8-mile meets Amman

The music playing at the gym is less than ideal for a get-pumped-motivating type workout. The awful house/techno music is more along the lines of “let me put on my white patent leather shoes, Armani exchange shirt and hugo boss cologne and lez go pick us up some ez em pitches wella bro.” luckily I brought my ipod shuffle loaded with good ole rock your pants style music. The usual suspects are all in there: PJ, Tool, Linkin park to name a few. Coach muhammed asked what kind of music I was listening to. It just so happened that I was reppin our very own Detroit native Eminem. He instantly fell in love and asked me to burn him a CD. Who am I to say no to introduce 8-miles pride to the rough, tough streets of Amman (If you’re reading this slim, I want royalties). Like Donnie Brasco, I just got made. The flat bench clears when I walk into the gym now.

Born again

when you travel, you sort of feel a sense of rebirth. Your in a completely new environments, the days last longer, the sun hangs in the sky a bit longer, and in most places you dont even speak the language. Its what being a baby entering the world for the first time must have felt like. You see the wonder in everything because its all so new. This is explains the simple feeling of happiness that comes with traveling. Every incidence becomes so much more important. Everything is so clear. Sounds, sights, smells and touch are as vivid as can possibly be. Being in a foreign environment also forces one to tear down the "isolated self" that we so often build in America. You open yourself up to complete strangers because they are the best, if not the only resource you have in difficult circumstances.
The most ordinary of events, such as witnessing someone daydreaming, feels like an episode created by God only for your viewing. This is an episode I never want to miss. Its the only show im eternally addicted to.

I have been in Amman for a little more then a week now. And although the city itself is taking some getting used to, i find the culture and people almost second nature. Middle-east is in my blood. It feels good to see what the world is like which my parents and ancestors have seen for centuries. One of the oldest continuously settled cities in the world, Amman has seen its share of rising and fallen empires. The city is situated on vast, steep rolling hills. As such, the city has a vast network of centuries old brick walls to keep the neighborhoods from pouring downhill. Neighborhoods look bizarrely similar and the roads look like someone threw spaghetti on a piece of paper and decided to use that as a blueprint for a road system. Being the pro-transit fanatic that I am, I decided to take a bus to work on my first week. Lets just say I ended up in what looked to be the beginnings of the Sahara Desert.

After realizing bussing it just wasn't going to work, Ive resorted to walking. I begin morning with a 2.5 mile walk underneath an orange sky, up and down steep hills along symmetrically aligned houses all in uniform brick and concrete construction. I'll take a break midway at Kelhat cafe, where I usually drink 2-3 arab coffees with some lebna and zahtar bread. The menus are in arabic, since I'm illiterate, the waiter just let me go to the kitchen and point to what i want.

Amman has experienced short explosive growth periods. Once with hundreds of thousands of palestinians in early 1950s, and again recently with the arrival of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi refugees (may God be with them). Because of the huge inmigration periods, half settled districts and camps have appeared on the outer fringes of the city. One can notice dozens of proudly displayed Iraq and Palestine Flags dotting the lowskyline of the districts.

Its 2 a.m. Shortly, I will be awaken by the first Withan (muslim prayer call on loudspeakers). However, I have grown to like this. The first call is at 3:45ish, its like waking up to a short lullaby and being able to fall soundly asleep for a few more hours. I must admit, its rather calming.

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.