So the last few days have been good. Some firsts to report. I've felt stable, in control of how I feel. It seems as if I've finally become familiar with how my body reacts to things like sleep deprivation, hunger, thirst, caffeine, sex, stress. So this learning makes it so that everything is under control, all is good at most times, and that leads to a good ability to feel well. All of this seems good. It seems good, and then goes to heaven suddenly during what we call a "phase." Maybe what I'm noticing is that tendency becoming a bit more infrequent.

I got my bread machine. I have a crock pot, too. It's good to have good food that's easy to make.

Karate is going well. Good exercise, I can feel my pecks a little stronger already and I know I'll be into karate for a while.

Photo is also good. I know I'll learn a lot from this class, too.

The weather's getting colder. Walking home from the library today I found a lot of trash on the street, i got free bagels and wondered why it wasnt ok for me to steal them when they throw them away every other night. It doesnt make sense, and on top of that, its infuriating. My bikes running well, went on two rides to the met and beyond with Jia this weekend.

I've suddenly become organized (or at least how I've felt recently). I have a 'blackberry' and a to do list system that works. I have been surprised at how well its been working. I am waiting on a job, hopefully won't have to get one. DJing at the radio this semester. Somethings going on with Jessica, my neighbor, dont know what yet. Im trying to decide whether I want stability or whether I've grown accustomed to the up for grabs.

I become really happy when I think about the near future and plans made or to be made in Guate. I want to make this happen. Whatever this is. It's such a potential its hard to grasp confidently. There's really nothing huge in the way. My will is there, and there seems to be nothing huge or unpredictable in the way. Oh my.

fire and water

fire and water
heat and cold
good and bad
life and death
wood and food
work and heat
work and fire
fire and work
heat and work
loss of selfhood
loss of sense of space, of where I left my backpack, of where the trail was, of who's my own feet were.
loss of sense of time, losing interest in time, it was 4:30 am and I had no reference points with which to guess.
living a poem that goes beyond the constraints of language, temporality, subjectivity, sociality. Simply noticing its universal sense coalesce and vanish for ever after.
knowing that an attempt to capture experience would be absolutely futile.
being in control of creation
scanning for signs to make sense of, anything that will slow the interminable scanning, anything that the mind will hold in with its threads and sew to the meaning of... everything.

a cohesion of mind amongst members of the group with ideas, moods and vibes
an unabated joy at the marvels of unbound synchrony of mind and creation.
four minds dancing with each other in and out of, above and below, behind and in front of, beside and inside of the same plane.
the timeline of one's life plainly visible, yet blank, in front of you.
voices and footsteps behind, only darkness
a presence of a fifth person
a giver, a purger, a Nordicman, Zen, a mother
the forward march of reason, bum!-bubum!!-bubum!!!-bubum!!!!
a song, that went like ooooooooooooh-oooooooh-ooooooh-oooooooooooooh-OOOOh-aa that was irresistible, overwhelmingly emotional, and nearly absolutely beautiful (its eppitome), came and went at the will of its own life.

full body pleasure comparable to a constant orgasm indistinguishable of, an intrinsic part of, a result of, the fuel for visions of the most objectively beautiful scenes and images, unbound by the limitations of physicality that constrain the reproducibility of art: art that surpasses the limitations of dimensionality, color, animation (alive or dead), art that achieves with absolute precision the collective conception of the beauty. Living, irreproducible art that cascades with sheer meaning. Art that would manage to sell any capitalist product or idea to every living human being that has existed on the planet.
an overwhelming hyper-awareness of what felt like the five senses bleeding together enveloping our cardboard shack of consciousness and imbruing us with death's blood: life at the opposite extreme of death.

Light everywhere its wanted
Space can be rippled by wanting it to be
awareness of the nerves running up and down the legs, arms and back, all tingling with life.
Caressing a friend's feet, and forgetting that they weren't my own.
A yes to everything, capable of positing everything immediately after its utterance.
A lingering song that materializes itself and floats through minds like animate steam and comes to life during the collective chant. A song that exists without sound.

The processes needed for the survival of a human organism, uncomplicated, directly traceable from the fruit in the mouth, to the energy fueling the mind that knows its time to stock the fire.
Stalking a fire for no one but the group. (I)All for (I)all.
Collecting wood in pitch black woods, frustrated at its absence, gratified by the materialization of a stick or log at the tips of (un)blind fingers, another one, another one. The realization that after all, we're in a forest, there's enough wood for a bonfire to keep us warm.
creating heat within by creating heat for us
Losing my folded legs to grant someone still sleep, not knowing when it's supposed to hurt, feeling them reappear in an intense pulsating cacaphony of pain and pleasure simultaneously as I get up.
As she falls asleep, realizing that she's gone, and asking, "where did she go?" as her body shut down.
Imagining her gone, knowing the impossibility of fathoming the goneness of a loved one.
When death happens, you know it's happening, like knowing when that car is about to hit your moving bike, and thinking, it's ok...
at times ceasing to differentiate between warmth and light, and wet and darkness.
Drying off while being rained on
Warming up while being cooled down.
Hearing voices in the vaporized rain drops that hit our fire.
overcoming the night in a perfect cycle of circular opposites - cold - warm, darkness - firelight, wet clothes - dry clothes, afraid - confident, lost - vivid, alone - in synchrony, meaninglessness - excess of meaning, pleasure - pain, weariness - energy, dirtyness, cleanliness, cold - warm, alone - together, awake - asleep.
Noticing a barge increase in size as it rode down the Hudson, seeing a new barge appear with each increment of size, glance after glance. Knowing that if the barge were to disappear to my company, it would've never existed to me, as the condescending footnote in my high school history book noted to happen to the original American people when the Spanish boats (dis)appeared on the horizon.
Feeling the relevance of ritual, chant, tradition, event to being human. Understanding why absolutely misunderstood rituals have lived necessarily unchanged in the spirituality of many American peoples. Understanding (wondering) what a forceful lack does to us.
Killing and animating God simultaneously

lo que fui a traer a sur america

Colombia

http://picasaweb.google.com/hearken/Colombia?feat=directlink

Ecuador, Norte del Peru, Lima
http://picasaweb.google.com/hearken/EcuadorYPeru?feat=directlink
http://picasaweb.google.com/luisfogarty/ElViajeDeLos21Lima?authkey=Gv1sRgCNnLmvC97JiCfg&feat=directlink

Con un Padre en Peru (my favorite album)

http://picasaweb.google.com/luisfogarty/ElViajeDeLos21ConUnPadreEnPeru?authkey=Gv1sRgCNSU9_aIhsCN7wE&feat=directlink

Sur de Peru, Los Inca, La Paz, Bolivia

http://picasaweb.google.com/luisfogarty/ElViajeDeLos21SurDePeruLosIncaBoliviaLaPaz?authkey=Gv1sRgCOr9v9eJxLysvAE&feat=directlink

A couple weeks gone by in red white and blue, putting together what I think this trip did to me

Since I flew over America and landed at the heart of the United States, a lot has happened.

I got home, visited my sweet grandparents in Connecticut, moved into my cozy room and dorm, and began to think about about the actual doing of this coming school year. The ideas had to fade, and the doing began. It was a cool sensation to be back. I've heard sometimes its weird, but it was just cool to be back in the same place for second consecutive year. It felt mildly like being home again with a chance to start over and keep whatever I wanted.

So I began to construct my class schedule on google calendar, look for a cell phone provider (I found a blackberry), buy the extras for my room, buy food, do laundry (some that had seen the sunshine on Lake Titicaca), unpack my collection of goodies, buy books, and talk to people here.

Its unimaginable the amount of time and mental energy doing those simple things takes. Fortunately, I've got it all pretty much settled, and now the real good stuff starts: actually doing readings, posting responses, going to sections, ordering more books, finding a job or internship that looks good for the semester, going and doing things at the club meetings, as well as getting my brain back into normal school mode. These are all pleasant. I feel like I can't speak in class yet, until i've gotten my brain adjusted to the jargon of the class. I can speak spanish well. I've especially enjoyed going to the club meetings filled with mostly spanish speaking girls. (It has dawned on me about once a month every month I've been here that this community has an overabundance of gorgeous girls, its quite hard to believe.)

If I were to share with you the speakable effects that this trip has had on me, I would have to mention three things. They obviously don't coalesce like this in the mind, but in order to allow anyone to understand them, I've categorized them, like a good intellectual would do. The first one is communicating. After countless moments communicating with strangers, something in my head clicked. It's just easier now to get what I want respectfully and comfortably from another person. I want to say I'm better at reading people too.

The second thing would be an understanding of how I liked traveling best. I'm refering to speed, company, nature of the places, time, comfort. This trip was the one that will set the tone for the ones to come, and will be the one I think back to when I think of personal traveling.

The third thing that has changed noticeably is my independence. I can alomst confidently say that I can be stable and content while being completely alone, something I lacked when I began school (and which too many people lack here.) The time in solitude on the trip did this. I have doubted my retension of this skill during the first chaotic week, where my head at times nearly goes haywire and my productivity goes to crap, something that bothered me a lot last year. My Buddhism class will might teach me how to control this phenomena, I would have to call it a phenomena.

Despite the difficulty in communicating this, if there would be a forth general effect it would be to have acquired a better understanding of the levels (or moods, states of mind, phases) my mind enters when in a travel mode. (The travel mode has many similarities to the routine here, I think, therefore this might be valuable.) I can now identify them and begin to understand their causes and remedies. I think of this as part of getting to "know thyself."

So I'm going to take advantage of the lure I feel to the still mistical New City of York and go do something in Harlem before this Friday slips away. Check in with whoever you are soon.

From the Santiago Metro to the MTA

From the Santiago, Chile Metro to the MTA, I´ll be retracing my progress into the endless south along the Andes, to end up where I started three long, unforgettable months ago... home.

ive a lot in notes ill be putting up here soon.

Cuzco

In Cuzco now. There´s an Inca capital burried under this computer. We´ll probably make it to Machu Piccu tomorrow. I will probably be too stunned to write anything, sort of like i have during the last week or so.

hermanos, nosotros nacimos de la noche, en ella vivimos, moriremos en ella, pero la luz, sera mañana para los mas

El viaje de los 21

El recorrido de mi padre y yo ya lleva 3 noches y 4 dias. A bill se le ha estado regresando la juventud. Ya perdio 4 libras y puede caminar y parrandear toda la noche. Ya no se queja de su tobillo, y se ha emborrachado cuatro veces conmigo. Y tambien vuelan los coches en el Peru.

El Billy corre detras de mi a buen rumbo y nos ha ido muy bien y facil tomando decisiones. Hemos tenido ya varias conversaciones bien constructivas sobre una varidedad de cosas relacionadas con la vida nuestra como familia y duenos de negocio. Es un tiempo por el cual estoy muy agradecido.

Mi cumple la pasamos muy lindo, en motos por el desierto a ver el atardecer, y a pasar por una tumba saqueada de la era precolombina. La segunda parte estuvo muy triste y me conmovio de una manera que deja marca. Regresamos y cenamos rico, unas cervezas y asi se fue la noche.
El viaje de los 21 no se me va a olvidar.

De arriba para abajo nos tuvieron los sand buggies de esta laguna rodeada por dunas gigantes. De arriba para bajo se vino el bill acostado en una tabla de snowboarding. Y yo tambien medio snowboarding bajaba como los worlds most amazing videos medio chocado. Bill haciendo todo tipo de preguntas sobre el carro y el motor y la marca y yo corriendo por las puntas casi no creyendome estar dentro de este desierto gigantesco. Tengo una libra de arena en mi cuerpo y dentro de mis zapatos.

Despues de hacer figuras en la arena de Huaca China, vamos a sobrevolar las figuras (gigantes: mono, colibri, aves) que hizo la gente Nazca. Las de Nazca un poco mas apreciables. Ahora vamos al pueblo Nazca a tratar de tomar un avion. Y luego quiza agarremos un bus directo a Arequipa, en donde se encuentra el canon del Colca. Voy a pedirles que bajen a Bill encima de un burro. Que verguenza que Bill necesite la ayuda de un burro para hacer las con precision.

Look dad, we´re in a desert

El recorrideo de mi padre y yo ya lleva 3 noches y 4 dias. A bill se le ha estado regresando la juventud. Ya perdio 4 libras y puede caminar y parrandear toda la noche. Ya no se queja de su tobillo, y se ha emborrachado cuatro veces conmigo. Y tambien vuelan los coches en el Peru.

El Billy corre detras de mi a buen rumbo y nos ha ido muy bien y facil tomando decisiones. Hemos tenido ya varias conversaciones bien constructivas sobre una varidedad de cosas relacionadas con la vida nuestra como familia y duenos de negocio. Es un tiempo por el cual estoy muy agradecido.

De arriba para abajo nos tuvieron los sand buggies de esta laguna rodeada por dunas gigantes. De arriba para bajo se vino el bill acostado en una tabla de snowboarding. Y yo tambien medio snowboarding bajaba como los worlds most amazing videos medio chocado. Bill haciendo todo tipo de preguntas sobre el carro y el motor y la marca y yo corriendo por las puntas casi no creyendome estar dentro de este desierto gigantesco. Tengo una libra de arena en mi cuerpo y dentro de mis zapatos.

Despues de hacer figuras en la arena de Huaca China, vamos a sobrevolar las figuras (gigantes: mono, colibri, aves) que hizo la gente Nazca. Las de Nazca un poco mas apreciables. Ahora vamos al pueblo Nazca a tratar de tomar un avion. Y luego quiza agarremos un bus directo a Arequipa, en donde se encuentra el canon del Colca. Voy a pedirles que bajen a Bill encima de un burro. Que verguenza que Bill necesite la ayuda de un burro para hacer las con precision.

Una Pequeña Falta de Aire en los Pulmones

Una pequeña falta de aire en los pulmones,

un peso de octavo hatado al corazon.

Por el intestino grande fluye miel espeza,

los ojos buscan al horizonte.

Sin enfocar, baja la mirada al suelo

mientras los ojos son olvidados.

Nubes de agua frîa, sol y viento amenazan con lluvia.

Las nubes forman figuras en la retina.

La presiôn del inhalar inunda las rajaduras de los pulmones con oxigeno.

Sangre oxigenada recorre las venas al ritmo del corazon.

Tanta sangre revienta las hataduras y cae el octavo.

El peso abre un camino violentamente por el estomago.

La miel se derrama,

se endulza el vientre.

El corazôn palpita sangre en miel,

el corazôn palpita sangre endulzada,

corre por los pulmones, el estomago, el vientre, las piernas, brazos, espalda, cuello y rostro.

Fluye hasta llegar al cerebro,

forma nubes color rojo obscuro que opacan el sol.

Viajan cortonsionandose, recorriendo los contornos del cerebro.

El sol enrala la sangre dulce y se derriten las nubes.

El calorcito radia olas que reverban con el ritmo de los latidos.

Las olas crecen hasta generar un terremoto.

Se derrumban los horizontes,

el cuerpo entra en el olvido

Una pequena falta de aire en los pulmones.

Ecuador y Peru

Ecuador y Peru

¨Esta noche, nunca la olvidaremos¨

Audio - Serpientes en vivo en Guayaquil

I got up in Riobamba and ate breakfast, then read the Comercio Ecuadorian newspaper. Next thing I knew, I was on a bus to the largest city in the country, along the coast, Guayaquil, headed to a Silvio Rodriguez bicentenial (1809-2009) government sponsored free concert.

After making line where hundreds of police made sure nobody cut, I made it into the huge soccer stadium, packed with people from all over the country who arrived in subisdised buses to the event.

The moon came out, no clouds but enough to be lit up by the city lights, the nearbye airport gave us epic overflying jets like in that U2 beautiful day video or the Rock, and the music. Timeless revolutionary tracks like gracias a la vida, cambia todo cambia, comandante che guevara, la masa, and song after song of aging Silvios soothing childish voice. I wished my memory brought back the words and feelings as it did for the thousands of Ecuadorian voices in chorus.

A stadium lit up when the white lights turned. A stadium of flags, piggy backs, arms, cellphones, tears, nostalgic emotions, joy and hope. Correa was revealed at the end, in the front row, humble looking, singing at the top of his lungs for the encore.

¨Esta noche, nunca la olvidaremos¨


Continued traveling, came to Cuenca, but missed Calle 13s performance. He seems like a pretty cool human being. I was very angry at myself last night.

I realized I need to be a little more logical before hopping on a bus for 5 hours to miss the only thing I went to do. Thats the benefit of being with another person, you get to process decisions, pros and cons much more naturally. Alone, you either structure yourself in order to make solid decisions, or you suffer the consequences.

I bought a 100 dollar camera to replace good old Manuels. So now i have some media which I very happily will turn into a collection and be all proud of it. As long as it takes decent pictures.

My lower back is sore. I have been on a bus for too long. The time has lept from quantitative to qualitative: a lot. I dont even notice the passage of time on buses anymore. I just sit and wait for it to go by. And then I notice how tired and weary im getting and realize its been a long time. Then the buildings start getting bigger and im there.

At night inside, youre in a big rectangle with gradual variations of forward backward left and right pulls and tugs. The sounds emitted are those of a primal animal that has been extinct for thousands of years. The muffler acceleration sounds like an increasingly angry large mammal, or even a cyclops. And the brake system sounds like a high pressure air hose cleaning out the same tube in patterns.

Inside, people relinquish humanhood and regress to a brutish slumber. The normal needs of the body and mind are burried in a lazy vegetation. The body is told to shut down. But the ears, they are pretty active, hearing cries, whimpers, smashes, shots and swords that conjour up negative images. To rid themselves of the negative images, the ears tell the brain to focus on the shitty american action or horror movie (the shittiest movie in the world, each time, save rush hour 3 last night) playing in the background.

Meanwhile, the long rectangular metal box tugs onward, towards a name youve been told is worth checking out. Towards the next stop on the neverending complex of roads that weave these andean countries together. Hopefully, a name that will bring back good things and good people when waiting in the next bus, to the next name.

And now, im off to a 13 hour ride to get a head start into Peru, crossing the border tonight.
Please send your warmest thoughts and prayers to my lower back. I have a good book, El Ensayo de la Ceguera by Jose Saramago that has me trapped and will surely take up most of my attentive time and day light.

yellow fish, blue fish, red fish

yellow fish, blue fish, red fish swimming down Rio Daule

Ahoritita

Tuesday night, in overnight bus to Quito from beach. August4th, 2009

Second out of four nights in Ecuador in a bus.

The day i smoked up , hopped on a car to ecuador I opened up a new page for this trip.

A third gone, i feel like a pigeon running from a toddler.
The toddler´s name is disorientation.
Running makes him grow larger.

I always tell myself I need to slow down. I need to actually have time to consistently meet cool people. Solitude, some poeple like it some people hate it. I´ve had my share of it wandering around in unknown towns.
These are intros to these places, nothing more, and I accept it. But something inside me tells me, man you could be using this valuable free time so well, doing something other than wander around, spend money, and then leave.

We´ll see what the verdict is in retrospect. Summers are valuable for sophomores. I better make this one worth it all.

Quito

Quito has too many beautiful churches. Spain left a mark here, a pretty big one. It was, just as Tenochtitlan and Cuzco, built right on top of original indigenous cities, if im not mistaken. Some tactic of the conquistadores. Erase them.

¨Don Pedro (Peterr) es Espanol, puro.... el hermano de la esposa del vecino!¨ hahaha
(Don Pedro) vendo miel, y soy de aca. Mire este articulo (saca un articulo fotocopiado sobre los beneficios de la miel pura para la gente de tercera edad y me la da.)
- Si es buena la miel verdad.

Pero don pedro (de nuevo el dueno del comedor en Otavalo) el no es de la tercera edad!

- Cualquier necesidad que tenga que ver con la miel, aqui tiene mi tarjeta.

Sorry, got carried away.

During my time here in Quito, I went to the middle of the earth. Saw the earth´s spin do its work. In the north, we proved water drained counter-clockwise, and in the south, clockwise. In the center, it went down clean. This was a matter of one meter south and one meter north. Quite incredible to seeeee the gravitational structure of the earth at work. I also balanced an egg on a nail with the help of the earth´s centrifugal forces. I became tow pounds lighter in the equator, great way to lose weight. Cool stuff. My English friend Josh took an elaborate photoshoot of my crowning as the egg balancer witha real diploma that I had done it successfully.

On Sunday night I went to the wealthy (one of them) Quiteños beach, Casa Blanca, a private gated city on the beach with temporary summer homes for the beach season. It didn´t feel like a town. It wasn´t a town. The youngins were let loose in safety, and drank and drank until morning. (I parttook, through up for the second time in my life, due to alcoholic beverages! ; ) Damn these Ecuadoreans can drink!

As you can imagine, that place was weird, but the person I visited, Melissa, from our first year at Bard was very cool, as always.

Came back to quito, tried to sleep on the bus, took one of Meli´s mom´s sleeping pills kind of late, and passed out. I ran out of the bus in a frenzy, hoping the terminal opened up, which it did, and housed me for another two hours while i slep peacefully on the chairs.

Then i got a fever, feel like crap right now, tried to enjoy the city, but couldn´t do it very well. So now im doing one of my favorite passtimes, writing.

Otavaleños; indigenous with dignity

August 1st, 2009

Otavalo, south of the Colombian border is an example for all indigenous Guatemalan towns.

Here, vendors have dignity. They are a business, tourists are customers, and notheing more.
Here, handicrafts are made by the people of the region, sold to the poeple of the region, some Quiteños, and, amongst all the others, tourists.
The problem is that tourists come with piggybanks, and spend on gifts in an unnatural and unsustainable way, turning them into constant sources of dollars! DOLLARS! Everyone dies for dollars. The market ends up being shaped by the gringo demand.
And that´s what´s happening in Lake Atitlan and its surrounding country.
There´s something wrong with the way the tourism industry works in Guate, and im sure in many other places.

It does unnnatural and unhealthy things to locals over time. Think about Pana.

In Otavalo, tourists aren´t incarnated idols worth hundreds of quetzales. They don´t turn into caricatures of people who must be related to in an idiotic, slow and over-enunciated Santiago Atitlan english accent.

In Otavalo, the indigenous in the handicraft merchants have adapted their labor to the most lucrative market, and not their identity.

Que somos guerrilleros

Sat down for a meal, turned down the roasted Cuy, (hamster or something) and ordered a meal at the Ipiales comedor.

Ipiales, one of the most indigenous places in Colombia.

Huge cauldrons keeps meals for 300 plus people boiling all day. Chicken, meat, cuy, rice, beans, ensaladas, salsas. Ordering is useless. El almuerzo is el almuerzo!

Why does value make things triple enjoyable?
This 1.25 USD meal is incomparable to my 7.87 USD fast food burrito from Chipotle. These meals come from different planets. Different realities. Different economic systems; from the pots, pans, wood-stocked fires and ingredietns of people. Think. Think about the sheer irrationality of such a gap in ¨value.¨ El almuerzo es el almuerzo!

Don Alfonzo contando cuentos de que su camion de papas ya apenas cargaba el peso. Que aquel dia ya no arrancaba. Ooo arezar que no se me apagara en el camino.
- Al arrancar ya no se apaga esa cosa.

Pregunto yo, usted tiene camion, que carga? Que cargo papas, tengo camion, se van un monton de quintales en un viaje.
- A donde lo manda usted? Se va para Pasto, Ecuador, hasta mas norte a Bogota. Sii se va a todos lados esa papa.
- A la panza tambien! Un vecino interrumpio con la boca llena de papa y caldo.

Hahaha.

¨Que lo vamos a secuestrar y a poner a trabajar cosechando papas¨
Dice que somos guerrilleros!

Que se oye en guatemala de aca?
- Como son noticias solo las cosas grandes salen, y asi se forma la impresion.

¨Solo noticias malas salen de Colombia¨

Deberias de ir a ver el Santuario, aca cerca, alli van todos. Si es cara la entrada.
¨Asi se hacen sus fichas los curas¨
- Si verdad que feo eso.
¨Todo es un negocio¨
¨Todo es un negocio¨

Y ustedes, viven en el campo?
- haha en un pueblo mejor dicho.

Bogota con familia

Something drew me to Bogota, I felt like a home awaited me.... and it did. There´s something about the Platarrueda Lopez sisters that makes everyone crazy about them.

After coincidentally finding Ana, the oldest sister, coming home from medical school, we got home to find Daniela and Valeria (twins) dancing to Cafe Tacuba. They had just gotten back from school at la Unidad Pedagogica, a progressive no-grades school which both of them appreciate a lot. Irene got home from her jealousy inducing job at the Colombian headquarters of the UN. We ate arepas and eggs for dinner.

Llegaria a amar las arepas despues de comerlas ¨en todas sus presentaciones¨ en bogota.
Bogota, que cuidad mas inmensa, las cuadras siguen y siguen como una maya de gallinas al noooorte y al sur. Y cabal como este gran plan dicta en otras partes del mundo, el norte es para ricos, y el sur para pobres. Yo estaba en el norte, en Mazuren cinco, de donde se toma el bus que parece metro (como los verdes de guate) al centro a una hora. Todas las hermanitas toman ese transmilenio en las mananas a diferentes horas, y regresan en la tarde a diferentes horas.

Y en esa rutina las vine a encontrar yo. Ocupadas, felices (en la carita se les ve) y con ganas amarse y amar a la vida.

Y como se podran adivinar, no me quice ir de alli, por seis dias!

Bueno, la primera noche, la futura diplomatica Irene me ordeno a planear nuestro fin de semana de viaje que se tenia que ¨salir de bogota.¨ Despues de una noche de lugar a lugar, viendo viejitos tomar cerveza y platicar, muchos jovenes urbanos rolos malavaristas y payazos ganando mucho dinero, (y se entiende que la media de aguardiente Antioqueño vale cinco y el gran cigarillo de maria juana mil quinientos pesos (si, son como 75 centavos de dolar, no lo creo hasta hoy)), hippies que venden joyas, y un monton de gente bonita bailando la mejor salsa, salimos de Bogota en busca de sabiduria.

Terminamos en la tierra sagrada de los Chibcha, visitando una lagunita y un pueblo lindo con muchos caballos, atardeceres preciosos, gente rola (de bogota) bien rara e interesante travandose con mary jane y polos (chelas). Era como una mezcla de pana y antigua, pero sin lago ni mayas. Nos quedamos con un viejito lindo llamado Guillermo, dueño orgulloso de un ford rojo de los viejos viejos todos gordos y rojos que llevaba para lado a lado dandole ordenes a sus hijos quienes manejaban como jocks sus caballitos. Nos dijo que cerca habian aguas termales en donde decia que se podian cocinar huevos. Que cuando fue él, las mujeres se metian hasta la cintura, y los hombres nada mas hasta las rodillas. Buen dulce el senor, nos conto tambien sobre una pareja que consumio demasiadas drogas en el parque Iguaque y primero los sopilotes los encontraron y llegaron la policia y los bomberos a sacarlos de alli. Ya no quiero hacer drogas.
Salimos tempranito al otro dia y de paso a paso, tema a tema de conversacion, vista a vista bonita, llegamos a la lagunita. Comimos y nos venimos para abajo.

Durante la caminata tuvimos mucho tiempo para hablar sobre todo todo.
Chismes sobre los de pana, dani, vale, zenon, elena, alicia, sammy, che, lupe, pablo, clara, issa, luna, jenny, sergio, etc etc., nuestra obsesion con lo que nos gusta de la antropologia, la familia, el futuro, la politica guatemalteca, la colombiana, el futuro de la humanidad, y tener familia propia.
De vuelta de la caminata de 12 kilometros alquilamos caballitos de don Guillermo. A Irene no le va bien de jock, que a pesar de los gritos de nuestro guia de doce años, ¨hagase a la derecha.. cuidado con el poste... jalele duro!¨ no escuchaba ese caballo por todo en el mundo. El mio si cabalgaba y jodia al de irene con ganas de molestar.

Salimos de alli felices, con un chocoramo y una avena para la recompensa por haber caminado por horas como 12 kilometros. Muy ricas las chucherias.

Antes de irme tuve el chance de salir de bogota de nuevo, esta vez con las gemelas, aca estan las fotos! (http://picasaweb.google.com/hearken/Colombia?feat=directlink)
a una catedral de sal en Zipaquirá(sipakwirá)) de donde nos robamos sal para hecharle a las arepas de la cena. Vimos al hermano perdido de Zane (Duncan vino a colombia hace como 18 años) y tomamos fotos bonitas durante el tour de una pequena parte de los 30 km de cuevas en tres niveles de minas de sal. Con razon hay tanto colesterol alto.

Medellin: ¨Las mejores mujeres, metros y museos¨

Left off too long ago. I´ve felt a compelled to write and just haven´t sat down to do it, for some reason. Pressure I guess, because I know I have amazing readers (if few) and have some cool stuff to comment about.

Left Santa Marta happy to hop on that bus. The bus i was on was perfectly designed to induce nightmares. The on-off AC probably ends up costing much more energy, human energy (like sickening BP add) when one´s body does everything it´s animal faculty can possibly do to heat up. (especially when it´s recently had its sweater stolen by a predator) Plus it must force itself to ignore the threats in the "&%·/$ crazy usa horror movie sounds that just force something in your head to either incorporate them into your dreams or wake the hell up and listen to them.

Medellin, medellin is the pride of Colombia, although people hate on it in Bogota and elsewhere, they´re proud of the ¨mujeres¨¨metro¨and the ¨museos.¨ The city has a lot to like, Medellin´s Botero and his appreciation of obesity and fame lead to chubby cats, dogs, birds and people sculptures throughout the center of the centro as well as art museums, This city is proud of being modern and the sprawling comercial center with everything you could ever want to buy, used or new proves it to be the place where many Colombians from the area go to replentish.

Usted no tiene que confiar en nadie.

Trust. Trust is the sum of a series of unfounded conclusions made about the trusted. These conclusions are rarely based in anything concrete, but more often derived from the trustee´s personal code of social ethics, personal experience and moral values, projected onto the trusted. If person B hits certain arbitrary chords of sociality in person A, this person will somehow feel a lure to trust person B, in order to invest in their mutual friendship. This can be wonderful, and it can be disastrous. One instance of trust proved to be disastrous to me during my time near coastal northern Colombia. My trust was bought with little labor, and sold for a modest financial fortune.

...

¨What are you up to after the Tayrona beach?¨
- ¨I´m looking to go out tonight too, hang out in Taganga and then go rumbear in Santa Marta.¨
¨You should stay at my place, we can leave the things, shower, eat, and then head out to Taganga.¨
- ¨You´ll have plenty of girls, so many girls in my neighborhood.¨
- ¨Hey I´ll get this bus fare, you get the next one.¨
- ¨My parents are just mad at me for giving my brother the motorcycle keys¨

...

No aca en este barrio no vive ningun Miguel. ¿Que direccion le dieron?
- No se, esque solo tengo el nombre, que vine aqui ayer, y ahora tengo que encontrar la casa pero solo el nombre del chavo me se.
A pues esta dificil.

Aqui ya no camine despues de las 10, esta peligroso, mejor duerma, coma y manana regrese temprano con luz, y asi ya le funciona mejor la memoria.
¿De donde es usted?
¿Ala, y que necesita de el?
Viera que usted no tiene que confiar en nadie, la verdad. No importa lo que le digan.

Mototaxis abound in the small town of Sant Marta. These tenacious drivers apply their experience to being the best at disobeying traffic regulations. On my ten to fifteen rides with them, my partly employed drivers probably amassed a penalty of four thousand dollars in the eyes of a Rhode Island Highway Patrol.
They were confused as I attempted to describe the neighborhood I didn´t know. A place I had visited for under twenty minutes in a rush. A street entrance, a sister, a mom a dad I greeted. A street exit, an intersection and I was gone.
¨Voy a encontrar esta casa aunque me tarde tres dias¨

¿Que dejo en la casa de Miguel? ¿Que tiene Miguel de usted?
Aqui no se debe confiar en nadie.

I noticed the panecitos on the counter just the way I did on Friday evening. It was the same store. Down that callejon to the right. It´s down here. I recognize the adjacent house. I´m here, i found the house. The door doesnt answer, the curtain lets me see the room where my backpack and red miniature pack once were. They aren´t there. The house is empty. I knock, and knock. and knock harder. Where the hell are they? They´re surely out and put my backpack away.

15 minutes later...

Ya no está, vino, me dijo que se llevaba su mochila a Taganga que usted lo estaba esperando alla, y se fue.

Senora, su hijo me robo, me dijo que iba a hacer unas llamadas y comprar ron para la noche, y no volvio. Esto no puede ser. ¿Que va a hacer usted?
iSu hijo es un ladron hijo de puta!

Yo no me voy de aca sin mis cosas.
Voy a denunciar esto y van a aparecer.

...

Don Carlos, the father of Miguel Angel BriseÑo, an undemployed, attempted smooth speaker, machista. The father of a Ana, a 15 year old who wouldn´t listen to the slightest command or plead of her mother to put away the dry laundry. The husband of a soft-spoken, timid seemingly battered wife. The father of the most cold-hearted delinquent I have met in person.

A delinquent, someone who breaks the law. This kid Miguel bursts through the law´s cuffs into something new I haven´t seen before. He cultivates my trust with the most convincing scheme. A scheme fully dependent on my status as an outsider trying to get to know his country and its people; my sheer naive amiability. He puts his family and home at the mercy of a stranger he hopes won´t find his way back to them. He renounces all right to return home without his police record burrying him in problems.
Whatever motivated Miguel Angel´s interaction with me was something far far far from anything beneficial to his existence, and to mine.

The lecture, ¨usted no debe confiar en nadie¨ i received from about twelve Colombian´s has made it deep into my head. The emails from my mother I read two days later advised me about being naive and stupid. ¨No vaya a ponerse en situaciones de riesgo para evitar gastos por favor mijo.¨ It frightens me to see the merit in motherly wisdom. During the phone conversation where I brushed the incident aside as something ¨unfortunate but interesting¨ she told me she had been worried about my faith in people; my trusting people, like I often do, who seem nice but have other intentions. As to how she found out exactly what was most likely to have happened to me is a mystery.

I get it, I got it the moment i uttered to myself ¨ique estupido de mierda!¨ inside the gated house in Concepcion II, Santa Marta. I understand the flexibility of the human mind: How the dignity which upholds beautiful systems of trust, shelter, exchange and love can break down in certain people in the wrong circumstances. Leading to their cunning use of these self-sustaining systems in order to pilage them.

Tayrona

Tayrona,
A beach of forest, rock, sand, water and sky is composed by the hands of la Pachamama. Eternally, laid out in front of me. The mist from the crashing clouds rises into mist below clouds in waves that go from above to beyond the horizon. I float on a strip of forest, sand and rocks through the clouds. I dive in to float into the sky, away from land. I´m hit by waves of clouds that cannot do any harm but to harm itself. The water in the sky will wash away what has to go and carve out what will stay. I will stay after these waves have made their mark on me.

El Castillo de Cartagena

July 15th, 2009

Cartagena is a sprawling Spanish-fortress. It´s been defeated from within by modern-day Colombian heart, passion and growth. It survived the country´s liberals vs. conservatives wars for centuries of unpleasant history, up to recent drug wars and all that monotonous crap that carved out some of the social, political and economic indedible meat that makes up Colombias power structures today. That´s all here and strong, but in history books and in poli-sci books, what you see on the surface is much different. This is the way Colombia works.
Cartagena is hot, surrounded yet not contained by spanish period fort walls. Overrun by gorgeous women, trade-center activity, tourists, and all sorts of transportation.

Im afraid my narrative posts will start deminishing, as my notebook is empty. Ill be shorter i guess.

North to Barranquilla, cited in Shakira´s song hips dont lie, which for some reason sticks in my mind when i hear that name. North to Santa Marta, where I would spend 4 nights that seemed like 10.

Buses, Boats, self-hating seaport-officers and a Beautiful Panamanian family

July 13th, 2009

¨Amarrate bien los pantalones, y sal pa´delante.¨

Por la gracia de dios nací en Panamá.
Me dio esta mamá quien me apolla de borracho, de fumador, de pierde-tiempo. Panamá me dio este hogar lejos del centro, para que aun haya lugar en el bus en camino al trabajo.
Me dio este mercado, donde la teconologia en computacion es un negocio de sueÑo.
Panamá me llevara a Europa. Europa me reinventará.
Dejare acá un negocio fuerte y una ONG, relegado.
Me llevo mi mujer, si tengo, y dejo mis vicios.
Dejo mi corazón y me llevo mis sueÑos.

Went to muelle coco solo, ¨de aqui no hay lanchas para colombia.¨ Bus back to Colon the northern equivalent of the panama city port ( on the other side of the canal) one of the most grimy, sketchy and self-declared unsafe cities I´ve experienced. No cargo boats with need of foreign labor. ¨we don´t even have jobs for Panamanians, much less for you.¨
Made it via hiking, and buses to the main marina, where all the gringos find shelter, Shelter Bay Marina. Talked to Lina, the attendant, who told me that it´d be hard to find anybody going to Colombia at this time of year, its too late in the season, dangerous and boat propeller required. I later emailed her the random romantic muse i had about her name (¨Lina, prestame parte de lo que eres para que seas ¨d¨mi. She thought it was really Lindo, and lamented my absence :p) I was told to post an ad on my attempts to work-accompany- pay to get to Colombia and see what comes of it, to spread the word, and make friends during happy hour. I was down, but i was impatient and had no place to sleep, so I headed back towards panama that evening. A rumored cia employee with a powerboat was headed to cartagena, Colombia, and might be ok with taking me along with him for the 12 hour jump. I scrambled to contact him, but when i finally spoke with him he gave me a blunt ¨no.¨ I did meet a Spaniard who told me it was easy to make friends there and hope to whereever your new friends happen to be sailing if you have the time. From that marina, there were people crossing the canal, going to places along the northern coast of s. america, going north into the carribean, up to central america, even to the US probably. It was the place to be to hitch a sea-ride. Ill be there sometime soon.

On my way to Panama City I met Mayra Stevens, an intelligent, well-informed mother on her way home from Colon to Panama. She had afro-caribbean ancestry. We talked about journalistic sensationalism, safety and unsafety in panama, self-betterment as a choice in panamanian society, the promises of the new government, her family, my hope in human patterns of welcoming strangers naturally, the gift and reciprocation, social problems as part of structure, not human nature and so on.
She sounded like an anthropologist.
She was also a commuter transport whiz who guided me accross the transit system.
She invited me to spend the night with her and her son, Jorge, I told her I had decided to fly to Cartagena that night on a 10pm flight for 200 dollars., ready to get out of panama and on to colombia. I got her number.
At the airport, flying the next day was 100 bucks cheaper, i could find out a final word on the cia powerboat, and not arrive late with no clue on where to stay. I stayed.
What a good choice. The next day, the coolest panamanian lad, 25 year-old Jorge McDonalds would guide me through his city, Panama City from the perspective of a true Panamanian citizen.

Jorge McDonald is 25. His dream is to establish a socially conscious computer systems company that will give him the money to live comfortably, move to Europe and have a well-tended family. His business plan is drawn up in his mind in detail. His plan to start a network of contacts for which he repairs and maintains computer systems is going to work. He´s ïnvested far too much in this plan for it to not work.¨ He has two huge almanacs on business management next to his Linux OS home computer, the internet unplugged for the expensive bills.

He spoke to me with unabated interest in what he said, and what I had to say. With the educated and polite voice of one of the lucky few approaching a college degree, he enquired about my life and interest in anthropology, while giving me his definitive pitch on why Linux Mint kicks ass. (it really does, i think). He´s got a mind as sensible as a 2 day-old father and as structured as a business man.
He drew up a plan for our day touring downtown, our time on the beachwalk and our route back home without a pen. He found out how much credit he had and how much he needed for his college degree at his city University, the time he had cut from it after ¨wasting a lot of time on other things.¨
He spent a whole day on me. And renewed my image of Panama City from the household of one of the hopeful, patriotic, hard-working and optimistic families that somehow cling onto the goodness found while in relative ignorance of how things are in places with historic luck.

The next night, with some love, a cd of linux mint, a panamanian flag and some good home-made food in me i was off to the airport to the awaited land of three colors, colombia red, colombia blue, colombia yellow.

Flying over my loves

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

Today I hopped on a plane and flew over Santa Elena, where my grandfather Don Paco (Papapaco) lives. I traced the roads my mother and I drove many times to visit el abuelo. I pinpointed the spot where Beti, Mom, Dad, Pedro, Sadie and Carlos had recently arrived la casita de don paco, after seeing me off to the rhythm of a Beti and Madre duet (quite confusing to the taxi driver).
My plane found its way to Panama through the clouds, leaving my loves behind. Panama City was an urban mess. A neo-liberal economics experiment gone wrong. I thought the place was empty. I walked out of the highrise beach strip and found a marching band in practice on July 14th for November 15th. Each and every member of the band played as loud as he or she could and with pride. Monotone trumpets in unison bellowing out the most recent melody of a given school. The sound stuck right into the ear and made its way to the heart. I felt drawn to the pride of whatever school was in front of me, as if I´d studied, played, and marched with them for years.

I saw soccer on my way over, a social lubricant where pride, energy, frustration, practice and skill were put on display for the brief golden-goal matches in the indoor soccer-size, outdoor fields along the beach walk.

Made it drenched in sweat into the hotel ¨rio de Janeiro¨more like a motel without the garage for one night stands. Saw what looked like a satisfied customer walk out with his temporary employee looking empty during check-in. This place is wet, dark, loud, uninviting. I knew it was temporary. The next night would be much much nicer.

At the internet stand, found some news on some kids looking to get cargo boats accross the panama canal. There were a couple of names I jotted down. Id look for them tomorrow to get on a boat to Cartagena, rapidly becoming a legendary promiseland in colombia, compared to this. I´d make it there no problem, somehow.

train: new york chicago