Homeward Bound

OK gang,

this is gonna be short cuz I`m already tearing up upon loading the first of this round of pics. I leave tommorow at noon and I miss this place already. Lima not so much accounting for the smog induced low-level headache I`ve had since arrival.

I arrived last night from Iquitos, the Jungle City, approachable by boat and plane only. More accurately stated I spent my time at the Tucan Lodge an hour down the Amazon from Iquitos. I was ther a litle over 2 weeks. It is as gorgous as ever, in a profound sense. Evermore. The Amazon Rainforest has a permanent quality. Permanent because of its deep richness. Everywhere, everything is alive. A constant buzz and creek, and whistle and stab (mosquitos), swish and snap, hoot, scratching and movement in all directions. It would be acurate to compare it to NY except it isn`t such a monocrop. It steeps and infuzes everything that enters. The river feels like being held by a Mother. It feels safe and soft. But even (or especially) there, there are hundreds of other beings looking for a way into your body. Donating blood is mandatory. Soaking it in is aswell.

As I wax poetic of this dank love which abounds I realize again how metropolitan I am. My pictures, mainly of the people I encountered, betray my focus. I am glad I am young yet and have time to expand my eyes. Not to dis ofcourse. Some of these people have had a profound effect on me. Some of them were passing ships. I chose these pics as a general reference to this amazing journey, with a fcus on the days of late. I am so blessed. I am so Thankful for the time I have had here. Peru is the most dynamically rich country I have been to, including the States. We have a static richness in most cases. Static like it won`t follow you past the grave. I am not romanticizing, for Gods sake Peruvians make a lot of what I would call mistakes as well. But this country shines like the light which escapes you crown Chakra when your mind gets blown. This country blows minds. An overview of just the land includes: Tropical Jungle, High planes, Snowy Mountains, Volcanos, the Largest (I think)Canyon in the world (went right past it in my non-use of a guide book. Oh well, next time.) and beaches and beaches and beaches. There is also the sky. Talking it over last night I described it as "more heavy". But heavy like expansive, not oppressive like Seattle`s is a lot of the time. Like an Arch Angel, this part of the world Kicks Ass with Love and Takes Names.

And tommorow I leave. Really, I am glad to be coming back. I Miss Yall, and you know who you are. I miss the cold cold water and the feel of stones in my hands. I miss the parties and joy we create. I miss the Trees and Salt Water and the vision of mountains on both sides of me. I am stoked to nesstle in again. I am definately going to return though, to this Powerful and Beautiful place.

So for now, Goodbye. Goodbye for now. To all the roadside tea stands, papas rellennos, beautiful and strong people, crafts that reflect pathways of conciousness, dollars that go 3 times as far at least, people rich in spirit, lucuma and chocolate flake icecream, waves that are warm, nights that ask only for a Tank Top and shorts, misty silences where the air is thin, musty noisy hotel rooms, really delicious and near ubiquitous cevichè, sheltering skys, killing heat, durty streets, bad music, great music, Icecream beans (sacanchu), fruits whose flesh is the flavor so many french chefs try hard to create (no shit I ate a bunch, fuckin-unbelievable), hours in internet cafès, Peruvian Baked Apples, pink dolphins, the steel horse that rode many a mile, white sands only slightly heavier than air, liquados like satin sheets rolled in honey, markets that wear and exude there funk-ass richness like a beautifully crafted tattoo, rickshaw riot, woods like the blood of stone and reptile eyes, nights in high flight through terrains dark and watching, living under a back pack and sweet, sweet, sweet Inca Cola.

Wait for me.

I love you all.

Kevin

Atardecer (Setting Sun)

OOOHHHHH, but Wait! Not yet.This trip is not over yet.

Good Day All.

I am in Lima at the moment and I have been feeling a strange mix of things. Nostalgia, Depression, Joy, wanting to be home already, not wanting to leave....

So, I hope some congruity of thought expresses itself in this here blog.

And we are off.

The beggining of this blog entry recounts the end of my time in Pisco. It occurs to me now that Pisco is the site of Pisco Sin Fronteras, the follow up to Burners without Borders. B w/out B is the organization that I was thinking about working with until I realized that further construction was the very last thing I should be doing with my time here. They are, however doing a big clean up and rebuilding job as is everybody in Pisco, which was all jacked up in the earthquake in (i think!) 2004. You can still see it everywhere there. Areas of town are simply ruble and everywhere are cracks. But they live on.

My time in Peru has had very very little to do with work. This has been faulous as one could assume. I was planning on teaching enlish though and it was a bit a transition to go from that plan to what I have done. What I have done a crapload of is personal work. And personal enjoyment. I am blessed that the two have been one in the same in many respects. This has been one hell of a trip.

I did however do Something! in the way of work. I straight up worked!
I`ll tell you about it.

My last night in Pisco I went on a midnight bike ride after that days several hours on the internet. Hoping to pump some blood through my then flattened ass and catch some fresh night air. This I did. I must say I am blessed too for not getting my ass mugged. This night was one more of so many I have spent in places that look pretty damned "ghetto". (The quotes are not to be PC but instead to show the relativity of the term. ) I found some high ground in a field and gazed at the concrete and steel that is Pisco. There is a rawness to it all, every city I`ve seen down here, but Pisco embobied it more so that night. Rebar, twisted and thin, creeping out of the 2nd and 3rd story pillars that guard every roof top around. Sometimes with protective empty bottles atop, never with those little orange mushroom guards we use in the States. Piles of bricks and rubble wherever they have not yet been removed. Piles that have not yet made it to the BIG pile outside town. The one that started before the earthquake. Dogs doin`there thing in the night, chasing me again, and barking at random. I actually had to kick one in the face finally. I know your thinking "don`t hurt the doggie!" but its not like that. Survival and instict are real factors when you are on there turf, which includes roving sectors of the night itself. In anycase I only grazed over its head and snout with my Chaco-Clad foot. It digressed though and I don`t have rabies.

On my way home I was paced up an avenue by the grunt and blinding light of an earth mover. My thought was something like, "that is odd" given that it was about 11:15 at night and we were in a residential. I quickly came upon the action and saw a familiar sight. Rocks! Being moved!

Heeyyy! After a quick jaunt to my room for boots and pants, I went to work. I worked long and hard into the night, for about 7 minutes total. The rest of the time was spent talking with the crew. Actually only two of the 5 of them were doing anything at all and this was only during the intervals where the bulldozer was being loaded. It then had to drive far away and we had to sit again. It felt good though. A reminder of what I will be doing in a month.

During the conversation the guy I was talking to asked me, "so what do you make?" I told him, which is $18/hour. He told me they make about 20 dolars per day, $2 dollars an hour. Wow. That was an awkward silence. I am glad they stuck around a moment for me to dig up my camera (I had buried it for safety) and do the tourist thing with them. I gave the main guy I had been talking to the face mask I have been carrying around for 3 months and had then used for 7 minutes, and that was that.

What happens next in my little Saga is the silence. I spent the following day finding the spot I could do it and settled upon a tiny hill and outcropping in the National Park of Parakas. Camping was no issue, because its Peru, and I made my little home on the ocean side of the rock. Nothing around me.

It was a silence and this provokes me not to talk a lot about it. I will though. (heh heh heh).

There are a few things that did come to me while under this paricular influence. The most pressing of them was the benifite of just not talking. I am a person for whom this is somewhat of a new idea. I don`t talk all the time but I am engaged a lot of the time. Beat-boxing is a major pull, talking as well, singing and also just being in a headspace in which I am ready to respond if someone engages me. It was really interesting to see and feel the difference, if it is known to myself and others that I won`t be responding with my voice. I was surrounded at meal times by the staff of the mostly empty restaurant that fed me and ripped me off during my time there. They were cool. I wonder if they had a bet going though cuz they would try, to an obvious degree, to engage me in conversation.

Other thoughts of occurance were metaphores of optional meaning. Such as the density of matter as represented by the Earth, Water and Sky. Further, the scars they gave and give to one another constantly, yet each received and healed from differently. The cliffs on the sea stand with machismo, stoicaly ignoring their constant decay at the jaws of the ocean. In turn, the ocean`s shore-side jaws are in a never-ever-ending tear of flesh as marked by the whites of the waves as they break, in each ones final assault. A similar struggle takes place within the wind above it all. An everlasting turmoil of molecules as they fray and blend with the spray of the water. Water molecules themselves torn from the home they once knew and transmutating, again, into another form of the grand cycle which gives the land its fertility. "Sex is violence" - Perry Ferrel.
The wind is more subtle though, if only through its invisability.

There existed a playground of meaning in these physical forces that I bore a quite witness too. I wanted to see the weather change but, it didn`t.

The second day I watched and then laid down next to a pelican that I am pretty sure was dying. I had a similar experience with a spider just before I left Seattle. That was really sad for me. In contrast, my time with the Pelican was peaceful and philosophical. I`d like to think that this is a reflection of my own inner strength and internal sense of peace. Such proclemations cannot be made from inside bubbles though. I will get to see where I am at through the future.

Stuff like this is what went on. A lot of sitting and looking, inside and out. A lot of sleeping and then a lot of waking hours, in the still of the night.

There were some problems like constant diariah, the cruel sun, loss of sunscreen, and incredibly ample amounts of shit from humans and birds that seemed to be everywhere at all times. On the whole though, it was a pleasent exerience. I decided however, to leave it early. Something I am not newly aware of but I am of recently realizing the strength of, is my orientation not to do things that seem to be of only my own isolated intention. Especially my disinclination to do "spiritual" things that I don`t yet feel called by the universe to do. I am relatively sure there will be other times in my life when I am called to do a silence and I will do them then. Right now was more a product of a long standing personal interest than a "call". I want to be clear that I am not against intention. However, the relationship between my personal intention and the intention of the universe with regards to me, is of a complex nature and there is much to be discovered yet.

Ami´s words (borrowed from a source I don`t know and uttered in drunken inspiration on a night so long ago) come to me: "God, make me virtuous... but not yet!"

So, although I had planned 5 days, half way through the third, I was done. And I set forth to Lima. The city of my birth (in my Peru life.)

One thing I noticed perty quick here is that Lima is fucking huge! It is crazy. At this exact moment its thrashing, aggresive, and agitated spirit is all to tangeble to me in air of this internet cafè. None of the computers have headphones and all have speakers. So the air is filled with the sound of Grand Theft Auto (played by a 6 year old), some course hip-hop, some course cumbia, a few forms of american pop music, many other grading sounds and the smell of poop coming from the guy next to me (the 28 year old manager of the cafè). Its a fray!!!!! It is definately fucking with my head right now. I am suseptable though right now because I have been enjoying that fray for the last fews days, and thusly I have been bathng in its frantic energy

When I got here I found some Pizza Hut (yum! you know it tastes exactly the same here inspite of different wheat, different cows, etc. Damn. Chemicals.) and a cheap hostal. (My 20 sole a night room even comes with its own soap, roll of TP and a towel! Dang guy.) The following day I busted out on my bike. I truely enjoy riding in traffic. This is far more the case here than in the US, despite the poisonous vapors which are everywhere. This is because of the ride catching thing. Check this out.

Returning from the beach yesterday I was coming off the freeway and re-entering city streets. In catching buses and weaving through traffic I almost hit a fucking cop! Like not his car or motorcycle, his body, as it was standing in the street directing traffic. Ya know what happened?, he didn`t bust me, he didn`t even get mad at me, he did a little dance of mock fear as skid around him! Can you believe that shit!!! Never, ever would I expect a cop engaged in duty to not only joke with my law-breaking ass, but act out that joke in a little dance! WTF. There is some shit in life I can only get in Latin America. Maybe its is like this everywhere but the states. Maybe it is like this everywhere where it is generaly excepted that all people around are trying to live their life and we need`nt bother with rules which only slow things down. Freedom to hurt yourself. I swear to God it is like a giant kitchen, "I got needs, you got needs. Lets just make it happen, and nobody gets hurt." I love the flow. Thank God for Latin America. Let Freedom Ring.

It has been great here in Lima. I have really been enjoying screaming through the streets on my bike, catching anything I feel like (I keep my own ethics surrounding this), listening to my Ipod (Yesterday morning was Tool, Lateralus. An amazing album.) I realized that if I am listening to music, then I don`t hear the constant "Meestair!" and "Greengoh!" etc. that otherwise follows me everywhere. I found this lady with Papas Rellenos for 1 sole, and at this point I have eaten, lets see... 9, in the last 2 days. Also, I finally found my board and wave!

I went to the beach yesterday after a morning of local investigations. It is a long way there and the most direct route is the Freeway, so I took that. (Amazingly it was down hill in both directions. I think I must have entered it at the Zennith on my way toward the beach and the city, and just not known where I was. Lucky me though.) I actually did get told to get off the freeway by a traffic cop once, and I did. I discovered the alternative though was crossing the huge streets that were every mile or so and complete with a fence at the median. Not a good use of my time.

I got to Miraflores and for the first time recognized an area of the city from 2 months ago. That was the first time, this time around, so it had really been feeling like a different and new place. As soon as I arrived I came upon a troop of private school kids (?) that were about to experience 2 hours of surf camp. I asked for and was allowed to rent a board and a wet suit for $15 dollars (oh dollars all of a sudden eh?). Still a good deal for the context. I reacted to this though because a few hours earlierI gave hella attitude to, and left the people, running the bike repair store I was trying t buy parts at. I did this the instant they gave me a price in dollars. "Why are you talking about dollars we are in Lima. Perù. We use soles here, dude." They knew they had failed in scamming me and laughed as I exited the store.

To convey my mastery of surfing maybe I should say the board and wave found me, and then proceeded to kick my ass. That is about what happened. I think surfing will have to be a Hawaii thing, if I ever live in Hawaii. The NW coast is just to cold and far away and these little try-outs I do every once in a while in Latin America are too far-and-few-between to be anything more than a beat down everytime I go out. Oh well, so much for my Point Break inspired dreams (as for now.) I did get up a whole 4 times but the way I felt during and afterward was too uneven of a ratio of pleasure to pain. Hopefully I can get to the mountain this season.

After returning my gear I limped down the beach and sat to watch some really great boogie boarding. A sport at which I am way more capable. Hopefully I can get out tommorow before my flight to Iquitos. I also watched a cute Peruvian couple catch sand crabs that they later told me were to fry and eat, "like conchitas".

Damn.

This shot is of a broken down staircase that I dragged my bike up to the top of. The cliffs it surmounts line the edge of Lima and are probably 150 feet tall.

I am toward end of this entry but I first want to offer a continuing episode of Kevin`s food and culture report.

First culture.

I could have put this in the previous blog but that would have been a fast turn around from reality to report. Two groups became immidiately obvious to me when I hit Pisco: Black People and Gay men. Really, all of a sudden they are both everywhere. Black people not so much here in Lima but gay men yes. I wonder what the deal is. My first thought is that both oppresed groups are subject to a little less of it here on the coast. I think this may be more true for the gay populace though and that the locality of African Latin Americans (he, ), has more to do with history. If I rememer correctly, Tupac Amaru is the name of the guy who lead a succesful slave ship rebellion and a group of Africans who escaped slavery to create a small but sustained society in Latin America. I thought that happened on the East Coast of Brazil, but there are areas and towns named after him here in Peru. I am pretty sure that it is from him or maybe his revolutionary son (?) that Tupac Shakur took his stage name.

Interesting.

Like I said before Life in Lima is a Push or a grind. It feels to me like NY or Mexcico City but I have only visited those places and Lima is much smaller. I think I am feeling the contrast between here and the small mountain towns I am used to. Even Cuzco has way less of a "don`t-stop-get-it-get-it" vibe to it.

Food.

This is some great stuff. Yes, soda it is. But, it is soda made from malted barley. It is more this than sugar, and on the front it says its refreshing AND Nutrative. Really good stuff if you like the taste of malted barley, which I do. The wine I made a while back, which some of you have tried, is made from malted barley. It uses orange juice and peels and spices and stuff though. A very different flavor. This stuff is thick with flavor, know what I`m sayin`?

This stuff is the shit! for real. Very simple. Take a Thai Iced tea and make it ice cream. Oh damn. It is actually vanilla and Lucuma, a southern fruit. It tastes just like Thai Iced Tea though. Man. Nuff` said.

OK,

My time in Peru is closing. I head to Iquitos tommorow and I don`t know If I will write much beyond this entry. I may write about the jungle a bit but there are some things I keep private, believe it or not. I may also may write entries about my life in my normal habitat but this remains to be seen.

I am feeling a mix of things these days. Right now I feel hella hungry and a bit vexed by the hours in this cafè. Explaining some of my reality here in this this blog has felt at times a bit like I am trying too hard or somthing. It is just the pace of the last fewdays and the hieghtend sense of the end approaching soon. It creates a certain franticness of emotion, gliding between different states. I am glad to be heading to the jungle. Though I do wish I was going there by boat. The free plane ride (cheaper to buy a round trip ticket) and pure speed of flight was too attractive though. Especially given the average rainfall in Iquitos.

I imagine I will write a few words my last day in Peru. On second thought, I will probably be on the beach enjoying the last of it. Maybe this time around I will go to the beach with the L.A. peeps. That would be a nice reentry. Speaking of L.A., pick me up at the airport anyone? I will try my damnedest to have a papa relleno for you. If I can pass that glory through customs.

See yall on the flip side.

Love, K

The white line is my single track (The Give Up Tour)

Hello again
and Thank you.

Old Black Toe

Night of the Wierd

Gringo! (honk!)(y?)

Loco
El Frio!
Catcher on the Ride
Flight of the Sacraficial Arm

Mario Barackus! (Mr.T on the A-Team here in Peru)

William Wallace!

El Hombre Perdido

These are all the names given to myself, my bike, and my experience; By myself and those around me on my long and lonely hours riding. H`yahh!!!

Before I begin I want to apoligyze for the format problems we are all experiencing with Blogger. I put a lot of effort into the format of the blog and it seems to all go to shit the instant I post. Not to mention every time I apply pics to the draft. Frustrating.

I Left Puno(!) and bused it to Hulyacas. Hulyacas Blows. I really only spent one night there but my most vivid memory is stepping out into the empty streets at midnight after a few hours of internet love. The scene struck me immidiately as out of a post-apocolyptic movie. Trash everywhere, torn up buildings and a sticky dusty fog that hung in the air on gathered on every surface.

SO, I left. And thusly began my trip to the beach.

I had planned on riding all the way to the beach. This didn`t happen. The First 20 Kilometers (which is only 12.43 miles!) was great. In truth everywhere I rode was great. It is just long and hard. I have riden lots of miles. An 11 mile shot used to be my half hour commute to work. However, not so if you are 1.) carrying a 70lbs. of gear, food and water and 2.) if you are rockin the kinda steel horse I am. That first 20K took me about 2 and 1/2 hours after which I was about half done with my effort for the day. Hmmmm. On the right is pictured Kiwicha. A lot like Quinoa, beautiful fields of it abound here.

I pulled into a town for couple egg sandwhiches, (I said "yes I would like papas (fries) with that, gracias" and she put all the fries in the sandwhich-with mayo and ketchup. It was great.) and rested for a time. In my relaxed state I became aware of the frequency at which a particular cargo truck was procceeding through town and aware also that my rythyme and his were synchronic. This meant that the final moment when I zipped my bag, attached it securely to my other bag and stepped onto the pedals once more, the cargo truck was just taking off. I elaborate on this point only to show those that worry about what comes next that it was ordained by God. And you can`t mess with God. (The biggest of all big homies he`s the number on G.)

I caught the truck and held it for the longest stint I have ever succesfully completed. I let it tow me nearly the full 25 kilometers to the next town at speeds ranging between about 20 mph (fine) to 50mph (yowsah). I did finally loose it about a mile from town but I caught up to it again in town. I thanked the driver and he gave me no sign of comradery, though I know he knew I was on him for the ride. Strange, but he let me pass. Unfortunaely but understandably I have no pics of myself in transit. Only the ass-end of the truck while stopped.

I definately consider myself a lucky man, case in point. And on top of this was layed the following hook-up. I caught the truck from that second town about a mile up the road to a check point. It was getting dark then and I had just been told that the next town was about 100 kilometrs away. (hm.) I was low on food and wondering what I should do. At the check point, in front of the truck was a bus on its way to Arequipa. I walked my bike past it and in a short conversaition with the driver, was encouraged to get on it. I thought this meant sitting on a bus like normal so I was hesitating but I did conceed given my location and reserves. Instead I was told to sit in the front of the bus in the passenger chair (they wouldn`t let me sit on the floor) with the driver and the 1st mate guy. It was great. We talked a lot about a lot of things and I was even able to play some of the music I have purchased. I could even have a small smoke from the tobacco pipe I made in Cuzco.

On that note. I wish to say that I am very hapy with the relationship I have with tobacco at this point. I smoked commercial cigarettes for the greater part of 14years (G & R reference anyone?) and I am glad to be donw with that. Tobacco is, however, the number one thing to have at very specific times in life, such as just after you catch a truck for 25 k., or perhaps atop the San Rafeal Swell at the moment you realize you and your party are fucked and now need to hike all the way back to camp with no water and also trying to out-run the approaching lightning storm. It is still very potentially addictive but I seem to have a firm grip of the earth in this regard. Anyhoo,

I had a hell of a view as we coasted to Arequipa through the low-highlands toward La Mar. I got to Arequipa in four hours and was again told, I could not pay them anything. I hugged the driver and stepped into the night.

Perhaps I am being biased (I have been told I am) but, Arequipa blows too. Maybe it doesn`t but I stepped (pedaled) into the night and was immidiately faced with smelly traffic, trash, warnings of theft and violence and the otherwise urban pulse. My rooftop quarters had an unexpected hot shower though, so I made a high time of it anyway. I slept horribly that night due to the only other guests in the Hospedeja being all night partyers in the room right next to me (second night of the exact same situation!) and in the morning, I got the fuck out of dodge!

I again was on mi caballo (my horse) and I struck off towards the town of Omate. My idea was to get there and then proceed toward Ilo on the coast. God had different ideas, ofcourse.

That day and night was definately my most strenuous but also one of the most beautiful. I rode about a hundren kilometers, 85% on my own pedal power, and ended up in the middle of fucking nowhere! In actuallity I was about 1k from the town of Chapi when I stopped but this was not known to me. It went down like this.

I left Arequipa and after heading 2 miles down hill in the wrong direction (a trajectory verified by 5 independent Peruvian locals, I was so pissed) I did find the highway and kept on keepin`on. On the outskirts of Arequipa I began to see these strange buildings. Made of adobe mud bricks yet filled up to the brim with normal bricks, or having normal bricks stacked everywhere aound them in ways unpracticle for living. Also, none had roofs and did not look lived in. WTF? I rode on.

After a heep-of-great-pork-lunch a Peruvian tourist offered her car for a small tow up hill. I excepted and marveled at the idea of a fully consentual ride, new to me. Usually in the states if you are found out they will stop and infact other drivers will honk and make a fuss. (My god! That man is touching your car!!) This is important because in another hour I reached a point that was the beginning of probably a 20k incline. I decided to try my luck and as the lord would have it, a tourist combi came by and responded to my request and let me tag along. That was slower ride than the truck on the preceeding day, but it was actually much harder to maintain my connection heading uphill. It was there that I titled my ride "Flight of the Sacraficial Arm" and said a prayer for Old Lefty.

I made it to the top of the mountain range (!) and let go with a wave. The ride was great but I knew when grabbed on that that was the commitment. I was heading into the great townless expanse of the dessert hills. I had enough food and water for about 2 meals and that is all. By the time I was at the top of the incline it was dusk. There was a small store and house in the middle of nowhere and I inquired within to learn that I was already way past the split in the highway I was looking for. I reasoned if I could make it to Chapi, then I could get a bus from there to Omate. This was another untrue thing that was said to be true, by more than one person around me.

I set off and did the up and down thing. I knew there was a consistent decline up ahead so I kept on. And kept keepin` on. And on. It had been about 2 hours and it began to rain a bit. If it got much thicker I knew I would have to stop and set up camp, wherever I might be. The rain lifted but was replaced by a dense fog which, despite the moonlight, limited my sight to only 25 ft. or so. This is where I thought of the title, "Night of the Wierd". It was very strange to be riding in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a moving bubble of sight which faded in all directions into grey matter. I began to be scared.

I continued with this mystery-scary feeling for a bit, then I realized the utter beauty of the place and its situation I was in. The terrain here was little more than dessert but at this point was still enough water to support the sage that watched me from all angles and filled the air with a rich and calm aroma. My spirits lifted on this breeze I shook off the last of my fear in the midst of belting out "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show. That and the dogs barking is what anybody in the 8 house town I blew through a few minutes later would have heard if they were still awake at that hour. No one appeared to be and the dogs chased me away with a quickness. Somewhere near there I wished Sara a Happy Birthday. Sadly, I have no pics of this as my camera is not capable of handling that kind of relationship between light and dark.

In another half hour the road began to decline and I knew I was coming over the range I had been crossing. The fog had not lifted but I had dropped and I could suddenly see the glory of the desert I was in. As I coasted down throught the tight curves and clean air, I was surrounded by very much nothing but earth and moonlit sky. Man that was glorious! There was very little sage at this point and only scattered cactus.

I had to walk the bike up one more hill before turning down again. I had discovered many a trick to riding that horse. Putting my chain in the high gear with my toe (the black one). Creating a platform of luxury atop my seat and back pack as well as my sleep pad foleded four times over, and a blanket. Using the one derailer to assist the other in gear changes otherwise lethargic and temporary. On that hill I realized the relative comfort of letting go completely of the habdle bars and pushing the bike from behind my bag, guiding the wieght and balence in both hands.

At the top I pause a moment to continue to breath in the land. From there it was all down hill.

I remounted and glided through another canyon and down. And down. And down.

The questin struck me all of a sudden, "what the hell is that white stuff?" and I dismounted for a peek. Also of a sudden was my suprise at falling to my knees in the stuff. Softer than snow and much warmer in the cool of the night, the white of the hills all around me was and is to the best of my understanding, powdered pumice. Really, it floated away in the spots I peed on it. I found a strategic spot behind a large cactus and said to myself and the void, "this is where I sleep tonight".

I dug a flat spot with my metal bowl (sorry to the roots I ripped) and set up camp. I then crashed hard after a bit of fruit and bread. I thought that was it but I woke up within a hour and felt alive in the night. My bike was propped against the cactus tree and served, with my pad, as a perfect back rest. Before I did fall asleep I had a good 2 hours of gazing at and contemplating the baren softness of that night. Amzingly, the clouds that appeared thick and dark in all directions, would break when they came over head. This phenomenon continued for hours and it never did rain on me that night. Thank you God. Such was my night, high in the desert air.

Aside from my memories (how sweet they are!) I have only this shot of my bed and the video of the hills the next morning to offer.

The next morning I was quite slow to rise. I got up, ate, layed down, did some yoga, lay down again, packed amd layed down again. By the time I dragged my ass and belongings to the road again it must have been 1. At about 1:03 I was in Chapi.

In Chapi I learned there was no bus to Omate. Fuckin fancy that! (HA!) I was satisfied though and I threw the bike onto and myself into the taxi taking me all the way back to durty dirty Arequipa. This picture was taken as we sped away from the desrt town. There go Chapi! On the way I learned what the strange, brick-filled, spoiling and roof-less buildings were that seemed to be everywhere on the outskirts of Arequipa. They are brick ovens. Like to make bricks in, not pizza. Quothe the Raven, "huh."

In Arequipa I walked dazed and hungry around a market place, ate some amazing empenadas that reminded me of Pies and Pints except cost about 23 cents each (I bought 9), and found the hecktic, hecktic bus station as soon as I could. Immidiately after I freed myself from the crowds and noise I went next door to find another bus station identical to the one next to it except clean, quiet and almost empty. It was very strange to me to see the popularity of the one station and the near sanctity of the other. I sat on that higher ground, on a patch of grass under the shade of a tree, and waited for my next door bus to Camaña. A beach town.

Score!!!!!!!

Without realizing it I had been given the #1 seat at the top-front of one of those double decker busses. The one with the wicked good view of the anywhere you go! Dope. And, Doper still by the fact that my new friend was sitting in the #2 seat on that bus. Her name is Rebecca.

We traveled to Camaña and thusly started the week in which I was canstantly reminded of that song, "The Lazy Sun Bathers" by Morrissey. I gave in and chilled hard in the days to come.

The first of these day was the best hostal I have staye in yet. Best because the two of us were the only occupants and El Dueño Lorenzo was the most chill and humble guy I have met in a while. We had pretty much free riegn of the joint, which included (Finally!) setting up my hammock in the middle of the building and dancing to DJ Miki Gonzoles on the roof. Tight.

For some reason I decided to pose for this shot with my tabacky pie in my mouth. Lookin`dumb and a bit like the retarded guy in Goonies due to mt freshly shaved hawk.

"I LOVE YOU CHUNK!"

"WHAT ABOUT TONYYYYYY!!!!, TONY LOOUU!!!"

Not to mention that I was (and am still) finally on the beach! There is no surfing here but there is swimming, chilling, soccer on the beach, cheap meals served to you on the beach, boogie boarding and at all hours of the day and night, the endlessly sweet crush of the waves as they fruitlessly shoosh the world (Mike Doughty). It feels really good to be back next to the ocean.

After a few days of kickin`it at this beach and that. We headed north to Nasca.

That was really just one night, followed by a mistake trip to Marcona. Mistake because the beaches were days trip only by boat with to access to food water etc. That is a problem to me because I was and am (a few days later) looking for a place to do a silence. 5 days of no speaking and as little interaction as possible. A difficult task indeed. We shall see what happens.

We got the hell out of there and headed north past Nasca again and on to Ica. Or rather just past Ica to a tourist oasis (literally) in the middle of a hell of a lot of sand dunes. This was the first place I saw a boatload of tourists. Usually, I am the only one around except in strange situations like Mythology in Cuzco. Here, that was almost all there was, populas wise. As one can imagine this meant two things: Fun and Comfortable stuff!, and everything is more expensive! We allowed ourselves one day of indulgence and then we were both off to different places. On the picture one can see the buggy were in, the pool at our hotel, some of the green of the Oasis and a bit of the dunes. !

The coolest thing that did happen that day was a Dune and Sand Board Tour! I feel hecka dumb writing this but it was really fun. They do things different in 3rd world coutries. They nickel and dime you for shit like this but they also don`t worry about stuff like saftey, weather or not you have a glass bottled Inca Cola in your hand that you subsequently spray on yourself and buggy-mates, or weather we role the damn car or not. In my opinion this is the way to go. The guy driving definately had his ego involved with the control of the vehicle. We didn`t end up rolling but we did get stuck in a little sand hole and had to push our way out. Heh heh heh.

The of course there was the sand boarding. This shit continued in the same vein as fun and deadly. It is basically snow boarding but with harder ground and really poor equipment. The first thing I did was gather all my speed down a relativly small 50ft hill and plant the front of my board at the bottom. I swung around and slapped the back of my head on the ground like a mace! After a quick check to see if I had broken, rippped or knocked our anything, I was up and running. Other hills did similar things to all of us including rip our skin off in places and otherwise remind us of friction and gravity. It was tight though! I eventually decided on laying on the board for the huge hill (down 70ft, off a lip then down 250ft. No joke) I was even able to get a bit of air off the lip with this method. (This was after I went off it standing, caught a smal but respectable amount of air, and soved all my potential energy in the first ground I could find. I climbed back up to the top to shoot the whole thing at once.) That was a blast, I would imagine at the very bottom I was going about 45mph and that was the speed at which the sand shot into my mouth and eyes. I swear to God it was really fun! Just hard too. I am thuroghly inspired to do this myself with a real snow board from Goodwill, and my truck to pull me (us?) down the beach. I know the perfect beach too. Who is with me?

The picture caption would be, "hhmm, no skin here."

The next day Rebecca and I parted ways and I got myself to Pisco. Pisco is at the mouth of the Parakas nature reserve where I hope to do my silence. If not there than outside it in one of the small towns to the south of the park. Pisco is also the home of the pisco sour. I dont really drink so I have made it all the way here without trying one. I will probably leave same way.

Before I go I want to contnue the Food and Culture report.

I had somthing yesterday called a Papa Relleno (Refilled Potato). No pic cuz I ate the whole thing before my brain could think of anythin else. It was a papa shaped mass of mashed potatos and had a center of salsa-y, chicken-y whatever. Bomb!

I want to mention the ceviché keeps comin´. I was only trusting of "high class" sources of the stuff but appearantly it is hard to fuck up. it is a very simple recipe, being raw and all, and christ is good! and good for you!

Cultrally speaking, when I arrived on the coast two things happened: Suddenly all the toilets have seats on them! Also, everything is a tiny bit more expensive. An interesting correlation.

Another thing I wanna mention is that everywhere I go, I would say about 40% of all the people I walk past (If you think about it that is really a lot of people) say somwthing to me. One of a few things: "PELO LINDA!" or , "MARIO BARACKAS!" or "HKEaiLLO!" , "HOLA!" or plain old "GRINGO!!!!" Someone said "BINGO as I passed by and I was relieved (after a clear interpretation). It is strange for me to be so mentioned all the time. I am used to it in situations where I am soing something out of the ordinary (kind of a lot). But not when I am just walking around. It is what it is.

Finally, I just want to mention that I was in a restuarant an hour ago and there was a commercial for dog food on the everpresent restaurant T.V. The Dog´s name in the advert was Gringo. No joke, I checked it and laughed with owner of the restuarant.

I am in Pisco for the moment. Pisco is OK. My time here has been mainly on the internet so I can`t really judge. I do wanna show you this tree though as a parting gift.

Trees all over the world are at verying degrees of dancing. Some are calm and move like Tai Chi. Some are pestigous and move only in there honor. Some are shy and just sway like wall flowers. Most of the Madronas I know in NW dance like lightning from the ground up. This tree moves with the fury of too many pisco sours and a wicked desire to fight back the trash and concrete that slowly creep up its skin. Maybe one day it will riegn victorious over the petty humans worshiping it at its feet. Maybe one day it will know the peace of death. One day we all will, and this is part of the overwhelming beauty of it all. The beauty that in this form, we can only temporarily taste, lest we are destroyed by the light.

Until next time. Peace, K