Barbers without borders

Panamá

2011-11-17T22:56:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's the people. . .

This one is priceless. Not only is there a kid at the bar, but those boobies on the far left are superb.

I can never resist an epic self-portrait.

Things to buy in Japan

2011-07-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, it's been about a decade since I wrote anything, so this post will certainly make up for it. I also know that it has been months since I was in Japan, but some things never get old. Japan is a land of kitschy crap. Said crap can be purchased nearly anywhere and is endlessly entertaining to browse. Enjoy some of the awesome potential purchases the great nation of Japan has to offer. The above shirt expresses my greatest sentiment.
If you are confused as to what this multi-colored toilet paper is for, the plastic wrap it's in tells you...it's for number deux.
A certified George Bush Sr. talking action figure, sort of ironic. Evey little politicians dream. It really does talk. Believe it.
Never in my life have I wished so badly that I could read the Japanese language. It is clear that one would be enlightened by the offerings in the above catalog. Take a second and really look at all the photos on the cover and you will be pissing yourself with laughter...
For the avid golfer: Now you don't have to concentrate on just pooping. You can also improve your golf game at the same time! And though I'm sure this is 100% Japanese innovation, the packaging with a stupid white guy on it shows clearly who will use it. I hope this "game" comes with the warning to not actually try to poop and golf on a real golf course.
YES! What little girl has never dreamed of having a purse made out of a dead toad?
Special to Okinawa, Habu sake. Habu is a deadly, venemous snake on the island of Okinawa so what better than to make booze out of it. Habu sake is available anywhere curious tourists are, and is actually a beverage that is consumed. I abstained from drinking it, however not from taking photos of it.

When planning your next trip to Japan, be sure to save some room in your luggage for all the one-of-a-kind souvenirs. If there is no room in the suit case, no worries, I'm absolutely sure that there will be some ridiculous luggage for purchase.

My beautiful hair.

2011-04-27T19:56:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago, a father brought his two kids in to the barber shop for haircuts. I was the next available to take his 9-year-old son and as soon as I called the kid's name, I could tell he was less than thrilled to be getting his hair cut. The kid had the typical shaggy hair that so many young boys have these days. The kid dragged his feet over to the chair and plopped down. I asked his father how he would like for me to cut his son's hair. Father told me that it was time to take it short, get the bulk and the length off, basically dramatically changing his look. Poor kid, he was not very happy about all of this, he didn't think he needed a haircut and come to find out he was really liking his shaggy hair.
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As I began cutting and as his precious locks fell to the ground, the boy sighed in honest defeat under his breath and said to himself, "My beautiful hair...".

Asian tourists.

2011-03-08T22:28:00.000-08:00

There are fewer joys of traveling greater than that of watching the Asian tourists. I remember my first time going to Egypt, and my first time seeing a bus load of Asians(likely Japanese)disembark a tour bus at the Great Pyramids of Giza. I had expected to see this, however the reality is much greater than the dream! Giant cameras, giant hats, giant sunglasses, khaki shorts and button up shirts, fanny packs, you name it. The best part is watching the groups being led like cattle to the watering hole. Often times the groups wear the same color t-shirt and follow a flag bearing tour guide. They pay attention to this tour guide as though he or she is giving them the secret to eternal youth. It's unintentional comedy at its finest. Being in Asia and watching these lovely tourists on their home turf is like double the fun!

Hong Kong boasts its own version of the Walk of Fame called the Avenue of Stars. The Avenue of Stars celebrates the greats of the Hong Kong film industry, and there is no greater star from Hong Kong than Bruce Lee. Not only does Mr. Lee have a star, he has his own statue. Naturally the Asians long to be as badass as Bruce(don't we all share that sentiment?). The above photo proves that nobody can possibly be as badass as Bruce, though the great effort put forth by our video camera wielding buddy deserves a round of applause.
One of the funniest things to watch the Asians do is to take photos of damn near everything, and no less than fifteen photos of every single thing to boot. The three pictured above are actually taking pictures of each other taking pictures of each other. It went something like this: they stand in a triangle, pose, focus, shoot, argue in Chinese, pose, focus, shoot, argue in Chinese and again and again and again. This scene carried on for a good few minutes giving me ample opportunity to stand back and take my own photo of Asians taking photos of Asians. The best part about this, I took this photo at a street fair where there was plentiful things to take photos of. However, Asian tourists are wonderful to take pictures of and can easily distract from the task at hand.
Not only do the Asians take photos with their own cameras, they give much business to the photographers at any and all touristy sites hawking their high quality prints to those needing a souvenir photo to accompany the 1500 photos they have already taken that day. I absolutely had to poach this photo of the old Chinese couple. The lack of expression and the clothing are relics of a time long past. True nostalgia in the most modern of worlds, Hong Kong.
This Japanese couple in Okinawa have gone so far as to rent costumes for their own tourist shot at the Shuri Castle in Okinawa. A far cry from the real deal old Chinese couple in Hong Kong, these two just fake it to look authentic. And though they look handsome and classic, what I wouldn't give to have seen some Asians dress as authentic ancient Egyptians all those years ago!
There is only one way to train a proper Asian tourist, start them young. Here we have a fine example of Asian parenting as daddy is squatting down to the level of his adorable daughter in order to show her how to make a shot that you will shoot no less than twenty-five times. As we can see, she is at the advanced stages of learning how to be a tourist as she has already perfected the look of shock and wonder. Good girl, now go out and buy the biggest external hard drive you possibly can in order to store the 30,000 photos from this week alone.

Being amongst the Asian tourists in various locations in Asia has been a real treat. Seeing them in awe so much puts a smile on my face. It's easy to get jaded sometimes at the frustrations of traveling abroad, but when I see the Asians ooing and awwing at a street lamp, and all of them stopping to snap some photos, I am reminded of the simpler things in life and appreciate where I am that much more.

Tai O and the Big Buddha.

2011-02-28T04:54:00.001-08:00

Hong Kong is absolutely out of this world. However, the fact that I am saying this is sort of ignorant, since in the two days that I have been here, I have left the confines of the city for more far flung places that couldn't be more different from the chaos of Hong Kong.
Today, I went with a small group of other travelers to a village on an island that lies just to the west of the city and island of Hong Kong. We met at the central piers and boarded a ferry for Lantau Island with the intention of visiting a fishing village called Tai O. Upon arrival in Lantau, we boarded a bus that weaved us through the mountainous terrain that is Lantau Island past pristine beaches with unparalleled views of the South China Sea. After the hour long ride was over we were on the far west of the island where Tai O is located. And as one will soon see, it is like no place else.
Tai O is famous for its community of houses that are built on stilts above where the sea meets the land. One does not arrive immediately where the houses are located. We made our way through the part of town that is totally "landlocked" and through the market which smelled strongly of all the dried fish and other sea creatures that hang in nearly every stall. On the other side was this amazing surprise.
The community of stilt houses is fairly large and boardwalks create a labyrinth within it. Where these boardwalks lead is anyone's guess and with the open air nature of the homes, we had to be careful to not accidentally walk unknowingly into someone's "living room". We failed miserably. We looked like the tourists we were but at the same time, I was grateful that two of our group who are Cantonese speakers could chat it up as though they were long time neighbors, greatly distracting from any unintended disrespect or ignorance. We carried on.
A better way to see the stilt houses was from the boat tour's provided in town. At HK$20(about US$2.50)there was no passing it up. This manner of transportation showed the vast differences in the construction of the houses. The above and below examples are extreme, but nonetheless are an amazing display of how differently most of the world lives. I do believe it takes years to build up the layers on these houses. No fancy cookie cutter homes that are built in six months here. These are all ancient originals.
Wow. After passing the afternoon in Tai O, it was on to another site on the island. Lantau Island is home to the Big Buddha. I do believe it is one of the largest statues of Buddha that exists and after wondering how old it was, I consulted the guide book expecting it to date back to like 900AD or something. Nope, in 1993 it was unveiled. No bother, it is a beautiful site regardless of its lack of historical importance.
Being that we arrived as the site was nearing its close, we did not spend much time at the Big Buddha. We climbed the 260 stairs to enjoy the views of the sea and surrounding islands and to stand in awe of a true work of art. I have seen many man made wonders in my travels, but I have never seen a statue with such big ear lobes.
I have been in Hong Kong for about forty-eight hours now. The above story is just one of those days. I feel like I have been here for a week. As soon as I exited the subway for the first time and walked down the packed streets of Causeway Bay neighborhood where I am staying, I knew I was in for a real treat, a real life changer. As I continue to tap the depths of this great city and its surrounding areas, I know I will be falling in love with it. Hopelessly in love. . .

Sushi Go 'Round!!!!

2011-02-21T19:56:00.000-08:00

It is official, Japan is the greatest nation on Earth. I cannot believe it took me a whole week to discover Sushi Go 'Round, but then again, I thank heaven that it was only a week.

Upon my arrival in Okinawa, Brady pointed out a restaurant to me and told me that it was a place where there was literally a train of sushi awaiting. Where the hungry patrons can sit down and gorge themselves on any of the delights slowly passing by on fancy colored plates. I had sort of forgotten about this place over the next few days, until one evening as we were deciding where to eat, I said "Hey, what about that sushi place you told me about?". We carried on down the road to a life-changing experience.
We entered the establishment to be greeted by a chorus of Japanese that the staff hollers every time customers come in. We were promptly seated at the large bar where the sushi passes by and after washing our hands with a provided wash rag, the binge began. The different colored plates signify the price of the sushi which rests upon it. The prices of the various plates range from 90 Yen up to 560 Yen(about $1.10 to $7). However the majority of the plates are in the $2-$4 price range. God bless this place, there is no ordering, no waiting, no deciding what to share and what someone won't eat, no obsessing over a huge sushi menu of rolls and nigiris. Just sitting and eating.

There is literally everything a sushi eater could imagine eating. Now not being Japanese, mine and Brady's palate for sushi is not that diverse. We mostly indulged on various salmons and tunas with the occasional tofu pocket or smoked duck. But should one so desire, there is the availability of every freaky sea creature that exists in the deep blue yonder, and then some.

We dosed ourselves heavily on the yummy raw delights before us, mine bathed in a potent mixture of wasabi and soy sauce. Brady opted for a kinder mixture of the aforementioned, but we both teared up at a couple of points, mostly due to unparalleled happiness. Every other minute or so an extremely foreign looking sushi would pass us by, and our natural reaction was to point and make faces at each other 'cause lord knows we weren't trying it.

When it was all over, one of the staff comes by with a super-tech scanner and scans our stack of plates which obviously have a magnet or chip or whatever in them that is read by the scanner. Then the tiny Japanese waitress hands us a plastic card that the scanner spits out and we happily make our way to the register. The register reads the sum of what we ate and we pay. Our first time at Sushi Go 'Round came to about $21 for the two of us, and no tipping in Japanese culture. Two huge Americans binging on sushi for about $20. GREATEST NATION ON EARTH!!!!!!
Another thing offered at Sushi Go 'Round is platters to go. The above platters of plastic sushi are displayed at the front desk. That first platter is priced at 700 Yen, which is less than $10. The second platter is a bit more coming in at 2500 Yen, which is more like $30. Honestly, where else on Earth is sushi this cheap and delicious?!?!?! And a good thing too, cause sushi is like the only cheap thing in all of Japan where the average Starbucks drink is about $7, and crappy donuts are $1.50 each.
Sushi Go 'Round has upped the ante in my life for sushi. I'm not so sure I can go back to USA and feel justified about spending $50 for the same amount of sushi that will never come close to to the quality and freshness of what I have had in Japan. We have been back to Sushi Go 'Round three times in four days, and I will cry when I have to say goodbye. However, until then the above picture lets me know that it's always time for sushi.

Now watch the sushi go by and dream of the day when you can become the newest lover of Sushi Go 'Round. . .

How to use a Japanese toilet.

2011-02-16T03:37:00.000-08:00

After only a few days in Japan, I am coming to realize that Japanese signage has got to be some of the most comedic in all the land. I find myself taking pictures of signs more than almost anything else. And thank heavens that there is an instructional for how to use a Japanese style toilet. As modeled above, squat like this.
The Japanese use cartoon characters to model almost anything. Which is very fitting since the people here are as cute as cartoon characters. I do believe the above says something to the tune of "Look how cute we are". I mean, what else could it possibly say?
There is only one supremely jackass thing to say about this sign, that's what she said.
If the Japanese had any idea how much crappy fast food Americans eat, I'm not so sure they would want the wind from America. But, alas, they love our kitchy imported trinkets.
Okinawa Island has a very deadly species of snake called Habu, and fittingly there is a lot of signage to warn of their dangers. In this case, it is obvious that if you should come across one, a sweet, old Japanese lady with a chopstick in her hair will shake it to death for you. How kind of her!
There was debate between my brother and I as to what this sign was trying to enforce. Brady tells me it clearly requests not to pull the flowers, as I assumed it was a sign telling all to not pee in the bushes. To each his own.
This sign was on the inside of a toilet seat in a bathroom I barely fit in. It is not necessary to read Japanese to understand that this is a clear instructional on how to properly use a toilet seat. To stand and pee, lift both seat and lid. To sit and pee, or otherwise, lift only the lid and sit on the seat. If only this sign was on every single toilet in the world, men just might stop peeing on the seat. Wait, certainly they would still biff it up. . .

This sign makes me desperately wish I could read Japanese. Posted by the beach it is assumed that it reads something along these lines: Should one encounter shark fins, splash like a mad man after drawing a massive X on your forehead and then follow the arrows in the waves towards the Japanese writing. Thousands of lives are saved everyday by this!

Egypt.

2011-01-30T22:19:00.000-08:00

I must definitely be living under some kind of rock, because I just really realized the gravity of the situation in Egypt. It has rocked my entire world and left me in tears as I have a very special connection with that very special country. No other place on our planet has ever affected me in the profound ways that Egypt has and continues to. Besides Canada, Egypt is the first country that I really spent time in outside United States. Here's how it came about.

In 2005 I was on a mission to leave USA and see and live in other areas of the world. As the dreams became plans, I signed up to take an English teaching course in the great city of Alexandria. As I searched the various locations to take the course, Alexandria stood out as one of the more obscure, thus sparking my interest. I chose to go to Egypt for the course in lieu of more comfortable and obvious options offered in Europe. That and the course in Egypt included a trip to the pyramids and one to a resort on the Red Sea after completion of the course. Free stuff, no problem.

I prepared for months to go to Egypt with no plans on if or when I would return to United States. I would take my English teaching course, travel to other areas in the Middle East, and then pursue a life in Africa. I left in February 2006 and immediately upon arrival knew I was totally in for a life changing adventure. Cairo is the first place I saw police and guards at the airport with rifles. The intensity of things I was seeing had certainly never before been matched in the well developed nation where I am from. Homeless children, donkey carts and chickens in the streets, the most amazingly bad traffic imaginable, the mosques, the staring(holy shit, the staring),the call to prayer, the population density, the air pollution, and on and on. . . Over the next two months, I would go through a metamorphosis.

I spent the first month in Alexandria taking my English course. I lived in the apartment provided by the school with my classmate Nicki, and learned how to shower in a third-world shower that spit scalding water and steam in place of anything I had ever known to come from a shower head. I made many Egyptian friends(mostly men obviously), and even went on some Egyptian dates. Perfect strangers opened their homes to me to enjoy food they could barely afford. I hung out until late at night in hookah cafés, and walking the streets and alley ways with friends and classmates. I explored my neighborhood and the sights of Alexandria, stood by the Mediterranean Sea and watched the fishermen cast their poles into the sunset, marveling at life. I battled intense culture shock that drove me to tears and had to learn how to walk away from beggars and homeless, because I could easily give all my money away in a single day. And I got stared at everywhere I went.

One weekend off of class, Nicki and I went to Cairo with our guide Mohammed and did the Pyramids and Museum of Antiquities. This day I will never, ever, ever forget. The Pyramids of Giza are a force to be reckoned with. And being that we went on a Friday, the Muslim holy day, we got to share the experience with many Egyptians. Being the proper tourists, we even did the camel ride into the desert for the postcard view of the Pyramids. At the museum, I got to stare King Tut's gold mask in the face and have yet to be broken of the hypnotism it produced.

After my course ended and I survived the intense curriculum, teaching six classes to Egyptian students big and small, old and young, we were off to the Red Sea for some relaxation. Four days at perhaps one of the most pristine bodies of water this earth houses, snorkeling at world class reefs and enjoying Egyptian culture in the gorgeous desert of the Sinai peninsula. When this trip was over, my classmates and I parted ways and I began to travel Egypt by myself.

During the next few weeks I traveled to some oases in the far deserts of Egypt. I spent time in an oasis named Siwa, more disconnected from the world than anywhere I had previously known. I stayed in the most charming inn on the edge of town where no electricity ran and the nights were lit by candles and the views of the dunes in the distance illuminated by the full moon. I wore a head scarf out of respect and to help reduce the staring in the very small and conservative village. One afternoon, I met a young Egyptian boy whom let me through the mud brick ruins that were the center of town. We weaved our way up and through the labyrinth and finally ended up on top of a small mountain that provided a 360 unmatched in this lifetime. Views of the Great Sand Sea to the south, the canyons and salt lake to the west, the palm tree groves in every direction and the Siwa village at my feet. The Sahara had me.

At another oasis, I took an overnight safari into the White Desert of Egypt. An otherworldly place, the White Desert is an expanse of desert with strange, wind eroded white sandstone formations and outcroppings, some as small as a cat, and some as huge as a house. Waking up in the middle of the night to pee was a special moment as the white stone was lit up in moonlight and the stars were nearly as blinding.

I ultimately stayed in Egypt for only two months. Against all desire of mine, I returned to United States to deal with a nagging medical problem. However, this time was more than enough to completely turn my world upside down. In two months, I saw and felt and experienced things I could never have dreamed. I came to love the Egyptian people and their beautiful culture totally. I had stepped outside myself and had stretched my world to new horizons from which I can never return.

I have since returned to Egypt, and will again. However, in the face of the current political turmoil that has gripped the country, I feel an overwhelming sense of loss and devastation. I have close friends in Egypt whose communication has been cut and I honestly fear the future of the country. However, through my tears and sadness at the loss of the Egypt I once knew and once embraced me, I am reminded that Egyptian culture has been around for longer than almost any that human kind has known. Egypt will not disappear, it will only add to its long and colorful history where the corner of Africa meets Asia.

Egypt changed me more profoundly than any other place. I am who I am today because of my experiences in Egypt and my life's path has been greatly determined because of my time there. My heart is with the Egyptian people as they face a great transition, inshallah to a better life and greater prosperity free from corruption and in the best interest of the people. Allahu akhbar.

What you see is what you get.

2011-01-18T01:02:00.000-08:00

I've been lame on ideas for writing, so I'm going to resort to photos from my life. Above, country road in Idaho, July 2010.
Cathedral in main Zócalo in Mexico City, Mexico, April 2010.
Fake cocaine, or is it? Bogotá, Colombia, March 2010.
Super good graf. Bogotá, Colombia, January 2010.
And finally, the sunny and gorgeous Santa Monica, California, United States, January 2011. Life is great!

boooooo!

2011-01-02T20:22:00.000-08:00

There is no photo necessary to describe the absolute crap weather that Los Angeles has.
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I seem to be able to go nowhere to escape the cold, even southern California is desperately disappointing. Since I have arrived one month ago, it has managed to be in the 70's only a couple of times and has rained probably half of the days I have been here, including one time where it rained for a week straight.
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What have I done?!?!?! And as many of you are thinking me a whiner, I don't care. It's cold here and everyone else here can confirm. Even as I write this, it's about 40 degrees and is raining. I don't know where Los Angeles got this fabulous paradise-like reputation, but I am now disconfirming any and all rumors that this place has perfect weather. So before any of you are thinking about coming here to escape the cold, let me tell you, you won't escape it here. Go to Brazil or something, I'll meet you there.
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Another thing I have had enough of is people here telling me that this weather isn't normal for here. "Normally it's nicer than this", "Normally we don't get this much rain", etc, etc. It doesn't matter what's normal or not, I'm freezing ass and can't ride my bike anywhere! I am actually sitting in my freezing house right now under my borrowed and life-saving electric blanket, my outfit including, but not limited to, leg warmers, a jacket with hood on my head, and a scarf among other items of clothing. It's like I didn't even leave Colorado, being in a frozen house is just like my mom's.
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With all the rain and cold temps, the Los Angeleans have also been mentioning the snow on the eastern mountains. I have been asked if I have seen the snow on the mountains by a few people. I want to slap them and be like "Why in the hell would I want to see snow when I live a mile from Venice Beach?!". Idiots! I am from Colorado and I have seen snow on mountains my entire life. Snow is no novelty to me and if I wanted to see it, I'd look up photos on the internet whilst sitting under my electric blanket, wrapped up in a hoodie and scarf since that's as close as I want to get to the real thing.
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I swore I would never spend another winter in Colorado, and so far, success. But I am now learning that I will never spend another winter in Los Angeles. I can't believe I fell for it! Maybe that's why there are so many blondes in California, they are too dumb to leave the cold.

La Ciclovía.

2010-11-27T15:00:00.000-08:00

Although I no longer live in Bogotá, there is one thing among the many that I never wrote about that I will unveil today. Bogotá is the first city in the world to organize a Ciclovía. What this awesome event is occurs every Sunday and holiday in the great capital of Colombia. Sometimes there is a holiday on a Monday, which means two days of Ciclovía in a row. Translation, Bogotá, a positive city for riding bicycles on Sundays. Probably the only true and nice thing one can say about Bogotá ;)

Every Sunday and all holidays, the city of Bogotá closes nearly 100 miles of major roads in the city from 7am until 2pm, and they are clear for cycling, strolling, roller skating or roller blading, even skateboarding, dog-walking and the like. This blew my mind when I learned about it, nearly 100 miles car-free!! Here I was thinking I had come from a cycling conscious city(Denver)/country(USA)and here in grimy, cloudy Bogotá, they are closing the streets and the Colombians are coming out in droves. I have heard statistics that up to 2 million(!!!)people will come out for these events, impressive numbers in this city of about 8 million residents. The event is fully supported by the Bogotá police, with a traffic officer at every single intersection where cars will need to pass as lights change. This means hundreds of intersections across the whole of the huge city, all with a traffic officer(albiet an 18-year-old with a whistle and a beret, it'll do). Barriers are set up at appropriate spots to prevent the passing of cars and there is no shortage of traffic cones and yellow "CAUTION" tape to guide the riders and cars in the right direction. At certain points, maps of the never-changing route are displayed for all to guide themselves throughout.

And, before anyone gets any ideas of spandex-laden, peloton-type crowds racing in the streets, I believe the above picture clearly demonstrates it's anything but. It's a plethora of crappy bikes, with unskilled and inexperienced riders. Jeans are not an uncommon choice for attire and I'm not sure I saw a properly worn helmet the entire time I was in Bogotá. Also, can't leave baby at home, so she'll just sit on the top tube while we cruise. Hilarious!

Because I participated in the Ciclovías, I was able to see many areas of Bogotá that otherwise would have been inaccessible by bike or just simply to dangerous to go to. I cruised many, many miles of the Bogotá, and did some great climbs in the mountains that flank the east side of the city. I was also privy to some of the endless antics of the Colombians. I prefer to ride fast, but this is not possible in the crowds that come out. Instead, I took it slow and tried to avoid as many potential accidents as possible. My favorite obstacle was the roller-blading, hand-holding, dog-walking couple. This frequently sighted group of three had the uncanny ability to block the entire street sometimes. However, the Colombians ability to be a clueless pain-in-the-ass to others is never surprising.

Not only do activity craving types come out, the salesmen and women are also lining the streets of the Ciclovía. Latinos selling crap are present at every opportunity to make money. Everything from juice and water stands, to sellers of fried pork rinds amongst the most unhealthy of gastronomic delights. Got to balance out all that exercise. The above picture is actually from a Ciclovía. Either this guy is taking advantage of the car-free streets to transport his giant mirrors and paintings, or he actually thinks that someone is going to buy one of those things and just put it under their arm and ride home. Ambitious. For me, no giant mirror, but I have bought three t-shirts for $5 at the Ciclovía out of some guy's trunk. If one so desired, there was also plenty of Colombians selling single cigarettes and various candy and gum from a sort of brief case thing hanging in front of them. My favorite time to enjoy a cigarette and a caramel is usually mid-ride. There is also many bicycle repair stands, providing the most basic of maintenance and air pumps for all the squishy tires.

I loved the Ciclovía for it's cultural value. So funny and amazing to me every week to see the randomness and the variety of people, pets, bikes, "cycling" clothes, food for sale, and ways to try and make me crash. My Ciclovía career came to an end when one Sunday afternoon as I weaved in and out of the staring masses I slammed right into a kid(bringing my grand total of hitting kids on my bike to four). At this point, I had ridden in a lot of Ciclovías and was satisfied with the enlightenment it had brought to my life. Simply, I was fed up with the crowds.

The Ciclovía continues to inspire me as it is one of my fondest memories of living in Bogotá. A true and rare opportunity to see culture in a very unique form, to do something I absolutely live for, cycling, and to do it in a place where so much clouds the beauty of life. Though one of the most violent and seemingly ass-backwards countries in the world, Colombia is slowly getting things right. Thanks to Bogota's innovation of La Ciclovía, cities the world over are starting to experiment with similar events. Imagine, someday in United States, the most car loving country on the planet, cities closing down the most major roads for a few hours and people coming out to enjoy a cruise or a skate, or a stroll for the simple enjoyment of it. The day I can ride my bike down the middle of Colfax will be a beautiful day.

A barber's Halloween.

2010-10-31T11:07:00.000-07:00

Halloween, in my opinion, is the single greatest thing ever to be thought up. A celebration of costumes and candy, genius. This barber had a super night with various activities enjoyed and many costumes viewed. In honor of my time spent in Colombia, your's truly went as the biggest, richest, most famous and most evil drug lord ever to crawl the planet, Pablo Escobar. Most people don't seem to know who Pablo Escobar is, but that didn't matter, I still offered cocaine to everyone on the streets and in the clubs.

The night started after working all day at the barber shop. I was invited to go to the Avalanche game with a client and I accepted. Dressed as a Colombian man, I was accompanied by my client who dressed in this flight suit from his time in the Air Force. We were a great match, a bastard narco-terrorist, and a part of the team who hunted him down until his very timely assassination on a roof top all those years ago. To our dismay, there was not many people at the game who were in costume. No bother, the Avalanche dominated the game and ended up winning 5-1.

After the game, I wanted to see a friend at the bar where she tends to the needs of drinkers. This time, to our delight, there were many people in costume, as the bar was offering a $1000 prize for best costume. The prize translated into some of the best and most creative costumes I've ever seen. Above is part of the competition; somebody(perfectly)dressed as Bender from Futurama, and two Legomen. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have thought up the Legoman costume. Made me want to pop their little Lego heads off.

The bar where this costume contest was is a piano bar. Between rounds of the contest, the band and piano players were jamming and I had the pleasure of hearing a live version of "The Devil Goes Down to Georgia". What this means is there was a fiddle player in the band. I was hypnotized with his playing! I have never seen anything like that, the speed and accuracy of the notes was mind-blowing and it actually brought tears of amazement to my eyes as my brain could not process what it was seeing at the rate it was happening. But bastard Colombian drug lords are not sentimental for long and we soon left the bar for a house party.
Now, Pablo Escobar was a super horrible person, causing terror in the lives of Colombians and many others for years. I could not glorify this. Naturally, I chose instead to glorify his assassination with a properly placed bullet hole in the side of my head, the exact spot where he was shot and promptly died. Great job Colombian Ejército. Thanks from all of us! My skin is still stained red from the fake blood, but fortunately for me all the rest washed off.

I have no photos of the house party, which is not important. What is important is that I have a photo of the single most amazing and creative costume I have ever seen. These two women have built a roller coaster seat, made fake legs in front so they could walk around beneath the seat, and appropriately styled their hair to look like they are riding a roller coaster and walked around all night acting like they were at the peak of the thrill. This is beyond genius, this is genuine Halloween commitment, obviously true lovers of all things Halloween. Congratulations roller coaster riders, you are the winners of the costume contest in my head. God bless you Halloween, you bring out the best.

Costumed trivia.

2010-10-03T13:33:00.000-07:00

So Denver is a special place, mostly because of the hodge-podge of people that are in this city(not to mention this never-ending summer). What Denver lacks in many cosmopolitan aspects it makes up for in kookiness and downright awesomeness. I explain.
*
Last night after getting off work at the barber shop, I decided it was time to deposit some of my earnings in the ATM. I make my way to the Wells Fargo ATM on Blake and 16th Street. I do my business and as I am about to depart for the late night ride home to Littleton I see four women sitting in what appeared to be zombie costumes and eating burritos from the Illegal Pete's that is across the street from the aforementioned ATM. As usual, curiosity got the best of me and I had to find out what was the deal with the costumes. I approached the group and inquire as to the occasion of the costumes. I am told by the lovely ladies that they occasionally get together in costumes, make their way to multiple locations in the city and play Trivial Pursuit in public. Being the month of Halloween, they had decided to do Spooky Pursuit, hence the zombie costumes. It was explained to me that the idea was sort of a "why not?" thing, to which I agreed, and done purely for the entertainment value, which ranks high. The ladies told me about another night aptly named Princess Pursuit due to the princess costumes worn that night. I was beginning to understand the sheer magnitude of awesomeness involved. Amongst the group was a baby girl also in costume, a tiny spider with sprayed purple hair, terribly, terribly cute. I was very impressed with the creativity of the idea and bid them a good night.
*
The night really was young, and still warm enough that I did not fear a cold bike ride home yet. As I made my way towards the bike path, I realized how neat all of this really was, and thought myself an idiot to at least not have gotten a phone number from one of the gals for next time. I made my way around the block and arrived back at the bank, announced to the ladies I was genuinely interested in playing to which they promptly invited me to play a round. I saddled up right there on the sidewalk, removed my cycling shoes and helmet and was explained the rules. They play at one location until everybody has at least one chip, and if anyone gets three chips at any one location, they get to choose another player to blacken in a tooth, hillbilly style. This explained the blackened tooth that one player was sporting already. We rolled the dice and began the round.
*
I quickly realized I was playing with people whom play on regular basis, and have all the normal habits of anyone whom plays Trivial Pursuit on a regular basis. Everything from, for example, if the questionee doesn't answer the question correctly, everyone else also wants a guess before the correct answer is read, to exclamations of "I was gonna say that!" once the answer is heard. I learned that only one country in the world claims it's official language as Japanese, that Professor Dumbldore has a scar on his knee, and that Marlboro cigarettes are named after a street in London. All valuable knowledge in the trivial world. The baby was staring at me through the first part of the round and after getting antsy in her mom's lap came to me with a squeal and a laugh and as soon as she sat down in my lap, looked up and me and gave me a big "Wow!", it made my week. She was probably amazed that I was the only one not in costume, unless you count cycling spandex with skull and bones leg warmers as a costume. Another woman of my same name was one of the group and as I scolded another player for not putting the used trivia card in the box correctly, I was informed that other Sara(no h for her)is also a card Nazi. We do not need the same questions repeated in the same game, Sarah and Sara will make sure of that.
*
At one point the ladies mentioned they had eaten cupcakes earlier in the evening and I must have had a dreamy look in my eyes because they told me there was six more cupcakes available for feasting. I did a back flip of excitement and ate three homemade red velvet, frosting filled cupcakes. One of the ladies in the group is a master baker, I have met my new best friend. In the cupcake tin was also what were described as phalanges, basically giant stick pretzels surrounded with white chocolate in the form of bones. I helped myself to some fingers. The night was really coming together for me; really cool women in costumes, a cute baby that loves me, one of my favorite board games, cupcakes, candy, bahhhhhh! I was in heaven. I even got to witness the hilarity of a player receiving three chips, and the blackened tooth of another player that ensued.
*
It was getting late, the baby was sleeping as was her mother, practically. After about two hours of play, we decided to call it a night. As new found friends, we exchanged all pertinent contact information, I thanked them for letting me crash the party and we bid farewell.
*
I rode home five degrees cooler but fifteen times happier and awestruck at the randomness of life and the beautiful opportunities that present themselves to be either ignored or stormed like a castle. I have met four really great, and obviously creative women, all of whom have inspired and helped me in my personal pursuit to be more social. I cannot wait for the next Costumed Pursuit, because I will definitely be in appropriate gear this time. Look out Denver.
*

Para: Bogotá

2010-09-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

Bogotá:

¿Como te digo todo lo que siento, todo lo que pienso, y todo lo que he vivido en tus calles?

Yo llegué aqui a Colombia para vivir, para conocer, para empezar la otra epoca de mi vida. Cuando llegué, yo pensé en vivir en Medellín, aunque no la conocía. Pero, Bogotá, desde el primer dia, me tenías. Yo estaba encantada con todo lo que veía, los parques, la gente, las montañas a tus lados, tus obras de arte a todos lados, tus barrios, y la vida. Nunca yo había pensado que eres así, tan linda, con tanta vida.

Despues de solo unos dias, me enamoré con una de las personas que has creado. Me enamoré totalmente, y yo decidí a quedarme en tus brazos. Yo podía sentir una vida para mi en Bogotá.

Yo conseguí mi propio apartamento, y todas las cosas. Yo corré por toda la ciudad para llenar mi vida con tus cosas. Como pasa el tiempo, yo viví, yo conocí, y yo aprendí contigo. Yo tuvé la oportunidad para tener un buen trabajo, uno de los sueños. Tambien, yo busqué un doctor para curarme de mi enfermedad misteria. Yo estaba enamorada. Todo me pareció bien.

Pero, la vida tiene su manera, y la vida para mi aqui en las calles y carreras de Bogotá tiene así mismo. Cosas malas empezaron a llegar. Unas de las cosas mas feas de toda mi vida pasó aqui en Bogotá. Sabes lo que es. Yo no siento que tienes la culpa, Bogotá, nadie tiene la culpa. Pero, yo sufrí demasiado de esto. Mi relación empezó a caerse. Mi oportunidad para trabajar estaba aún muy lejos del tiempo. Y tus ladrones y criminales me atacaron tres veces en tres semanas. Yo decidí a irme a mi pais para pasar un rato, trabajar, relajarme, y pensar en mi vida. Yo pasé el mejor tiempo alla.

Durante este tiempo en EU, tambien mucho cambió. Yo sabía que ya no podía vivir en tus calles, con tu gente. Se cayó mi relacion con tu hijo, y con eso yo sentí que se cayó toda mi vida en Bogotá. Ya no estoy tan encantada con tu gente, me ha mostrado que no tiene respeto de uno al otro.

Bogotá, me has dado unas cosas muy bonitas, y muy feas. Estoy tan cansada de los cambios de la vida que me vienen siempre, ¿pero, que hago? No me puedo quedar contigo, no me has abrazado como te abracé. En la realidad, yo no sé lo que tiene mi futuro, pero por ahora, yo sé que no tiene mas de ti. Yo no quería que nos despidamos así, con mucha tristeza en mi córazon. De verdad, yo quería vivir años en tus brazos, con tu hijo, y todo más que tienes para ofrecer a alguien. Tengo que irme.

Me has cambiado Bogotá. Me has enseñado un monton. Me has mostrado otro lado de la vida. Yo sé que yo necesite años para entender lo que significas en mi vida, por que yo viví lo que viví aqui. Tambien, yo sé que no te vas. Te vas a quedar aqui en los Andes hasta el fin del mundo. Yo sé que podré volver en cualquier momento. Hasta entonces, gracias por todo Bogotá. Aunque no me diste lo que pensaba, no siento nada de odio por ti, poca tristeza, pero nada de odio.

Nos vemos Bogotá. Ciao.

Sarah.

Liquidation!!

2010-09-08T12:41:00.000-07:00

Don´t worry, I haven´t been robbed, surprisingly enough. This is what my apartment looks like after the Colombianos had their way with purchasing my things.

With my decision to leave Bogotá, I find myself needing to sell all of my things that I ran all over the city to buy only a short eight months ago. However, it has turned out to be more entertaining and much faster than I could have hoped. I decided the best way to go about the quick-sale of my goods was to post advertisements in various locations around the barrio. However what ensued made these advertisements totally unnecessary.

Before obtaining my own apartment here in Bogotá, I stayed at an old hotel near to where I eventually lived. Naturally I befriended the staff, namely an old man named Jorge who is the manager. As I posted the ads, I stopped by the hotel to tell Jorge that I am leaving town and needed to sell my things. He said he would let people know, and I bid good afternoon. Five minutes later Jorge calls me and tells me that one of the young men that works at the hotel was interested in the stove I was selling. I promptly returned to the hotel to chat with a cute 18-year-old Luis(not like that, but I thought about it, I'm still thinking about it). I quoted Luis a price for the stove the gas tank and all necessary connections. Luis and Jorge said they would come over the next morning and look at the things.

As I was dreaming about Cristiano Ronaldo the next morning, my phone rang and Jorge told me that he and Luis were on their way over. Upon arrival, Luis dismanteled the stove, disconnected the gas and decided to buy my set of pots and pans, all of my dishes and utensils, and the small table and benches I also had. Sweet! Whilst Luis made a few trips back and forth to his nearby apartment, Jorge and I chatted. We discussed the price of my small fridge among other things.

When this all ended, Jorge and Luis left and a few minutes later, my neighbor Jaime knocked on the door. He wanted to come in and look at what was remaining as to advise the neighbors that the gringa is splitting town and liquidating the goods! Jaime looked around and left. Minutes later, Jorge calls, says he is on his way over because he knows someone who wants the fridge. Jorge arrives and hangs out again, during which time I give him some small gifts for helping me out. The fridge purchasers never arrived so Jorge left, promising to return. Then Jaime arrives yet again with one of my other neighbors. She is very interested in a mirror and shelf set I had, I quote her an insanely low price at which she jumps. She takes the things and returns shortly after with the $15,000 Colombian pesos($8). Another knock at the door, Jorge is back, he hands over the loot for the fridge and takes off yet again, securing the purchase and making my day.

In the meantime the husband of a couple whom are also neighbors of mine shows up at the door asking about the bed, Jaime is with him. I am selling the bed complete with the pillows, blankets, sheets, matress, frame, the whole package; easy for all. The man looks at the bed and I quote him the price. He, in a very Colombian manner, tells me that he will pay all cash up front so I should bring the price down a little bit for him. Duh, of course you are going to pay me all cash, up front, there is no other choice here. However the price will not come down as it´s already a great deal. He said his wife will want to see the bed and that I should stop by their little store later to have her come look. Ok. During all of this Jaime is hanging out and taking in the negociations, he asks me the price for the fridge. Already sold brother, too little, too late.

Neighbor guy and Jaime leave. Phone rings, Jorge is calling to tell me the two young men from the hotel are on their way to pick up the fridge. I wait for them and a few minutes later they knock the door. Luis and Adrian enter, cousins from the coast of Colombia, costeños with an accent nearly impossible to understand. The have arrived with a dolly to take the fridge, but ask me what else I have to sell. The cousins take a look around and decide to buy my remaining mirror, a shelf for clothing and my electrified shower head(a necessity for heating the water in a land with no water heaters). I tell them no problem, and that I will let them know when to come pick up these things as I still need them to live for my last week in Bogotá. This left me with only one table(pictured above), and my bed.

A completely crazy Welsh friend of mine who has made himself a life here in Bogotá tells me he wants my uber-cherry mattress. I tell him I want to sell the bed as a whole so he should pay me for my mattress and give me his making it possible to both sell the bed as a complete set and to lower the price. I see it all coming together. This is genius.

This morning I went to the tienda of the couple wanting the bed. They come over and look at the bed again, this time wifey comes along. I tell them I am going to swap the mattress, but that it will take a lot off of the price. They eat it up. I have sold my bed. The wife is so excited she wants to pay me now, to which the husband and I both say no. The bed is theirs, they also want my last little table, and we will talk again next week when we will exchange money for goods. No deposit necessary though it is hard to believe anything that any Colombian says. I can only hope for the best, but I also know where to find them and I have learned how to give proper Colombian guilt should they decide to back out.

Just like that. One day and the Bogotanos eat up my stuff. I guess being a friendly spanish-speaking gringa can get you more than harassement. Jorge is the best damn seller of anything I´ve ever seen and I´m convinced that once the word was out in the barrio amongst the gossipy Colombians, my stuff was as good as sold. Colombians are good for something besides coffee, emeralds and cocaine. They are also good for off-loading used goods at record speed.

Back to Bogsy-babes.

2010-09-01T10:11:00.000-07:00

This post is more for my own self-help therapy purposes than anything.

Did three months pass just like that?! Yes, they did and I'm back in Bogotá. It is still as cloudy as I remember. I arrived without a hitch and all in my apartment has proven to have stayed put. Amazing in this land of ladrones. But I'm grateful. . .always grateful to win the battle with thieves the world over.

In the few hours I have been back I am reminded of all the little charming things that made me choose to stay in this city in the first place. The cute old ladies selling empanadas and tinto on the street, Janet at the bakery, my neighbors(all of whom have been delighted to see me again), the market, my few friends, the mountains, the broken sidewalks, the narrow streets of the old colonial neighborhood in which I live, the list could go on. I am surrounded by all of the things that are easily forgotten when one is away for so long. The noises of the streets resounding in the barrio; the street dogs, always street dogs, children everywhere, 18-year-old police everywhere(can also qualify as children), the roller skate sized taxis on every street and corner, the fruit vendors. Bogotá is special. And how could I have forgotten how cute the Colombianos are?! Seriously now, hot brown Colombians everywhere!

And I am also feeling that my heart is right in telling me that my days here are coming to an end. As smitten as I am yet again by Bogotá, I no longer see this place through the same innocent eyes as I did in my first weeks and months here. I have had enough bad experiences with street crime and with the dysfunctional Colombian society and culture as a whole. Getting older and living life sometimes sucks because it can show some really ugly things in really amazing places. Colombia has a long way to go and will likely never totally escape its violent ways. I have also had enough experiences with the Colombian people to know that I do not want to struggle on a daily basis to feel even the slightest bit accepted or understood by them. Their lack of exposure to foreigners has left the Colombian people unable to function in a healthy manner regarding tourists. The staring, the being a target for harassment or crime, the people who ask to take pictures with you or just take them anyway, the general lack of respect that Colombians have for each other and all people in general. Another stressful factor for this laid back Westerner is the obsessive madness(some call it Latino passion)with which they deal with every single daily situation. Colombians deal with all things with some degree of drama, usually totally unnecessary drama. All of this leads to a degree of dysfunction that I am chosing to no longer live with.

It's sad to me because I am very charmed by Bogotá. It's inexplicable, there is just a magic to this place through all the grime. But I have been there, done that, and I even have the Homero Valdez t-shirt to prove it.

Will I travel in Latin America again? There is no doubt in my mind that I will come back to Latin America. I will even very likely be back to Colombia and to Bogotá at some point. Traveling in a place and living in a place are worlds apart. A huge plus for me as well is my ability to speak the language, and the fact that at least I won't be confused when the Colombianos act crazy.

Ahhhhhhh. . . . the Tetons.

2010-08-13T19:59:00.000-07:00

House-sitting in Teton country has obvious benefits, especially since I am here in the best part of summer. I have made it my personal duty to take as many shots of these majestic mountains as I can to prove to myself that views of the Tetons never get old. All of these shots were taken on various road bike rides that I have had no shortage of. And yes, you lazy bums, I rode up that road, it is the first part of the climb to the Targhee ski mountain.
Once I arrived to the base of the ski mountain, I left my bike outside a bike shop, took the lift up, took my road cycling shoes off, and walked in my socks to this view. I looked like a complete idiot, and I just happened to be acting like a complete idiot behaving in this manner, walking on mountain terrain in socks and spandex. But a much safer option than walking on the same terrain in road cycling shoes. Have you seen those cleats? Not designed for walking. Hey, I had no idea that all of this was going to ensue, I just wanted to ride from Driggs to Targhee. However, the painful mountain sock walking, two words: worth it.
Idaho is farm country, and thank god for it or we probably wouldn't have french fries and tater tots. Another nice thing about all this agriculture, the beautiful views of fields and Tetons. This photo is from my ride to Bitch Creek(refer to Signs of Life posting for more information).
Grand Teton National Park. The ride I did this day will go down as one of the most perfect and beautiful, mind-blowing rides of my life. The weather, that bike path(so smooth!), the epic scenery. . . ahhhhh, the Tetons.
Jackson Lake, Grand Teton National Park.
*
Passing by many views along various scenic byways, or in national parks, I have learned a lot about the Tetons from informational signs. First of all, they are the youngest range in the Rocky Mountains, at about 10 million years old. They were created when one tectonic plate slid dramatically underneath the other pushing up towards the sky the piece of rock that is what we now know of as the Teton range. This geological action also created the valley where Jackson, Wyoming is located. The Tetons were once one giant mountain, but years of glacial action has broken it down into the three Tetons we now recognize. Bored yet? The best is yet to come.
*
Today I learned about that crazy name, the Tetons. I passed yet another informational sign that stated that the original name is French, Les Trois Tetons. This is literally translated into The Three Breasts. No lie, the sign said all of this. Leave it to some crazy French explorer who has been wandering the west without sight of a woman for months to see these mountains and the first thing he thinks is, "three giant boobs!". Men never change, imagining giant naked breasts at every turn. Maybe it's just me, but I have never seen breasts like that, god help me the day I do.

Milo vs. Gatita

2010-08-07T15:17:00.000-07:00

This is a competition, a legitimate competition in which each kitty will be judged by my kitty standards. I love two kitties but now they battle each other for my love. I wish it could be a real fight, but my heart would break, I would have to interfere in the fight and I would probably get clawed to death in the meantime. Whatever. Enough small talk.

The above pictured kitty is my mother's cat, Gatita(Spanish for kitty, original). I love Gatita so much and I cannot to this day identify why. Gatita tortures me with her cuteness and her sass. She walks by me and even rubs up on my legs sometimes, but that's about as good as it gets. The thing about Gatita is that though I love her, she hates me. Gatita will not let me pick her up, she barely even lets me pet her without a hiss and an attempted clawing of any reachable extremity. I think the longest I have been able to touch her is under five seconds. My family thinks this is funny, and it is, but I'm dying inside.

Gatita has proven to be quite the huntress as well, blood lust we could call it. Gatita kills multiple animals weekly, especially in the summer. It's mostly mice, but small birds and sometimes large birds show up dead in the yard. One time she was playing with a half-dead dragon fly. Last summer Gatita brought home a snake. Fortunately for the snake it was alive and unharmed. We kept the snake for a few days, we named it Jose.

Gatita has an indescribable allure, something that makes me want to cuddle her for like eight hours straight. It is probably the fact that I never will be able to cuddle her for even eight seconds. I should be careful what I wish for. It is clearly a lop-sided relationship. But that will never make me stop trying to get her to love me. The most painful part is that my little brother can hold her like a baby and she doesn't budge. She even slowly leans her head to the side to make sure I'm looking. Bitch.
Then there is Milo. Milo is the kitten of my sister's family in Idaho where I am currently house-sitting. Milo is terribly cute. Milo is hilarious and one of my favorite things about him is his experimental palate. Milo is always in my face when I'm eating, and all other times for that matter, but he loves to try new things. So far things Milo has eaten includes, but is not limited to, peanut butter(natural crunchy), lemon yogurt, frosting, dog food, Saudi kabsah rice, raw egg yolk, Teddy Grahams, cookie dough and has drank strawberry iced tea. I think Milo's dream is to be a dog.

In the above picture Milo appears very tranquil, and sometimes he is. However, Milo is a kitten and that puts a whole new twist on things. One may assume that he has a natural advantage as a kitten, but the one that assumes that has never spent five minutes with a kitten. Milo has two speeds: attack mode, and sleeping. Even as I have sat here typing this I have been clawed four times and Milo is currently locked in the bathroom until I am done. Milo has no self- awareness. Milo not only loves to play, he NEEDS to play, usually at everyone elses expense(dogs, chickens, and rabbits not excluded). Milo chases anything, and is usually in attack mode if I'm around. One of Milo's favorite things to attack are my bare feet. Awesome! Not. First thing in the morning, my feet get attacked and he does not sleep in the same room as me, that only lasted one short night.

Though it is some kind of sick torture to be around Milo when he is in attack mode, he is also super cuddly and loves to be held and petted. Bonus! When Milo is feeling lovey and calm(read: has ran himself sleepy), he will sit with me for minutes on end and be petted, maybe even up to an hour. This would never happen with Gatita, never, ever, ever. Milo is adorable and almost wants to be loved too much as opposed to never.

In the kitty competition, it's hard to say. Gatita hates me, Milo loves me(too much). Milo attacks me, Gatita ignores me. Milo makes me laugh with the things he eats, and Gatita disgusts me and makes me clean up after her. It is a delicate balance folks and one with which I will not mess. I can deal with Gatita ignoring me because at least I know she won't claw me(unless provoked), or jump in my lap when I have no pants on. On the other hand, I can deal with Milo scratching me and jumping on my lap when I have no pants on, because when he finally, finally calms down, he will seek me out and let me cuddle him. Milo in my face when I'm eating is always better than finding a half-dead creature in the lawn, courtesy of the huntress, Gatita. I hate having to finish the job by crushing things with a shovel and then bury them in the garden.

Kitty competition is a draw. I should probably go let Milo out of the bathroom now.

One more from the road.

2010-07-30T22:27:00.000-07:00

Apparently this is 2-hour parking forever, because September 31st will never come.

Signs of life.

2010-07-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

I've been in Idaho for only a few days now, but nonetheless, I am discovering that this may be my true second home. There are signs everywhere to prove it. Cougar Corner. No way. Now I know where I can spend my lonely Friday nights. Funny thing about this, when I did a u-turn to get back on the highway by this sign there was a group of middle-aged women pulling up on their bicycles across the street, spandex and all. I know I'm on the right path in life.
This is nothing special, except for my little sister, who now knows where she can go and buy more center pivots for herself. Not to mention jacuzzi pumps. True story. I did an 80-mile round trip drive and a 25-mile bike ride to this creek in hopes of photographing it's sign. The map said it's called Bitch Creek. Tragically, every single creek in Idaho has a sign except this one. That's what happens in a state full of easily offended Mormons. They should realize that vandalism and destruction of property is also offensive. I want my Bitch Creek sign!! Either way, knowing there is a creek for ladies like me makes up for it, sort of.
You play? I play. I think my brother is taller than your average leprechaun, but they got the hair color right, not to mention the huge nose. However, Brady's ability to grow sideburns does not match that of his cartoon self.
This is self explanatory. In Colorado, we just go to the doctor and then to the dispensary. In Idaho, you call 656-WEED, and apparently this truck shows up. Genius.
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Post script. Blogspot is weird and I have no idea why some of the script is underlined and other parts not. Deal with it.

Saying goodbye.

2010-06-15T19:22:00.000-07:00

This is a story about loss. This is a story about saying goodbye to one of my best friends over the past years of my life. I have lost a hot, brown friend. In fact, the hottest brown friend I've ever had. This friend has been with me all the way, pulling me through the good times, the bad times, and the very early morning times. This friend has been there for me whenever I've needed, has been there for me literally everywhere I have gone. This friend is the most consistent, the most trustworthy, and without a doubt, the tastiest. This friend calms worries, soothes fears, and even invites others over to play by it's sheer existence. The loss of this friend comes at a great price to my attitude, and willingness to care about anything beyond a half-assed shrug of the shoulders. I have had to quit coffee.

It's horrible, I know, as I am living the nightmare. But due to issues with my stomach, I thought it would be a good idea to cut out some of the stronger irritants. It has worked amazingly, I cannot explain how much better I feel physically; spiritually however, I am dead. I wander the streets on my break from work lost, aimlessly wandering, nowhere to go. I wake up in the morning and am confused as to where to start my routine, normally fueled by that morning cup of the nectar-of-the-roasted-beans. When I decide to spend the afternoon with a friend, I am at a complete loss for anything to do. Sitting sipping coffee seems to pass time amongst friends better than almost anything. Especially in this short time I have in Colorado, I have had many invitations to go out for coffee, catch up with friends or family. I keep my secret, not wanting to disappoint. I guess I can just drink water, or a juice or something. . . so sad. There is a strong air of mourning.

Needless to say, this friend tortures me wherever I go. Coffee shops on every block, like fifteen of them. Vendors in the streets. The smell of the sweetness when a coworker brings in a cup to jazz them through the day. A constant reminder of ending the best relationship I've ever had. Taunting me to come back, try it again, you know, maybe it can work out this time now that we've had some time apart.

Is this forever? Hard to say. Considering how much better my stomach problems are without it, seems best to swear off the stuff forever. But then again, there's decaf. Will that irritate me as much? There's only one way to find out! I love coffee for the caffeine just as much, so decaf will satisfy the first half of the love of taste and aroma and tradition, but may come up short on the second half of sweating too much, talking mile a minute and laughing too loud. Decaf seems like the friend that comes over only half the times they say they will come over, leaving me waiting for nothing in the end. Constantly calling saying, "I'm on my way", then never showing. Maybe just too much of a tease in my fragile state.

Whatever happens, I will never forget all the good times coffee and I have had over the years. All the places we've shared together, all the friends brought together, all the slightly less painful early mornings(as if there's actually been any early mornings in my life). Coffee will always come to me in my dreams in all it's wonderful forms; french press, espresso, tinto(this one is for the Colombianos out there), soy lattes, iced. . .the list is endless. Goodbye my hot, brown love. 'Til we meet again in hell.

Life is funny.

2010-06-03T09:44:00.000-07:00

Any opportunity to take a photo this hilarious is proof that no matter how crazy things can get, life is always so damn funny. And, yes, this is real. Thank you, hilarious Colombian shop dog, for making people laugh.

Lame!

2010-05-18T12:12:00.001-07:00

Dumbest graffiti ever.

Labor Day.

2010-05-10T16:29:00.000-07:00

Labor Day in United States conjures up memories and traditions of BBQ's, end of summer, back-to-school, and in Denver, Taste of Colorado in Civic Center Park. I have never passed a Labor Day in USA that wasn't anything but peaceful. However, the same summer afternoon traditions are not celebrated the world over. Let me share the story of Colombian Labor Day. Labor Day in Bogotá is more about potential violence. My best guess is that the Colombians like any excuse to throw rocks. Really though, I believe it is because Colombia has the highest unemployment in all of South America, whilst being one of it's best developed and most progressive nations. I'm not sure if the same display of power y'all are about to witness via the interweb is displayed in all parts of Colombia. Being the capital of this on-edge nation, Bogotá usually has a greater threat than other areas. Thus a more AWESOME display of military and police when the shit might hit.

Labor Days past have proven to be very violent here in the captial, and the police have learned from that. Labor Day seems to translate into all cops working, every one else off for the day. As I strolled around downtown Bogotá on the afternoon of May 1, I was truly impressed with what I saw. Never in my life have I seen such a show of power, not even the DNC in 2008 in Denver could come close to this quantity of cops. I would guess there was more cops and military in downtown than regular citizens walking the streets.

First and foremost, we, la policía of Bogotá, must protect the peaceful eaters of McDonald's. People need their burgers!!!

When this almost riot almost happened, I was there to make sure I saw the blood flow in the streets. This group of riot police arrived in a flash to quell a potentially dangerous situation of screaming drunken and bird-flipping Colombians. I should have been a journalist. . .

This is Labor Day, not go-to-church-day. No prayers today folks, God's got the day off.

One of the many riot vehicles in downtown Bogotá on Labor Day. This one even has the scars to prove it has been hit by many rocks in riots past. I saw one of these things in action earlier in the week unleashing it's water jets on a group of protesting school-aged children and madness ensued. An awesome vehicle, truly.

Part 2.

2010-05-10T16:03:00.000-07:00

Because the display was beyond impressive, I have included a second part for all to enjoy.Being a riot cop is boring when there are no riots.

Talk about impressive! It is clear that this guy thinks I'm a total idiot, and he's right. I am trying my best to look tough, but with his Robo-Cop gear and death stare(or is that confusion?), he wins. There is no need for this cop to do anything to prove his power over me. The fight would go something like this: I punch him, I break my hand doing so, I run away crying. Fight over. However, my foolishness and lack of self respect make for one of the most classic photos of my life.Good lord man. If these are transit police, and they are, where is all the transit they are supposed to be protecting? Oh, I guess since it's Labor Day, the drivers have the day off, but obviously the police force hired to protect them do not have that luxury. Instead, they will gather in the main plaza and stand around.

Don't stare too long at this group. You will either go blind from their fancy jackets or start hallucinating. Either way, you'd get arrested.

What the hell are you guys sitting here for if you aren't gonna do your damn job? Cops the world over daydream of donuts whilst the hoodlums have their way with windows. Ironic photo if there ever was one.

All in all, Labor Day was uneventful, if not full of photo opportunities. There was the threat of a riot in my neighborhood, and the hordes of police arrived in the drop of a hat. Of course I ran towards it, as opposed to away from it, which would have been the smart thing to do. But nothing happened, for the better of all in Bogotá. Can't wait 'til next year!

Doomed.

2010-04-23T14:38:00.000-07:00

I am doomed to a life of seeing snow as much as I try to avoid it. I hate you snow.

Chi-chi.

2010-04-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

The best thing about rainy season in Bogotá is that the daily rains, often very heavy, wash away the smell of piss left by all the Colombianos who don´t know how to look for a bathroom. They will literally whip it out and piss in any corner they please, often making for a smelly city. It is so completely disgusting, and makes me happy that the rains are here to clean Bogotá for a few months until the sun comes back out and bakes the piss into an odorous wonderland again.

Sweet, sweet redemption.

2010-03-25T09:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the sweetest redemption comes in the form of dramatic haircuts done in one´s bedroom, in one´s underwear and tank top at 9pm at night.

BOO!!! (who is that person? seriously?)

YAY!!! The nightmare is over and I´m back!

Bath time.

2010-03-20T08:56:00.001-07:00

Taken literally three minutes apart, these photos prove that apparently it was the day to bathe in Las Aguas.

¡Chistoso y cierto!

2010-03-17T08:44:00.000-07:00

Buenas noticias para todos. Qué chévere. Completemente chistoso y cierto en el mismo tiempo.

Military state.

2010-03-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

An inquiry. When is the last time a soldier armed to the teeth with a huge machine gun, and god-only-knows-what in all those pockets, knocked on your front door?

For me, it was yesterday. He needed a place to recharge his cell phone.

Fashion Week!

2010-02-26T06:58:00.000-08:00

Some tickets to La Semana International de la Moda(International Fashion Week)happened across my path last week, and you bet I jumped on the opportunity! As a barber without borders, I am also a fan of fashion without borders. It was a total blast to wander around with my offical credentials, pretending like I was offical. Mostly I was gawking at the Colombianos and Colombianas, and the plethora of goods that are supposed to make our lives more fasionable.

There are many, many reasons to want to go to an international fashion extravaganza, but here in Colombia, what more reasons are needed than Colombianas in bikinis? ¡Hurt me with your latina sass, mami!

This dress is so hot! Too bad we cannot say the same for the model, oh well, the bikinis were satisfying.

Sweet baby jesus! I imagine this boot is just for show, but wow what a show. In fact, fashion week in Bogotá was basically a trade show, and the vast majority of the companies showing were from Colombia. Colombia is famous for it´s leather goods, meaning that fashion week in Bogotá was basically a shoe and handbag expo. Talk about having to control myself.

And we save the best for last. My favorite thing about this photo(besides hot chicks in tiny bikinis)is that this was the week to preview for fall and winter fashion. However, equatorial nations promote bikini wearing year round. God bless Colombia and it´s positioning beneath the stars that seems to produce the hottest women that have ever lived. This photo is dedicated to A.F. Owen, who was a dumb-ass because he left the convention before this swimwear show. Eat it up sucker, I was there!

My meat stick is bigger than your meat stick.

2010-02-18T10:07:00.000-08:00

If this is the BBQ, I want to see the salad bar! Nobody can honestly tell me this is not one of the most impressive displays of cooking meat they have ever seen. It was hard to stand close to this, the heat was intense. Needless to say, it´s nearly impossible to get a meal in Latin America without meat. I have no idea what the deal with this BBQ, but it´s amazing. And, really, I see whole fish, I see whole chicken, now where is the whole cow?(that would be too cool for words) Was really happy to have my camera on this particular afternoon.

P.S. Did not eat any of it.

Hard at work. . .like everywhere in the world.

2010-02-08T11:26:00.001-08:00

Bogotá is crawling with police and military. In fact, I think most non-travelers would be scared to death of their presense. But sometimes I wonder if they do anything. There are areas of town that have like ten or twenty police on every block, and areas of town where there isn´t a cop to be found. The balance is off, terribly off. The areas of town that need them the most is where they are not. Seems easy to figure out, but obviously not. Here we have a fine example of a "soldier" cleaning his gun whilst on duty, in front of the church no less!

Here´s the wide angle shot of all of them "protecting" the church, you know, from drug dealers.

Bogotá can be boring, so we must have a little time for some physical antics("hey, give me my gun back!"), but we must make sure we are standing in the middle of the street to do it. (they don´t actually carry guns)

This one is not funny, it is a representation of the average age of the police here, about 13-years-old(hard to see his face in this photo, but just imagine a 13-year-old). Nothing like a bunch of insecure teenagers to protect you. Seriously, the average age of the police here is about 18 or 19, lots of them even have braces. Now that´s how you get respect man, a brace-faced, teenage cop with a night stick.

Ah, Colombia with it´s laid back latino lifestyle. In this photo I think we can actually witness a kidnapping occuring in the background. Keep up the good work boys!

I´ll take a #2 combo.

2010-02-01T10:23:00.001-08:00

I have little to no originality or patience today, so this is the post you all are getting. Love it or leave it. This is honestly the name of a burger joint on a main street in downtown Bogotá. Maybe as Americans we are obsessed with strength, cause I´m sure if a place called "Wimpy" opened in USA we would enter only to read the wimpy menu, then carry on to Chipotle where the food is anything but wimpy. Wimpy would never survive. Wimpy would get bullied out of the American market by the bigger burger chains and eventually lead a life of of B-list burger fame in a secondary economy. Perhaps how it ended up in Colombia. Either that or it´s some poor sap´s last name, you know, like McDonald´s. Please give me a Wimpy combo, with cheese. I am not hungry enough today to eat a strong combo or even a regular-strength combo. And, oh, the irony; I´m pretty sure that a 1/2 lb. burger is not actually that wimpy. Probably the only place in the world where something with the name "Wimpy" is described as "spectacular!".

Traveling is hilarious. It´s absolutely a riot to see how non-English speakers use and translate English words. WIMPY for life!

Now somebody please go out and eat a blue cheese bacon burger from Racine´s for me.

Colombian shopping spree.

2010-01-23T12:20:00.001-08:00

I have found myself living in my own apartment in Bogotá. After jumping through all the proper Colombian hoops, I offically live here, rental contract and everything. But that being said, apartments here come completely unfurnished. I´m talking not even a rod to hang my shower curtain. So this week has been a massive shopping spree to make myself a home; one could call it nesting, but not like that, I´m not having a Colombian baby. . .that I know of anyways. Ahem(throat clearing), let´s change the subject.

Bogotá has some flipping sweet flea markets that happen on Sundays and are filled with a world of things, literally. As I shopped last Sunday, I found myself absolutely fascinated by the wide range of objects that one can purchase second hand in this oh-so-special place. Needless to say, and very obviously posted below, I pulled out the camera quite a few times for things that are only believable in e-print. Get your tissues, you are going to cry, out of hilarity, out of disgust or out of sheer happiness that you can certainly buy anything you want in Bogotá. Speculum. Used speculum. When I open my back-alley PAP smear clinic, I now know where I can buy cheap equipment.

These little guys were the only live things for sale, thank god in heaven for that.

WHAT?!?!? You mean to tell me the secrets to perfect hair have been hiding in this junk heap in Colombia all this time?!?!?! My carreer just took a huge boost! Yes! And if I look hard enough, I know I can even find a VHS player to watch this inspirational, life and hair changing video. It´s in English and everything(tears welling up in the eyes. . .).

Colombia is an equatorial country, how a single ski boot ended up here is a mystery. This was the only one, literally did not have a match that I could find. Memories of life in the ski town. I know some Texan tourists who would eat this up.

Antique barber chairs. I damn near drooled when I saw these beauties. However, I am curious if the giant clown head is included in the $1,500,000 Colombian peso price of the chairs. Maybe I could install a Flobee in the clown head, put the clown head on the client, wait for 3 minutes, remove the clown head, take the money and sit the next client down. Or maybe I could wear the clown head whilst cutting to scare the screaming kids in to silence. "Here comes the barber with my sharp implements! Don´t be scared little boy, it´s just a hair cut, ha, ha, ha(evil laughing)." That should shut the little shits up.

Being that blogspot only lets me post five photos per post, I have included a part 2 to this Colombian flea market madness, read on.

Colombian flea markets part 2.

2010-01-23T12:06:00.001-08:00

This is so hilarious, and awesome!
For all of you that know I´m a die-hard cyclist, this sweet ride made me wish I was 2 feet tall.

Not only can you spend money in the markets, you can buy money. There was also many stalls with heaps of coins from around the world. As a coin collector and lover(that´s right I love coins), I had to control myself.

Roller derby anyone? Team America in the house. Stars and stripes til´ death!

Clearly this is what the speculum was for. Wow.

And finally, one can find grinning gold masks from pre-colonial times in the flea markets. Invaluable historical items. Just kidding, this is actually from the Museo del Oro(Gold Museum)in Bogotá, but I´ve been dying for an excuse to post it. Grrrrrr!

Representing only a small cross-section of the plethora of goods one can purchase. I had a blast killing time and money in the markets, and will return tomorrow to search out more stuff for my apartment. Please rest assured that I purchased none of the items shown here, but am considering a few of them. Hopefully some lucky Colombiano did not snatch them up before I can return to bargain with the sellers for these classic items.

Do not be surprised if there is a part 3 and part 4 to this post.

Lonliness.

2010-01-13T10:39:00.000-08:00

There is a rather popular belief that world travel is nothing but 100% good times. I will now break all hearts and dispell this purely false belief. It seems that many folks believe that when one travels, it´s a party every other night, mind blowing scenery, historical sites, friendly locals, wonderful restaurants and hostels full of travelers from the world over ready, willing and able to share good times. Not a reality. I should also preface this by saying that I am not exactly the typical "world traveler", meaning I am not backpacking from place to place for months on end. I have come here to Colombia to live, essentially I am an immigrant.

This past few days has been particularly difficult for me, dealing with homesickness and culture shock(AGAIN, I swear there is no remedy). I am not exactly missing the USA, I am missing the fact that people can understand me when I talk and I am missing the people in my life whom understand me best. It is terribly lonely to do this. I have no friends, I have no family, I have nobody whom has known me for more than the six weeks I have been here. And out of the people whom I have met in those six weeks with whom I am closest, there is the language and culture barrier. I cannot talk to anyone when I am sad or stressed out, and when I try my Spanish usually just frustrates me more. Nor do the Colombians understand because most of them have barely left their city, let alone their country, family, culture and language.

Let me tell you how much I love it when someone speaks to me in Spanish like I´m a native speaker and then looks at me like I´m an idiot for not understanding. I speak Spanish, I actually speak it rather well, but that does not mean that I have been speaking it for the same amount of time as these people. I would assume that it is obivous that Spanish is not my first language and to slow down when one speaks seems to be something that would happen without too much effort. I guess I´m wrong on this one. Do the second language English speakers a favor, enunciate and slow the hell down when speaking to them, it makes life SO much easier.

I am also totally convinced that there is a country-wide staring contest going on between all the Colombians. I cannot walk down the street for 3meters with out some man hissing at me(their way of trying to get my attention, I find it sickening and offensive), or some kid looking at me like I´m an alien, complete blank stare, and even the women stare like I am naked or something. That´s right, men, women and children, even the dogs stare sometimes, no lie. It is something I have dealt with everywhere I have gone and I will never grow accustomed to it. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I do not remember us Americans staring at every foreigner walking down the street in our country, but hey, I guess that´s the difference.

That´s me down there, all alone in Bogotá.
I´m sure some of you are thinking, "Why in the hell is she there if it´s so terrible?". That´s not the point, but there are days and times when I just want to scream and cry and scream some more because being so different, being so detached from everything one has known is not easy. If there was a word to describe difficult times one million, that´s how it is to change country. The more time I spend out of the United States, the more respect I have for the families who come to my country looking for a better life, and I completely understand why they live in neighborhoods full of others like them. When I find the neighborhood full of Americans, I´m there! However 99.9% of Americans believe Colombia is a drug-filled land of pure violence on every corner, so I doubt I will find a group of other United Statesians anytime soon. Not even the Brits do it for me. Sure we can speak English together, but it´s not the same, their humor is way too advanced for me. All the Aussies are alcoholics, boring and annoying. The Canadians are great, but they don´t quite understand the highstrung-ness of Americans. That´s it, that´s all I got. All alone with my American anxiety.

Though difficult beyond description, it is also rewarding beyond description. The things one learns about oneself and one´s culture by detaching from it is invaluable. I would love to call up and chat with one of my girlfriends for old times sake, but I would spend my savings in a week doing that. There is a trade off for everything in life. And though I do not identify with the culture here as well as I may like, I also have discovered I do not identify with American culture either. So I might as well be here where the weather is better.

Post script. Yes people, I know I signed up for this, I´m not ignorant to that. I don´t hate this at all, I just want some familiar company sometimes! I will survive, and be warm whilst doing it.

Family time.

2010-01-07T09:05:00.000-08:00

What kind of Colomiban holidays would I have had if I was not at some huge gathering of cousins, uncles, aunties, mommas, grandmas, etc, etc?? Naturally that´s were I was. I was "priviliged" enough to be invited to spend the holidays with my Colombian family, and it went something like this.

Christmas day I was invited by my own personal Colombian to spend with his family. My Colombian mom is pictured left, being very latina, heating up the grill with a blow dryer. Viva la vida. This gathering was loaded with young cousins, whom I am convinced are born with a sense of humor white people could only wish for. There was a pleothera of cousins, aunties and uncles, a grandma, and a baby-on-the-way. No Colombian family would be complete without a pregnant woman. I was more of an observer as I was slightly intimidated by the Spanish speaking nature of the gathering. But the party being loaded with kids, I found conversations of my own level of Spanish. Certainly all were curious who this gringa was. By the end of the day they all knew. Nothing major happens on Christmas day in Colombia, the parties are on Christmas Eve, this was just a good old fashioned family gathering. Pounds of meat were grilled and enjoyed, along with Colombian brew. A rather uneventful day, thank god, but enjoyable nonetheless.

The real party came the next week, for the New Year holiday. I was invited, yet again, by this particular Colombian to travel to another small city, Tunja, where his uncle, aunt and cousins live to enjoy the New Year. We stayed with the family, I got to share a room with the kids, since apparently the Colombian and I were not allowed to share a room(lame). Maria and Santiago, ages 7 and 11, have got to be the funniest kids I´ve ever met. Personality galore!!! On New Year´s Eve, I curled and styled Maria´s hair, making her feel like a real queen. That´s us, the two super beautiful ladies just before the party.

In proper Latino fashion, we partied at the house of the grandparents, dancing and partying until about 4am. I must admit, I have never danced in somebody´s house like that, but if you can´t beat them, join them. It was 100% Colombian good times. I learned how to do some of the basic dance steps and had the privilege of dancing with nearly every man, and practically every woman in the room.

Needless to say, sleep came easily after such a wild night, as Maria and Santiago demonstrate in their too-precious-for-words photo.

The next day, New Year´s day, it was back to the grandparent´s house for more grilled meat. I didn´t last too long this time. I was totally exhausted from the previous night. Most everyone else was battling a fierce hangover(not me, ha, ha). I was just battling exhaustion. At this point, I had eaten enough grilled meat for an entire year and opted out. My stomach and my mood were saying, "no, gracias". The New Year day passed without much action. The next day Uncle Cesar, Aunt Nora, the cousins, the Colombian and I departed for a few days of relaxation in a small town called Miraflores.

Miraflores is a town with not much to do, is surrounded by gorgeous Andes and has a perfect climate, like most of Colombia. I woke up the day of our departure for Miraflores with something fierce in my throat, and did not feel very well most of our three days in Miraflores. We passed our time at the local pool, something the kids could not get enough of. And due to my illness, I was allowed some alone time to rest in my room, not joining the family for every outing to the pool. When we were chilling at the hotel, the kids kept me entertained, along with the particular Colombian. I really cannot express enough how great these two kids are and how much I love spending time with them. They hammer me with questions about the United States and are constantly asking me how to say things in English. The kids were the highlight of my trip. Colombian adults don´t seem to understand that Spanish is not my first language and sometimes have me very frustrated with the way they speak to me, thinking I can understand perfectly. As if. Thus, the kids are my salvation.

After a week with the family, I was more than eager to get back to my life in Bogotá. Colombian families do EVERYTHING together, and it was hard for them to understand that sometimes I wasn´t hungry at the exact same time as every one else, but still had to go and eat. Being the Pura Americana that I am, part of me was dying for some alone time, some English-speaking time, and to just be goddamned left alone for a couple of hours to rest my Spanish-overloaded mind. I was granted the opportunity and it saved the trip for me. Plus, finding some alone time with the particular Colombian was also not of great availibility, sort of frustrating. By the end of the trip, I was feeling like a 30-year-old kid, not something I was very cool with. I´m sorry, but I will not answer to other adults. However, I kept my game face on and finally slept in my own bed last night, got up when I wanted and ate breakfast when I wanted.

It was a great week, it not a bit trying. Speaking Spanish for an entire week certainly helped my ability and confidence. Spending time and traveling with the particular Colombian was really special and I definitely thankful for the opportunities to spend time in ways very few other foreigners get to experience. I mean, when is the last time your Colombian uncle wiggled a piece of grilled cow intestine in your face whilst all your Colombian cousins laugh, knowing full well it was grossing you out? Good times.

The Medellin Mullet.

2009-12-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

What kind of barber without borders would I be if I wasnt blogging about amazing international hairstyles? Well, here it goes. Be careful what you wish for!!!

In the city of Medellin, one of Colombias major cities, the mullet seems to be amazingly popular. Funny considering the weather is sort of hot, I would think the citizens of Medellin would not want to hold the heat on their necks to the degree that they do. I am honestly impressed with the level of mullets that exist, and clearly I found myself poaching pictures everywhere I went with this blog post in mind. All of these photos were poached with the exception of the "super mullet"(to be later described).

The mullet seems to be a popular hairstyle in many countries, including the country of my birth. However, its acceptance varies from country to country, and even from region to region within various countries. I think to not write too much, the pics speak for themselves. And when you imagine that I am poaching all these photos, its even funnier! Enjoy.

The top photo I will call the "Metro-Mullet", not because this guy is metro sexual, but because I poached this photo on the metro train that Medellin is famous for.

Next, we have the "She-Mullet", kinda grainy foto because I exercised the zoom on my camera as to not let this mullet escape its blog fame.

"Team-Mullet", seriously, this group of like six guys all had mullets, now that is male bonding!

The fourth photo is the only one I actually asked permission for, this Colombian teen thought I was a total wierdo, and he is right. With his purple jeans, there is no other title except "Super-Mullet" that will do for this stylish young man!(Sorry for the sideways pic, these computers are a pain to figure out, somehow I know it doesnt take away from this mullets glory)

And finally, I think the citizens of Medellin are actually born with mullets as "Baby-Mullet" proves in the last photo. This kid was with this younger brother, and they both had baby-mullets. So cute! Nothing like raising your kids to be confident with their lame hair.

There is about fifteen thousand more types of mullets in Medellin alone, but there is only so much time, and memory space on my camera.

To close, I had as much fun, if not more, planning and posting this amazing array of mullets, as you have all had reading it and laughing yourself to tears. I owe a special thanks to my buddy Noah for showing me around Medellin and being patient whilst I chased down mullets to photograph. Traveling is such good times, even if to only check out the hair!

Livin' la vida.

2009-12-11T17:04:00.000-08:00

Offically left Bogotá yesterday, after nearly two weeks. The city with everything; good weather, set at the foot of beautiful mountains, dry air, lively city life and people, great food, great shopping, great looking men, and one of the largest cycling path networks in the world. Plus, every Sunday the city shuts down about 50 or so miles of main roads for the ciclovia, a chance for people to get out on their bikes, free of traffic. What a great place! Above photo is a partial view of Bogotá(and, no that tiny cluster of buildings is not downtown Botogá, downtown is much larger), taken from a mountain on the east side of the city called Monserrate,where there is built a 300-year-old church. Reached by cable car! Monserrate is viewable from everywhere in the city, obvioulsy.

This photo is a night shot of the celebration of Dia de las Velitas, Day of the Vigils, some holiday I personally have never heard of but is great because the Colombians line the streets with candles, stunning to see, and then they party in the streets(above pictured). I'm telling you, these people shut down the most main roads in the city for damn near everything. Screw traffic, let's party! I could have stood here for hours and just people watch, actually it's what I did.

I have come to the belief that this Homero Valdez t-shirt is my favorite t-shirt I have ever owned in my life. And that is saying something, because I have owned and currently own many rad tees. Latin America is a wonderland of Simpsons t-shirts. It´s like Grandpa Simpson and Juan Valdez had a coffee growing baby.

I'm currently in Medellín, another big Colombian city, with my buddy Noah that I met in Guatemala. He's been here for about two months and today we went to the DAS office so he could renew his visa. It was nice to get a chance to see what the hell it requires, but kind of boring to sit there and watch everything move in latino time. Obviously still adjusting from the rat-race that is my home country.

Certainly I prefer the pace of latino time.

¿Como?

2009-12-05T10:16:00.000-08:00

So cliché, but Colombia is amazing. Including the way they speak Spanish, which I´m not so sure is the same Spanish that I learned.

All I had previously understood about Colombia was how beautiful and well pronounced the Spanish is here. But after arriving I am of a different set of beliefs. The Spanish here is crazy, it is fast, and not as well pronounced as it´s made out to be.

Living in Guatemala, where I learned Spanish, I spoke and learned with Mayan indians. For the Mayans, Spanish is also their second language, after indigenous languages(very different from Spanish). Being their second language, plus living in a small town, the Spanish we spoke was not very advanced, and also spoken rather clearly. I communicated with no problems in Guatemala, and felt like a damn language genius for learning so quickly.

Here in Bogotá, oh my sweet baby Jesus, the Spanish is nuts. I knew I would have to adjust to a different accent, well, accents since different regions very in dialect just like USA. But there are situations were I may not understand a single word someone says to me. Now, that being said, I have made great strides in my first week here and am already feeling a lot more comfortable and confident when listening to the Colombians.

After my first couple of days here I was like, well there is only one way to learn how to speak with these people. I had to get brave, and it´s been working. Let me also just say, the Colombian men have no problem helping me through a conversation. They are probably just to happy to have the attention of a blonde. It´s great, I cannot lie about that.

So, when I arrived, I was like, "crap, what the hell, I have to learn Spanish all over again??". However, after a week, things are settling nicely, and my brain is a traffic jam of Spanish and English. Eventually the language highway will clear and all things will move smoothly through their respective lanes.

Such a beautiful city, beautiful people, and I am beginning to understand why Colombia is famous for it´s beautiful Spanish. This is truly the heart of Latin America, a thick and powerful energy oozes from the people and the culture here. The Colombians love life, amongst their incredible struggles and the violence that has permiated their socitey for years.

I am blessed to have been led to such a wonderfully unique place on Earth, and have already cried the words "¡Nunca salgo de Colombia!(I´m never leaving Colombia!)".

Re-focus.

2009-11-19T21:40:00.000-08:00

Having all this time to kill tonight, I was reading on fatcyclist.com. Basically an awesome blog mostly about cycling, but also the recent health decline and death from cancer of the author's wife. I was in all sorts of tears, blubbering like a fool, but for legitimate pain and heartbreak suffered by an extremely undeserving family.

But enough about Fatty. Sometimes when I have too much time to sit around doing nothing(ie: now)I get all wierd, depressed, moody and the like. These moods rarely last more than a few minutes and I have to remind myself that I am recovering from a virus that rocked my world, postponed my trip and is now filling my lungs with post-viral goo. That on top of the fact it has been a week since I've ridden my bike, my breaking point(I will ride tomorrow, come hell or high water, or high level lung goo).

I try my damndest to not live a day without realizing what a blessed existence I live. I am living my personal dream by being able to do exactly what it is I want to do. I have a healthy body(sick mind). I have a healthy family(sick minds), including the cutest nieces and nephews this world has ever seen. I have an amazing money making skill at my beckon call, something with which I am very good and enjoy thoroughly. I have all the "things" I want, basically meaning a passport, clothes, and bicycles. I have earned the respect of numerous people the world over. I have and have had powerful experiences that resemble things only stories can invent. I have been humbled by the positive reaction I cause in people. I have the ability to adapt to any situation(save winter), and can fall into any group of people and be one of them. I can go anywhere, do anything.

I have been blessed with the gift to inspire, a gift I do not take lightly and have only very recently come to fully accept and embrace.

I make people smile, I help people to dream.

I do not let negative people get me down, or negative situations bum me out. Rather, I am consistently thankful I am not living that existence and sometimes try to put a smile on the face or turn the mood of a particular cranky one. A silly dance usually does the trick. If you are currently not laughing, you have not seen my silly dancing.

I realize and live with the wisdom that nothing lasts forever, not the good, not the bad, so to embrace it is the only option. I believe one of the greatest gifts one can give oneself is the ability to live in the moment, right now, today. Why bother obsessing over yesterday and tomorrow? All we have is today, live in it!

I'm not trying to glorify myself and brag about how wonderful I am. I could fill equally as much space(if not more)with my mistakes, faults and struggles, but then that would completely defeat the purpose. It's those things I do not focus on, but work on and learn from instead, all the while keeping my good qualities on my side of the fight. How could I possibly achieve what I do in my life if I'm beating myself up as opposed to building myself up? Ask yourself that one.

I try my hardest to never forget these things, among the many others. No matter what happens to me, stupid changed plans, heartbreak, robberies, or whatever, I never lose sight of the fact that things can always, always be worse. This is not to say my life is easy, but in perspective, it is. I also never forget that this is something I have earned, nobody gave this to me. I chose this, as it is certainly a choice, and I work for it. I have been on the dark side, very, very dark, but I decided long ago, that stuff is not for me. Simple as that, with lots of hard work.

If anyone is ever feeling all sorry for themselves, fatcyclist.com, the July and August archives will change your perspective pretty quickly.

Even if it means making your own blog to write how great your life is, never lose sight of what is truly important.

Gettin' on a jet plane. . .NOT!

2009-11-18T11:06:00.001-08:00

I'm writing this from my fancy laptop whilst flying over the Carribean on my way to Colombia, yay!! Oh, wait, that is in my fever hallucinations. In fact, I'm wearing like four layers of pajamas in an attempt to keep warm and feel semi-normal whilst fight off this demon virus that has kept me here in USA, still! Again!!

As is the way any and all of my epic trips have gone, this one would not have panned out appropriately if it had not changed dramatically just before it was supposed to happen. In fact, I am going to Colombia because of a trip that changed dramatically, and didn't even happen. Remember when I was "planning" on going to Africa to visit my sister?? Instead of going to Africa, I stayed and worked way too much, likely promoting this illness.

My flight to Colombia departed at 6:15am, this morning. Yesterday, after being in denial for three days about being sick, I could no longer deny when my fever spiked nearly three degrees in about as many minutes. Off to the doctor I went. At the clinic, I was diagnosed as not having the flu or strep, though my symptoms screamed of flu. Then what the hell do I have? I am led to believe that I have a case of "planned another trip", thus making sure it didn't happen.

Honestly, this is ridiculous. In the three months I have been here, I have missed six flights that I would have been on if everything would ever go even remotely as planned. First, I was supposed to go to Morocco, then from Morocco to Egypt and back, then from Morocco to back to USA, also had a return flight to Guatemala, and finally this one to Colombia. Impressive.

However, I have to realize that this is all a blessing in disguise as all my changed plans have always been. I really did work too much while I was here, leaving me no time to see friends and family. This affords me the opportunity to see people I love and care about. I was also really stressed about having enough time to properly prepare, which I am also relieved about. Every time this happens, which is every time, it always happens for just the right reasons, just the right timing and usually turns out to be beautiful and wonderful in ways I could never have imagined.

So as of right now, I am here in Colorado until next Friday night. And god only knows what could happen between now and then!

I love halloween!

2009-11-04T09:10:00.001-08:00

Any holiday that is purely about costumes and candy is the greatest holiday anyone could have ever thought up. Rock on!!

D'oh!!

2009-10-29T12:54:00.000-07:00

I spoke too soon on the whole "god help me if there is a blizzard before I leave" thing. I cannot honestly believe I am living through this again.

Note to self.

2009-10-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

I honestly cannot believe I'm seeing goddamned snow fall outside. And for like the fifth time this month. Last time I checked, this is October, not December.

I am making a note-to-self about my new "weather safe-zone" here in Colorado. I used to think that maybe about the middle or end of April until about late November would be relatively safe for me to avoid the bulk of the cold and crappy weather in Colorado. Well, woe is me, I have made a foolish mistake! I am realizing that my new "weather safe-zone" in Colorado has shrunk to June through September. That's right, summer, and summer only. This stupid fall, and I know stupid spring, can be just as gnarly as the beast winter itself. I mean what's the point of naming these seasons separately anyways. I shall start to call them cold unpredictable crap and summer.

I know that me being in Colorado right now was very unexpected, unplanned and to be honest, undesired. I would be in the deserts of Egypt right now if the stupid Mauritanians would have settled down in order to keep my sister from being sent home from her Peace Corps service, ultimately canceling my trip to see her. However, I will never, ever, ever again plan to come to Colorado so late in the summer, lest I have to unexpectedly stay once again. June til September, that's all I can do.

I am a mostly a commitment-phobe, but one thing I have no problem commiting to is never being in the cold again. I am currently counting down the days until I go to the fabled "land of no snow" yet again, which happens to be what I call wherever I end up going to avoid this unbelievably annoying and inconvenient weather. I have 24 days, and I leave very early on that 24th day. God help me if I am in a real blizzard before this time.

I quote a client from work when I say, "That Al Gore is full of crap". I called it years ago when I said that Denver is the only place on Earth that global warming is making colder. And I have to say to all the idiots that ask me where I'm from and then wonder why I haven't "gotten used to it"(it being the godforsaken cold), what about cold weather is there to "get used to"? The teary stinging eyes from the cold air? Dressing like a complete fool to stay warm? Being unable to move outdoors in an effort to avoid one's skin from contacting the cold air? Idiots! To the people who ask me if I ski(apparently a reason to like winter), who the hell skis in Denver?! One must go to the mountains for that, so winter in the city is totally useless. Clearly these peoples brains have been frozen from too many cold days.

I do love Colorado, but the cold weather makes me hate Colorado. I don't want to hate Colorado. In order to not hate Colorado, June til September.

A thank you.

2009-10-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

As I kill time here tonight entertaining myself with the rants and raves section of craigslist, I have to say thank you to the one who posted that there is a website called www.textsfromlastnight.com.

It will likely offend most of you, but is the funniest thing I have seen the internet do in a while.

Thank you crazy craigslist rant n' raver! I am happy we both have nothing to do tonight!

I'm getting old.

2009-09-29T21:44:00.000-07:00

I just have to have a bit about the horribleness of American hip-hop videos. As I work in the barber shop we sometimes have videos playing on the TVs. We don't listen to the music(thank you baby Jesus), but seeing the videos is bad enough. I really want to ask these guys making these horrific hip-hop videos if they actually think that showing their ugly bling, jumping around, and barely clothed women dancing like whores is original. Have these guys ever watched any other videos?

The exchange goes something like this:

Person 1: "What should we have in the video guys?"

Person 2: "Oh, oh, I know, we can have a really cool car, some babes acting slutty, and maybe those diamonds I bought last week wit my check from the record company. I'll wear my best t-shirt."

Person 1: "You are a genius. Let's not forget the party scene either!"

I swear if I see one more "rapper" covered in like fourteen women, sitting in his way-too-expensive car, moving his hands back and forth on his invisible turn tables, bobbing his head up and down to some over produced track, wearing clothes that don't fit him, I will cry myself to sleep in the fetal position. One is inclined to wonder that if these guys can afford such luxuries as diamonds and fast cars, that they might also afford clothes that fit. I mean if you have millions of dollars why are you still dressing in baggy t-shirts, baseball caps and enormous pants? Hire a personal stylist loser.

This is surely a combination of being out of the country for a while, thus having culture shock, and getting old. I find myself hypnotized by the absolute shitiness of these videos when they are playing. I can't look away but it hurts to keep watching. It's like when these "artists" get money, they get even stupider than they were before.

Then I see men and boys walking through the city every day dressed like these style-less wonders whom happened to make it big. I ask myself every time I see them, "Do they realize those pants are for someone who is like 300lbs.? Did the poor thing used to be all chubby and just lost weight but can't afford new pants?". Somehow I think the answer no. I also wonder if these guys know that the brim of a hat is made to block the sun from one's eyes, not one of their ears.

Don't get me wrong here, I absolutely love hip-hop and rap music. But it makes me mad to see this mainstream crap that gives this genre of music it's bad name and appearance. The hip-hop and rap on TV and is so unbelievably bad. Remember good groups like The Beasite Boys, Run DMC, and Outkast? That is the real deal. And what about Eric B. and Rakim? Hell yeah! Mary J. Blige is a class act as well. These groups and individuals help make hip-hop and rap what is truly is, art. Anyone seen "Sensual Seduction" video that Snoop Dogg came out with a couple years ago? Now that is original!

So I suppose I feel a little bit better and I'm sure I'm not alone in my feelings here. I could care less who agrees or not, this is my blog and I must fill it up with my old lady ranting and raving.

Pull your pants up boys, go to the store and have a tailor measure you. Then buy some clothes for your poor, naked, dancing girlfriend.

Behind the chair.

2009-09-14T21:10:00.000-07:00

Being back working in USA, I find myself totally enchanted with being surrounded by hair stylists again. The hair stylist culture is pure fun, if not overly dramatic, properly sassified, laced with a deep obsession for what we do, and ample shit talking. I have no problem jumping back in head first(no pun intended).

Working on people's hair is nothing short of one of the deepest levels of human contact. We are changing a person's appearance and that is not to be taken lightly. Not to mention, we do it with very sharp instruments. The only other professions to level this are doctors and tattoo artists. On this short list, barbers and hair stylists are the most fun.

Our days are filled with, when not cutting, staring out the window and completely judging everyone's appearance walking by, fashion sense, clothes, manner of walking or driving, and the like. This alone can be hours of fun, usually limited to only minutes as we are busy folk whom like to stay busy. We flirt endlessly with each other, no matter the sex of the flirter or flirtee, sexual orientation(of course our industry is famous for it's high percentage of gay men), or marital status. The flirting is harmless, always fun, and if ever acted out would probably be kind of sick. We are always talking about each others hair; what is different, what could be different, and what should be different. This leads us to frequently changing our hair, one of the hair stylists leading personal features.

Then, of course, there is the famous shop gossip. Not only do we talk to each other, we talk about each other. I work for a very large company with many shops around town. There is always something new, somebody new, something old making a return(yours truly), and all the drama we would ever need to fuel the gossip fire every chance we get. The large majority of this is done in a positive light, mostly catching up on our friends and coworkers dramas, but every now and then, there is some ugly slung around. "Did you hear about. . .?!?" I love it!

There is the occasional client lust as well. We have all fallen in love with either one of our own clients or the client of another. This love lasts usually 20 to 30 minutes, the length of a hair cut. As soon as one's hot client leaves, a look is shot across the shop at the stylist whom had the pleasure. The look that screams "I love him!", and we carry about our day. We are however, endlessly professional and likely most hot men that come in the shop have no idea we are looking. We have years of skill at checking out clients whilst remaining completely sly, I mean professional. I will say that I absolutely love being at a job where men endlessly walk through the door, paying us to make them even more handsome. It's great.

Our hair stylist talk, or way of talking is perfected. We are masters at phrases like: "Ewwwwww!" or "Yuuuuuck,", "Oh my God. . .", "Did you see what he/she was wearing?!", "Look at his/her hair!(whilst pointing spasticly and cringing)", "What is that smell?!?". The list is endless, we truly have perfected a dramatic flair to practically every single little thing we talk about.

When it comes to technical work for busy bodies, haircutting, hair styling, and barbering suits us to a "T". For those of us to whom hair is the end all be all of existence, we are insane perfectionists, almost to a fault. There is nothing more satisfying to me professionally than obsessing over a tight fade until it is seamless, checking it in the mirror, and obsessing some more. It is amazing sometimes to watch others at work; watch their techniques, ways of standing, moving their bodies, shears, clippers, combs. This is not to say all hair stylists are as into what they do as I am. We have all had or seen horrible haircuts. To this unfortunate happening, I am privy everyday. But then I get to fix them!

We actually have the best job in the world. We leave every day with cash in hand, we get to make the world a better place to look at, and to smell(for the stinky headed clients). We get to feed the unforgiving human desire to gossip, chat and basically communicate. We get to cure dry scalp. We get to laugh a lot, we get to work with all walks of life, coworkers and clients. We get to help people. It is amazing sometimes to see a person's whole demeanor change after they look in the mirror after being pampered for a while and see something they like, a lot. It is downright inspiring. Sometimes the change in demeanor comes from the simple fact that someone is touching them and listening to them while they blab about whatever. Sometimes the change in demeanor is from the fact that they got to just sit and say nothing for a half hour. This is truly a powerful interaction we are having with people every single day, many times a day. Makes up for all the hair splinters, sore backs, cut fingers, hair filled t-shirts, etc, etc.

I am so lucky to have ended up as a barber, I wouldn't change it for the world. I don't have to either, I have the world from barbering. I was made for this stuff.

RTD

2009-09-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

I am completely convinced that there is a bad body odor requirement in order to ride public transportation here in Denver. I don't know what short circuits in these peoples brains and/or hygiene habits that leads them to share their filth with me on the bus, but yuck. I would think that if one is so inclined to sit on a mobile cubicle of stink, in the close company of others, that one would be so kind as to shower and clean one's clothes at least once a week. Maybe even a haircut too, but that's just the barber in me talking. Then again, I suppose a haircut would require washing one's hair, clearly too much to ask.

However, I wouldn't trade it for the insanity of driving.

Let the madness ensue!

2009-08-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

Spent the better part of the last week and a half in the mountains of Colorado, Keystone specifically, with my family, reunionizing. Good times had by all, if not the greatest reminder of my life to never have children. Don't get me wrong here, I love the nieces and nephews(seven in total), I'm just ever so glad to leave them and have my days free of children throwing fits over not having chocolate cake, and the like.

If anything was worth it, it was the classic one-liners. Things came out of the mouths of these children like, "I like nightmares"(yeah, right!), "I want the needle!"(spoken upon sliver removing), and "Mom, how do you spell PJ?". And when told that there was no peeing allowed in the hot tub, a response of "Why?!" by my six-year-old niece was truly classic. There were so many others, but most went the way of the dinosaurs as it's hard to remember something when you are laughing so hard you can't see.

Being in the mountains, I thought I'd be on my bike every single day. But then I remembered that the weather in the mountains is "cold", and I only rode once. I, however, had a very important job of staying in my pajamas all day, holding couches down, feeding nieces and nephews candy and cookies all hours of the day, and making sure the hot tub didn't feel left out of the family fun. Plus my family has a knack for putting off haircuts until they can see me. Honestly, it's something I enjoy. I got to give my 3-year-old niece her very first haircut of her little life. Yay!

Another hilarious, unexpected happening, was the regression back to one's childhood years whilst amongst all brothers, sisters, and parents. I found it to be so funny that myself and my siblings acted as if we were all kids again. The ever present sibling rivalry included, but was not limited to, name calling, shit-talking, hair pulling, teasing someone while they were sleeping or napping, fighting over what to watch on TV, and the best part, poking someone if they bent over in front of you. All of the previously listed events were followed by running to the parents and telling on the offending brother or sister. Sounds normal amongst actual children, but we are all older than 25. Good times.

We ate like kings, if kings eat like they haven't eaten in a year. Everyone had a day or a meal or whatever that they had to cover, giving a surprisingly good variety. And naturally, the last day, we ate as many leftovers as we could shove our already over-full bellies.

No major fights, no major injuries, no pooping or peeing in the hot tub(at least that we were aware of). Family reunion 2009: Deemed a success.

I can wait until next time.

Pedal power.

2009-08-14T13:31:00.000-07:00

As I ride myself to death every single day here in Denver, I notice something. Surely some of the drivers in the passing cars are a bit envious and would love to be on their bicycles as well. I mean the weather has been amazing. I can tell by the way they look at me(maybe they are just staring at the spandex). However, whilst riding, I never find myself wishing I was in a car. Ha, ha, suckers! Hope you enjoy getting fat and mad in your car as much as I enjoy laughing at you.

How a day can change a lifetime.

2009-08-11T07:17:00.000-07:00

It is so very good to be home. The weather is about perfect, in fact, it is perfect. I forget how amazing Colorado is! I have been riding my bike every single day, which is to make it sound like I have been here some great amount of time already. I'm working on my fourth day. . .

Really, though, I have been in USA barely more than three days, and it might as well be three since I write this in the morning. Considering all that has happened for me since arriving, I feel like I've been here for two or three weeks.

Upon arrival on Friday night, my bicycle did not arrive with all my other luggage from Miami. I had picked it up in Miami to go through customs, but it did not arrive in Denver. Strike one! No big deal, it was still in Miami and scheduled to arrive the next morning. The best thing about lost or late luggage is that it is delivered directly to your house. Fine by me, they can lug around that 60lb. box, making me feel like I got my $112 worth for the extra luggage fee.

On Saturday, I promptly woke up(whatever that means)and rode to meet my friend to attend our friend's memorial service, the whole reason I arrived early anyway. In a stunning setting in the mountains of Colorado Springs, we all remembered our friend whom died a tragic death on his mission to disappear in the mountains of southern Colorado to starve himself to death. The reception following was equally as beautiful, if not extremely trying as I was one of the few to see the very last video he made of himself before he died. Seeing someone you care about make a final goodbye to all after forty days of not eating is heart wrenching. Needless to say I did not sleep much on Saturday night. I am comforted by the fact that he died in a beautiful setting, on his own terms. He taught many people many things, was brilliant, talented, hilarious, and unfortunately, troubled. You will be missed Branko.

Upon arriving home on Saturday night, I was informed that things with my sister are totally up in the air with her Peace Corps service due to violence in her country. What this means for me is that I am now likely taking another solo trip. This trip I have planned to Africa was to visit and travel with her, but if she is removed from her country due to dangerous situations, I will be traveling alone. Just another major life change all in one day, no big deal(!!!).

Still on Saturday. Barely back 24 hours at this point. Late at night, I met up with somebody whom I was very close with last summer before I left to do this whole Guatemala thing. As I was away the past eight months, I realized how strong my feelings are for this person and we met up to talk it out. I had been holding these things in for a while and was very excited to see him and to get it off my chest, finally! Well, an hour later, I walked away, with tears in my eyes, heart broken. We had been in very close contact while I was away and I was certain he felt the same way. The last month before I came home he suddenly became very distant, and confirmed to me that yes, he had felt the same way, but things for him had changed, and he was moving on. I guess that now I also have no choice but to move on.

Nothing like taking care of business all at once though. All this happening in my first day back is overwhelming, but prevents it from being dragged out. There is something to be said for that.

In light of information about my sister, I'm thinking to b-line it to Spain upon arrival to Morocco. Kinda had my fill of third world countries right now, and hey, I speak the language. Woo hoo for Spanish! Really, though, the last thing I want right now is to wander a Muslim desert country in the middle of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting, where everything shuts down. I know more details than I am dishing, out of respect for my sister's request for privacy on this matter.

I have never, ever, ever, had a trip go as planned, and the changes almost always come right before I leave. This is nothing new for me to deal with, and honestly I am excited. I am looking forward to spending time alone, believe it or not. And I am totally stoked to go to Spain. I have always wanted to go, but Europe is so expensive I have avoided it. This is some fateful way of getting me there anyways. Maybe I won't come back ;) Who knows what will happen for me as a result of the life-changing day I went through upon arrival last week . . .

Until then, however, I am enjoying time with my family, friends, and road bike. I have a family reunion coming up in Keystone the last week of August, which I am looking forward to immensely. I will desperately try to maintain a relatively low profile to avoid any more major happenings. I've been here three and a half days, I have three weeks more to go, I already need a break.

Parting words.

2009-08-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

Well, another photo-less post. Old school!

I am leaving San Pedro tomorrow, paid way too much for a private shuttle to shuttle me and all my crap(including my bike)to Antigua for the night then on to my flight on Friday morning. I changed my ticket, for a small fortune, to attend a friends memorial service on Saturday.

It has felt totally like a whirlwind the past few days, and especially today as I am packing up my room I have lived in for the past eight months. I am ready to leave, something I did not think I would ever feel about this place. When I arrived I was so desparately in love with the lake and the mountains, I did not know if I could ever leave. I am grateful to be feeling totally at peace with this decision.

I have barely had time to think about all the things I will miss here, certainly there are plenty. But there is also many things I will not miss about this place, including the unsafe feeling I have every single place I go. And I will never, ever miss being ripped off for being a gringa. I cannot wait to shop in places where the prices are marked, and the same for people of all races. Yay! I shopped yesterday with two of my girlfriends that are here visiting, and by the end of the day, I was exhausted from yelling at merchants for quoting the most obscene prices. But we sure got some good stuff.

I packed my bicycle up earlier today, my biggest stress, and am kind of taking a break from finishing off packing the other things. Really it is very strange. I feel like I have been here for one month, not eight. I also know that after some time reflecting, many things will make more sense to me. I know I will learn the most from my time here as I reflect on it, and travel on to other cultures. I have no regrets, I am very grateful for my time here, I have learned so much!!

Traveling with my brother for a few weeks away from San Pedro gave me a more centered perspective than I had shortly after I was robbed and so upset. This place is not completely bad. It is real, like every other place. People arrive here, myself included, and are so charmed, thinking we have found the most tranquilo place on Earth. "How could anything ever be bad here, it is so beautiful!!!" is what I used to think. Then after a while, you just realize it is a normal town, and one with a lot of poverty.

I guess thats what I have to say as I try and focus on something for more than six seconds. There is really too much to try and communicate! This life change is not something I have ever gone through, and as usual, came very unexpectedly. I would have it no other way.

I will be back in United States on Friday, feeling like I went through a time warp. See you then!

Hit me with the drill, doctor!!

2009-07-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

Due to the fact that I can no longer post photos as a result of my camera´s robbery, I must now rely on my half-assed "journalism" to keep the mobs entertained. Here it goes. . .

Being that my time is winding down here in Guatemala, I must take advantage of the good things(read: cheap things)that are available here. I am currently in Antigua, which represents all that Guatemala is not; safe including real police, free of street dogs, amazing restaurants, etc. It´s heaven for me since I am really not too keen on the real Guatemala right now.

One of the benefits of being in a third world(read: cheap)country is the availability of medical and dental care that is as good as, if not sometimes better than in my own country. One of the best things too is that it is always possible to get an appointment the same day you call, amazing. God bless the Latinos inability to plan ahead. I love calling to make an appointment, they barely take my name(usually only my first name anyways), let alone any bullcrap insurance information or guarantee of payment. In fact, I have to ask them if they want to take my phone number.

I had visited a dentist in a town on the lake about two months ago and had a cleaning and a couple of fillings. One of the fillings was becoming very sensitive, and I had no intentions of returning to the same dentist since he pissed me off royally one day by yelling at me like a freakin´ 6-year-old child for using the bathroom in his building whilst wandering the town. I knew there would be a plethora of amazing dentists here in Antigua since Antigua has all that is right and good in the world(read: all that is cheap and good in the world). I happened to run into another ex-pat gringa in my same hotel here and asked her for a recommendation for a dentist here in Antigua.

I hunted down the office and made an appointment for, you bet, the same day. I went on Monday afternoon and she examined the tooth, said the filling was too high, meaning it wasn´t properly shaped after being filled, then proceeded to fix me up proper. She also mentioned the other seven(!!!)small cavities I had and made appointments to fill the others. Hey, life as a candy junkie isn´t all good, but it sure is sweet. Ha, ha, I´m seriously funny.

At this point I was willing to do whatever she said, her damn beautiful brown eyes and her smarts, speaking to me in her dental spanish. I have had only a few harmless, fleeting crushes on women in my life, and well, the hot Guatemalan dentista is now one of them. Oh, Doctora Muñoz. . . how I want you to fix all my teeth.

Back on track. I went yesterday to do one side of my mouth, as numbing the whole mouth can cause tounge choking death. First, however, I must mention that it was just me and two Catholic nuns in the waiting room, one really old and one really young. Imagine this, we are in the waiting room of the dentist office sitting across from each other. I´m in a spaghetti strap tanktop and shorts and these two are looking at me and my giant skull tattoos as though they are witnessing the devil herself. After a moment and a friendly "Buenas tardes" from me, I noticed the young one reading her mini travel bible as though to keep the demons tattooed on my leg from coming alive and kissing their virgin lips. Classic!!

Hot doctora examined me and said we could do this without anesthesia since the cavities were all very shallow. Sounds horrendous, but for me, I hate the mouth numbing, the giant needle in my throat, and the taste of blood after chewing up of the inside of my cheeks afterwards since I cannot feel anything. Plus I had popped a preemptive Guatemalan vicodin since drilling at the dentist always sucks. I was game.

Hour and a half later, she had fixed the five small ones on the left side, taking meticulous detail to file and shape them properly. This was love. She had another patient after me, a screaming niño, whom only was there for x-rays. After that she said she had time and could fix the other side, being that no drugs were being used. Again, fine by me, getting it over with in one shot is better. So she did the other two and I´m feeling all dapper, ready to break in my my new teeth parts by celebrating with a dinner of pure candy. Yay!

God bless her, not only for being hot, but I mean, what dentist is like "No necesitamos usar anestesia, porque son pequeñas(we don´t need to use anesthesia since your cavities are small)."? Really, it was so much better this way. Saving me money and chewed up cheeks all at the same time.

Well, seven fillings and an x-ray later, I walked out paying just shy of $200 for everything. I know you must all think I´m a fool for leaving this place. But the cheap dental care just makes up for the price of all the stolen things that are no longer mine and must be bought again.

Thus, my dental experience comes to a close in Guatemala. I have one more appointment on Saturday, which was originally set to do the other cavities, but I will go just to make sure there is no adjusting of the fillings to do after a few days of settling in. That being said, sadly, mine and Doctora Muñoz´s relationship is over, I am scheduled with another dentista. It´s okay though, some things aren´t meant to last. Plus if I keep up my candy and brownie habit, I´ll be back to the dentista in no time!

venting!!!!! (sad but true)

2009-07-15T14:17:00.000-07:00

I find it fascinating that a place so beautiful can be filled with so much ugliness.

Upon first glance, these Mayan people are charming as hell. "Oh, the Mayans, and their ancient culture. Their typical clothing, and their native languages, their cute brown babies running the streets" are among some of the things I have said and thought. However after months of living here, I have seen all sides, and now I only look at these people in disgust.

My ability to post photos was stolen the other day, from my house, in broad daylight as my brother and I ate dinner in a nearby restaurant. A group of little shits climbed over my front door/gate and stole my backpack sitting on a bench, inside the bag was my camera. My camera had every single photo I have taken since living here. Gone.

This robbery comes only two short weeks after our house was broken into as we slept one night and my former roommates $7000 computer was stolen(she is a videojournalist, her only reason for traveling with something so expensive). That was her second computer stolen in her time in Guatemala. She will likely not return to finish the documentary. "Why am I here helping these people when this is what they do to me?" she said the morning after discovering her second computer was gone. I could not agree more amiga.

These people steal every chance they get. Charging us more for the same bus ride as the locals/other natives, charging us more for the same damn food in the market. Looking us up and down before quoting a price for anything, just to make sure they can milk us for every single Quetzal(Guatemalan currency)they can squeeze out of us. My same friend whom had her computer stolen, had her clothes and shoes stolen as her and her brother swam in some natural limestone pools in the jungles here. Gone for ten minutes and when they returned, no clothes and shoes. Clothes and shoes! They stop at nothing.

If you can even believe this madness, you are probably asking yourselves why I am choosing to live like this. I am not going to as of August 17. I have had a trip to North Africa planned, with my departure from Guatemala being August 17. The plan was to return to Guatemala after my two months in Africa, but I won´t. I cannot and will not live like this.

I cannot pass any natives in the streets with any inkling of a positive thought. I´m looking at every 14-year-old boy, looking for my backpack on his back. Saying Hola to these people is not something I really do anymore. I do not want to live with this resentment and bitterness, thus, it´s time to move on. Barbers without borders will be crossing this border to likely never return.

I know as well as anyone, that robberies happen everywhere. But it´s the particular way of thievery here that I will not tolerate. They think we are all rich beyond our wildest dreams and they can steal all they want, because we have endless riches to buy to more. Unfortunately, money cannot buy back my 8 months of photos.

It is racist, plain and simple. As victims of racism, I would think the Mayans wouldn´t perpetuate more, but it seems to be all they know. This place will not develop, ever, if these people keep up with their own cycle of repression. Ripping off the very people that are trying to help them break free of their dysfunctional lifestyle.

Maybe you are also asking yourselves, why not stay and help? Once you give here, they just take more, something I have learned the hard way. People like me come here, our heads swimming with ideas and intentions to help. After time, and disappointment after disappointment, 95% of us gain my current attitude. We can´t even help these people, they do not include us, they do not respect us. They use us and spit us out, with their hands in our pockets the entire time. I´m sure there are success stories with helping native Mayans, but I have not heard any except in story books. Every single expatriate that I know with real time spent here in San Pedro, has little if nothing to do with the natives due to endless negative experiences. Not to mention a deep bitterness attached to it.

This place has broken my heart. Nothing looks the same here, nothing feels the same. And to be very honest, this place doesn´t deserve me.

Halftime.

2009-07-06T13:49:00.000-07:00

I know that I am the world´s greatest blogger. But sometimes even the world´s greatest blogger needs a break. My brother is here in Guatemala visiting me until the end of July and thus I must forwarn my fans that my posting may not be as regular as is has been since hanging out with him is infinately more fun than sitting in the internet café.

Old school.

2009-06-29T12:39:00.000-07:00

Scenes like this are disappearing from Guatemala, and I took full advantage of it. Walking the streets of San Pedro the other day, I came across these two old Mayan men in their typical dress, chatting away, obvlious of me taking their photo. The ones with the old lady are too much. Classic moments!

The night the Zoola burned.

2009-06-25T11:24:00.000-07:00

There is a rather well known place here in San Pedro called Zoola. I call it the Zoola as that is what I hear all the Israelis say, the Zoola. The Zoola is a hotel and restaurant, very, very laid back style. The Zoola has a reputation as a great place to hang out, eat, smoke, and chill, sometimes for hours on end. The Zoola was built about six years ago, and is owned and run by Israelis(which there is no shortage of here). Though the Zoola is not visible from any road or pathway, it has an impecable reputation and is always very busy. The Mayan ladies whom work in the kitchen don´t mess around and can make any Israeli dish that they are challeged with, among other things.

I live very near the Zoola. The other night, about 9pm, I saw a huge plume of smoke coming from directly where the Zoola is located, smoke that signaled it was not just a trash fire. I could also see flames, very big flames coming from the Zoola. I thought I was dreaming. And knowing that the Zoola is usually very busy, I kind of panicked hoping everything was alright, you know, minus the huge fire. I immediately assumed it was a fire from the kitchen, but being Monday, the Zoola was closed(its normal day to be closed).

I knew I had to go see what was happening, and to see if I could do anything to help. I walked on the dirt pathway to the Zoola, my heart racing. When I arrived I saw what I already knew, the Zoola was burning. As can be seen in the photos, the Zoola has a thatch roof, and that thatch roof was flaming, huge. By the time I arrived, there was plenty of people inside doing their best to put the flames out. San Pedro does not have a fire department, there might be some Bomberos(firefighters)in a neighboring town, but there is not time to wait for these things here. We also do not have regular running water here, so hoses were pretty much out of the question as well.

The fire was being fought with buckets of water being thrown up to the flames by Mayan and foreign men alike. This was a serious team effort. I stood outside on the grass pictured to the left, slack-jawed gaping at what was taking place before me. Every time a bucket of water was thrown up, flaming hot coals rained down. Perhaps you are wondering why I didn´t do anything to help, well, sometimes the best thing one can do is stay the hell out of the way. These men had this handled as best it could be handled, and I would have been in the way.

I was truly in shock, and as I stood there chatting in disbelief with my Mayan girlfriends, I was hoping and praying so hard in my heart that this place would not burn to the ground, and that all would walk away unharmed. The community of expatirates that live here is pretty tightknit, and all I could think of was the owners and managers of the Zoola and how devastating this all is for them and all of us that live here. The Mayan ladies in the kitchen were also weighing heavily on my heart as I am close friends with one of them and for these people to be out of work is crippling to an already miniscule family income.

After about an hour of fierce fighting, the flames were gone and the last bits of smoke were being tortured with bucket after bucket of water. The mood had lightened significantly, as the men knew they had won the battle, and laughing was heard as the soaking, dirty men continued to do what they could to kill the smoking coals. It was over, the fire at the Zoola had been put out by the persistence of normal people, all with something at stake.

How did this fire start? This was not a kitchen fire, being that the kitchen was not functioning at the time. The fire did not come from anyone chilling in the restaurant, the restaurant was closed. Want my opinion? This is obvious arson. The fire started on the roof of the Zoola, probably gasoline thrown, then ignighted. The fire started in the first break of rain we had had for days as tropical storm Andrés poured on us for nearly a week. The Zoola is a very sucessful restaurant owned by foreigners. This is likely arson perpetrated by someone whom has beef with either the owners, or the simple success of the place. Was it Guatemalans, was it someone who hates Israelis specifically? Seems an obvious act of racism, something we expats deal with on a daily basis here. Either way, this is a bit scary for all of us expatirates here, puts us all on our toes.

I went back on Tuesday afternoon to check out the clean up effort. Everyone seemed in pretty good spirits, and the remnants of the fire had been cleaned up very well. "We are reopening at 3pm". Take that arsonists!

In the meantime, the kitchen and another area of the Zoola are fully functioning, undamaged. Thankfully, only a small area burned, and is easily rebuildable. The folks of San Pedro, tourists and locals, will soon be able to chill in leisure at the Zoola once again. The Mayan ladies will continue to have work, and trust me when I say this, the Zoola will be as busy as ever.

Finding my way.

2009-06-18T14:24:00.000-07:00

Though it may be common assumption that life in another country is all fun and games, quite the opposite is true. Yes, this place is very, very charming, but there are plenty of aspects that are far from beautiful.

I came to Guatemala following a feeling that this is the most perfect place on Earth for me in my life right now. Do I still believe that? I can honestly say that I don´t know. And now that you are all asking yourselves, "What the hell happened?", I´m actually not going to indulge.

In order to make myself feel better about the struggle I am currently going through to find my place here, I will post some photos, yet again, probably to remind myself more than others, exactly why I am here.

Above, Juanita La Bonita, working in the field by my house.
Kristel! My oh my, Kristel. She kills me with those brown eyes. And no one on Earth has ever met a three-year-old with such amazing powers of convincing.
Kristel, Mingo and me.
Lake Atitlán, sunrise from the Indian Nose Mt.
The volcanos and me, from the Indian Nose Mountian. Hiking in the dark sucks, but so worth it when the sun comes up.

Spiders.

2009-06-10T11:19:00.000-07:00

Living in Central America, things about myself that I thought would never change, are changing.

I have never really minded spiders, they don´t send me into a panic, or send me running. Perhaps I can "blame" my mother for my lax attitude towards spiders, being that she makes sure to have a pet black widow in a jar in the house at all times. Totally worth it, throwing other spiders in the jar and watching the death match is awesome, to say the least.

However, living and traveling in Guatemala and the surrounding countries, where insect life is abundant, has changed my attitude towards these creatures. Upon sighting a spider in my room or wherever, I used to be a "catch and release" type, believing that spiders are good because they kill far more annoying bugs. Then, one day as I commented that "Spiders eat other bugs", the person I was conversing with made the comment, "Yeah, and they get eaten too". Touché.

I live in a three story, virtually open air house, in the highland jungles of Guatemala. Spiders are everywhere in my house, literally. There are thousands of them, no exaggeration, sometimes I wonder if it´s millions. For the most part they mind their own business and stay out of my way, in the corners of the rooms or wrapping their webs in areas of the house where they are not bothersome. I even get a bit giddy when I see a fly or mosquito struggling to escape from a web as the spider approaches to kill it dead. Damn the flys!!!

But all this being said, if a spider is in my space, I no longer have the "catch and release" attitude. I now have the "smoosh upon first sight" attitude, even the tiny baby spiders. What am I supposed to do here? I swear, if I catch and release, it will come right back in, plus they are just too numerous to catch and release all damn day long. I have better things to do than chase spiders around my room. They will learn to stay out of my space, or they will be a gross looking wall decoration, right next to the smooshed flys.

The hugest spider I ever had to smoosh was when I was in Guatemala the first time, last year. This thing was the size of a small baby and was on the wall of my hotel room. I could not do anything until that thing was dead. As my flip-flop flew through the air towards the thing, I screamed like a little girl, then did the dance of grossness immediately afterwards for at least two minutes. The giant was mangled and dead on the floor, but I was able to change my clothes without being watched and I was able to sleep.

The above pictured spider, inside the toilet tank of the hotel I stayed in during my recent trip to Mexico is the inspiration for this blog post. That spider is also the size of a baby and being in a very precarious position, I had to be creative with how to smoosh it. A long stick came in handy. Then it floated in the toilet water as the flushes drained and refilled the tank. I´m sure someday it´s body will rot in the toilet tank water and the circle of life will be complete.

Pool party!!!

2009-06-02T16:13:00.000-07:00

In proper tradition, I had a birthday party yesterday to celebrate my thirty beautiful years on this here Mother Earth. Mostly, I have posted pictures with hilarious captions to suffice as describing a party is very boring to read.

Chema!! My little love, enjoying cobbler and ice cream, pantless.

What party is complete with out a sleeping baby? You go, Amelia!
In this photo we can see that I am holding it down as the hugest woman here. Me and my thirty years with our Mayan friend Chino.
I know it appears as though the plate is on fire, but trust me, there is cobbler and ice cream under there somewhere. We had to shove thirty candles in a very small space here people. No, the beer and cigarettes are not mine. How can I possibly keep my bikini body at thirty years old with that kind of behavior? Birthday cobbler made by the redneck in the hat to the right of the photo. Thanks Nestor for the awesomest pineapple cobbler ever!
¡Amigas bonitas! Mayan girlfriends trying their hardest to know how the heck to smile in a photo.

Top left, the folks enjoying tasty beverages at the bar at the pool. Top right, Ben(left)trying desperately to give me my birthday present by beating Nestor(right)at Boccie Ball. I didn´t get my present, that redneck can´t be beat! There´s always next year Ben. And above, Daniel, my very good friend, owner of the pool and my sometimes boss when I work at the pool. Huge thanks to Daniel for offering his facilities and his day off to have a party for me!Chema and his sister Eileen, enjoying the pool and making funny faces for all. Below, to finish the night, Daniel had no problems spanking me thirty times or so with one of the gifts I received, a fly swatter. God bless you Caroline, it is one of the best birthday presents ever as my birthday falls exactly in the middle of fly season here at the lake.

I hope you all had as much fun as I did! Happy birthday to me.

AHHHHHHHHHHH!

2009-05-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

I think the latinos and latinas can tell that I´m about to turn thirty years old. They have gone from calling me Señorita to Señora. Maybe the eighteen-year-olds will finally leave me alone.

Run for the border.

2009-05-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

Life as en expatriate in Guatemala requires little to no maintainence. However, since the government here is poor, they like to make us do things to get more of our money and to keep tabs on us "rich" foreigners.

As I write this, I am currently sitting in a city in Guatemala called Quetzaltenango, Xela for short. This city is amazingly beautiful, small, and far less dangerous than the captial. Plus there is a lady here who does waxing, god bless her. Xela is also on the way to the border of Mexico, where I am headed tomorrow.

You see, though it seems as though the Guatemalan government can´t get anything right, they make us foreigners leave the country every six months to renew the stamps on our passports. Actually after three months the stamps expire, but we are allowed one renewal stamp in the immigration office in the capital. But after three more months, they want us out before we come back in.

Fine by me, I kind of need a break from the small town life. Xela has it all except the overwhelming pollution. They even have Hiper-Paiz, the Guatemalan version of Wal-Mart. The longer I am in Guatemala, the more reasons I have to never live anywhere else.

And though I like to think that this barber has no borders, the Mexican one is looming, calling me, "Sarah, come to me and renew your stamp so you can stay in Guatemala". So I will head to Tapachula tomorrow, a low elevation city just across the border of Mexico and Guatemala. I will sit there for three days with my pig flu and my pesos, and sweat in the summer heat.

First taste.

2009-05-14T18:49:00.000-07:00

Latin American countries are somewhat infamous for having corrupt governments, police, and just about everything else, right down to convienence store owners. Living in Guatemala, I have seen and heard a bit of this and a bit of that involving corruption on small levels. For example, paying off the cops for false or legitimate arrests, people paying for lawyers and the lawyers skipping town, etc, etc. However, I am experiencing my first taste of federal government level corruption as we speak.

If any of you read or watch the news, maybe you have heard. Two days ago a video was released to the media of a lawyer named Rodrigo Rosenberg(pictured above). In this video, Rosenberg said something along the lines of, "If you are seeing this video, it is because I have been murdered by order of the president(of Guatemala)". In the video he said much more, including other accusations and giving support to the Vice President of Guatemala to heal and take back the country.

True, this man is dead, and in proper Guatemalan fashion, they printed pictures of his dead body in the newspaper, laying right beside his bicycle where he was murdered in broad daylight.

¿¿¿WTF???

A day after the release of the video, the President of Guatemala(Alvaro Colom, pictured below)denied having anything to do with this mans death. Also, a day after this story broke to the media, there were massive protests in front of the presidents house calling for his resignation. The Guatemalan government also promtply flew mayors in from towns and cities all over Guatemala, to the capital to support the president. All this done on the tab of the Guatemalan tax payers, and at no small price.

Forgive me, but this is so fucked. Basically, there is hard core, prerecorded proof that this mans assination is directly related to the President, and done by his order. Now, we must consider that it is potentially a conspiracy created by this Robert Rosenberg himself, in order to stir up the government. However, the history of Latin American governments points to this story and his accusations being true.

There have been promised "unadulterated and unbiased" investigations into these recent happenings. And my response to that is: how can anyone possibly believe that these investigations will not be corrupt? This country was born from corruption and unfortunately it may fall from the same corrupt practices. What could happen? It will be so interesting to find out.

Get on Google and read something. This is too crazy to be true, and it has every single person in Guatemala talking. Imagine a video of a very notable and famous lawyer coming out saying that if we are seeing this it means he is dead and that our president is responsible. Seems it could never happen. Nuts.

In turn, nobody knows what will happen. Will the president step down? Will more people turn up dead? Will the investigations acutally be legitimately un corrupt, unbiased and clear? How can we feel safe in this kind of political environment? The questions in the minds and heard from the voices of people here, myself included, are unending.

The Prensa Libre(the main Guatemalan newspaper)printed today that the FBI is getting involved in the investigations. However, that does not really mean anything. I am sure the Guatemalan government has worked with the FBI before to the disadvantage of the people. Hmm, let me think, oh yeah, the nearly 40 year civil war this country went through.

I cannot deny that part of me is furious at all of this. And most of my anger comes from the fact that whoever killed this man will likely walk free the rest of his life as many murderers do in this place, whilst this corrupt president continues to rule this oh so fragile country. . .

May Rodrigo Rosenburg rest in peace.

Trash.

2009-05-07T13:31:00.000-07:00

Anyone that has ever traveled to a third world country, I´m sure is shocked at the amount of trash everywhere. Even in such a pristine place as this lake and these mountains, there is plenty of trash, in the lake and on the mountains.

It seems as though nobody cares. But that is not the case. The case is this, there are not very many ways to actually properly dispose of one´s trash here. Walking down the pathways and the streets, I think I have seen two public trash cans. In a town of about 13,000 that number is very low. Leading to people throwing their trash anywhere. Another factor in this lack of care for the environment stems from the economic situation here. Why should we worry about trash in the lake and streets when many people here worry about what they will eat that day?

Many people here burn their trash. Sounds horrendous, but it´s going to pollute the earth in one manner or another, so the difference between burning and throwing is cancelled out. Plus this place creates such a small amount of trash, relatively speaking, that the piles being burned are often very small and only burn for a few minutes before tapping out.

In my house, with two other people and me, we create about one or two bags of trash per month. Not many, but still difficult to get rid of. This is how it works. There are no trash companies that come by every week, twice a week to collect our waste. Plus we live on a dirt pathway, not a street. The collection of trash is managed by the town municipality and consists of a huge dump truck and a small pick-up truck that drive around town honking a special, distinguishable horn to signal that it is near and that all should come running with their bags of trash. When we hear the horn, Gary(my roommate)and I look at each other with that look. The look that says, "We need to get our asses to the street! Like now!". The anxiety of missing the trash truck is too much.

We then promptly grab the bag or bags or whatever else we are trying to get rid of and run down the pathway to hopefully not miss the truck. There is no regular schedule for the trucks passing so if we miss it, we must just wait until next time. I hate having to carry trash back to the house.

If we are lucky enough to not miss it, we happily give our trash to the men and pay 1 quetzal(Guatemalan currency)per bag. Likely this payment of roughly 12 cents per bag is a tip for the collectors of trash, fine by me, they deserve it. After the trucks are full, they drive up the road on the volcano, pull over, and dump the trash in a sort of designated area, right off the side of the road. Upon seeing this heap of filth the first time, covered with street dogs and vultures, I came to realize why people throw their trash just anywhere. It seems as though people would rather spread it out as opposed to concentrating it in one area. Plus, I know there are families here who chose to not pay to throw their trash.

Sounds crazy, coming from such a well managed country, in terms of waste disposal. Then this thought crosses my mind; trash in our country is so well managed because if it wasn´t, considering the sheer amount of waste the United States creates, the country would be have been buried beneath its own filth long ago.

And ultimately, I draw this conclusion: though some of the things I have just written about how trash is delt with may seem horrifying, the people here in San Pedro and in Guatemala in general produce a signficantly less amount of trash than most Americans could ever dream. So, though it may dishearten me to see kids and adults alike throwing their chip bags and water bottles anywhere, it may be the only trash they throw all week.

The story of coffee

2009-04-28T12:11:00.000-07:00

Just how does that wonderful burnt, brown liquid make it to my addiction?

I know that most people in the States think that coffee comes from coffee shops and tightly sealed foil baggies, pre-ground on flourescent-light lit grocery store shelves. Surprise, coffee actually grows on trees. Wouldn´t it be nice if all things we love grew on trees?

Guatemala is coffee country. Some of the finest coffees in the world are grown here, and literally right here on the volcano on which I live. There´s coffee fields everywhere and coffee trees grow between houses, along pathways, etc. Basically coffee trees are more plentiful than Mayan children, and that´s saying something. I find it futile to post a photo of an actual coffee tree as I waited until just after the coffee harvest ended here to make this post(my deepest apologies). There is barely any cherries left on the trees so it would just look like a picture of green. But besides that, here´s how it goes.

Coffee is a huge income generator here in a very poor place. Men will spend weeks and months on end in the fields, during the harvest, gently pulling coffee cherries from trees and filling huge bags with them. That´s right, coffee begins as a cherry, literally looks like a cherry. When the cherries are ripe, they are harvested. But what then?

After the cherries are harvested, the men come down from the fields on the volcano at the end of each day to have their harvest weighed and then further processed. It takes about two full days of harvesting in order to fill a 50lb. bag. The harvesters make about the equivelant of about $25 to $30 per bag of raw cherries. That´s two days of extremly hard, hand shredding work, whilst carrying a heavy sack of cherries, for $30.

After the collection of raw cherries at the processing "plants" scattered throughout our tiny town, the cherries are then spread out in a thin layer on the ground in order to dry. Pictured above is a close up of coffee cherries drying, the light colored beans are the raw(pre-roasted)coffee beans and the darker colored beans are still wrapped in a dried cherry husk. And below is a larger view of the cherries drying at various stages, which I will explain.

The cherries dry for a certain number of days and when they are ready, they are processed in the first round of washings which the cherries/beans will recieve. The processing plants are basically a small, open-air building with a series of automated machines which the cherries pass through in order to wash the husk off the bean inside. It is a sight to see the men working through the night, washing, lifting baskets of cherries, raking through piles of cherries, and on and on and on.

Well, once is not enough to get the fruit off of the bean, thus the process of spreading, drying, and washing is repeated a number of times in order for the beans to be ready to roast. Wash, rinse, repeat comes to mind. In the middle picture, the darkest pile is the newest pile to be drying, whilst the pile on the right of the photo is mid-process(similar to the first photo/close up)and the very light colored pile is nearing its final stages just before roasting here in San Pedro, or shipping to a first world, coffee fueled country for roasting.

But that´s not the best part. The best part(heavy sarcasm), is what happens to the coffee cherries that come off of the beans. The picture below is of an enormous pile of fermenting cherries that have been washed off of the beans as they are processed. Oh, the smell, wow, the smell. . . We are talking tons of fermenting fruit here people. It´s a bit overwhelming upon first whiff, but I have come to appreciate it as a part of my life here, knowing full well
that I have to accept all aspects of my addiction to this wonderful product of the Earth.

The fruit is later collected and redistributed on the coffee fields as a fertilizer, hence the sign advertising a gift of coffee fruit/pulp. It´s like saying "Look what we have for free, rotten fruit!". And the Guatemalans snap it up.

All in all, the process of harvesting, drying, washing, drying, washing again takes about a month before the beans are ready for roasting. Personally, the most romantic part of this process for me is when the beans are almost ready for roasting and I see a Mayan woman on a roof top picking up baskets of raw, dried beans and slowly pouring them through the air so the breeze can carry away all the dust and leftover bits. Some things cannot ever be automated.

A pound of local coffee sells here for about $3.50, sometimes less, sometimes more, grown right on the volcano, roasted by an old man in the back of his house, now that´s fresh coffee. And, I will say this, the smell of roasting coffee coming out of houses and coffee shops here is plenty to make up for the stench of the rotting fruit. You suckers worshiping Starbucks think that stuff is fresh, ha, ha, losers! We´ve already pissed out our coffee here by the time that stuff even makes it on a boat.

I find all this very fascinating and as I learned more and more about what was acutally happening all around me, every day, I definately appreciate more and more each cup of coffee or latté that I enjoy. The amount of extremly hard labor and the amount of love put into coffee growing, harvesting and processing here is impressive, to say the least.

As previously mentioned, the coffee harvest has ended. Which for me, means that no more HUGE trucks loaded with bags of cherries arriving from the volcano each afternoon, no more endless nights of watching the processing plants run, no more drying coffee. What it also means is that now the rain has started, the piles of fruit are fermenting at an even higher lever of stinkiness. However, the piles are also shrinking as farmers and the like are taking away the tons of fruit to fertilize their fields in order to begin again after a few months of blessed rain.

So now that I have made your cups of coffee much more than just cups of coffee, you can all look longingly into your burnt, brown goodness and imagine what it took to get it from these fields, through the hands of hard working Mayans and into your office, thus fueling your comments on my blog and your emails expressing your greatest thanks for your new coffee knowledge.

Muchachos

2009-04-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

As a tall, blonde woman, there are many benefits to be enjoyed pretty much anywhere in the world, and the comedy of Guatemala is no exception.

These Tzu´tzuhil Mayans are damn near comedians, seriously so funny. And there is little that is so endearing as the random "I love you" yelled to me in passing in the streets by any man or boy here. Often times it is also followed or preceeded by a "hey baybee!". The level of English known by these people is extremly minimal, but "I love you" and "hey baby" seem to be some of the first things they learn. Not to mention also important for the advancement of their chances with any extranjera(foreign woman). Somehow I don´t think they are teaching this in school.

One of the most hilarious occasions was as my friend Emily and I were walking one day and we hear hollers of "Babies in the street!" from a group of local men. Immediately we begin looking for the babies in the street, certainly they need to be moved to the sidewalk. But after a few seconds, we realized that WE were the babies in the street. Apparently those men do not understand the difference between babies and babes. Ahhh, English as a second language, barely. At least they practice every chance they get.

It nice to be so loved :)

Holy Week, Batman!!

2009-04-16T09:04:00.000-07:00

Whilst all of you were gorging on candy and spinning tales to small children of human sized bunnies that bring said candy late at night, here in Guatemala, Easter is a bit different. And yes, that is a fake dead Jesus to our left here being carried on the shoulders of Guatemalans.

The week leading up to the Easter holiday is called Semana Santa(Week of Saints), and is without a doubt, the largest holiday of the year. Every Guatemalan takes the week off and our town is invaded by folks from the city(welcomed with a grain of salt and a forced smile). Guatemala also boasts the largest celebrations of Semana Santa in world, the most grandiose being in Antigua.

Without going into too much detail, every single town has processions starting on Thursday before Easter, multiple times a day, until Sunday morning when Jesus is finally risen.

The processions are done only by the Catholics, the Evangelicals seem to think carrying heavy things on their shoulders for hours is unecessary. Above is a picture of a pre-procession procession, with the Mayan ladies carrying baskets of fruit used to later decorate the town for the larger processions. The photo on the right above is of an alfombra. An alfombra is a "carpet" made in the streets of colored sawdust, pine needles, flower petals and the like. The alfombra pictured here is one that was in San Pedro last year and does not hold a flame to the amazing detail put into the alfombras in other towns and would not even be considered an alfombra by Antigua standards. I do what I can here, the rest is up to your imagination and to the wonderful world of Google images.

So in short, these processions involve hours of the slowest marching one has ever seen whilst groups of Mayans carry huge and heavy displays of Jesus on their shoulders in order to feel some of the suffering they believe Christ may have felt during his ordeal all those years ago. The alfombras are made in the streets in order to be marched/walked over, ultimately being destroyed.

A bit loco, I know. However it is quite a sight to see if you have the ability to watch the slowest parade of all time, more than one time a day for more than one day. Rumor has it there was a procession in Antigua this year that lasted for fourteen hours. These Guatemalans are dedicated to suffering.

Along with all the carrying of things, there are many "costumes" as well, pictured below. What the significance of all this is remains a mystery to me. But all in all, a very interesting and different tradition than all of our candy laden holidays in the states. Imagine a religious holiday still holding its religious significance, mind blowing. I´d rather eat candy.

¡Pablo, ya!

2009-04-06T15:55:00.000-07:00

Leave it up to me to move to the most tranquil place I´ve ever been only to live feet away from an insane Italian man and his loud dog. Let me indulge you.

I live on the dirt path pictured to the right. I live in the house on the right with the red and the white paint and the insane neighbor, we shall call him Vecino(spanish for neighbor), lives in the house on the left of the photo with the bamboo fence and the balcony.

Pablo is the dog and the balcony is his roost. God bless him, his face is so cute and for the most part he is well behaved. However, Pablo likes to bark his ass off at nearly anything passing on the path, bikes, children, gringos, etc.

Vecino is usually watching futból with his doors open so we hear the shouts of "goooooooooaaaaaaalllll" all day long from the announcers on the TV and from Vecino himself. Vecino likes to yell, and he is very good at it. So when our buddy Pablo barks at whatever we hear shouts of "¡Pablo, ya!". Pablo usually shuts up right away, usually. "Pablo, ya" is translated into something resembling "Pablo, enough already". All day, everyday, these are the sounds echoing in my neighborhood, Pablo barking like a raving lunatic followed by a loud "¡Pablo, ya!" from Vecino.

Honestly, as much as this could drive one insane, I find it kind of endearing. Last week there was a glitch in the matrix when Vecino and his wife left town for a few days. I knew the first day there was something different, Pablo was not on the balcony, girly music blasting from the house in place of the noise of futból. It is crazy, but not hearing the barking then the yelling was very strange. I have come to need the noise and chaos in order to know all is well in San Pedro. I mean, if Vecino isn´t going to shut Pablo up, who will?? Tragic.

I was thrilled the other morning to hear Vecino yell "¡Pablo, ya!" whilst drinking my coffee and staring at the volcanoes. The glitch in the matrix had passed and all survived, even Pablo´s strong voice, and Vecino´s insanity.

I hate to say it, but this is not all sugar and spice. Pablo is not a well behaved dog at all when other dogs are near(frequent due to the large population of street dogs here)and I will not go into detail on the things I have seen Vecino do to Pablo. However, I have also seen amazingly tender moments between the crazy man and his crazy dog.

Pablo and Vecino, as obnoxious as they are, are a fixture in my life here in San Pedro. Should I ever change location in San Pedro, I will likely not sleep for weeks as the only way I am rocked to sleep these days is by the barking, yelling, barking, yelling, barking . . . . "gooooooaaaaallll".

Buenas Vistas.

2009-03-31T14:06:00.000-07:00

Don´t feel like writing much today so I will suffice with photos of the stunning scenery here at the lake. Photos taken by yours truly. Above photo is view of north side of the lake and San Pablo town(middle right).
Volcanoes Toliman(front)and Atitlán.
Volcanoes Acatenango(left)and Fuego, shooting fire.
La vista from my rooftop terrace, during sunset.
And finally, view of San Pedro town(left)San Juan town(bottom right)and(right to left)Volcanoes San Pedro, Atitlán, Toliman, Fuego and Acatenango.

Es paraiso, verdad. It´s true, this is paradise.

Hell is frozen

2009-03-24T14:19:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe that I am posting pictures. However, the "Water day" post has difficulty being understood unless one has an image to stare at whilst imagining the life here. I have added a picture of our laundry sink complete with a bucket of my soaking laundry. Look closely and you can see the washboard. Note the small floating bucket, used for scooping and pouring water. The entire concrete tank is full of water below the washboard as well.

The other is our famous tank-on-the-roof I speak so highly of. And no roof tank would be complete without posters of Guatemalan beer girls. For perspective, the tank is about 5 feet tall, roughly the girth of a small hot tub. Don´t I sometimes wish it was a hot tub. . .

Also, note the pieces of scrap wood holding the lid down in order to [hopefully] keep it on in the sometimes violent winds that whip up here at the lake(does not always work). Ghetto-fied!!!

This is the life.

Ahhhh, only in San Pedro

2009-03-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

On the internet two days in a row, I know, I know, it´s like I´ve lost my mind. However somethings require blogging.

There is a family that lives along the main pathway here in San Pedro. There is always tiny little Mayan children running in and out of their dirt patch front yard amongst the drying laundry and their textile weaving Abuela(Grandmother). And now there is something else running around their front yard.

This family had dyed a brood of baby chicks with easter egg dye. There is little green chicks and little purple chicks along with all that I listed above. If you are not peeing your pants with laughter at the mental picture of this, check your pulse you humorless ass.

I absolutely enchanted by this place, and part of it being the random uber-hilarious things such as dyed baby chicks in dirt patch front yards.

Only in San Pedro amigos, only in San Pedro.

Free health care.

2009-03-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

There is a beautiful thing in the air today. It´s my friend Lesley, on her jet plane back to the USA.

Not only is Lesley super beautiful but the fact that she was even able to get on that plane is nothing short of a miracle. We have spent the last five days puking among other things I will not describe. "Is it the water, is it from food?" you ask. No, this is something that only has afflicted only seven white women in San Pedro. These ladies and I became sick at different times, we do not eat together, live together or work together. Its a freak thing. No Mayans or men have been afflicted, nor Israeli women(a significant percentage of tourists in San Pedro).

Yesterday, after days of not being able to move, except to the baño, Lesley and I got our asses in a tuk tuk and went to the Centro de Salud(health center)between San Pedro and our neighboring town San Juan. I was amazed, first of all, that there was a doctors office open on a Sunday. We both went into the exam room and chatted with the doctor about our affliction. She suspected a bacterial infection in the digestive system. She gave us salts to put in water for rehydration, antibiotics and an antihistamine for Lesley since all of the other medicines she had taken in an attempt to soothe the pain and cease the mass exodus from her body, caused her entire body to break out in hives. This is not an exaggeration.

Then we left. No charge. No discussion even of any type of payment for services or medications.

What we found entertaining and slightly disturbing however is that the rehydration salts were from UNICEF, a branch of the UN. What this means to us is that as Americans we can go to other countries and recieve free health care sponsored, in part, by our government, but that our government can´t give us a damn thing for free on our own soil. Something here doesn´t add up.

Ultimately what it means for me is that my reasons for never returning to the Untited States to live are continuing to increase. Why would I go there when I can get free health care from the US down here and not up there?

Foreign words to Americans, three words that do not go together in American English, free health care.

Water day.

2009-03-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

Here at the lake one would think there is an endless supply of water. Do not be fooled. Sure the Mayans use it to wash clothes and themselves for that matter, but the water madness does not end there.

We have "water days" in San Pedro. What this means is that the water runs, via plumbing, to our house three days a week for about an hour and a half at a time when the Mayan gods open the flood gates. Sunday, Tuesday and Friday mornings between 8-10am the water magically turns on and fills our sinks and tanks until the next time.

"Sinks and tanks?" you ask. Yes, sinks and tanks. As previously mentioned, all residents of San Pedro have a huge water tank on the roof or somewhere above our heads to work with the force of gravity. All residents of San Pedro(and Guatemala for that matter)also have a very large "laundry sink" for much more than just laundry. Tooth brushing, dish washing, leg shaving, foot washing and even hand washing happen in this "laundry sink". This sink consists of a large tank, maybe about 100 gallons more or less, and a concrete washboard with a drain. A picture is worth 1000 words in this case. Too bad I don´t post pictures. Someday, perhaps.

These laundry sinks do not have running water except water day. How we use the water in these giant concrete bathtub-lookin´ things, after blessed water day, is to scoop up the water in a bowl or whatever and pour it over whatever is being washed into the washboard basin part of the sink. This includes rinsing laundry after is has soaked in a bucket with soap. Pour, squeeze, pour, squeeze is something of the routine with laundry. The amount of water saved by these techniques is mind blowing. I wash my hands with about a pint or two of water. Brush my teeth with about the same amount. And I am kinda addicted to washing laundry by hand. I have the cleanest clothes of my life right now.

As for the tank on the roof, that is a different story. The laundry sink is only for sink purposes. We have to shower somehow(refer to "emails to brothers" post for more information on Guatemalan showers). The tank on the roof presents a few more problems. Sure it´s wonderful to have our water come down the pipes for our personal use. But getting that damn water UP a pipe to the 3rd floor is a crap shoot. Being that many people in San Pedro are recieving water at the same time, there is usually not enough pressure to pump water through Guatemalan plumbing up to the 3rd floor. We get water on the roof usually only on Sunday and Tuesday, for about 20-30 minutes, if we are lucky. This is to say our water runs for 1 hour per week. Beat that!

However, what this means is that water can be stressful. Believe it people, most folks in the world probably don´t have the water luxuries we have in our house in San Pedro, and trust me, none of you would think it a luxury(except my sis in Africa, shout out to Weez and the bucket bath). We never totally empty the laundry sink between water days, and the huge tank on the roof is never "empty". But the panic will set in if water skips two days in a row and the tank is going below half or so. All we can do is cross our fingers, or buy a water pump, and we aren´t buying a water pump. If the Mayans can bathe and do laundry in the lake, damnit so can I. So in the end, the lake does give something resembling an endless supply of water.

None of this water is for drinking either. We buy filtered lake water from a hotel here with an amazing water filtration system for 90cents for a 5 gallon bottle. We use the filtered water for everything from coffee making to cooking to washing vegetables. Also carrying a 5 gallon bottle of water through town makes me look tough.

Be oh so thankful folks. Pure running water 24/7 is not the norm in the world. So next time you let the sink run for nothing, turn it off, it´s messing up my pressure on the roof.

Pure genius.

2009-03-06T10:49:00.000-08:00

To start the barbers new blog off right, I have to give a shout out to my friend Lesley for coming up with the title. Anyone even remotely familiar with the international travel scene knows of an orginaztion called "Doctors Without Borders", which has something to do with first world trained doctors spreading their skills and help amongst the third world. Now if that doesn´t translate into barbering as well, nothing ever will.

I love you Lesley, you goddamned genius.

I must also thank god, since without "it" we wouldn´t be here to enjoy such hilarities. ¡Gracias a Dios!

More to come . . . . .