After the Apocalypse

An honorable man does not go galavanting around South America or Africa for the winter when his lady is home pregnant in freezing cold upstate New York.

Yes, it’s true, Ms. B. and I will be having our first child in early July.

And that explains why I am not on the road wandering for the first winter in 15 years. Instead, I have been posting old stories from my notebooks. I have been concentrating lately on stories from the first trip that Ms. B. and I took together in 2011. It’s interesting to see the parallels between the present and the past. I’m thinking about combining them all into a book. This week’s story would be the finale of that book.

After the Apocalypse…

Canoa, Ecuador, March 15, 2011

It’s a classic moment in the history of the Universe. Nature’s wrath has just reduced a complex human civilization to ashes and mud but many humans survive to start over and continue on. Civilization builds itself again until nature’s wrath reduces it to rubble again. The cycle repeats itself; over and over. Civilizations collapse… they always do… but humanity continues. In this particular story or myth, the catastrophe has only just passed and but a few survivors remain. A man and a woman are standing together on a beach in the aftermath. Their world has been destroyed. Everything they knew and believed is no more.

“We have nothing,” says the man, “what shall we do?”

“We shall begin again…” says the woman.

It takes us about an hour to walk down the beach from the Coco Hut in Canoa to the remote location of the Sundowner Inn. With all our belongings on our back and the hot sun bearing down, it’s not exactly a pleasant stroll. But I do my best to embrace the struggle and I try to think of it as an important element of the overall experience. The excitement from yesterday’s Tsunamai warning still lingers giving the world an exaggerated intensity. I feel a little like a character in an epic adventure story. The empty barren beach all around us adds background atmosphere. Me and my woman are slowly making our way in a post apocalyptic world…

Tsunami Warning!

Nothing quite like the end of the world to put things in perspective. This was a crazy day. Not only because of the horror that hit Japan but because we thought the horror was headed our way. My thoughts and prayers and condolences are, of course, with the Japanese people who truly suffered the consequences of this Tsunami and this story is not intended to make light of their tragedy. But it’s interesting to read this old notebook and witness my own self responding to apocalyptic possibilities. Me and Ms. B.; riding the storm out…

Tsunami Warning!

Canoa, Ecuador; March 2011

It’s early morning but after sunrise. I have a hangover and a headache. I awake groggily to the sound of sirens and loudspeakers. The words are in Spanish; I’m half asleep; I can’t understand. I get out of bed and go to the window. We are staying in a beach front hotel. Only a dirt road and about 100 feet of sand beach separate us from the ocean. We can watch the waves wash on shore from our bed. But we closed the window last night because of bugs. Now I open it and look outside. There are several police vehicles driving up and down the dirt road and on the beach. Sirens blaring, loudspeakers blasting. Evacuation!! Evacuation!! We are under a Tsunami Alert. Evacuation Evacuation. The hostel erupts into chaos. People run around in a panic; shove things into backpacks and scurry about as they talk excitedly. An earthquake has hit Japan. A tsunami is coming here. Evacuate. Evacuate. Holy Shit, we have to evacuate… Hmmm…. I guess that means I should probably wake up Ms. B…

After four days of fun but difficult hiking in the cold high mountains of Quilatoa, Ms. B. and I are ready for the beach. Ecuadoran Carnaval is now over so the beaches shouldn’t be crowded. I oh so badly want to kick back and relax. But not quite yet; first we have to get there. And transport between Latacunga in the mountains and Canoa on the beach is not exactly straightforward. As a matter of fact, it’s a regular odyssey. We leave the hotel at 7:00 am and go directly to the bus station. From Latacunga, we take a bus to a place called Aloag which is basically just an intersection on the Pan American highway. We cross the busy highway, dodging traffic in full packs, and climb aboard a bus parked on the opposite side of the road facing perpendicular towards the crossing road. This bus goes downhill through a steep canyon until it comes to the traffic mishap. A water bottle truck flipped over and plastic water bottles are everywhere. We are held up for a long time. Jean Claude Van Dam on the video monitor entertains us while we wait. Eventually, they allow us through the water bottles and we arrive at the crowded bus station in the city of Santo Domingo. We negotiate the chaos to find our way to another bus. No time to eat, just chips and snacks as we are rushed aboard. Another long, hot, crowded bus journey terminates at a town called Pedernales on the coast. Again we have to switch buses. We shout out the name of our destination and we are led through the sandy streets of a beach town from one bus company office to another. Eventually, we find the correct bus, load up our bags and head south along the coast for a few more hours. Finally, we arrive in Canoa at just about sunset.

Crossing Frontiers

It is a classic traveling tale. As I read the story now in my old notebook, it reminds me of many other stories I have in many other notebooks. A strange phenomena occurs while traveling wherein coincidences crash together and ordinary events take on extraordinary meaning. Reality twists into a kind of living fantasy and it starts to seem like you are a character in a story rather than a real live person. This has been happening to me for years and I spend considerable effort attempting to capture such experiences in words. What’s special about this week’s story, however, is I’m not alone when the story unfolds. Ms. B. is right there with me when all the crazy stuff happens. That’s right, we ride the surreal travel roller coaster together until we make it to the other side. The only thing better than living the travel adventure life is sharing that adventure with another. Thanks Ms. B.

Crossing Frontiers

Vilcabamba, Ecuador, Feb. 14, 2011

I’ve rarely been so frightened in my entire life…  Passing on blind curves, going 80 in a 40 zone; screeching tires; slamming breaks; no guard rails and steep steep cliffs.  Who does this damn driver think he is… Evil Knievel?  Mario Andretti?  Nascar Superstar?  How did we end up in the share taxi ride from hell?  Ms. B. is crowded in the backseat with several ladies and a nursing baby.   Here I am in the front seat.  Massively hung over.  Tired and exhausted from a late night out.  All I want to do is make it to our next destination.  But my life flashes before my eyes on another blind curve, squeaking breaks and squealing tires.  I try to remain calm.  Tell myself there’s nothing to worry about.  I’ve been on a lot of crazy bus rides and car rides and train rides and motorcycle rides.  Just let go of worry.  It’s like a rollercoaster ride.  Experience the thrill not the fear.  The driver knows the route.  He’s probably driven this road a thousand times.  It’s his job.  There’s nothing to worry about….  But then, I notice the driver’s face.  He’s not a wizened old man with many years experience behind the wheel. He’s a fucking teenager.  All pumped up on hormones and testosterone and perhaps some stimulants, over excited from too much television and video games.  He thinks he’s a super driver.  He’s barely gone through puberty.  Screeching tires and squealing breaks.  Another blind curve and another close call.  Oh my God, oh my Buddha oh my Ganesh!  We are going to die.

In the grand scheme of things, I’ve never really believed much in the concept of borders.  Nation states are a stupid idea and the arbitrary lines drawn by humans separating one absurd political entity from another certainly cause more problems than they ever solve.  But what can I do?  The world is not sane.  Nation states exist, borders exist and as a world traveler, I have to deal with them.  Sometimes crossing frontiers is easy; a stamp, a smile a wave and bingo you are in another country.  Sometimes it’s complicated… long lines, searches, and endless questions.  And sometimes it’s a nightmare; harassment, bribery and deportation.  As we prepare for our journey across the border from Peru into Ecuador, I consider all these possibilities with some measure of anxiety.  But, like many things in life, there’s not really much I can do to control the outcome.  All I can do is cross my fingers and hope for luck.

Paradise Lost…

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while.  The thread of my story has fallen by the way side because I’ve been too busy with the stones.  The wonderful, beautiful, fantastic pile of stones.  In a couple more months, I’ll have them all put together.  Hopefully my final creations will be worthy of the rocks I’m working with.  Then I will have more time and energy for these travel stories… this travel story.   My never ending ongoing travel story.  In the meantime, I will continue posting old stories from my archives…

Paradise Lost

Vilcabamba, Ecuador; March 1, 2011

“I came here to escape the shit.  2012!  Maybe sooner, maybe later.  But one way or another, it’s going to happen.  Total financial collapse; ecological disaster, world war III.  Western civilization is going down and Vilcabamba Ecuador is the last best place to be to survive the chaos that is going to happen.”  The speaker is a retired American.  He’s about 70 years old, a bit fat and balding.  He has the look of a self-satisfied successful man.  He goes on to tell me that he bought property in Vilcabamba this past year and he is using cheap local labor to build his earth ship survival home.  I sit back in my chair and sip at my beer.  I try to wrap my brain around this bizarre Vilcabamba reality…

When Ms. B. and I arrive in Vilcabamba, it’s about 10:30 at night on a Sunday and the town is quiet and fairly dark.  We are tired after our long journey from Peru and we need a place to stay.  The first two we look at are closed and dark and the next one is fully occupied.  We find a room at Jardin Escondido but it costs 30 dollars a night.  It’s a nice room, but way over budget.  We take it because we are tired and don’t want to search anymore.  The morning is slightly bizarre.  Breakfast is included with the room and we are served this awesome morning meal on the patio in a wonderfully lush garden.  The other diners in this patio garden are middle aged typical tourists.  A taxi arrives to take one group to the airport and they roll their big luggage out on wheels.  I feel out of place.  The place is nice…real nice…  But the atmosphere is disturbing my reality.  I’ve been to Vilcabamba twice before; in 2000 and 1993.  My memory of the place involves cheap bohemian huts surrounded by paradise, lots of weed and San Pedro cactus and bizarre international hippies trying to adapt to the environment of Southern Ecuador. Now, however, I feel sort of like I’m in a Bed and Breakfast in northern California.  The coffee is healthy organic, the bread is home made, the garden is luscious and beautiful and the entire set is very well designed.  It just doesn’t seem like Vilcabamba.  I want a dirty Bohemian artsy cheap place to stay.

The Sacred Cactus

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while.  The stones are keeping me busy so I have very little time to write.  Continuing with the paradise theme,I found a fun one from way back deep in the scribbled notebook archives that somehow seems very relevant to the present situation on this blog..   I apologize in advance for the fact that it’s an epic poem.  I was going through a phase.  I thought about translating just the story into normal old prose but that would somehow undermine the authenticity.  So here it is, just like I wrote it 12 years ago.

THE SACRED CACTUS  (Vilcabamba Ecuador,  Jan. 30  2000)

San Pedro San Pedro
What do you mean
Not like a drug
Because it seems to clean
More like a miracle
That touches the soul
A zap of awareness
A connection to the whole

I took some this morning
I’m not sure what time
It was a moment of agony
After a very long climb
I started with fasting
One day and one night
And began my adventure
At the sign of first light
The weather looked doubtful
So I packed up my pack
A tent and dry clothing
Weighed down my sack
The trek up the valley
Was very long and very steep
Hunger was weakening me
I wanted to sleep
Waterfalls, waterfalls
That was my aim
A pleasant atmosphere
For my San Pedro game
Of course I’m a gringo
So of course I got lost
A farmer re-directed me
To the valley across
I had to trudge further
Through mud and uphill
Collapsing from hunger
Not having a thrill
I came to a boulder
On the side of a stream
Sat there and rested
And considered the dream
“San Pedro at sunrise
At the base of a waterfall
A taste of paradise
For one and for all”
But the real world is different
It changes the scene
It‘s almost midmorning
And there are no waterfalls to be seen
The weather is shitty
My pack is too full
My stomach is grumbling
Like a hungry bull
I want to give up
Go back to my room
Save the San Pedro
For a day with some zoom
But I open the container
And give it a glance
Oh what the fuck
Sometimes you just have to take a chance
I drink the San Pedro
Next to the stream
And that is the beginning
Of a miraculous dream…