the colors of earth

a day of rain makes sitting in an internet cafe updating thoughts and experiences the only logical thing to do. thinking of everything that has these two eyes have seen and that these two feet have walked across. the feelings i have now will fade with time somehow. how can i hold onto these feelings. can i jar them up somehow and release the scents, the views, the feel, the smells, peoples faces, the moments anytime i want. can i keep them for when i need them most will i ever be able to recall the silence on a crowded subway in medellin, the taste of exotic fruits in bogota, the look of a cowboy as he corrales his cattle in argentina, the smell of fresh grapes in mendoza, the jolting yet rejuvenating feeling of swiming in glacial relic lakes, the music of chilean folklore. how can i bring myself back to these moments.

i spent a couple days in mendoza, argentina drinking gallons of great wine and eating kilo after kilo of succulent steak. i thought i arrived with enough time to hike up to base camp of Mt. Aconcagua. The tallest mountain in the western hemisphere at almost 23,000 ft. I knew i wasnt prepared to make the summit, which has been a dream of mine since childhood, but at least making it to base camp would be a thrill. Unfortunately, the climbing season ended days before i arrived. I fortunately met jose, a 48yr old chilean who has been living in sydney for 15 years who just made the sumit a week before. listening to his story and the struggle of climbing in an oxygen depleted atmosphere that is inhospitable for any creature or plant alike, against -30 below temperatures means that i will have to come back to argentina to stand ontop of this earthly creation at some point in my life.

regardless of weather or not i was able to make it to base camp, i had to at least see the mammoth mountain with my own eyes. There was a short 2 day hike, where, if the weather was just right, you could see the summit behind its more modest peaks. by the time i made it to the camp (not base camp, just a camp along the hike) it was beginning to get dark and the ridge was no longer visible. so of course im going to wake up before sunrise and watch the sun reveal the snow covered peak. slowly, and carefully, as if it was a slow dance with the land, the suns rays slowly began to reveal peak after peak, casting long shadows on the wayward side of each mountain, watching the shadows move across the range till the sun was actually visible making each shadow disappear, untill finally the top of aconcagua towered over every other feature.

imagine seeing multiple colors expose on a cliffside of a mountain. colors that you only thought could have otherwise only been seen in a rainbow. these colors were brilliantly displayed in the barren hillsides of hamuhuaca in northern argentina. cerro de siete colores, the mountain of seven colors, is exactly that. except i think i counted more then 7. rolling hillsides and gentle sloping mountains of different minerals being exposed at different times show how even mountains can have life of color to it.

May life be too thrilling to want to read this, or may it perk up a particularly dreary day with a little bit of distraction from the far reaches of the Southern Hemisphere.

thumbing my way

lets see, where did i leave off. oh yeah, im a professional hitchiker. or so i thought. i took a bus from bunoes aires to bahia blanca, where i figured it would be an easy straight shot across the pampas (flat plains) of argentina to patagonia. i got off the bus terminal and walked 4 miles to the outskirts of town where i posted up next to a petrol station soliciting for a ride west. i presented myself in my cleanest attire and sporting a clean shave and groomed curly fro. this to assure any weary picker upper that im just a good ole american hitchin south america. my first ride was a group of 3 argentians on holiday from school headed north to cordoba. alejandra, carlitos, isabelle. thankfully they spoke a little english so the conversation wasnt to stagnant. it was a 10hour ride that consisted of mate after mate. we would stop at people houses along the way, just random people, and ask them to boil some water for us. wed leave 15 minutes later with a thermas full of hot water, and steak sandwiches everytime. at the junction of routa 151, they turned to head north, so i had to get off and find my next ride west. i was left staring at herds of cattle and absolutely nothing else. i figured it couldnt be that far to the next town. so ill just walk along routa 22 to the next petro station and surely ill find a trucker willing to help a lost kid. there was no next town. at least not in the direction that i was walking. pearl jams "thumbing my way" got heavy rotation for the next 3 hours. finally, just as the sun was setting, a stroke of luck came and a trucker pulled over and took me to my final destination. marco was a 39 year old delieverer of refrigaration systems for restaurants to store meat. mucho surpriso. finally, 29 hours later, i made it beriloche. the first city of many that i will visit in patagonia.

I was immediately awe struck by the natural beauty of lake nauhi huapi and hit the ground running. i went on a 2 day mountain bike ride through roads that wind and curve around majestically clear lakes. whenever i got thirsty, id simply stop, walk to one of the lakes, and knees down and drink. the best water ive ever had. now this is what i call mountians and lakes.

one afternoon, i was consulting my lonely planet on what to do next. a german girl named zena asked what i had planned next and asked if i wanted to go with her and her 5 year old son on a day trip to hike through some caves. "sure why not, and maybe on the way back you can drop me off at the bus terminal so i dont have to walk there or catch a cab" i said. complete miscommunication. she had a rental car and therefore had limited miles she could put on her car. we got to the caves which was about a 2 hr drive from beriloche, and did a short hike and when i asked her to take me back 2hrs to the bus stop, she looked at me dumbfounded like i was crazy or something. this was not the plan. the plan was to come back to beriloche and head south. instead i was literally stuck with a woman and her kickin and screaming 5 year old for the next two days will we made it to the next town. it turned out to be great though. we picked up one hitchhiker and drove down deserted dirt road routa sieta lagos (7 lakes road) and came across the most stunning lakes ive ever seen surrounded by towering snow peaked mountains.

we seperated in pucon chile. when i think of pucon chile, i think of me being kindly asked to leave a bar. i went on a volcanoe hike with 4 people from isreal. after the hike got canceled due to weather, we decided to go to a bar and get some drinks. now i tried my best to leave politics and worldy affairs aside when traveling. theres just so many other things to talk about. one of them asked what my nationality is. so we got on the topic of iraq and saddam. and they strongly disagreed with everything i said as i strongly disagreed with everything they were saying. it turned into a 15 minute standing, nearly shouting match until a waitress came up to me and kindly asked me to leave. id be glad to. check please.

a dancing, spanish speaking carnivore

try walking across a dance floor in cali or anywhere in colombia, or in buenos aires and your sure to lose a limb. its like walking across a fucking land mine. i mean you better have moves like barry sanders, bobbing and weaving through swinging and twirling couples, desperately trying to make your way to where "you think" the bathroom is. ppssss, good luck my friend. I tried my hand at a little tango (which i guess tango means "sadness over losing the one you love") in buenos aires. gosh, it was dispacable, lieutenant Dan couldve performed better.....after the vietnam war that is.

so before my next attempt, a few colombian friends i met in bogota were kind, and patient enough to give me salsa lessons. after drinking a litre of a local fermented corn brew/alchoholic mixture/aguardiente called chicha that is. this proved to be futile. i still walked into the bar that night with 2 left feet. oh well, some things were just not meant to be.

Standard operation procedure in Buenos Aires: get off work or finish doing whatever your doing (in my case walking endless miles around an unfamiliar city) till about 7 or 8pm, take a nap till 10, go out and eat a strictly beef diet dinner at 11, hit the bars at 1am, drink as much isenback as possible till 7am, catch another beef filled breakfast, and head home around 9am. i cant do this much longer. the consuming of so much beef is slowly shutting down my digestive system. i mean i ate so much meat that i felt like i just finished eating a lion that just finished eating a wildabeast (just picture it for a sec). But pain no more, i must consume.

I feel it, i feel my spanish getting better, understanding more, picking up on more of conversations. at least this is what i thought. I have been staying with an argentinian friend who lives in buenos aires. we met in medellin. we went out with him and some of his friends for some drinks and mate sessions. why is that when i hear a group of young argentinian people speak, i automatically assume they´re talking about something political or intellectual. i have no idea why that is. but i just assume theyre talking about some upcoming revolution or planning a revolt of some sort. i dont know but i want to be a part of it.








family guy-"you cant look at that and tell me it doesnt look like a giant penis"




time for me to leave the hectic city and head north to check out some falling water of sorts. Iguazu falls. not sure how it compares to niagara falls but ill be the judge of that. you enter the park and must walk a short distance of a couple km to the first set of falls. before even entering the trail, you can hear the roaring thunder of the massive falling lake. the sheer power of the falls is astounding. a bit touristy though. so you walk around the park from area to area as tiny butterflies zip past your head.


unless your on a mission to visit everywhere in the world or need to buy black market electronics, liquor, cigarettes or anything one can think of, you have absolutely no need to visit Cuidad del este, paraguay. i had a legitimate reason however. my camera was stolen in colombia and i needed a replacement. since CDE is on the borders of brazil and puerto iguazu falls, arg, it was a hop, skip and illegal border crossing away. Electronics are cheaper here then anywhere in south america because of 2 reasons: 1. paraguya does not have an import tax an electronic items. 2. when your crossing the border from argentina on a rickety, non-patrolled bridge, you cross alongside people smuggling goods on horseback. you can seriously find anything and everything here. i saw a whole street dedicated to stearing wheel covers. no joke. this place is Tijuana on steroids. So i hustled and bustled through the crowded, humid, sticky city streets trying to wheel and deal on a good camera. i randomly stumbled into a store and began to bargain with the clerk. I overheard two people behind the counter say something to each other in arabic. what? arabic in paraguay? no fuckin way, it cant be, i must be hallucinating from the scent of open sewers and overcooked unknown meat. i decided to investigate. "you speak arabic" i said to them. "hell yeah, why the hell do you speak arabic". before i could finish my sentence he was making me a turkish coffee and he explained to me the big lebonese migration to paraguay. I had to support my peeps. bought the camera and got the hell out of dodge.











so seeing how i hitchhiked in the US successfully, id say that constitutes me as an expert. i mean if i could do it back home, it should be a breeze in argentina where its rumored to be efficient, and common. i plan on somehow, cheaply making my way to the mystical land of patagonia, where it has been my dream to see the andes mountains. so im off to try my hand (no pun) at the forgotten art of thumbing a ride. lets see what i get into now.

release me

Medellin, once the worlds most dangerous city (thank you Detroit and Baghdad for taking that title) is now a bustling city of beautiful colonial architecture, an immaculate metro system, and an abundance of museums and galleries. The city of eternal spring has shed its drug nightmare and is a wonderful place to be. I didnt want to leave. I arrived with the intention of leaving after a couple days and ended up staying 8 days. like i have somewhere else to be. i spent the first couple days reliving a chicago tradition. that is riding the metro at all hours of the night all over the city. familiarize myself. its the best way. by far my favorite city in colombia thus far. for some reason it just feels like i belong here. Medellin is filled with gregarious, resiliant citizens eager to shed the darkness of their past and not yet completely acquainted with the gringo tourist traveling just for the hell of it. I was given a couple "what the hell are you doing here" looks while out and about. granted that may have been because i was in neighborhood i clearly didnt belong in. it would be like walking down cass corridor in detroit with a suit and tie and a briefcase.

The hostal i stayed at felt like family. Claudia, the owner, would convince us all to make a big dinner and eat like family as opposed to going out to eat. and then she would always bust out a gallon bucket of ice cream for everyone to enjoy. like being given a treat by your mom after getting a star/smiley face after your first spelling test.

The people there were great. I met a japanese guy named Azou who was traveling solo and didnt speak much spanish or english. the talent and memory this man possessed blew my mind. He didnt own a camera. So at the end of every night he would sit down with his stencils and drawing book and re-create the image of the most memorable thing from that day. There were drawings of the mountains, churches, people he met, buildings and even meals he ate. I asked him what was so memorable about that meal and he replied in a bruce lee accent "i was just glad to eat". he was extremely skilled. They were more portraits then simple drawings.

On one of the days i decided to roam around the Universidad de Antioquia. Like most universities in colombia, it is a private school and hence very expensive. tuition is almost on par with that of STATE U per semester. so typically only the wealthy can afford an education. The campus is a very politicaly outspoken campus though. While meandering through the halls i came across a spray painting on the lockers: LESS REPRESSION, MORE EDUCATION.




There was beautifully painted murals on the wall that would make the best graffitti artist in NY feel small. On the politcal science building there was a giant mural of Che Guevara.

These kinds of political statements would be washed over in a matter of minutes in the states. i think im going to start this trend back home. My first piece of work will be "LONG LIVE SADDAM". Yeah, i think thatll work.

As i was walking by a lectur hall, a professor came and grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the class like an eagle scooping a fish out of the water. Before i can object, i was in the middle of a "bi-lingual engineering day" lecture. He saw that i was a foreigner and assumed i knew spanish. NOPE. there was about 30 students in the class, and each student was asked to come up front and say to the class in a language other then english and spanish why they chose engineering. no problem i thought. ill dazzle them with chaldean. A success. after the class i was in a conversation with a bunch of colombians about iraqi politics.



The renaissance is most noticeable in Santo Domingo. A once impenetrable slum of tin-roofed shanties on a hillside in northern Medellín, that once took over an hour on a rickety bus ride now takes 10 minutes on the new metro cable cars that run up the mountain. There is also the newly built Parque Biblioteca España. An opal shaped library perched on the edge of the hill. took the cable car to the top and hiked the rest of the way to the actual top of the hill where there were no homes or anything, just a vacant field. time for a break. I lay down on my back and play a game with the sky above. I close my eyes and open them every few minutes to a new set of clouds and try to guess what they resemble. With "realease me" by PJ on repeat (for reasons known why), i lay comfortable with my face turned up toward the face of the sun, and i let the world around me rush on unnoticed.

dear pigeons, your welcome

¨Colombia has the natural resources of a thousand nations and the natural habitat and climate to support any life form on planet earth. The sad reality is, that all of the treasures and wealth of this great nation has been squandered by the few co

rrupt only to leave nothing to marvel at in its origin"- francisco de miranda

I arrived on colombia 3 weeks ago. and every part of the aforementioned statement stands true except the last part. There is plenty left to marvel at in its original form. I arrived in cartagena and spent a few days getting adjusted to life on land. There may have been a time or two where i lost balance and appeared drunk cause my sea legs hadnt yet worn off. I met a few folks in the hostel and they immediately invited me to santa marte and taganga. why the hell not. seems cool enough. Taganga, to my surprise, is hippies paradise in colombia. A sleepy little fishing town with more dread haired people than fish, is a quaint place to sit idle for over a week without ever even knowing it. after saying goodbye to hippie heavan, myself and two girls from holland, along with a brother and sister from australia, decided to trekk through parque tayrona. A beautiful natural park on the atlantic coast. what wasnt so beatiful is the mud and horse manuer that blanketed every inch of trail. everything in the park is brought in on hooves, and appearantly, its too much effort t

o clean up. i did not bring hiking shoes and my sandals were in my big pack back at the hostel. so haflway through the hike, after my trainers were already ruined, i said fuck it and decided to take off the shoes and compete the hike barefoot. my feet still have open wounds on them. the hike was picturesque however.

with boulders the size of city blocks littered across the shore, we would stop and watch as the beach was being kissed by the sea.

i spent the next two nights, sleeplessly tossing and turning in my hammock trying to fend off armies of mesquitos. i succumbed to defeat and let them have the best of me. gotta give it to em, they just didnt quit. i think im now 1 pint

 of blood short. on the second night, i removed my hammock and thought it would be a good idea to just lay it right on the beach where the wind would prevent any buggers from biting. shit, i totally forgot that this is not the great lakes and theres tides here. i woke up 1 hr later to a rogue wave completely drenching me and my bags. so spent the next 3 hours looking at mr. moon laughing back down on me.

thats enough of the coast, im all beached out. time to head inland. i meet anne, an argentinian girl who was in my hostel in taganga, that was heading to bogota. sweet, that means id have company on the 20hr bus ride. watching the sunset and sunrise from a bus in the middle of the northern andes in colombia is way to disprove mirande´s statement. we arrive in the north bus terminal in Bogota and spot a dunkin donuts. i nearly piss my pants out of sheer excitement. finally some familiarity of the good ole USA. Anne has a perma grin cause they dont have dunkin donuts in argentina. so we order our large coffees and two boston creeams, and w

e both reach for our cameras to capture this moment.

anne returned to buenos aires and left my non spanish speaking, gringo ass in bogota. great now what. I head to la plaza de bolivar, a quadrant of government buildings with a gian open space in the middle with literally thousands of pigeons. there were vendors selling bags of corn to nagging kids so that they can take enjoyment in feeding the pesty birds. sure i guess ill act 10yrs old again. i approach the vendor and as how much for a bag of seed. "uno mille" he replies, roughly 40 cents. fuck yeah, give me 5 bags. now recall for a minute that scene from home alone 2, lost in new york, where the homeless woman gives kevin a hand full of seeds and he just throws them all in the air causing havoc in the square. well that is exactly what i did, except with 5 times as much seeds, 10 times as many pigeons, and 20 times

 more people. i never knew birds could cause such chaos. it was like that scene from a discovery channel special where the locusts take over a whole area, except with pigeons. not 30 seconds after launching the feed from my hand, i was approached by a colombian police office and asked nicely to leave the plaza. so long bogota, farewell to my pigeons.

seasickness? what seasickness?

mission: to make all the way to south america without flying via drive from detroit to miami and sailboat hitchhike down to colombia. ok i can do this. no problem right. i left the port of miami with john and che (27 year old from south africa) on january 13. first stop was to check into port of customs in the bahamas. which means 2 straight days chugging along at a whopping 6 knots (8mph) which meant i spent the better part of those first couple days expelling anything i had consumed the prior 72 hours in a greenish yellow liquid form. we arrive in south andros island and stay offshore cause we were under the impression that you 36 hours to check into customs before consequences occur. wrong. the bahemians (is that what theyre called) were not pleased and we were awoken at 8am (28 hours after arriving) with the BDF bahemian defense forces knocking on our door and ushering us to check into customs asap. no problemo mahn. got that taken care of.

after checking into customs we depart for the east side of andros where there is some incredible diving. che is a master diver and john has 2 hookah rigs set up on the boat that allows diving up to about 30 feet using breathing through a hose connected to an air compressor on the boat. we did some diving off a vertical wall. one of the steepest vertical walls in the entire bahamas. the depth goes from 15 feet deep to 350 feet deep within 100 horizontal feet. vertical walls are optimum breeding grounds for all sorts of sea life. the deep, cold, nutrient rich water is forced up the wall allowing all types of coral reefs to grow which is the basis for entire marine ecosystems. The sheer drop off is a spectacle for everyone to see.

On the 2nd day of diving we decided to do a little spear fishing. short on dry food, with an endless ocean of fish, we headed to the waters with our spears and diving knives. before entering the water, i was given a few tips and pointers by john that went something as such:

"ok, 1st of all take off your necklace and any shiny objects cause barracuda and reef sharks are attracted to that. 2nd, if you speer a tuna (like i know what the fuck a tuna looks like) make sure to let out alot of line cause that thing will take you for a ride. 3rd, if you catch mahi or grouper, keep it away from your body cause predator fish will come at it and you dont want them biting at your chest. and 4th, dont catch anything bigger then 3 feet or 30lbs."

gotchya john.

jump in the water and start flopping around like a helpless single finned seal swimming in whatever direction the current takes me. not 5 minutes later i spot my dinner. Set the trigger, and creep slowly closer to the fish. BANG (not really bang, not much sound under water but you get the point) spear enters the gill of unknown giant fish. perfect shot. Then this thing took me for a the ride my life. appearantly im not michael phelps and i cant outswim a 35lb white fin tuna. i was helpless. The big fish dragged me about 50 feet before pulling my knife out and cutting the line. looks like another night of macaroni and cheese for dinner.


Next onward we go to Georgetown. the next biggest city in the bahamas next to nassau. this city makes ferndale look like paris. john and che are heading to remote islands after this port so time that i arrange for my next ride. i met a guy named steve heading to turks and caicos and then dominican republic. a step in the right direction. we stop over night in turks and do some night diving for lobster. incredible. grab a spear, dive in the shallow 10 ft water, spear the lobster, rip off its tail and return with fresh lobster tail for dinner. sure beats the mac n cheese.

we dove over a blue hole which is an underground volcano that comes up to about 30ft below the surface and is about 1000 ft wide in the middleof the ocean and the water above it is as calm as glass. not a single ripple. its pretty amazing.

we arrive in dominican republic so that steve can refuel. its a 48 ft custom made severson sailboat but needs to fuel up cause i guess deizel is cheap there. steve is leaving the DR and heading to smaller islands in the British virgin islands. so i must arrange for my next ride here or run the risk of being stranded in the BVI´S and pay an arm and leg for a flight out. Ill roll the dice and try to hitch my next ride. steve offers to stay an extra night to give me some time to search. 2nd day there and stil nothing and steve must leave. and so leaves me stranded on dominican republic with nowhere to go and nothing to do. i wander aimlessly till 3am and find a park and decide to bunker down till at least sunrise. i tie my bag to my arm and use clothes as pillows and sleep in this park. not recommended.


not the safest neighborhood but hey, im here. wake after 3 hours of sleep and head to the marina to beg for a ride anywhere. find a french canadian couple heading to peurto rico. DONE. FUCK YEAH. i dont care as long as i have a place to sleep. spent a few nights in perto rico till meeting vince. vince recently retired from pratt and whitney after 30 years and is sailing solo. im in. leave peurto rico headed for dominca. This little portion of ocean is referred to as the oceans tongue. Not sure why but i can say this, we got hit with the ugliest storm hes seen in years.

It was a 4 day shot to Dominica. so avoiding some kind of bad weather was impossible. I've been into endurance sports within the last few years or so and long term sailing taught me something I thought I already knew- how not to quit. If you're running and it hurts, you quit. If you're biking and it hurts, you take a break. When you're sailing and your boat is overpowered, its 3am, the wind is whipping at 35knots, its raining bullets, your sails are out of control, your keel is out of the water and you have absolutely no choice but to pull through it - quitting is not an option.
I quickly became obsessed with this concept and gained an even greater respect for the age old transportation method of sailing. Just when you think you're the only one crazy enough to be out doing this, you pull into a harbor in the middle of nowhere and there are 50 other boats swaying on their anchor lines.

life on the ocean really comes to a screeching hault. traveling at 7-8 knots for days on end is a disciplining journey. you end up spending alot of time reading, doing nothing or just in your head. which may or may not be a good thing. with the exception of the few short spurts of exhilaration and intense work. my ipod was my savior more times then i couldve counted. album of the sailing excursion: Pilate-sell control for lifes speed.

so finally make it to Dominica. vince was staying put for a while before heading back north. this leaves me stranded again. I spent the next couple days exhausting all resources and speaking to probably every english speaking person with a boat before i said fuck it and accepted my failure. Flight from dominica to cartagena colombia $600. ouch. oh well. it was one hell of a ride. now get me off this boat and onto solid land. colombia here i come.