classic ambush-style downed log blocking the river.

Random Thoughts Prior to Entry

(June 21st-24) Here at the Lodge (El Monte) in the week before our entry date. A rough day mentally as Joe, Tom, Mariela, and I went through some of the logistics of Joe and I´s journey in and supposed life within--3/4 of which is uncertain and unknown. Much talk of the questionable safety issues as there has been recent killings by the uncontacted tribes (March) and a more recent (last week) threat over the short-wave radio that some Huaorani went out to try and kill members of another tribe. Tom has promised to keep up on the situation but I have a feeling we are going in without the knowledge of that outcome. Too many unknown variables, which is weighing heavily on my brain.
We still need to buy a ton of supplies and it has been really hard to gauge how much we need for 6 weeks of living and the fact that we dont know how many more people we will be feeding beside ourselves is also troubling. Tom is lending us two roll-up solar panels so we are going to try and charge a motorcycle battery on that to keep my camera and my life support system (IPOD) rolling throughtout the trip.
Tom gets a call from our Huaorani contact and Otobos brother Bartolo, who is in Coca with the canoe and wants to take us in early. We find out this new info with about 30 hours advance notice before we need to be in Coca (10 hours from Quito). Spend the following day with Mariela racing around Quito buying food stores and other supplies. Mariela gives me $1,000 in cash to give to Otobo as part of their loan to him to keep this operation going. Not feeling too safe in Quito en route to the dismal oil town of Coca with this amount of money strapped to my waist. We end up spending about $300 on the food that is supposed to feed several for 6 weeks---seems a bit low but i guess there is always hunting.
Spend 10 hours on an overnight bus to Coca, where Bartolo greets us at bus station. Spend the next 4 hours running around Coca buying building supplies and about 80 gallons of gas, which is very difficult because of strict government regulations. Spend two hours crammed in a hired truck taking our supplies to the river where we get on the canoe. Arrive and load canoe, which contains Joe and I along with about 20 Huaorani---so packed that I am almost certain that we are going capsize as there is only about an inch of clearance between the water and the top of the canoe. Whoever is driving is displaying the most expert outboard motor skills that I have ever seen in my life. Hard rain commences and does not cease for most of the 3 hour trip to the small village where we will spend the first night. Once arrived, we enter small hut to find about 7 Huaoranis (along with a couple pet Macaws) sitting around small indoor fires talking and drinking chica (a traditional semi-alcoholic drinking fermented with their spit). We eat a simple dinner and have some small talk with them. They sing us a traditional welcoming song and ask us to sing them a song and explain its significance. We can think of nothing good on the spot so Joe and I give them the best rendition of Amazing Grace we can do (which, I must say was quite good) and lie and say it is a song about ¨meeting new people.¨
Some of the older Huaos give us the Huao names Eme (me) and Nampawe (Joe), and explain the stories behind these names--which was a bit disconcerting as both former Huao individuals who we are named after ending up dying tragically......

ALIVE!...but hardly sane.

After 5 weeks of hard living, Joe and I stepped out of the forest and back into "civilization." It was a testing of wills and endurances, where time-outs and exits were non-options. Periods of measured idleness peppered with bouts intense wonderment and nervous uncertainty ruled our lives within. The only way to tell this story is a through a delayed release of the journal I dutifully kept inside. I promise to try and divulge all details except the stories the counselor at my psych eval today told me were my "post-tramatic stress triggers," so I will not be able to discuss the three days I smeared butt mud on my face and hid in a tree or the day Joe systematically plucked out all his arm hairs and mumbled ¨the horror, the horror...,¨ but don´t worry, there is plenty more to tell.

I found myself in a realm of time irrevelancy and spatial infinity, which hardly deserves to be conveyed conventionally in daily journal-type writing but I can think of no other way. In addition to this mumbo jumbo I will be adding retrospective commentary on our lives inside. Maybe a day or two at a time, depending on how things go. Plenty of pics and movies to wet your lips too.

Just as I imagined, trying to make sense of this ordeal is turning my brain to (more) mush at the moment but bear with me and over the course of the next couple of weeks I will and try to spit out just what in the hell happened to us in there. Day One and maybe Two starts tomorrow.

Sleeping with a machete under my pillow,

Capt. Willard.

P.S. For those of you who would like to be more fully informed about the people who we were living amongst you can read Joe Kanes´s book "Savages" (http://www.amazon.com/Savages-Joe-Kane/dp/0679740198/ref=pd_bbs_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1217472217&sr=1-1) or watch the one of several movies and documentaries about them.

Into the Unknown

Well, we are at the point of no return. Our bus leaves from Quito tomorrow night at 10pm and will produce us in the frontier oil town of Coca, where we will hire a truck to take our supplies to the Shiripuno river. From there, we will be picked up and transported for two days down several rivers on motorized canoe. If you just happen to have an Ecuadorian map handy, we will be living approximately off the Rio Cononaco, near a settlement called Reparado close to the Peruvian border. The unknown is the draw of the adventure and there should enough to go around. As someone but it best, this will be a journey not of places but of time. A front seat tour of ancient living on the cusp of its probable contamination. Sure to be a defining point in my life and the magnitude of the experience should not be without a cause or vision. Therefore, as a person who has been an immensely positive influence in my life, I think that it is fitting that this trip to the Amazon be dedicated to the memory of Doc Porto. His fun-loving and charismatic attitude is what made us all love him and his effect will be ever-lasting.

Here´s to you Doc,

The Roadie

A plane or helicopter extraction date has been tentatively set for August 6. The blog is going on dead air and handwritten documentation will commence. May share this inner-monologue with you all if my thoughts dont get too dark. Fittingly, The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad will be on the scheduled reading for the entry. Until then. Q

Tragic Loss

Came into town this morning after being away from email contact for a few days with the intention of notifying my family of Joe and I's pushed up departure date for this Tuesday into the Amazon. A phone call to my mother produced the information that close family friend Anthony "Doc" Porto passed away yesterday after suffering a heart attack. Most you reading this know Doc and are aware of such a tragic loss this is for everyone. My heart goes out to the Porto family as I know they are suffering.
I wish I could be there to pay my respects for the man that has been a close friend to me over the last few years. Doc was constant supporter of the idea of this trip and was one of the encouraging spirits that kept me motivated. An incredible man, whose character is known to all around KC. Wish I could write more about Doc's impact of my life, as it has been great, but I am still too shocked to think straight. He will truly be missed.
Not sure whats next as such devastating news on the eve of departure has left serious uncertainties.
Please keep the Portos in your thoughts.
Brian

My Old Self

For all those worried about my health (there were few), my GI espisode was brief and now I am back to my great self. Spent the last few days back at my home away from home in Mindo, Ecuador--the Lodge. The owners Tom and Mariela were so excited to see me that they bolted for the coast and left me to hold down the fort. Back to good eating and a steady dose of comtemplative idleness. At the moment, I am momentarily back in Quito killing time until Joe´s late night arrival from the states. Part of my meandering around the city brought me to the mall that housed a Radio Shack in the quest to find an inverter to fit the solar panels that we are bringing with us into the Amazon. With tremedous relief, I found something that will work, thus ensuring that my camera will be able to recharge and our invaluable ipods will play on to ease the hardships. This trip to the mall ended like my last three trips to a mall in South America--with a trip to the food court. The foresight of spending the next 2 months on a skimpy and bland diet in the Amazon was all the rationale my brain need to allow my body and wallet to take a tour of the food court extravagenza. The ordeal started with Pizza Hut, then to cheese fries, and finished with a Burger King cheeseburger. It was gluttonous and it was glorious. I am officially banning myself from future trips to the mall abroad. But a little slice of home never harmed anyone..

Picking up Joe, giving him the nickel tour of Quito and then were off to the lodge. The address is Mindo, Ecuador if anyone wants to visit in the next 10 days.

Looking for Taco Bell,
BQ

Crapped Out in Quito

Well, I arrived in Quito last night and awoke today to find out I had unwittengly smuggled a souvenir out of Colombia: a bad case of the runs. It sounds like an epidemic as I have heard that Amy, who is now safely back in KC, is facing a similar plight. I´d say the blame could possibly reside in 14 of the last 15 eating "establishments" we last dined in. And so, today was spent Imodium gobbling and running from locale to locale doing some price listing on equipment that Joe and I will be taking with us into the Amazon. Tents, sleeping bags, a whole pharmacy, and other miscellaneous items still need to be purchased. Unfortunately, cyanide pills were unavailable to buy in case things get bad so I have substituted the book on tape "Earth, 5,000 Years of Miracles" by Mike Huckabee in the hopes that will finish off whats left of me.

Heading to the Lodge tomorrow to help out Tom and Mariela until Joe arrives on Tuesday. Staying there until the pushed up June 29th entry date.

You can´t stop me..you can only hope to contain me,
Bq

PS. Word on the street is that Amy is going to submit a guest blog entry, which, after it is thoroughly punctuated with complimentary comments about myself, will be posted.

The Great Escape

Realizing that Amy was in desperate need of some R & R from her semi-stressful life and myself needing a break from my hugely stressful life, she and I along with the humorous duo of Dor and Tristian headed to the more remote destination of Playa Blanca. Reachable by boat, the beach boasts the only white sand near Cartagena and counts less than a couple dozen inhabitants post 5 p.m. The regular more desireable boats were not running that day and so we were fortunate to snag space on something that possessed the potential for a scaled down version of the Titanic. The boat was packed with people and re-supply cargo for the neighboring islands. We were given life jackets on the condition that if the boat actually sank, we would have to give them back so they could save the boxes of mayonnaise packets. To my dismay, we made it to the beach without incident. Nothing is as boring as certainty.

Unlike many over-priced tropical destinations, we enjoyed our position as among the few of the overnighters there--$3 hammock sleeping, $4 seafood plates, $6 body massages, and all the rum your body can(t) handle. It was the closest to heaven I'll ever get. I left Amy there with the promise that I would return to re-supply her in a month.

Without electricity, our night there was spent playing cards and repeatedly laughing at Dor's misuse of verbs in his non-native english--"we make a party!" Nice try Borat.

So far Amy has proved proficient as a travel partner and I am doing my best to try and get her to quit her job to join the cause. My main tactic is trying to persuade her that we need to get into the import/export business. We have already established the name: What Fell Off the Back of the Truck. What do you think? Sounds like a winner to me.

Our main topic of time-kills besides our endless round of hypothetical questioning has been trying to regurgitate the names of our 95 grade school classmates--with more points for the most obscure individuals--I got 10 points for remembering Monica Fischebach. Where are you Monica?

For all her positive qualities as a travel partner, I think I have a found a weakness in Amy: water. She is a freaking camel, requiring somewhere around 5 liters a day. I tried to show her that an evolved man does not require such an enormous amount of water by only drinking a few sips a day. I do not feel very well right now.

Hopping on a 5 hour bus north tomorrow to try and reach the touted coast in Parque Tayrona.

Lastly, I would like to give bday shout-out to Amy's cuz, Tiffany Smith, who is an avid reader of the blog and soon to be president of Planetary Vagabond's fan club. Also, I grudginly give another bday shout out to another of Amy's cousins, Stephanie Smith, who does not read the blog (get with the program) . Happy Birthday girls.

Secretly drinking water,

Brian

CEO

What Fell Off the Back of the Truck

The Dirty Side of Colombia

Here's the promised video and the pics are in the linked album.

The scariest part of the experience? Probably when the air bubble pockets started to rise from below or when I went to the bathroom in the mud and thought people were on to me...

Check out the local massuers-they were a nice touch.

Bizzaro,

Q

Carribean Carousing

The whole 15 hour bus ride from San Gil to Cartagena I hid underneath a hoodie from the super-A/C and the swarm of children, whose presence on an overnight bus is akin to running a marathon with a piece of glass in your shoe. I arrived to the anticipated carribean sizzle that makes being a creature only of the night the desired thing to do. So, while awaiting Amy Smith´s arrival on Saturday, myself, an Aussie named Tristan, and an Israeli named Dor spent the following 4 nights soaking up the carribean culture. Salsa beats and aji spiked rice are an everyday encounter, while the humidity is enough to make you sweat out the entire night. I finally met a culinary foe I could not conquer when eating a local´s restaurant I was given a bowl of soup with the hacked off chicken feet protruding out at me from the soup. This was no chicken fingers from Applebees, it was the real deal and it was nasty. And so the line was finally found in South America. My appetite stops at unskinned extremities.

Saturday brought Amy´s arrival and the whirlwind of activies has begun. Yesterday day and night was spent touring the old city and today brought an excursion to the "mud volcano," which when I first heard other travelers talk about this I thought they were using code words for what happened when they ate bad seafood. But actually, not far from Cartagena exists a mound of earth with a core 2,500m deep with liquified clay at the top in which you soak in. Don´t ask me the scientific details of how or why this came to be because I don´t know. But, it was one pretty bizzare experience for Amy and I. Explanatory pics and a movie to be posted later as this computer is going schizo on me for the moment.

Hopping a boat for the island of Playa Blanco tomorrow to peel shrimp and my skin all day.

Until later,

Brian

The Only Risk Is Wanting to Stay

So goes the slogan of the recent Colombian PR campaign to try and shed their former image. Here is the owner of the hostel that I was staying at in San Gil doing his government PR ad. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFAtU8tJqqI
As you may have read yesterday, my total blog about my 3 day hike was lost--most likely because of carelessness in my tired state, but I would officially like to blame it on the computer. Just like my school days when something was lost, I just cannot bear to retype it and so I will give you the details in an abbreviated and bland way. I´m sorry.

Hostel owner: "I know a 3 day hike near here that is good to do, but there is no map and nothing is marked"
Me: "Great, sounds like something I should do by myself"
HO: "you can speak fluent spanish right?"
Me: "well......"

Day One: (may be good to follow on Google Earth--not sure if all towns are on there)
Start in town of Barichara at the beginning of Camino Real (4oo year old indigenous path)
Meet farmer Florentino who says he will go out of his way walking home to "guide" me on the path to the next town 2 hours away for somewhere around $0.60. Great. He has alot to say, I understand very little except that he is setting an record pace in his soleless shoes and I am dragging ass in my Merrells.
Arrive in town of Guane. Beautiful and calm. Talk to some Colombian tourists there who are seeing parts of their own country for the first time due to past unrest.
Florentine wants to guide me to the next two towns the following day (8 hour hike) as he and the other locals think that I will not make it in one day (they are right). I decline.
Wake up and start towards Villanueva, which should take me 3 hours. It takes 5 due to no signage and no locals to ask for directions. Cursing myself. Its very hot and I make the call to spend the night in Villanueva and depart for Jordan early the next day. In leiu of what happened earlier that day, I spend the night questioning about 30 locals regarding the direction of Jordan. Responses all contradict and approximate walking time estimates vary from 2 hours to 6. I plan on 6.
Depart early. The early part is through the countryside and I interrogate the 30 locals I encounter to confirm I am actually heading in the right direction. 15 of them look like the farmer on the Maxwell House coffee can (or whatever brand it is). After 3 hours I am atop a canyon and can see the destination town at the bottom. I am hopeful. Amazing view.
The next 2 hours down are rough. Finally at the bottom of the canyon, path disappears into a stream and dense forest where I totally lose my bearing. I half-panicking stumble around in it until I finally emerge right in front of farm house where the family outside is wondering what in the hell has just come out of the trees. They are nice and eagerly tell me what direction to head.
Arrive in Jordan, ghost town with lots of buildings, no vehicles and only about 30 people. Find the only house with a door open, ask to pay for lunch and find the logistics of getting out of there. None. But the house owner has a dirtbike and will take me out for a hefty fee. Great. Spend next hour riding on the back of his bike up the canyon. Think Motorcycle Diaries except the guy on the back is hugging the sh#t out of the man in front trying to stay on. He drops me off at the highway and I flag a bus to San Gil. Type blog and it is lost. Punch computer and swear off technology. Say sorry to computer and to the owner of the internet cafe and promise to leave quickly.
Take overnight bus to Cartegna. Its hot here.

BQ

Legal Highs in Colombia

My quest to get rural in a hurry was successful and I soon found myself hopping off a bus in the mid-sized colonial town of San Gil (north of Bogota for all you map-enthusiasts). With all tile roofs and vibrantly painted buildings, the town´s presence does nothing to the taint the encompassing countryside. Known amongst Colombians as an adventure sport town, I arrived with the delimma of what in the hell I was going to spend my time and pesos on. Having since forgotten the sensation of almost wetting yourself, I decided to re-acquaint myself and made an 11th hour decision with another traveler to go para-gliding.

As requested, the paragliding "company" picked us up at the hostel in a car I presume had been glued together earlier that day. Our guides appeared not much better as when we picked them up they looked as if the previous night´s party had just wound down about an hour earlier. The crazier one duly informed us where to find "cheap booze and drugs" thereby confirming that his body toxity level was well beyond mine. The guides further displayed their professionalism by putting their hands over the swerving driver´s eyes as we drove up to the jump off point. But hey, this kind of stuff would cost 4 times as much in the States so I was willing to overlook a few bad omens. Also, what they lack in professional appearance they made up for in their huevos and skills. The ride, or I should say rides, as our first attempt ended with a premature land in a tabacco field, were amazing and the guides perception of invincibility afforded them the gonads to put us into tail-spins that made my head want to explode due to the centrifical force. After landing the second time, I kissed the ground and told guide William to go to rehab.

Probably going to bounce tomorrow as I hear there is some pretty cool hikes not far north of my present location.

Miss you already,

Brian

P.S. More pics in the link.

Back in Business

My jaunt back to the States ended well at the tropical extravegenza that was that Clarkson/Sweat wedding in Florida. The reunification of family and friends there stirred up a little nolstalgia of what I am missing back home. Although, I am pretty sure my performance at the reception may have put me on the blacklist of future weddings. Makers Mark and microphones is a terrible combination.
The logistics of my cheap flight back to Bogota found me traveling from Naples to Miami Airport. Once inside with about 14 hours to spare before my flight, I went on the hunt for a good nook to crash. After previously consulting the backpacker website Sleepinginairports.com, I set out in search of the chapel area due to its tauted characteristics of being quiet and devoid of people. I never quite it made it to that part of the terminal as I stumbled across the Ritz-Carlton of aiport sleeping areas. A totally secluded expanded hallway with no foot traffic, no other people or annoying announcements, and the kicker--dimmable lights. Having anticipated the tactic used by airports to keep the likes of me from sleeping there--super air-conditioning, I came prepared with about seven layers of clothes. Even with this, I was not prepared for the artic blast that hammered me all night and kept me from catching more than an hour of sleep at a time. After waking up and checking my bath towel wrapped feet for frostbite, I started on my succession of flights that would produce me back to South America. I spent a quick hour layover at Costa Rica´s airport on almost exactly the 4 year anniversary of me sleeping at that airport during my Central American excursion. Just enough time there to contemplate exactly how far I had come with my life.....
Prior to my flight back, I received two good sets of news within about 5 minutes of each other. The first being that my persuasive efforts at getting friends to quit their jobs and normal lives took its first victory--friend Joe Clifford has signed on for the Amazon expedition. This development is surely going to make the trip far more exciting and mentally plausible for me. He is in the process of wrapping up his life back in KC, burning his drivers license and is due in Ecuador June 17th. Should be an adventure.

The second big news was that friend and long-time KC neighbor Amy Smith has also decided that she wants a part in the Colombian adventure and is meeting up with me for a weeks worth of travel on the caribean coast starting June 7th. Should also be an adventure.
So, you see, there is two good examples of people making wise decisions in their lives--have you made one today?

Just to give you taste what these two have in store for them, here is some selected reading for all you cubicle travelers:

The Huaorani tribe Joe and I will be living with

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/05/0521_030521_amazonhuaorani.html

http://www.bctravelwriters.com/geary/paddle/

Colombia´s Coast

http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/05/25/travel/25hours.html?ex=1212206400&en=ee32ecc26bc0c090&ei=5070&emc=eta1


And so, I am currently back in Bogota and after a day of wandering around the city, I have decided that I may try my hand at finding a job in business here. Because, after a day´s observation, I have concluded that a Colombian businessman´s daily activity
soley includes putting on a suit and strolling around the downtown area. Never in my life I have seen such aimless strolling by seemingly most of the upper-class "workforce."
As much as I want to hang out and watch this non-production, I think I am going to follow my own advice about "when in doubt, get rural" and head to a northern town tomorrow.

Buying a tie,
BQ