All Manner of Treachery

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Peru:

In 2006 a waterfall called Gocta was discovered by the outside world. Natives had kept it secret for centuries, fearing the curse of the mermaid who lives in the pool below. It´s the third highest waterfall in the world.

I once saw a family of five on a single 125cc motorcycle in India, I thought they´d reached the weight limit for such a small bike, but Lima proved me wrong. Although there were only four, they were four hefty men.

Ecuador:

I´ve only known Ecuador through the window of a bus. It reminded me of what a child depicts in a finger painting: black and white cows, green grass, blue sky, and white clouds. Things seemed to be in order.

Columbia:

An interesting thing happens in countries that, due to unrest, have been closed to travelers in recent years; the whole country sets out to prove that they really are a nice place to visit. It´s happening in Columbia now and it makes for a good time. People are incredibly friendly, and inordinately helpful –if they don´t have an answer for you they´ll go and find it. Besides that Columbia is beautiful, I´m reminded of scenes from ¨Mighty Joe Young.¨

We know a guy who works at the U.S. embassy in Bogota. He and his wife hosted us in their posh apartment, fed us prodigiously, and gave us tours in their car. On Independence Day they took us to the Embassy to celebrate properly with other Americans. The Embassy is beautiful, although it´s not in the best part of town. Just before we arrived there we passed the seedy looking ¨Eros Motel, ¨ known for its hourly rates.

The Ambassador gave a moving speech. I got a little emotional and, despite my country’s flaws, I am proud to be an American. His speech included mention of the 2007 hostage crisis with the FARC. The Columbian army gave one of their helicopters a decoy paintjob (mimicking the Red Cross), and boldly flew into the FARC´s camp. Someone who was able to mimic the FARC commander´s voice had, moments before, been on the radio with the camp´s leader, explaining that the Red Cross would be permitted to transport the hostages to another FARC stronghold. The order didn´t make a lot of sense, but the rescuers had the nerve to stay in character, and since it appeared to be the commanders will, the hostages were released. ¨Counter-terrorists Win! ¨

My knowledge of Bogota´s previous mayor, Antinus Mockus Civicus, made me predisposed to falling in love with the city. Mockus, as he is affectionately known, is the most unconventional politician I know of. To encourage traffic law observance he hired an army of mimes to make fun of j-walkers etc. Accident rates fell drastically. He made a television commercial that featured him, in the shower, explaining how to bathe without wasting water. Thanks to his water campaign there is potable water piped through the entire city (nearly unheard of at this latitude). Mockus would regularly dress as ¨Super Citizen, ¨ -complete with spandex and a cape- and wander around downtown gaining support for his initiatives. I find his style of politics refreshing. So many politicians get their way through corruption and domination, Mockus twists people’s arms, but he does it righteously. At one point Mockus got up to make a speech in an auditorium full of rowdy students. The crowd simply would not quiet down; he was unable to begin his speech. Mockus coolly walked to the side of the podium, did an about-face, and mooned the entire student body. He waited patiently through their uproarious reaction, and then the room fell silent. He pulled his pants up and proceeded with his speech as if nothing had happened.

We’re in Cartagena, Panama, an old pirate town through which a lot of South American gold passed on its way to Europe. Concentric stone walls, and several forts, were used in defense against many ransackers, including Sir Francis Drake. Although the city has a new face, the pirate vibe remains, including general pirate iniquity. The assortment of prostitutes is astounding: fat, thin, tall, short, African and Latin. The only common trait seems to be ugliness.

There are no roads through the Darien Gap (between Columbia and Panama). The area is controlled by the FARC and abounds with all manner of treachery. We´re looking for a boat in order to circumvent these problems. It looks like it will cost about three times what we anticipated. Ouch! I guess we´ll write it off as an investment in our own future.

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An issue arises in unguided travel, there’s nobody to tell you the names of the marvelous things you see. No doubt they’ll soon have an iphone app that can visually identify plants, animals, and landmarks (I hear the droid can look at random things around the house and tell you their online cost and where the nearest vendor is). Anyway, until apps get even cleverer, I’ve resorted to naming things myself.

Around Machupichu there is an exotic, red-leafed plant that caught my attention. In order to keep the memory from fading I need a way to refer to this plant, even if only in my own mind. I named the plant Sylvester. I reckon I’ve got just as much right as any other human to name things. I’ve got names for all sorts of stuff: waterfalls, constellations, cloud shapes. You should name some stuff too, like Adam did. Make the world yours, it’s fun. You may, down the line somewhere, find yourself at odds with the Audubon Society or the National Observatory. Should this happen, it’s ok to let them think their name has more clout than yours. They’ve been naming things for a while. But at the end of the day, lest you become tempted to deny your authenticity, remember what Dr. Suess said, “Be who you are and say what you feel. Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.”

Who can be trusted? It’s an important question when you’re traveling, especially when you consistently seek out the cheapest lodging in town (often dormitories which house occasional grungy travelers but primarily native temp workers). An ongoing issue for us is the importance of conveying trust to the people we meet. When you walk in to a hostel dormitory, head straight over to a locker, and put your stuff behind a fatty padlock, you are effectively screaming distrust to everyone in the room. And it’s a shame. Extinguishing trust is a crappy way to initiate relationships with new roommates. Witnessing is what we’re all about, and I’m totally stoked that we regularly have opportunities to talk about Jesus. I feel, however, that without trust, witnessing is painfully handicap. Jeremy and were discussing this problem, and he had a good idea. When we do feel the need to be protective and whip out the padlocks, it is helpful to make a joke out of it. “Hey I trust you guys (Jeremy might say to our new companions), but this joker is always trying to rob me.” And he would point in my direction. Obviously this doesn’t convey complete trust by any means, but it draws a laugh, and lets people know we would prefer to assume the best. We’re trying.

We’ve been staying in an amazingly hospitable home in Lima for the past few days. Our friends Josue and Caleb have neither running water nor sewer, but they’re clever enough to live comfortably without those luxuries. Both brothers are studying theology at the Adventist university in Lima, Josue is spending an extra year studying Public Health. I was asking Josue about his plans for the future and he said something that really inspired me. “I think I will work here in Peru or another third world country (he’s well connected, super witty, and speaks perfect English…he’s got options). I don’t want to try to live a ‘comfy’ life while there are so many people who need me here. It’s about where you are needed, not where you’d be most comfortable.” What a magnificent attitude!

I can’t believe how mountainous this part of the world is. In a lot of Peru there just isn’t any flat ground. And yet they farm… anywhere and everywhere, often building terraces, often just planting regardless of pitch. I’ve seen yucca growing on cliffs that would be rated 5.7 in the Yosemite Decimal System. I’d need my harness and a belayer to feel safe harvesting, but the folks here don’t seem worried about it.

Tomorrow (Monday) at noon, we board a bus that will arrive in Bogota -also at noon- but on Thursday. I only memorized my times tables up to the 12X12, but I’m pretty sure 3X24 is a ridiculous number of hours to spend on a bus. By the time we arrive in Bogota we’ll be swatting the great great grandchildren of the flies we were originally swatting in Lima. I’m wondering if they’ll stop to clean the bathroom. I have a method of dealing with this problem though; if I eat enough white bread I can usually get constipated enough to keep to myself. ‘Til next time…

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Before I left home my local newspaper interviewed me about the trip. I used the opportunity to mention our sponsors, one of which is the underwear company Ex´Officio. Next thing I knew there was an article in the Sunday paper. ¨Jackson Boy to Circle The Globe Wearing One Pair of Underwear¨. My mom was floored. She called the newspaper to demand justice. ¨They have two pairs each, ¨ she growled accusingly. The paper printed a correction. I feel like I´m letting my whole town down. I don´t mind trashing a pair.

We are having a lot of fun grappling with Spanish. On a bus in Patagonia, I initiated a rather laborious conversation with the guy across the aisle. I just wanted to know if he cared to eat the pork that had come on my sandwich. We had a terrible time understanding each other. For several minutes we went back and forth until, in despair, I asked him if he spoke English. ¨I live in England! ¨ he exclaimed with a crisp cockney lilt. We had a good chat. Despite such setbacks, Jeremy and I are definitely improving at Spanish. I learned the word for marriage, ¨matrimonia¨. I aslo learned the word for handcuffs, ¨matrimonia.¨

Mapquest gives an error message (I just checked) if you try to get directions from Argentina to Alaska. So, in case you´re interested in the route, I better share some details. Patagonia refers, fairly generally, to the southern region of South America. If you go far enough south, by default, you go to Patagonia. The Andes mountain range stretches all the way to the Southern tip of South America, even in the extreme south granite skags thousands of meters upward. The lowlands (on the Argentine side where we passed) are reminiscent of Wyoming, not the Tetons part, but the more barren, lonesome part.

Our bus ride from Rio Gallegos to Bariloche (24 hours w/o food –we thought they served food on the bus) was mostly through lonely wasteland where Guanacos and Rheas (mini ostriches) provide the only relief from boredom. For most of the ride we were too far east to see the Andes. The scenery improved in a hurry when we reached the mountains. Bariloche is definitely the South American version of Lake Tahoe, Nevada, complete with several ski resorts.

Bariloche blew me away, but I had no idea what was next. Che Guevara writes in ¨Motorcycle Diaries¨ of his ride through the ¨seven lakes¨ region. Oh my word! The seven lakes route is unreal. I felt like I was on the planet Pandora from Avatar. The lakes themselves are gorgeous, but it´s not just lakes. The forest is a legit rainforest, complete with enormous trees and lush, colorful undergrowth. Granite walls and snow capped peaks jut boldly up from the rainforest into the sky. Below lay the lakes. Most lakes are accompanied by meadows. In each meadow gothic looking skeletons of trees stand guard in their cloaks of Spanish moss. I´m quite enamored with the seven lakes. I wished that our wanderings were less purposeful so that we could stay, camp, and plunge into the wilderness.

We´ve got a long ways to go so we´ll move on in the morning. We´re not sure whether we´re headed: Bolivia or Chile. If we haven´t decided by morning we´ll have to play paper-rock-scissors again. I lost last time but I´ve been lying awake at night contemplating strategy. Jeremy says his brother Justin can beat him nearly every time. I´d like to discuss this with Justin. Our moral is high, hope yours is too.

This is my blog archive. For my most recent blog visit www.thewholeworldround.com
blessings.

El Fin Del Mundo

We´re at the starting line, Ushuia Argentina. The official trip starts tomorrow morning with a 36 hour bus ride. We would rather ¨hacer dedos¨ (hitch hike - translates literally as ¨doing fingers¨), but this part of the world is a bit cold and desolate so we´re going to ride buses a little closer to the equator before trying our ¨dedos¨.

The people here, in the world´s southern most city, are proponants of the upside down world maps that put Antarcitica at the top of the page rather than the bottom. This, ofcourse, is just as fair a representation as the maps that are oriented so that north is at the top of the page. Unfortunately for the Argentinians, history´s more influential cartographers lived in the northern hemisphere and fancied themselves at the top of the page as well. Sorry guys. Anyway, the big upside down map hanging in our hostel claims that Ushuia is the ¨End of the World, Beginning of Everything.¨ This statement may have never been truer than it is in the case of our trip.

The Strait of Magellan, which we will cross tomorrow, was discovered in 1520 by -you´d have never guessed- Ferdinand Magellan in his attempt to do ¨The Whole World Round¨ by sea. He is credited with the first circumnavigation of the globe, although his crew had to finish the trip without him for reasons I feel it is inappropriate to mention in light of my mother´s concern for my own life. Anyway, I find stories of explorers very inspiring, however they also remind me that frontiers can be hard to come by.

The great race to the South Pole between Scott and Amundsen happened not so far from here. Imagine how Scott feld when he arrived at the South Pole only to find Amundsen´s flag which had been placed there a few short days before. The explorers heart yearns for the significance of being the first. It´s a big deal. Even though I don´t yet know of anyone who has done the exact trip we´re doing, the world has been explored and there´s a slew of ¨Lonely Planet¨books to prove it. I may be forced into a career as an astronaut in order to find an satisfactory frontier.

In the mean time, while NASA waits, I´ve developed a method of making everything seem like a frontier. It´s called deliberate ignorance. If I don´t carry a map, a phone, or a ¨Lonely Planet¨ book, my experience will be much like that of the early explorers. Jeremy is an explorer of the highest caliber, but he doesn´t have the same qualms about maps and phones that I do. So we´re practicing a system that I know will work well for both of us. It´s like this: We both assume very somber facial expressions. I –like Lewis and Clark must certainly have done- wave my hands in wild gestures, attempting to ask Jeremy –via sign language- which way I should go. He gives a gruff snort and stares stoicly out over the horizon for several seconds while adjusting his feather, he then squats in the dirt and scratches me a map. We proceed. It´s gonna be good trip.

Sir Richard

The second speech I gave in my freshman speech class was a "how to" speech. I told the class how to light a camp stove. No one listened. I hated the sound of it coming out of my mouth. The audience would have preferred an episode of C-SPAN to my dronings.

I remember racking my brain to think of a good idea for that speech, but my efforts yielded nothing. Since then I've wished so many times that I could go back and try something else:

-how to take a nap

-how to flirt with your teacher while giving a speech about yodeling

-how two emo kids became friends

or even,

-how too many people park at the library

There were plenty of clever alternatives, and I tried really hard to think of one, but the boring stove was the best I could come up with.

At that time in my life I was influenced a lot by this guy named Richard. I started taking his advice because it seemed like he really believed in me. Looking back I don't know whether or not he believed in me, but I do know his method of helping me succeed wasn't helpful. Richard was always comparing me to other people. He'd mention it to me when someone did something better than me. He wanted to be friends with people who made straight A's and had athletic prowess. I tried to meet his expectations, but lame ideas like "how to light a camp stove," weren't cutting it. My teachers and classmates weren't super impressed either.

Making up excuses to give Richard became almost a full time job. It was exhausting. He wanted to know how it was that Derek was so much better than me at tumbling, Drew could hit a golf ball farther, and Ashley could give speeches that people actually enjoyed listening to. When Richard would find out stuff like this it was all I could do to explain to him that this was an isolated instance, and really not a fair representation of my overall progress towards total world domination (I told you he had high expectations). I was using all my creative energy inventing excuses to appease Richard. I had nothing left with which to dream up good speeches, or do anything original, really.

Eventually I realized that Richard's cruel behavior was abusive. I was in an abusive relationship. So I try not to listen to him anymore. Sometimes it's hard though...he gets inside me. He's my ego...He's a real dick.

Hitchhiking 101

It had never occurred to me that hitchhiking was something for which we could train. What would we do? Attach some weights by string and do a few sets of thumb curls? Interestingly, the more reading Jeremy and I have done, the more evident it has become that hitchhiking is an art that involves many subtle nuances. In the spirit of developing our strategy, we went practice hitchhiking.

Some friends dropped us off about 60 miles away in Calhoun, Georgia. Georgians are amiable folks, so we made some good friends. The first guy who picked us up was a Vietnam Vet. (that's veteran...not veterinarian, although he does have horses) named Kenny (the man's name was Kenny, not the horses'...excuse my affinity for the parenthese). Kenny was a very patriotic man, one of those, I think, who rushed to buy ammunition last year when Russia encroached on Georgian soil. Since that time Kenny has been able to sort out some of his geographical misconceptions. He continues to serve his countrymen. We are indebted to Kenny for his service in our military, and for a ride to the north side of town.

We were surprised, for our next ride, to be picked up by two ladies. Leslie and her daughter Lynn were on their way to Dalton for an appointment with an optometrist. I thought it was brave (though reckless) of them to pick up two scruffy guys. When they pulled up Leslie rolled down the window and asked us if we had any "Nine's or 45's." We assured her of our weaponlessness, and she believed us. Evidently criminals in Georgia have a reputation for being honest about their intentions. Nice place, Georgia.

We made it most of the way back home before succumbing to the temptation to have a friend pick us up. Admittedly, it seems like two guys who claim they can make it all the way around the world by buses, trains, and hitchhiking, should have been able to make the 60 mile trip. There are some excuses that I consider relevant, but maybe it's better just to admit that we're soft. Honestly, the practice session leaves me daunted by the prospects of the real trip. But we'll get tougher. We're not overwhelmed, just whelmed.