The Conquest Continues…

It’s not all rainbows and unicorns that’s for damn sure. Sometimes, you just have to deal with the darkness. No doubt about it, I can be a difficult person to travel with because sometimes I am moody. The crazy thing is, I don’t usually get mad or depressed about normal every day things. Oh no, not me. What gets me riled up and angry and difficult to listen to is the big picture. I get mad about structural economics, imperialism and the ongoing war against the poor.

I’m not even sure where the bad mood came from on this 2011 trip. Maybe my biorhythms were out of whack or the stars were misaligned. I see some hints of it in the Chachapoyas stories but it doesn’t really become pronounced until Vilcabamba. Indeed, I posted a rather impassioned diatribe about that time in Vilcabamba several years ago and it proved to be one of my most popular blog posts ever. Yeah sure, my angry anti-imperialism is interesting for you the reader, it’s just not necessarily fun for my fellow travelers and I to put up with in the present tense. Anyway, if you are following the continuing saga of me and Ms. B. on our first trip together in South America, that popular post about Vilcabamba is the next episode and you can find it in the archives under the title “Paradise Lost.” The story I am posting today takes place a week later and I am even more riled up. Hold onto your hats and prepare yourself for a rant. Poor Ms. B had to listen to the whole thing over and over and over. Believe it or not, thanks mostly to her, we still managed to have a good time.

The Conquest Continues

Latacanga, Ecuador; March 7, 2011

The Devil’s Nose Train Ride in Alausi, Ecuador is probably the single worst tourist attraction in all of South America. As a matter of fact, it may be the single worst tourist attraction on the entire planet earth. How bad could it be? Real bad. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to shout. It makes me want to line the board of tourism directors against the wall and throw rotten tomatoes at them. How could they do such a thing? How could they create such a commercial absurdity and somehow imagine that it is a beneficial enterprise? They should be ashamed of themselves. It’s an absolute disgrace. It’s almost as if they took everything that is horrible and stupid and annoying and wrong with tourism and combined it into a single un-attraction. AAAAAUUUGH! I can’t believe I actually paid for this.

 

Actually, my nightmare with Ecuadoran tourism began on our very last full day in Vilcabamba. We heard from several people in town about a really awesome Hostel and Restaurant called Ixchaluna (spelling? I can’t read my notebook handwriting) that is located a few kilometers outside of Vilcabamba. We have no intention to stay overnight but we decide to walk out there on a Sunday afternoon, have some lunch and a look around. The walk to get there is fairly pleasant though a little hot and dusty on the dirt road. And Ixchaluna certainly has a great location perched upon a hilltop overlooking the sacred valley. The food in the restaurant is quite delicious and the surrounding grounds are well designed with atmosphere, luxury and convenience in mind. As a matter of fact, Ixchaluna is so well organized and put together; it’s difficult to come up with an objective criticism. Nevertheless, I hate the fucking place.

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…