Machu Picchu, Cuzco, Peru



There are not many places on Earth which are quite the testament to human tenacity as Machu Picchu in Peru. I mean, they built their city on top of the mountain! Only people would do that, or animals that depend on people after people have built up on the top of a mountain. Or eagles. I think eagles live on the tops of mountains, or possibly just very large trees. Some of those trees are massive! But anyways... I digress.

We walked straight up the mountain and saw what we saw (pictures above). Testament, I say again, to human tenacity. We, in this case, includes myself and Mannouri (I have no idea how to spell that). Her name got shortened to "Manni". She decided, after making it to the top, to take the "scenic route" to get back to camp.

Let me tell you something about travelling. Travelling is about the scenic route - travelling, in fact, is the scenic route. If you haven't seen it before, it's scenic, especially if you're in a mountain range. Scene, scene, scene as far as the eye can see. Let me tell you something else; that mountain looks almost exactly the same on the other side looking back as it does from here. My point? The "scenic route" on a mountain is not a good way to go. People go the way they go because it's easy to continue living while doing so. I think someone forgot to explain to Manni that the reason that the Machu Picchuvians built their city up there is because it's really hard to get to it.

So, we climbed, and let me tell you, climbing down sucks. It's no fun. I've never had so many blisters as when I climbed down a cliff face. If we'd been willing to throw a bunch of equipment away, we could have rappelled, but that stuff is expensive.

There we are, anyways, in the jungle on the complete opposite side of the mountin. Manni decides that it would be wise to follow the river back to town. Now, it's a good 10 or 12 miles back to town, because we have just done all of the following:

a) walked up a mountain
b) explored the top of said mountain (cool)
c) climbed down the opposite side of the mountain
d) made out a little bit (mmm... french girls)

It's getting on to night time, so we have to decide whether we are going to sleep under the stars or walk back. An argument ensues. Manni argues that we should walk back.

So we're walking back and we're not making the best time because we're both fairly exhausted when I realize that I can hear something up ahead. I point out to Manni that we really don't know this area very well and that we're really just about stumbling around in the dark. She agrees that maybe in a half hour or so, we should lay off and go to sleep.

We continue walking along the river. The sound is getting louder, and I'm pretty sure that I know what it is - it's a combination of freight train and airplane take-off that you only hear in places where large quantities of water or falling large quantities of distance. We're coming up on a waterfall.

Now, unfortunately, on this same trip, we had been to see Angel Falls. Earlier in the year, I'd been to Victoria Falls. Niagra Falls is something I grew up with. The tone quality of these waterfalls is slightly different than the one that we were encountering. Long story short, this waterfall was fairly small (not all that high, not all that wide) and so it was not the same sort of angry-train-plane-takeoff sound that I was expecting.

We came upon it a little unexpectedly.

Manni tripped over a rock and stumbled forward. I caught onto her backpack and it's a good thing that I did; she would have stumbled and fallen to her death, or at the very least, continual vegetative state. We stopped walking, set up camp for the night and enjoyed a leisurely walk out the next day.

The lesson learned here is twofold. The first? Don't travel too much at night in a place you don't know when you're tired and there are possible waterfalls. Okay, that might be just a little bit specific, but you get the idea.

The second lesson? Tenacity is a great thing that can lead people to many great heights, but eventually those heights will be abandoned. Tenacity may also lead you over the edge of a cliff if you're not careful. I'm not sure if apathy every killed anyone... and to be honest, I don't really care.

Singapore

Ah, Singapore. A clean city - a nice city. A city where the only bad things that happen are the fault of the government. Regardless, it's a place to go, to see, to do. And even though it's a whitewashed dilution of Asian culture, it's still fun. And a gorgeous city, to boot.



The thing that always gets me about Asian cities, the rub I guess you could say, is the food. I love food. Food might be the best goddamn thing about travelling in the world. Well... maybe; I'm a fan of women, too. And since I have the yellow fever (I also have chocolate, mocha, coffee, white, and hot fever) Singapore's a good place to be.

Here's my advice if you're going to Singapore.

1) Don't bring any drugs. They kill you. Honest to God, they hauled some guy out of line behind me in the aeroport accusing him of dealing drugs and I never saw him again. Of course, I'd never seen him before, either. Suspicious? Well... the truth is out there.

2) Really - don't bring any drugs. It's a no-fucking-around sort of place.

3) Bubblegum's no good either. You need a special permit to bring it into the county, otherwise they charge you $900 (after the mail-in-rebate and the exchange, that's only something like $68, but still!).

4) Eat from vendors on the street. I understand that in, say, Mexico, this is tantamount to volunteering to shit out of your eyes for the next 3 weeks, but in Singapore, you can get away with a lot. Most of the vendors on the street are fantastic, and I only got sick once, and it only lasted 45 minutes.

5) Flush the toilet. If they find out you didn't flush the toilet, they can fucking cane you. It makes sense, though - any standing water is a breeding ground for mosquitos and mosquitos breed Dengue Fever. Dengue Fever is totally the balls.

6) Don't think about renting a car. Ha! It costs a ridiculous amount of money to even own a car, so it's cheaper to just walk or take the public transit. The city's not that big anyways.

7) Don't be gay. It's illegal here. (Yay for progress) Unless you're a woman, and in private, then it's not unacceptable. Note: I didn't say "acceptable."

So, here's where I normally would insert a story about how I broke some rule accidentally and ended up caught up with the police and then we all had a laugh and I went on my merry way. That didn't happen here. See, I remembered the story of the tourist who was put to death because they had drugs on them, but the drugs had been planted. I was fucking vigilant with my luggage (which was minimal - just my backpack and carry on) and I didn't screw around at all. I mean, sure, I drank, I was merry, I had my fun (ah, Singapore, land of hot asian girls with decent teeth). But I was careful.

Hmm - this isn't the most fun entry ever. It's more like a "holyshitbecarefuloryoudie" post.

Okay, here's my advice, then: go to all the festivals you see. There will be great food and good scenery and loads of fun. If you speak any of the languages (there's, like, 19 official languages) then people will treat you like a genius. If not, they'll treat you like a bit of a dipstick. Get into Singlish - it's a wonderful creole. And if you see any of these girls:



Tell 'em that the biggest gwai'loh ever says "Chimo" - they'll know what you're saying.

Luxembourg, Europe

I was going through pictures today and I realized that I don't have any pictures of Luxembourg. Not one. I went through the pictures twice and... well, I guess I might be lying. I have a picture which may be of Luxembourg. It's in the right set of photos - right between Germany and Belgium. It's taken from a train, and it shows a blurry hill streaked with rain. It's not a good picture.

I actually spent a significant period of time in Luxembourg, though, that's the thing that's bugging me. I mean, we got in on a Thursday and didn't leave until... Sunday night? The details are a little foggy to me. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure we arrived in Brussels early on a Monday, so we must have only left the Lux on Sunday night.

Ah, Luxembourg. It's quite the place, really. Filled with, um, stuff. And people. There are lots of people. And things to do. Oh yes, filled with culture is old Luxembourg. Nary a moment goes by that's not packed with excitement.

*sigh*

Okay, perhaps I'm being a bit unfair here. I mean, I'm pretty sure that I had a good time in Luxembourg. I think I met every single person that lives in the place, and half of them bought me a drink at the local bar. After the pub closed, the bunch of us, me and Luxembourg, we walked over to the German border. While we were there, we kept standing with one foot on either side of the border. "Look," Luxembourg would say, "I'm in Germany. Now I'm not! Now I am!" We all had a laugh and then we walked over to the French border and peed on France.

Nobody likes France.

I was there, though, for something like three and a half days. Why can't I remember more? I remember it being kind of blah. It was nice, I think. It certainly wasn't terribly un-nice - that would stick in my memory. It was fairly expensive - the Euros dribbled out of my pocket at slightly more than the usual rate. I think. It's hard to say.

One day, I'm pretty sure, I rented or borrowed a car (again - the details are foggy) and decided to drive round the entire country. After that was done, we stopped for breakfast and had a nice solid meal of sausage and possibly other things that may or may not have been sausage.

Overall, my experience with Luxembourg is that it's this tiny little place. It's no bigger than I'd say, PEI. Have you been to PEI? Do you remember that? Exciting, eh?

I'm not sure why I had to post this - I think it's the sheer unfortunateness of having been to a country and not being able to remember anything about it other than the fact that it's unmemorable. So please, I ask of you, go to Luxembourg. Tell me what it's like. Let me know what I didn't miss and can't recall.

I'm sure you'll have a blast. I think I may have.

Zimbabwe, Africa

Every continent has a something - some sort of feeling or... hard to describe sort of thing that describes it. Europe - culture. North America - money. Australia - populated by criminals. South America - fantastic bottoms.

Africa's got something primal and dark. It's got power. Africa's where it all started for us humans, and there's something there that kind of feels like home, deep down underneath it all. Like... this is where we belong.



Victoria Falls is a place like no other. It doesn't have the sheer volume of Niagara, or the incredible height of Angel Falls, but it has a majesty of it's own that is a mix of the two. The water seems to meander down the rock face in a way that is less urgent than other waterfalls, but somehow more inevitable. I find myself making little or no sense in trying to describe the place, because I end up speaking in contradictions.

You should go.

So, we stand there, watching Victoria Falls fall, in awe at the beautiful rainbow, generally just enjoying the day, when an African man accosts us. He's about 5'3", wearing little besides a loincloth, and is decidedly out of place (that's not the general apparel of the inhabitants of that part of Zimbabwe). He's maybe 30, maybe 50 (hard to tell) and he's remarkably fit. He places himself about a foot away from me (well within my personal space) and just stands there.

I've learned, in my travels, to take things with a grain of salt, so I decide to wait him out.

It turns out that this is the right thing to do. After a couple of minutes, he grins, showing us some exceptionally bright white teeth. "Jambo, mzungu!" he began. "Today, my friend, you almost die. Be very careful and you'll be fine." Then he hands me a Zippo and a newspaper, tips me a wink, and walks a way.

We make very little of it, being used to such strangeness in our travels. The zippo made it's way into my right jeans pocket, and the newspaper got tucked in my backpack and off we went, driving west. We'd heard about a park that had lots of wild animals that we want to see.

Driving in Africa is quite the experience. There are roads, but they're really more of a suggestion than anything else. The jeep that we'd bought upon arrival in Africa was an absolute joy to drive, so we tended to move at quite the pace, just off of the road. Let us just say that a good portion of our three hour drive was not spent with the wheels in direct contact with the ground. That's what travel is for.

So, we were making quite the ruckus when we happened upon a herd of rhinos.

The thing about wild animals is you never know how they're going to react in any given situation. We weren't being quiet, and they were hidden by a little hill - we barelled over the hill almost smack dab into the youngest of the herd. This immediately got us off to a bad start. Within 30 seconds, three rhinos were chasing us, or so we thought.

So, we figure, what's the problem? We're in a vehicle, we can just outrun them, right? But here's the thing; rhinos are fucking fast. Like, scary fast. Like, fucking train barrelling down on you sort of fast, and when you're not on a road, you can't necessarily drive at speed. We were a good half mile from the road, where we would have easily been able to outdistance them, but we could only go about 25 mile an hour. And, well, did I mention three rhinos? Holy shit.

So we drive, and we're zigging and we're zagging, and then we realize something. The rhinos are actually herding us away from the road. They're getting between us and the road, forcing us from safety. I'm not sure if this was a fluke, or if they were just eerily smart rhinos, and I'm not precisely sure what they were going to do once they had fulfilled their obviously murderous urges upon our bodies (my guess was "eat us" but I'm told that rhinos aren't actually carnivores. Let me tell you, they looking real fucking carnivorous when they're trying to kill you).

The driving continues, but it's getting a little more frantic; sharp turns here and there, trying to fool the rhinos, but they're having none of it. They're all up ons the tricks that we try to pull and I'm becoming more and more sure with every second that we're goin to die.

Then I remember the guy from the falls.

I remember shouting at my girlfriend to take the wheel, and I reached back into the back to get the newspaper. I pulled it out and grabbed the zippo from my pocket. After a few attempts, I managed to light the friggin' thing on fire, then directed my girlfriend to steer towards one of the many bushes surrounding us, preferably one not near any other bushes. We got right up close to a bush, and I made a one in a million toss - I managed to throw a burning newspaper out of a jeep travelling at 20 miles per hour, onto a small, dry bush, square on. Thank God for the years I spent in bars throwing darts and playing pool.

The rest, of course, is pretty easy to figure out. The bush lit on fire, the rhinos instinctively went to put it out, and we took the opportunity to scootch around behind them and get back to the road. Then we opened the jeep right up and put some distance between us and them.

This is how the Simpsons, and a little African guy, saved my life.



The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful. The other rhinos were less homicidal (and very cute). Upon our return to Victoria Falls (that's where we were staying) we ended up running into the little African guy again. He tipped me a wink and shot me a wave and then walked away before I could thank him.

There are more things...

The Arctic Tundra, Canada

First off, I want you to imagine a picture of just snow, with a white sky. That's what all my pictures from the deeply, truely north look like. Of course, I might just be saying that because when I went north I had only the most basic grasp of photography and my SLR was fairly low quality... and I don't want to scan the pictures. What I'm saying is: I don't have a photo to accompany this story.

So, imagine snow. Lots of it. Only, it's not normal snow, the kind that you see in winters all over the place in the world. It isn't happyfunsnow, the wet kind that you can make balls and forts and angels out of, or the fluffy snow that boarders love for skiing downhill. It isn't the disgusting wet slush that comes with lousy smarch weather, when the snow is part frozen water, part dirt and all pain in the ass. It isn't the light dusting snow that happily alights on Christmas trees, bringing joy and happiness to all the world.

Oh no. This snow is different.

This snow is evil, old and twisted.

Try to think about this for a moment, if you can. Some of the snow, this simple piece of tiny little ice, this thing made up of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen (the oxygen is where the evil comes from), some of this snow has been there since before people. Not just the people who were alive today, but all people, everywhere. It's been there so long, that it may as well have always been there. It is ancient, hungry, dark and twisted. It's well nigh immortal, except for where you tred and kill it. It has about as much in common with the fat, lazy, transient snowflakes of the south as men have with gods. In fact, these are the snowflake gods - endless and eternal and so far removed from your average snowflake that they are as mythic and strange as... well, gods.

Okay, got that? That's what the snow is like.

Now picture the sky. Normally, the sky is blue, but often includes warm reds, bright white fluffy clouds, etc. At night, it's black, with those pinholes of light that are the stars. The sun and moon, ever popular denizens of the sky, are huge globes that hang warmly in the night.

Not so up north. The moon is an interloper that does not belong, but when she does appear, she's cold and distant. The sun is like a constant burning eye in the sky (no... really. It is), looking down all the fucking time. It doesn't go away. The sky itself is a steel grey, forbidding, terrible, frightening. The place is like death.

And that's just my introduction...

So we're up north and we're trekking across the tundra (note: I'm not sure if we were techinically in the tundra anymore. I mean, where does tundra end and just fucking snow everywhere begin? It's a fine line and I don't know. I think I'll refer to it as "JFSE" from now on) and it's just the two of us, me and the girlfriend. I'm not sure what possessed us to do this - we're adventure freaks, I guess. I'm carrying enough dry food in my pack for two months (I'm built like a cross between a brick shithouse and a bull elephant) and probably enough equipment to create a small house (which turned out to be fortuitous), despite the fact that we were going to be away from our camp for a period of about 36 hours. TG had decided that while we were "out backcountry" we should really experience the North.

George, the Innu in charge of outfitting people, told us that if we got cold, we could just radio for help and he'd come get us. I don't know what coming to get us would accomplish, though; it had been ass-chappingly cold the entire two weeks we'd been in camp. The way I figured it, we'd be just as well off wherever we were. George laughed and told us that was probably true, then continued packing for us. At one point he looked at me and asked me how much I could carry comfortably. I'm convinced that he weighed the packs and added 20 pounds to what I quoted him.

Regardless, off we set into the pitiless, evil snow.

We walked for a while through the white, and then we walked some more. After that it was a bit more walking, and then, just to change it up, we walked. I'll spare you the real details. No wait, I've lied - these are as many details as exist. There wasn't really any conversation, what with me carrying nine thousand tons of stuff and TG doing the navigating. To give her full credit, she tried really hard with the navigating. Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, day gave way to, uh, day. The sun didn't really move, it just hovered there. We would have applied sunscreen if we had had any exposed flesh. As it was, I'm quite thankful for my snow goggles that are completely UV resistant. They're awesome. We walked for quite a while.

Now, if you're going to head north, take my advice and purchase 3 top of the line things.

First thing: A watch. It's hard to figure out what time it is by looking at the sun at the best of times, but at least you get general ideas. Like, when you're at work and the sun goes down, even though it's the middle of summer - you know that's not good. You realize that you've overstayed. Or when you're supposed to catch a flight at 5 in the morning, and it's sunny outside when you wake up - that's bad. You don't have to look at a timepiece to get an idea of what the time is. That's not really how it works in the north. That time piece tells you when to go to sleep, when to eat, how far you've walked, what you're doing... it's everything. Buy something that's digital and not clockwork, and make sure it's resistant (to everything).

Second thing: A compass. Buy a compass that costs at least a hundred bucks. Don't take the $5 compass that you knicked off your brother from when he was a boy scout.

Third thing: A flare gun.

So, we walked and then we stopped because it was time to stop. The watch said so. It had to be true. We stopped, and I put the pack down and we made a fire (okay, we lit a Coleman. Same dif), and she brought out the map and showed us where we were. She'd marked it off in red. It was cute.

We decided to make an igloo, eat, have sex and then go to sleep.

George was a marvelous man, and one of the things that he'd managed to teach us (although we were not good at it) was to make an igloo. It's not really all that hard, but there is a methodology to it. Mostly, the skill is in molding the evil snow to your will using a very large knife. The snow, as I've mentioned, isn't like snow here. It's more like flaky ice. You can cut out big pieces of it from the, for want of a better word, ground and then use that to your advantage. The other trick is to dig a hole and build your igloo over that. It gives you more room. You don't want it too big, though, or you won't get as warm.

So TG dug a whole and I started carving up blocks of ice. It was a good system, since she's a perfectionist and would try to get the blocks to be perfectly even (the hole that she dug? perfectly round. She used a peg and rope to make it so. I'm not joking). We ended up with a structure that was 7 parts snowfort, 2 parts igloo, and one part sex palace.

You remember how, when you were a kid, you would see nature shows, and those shows would say how igloos are actually warm, and that you can live in an igloo in comfort? That's bullshit. I mean, think about it. An igloo is built out of ice. What temperature is ice? That's right, it's fucking frozen What happens to ice if it becomes unfrozen? Oh yes! It melts! What do we call a melted igloo? A puddle. Igloos aren't warm; they're warmer than being just outside an igloo.

Thus, the sexxx palace part of the igloo didn't involve a lot of dishabille; it was mostly touchy feely over the clothes, with brief exposures of naughty bits and lots of nose rubbing (it's cliche, but it's also warming). All in all, it's something you should try at least once. Although, I don't think you need to go as far north as we did to enjoy the experience. Just go outside in the winter and make a snowfort. It's definitely an experience.

So, we finished, ate, slept, woke, made love again, donned our packs, and started walking again.

Now, this part will be hard to believe. I claim temporary insanity from all the sex and cold. We did not, and I'll repeat that, not walk straight back over our tracks. They were pretty easy to see, (although mostly gone, there was still a line, because there was much less wind than normal) and it was decided that we would walk back a different route to see more of the area.

I did talk about the bleakness and the lack of things to see at some point, I think. Yes? I'll tell you what we saw going this other direction. Snow. A fucking ton of it.

So we walked, and we saw snow, and altogether, I have to admit that it was kind of fun. Great fun, really, until an unknown time later (minutes? days? a month? Who know, because the sun never moves!) TG stopped and looked at the map in a puzzled fashion. She looked around, then at her compass, then at her map. Then she looked puzzled again, and said those six little words that you never, ever, EVER want to hear your navigator say.

"I think I made a mistake."

I made a noncomittal grunt, and shrugged out of my pack. I sat and told her to come over to me. She brought me the map and I had a look. She had plotted the second half of our route in blue. According to her, we had arrived at the camp. I looked around.

Um. How 'bout fucking no?

Yeah, we weren't at camp. I asked her if she was sure. She replied that, yes, she was fucking sure, and said that they must have moved. I asked if her compass was working. She asked if my brain was working. Three sentences and we'd gone from lovey-dovey sweethearts to lost explorers on the brink of madness, willing to eat one of our own if it meant we got out alive. Okay, that's a bit melodramatic; we were just pissed off.

I asked her to hand me the compass. She gave it to me, looking disgusted.

The compass was pointing directly to my left. That meant I was facing east-ish. I turned 90 degrees to face south.

The compass continued to point to the left.

I turned in a circle. At every point, the compass pointed to the left.

I showed TG this phenomenon. She told me that it certainly hadn't been doing that when she was using it.

I nodded, went to my pack, and got out the radio and the flare gun.

It took George about an hour to get to us and during that time no words passed between us. We were a good 10 km from the place that TG thought we were.

The remaining three days before our prop plane arrive to take us out were spent in an ice that was metaphorical as well as physical. TG was ever so pissed, and I guess I walked around with a big grin on my face... until George asked me why I hadn't noticed where we were heading based on the sun's position. He also said that my igloo looked like it had had a stroke.



When it came time for the next trip, we went to Cuba. You know what Cuba has? Absolutely fucking zero snow. It's bloody brilliant.