Mellow Musings

Nicaragua - San Juan del Sur

2009-07-02T12:54:00.010-04:00

We awoke on our last day in Granada with a couple hours to blow. Sarah and I walked into town and wandered the local “Walmart”, a street market that sprawled over a couple blocks. Finding the local market is a favorite way of mine to hang with locals and discover that we are all fans of cheap Chinese shoes.

Our van soon showed to take us for the hour-long ride to San Juan del Sur. Our route ran along side Lake Nicaragua at times giving us a view of the two volcanoes on Omentepe, the island that sat in the middle of the lake. It’s supposed to be pretty bad ass. Next time.

We pulled into San Juan del Sur soon enough. A small fishing village that has turned into a surfing Mecca the last few years, San Juan del Sur is full of expatriates, those in pursuit of the endless summer and Nicaraguans coping and benefiting from it all. We checked into our hotel, a nice place run by a couple of older American gentlemen. The five of us would share a room. A quick search in a Blue Moon travel book led us to set up surfing lessons for the next day at a local surf camp. We ended up getting to know the owners, two Nicaraguan surfers who turned their childhood home into a no frills surf camp. Amenities were few but the atmosphere was thick with “Diacachimba”, a Nicaraguan surfer battle cry that I concluded was a fusion of Hawaii's "shaka" and America's "fucking A".

We grabbed a lunch at a touristy joint that sat along the bay. A few folks lounged on the sand and fishing boats crowded the small bay. After eating and settling into our rooms, we hiked to a hotel near ours that had a great view for the sunset. It was swanky joint that we later found out was a non-profit organization that ran a wildlife refuge and several community service programs in the area. Plus it was Margarita Monday. After enjoying a couple of Mexico's finest cocktails we called it an evening.

At some point in our travels Sarah let out a cough and an "uh oh". She knew when she was getting sick. Swine flu? One never knows.

This was a good vacation because it allowed for relaxing, something I normally don’t do when traveling. The mornings were lazy and the evenings were low key. Mid morning that next day we went to our surf camp for our lesson. Our group, along with a few others, piled into an old conversion van complete with a Canadian flag in the mirror, an Obama sticker on the bumper and a bungee cord keeping the door from flying open. That bungee cord was soon put to use as we discovered that paved roads in the San Juan del Sur area were limited to the town. We navigated the bumpy dirt roads to a beach a few miles away known for its smaller waves. The beach, while isolated, was surrounded by a few villas. Walking from the parking lot to the sand we passed a sidewalk full of the most random collection of statues.

We enjoyed swimming in the warm, blue water while we waited for the surf to come in. As the waves started rolling in our instructors called us together. There were three of them. One spoke English well and so spoke for them all. He introduced them by the Christian Nicaraguan names, but we would remember them by the nicknames he gave us. He was Shaggy and his two compadres were Curly and Mr. Mustache Man. Our lesson lasted for a couple hours. I got the hang of it in the shallow water – kind of. I grew up skateboarding, wakeboarding and snowboarding. Many of the fundamentals are the same, but it was a whole new beast. We stayed in the shallow breaks. If I did get up, there wasn't much of a wave left to ride. We hung out for awhile near the beach and got to know our new pals. It was a good day. I liked surfing.

We rode back to San Juan del Sur and our new Nicaraguan surf buddies invited us to Curly's birthday party that evening. After cleaning up, Sarah and I went out to find dinner and to explore. She was starting to feel the sickness. In that Central American setting, thoughts of swine flu what ifs danced through my head. I was confident that my immune system was strong enough.

We walked through the streets of San Juan del Sur as the sun set over the Pacific. We stumbled upon some young boys playing a game of something. Give a group of boys a ball, a stick and a street anywhere in the world and they'll come up with some sort of game. We enjoyed the competition for awhile and moved on. For dinner we grabbed our group and stopped at an open-aired restaurant known as the place where the chicken lady resided. My Spanish is okay, but there were some charades involved as we all ordered the house special... chicken. Off the grill. As darkness fell the bugs began to congregate around the couple light bulbs. They were a nuisance, but not enough that we didn't enjoy our meal. Some of the best pinche pollo I have ever had.

Leaving full and happy we grabbed a few six packs of Nicaragua's finest beer and went to the birthday party at the surf camp. It was a good time with a few highlights.

1. A surfer dude came out and sang a guitar about being a mellow surfer dude in San Juan del Sur.

2. Mr. Mustache Man did the running man to Vanilla Ice.

3. Tio. Tio is Spanish for uncle and the name we affectionately gave Curly's uncle. In a room full of folks in their 20s and early 30s, 50-year-old Tio was by far the loudest and most boisterous. He amplified the music with his mad beatboxing skills and dancing. Our friend Dana cut the rug with him. Curly and his brother kept apologizing for their uncle, but we thought he was rad. Tio and I parted ways by embracing and singing an impromptu song entitled "ADIOOOOS AMMMIIIIIGOOOOOOO". He continued the refrain as we left the camp.

The next morning I set out to find the local pharmacy. Sarah was feeling the flu full on. As much as we poo poo'd the whole swine flu hysteria back in the states, you started to wonder. She was a trooper though and after taking some meds decided to join the rest of us for a second day of surfing. We went back to the surf camp where Curly and company were understandably a little slow to rise and get moving. But once again we loaded up the dilapidated van and set out for a new beach. The road was more treacherous than the day before and we cajoled and rooted for the van to make it up some of the hills.

Once we hit the beach, Sarah went down. She would spend the day in the shade with a fever trying to find relief from the heat. The poor girl was miserable.

The rest of us had a nice day at the beach. I kept trying with the surfing. Whereas the day before I stayed on the small beach breaks, I was determined this day to go out to the big breaks. There were no huge waves that day, but for a beginner, 3 feet is big enough. My biggest fear out there was upsetting the other surfers. I didn't know the etiquette yet. There was a really nice guy who knew what he was doing out there who waved me over and gave me pointers. He had Olympic rings tattooed on his back and it turned out he was on the American freestyle skiing team for the past two Olympics. He was a really cool guy and expanded my knowledge of the fundamentals. I got a little better at surfing – got up on the board briefly, but for the most part I tired myself out paddling and fighting through the waves. Surfing is awesome exercise and I have a whole new appreciation for it. If I ever live near the coast again, I'll pick it up for sure.

A storm moved in early afternoon and we scrambled to leave. Our van wouldn't have made it through those roads if they were muddy. I was happy to leave a little early for nothing else than to get Sarah back to a bed. As well, during the day I felt a tickle in my sinuses. I got sick on my last vacation and knew the feeling well.

Shit.

I set up a fishing trip with a guy at our hotel and after returning from surfing I met our fishing guide. He was just a local fisherman, who from time to time took some gringos out with him for the day. All I can say about the guy on first impression was that he was crunk. His smile revealed a row of golden chompers. Straight up gangsta.

The next morning we awoke. I felt the crud. Sarah still felt like shit. The other three in the room mocked our sleeping noises. Did you know that Adrian sounds like a dinosaur when he sleeps? It was news to me.

Our fishing guide picked us up in his pickup and we headed to the bay to catch the boat. There our yacht waited. Simple. Cool, but simple. The boat was probably about 15 feet long, had an outboard motor and tarp to protect us from the sun. Not exactly what I was expecting but I liked it none the less. Captain Crunk and his first mate readied the boat and we climbed aboard. They spoke absolutely no English but smiled a whole hell of a lot. They were really nice guys who seemed happy to spend their days out on the water fishing.

We headed out into the open sea. Off in the distance we could see Costa Rica which was only a few miles away. Don't think I'll ever go there, but I saw it which is close enough in my book. We found out from a few Nicaraguans that there is a bit of animosity between the two countries. Allies in the past, their relationship has become strained. Nicaragua is to Costa Rica what Mexico is to the states labor wise and it causes tension.

We did some fishing for red snapper first. Our poles were made from a tablet of wood with fishing line wrapped around it. We threw some squid on the tackle, dropped it in the water and waited for a tug. Old school style. Our reeling in was us yanking in the line rapidly to find either nothing or a nice little red snapper attached. It was cool in its own way. It was like straight up survival style fishing, but these guys do it every day. I’ve got that skill set down for after the apocalypse.

My friend Dana was really concerned about becoming sea sick, but did fine during the entire trip. Sarah was still feeling really sick and found a comfortable spot on the bow of the boat. At one point while I was "reeling" in my line, I noticed a green splot float by. I looked over and saw Sarah offering the contents of her stomach to the gods of the Pacific. My friend Kami would soon follow, though she insisted on apologizing to us all as she got sick. It's alright Kami. We understand.

After getting our fill of red snapper fishing, we started trolling for El Dorado. We saw some of the large, green fish hop in the water already, some of them skipping several times on the ocean's surface. Feeling the hit of a fish that big on your line is quite a rush. We caught a few of them; saw many more escape our amateurish attempts at bringing them in. Regardless it was fun.

We had been out on the water for about 4 hours when I start to feel the crud full on. We had two others who were down with sea sickness so we headed back to shore. On the way, our Captain Crunk expertly filleted our fish for us.

Returning to our hotel, I could barely stand. Sarah felt fine. Apparently you only felt like death for about 48 hours.

I had what she had.

She gave it to me.

Jerk.

I took some meds and headed to bed while the others went out. The hotel took our fish, which is Mahi Mahi to us yanquis, and made some ceviche with it. Sarah brought me a taste. It was good. I wish I had felt better to enjoy it. I spent the rest of the afternoon lapsing in and out of consciousness. The flu is the pits man.

Josh was sleeping in the bed next to Sarah and me. He would soon feel our wrath. One of the biggest victories on this trip was Josh's against nature. Josh is a descendent of the fairest of the fair skinned people. He does not get along with the sun. When we went to Peru he battled nature and got a beating. We were all concerned how he was going to do in the Nicaraguan sun. He brought a few long sleeved, beach happy shirts, loaded up on sun screen and ended up doing just fine. Until the flu got him.

The next day was Josh's turn. While he stayed in bed all day, we went zip lining. It was a fun experience. Zipping through a forest a hundred or so feet above the ground wasn't as scary as I thought it would be but it was fun none the less. Afterwards we spent the day wandering around town.

Our final day in Nicaragua came and we packed our backpacks and loaded a van. Our driver took us to a market in the town of Masaya before heading to the airport. It was cool, but definitely in place for tourists. We got to the airport and waited for our flight. The airport in Managua is small, and there was little to do but people watch and wonder if you had the swine. We got to Miami, where no heat sensors and masked personnel awaited. But there was airport Chinese food.

I still haven’t fully recovered from Nicaragua. I got over the flu soon enough. But a little diacachimba held on. I lost five pounds while there. Servings were smaller and in that heat, you just don’t eat as much. I’ve yet to fully regain my appetite. As well, my appetite for the news has fallen. I was away from all the noise for a week. During the presidential campaign I became a news junkie. But a week away form the commentaries and 24-hour news stations made me realize that a lot of it is just noise. I like it south of the border.

Diacachimba. Viva la ‘ragua.

Nicaragua - Granada

2009-07-01T21:29:00.009-04:00

I’ve always wanted to learn to surf. I’ve also always wanted to hang out with monkeys. I’m an enlisted guy in the military though, and therefore don’t make much money. Finding a place to satisfy the convergence of these desires was a challenge.

I had a friend tell a story about being arrested in Nicaragua. That sounded cool. From that day forward a battle cry was born.

"Nicaraguaaaaa"

You have to say it slowly and it helps to whisper it. It gives it more of an allure. Sarah and I started planning a trip. Over the next few months 3 friends would sign on. We would whisper “Nicaraguaaa” to each other in passing or leave notes to each other on Facebook walls with the call to adventure.

When I travel I like planning a thorough itinerary. If I have children, I suspect this will make me a good father keeping a clan together for a well thought out trip touching on all of the cultural points. For this trip, however, I refrained. While most of the time I like cramming a trip with as much stuff as possible, relaxation was high on my list of priorities for this trip. We had two goals for this trip – hike a volcano and learn to surf. And besides making hotel reservations, we would figure out the logistics when we got there. Part of this was to keep it open ended, but more so it was because there isn’t too much you can reserve in Nicaragua via the internet. Nicaragua is still pretty far off the gringo tourist trail. I would learn that “winging” it could be just as enjoyable if not more so.

We flew to Managua, Nicaragua’s capital city. One of the things that attracted us to Nicaragua was that it cost less than $400 to fly there. Stepping off the plane mid afternoon into the small airport, we were confronted with the fear of pandemic. Lab coats and masks pointed all the passengers to heat sensing cameras. We all took our turn in front of hyper-colored screen. No swine flu! For now at least.

We had a van lined up to take us to Granada, our first of two stops in country. The hour-long drive in the dilapidated van gave us an initial impression of the country. Hot and littered. The litter would graciously limit itself to the main highway.

Arriving in Granada we dropped our bags in our room and hit the town to explore and grab a bite to eat. We found a church early in our walk. It was pretty as churches often are. We paid a dollar to climb the bell tower as tourists often do. The tower provided a lovely panoramic view of the city and the surrounding country. Granada is the unofficial capital of Central America. One of the oldest cities that sits on the giant Lake Nicaragua, it’s roots are steeped in culture and pirates. From the tower we could see the Mombacho volcano where we would be the next day. We could also see two classically coned-shaped volcanoes in the distance – one spewing smoke or steam.

While snapping pictures, a young boy came up and told us that he was going to ring the bells. We all took positions on the outside of the thick walls to provide a barrier from the noise while the boy rocked out. In town fireworks and sirens from local emergency vehicles sounded. I wasn't sure if we were hearing a celebration or a revolution. After the bells rang, we thanked the young man for the warning and walked down the tower and into the town square. Turns out we were there for a festival at the cathedral. Clergy and Granadans of all walks of life paraded around with a band and an ornate Mary. It was a cool scene to stumble upon.

The next day we had one thing on the itinerary. Hiking Mombacho volcano. We got a sampling of a Nicaraguan breakfast, that consisted of rice, beans and fruit, and got ready to hike the volcano. I tried to line up a ride from the front desk of the hotel. He called a young man named Osmond. We ended up hiring Osmond to be our guide for the day. It was well worth the few extra bucks. We all piled in to Osmond’s old Toyota corolla and set out. The dark tinted windows and air conditioning blaring gave us some relief from the heat and humidity that we were still getting used to. As we made our way towards the volcano, Osmond pointed out some of the local sites. He had a certain way of navigating the many speed bumps along the way. One time the pavement crunched against his undercarriage.

"You know what that is?" Osmond said, pointing out an attraction and apparently not to concerned about the vehicle.

"Five yanquis," I said.

We arrived at the base of the volcano. Osmond’s Toyota took us as far as it could. We clambered aboard a ranger's pick up truck that took us up a few miles to a larger, military-style vehicle. We squished aboard the big truck with some French tourists and made our way to the top. Along the way we stopped at a coffee plantation that sat on the side of the volcano. The cool, moist air on the volcano makes for prime coffee. Russia buys most of the stuff. I bought a couple bags as my little part to spread some good old greenbacks around.

The top of the volcano had a large cabin where rangers sat ready to show tourists the many natural oddities the volcano had to offer. There were a couple trails We chose to the hardest they had available, a 4-hour walk that would take us around the top of the old volcano. The puma trail, as it was called, had 7,000 stairs. A lot of ups and downs. A good hike that I enjoyed more than some in our group. I heard two four lettered F bombs come out of a couple surprising mouths. One from a travel mate, Dana, who rarely cusses. The other was from Osmond who decided the trail was shitty enough for him to spew one of English's most elicit words. At least he has a mastery of the language. We saw a snake slither by and a couple frogs getting it on along the trail. No pumas or monkeys though. It was a good hike and my first along a volcano. They smell like ass, though it was cool to see plumes of steam escape the crater from time to time.

After finishing the trail, the big military truck put its transmission to work taking us back down the hill. Our day with Osmond wasn't done. He took us through a little vehicular tour of Granada. Driving through Granada's ghetto we passed a funeral procession. It was on foot, with horses pulling a black carriage followed by a silent congregation. A touching scene to say the least.

Our next stop was lake Nicaragua. We were headed out to an island for dinner. There were several little islands that sat off the coast from Granada. They were created when Mombacho erupted sending giant rocks from its belly into the water. Many of the little islands have become little personal sanctuaries for Nicaragua's rich and for a few rental properties. Osmond, who has never been to the states, pointed the splendor of these manors out. They were very cool, but not nearly as big or extravagant as you might expect.

"You know how much that big one over there costs?" Osmond asked pointing to one of the nicer manors.

"How much?" we asked.

"Guess."

"I dunno ... a million dollars?"

"No! Wow," Osmund said, apparently a little surprised at our figure.

"I dunno man, how much?"

"Four hundred THOUSAND dollars," he said.

"Oh wow, that's not bad," we replied.

This apparently took Osmond aback a bit.

"No, no, no, not four HUNDRED dollars. For hundred THOUSAND dollars," he said apparently trying to reemphasize his point.

We explained to Osmond that in Washington DC, $400,000 might buy you a small house in a crummy neighborhood. I think we shattered his soul a little with this fact.

We pulled the boat next to an island and Osmond yelled an order to a gentleman standing near the dock. While they cooked our food, Osmond was going to take us to an island close by where there were monkeys.

Not sure how the monkeys got there, but they were there and rad in full effect. A few capuchin and spider monkeys lived there, but Osmond and the boat drivers knew that Panchetta, one of the spider monkeys, was the friendliest. As we pulled the boat up, she jumped aboard. We would all get a little quality time with the monkey sitting on our laps. She was a real sweat heart. At one point one of the other monkeys attempted to get aboard and the boat operator quickly guided the craft away. Apparently there are assholes in the monkey kingdom too. Happy that we had checked the monkey-on-our-lap block in the trip, we said goodbye to our new friend and went to dinner.

Dinner was some pan-fried fish and rice. It was really good after the long Mombacho hike. Full and satisfied we took the boat back to the shores of Granada while the sun set over the city. A beautiful boat ride. As I let my hand drag in the water, I remembered that Lake Nicaragua was home to the world's only fresh water shark. No pumas. No sharks. Life was good. Back ashore some young boys raced for our dollars making us palm sculptures.

We had one more stop to make in the evening. I had heard that Nicaragua was home to some of the world's best cigars. I'm not a huge cigar smoker, but I like them from time to time and I knew my step dad would like some. So Osmond took us to what he called the best cigar shop in Granada. It was dark when we pulled up and the place looked empty. Most of the doors in Nicaragua have iron "screen" doors to keep ventilation going during the hot night.

"They looked closed dude," I said.

"They'll open for me," Osmond replied.

He banged on the door and yelled something in Spanish. A woman appeared and after a brief conversation opened the door for some after-hour customers. We walked into a beautiful Spanish-style villa with the front room being their shop. Above the main display counter was a blown up picture of the owner smoking a cigar with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Off in a dark corner several folks were crowded around a glowing TV. The owner soon appeared. He turned out to be super awesome. He spent many years living in California, had a daughter who was an officer in the US Air Force and was the former mayor of Granada. He was proud of his new venture and gave us some cigars and soda to sample while we shopped and chatted. He was very excited that his cigar was currently number one on cigars.com. He even got one of the TV watchers who was also one of the rollers to pull out some of the tobacco, which was grown at the base of Mombacho, and demonstrate cigar rolling. She gave us all turns rolling our own cigars. They pressed them for us and gave them to us as souvenirs before we left. Smoking a cigar you rolled yourself earns your bragging rights. He was a proud, very cool gentleman and we were grateful for his time and generosity.

It was a full day and we made sure Osmond knew how much we enjoyed it before he took off. We would talk to him a couple more times before we left. Once to arrange a ride and once because he just wanted to make sure we were enjoying his country. We said goodbye, enjoyed a few drinks on the patio before heading to bed as a huge thunderstorm rolled through. We were headed to San Juan del Sur the next day.

My inauguration

2009-01-23T19:45:00.001-05:00

I consider myself extremely fortunate. My time in the military has been extremely fortunate as well. The places Uncle Sam has taken me and the people he has introduced me to have led to some great adventures.

DC is a cool town. I often complain about the weather and cost, but living in the nation’s capital has its perks. Unique ethnic cuisine. Kickball at the Washington Monument. A Saturday spent looking at the ol’ Declaration of Independence. The inauguration of America’s first black president. The Watergate.

I’ve never cared so much about a political campaign. I think our country is at a crossroads and I thing the next four years are crucial. So I cared. I consider myself a moderate who leans left. I supported Obama since early in the primaries because I thought he would be best at bringing us together as a nation. His campaign was a journey. His proposals made sense to me. I defended them. And I defended him. At times it caused friction with some of those who are close to me. They cared about their side. I cared about mine. Shit happens. In the end blood is thicker than politics.

My guy won and this made me happy. I’m used to voting for the losers, although I didn’t really care for the past two losers too much. I cared about this one. I haven’t cared about something this much in a long time.

When Obama won, I had full intentions of being on the national mall for the inauguration. I got the day off right away. As the weeks passed, the radio airwaves filled with warnings about the crowds and the hassle that it was going to be. DC area residents were advised to stay at home. Not a chance. Last week, however, a good friend of mine who works for the sergeant major of the Army offered my girlfriend, Sarah, and me tickets to the Commander in Chief ball, one of the 10 official balls the president was going to attend. I leaped at the opportunity. We decided not to attend the inauguration during the day because getting in and out of the city twice would be too much of a hassle.

On Monday, Sarah and I went to an art show in Georgetown with pieces highlighting the grassroots campaign that helped get Obama elected. It was cool. Georgetown seemed like it does most Saturdays. Crowded. Rich people. But where we got off the metro, near the Kennedy Center, a carnival atmosphere filled the air.

I know DC is always crazy during inaugurations. Haven’t been in the city for one before, but I know that the crowds are normal. Regardless, there was a buzz in the air and you could feel that you were in the presence of history.

After the show, we walked to the Lincoln Memorial so Sarah could meet a high school friend of hers who had traveled to DC. I’ve never seen a line at the Lincoln Memorial. The crowds were thick. And there were porta potties. I’ve never seen so many porta potties in my life. It was my Shangri-La. I have the bladder of a small woodland creature. I peed several times not because I had to but because I could. It was glorious.

It was also cold, and the traffic, sirens, humvees, busses and crowds were making me grateful I wouldn’t have to come down the next day.

I woke up the next day around 6. I had a friend staying the night so that he didn’t have to drive through DC that day to get to work. I don’t have TV, but I found a couple websites that were streaming the event live. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be as crowded as there were saying. I thought the frigid temperature and the ominous threats of crowds would drive a good chunk away. So when I turned on the video feed and saw that sea of people at 7 in the morning I was shocked. It was amazing. I also saw the lines for the metro trains. I was grateful I was drinking hot coffee in my warm living room with a bathroom 20 feet away.

And then they announced the mall was full and was being closed off. For those who have not been to DC – the mall is a beast. To fill it up a couple hours before the event even started was impressive.

For the next couple hours, Sarah, my friend and I watched history on my 22-inch Mac screen along with the rest of the world.

It was then time to get duded up. I threw on my uniform with a bow tie. Sarah got a little more into it. At about 3 o’clock, we hopped on the metro to head to Chinatown – about a 30-minute train ride. The train got more packed as we got into the city. Sarah and I looked good. We looked real good. And we were a little early for the ball crowd. A lady complimented us and we struck up a little conversation. They had traveled from California. They talked about how cold and cramped it was but how awesome it was for them. They looked miserable and cold but gleamed when talking about what they experienced. They asked which ball we were headed to and were impressed with our response. I felt very lucky.

Chinatown is located a few blocks off the parade route which had yet to happen. They had the exits before and after Chinatown blocked off so that exit was packed. As we ascended from the subway, the carnival took over again. The sirens, crowds, cheering and music filled the brisk air. We had some time to kill before the ball and we were meeting a friend, so we found an Irish pub. Good call. Having an Irish coffee in a crowded pub with a humvee parked right outside is comforting. We watched the parade there and then headed to the ball.

The ball was intended for enlisted and junior officers. It wasn’t an open bar. Smart move. About 2,000 guests filled the beautiful National Building Museum. There wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Wounded warriors from Walter Reed were in attendance as were family members of the fallen. Holes opened quickly in the crowd for our wounded comrades to pass through.

It was an affair I won’t forget. Biden talked to some troops in Iraq through a teleconference. Obama talked to some troops in Afghanistan. Barack and Michelle danced with a Marine and Soldier. They were 20 feet away. I thought about those freezing Californians on the train and how far they traveled knowing they would probably only see him on a teleprompter. I felt very lucky. The Obamas were greeted very warmly by the crowd. Yes, the military is more conservative than not. But the excitement was no less in that ballroom as we greeted our new boss. He left the stage with the troops chanting his name.

Then Bon Jovi came on. I do not support Bon Jovi since he started frosting his hair.

We stepped back out into the cold air drunk off of whiskey and the moment. Bag pipes pierced the night. I love pipes and they were just off the path back to the train. The piper was outside the pub we were in earlier. We decided to stop for a night cap. I stood outside to listen to the piper for awhile. He played the Army song for me. I did a little jig. We ended up talking for awhile. He had been to Gitmo to play for the troops there. He was a staunch republican. We discussed some of our differences in opinion. I told him I thought it was a good day to be a soldier. We both agreed it was a great day to be an American.

I’m not a cynic. I have a lot of hope for the next four years. I am a realist though. I know the honeymoon is going to end. I know Obama’s not going to keep all of the promises he made the last couple of years. I know I won’t agree with everything he does or says. I think he’s done a good job in the transition. I like the fact that he has pissed off some of the left. But Tuesday wasn’t a day to worry about policies. Republicans and democrats alike stood side by side and recognized what this moment meant for us as Americans. It was moving to say the least. It’s a new day and I’m smiling with the sunrise.

European observations

2008-07-15T09:49:00.002-04:00

I came across this today - an email I sent to my family and friends before leaving Italy. It amused me. -

My time in Europe is quickly coming to a close. For the past 3 years (would have been four if it wasn't for Osama) I have had the privelage to live in a part of the world others pay thousands to visit. I think I've been pretty good about getting out and seeing the Europe. There is always more I could have done, but just like anywhere, some weekends are best spent sitting your ass on a couch and relaxing.

I dont think I'll ever have so many profound experiences in such a short period of time again. I'll miss living here dearly, but I'm looking forward to being back stateside for awhile. I have to say goodbye to the tile roofs and cafes of Italy, and say hi again to the vinyl siding and stip malls of the states. However! I can now make small talk with waiters and get some nachos or a slurpee at 2 a.m. if I want. I hope to one day live overseas again, but am very much looking forward to being closer to my family and friends and the conveniences of the states. Plus I'm excited about my new job. I get to corrupt young minds and corrupt the military public affairs field for years to come. Tee hee.

Below I've listed off a few things I've learned as an American and a soldier living overseas:

Drinking Chianti IN Chianti earns you bragging rights
The most important word to know in all of Eastern Europe is "pivo". It means "beer" in like 10 countries.
No matter where you go in Eastern Europe, the band Europe's "Final Countdown" can be found on the jukebox and will be played at least once a night.
Absinthe tastes like shit.
The best pizza I ever had was in a small town in Poland. Go figure.
Bratislava is a weird, weird place. But that is what makes it so cool.
The coolest McDonalds in the world is at the Brennar Pass in Austria. Looking over the alps while eating a Big Mac rules.
In Budapest, a vampire just may pop out from any corner.
Venetians are cocks.
Romans rule.
I don't care what anyone says, France is awesome and the people there are nice as hell – at least in Normandy.
A baguette and sausage is the perfect companion to a beer.
British people can party
Nothing is more serene and humbling than walking through the white crosses at the American cemetery in Normandy on a day when it is closed off to everyone but military and press.
U2 is HUGE in Ireland. Who would have thunk it?
The wonders of Ireland can be found both inside and outside of the pubs.
Nothing is cooler than being called a "lad" by an old Irish guy.
The countryside of Switzerland is absolutely beautiful. The girls at the Swiss Hooters are not so much.
Rabbits are very popular pets in Germany.
Listening to Dixiland jazz in Prague is surreal.
The best six Euros you can spend in Europe is climbing to the top of the Duomo in Florence.
Street sings, speed limits and traffic laws in general are mere suggestions in Italy.
Topless beaches aren't as cool as you might think.
There is only one kind of salad dressing in Italy. Vinegar and oil.
If you drive to Germany for any type of temporary duty, it is an unwritten law that you bring a rack or two of Heffenweizen back with you to share.
Weinerschnitzel is just a fried pork cutlet.
Everywhere in Europe is pretty much what you expect it's going to be like.
If you have a layover at the airport in Amsterdam, you drink a Heineken. Even if it is 10 a.m.
You come to Italy expecting Tony Soprano. You get Justin Timberlake instead.
The really dark red meat at the grocery store is horse.
Shooting an AK 47 and riding Russian tanks and helicopters in Poland is good clean fun.
Only a country that produced The David, St. Peter's Bascilica and Piazza di San Marco could invent gelato.
Grappa tastes like shit.
When skiing or snowboarding, there is no better lunch than red wine and pasta.
Guinness tastes better in Dublin, especially on St. Patrick's day.
American Soldiers are treated like celebrities in Normandy. WWII vets are treated like gods.
Starbucks sucks and charges WAY too much for an espresso.
You grow to love the sound of bell towers chiming unless you live or are staying next door to one.
The best place to see the Italian countryside is from the top of those towers. Just don't be leaning over the railing when the bells go off.
Watching a female's reaction after using an Italian hole-in-the-ground toilette for the first time is priceless.
Gypsies are only cool in movies. In real life, they steal your stuff.
The mullet is not dead.
A man saying "ciao" is only acceptable to those living in Italy.

2008-07-01T18:42:00.002-04:00

We've had a bunch of thunderstorms in the DC area this summer. More than I ever remember in this part of the world. We live on the 10th floor of our building too, so i have a nice view of storms above the trees that blanket the east coast.

I've been adding to my camera kit for the last couple of years. Recently I bought a tripod for low light shooting. The day I got it a thunderstorm rolled through. I jumped at the chance to use my new toy. Running out to my balcony to set up my tripod and camera in time to catch the storm rolling in, I realized I forgot my beer. After remedying that situation, I spent the next half hour on my deck playing with shutter speeds and apertures as a gnarley storm rolled through. I was giggling like a little girl when I took stock of my situation. I was standing barefooted on my wet, 10th floor deck with a can of beer in one hand and my other hand resting on the shutter of my camera atop a metal tripod...

Dumbass.

Power vs. Leadership

2008-06-05T09:30:00.002-04:00

Power is the capacity to translate intention into reality and sustain it. Leadership is the wise use of this power.
I have worked for many powerful people but have had only a few good leaders. Power is easy to come by in the military with our rank structure. Finding good leaders is another thing.
I haven’t, in the past, pursued power. Often, though, I find myself in powerful positions and it challenges me to be a good leader. Right now I’m an instructor often teaching young servicemembers the craft of journalism. Our specialty in the military is highly sought after and our school is tough. There are many times when a student won’t grasp the material and I’m forced to eliminate them. That’s a lot of power – I’ll literally change their lives. They joined the military to be journalists and they’re going to end up being a military policeman or fuel specialist because of a decision I’ll make. The power came with the job. Leadership for me is how I use that power. How much I’m going to work with that student to give them the best chance of success. How I’m going to conduct myself with him as a noncommissioned officer and a mentor. These are all what make me a leader in the classroom. I don’t take my role lightly.

Adrian 2.0

2008-06-03T08:39:00.002-04:00

My friend Josh and I are developing a class for the course I teach. It’s an evolving concept that the military is attempting to catch on to. The class will focus on how to use the web effectively to further the mission of military public affairs focusing a lot on the concept of Web 2.0. The military is way behind on the whole social media thing and wary of embracing things like blogs and YouTube. The class is meant to create discussion and stimulate ideas. The official military posture on this media is evolving. Senior leaders have started coming out and saying we need to embrace things like Facebook.

Anyways, my buddy gives a good pitch on the subject and after hearing him talk about it yesterday to my students I was inspired to embrace it on my own. I’ve often written “blogs” which I sent out to family and friends. I started them while I was in Afghanistan, sending them off when I went on a unique mission or had some little adventure. I’ve continued to send them off when I travel – an example being our Peru trip below. But I’ve decided to open it up to the world.

How far it goes … I don’t care. If this just ends up being a platform for me to unload a little, fine. But here it is, Adrian 2.0

After the trek

2008-06-02T12:22:00.002-04:00

Machu Picchu. Lost city of the Incas. Home to its royal class and artisans. One of the new 7 wonders of the world.

We were going to Machu Picchu the day after we got back from our trek. We went to a tourism office they day before we left on our trek to set up a train ride up there. It was going to be $290. Yikes. It’s not the Peruvian government fleecing tourists. They jack the prices out of concern for the ruins. They are starting to feel the effect of the over 400,000 + tourists a year it gets. Upon further discussion, we said screw it. Sarah had been there and Sean, Josh and I were indifferent. I was apprehensive about future regrets I may have, but after our experiences on Choquiquerao I felt better. And Sarah didn’t think Machu Picchu would top it either. So I guess now I have an excuse to visit Peru again.

Getting back from the trek, we were spent. I had originally worked a day into the itinerary for recovery after the hike. We were going to give it up for an extra day in Machu Picchu. But as it turned out, a day off was awesome.

Josh was broken. He had a jacked up foot, bug bites and a terrible sunburn. His nipples were even chaffed. Mid morning we left him to recover and hit the town. We were on a hunt for crepes. Sarah remembered a crepe place from her first time there. I loved the food there, but was ready for anything not Peruvian. Arriving up a hill to the hip little artisan neighborhood, we found our crepe place was closed. So instead we went next door to a coffee shop.

Mmmm. I craved it. It had been days since I had a cup of coffee. Peru was known for it. I was back in a country that knew espresso. I ordered one. Then followed it with a macchiato similar to what I had grown to love in Italy. It was delicious and my senses vibrated high on caffeine.

After leaving the coffee shop we went back to the crepe place which had since opened. We all chose sweet crepes. Mine was covered with fruit and a sauce made from the local liqueur, pisco. It was sweet and delicious. The only thing that soured the experience was the music. I’m a fan of the punk-rock group Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. They are made up of members of different punk bands and do nothing but covers. It’s amusing. This restaurant had their creepy nemesis. A jazzish, female singer who took really good rock and roll songs and made them lousy lounge shit. I wanted to throw my shoe at the speaker. Joe Strummer from the Clash rolled in his grave and Axle Rose cashed a tainted royalty check.

After leaving the crepe place we wandered the local shops. Two cups of strong caffeine sat on my stomach. I had to quickly find a bathroom. Enough said.

For the next couple of hours, we sat on church stairs in Cusco’s Plaza de Armas. It was very relaxing as we watched the bustle of the city. I got punked in a battle of wits by a 10-year-old girl. We pet a pooch. And then we went and ate pizza.

Arriving back at the hostel around 3, we found Josh in the main lounge area overlooking the city. He had been sitting there at one of the long tables that stretched the length of the room for a few hours. One thing Josh isn’t so fond of is the outdoors. However, the boy likes people and meeting new personalities. As we sat there with a beer, he was constantly shouting out to new friends he had met. They would come and leave, but conversations would continue. One beer quickly turned into several. Dinnertime rolled around, but we didn’t want to give up our seats and we were meeting all these new, interesting people from around the world. We sat at that table non-stop until about midnight. We met several people who were traveling for weeks, months and sometimes even years at a time. Most were from wealthy families who were funding their travels, but some were true adventurers. I met one guy and his girlfriend who arrived in country the day before. He was an unfulfilled Madison Avenue advertising executive. She was a lawyer. One day they both said screw it, quit their jobs and went to South America to travel for 5 months. Hero.

Sarah and I were tired and hit the hay. A few minutes later we heard Josh come to the door. He stood there for a second and then we heard Sean yell out –“Hey Josh! I’m going out with these guys!” “Yeah? … You son of a bitch…” We then heard Josh’s flip flops as he grudgingly walked into the Cusco night scene. He rocked out while still in pajamas.

The next day we got up early. We had a full day ahead of us. We decided not to go to Machu Picchu, but I wouldn’t be satisfied with sitting around Cusco for three days. So we decided to go white water rafting. When we signed up for the trip we were told of two options. Class I and II rapids or class III and IV rapids. We chose the latter. All of us had been rafting at least once and we thought we could handle it. Plus I wasn’t sure how the Peruvian system compared to ours. We were fine until the night before we left. Sean had talked to a bunch of people who had gone before and they said it was more intense than they had expected. So my nerves were going during the bus ride, which took a couple of hours. I had images of us being swallowed by a river similar to the boiling, vicious-looking river we had crossed on our trek.

During the ride I heard the couple in front of us talking. I’ve been places and I can catch most languages – at least knowing if they are eastern European or whatever. I couldn’t quite catch this one though. I sounded almost Belgium. Turns out they were French Canadian. The same people who gave us Cirque du Solei. Turns out they aren’t kinda-creepy-clown-trapeze artists. They are nice people... with weird French accents.

The rafting turned out to be a lot of fun, but not nearly what I was expecting. The rapids were there and fun, but easily managed. We almost took a tumble out of the boat while attempting to surf a rapid. Good times. After lunch we headed back to Cusco. The hour-long van ride was torturous as we had obnoxious British ding bats aboard. Fart jokes and cat calls were in abundance. Jerks.

Arriving back at the hostel we found Josh at his post. We signed up for dinner there – BBQ. It was awesome. Exhaustion was starting to settle in and I retired somewhat early. Our time in Cusco was coming to an end. Tomorrow we would head to Lima.

The next morning we said goodbye to Cusco. We caught an early flight to Lima. Going from 11,000 feet to sea level during the summer in South America became quite apparent as we got off our plane. Lima was balmy.

Once again, we paid too much for a taxi. But we were in the big city now and so I expected to pay more.

Lima is a big city much like others I had been to. It lacked the soul Cusco possessed. It reminded me a lot of the non-descript outskirts of a large Italian city. Wasn’t as poor as Cusco – although we didn’t visit the slums. Our hostel was in a main tourist district - surrounded by shops and fast food restaurants.

My main mission after getting settled in was to find a place to get a shave. I hadn’t shaved in over a week and I was itching and dreading my disposable razor at home. I was in a country that still used straight razors so I thought I’d give it a try. After wandering for a half hour looking for a barber, we finally settled at a salon. There was one girl who knew how to do it and one razor. Wasn’t quite what I was expecting but it got the job done. All of us boys took our turn.

The hostel had a fourth-story roof on it. Wasn’t a spectacular view but a nice place to sit around in the sun and drink, which we did. We met a girl from New Zealand and spent the next few hours getting burned and burned. Hunger lingered and I had one more Peruvian dish I wanted to try. She was one of those travelers - somehow able to live for months at a time without working in cheap South American countries. She knew Lima pretty well and suggested we all go to a new neighborhood for dinner. We piled into a cab and went to an area near the beach. We stopped at a few places – one a cevicheria. The last of my must tries in Peru. Ceviche is raw fish that is drowned in lime juice. The acidic juice actually cooks the fish a bit. We found a little restaurant that served nothing but the stuff. It was interesting. Good but strong. They serve it with mashed sweet potatoes and corn to help mellow your pallet out between bites.

Satisfied with our appetizer we longed from something more. An afternoon of drinking in the sun left us drunk and hungry. Our new guide suggested chifa – Peruvian Chinese food. I’ve eaten Chinese food around the world. Everywhere has its own character; I can only imagine what China’s is like. We found a restaurant. It was complete with tables tucked behind curtains. Like mobsters in a private social club, we gobbled down lomein and other random Asian dishes.

The rest of the night was rock and roll. I was exhausted, not just from the day but from the trip but we trucked on through the night meeting new people and ending up in a dance club. I’m not much of a club guy – I like pubs. The thumping reggaeton and salsa started to annoy the shit out of me. Finding refuge from the dance floor and smoke on the ground floor we climbed up to a second floor balcony. Overlooking the dance floor I saw a redheaded, pale-skinned figure among a sea of black hair and brown skin. Josh was getting down. And he was a hit. At least five Peruvian girls surrounded him. The party continued late into the night.

The hostel was nice, but a bitch to sleep in. No AC meant keeping the windows open all night. The air sat still in our room, but the city didn’t. Traffic outside the window was loud and constant. I gave up on sleep early.

Our last day in Peru was spent killing time. We were catching a redeye out that night. We wandered. I was fascinated by the bus system in Lima. The buses were not uniform. They had random locations painted on the side – ranging from cities and neighborhoods nearby to Cuba. A bus would pull up, a guy would yell and would seemingly pull random people on. I don’t want to know specifically how it worked. My imagination was more fun.

We did go to a casino. There were a couple of them near our hotel. There were no tables; only slots and they used American currency. I bought $20 worth of nickels and settled in. Sean and Josh soon gave up and headed back to the hostel. Sarah and I trucked on. I turned out to be the big winner. The most I have ever won gambling was in Atlantic City last year. I had sat down at a slot just to justify a free beer. While I waited for my Heineken I played some random line. The machine went crazy. I looked over to my friends perplexed and printed out my ticket. I had won like $250. Then later that night on the craps table I won another $500. I paraded my single $500 chip around proudly and moved on. The casino barely took notice. In Peru I sat down at a new machine and played 15 cents. All of a sudden lights were going off and my siren was wailing. I looked over to a security guy and shrugged. He gave me a stern nod and thumbs up and talked into his walkie talkie. Several Peruvian women came over to my machine excitedly congratulating me. Soon an official looking woman came over with paperwork and a camera. She took a shot of the slot frame and had me sign several papers. She offered me some complimentary gift certificates. And then whipped out the cash. $60. Ballin.

We went to dinner and said goodbye to our new friends. Loaded our gear up and went outside to hail a cab. The one we picked was dilapidated, but cheap. Our back seat was broken, there were no seat belts and the car seemed as it might die soon. Our driver gave it his best, though, as he barreled through the Lima traffic while I searched for the imaginary brake at my feet. As we sped past the nightlife of Lima, salsa music played on the radio. The theme song from Indiana Jones, though, was playing in my head.

Choquiquerao Day 3 & 4

2008-06-02T12:14:00.001-04:00

Day 3
Screw you Andean rooster. It’s 4 o’clock bud. I hate you so hard. Have a heart huh? No? Fine. I’m a soldier. What’s a little sleep depravation followed by some intense physical activity?

Herbert had hot water waiting for tea. This tea stuff has to go. I’m a yank. I longed for a proper jolt to my system in the form of a strong cup of coffee. But the food was delicious. Go figure. Herbert’s smiling face was firmly planted in my heart.

We would leave the majority of our stuff at the campsite - just the bare essentials for the morning hike, a camera, some water and rain gear. After visiting the ruins, we would come back for lunch before heading back down the mountain. We were on the trail at about 6 a.m. – had about an hour and a half of hiking ahead of us. The trail had taken its toll on Sean and Josh. They were hurting but their only testament to it was a slightly slower pace.

There were clouds sitting on the mountain we were hiking on. The view Sarah and I enjoyed yesterday wouldn’t be waiting there for the boys. Sounds act funny in the mountains. As we rounded a corner, a waterfall roared in the distance. We all paused to take pictures of it as we walked by. Felix commuted past it indifferently the same way in which we commute pass the Washington monument.

Another steep, muddy hill through the jungle and 32 kilometers from where we started in Cachora we reached a sign indicating we were at Choquiquerao.

This was the last bastion of the Incans. Built shortly after Machu Picchu it had the same level of importance. Though, whereas Machu Picchu was reserved for the royal class, Choquiquerao was a full functioning city keeping an army and all classes of people. It’s more spread out than Machu Picchu, much of it still uncovered. The first western explorer to stumble upon it did so in 1710, but it remained relatively untouched until the late 90’s when formal excavations began. It receives a little more than 1 percent of the visitors that Machu Picchu does. And that number is a sharp rise from just a few years ago. The main reason is that there are no roads here. The Peruvian government wants to build tourism here. There are two different schools of thought by the people who live in the area. Hikers bring revenue to the small towns dotting the trail. At Machu Picchu, the poor that surround the area are passed by camera toting tour groups aboard busses. They don’t enjoy any of the revenue from the tourism industry. While a road may not be feasible to these ruins, they are talking of building a train. As well, these sites are sacred for the indigenous people around them. The Catholic Spaniards conquered this land, but for many of these people, the large mountains, or Apus, are still their gods. In the 16th century, the city was abandoned for reasons unknown. There was a civil war among the Incans going on when the Spanish and their allies arrived allowing the civilization to be conquered. This city was unknown to the conquerors and it became the most important political and religious center during the Incans’ last days. And then they vanished.

One last trudge up the mucky trail we reached a clearing. Through the mist, a long, 8-foot tall wall stretched ahead of us. We were there and standing on one of the three main terraces connected to the city itself. They were used for agriculture but were ceremonial as well representing the three worlds – heaven, earth, and the underworld. The moment of triumph was a quiet one. We were alone. Not a tourist to be seen. We would have the entire ruins to ourselves for the rest of the morning.

After clambering around the terraces for a few minutes, Felix led us up one of the staircases. At the top a courtyard opened up. To our left, a temple stood where the priests kept mummies in alcoves to keep watch over the town. The rest of the mountain was still shrouded in clouds beckoning us to get closer if we wanted a see.

We dropped our packs. Felix said nothing, our amazement was apparent – we didn’t need a guide right now. Like little kids on the ruins of an old fort, we immediately darted away from our guide to explore on our own. A path passed the little temple. I took it thinking my friends were right behind me. A couple of minutes later I noticed they weren’t. Turning around I could see them below me. Sitting and watching them, they all lost 15 years of age as they bounced around some old walls taking and posing for photos. After catching up, we walking a bit more up the trail until we came upon a clearing – a peak above the ruins that was lopped off and cleared of brush so the Incan priests could perform their rituals. It had a 360-degree view of the entire range around the ruins and us. It was early still, though, and we were among or above the clouds. The mountains and ruins peaked through the clouds from time to time. We scrambled for our cameras to try and catch a glimpse.

Pretty, but there is much more to see. We headed back down to the courtyard, past a relaxing Felix, over to some old houses, the most picturesque of the ruins with their vaulted walls waiting for a thatch roof to be replaced. Beyond those, a maze of other smaller dwellings spread before us. We broke the rules. Paths were a nuisance.

At one point Sarah and I turned around. The mountain was still shrouded in mist. All of a sudden, the baby Jesus or the Apus smiled on us and swept away the clouds for a few minutes leaving us a clear panorama of all the ruins. Goose bumps peaked their way on my arm as I tried to snap pictures of the scene. Like much of the trip, the grandeur can’t be caught on camera, even wit h the widest angle lens.

Climbing up and along walls, we worked our way deeper and deeper into the ruins. Some say the site is only 30% uncovered. We reached that point quickly. Sarah and I kept on passed the cleared buildings. We followed a dark, steep path into the jungle again. Alone, we could see walls of structures still waiting for an archeologist. Around us the bushes rustled. My heart was racing when a blow dart brushed my cheek sticking in to a tree to my right. Okay that part is bullshit. But there was rustling and the path only got more narrow, steep and dark. These gringos reached their turning point.

Finding our way back to the main courtyard we decided to take the llama trail to our right taking us farther up the mountain. I was in search of the Llama del Sol – an inlaid representation of a llama in a wall. I would never find it as Felix told me later that it was a 30-minute hike down the other side of the hill. No biggie. The llama was a staple beast of burden for the Incas, but this was too high for them. Felix said the Llama del Sol was a fond reminder of their favorite animal.

The path narrowed as we walked up it. There were no big trees around, only small brush. And while the clouds still shrouded most of the vistas around us, it hit me that we were walking along a very sheer mountain. It was the first time the heights got to me a little bit as I leaned to the side of the mountain. On top, sat more ruins. We ran into Sean and climbed around a bit more passing more dwellings and areas for storage.

A couple hours had passed and we were content so we made our way back down towards Felix. At the bottom, he sat us down and gave us a history lesson through his broken English. Felix is extremely smart on Peru, it’s history and current events. I was extremely grateful to have him along. Choquiquerao isn’t the latest Incan city to be uncovered. A few weeks ago, archeologists stumbled upon another in the jungle. There will be more to come.

After our lesson and after our juice boxes and snack Herbert packed for us, Felix led us back up to the scalped mountain top where we could see the ruins and terraces better now that the clouds were subsiding. Then down through some brush to the priests’ dwellings – two symmetrical temples on the end of the ruins which provided them a view to the two sides of the mountains. Two priests, two dwellings. Duality in all things, Felix said.

Our path kept on down. A machete would have been handy as we pushed branches past. Fauna embraced old walls as their own. Broken Incan tools and clay pots littered the path. Their intact brothers surely rested below waiting to be discovered. A stop at the administrative center for Choquiquerao would be our last for the cleared ruins. There, archeologists numbered the rocks making the walls. In case they fall in the future, they can now be restored. This area didn’t provide the granite stone used in the famed Incan walls of Machu Picchu and Cusco. Intricate cutting and placement didn’t keep these wall together – they relied on good ol’ mortar and stacking.

We said goodbye to the ruins and bushwhacked our way back to the main trail. As we walked back to the campsite, the clouds had cleared enough to afford Sean and Josh the view of the lower terraces Sarah and I enjoyed the day before.

Arriving back to the campsite we met an Argentinean couple, the first other tourists we’d seen on the trip and one of only 3 other groups we would see in the coming couple days. We’d see this couple again at the airport in Cusco, on the roads of Lima and again at the airport in Lima as we flew out. The path of the tourist in Peru is fairly narrow I suppose.

Herbert cooked. It was delicious. Again. We started to feel bad. We were almost too well fed. We didn’t want to be rude as we stuffed ourselves with his latest culinary awesomeness.

After lunch we hiked back down the mountain we scaled the day before. We knew where we were going so didn’t need Felix to lead the way. We all found our own pace. A thought that remained with me most of the way as we went down, down, down was that yesterday our punk asses went up, up, up. Good job. The sun came out with a force. I can’t say enough how lucky we were with the weather, misty, drizzly mornings made way for temperate weather in the afternoon. This isn’t tourist season down here and it could have been a lot wetter. Sarah and I passed a couple of young tourists on horseback going up the mountain. Their burro driver and supplies followed on foot. Silent nods were passed. We were looking pretty rough at this point. They looked fresh. Sissies.

Back down at the river we paused awhile to watch. A six-foot raging brown wave would explode before us every few seconds. Amazing. We relaxed at the checkpoint. The burros, Felix, Herbert and Santiago went past. Then another hour or so up the other side of the mountain. I could count the switchbacks we were going up from the other side of the mountain. I lost track as we were climbing them. We pulled into the same campsite we stayed in the first night. Another group was there – young Latin men on their first day of the trek. They were kind of assholes. I laughed at their future anguish and drank beer.

Herbert put Rachel Ray to shame.

Sean’s knees were done and he still had another hard day ahead of him. He looked like Fred Sanford wobbling down the mountain with his walking stick. With the guides surrounding, Felix pulled some Shaman shit and put some sort of hot boiling hot leaves on his knees. I chanted in the corner for full effect.

Day 4
Herbert baked a cake for breakfast. No shit, swear to god. A damned cake by on a one-unit burner using candlelight. I offered our futon in DC to him.

The website described the second day of this trip as the hardest. Horse shit. That day we climbed 1,500 meters. But that was on semi-fresh legs. Today was ONLY 1,300 meters, but we were tired. Sean and Josh were hurting pretty bad. They found their own pace and set off – slow and steady up the mountain. Our recollections let us down time and time again as we claimed to be past the worst of it.

At one point we came to a part of the trail that had been washed out. 2 days earlier we could hear rockslides echo through the valley. They are common occurrences during the rainy season. As we waited for Felix to catch up we could hear more rockslides, only these ones sounded like they were only a few hundred yards up the trail. A sense of uneasiness fell upon me as we climbed over the newly located earth.

Josh didn’t want to hold up the group so he got a head start. When he found a flat or somewhat downhill part, he was gone as he found his stride. As we walked along, after the hills and after rockslides, Herbert, Santiago and the burros galloped by. They ran up the mountain we huffed up. For the next 5 minutes I tried to explain to Felix what a ‘stud’ was. We even pulled out the English to Spanish dictionary. It doesn’t really translate that well.

The trail was wide and flat about 7 kilometers outside of Cachora. Sean, Sarah and I trucked along. Josh was way ahead. Felix was a hundred yards back. We noticed a little trail leading to our left. We stopped quizzically for a moment and looked back. A whistle from Felix let us know to take the smaller trail. I sure hope Josh went this way.

The trail was muddy and my non-native American and Sherlock ways kicked in as I started looking for Josh’s boot print. He was wearing old Army boots so I knew what the tread looked like. I saw the feet of burros, cows, Herberts and Santiagos, but no Joshes. It was about to be a bad day for everyone. Josh doesn’t speak Spanish and we are in the middle of nowhere. I was having visions of me hopping on horseback to gallantly go save him. Josh is a good Christian though. He went to a Christian college, has a minor in bible and is just an all around good person. I’d like to think that had something to do with him not being a lonely gringo forever implanted in the Peruvian countryside. As we came to another fork in the road we looked to our right and saw Josh in the distance trucking along. Our yells for him were drowned out by a river in between us. Felix showed up and wondered what Josh was doing. Our collective yell caught his attention and he headed back to us. The Apus like Josh.

As we walked triumphantly through the same fields we started in, the same group of men was working. Felix hollered out to them. They asked if he wanted chicha. Naturally. We plodded through the corn field and one of them met us with a gas can and tin cup. Whereas before we gingerly sipped on it, this time I eagerly took some down. If something happened, I was near a toilet and bed.

I asked Felix if we could have some cuy sometime along the trip. Sarah had a bit the first time she was there. It came to her fully intact, head, paws and all. She was fine until she started playing with it, then it made her queasy. I asked Felix if we did have it, to cut it up.

When we arrived back to the house we started in, I walked to the courtyard to wash my boots off with a hose. In the basin there was a couple puddles of blood. I grabbed my camera and went into the kitchen area were, in the pan, 2 little Guinea pigs sat frying. I let out a gasp a 7-year-old girl would have been proud of to the locals’ amusement. Obviously my request was lost in translation, because when Herbert brought out the main victory course, the cuy sat full intact surrounded by roasted potatoes. My stomach sank are the cuy smiled up at me, but Herbert beamed proudly so I showed little reaction. My friends sat around staring at me – you requested it homeboy, dig in. Luckily Felix quartered it. On my plate it looked less like a rodent and more like a leg and thigh of chicken, if chickens had little paws. The skin was tough so I didn’t eat it, but the meat wasn’t bad. It didn’t taste like chicken. It tasted like Guinea pig. I had my share. My Peruvian brethren dug in with a fury. Felix took the best part. The bit into the skull with a crush and ate the brains.

Mario was there waiting to take us back. After a detour to give a family in need a ride, we hit the road back to Cusco. Once again, we were white knuckled. I managed a nap and Mario managed to make me briefly hate Bob Marley. He had a tape player and played the same album probably 6 times at least. And I love Bob. Before arriving in Cusco, we made a deviation in a small town in the valley. Down a non-descript dirt road past some dilapidated homes was a pool built for the people of this area. The others were in pain or weren’t in the mood for a swim, but I joined Felix and Mario for a dip. The little girl came out again when I jumped in. Apparently Peruvians don’t believe in heating their pools. It was a welcome jolt to my system and managed to get a layer of grime and exhaustion off of me. Best $300 I’ve spent.

NEXT TIME – From the heights and grandeur of Machu Picchu to the urban sprawl of Lima, our adventurers manage to drink a lot of beer.

Choquiquerao Day 1 & 2

2008-06-02T12:13:00.002-04:00

Day 1
Even parties in the 80’s apparently die down. I think I managed to get an hour or two of sleep. I think I was one of the lucky ones in my room. We grudgingly got up slowly. The thought of climbing a mountain sat on our tired consciousnesses like an unwelcome possum on a porch.
5 a.m. and Cusco is quite awake. We waited outside our hostel for our chariot. Our guide showed up on foot. We had to walk up the hill to our ride. Above a smiling man stood proudly next to his Hyundai mini van. Mario was his name. And it wasn’t just a clever one. He drove like a Mario. We piled into the van with our guide Felix and our cook Herbert and Mario roared off through Cusco.
We hit the countryside at full speed. I couldn’t sleep even though I was exhausted. One, the roads were winding their ways around the mountain. Two, Mario was putting that Korean engine to full use. And three, it was too beautiful to take you eyes off of it. My mind was sleepy but my senses were wide awake. I’ve been to many mountain ranges around the world. They all seem to have their own character. The Andes were no different - sheer and dramatic yet emerald green. We were there during the rainy season, which helped, but I imagine they are just as impressive in the winter.
The Incans took full advantage of terracing for agriculture. The arable land in Peru stands at 2.88%. So the present farmers have not given up on clinging their crops to the side of mountains. Quite a sight to see.
Four hours of white knuckle turns in and out of valleys and a few stops for fuel and herds of sheep and we arrived at our destination, Cachora. This was the closest town to our destination of Choquiquerao. No roads full of buses carrying Japanese tourists here. Cachora hasn’t lost its soul yet. This is where the road ends and adventure begins… at least for a few gringos.
Before heading out, our cook Herbert proved his initial culinary skill by whipping up some trout. Herbert would eventually hold a special place in my heart. Full on fish and rice and high on altitude and excitement we set out. We would leave without Herbert and his 15-year-old helper kid, Santiago. They would catch up.
50 yards into the trek my bag zipper came undone and the contents spilled out. Children giggled uncontrollably. The crowd went wild.
Heading out of town we filed through farm fields filled with corn and agave plants past a group of men who were getting ready to attack the field with their shovel-like hoes to till the earth. Our guide, Felix, knew a couple of them. While exchanging greetings and chatting a man carrying a gas can and a tin coffee cup offered something in Spanish. I thought he was offering water to us. I passed. Felix didn’t. A milky brown substance poured from the gas can. Felix eagerly took it down. I’m not going to let Felix show me up. I asked for a cup. Felix told me to drink just a little out of concern for my stomach. The drink was Chicha, the local moonshine made from fermented corn. It tasted like neither whiskey nor corn. Bitter, but not terrible. Wouldn’t want it at ever Sunday dinner table but it wasn’t bad. We passed the cup around sampling the drink. Heading Felix’s advice we didn’t drink too much.
Some folks bungee jump. I drink Chicha out of an old tin cup.
Our walk quickly took us passed some amazing vistas. It wasn’t a hard hike. We passed several locals walking along with or riding their burros. Once again, everyone was pleasant as we passed. I’ve traveled a lot and have never felt the overwhelming acceptance of a people. Not a cold stare to be found. Maybe they were smiling because of what laid ahead of these silly white people amused them.
We walked passed cows lying in the path and could hear a Peruvian flute playing in the distance. Gnarley. Felix says they play music while working the fields. These kids know how to party.
Cachora and the surrounding area sits at about 2,800 meters. For every city on top of the world, there is a valley near by. We discovered it soon. As we ‘oohed’ and ‘aahhed’ at our surroundings, our descent into the valley began. A few hours later my senses were no less impressed but my knees were pissed. A nagging thought hung in my mind. We were going to be coming back the same way we went. Super.
My knees were rubber as we walked into our campsite a tropical looking bluff. An area run by a family with thatch roof huts and a little stand where they sold sodas and beer brought in my mule. Warm beer tastes extremely good in certain situations. Behind us, beyond the valley and river that we would cross sat the mountain we would climb tomorrow. The switchbacks smiled at us. No turning back now kids.
A couple hours into the hike, the boys and Sarah decided to strip down to shorts. A decision they would live to regret. Matas Blancas. Little white flies. With teeth. Their pasty white legs fell victim quickly. As they nursed their bites, I praised god I hadn’t packed shorts in my day pack. As well, Josh fell into a cactus during the walk. He got most of the burs out but one was deep. I used some pliers to try and dig it out but it was too deep. His love of nature left him little by little with each grunt as I dug into his shin.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We fell asleep.

Day 2
The pitter patter of rain on my tent woke me up. I had to pee. I put on my flip flops, donned my headlamp given to me by my students (which turned out to be extremely handy by the way) and stepped outside the tent. A mere drizzle. It was about 5:30 a.m. and I could see the mountain we would climb ahead of me in the mist. Went to the hole in the ground and got back inside to prep for the day. I have an iPod nano and a small set of travel speakers. I made it a point to download the Indiana Jones theme song before I left. It’s never too early to be a smart ass. I stepped out of my tent, rested the speakers against Josh and Sean’s tent and hit play. Sufficiently amused with myself I stepped back into my tent. The rain began to pick up while we were getting ready. I still had music on when someone rustled the tent. I figured it was Felix letting us know to get up and paid it no mind. The rain picked up and the tent rustled again a couple minutes later. I poked my head out to see. Santigo sat out in the rain holding cups, a plate full of tea bags and coca leave and a pot of boiling water. Poor little fella. My heart sank as I took a cup of tea. Speak up dude!
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We left.
The rain cooled us as we descended the rest of the way down the valley. Much of the trail turned into an impromptu waterfall. We could hear the river roar below. The bottom came soon enough where we passed a checkpoint and site built by the government in the hopes of attracting more tourists. The highlight of the checkpoint, toilets! A couple on the team took advantage. We wandered down to the suspension bridge. Solid enough, but wobbly. The river roared brown below us. It was the rainy season and was alive in a way I have never seen a river.
The river was pretty, but 1,500 meters of mountain taunted us. Not much can be said about walking up hill for about 4 hours. We passed a couple of one-family towns. Some selling sodas. Took plenty of breaks. The misty morning was a sweet reprieve from the sun which would have surely tormented us had it the chance. Panting a few hours later, Sarah, Felix and I reached a summit. Felix’s high five signaled to me that it was the end. We rounded a rocky corner and a farmland of sorts stretched before us. We walked for 5 minutes to our next site – similar to the last but on top of the world. Chickens of all sorts greeted us. Soul chickens with their afros. Super chickens with capes sewn into their backs. (They were to keep eagles from swooping up the smaller ones) After dropping our bags, Sarah and I walked back to the pinnacle to greet Sean and Josh as they got to the top. I don’t think they were quite expecting the intense climb and their legs started bugging them. Sean with a bum knee which would quickly turn into two bum knees and Josh started developing an aching foot. We soaked in the view and the vistas peaked through the clouds. I yelled for Josh letting him know he was almost to the top. A common theme song of the trip was Europe’s final countdown. Peruvians for acres around wondered what the noise was emitting from the top of the mountain as a yelled out the signature cut.
Josh would tell me later that he thought a puma was stalking him. His pocketknife in one hand and his walking stick in the other, he trekked through the jungle and eventually reached us at the top. To his relief it was over and it was still early in the afternoon.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We relaxed.
The boys took a nap and Sarah and I took in the view for a while. I watched the local family tend to their chores feeding the chickens. At one point the mother went into a shed and left the door open. Inside, fuzzy little creatures could be seen walking around. Guinea pigs, or cuy, are a staple in the Peruvian diet. I just thought they were cute. I explained to Felix that in the states many people keep Guinea pigs as pets. Felix responded saying he would be at the pet store every Sunday.
Not satisfied with sitting around on the top of the Andes, Sarah and I decided to go for a walk a little farther down the trail. Rounding a bend about a half hour from where we were staying, terraces in the distance hung from the side of the mountain. Climbing up and down a couple mountains makes you appreciate the destination more. It was a welcome site to see some of the ruins Choquiquerao.
The Incans likedx to build many of their cities on top of mountains for several reasons. Militarily, they were defensible. They were secluded. The Incans and many of the present day Peruvians worshipped many of the larger mountains or Apus. And it was closer to the sun. Well, when you live on top of a mountain, it’s a challenge to get food from the valley. So you build terraces.
Quite the sight for a couple weary travelers. We took in the view, snapped a few pictures and headed back. Herbert had tea waiting. As I drank my tea I watched a group of burro drivers huddle around a few beers bought in the hut. I hoped they wouldn’t drink them all.
Herbert cooked some dope shit. We went to sleep.
In Cusco hostels, they have 80’s parties. In little towns on top of the Andes they have annoying little son of a bitch dogs that bark all night and roosters that crow way too early.

NEXT TIME – Will our gringo travelers make it to the ruins? Will the caped chickens arrive in time to save the day? Will Josh disappear into the jungle? Stay tuned kids!

Peru / Cusco

2008-06-02T12:10:00.001-04:00

If I died tomorrow, nobody can say I didn't try to live. I've been to my 5th continent. Antarctica is going to be a bitch, but I'm sure I knock out 6 in my lifetime. Just got back from Peru yesterday. I enjoy writing and I enjoy showing my family and friends what I'm up to. I'm going to write a few little 'blogs.' Read them if you want. Look at the pretty pictures or say 'who the hell is this Adrian guy?'

Last year, my girlfriend Sarah went to Peru to see a good friend of hers. When she came back, she brought back some amazing pictures. It just so happened I came across an article in the NY Times travel section about this recently found Incan city that rivaled Machu Picchu. My interest was sparked. It's been awhile since I've been somewhere 'exotic'. Long story short, got a group together, Sarah, the roommate Josh and good pal Sean, and headed off to South America.

We left on a Thursday afternoon. It was a long couple of flights to Lima. We spent a few hours over night in the Lima airport, part of which was spent sleeping on the food court floor to the amusement of the locals. We hopped a short flight to Cusco, the former Incan capital and the jump off point for most tourists traveling Peru.

Sarah had told me about the flight in to Cusco. It was pretty dramatic. Green Andean mountains and a fog nestled the city as we touched down mid morning. A band played traditional Peruvian music near the baggage claim. They were probably paid to be there and were selling CDs, but the effect was not completely lost on me.

I quickly looked through my brain for the Spanish I had left back there from my roofing days as I tried to negotiate with a taxi driver for a ride to our hostel. I, being from DC, thought we got a good deal at 3 bucks a person. I was soon to find out we grossly overpaid. And the little bastard didn't even take us to our hostel. He dropped us at the bottom of the hill near it. We loaded our backpacks and trudged up the hill. The 11,200 feet of altitude and lack of sleep quickly caught up to me as I climbed the hill. We made it panting to our hostel, a former villa turned backpackers haven.

After settling into our room, I went the bar to have some coca tea – a staple of the locals, perfectly legal and apparently a cure all for altitude. The bar area looked over the city – a million-dollar view and a price of a few cents.

We wanted to walk into town. No nap for our troopin' butts. Sleep shouldn't get in the way of l-i-v-i-n. A stroll into town quickly turned into a trudge up a couple of the hills which surround the city as Sarah showed us some of her recollections.

After being to both Afghanistan and Cusco, I've discovered that the 3rd world has a smell. A mixture of open sewers and burning embers. Not an overpowering smell, but I was brought back to Afghanistan in certain neighborhoods the way a baby food brings back childhood memories to a full-grown man.

Lots of stray dogs too. Mangy but not hungry. Not sure how the system works, but the dogs were fed if not totally washed. And while it felt 3rd world and was incredibly cheap, there were few beggars and everyone seemed happy. Genuinely happy and quick to return an 'hola' or 'buenas dias'.

Our little impromptu trek led us to the Christo Blanco – or Buddy Jesus as he became affectionately known to the group. Our trek back to town led us passed a tiny, 5-table restaurant that we dipped into. We apparently took the owners off guard. We placed our orders somewhat blindly. The grandma cooked our meals in a nearby kitchen as we sipped on semi warm bottles of Peruvian beer. We got to know 2 very well. Not much of an import beer business in Peru. The meal turned out to be delicious. I was lucky and ended up with a rack of lamb. The total for a full meal and a large beer? About 10 Soles… or 3 bucks. It was a good welcome to South America.

The next day we headed out to an Incan museum. We then wandered to a local market. Tourists were few inside where teeming stalls were filled with local goods, spices, foods and meals. We passed a vendor selling tamales. A good snack. I enjoy trying new things so after walking awhile longer I walked up to a lady at a stall, pointed to her sign and had a seat. She smiled, and went to work on her one-element stove. Turned out to be a red meat covered in a tomato-based sauce served with rice and veggies. I'm Catholic so I gave the sign of the cross to Sarah's and my stomach and dug in. It was good and a total of 4 soles. About a buck thirty. As we were eating we looked over at another vendor who was selling drinks of various sorts. We wondered what they were, some looking pretty… ripe. We would find out in a few days.

After lunch we tried to find our way through the busy streets to an artisan market. Traffic in Peru is interesting. There are few lights and even fewer signs. A simple honk and a nose in front decide the right of way. We managed to not become a traffic statistic along the way. My friend Josh, however, became a Caucasian statistic. Josh's background is of the fairest complexion. While the Scottish and Irish he is descended from did fine in their homelands with lighter skin, 2 miles up in the Andes does not a happy skinned Josh make. By the time we made it to the market, the poor fella was toast. One of the man's many run ins with nature on the trip.

The market was fun. Lots of haggling. I managed an Alpaca sweater and a couple of hats for a few bucks. My Spanish came back with a fury as I would spend 5 minutes haggling with a local over 3 soles. I would usually get my way. Though, walking away it would hit me – I just stuck to my guns over a nice hand-made sweater that cost me about $10. She wanted $10.30. Capitalist pig.

After dinner we headed back to our hostel to get some sleep for our 4-day trek the next day. When I booked the hostel, I looked online at several hostels and their reviews. This one was considered a 'party' hostel, but not the rowdiest. I wanted to have a good time. And it was indeed. However, our room just so happened to be directly under the bar… and it was Saturday… and 80's night.

Aha's 'Take on Me' thumped over my head at 2 a.m. I had to be up in a few hours to hike over a couple mountains. Shit.

NEXT TIME – hills, valleys and rocks! Oh my!