Salkantay Trek: Day 2

9/22/09 – 4:30am. Mt. Salkantay Base Camp. We wake up to Washington ripping open the door of our tent. Bissente, the chef,  pours us two steaming hot cups of tea. The scalding mug is a nice defense against the frigid mountain air rushing into our tent. It is common to drink coca tea while trekking in Peru not only because it gives you energy, but also because it helps with altitude sickness. Despite the potential benefits, I take one sip, almost gag and dump the rest out next to the tent. It tastes god awful. I looks and tastes like murky rain water scooped straight from a gutter, leaves and all, which is not my…uh…er…cup of tea.

At breakfast we continue last night´s discussion of who will actually climb Mt. Salkantay and who will chicken out and take a horse. Before bed, Washington scared half the group to death, describing how difficult, steep, long, blah, blah, blah the trail is and how the group won´t wait for people who fall behind. I don´t know about everyone else, but I didn´t come all the way to Peru to half ass the trek. Half the group, however, decides to throw down 100 soles (33 dollars) to catch a ride on a horse. Mike considers taking a horse since he had trouble the day before, but with a bit of jokes and chiding he musters up the strength to hike it.

We gather our gear and prepare for the varying climates ahead. The morning is brisk, the top of the mountain will be cold and the afternoon will warm up as we descend into jungle.

Some take horses…

The first mile is always the hardest. We steadily approach the mountain pass in a large group. It increasingly becomes harder to breath.

After about an hour we come to the hard part – a series of steep switchbacks. The group thins out and I maintain a pace of hiking two switchbacks, quick break and then continuing. Mike falls to the back of the pack as I watch him slowly traverse the mountain from above.

Passing lakes of cool glacial water…

Breathing is difficult and the temperature is dropping, but it doesn´t matter. Our bodies are exerting so much energy I could have worn a t-shirt and been hot. Towards the top, I can only continue for a few steps at a time before needing a quick rest.

There are a few longer breaks too.

Awwww yeaaaaaa! We make it to the top. Quite a motley crew – our group consists of people from Denmark, Spain, Poland, Brazil, France, England and, of course, the US. The asshole guy standing next to me in the pink shirt wasn´t even in our group, but jumped in our picture. He continued to randomly appear at break points for the remainder of our trek.

We descend the mountain and break for lunch in an open valley. Below is a picture of our chef, Bissente. After chowing down we all lay along the bank of the stream, resting our eyes, soaking our swollen feet and taking a siesta.

There are some things that can´t be put into words. The feeling of serenity, peace and isolation of the Salkantay trail is one of those things. The photos can do the talking.

A few more grueling hours and we finally make it to the campsite.

Before we eat dinner I play Philippa in backgammon, win and keep the title of Backgammon World Champion. There is a little shack next to our campsite that has one beer for sale. Marie buys it and shares it with all of us. After two days of hardcore trekking, feelings of self accomplishment mix with beer and create euphoria.

Later we kick back, lay in the grass, tired but happy, and doze off gazing into the horizon.

Up Next: Monkey Party!

Salkantay Trek: Day 1

9/21/09 – 4:30am. Cusco, Peru. Mike and I finally wake up after hitting the snooze button three times.

In an effort to save a few bucks, we had downgraded to another hostel a bit further from the main plaza. Little did we know how much quality we sacrificed for a few dollars.

The owner of our new hostel is a stout Peruvian man (although all Peruvians are short in comparison to us) who continually emits an unpleasant stench of sour alcohol and body odor. The day before our trip we went out collecting last minute items and each time we would return to find him in various stages of his bender. Morning – He greets us with his button down dress shirt neatly tucked in, his hair combed back and his eyes opened widely. Lunch – He has a beer in his hand and, with an animated wave of his hand, he eagerly approaches the door to let us in. Buy supplies – A woman wearing a short red dress accompanies him on the lobby couch. His eyes are nearly closed and he is laughing uncontrollably. We knock on the door three times before he acknowledges us. Dinner – We come back to find him still on the same couch, passed out, his limp body slumped over an empty liquor bottle. We ring and knock but our efforts are to no avail. Mind you the lobby is small, he sleeping a mere eight feet from us. I think the only thing that could have woken him was a cold bucket of water – and even that´s questionable. Finally a teenage boy emerges from the miniature door that leads to the crawlspace under the stairs and lets us in. I imagine jail would be comfortable than the dingy Harry Potter-esque room that he had just come from. Suffice to say we should have stayed at the first hostel. Note to self: Don´t let price dictate choice in third world countries.

The view from the second hostel…

5 am. We pack our rucksacks and go down to the lobby and wait to be picked up. Through Spanglish and charades style gestures we eventually communicate that we want to leave some bags at the hostel while we are trekking. We hand them to the house slave who lives under the stairs and silently sit in the lobby. I wonder what happened to the drunkard owner but I´m too tired to talk.

A van finally arrives after waiting half an hour, backpacks strapped to the roof and their owners snuggly sitting inside. Our driver navigates through the empty streets of Cusco and pulls up next to a giant luxury bus. Relief. We pile out of the cramped van and step into comfort on wheels. It´s early, but something doesn´t compute in my brain when I walk down the bus´aisle. Every seat is taken. I stand there confused for a few seconds, staring into the relaxed faces of the passengers, nestling into their cozy seats and looking back with eyes that say, ¨Oops. Did you think this bus was for you? Sorry sucker, go back to that tin can you call a vehicle with the other sardines.¨

Like a kid who just found out there is no Santa Claus, I retreat to our rickety van and wedge into a seat, sandwiched between Mike and Bissente, our chef for the next week. On the bright side, Mike and I were last to be picked up, which meant we had the front seats and ergo the best view; a luxury when winding around mountain roads. Halfway through the trip the ¨fancy¨ bus breaks down and its passengers have to wait hours for repairs. I later learn that the fuel line broke and someone had to hold it for the remainder of the trip.

After three hours of stunning views and some of the most terrifying driving I have ever witnessed, backs cramping and legs asleep, we are let off at a small restaurant for breakfast. We eat some of the worst scrambled eggs we have ever tasted while watching a baby eat spaghetti off the floor.

Not knowing what the bathroom situation will be for the next five days, I take a few minutes to make sure I have an empty stomach. Our guide suggests we be on the watch for snakes, so I immediately purchase a walking stick from a sweet little Peruvian lady.

After a quick round of ice breakers and introductions, we start our walk and it is surprisingly difficult just walking through town. The terrain isn´t challenging but the high altitude quickly leaves me out of breath. Almost instantly, our group spreads out with a Polish couple practically running up ahead and smokers lagging in back.

A few minutes into the hike Washington, our guide, stops to show us our first attraction. He pulls a worm off of a cactus, squishes it with his fingers and demonstrates how the mashed up paste is used to make lipstick. Cool. I think he is going to teach us a lot of cool facts about Peruvian flora and fauna, but for the remainder of our hike he mostly points out fruits that enduce hallucination.

Everything is going well. I feel good. Pack mules carry our big packs so hiking with only a day pack is easy. Two hours into the hike I am walking up a steep ascent when everyone stops. I look ahead to see what´s the hold up and immediately spot the black body of a snake against the earth´s tan soil. Immediately I am hit with anxiety but calm down once our guide shows us it is dead. Someone had killed it by driving the tip of their walking stick through its head. I´m infinitely happy I bought the walking stick. It is a Peruvian superstition that if you see a snake you must kill it. If you don´t it might eventually kill a family member. I am thoroughly relieved we didn´t cross it alive. It is a viper, which is poisonous deadly. Washington pulls out an empty water bottle and scoops up its lifeless body.

We learn that if you mix the dead body with alcohol and let it sit, oils are released that are used for medicinal purposes. The group moves on, but I let a few people pass me for an extra bumper in case we encounter another snake.

Break at a stand with a baby in a swing. The little girl was swinging the baby for a good fifteen minutes and it didn´t make so much as a peep.

In another few hours we stop for lunch next to a cliff that overlooks peaceful green mountains. At this point we also meet with rest of the group that was on the broken down bus. We devour our lunch of chicha, soup, rice and unidentifiable meats – a combination that becomes a trend for the remainder of the trek.

We continue on, walking past cows and bulls with menacing horns but they mean no harm and merely glance over before going back to grazing.

It starts to rain. We are at roughly 2000M of elevation, so needless to say – it´s freezing. I start to jog in an attempt to keep warm, but am out of breath after a minute. Rain drops pierce through my thin hiking pants, stinging my legs. I stop and wait for Mike under what appears to be a few loose 2×4´s thrown together to make a shelter only suitable for wild animals. I watch him in the distance for what appears to be the better part of an hour. Every ten minutes it seemed he would take a break, realize it´s raining and  pneumonia is unavoidable, then hurriedly start trekking again. Eventually he catches up and without stopping he says,  “I´m not waiting for you guys.”

After a few more bends and mountain passes we approach what appears to be a massive sprawling valley floor. Through the rain, mist and steam from my sweating body I can still see how entirely breathtaking it is. In another few kilometers we come upon a 5 star resort complete with a hot tub the size of a small swimming pool. From our vantage point we can see steam rising off the water and wrapping around beautiful looking women, a sight which we can only assume is a mirage. It wasn´t.

I long for a hot shower and a big meal and for a second consider pulling out a credit card for the accommodation, but instead keep walking to our tents for what seems like another ten hours.

Exhausted, Mike and I scramble to find a tent with a zipper that actually zips closed and will keep us insulated. After one night we realize we don´t even need to close the front zipper when sleeping in our The North Face Snowshoe sleeping bags. Everyday Mike would go to sleep wearing multiple layers and would wake up in the morning naked, covered in sweat. Needless to say, they are warm.

Mike passes out while I stroll the campsite and await dinner. It comes, it goes, I pass out.

Up next: Bring on Mount Salkantay

Cusco: The Next Episode

9/18/09 – 7:30 am. Lima, Peru. Mike and I wake with no recollection of the past 24 hours. Looking around the room we discover our twin beds are pushed together and there are two girls lying in between us. We scramble to our cameras for clues of the past day´s happenings. Upon realizing the unknown guests are actually just our hosts, we start to piece things together. Unfortunately for Mike, the puzzle was a bit more complicated. One look at his face and I can easily diagnose his Typhoid Fever. I recall the previous day Mike felt dizzy, feverish and looked as if he could pass out at any moment. At one point he went to a Peruvian pharmacy for Advil and walked out with two ¨cure-all¨ pills manufactured in Colombia. Needless to say, they cured all. However, it probably was not the best idea to combine them with alcohol, which our Peruvian friends said would be entirely ¨OK.¨

It wasn´t.

At this point we are convinced our friends rufied us, which, coincidentally, we had joked about all week. In Lima, roofie pills are freely available at most bars. Our friends work at the bar. We only had two drinks. Slight coincidences. The last thing we remember is standing outside a bar at 5am in the middle of Peru shouting obscenities at a group of guys.

Jump to the airport. After 30 minutes of hugs and tears we leave our lovely hosts and approach the terminal that looks like a North Face fashion show, buzzing with backpackers itching to conquer Machu Picchu. Twenty minutes into our flight Mike wakes up, turns to me wide-eyed and asks, ¨Why is everything white?¨ Looking at his perspiring forehead and dilated eyes, I suggest he go to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later when the pilot´s voice tell us to prepare for landing Mike wearily emerges from the plane´s tiny washroom. When I ask him what happened he replies, ¨With what?¨and immediately falls back asleep. Mike later tells me he was closer to death than he had ever been in his whole life. Needless to say, I felt like a million bucks.

Take one step into the Cuzco airport and it immediately sets the tone for the entire city; swarms of people competing for your wallet. I have never felt more wanted. After departing the plane, a corridor forces you past a row of vulchers offering ¨free information.¨ Amazing – people competing to help us and give us information, just out of the goodness of their hearts. Perhaps it is our aimless walk or the stupid ¨gringo¨ look plastered on our faces but we are immediately greeted in English by a man resembling the classiest used car salesman; slicked back hair, terrible suit with an even worse tie and one of the whitest smiles I have ever seen. How could we resist? There is no way this guy will try to take advantage of us young American backpackers. And thus we came to know Paul “Salchipapas” Ivan.

The second we tell him we don´t have hostel reservations in Cuzco he hurriedly pushes us out of the airport and into a giant van that could easily seat 15 people. Instead it sat two. Still a bit skeptical, we refuse to put our bags in the trunk and opt instead to grip them tightly. Sweat dripping down our faces, heavy rucksacks on our laps, no idea where we are going, we glance at each other and decide to just enjoy the ride for what it is: free. We quickly learn nothing in South America is free.

After realizing the people of Cusco act, dress, and look just as miserable as the people of Lima, we knew Peru was going to be a long ride. We pull up to an extremely nice looking hostel in the center of the main plaza. Paul hops out of the van to make reservations for us. He approaches the door and tries the handle. Nothing. He knocks once. Nothing. Two and three and four times. Nothing. Mind you it is 1:00pm and we can see people walking around inside. After repeatedly being ignored through the intercom he returns to the van and tells us with a smile that could please a baby, “We´ll just go to the next one, this place is a shit hole anyway.” Perhaps Paul´s reputation proceeds him. By the time we arrive at the third hostel we are ready to jump out and sleep on the streets, but as luck may have it they actually have a room for us. After showing passports and signing in we sit down on a couch at Paul´s ushering. Immediately, he turns on supersalesman mode. He offers us coca tea and begins ranting about every type of tour available; from whitewater rafting to horseback riding to rappelling to riding ATVs to the Inca Trail. We have just come from a week of nonstop partying. I can´t remember last night. I can barely comprehend where I am. The last thing I want to do is listen to this cheeseball blab on about adventure tourism. After a few minutes I am at my wits end. Too tired to care about manners I interrupt him and say,  ”Listen Paul, I´m exhausted and I´m going to my room to sleep. PEACE.” With that we made our first escape from his endless sales pitches and both decided that we would book absolutely nothing more with Paul.

After leaving the comfort of Teresa´s home this came to be our first hostelling experience – off to a bit of a rocky start. We are a bit skeptical of the beds so we whip out our North Face Snowshoe sleeping bags, zip ´em up and pass out. After sleeping for what feels like 28 hours I wake up starving. Mike is making no noise and doesn´t react to my talking so I venture off alone. Armed with only a small book of Spanish phrases, I wander around the city in an altitude/hunger induced stupor and stumble into a restaurant. After pointing at a few different things on the menu, I discover that I ordered soup, chicken, rice and lemonade. While I eat a man in a motorcycle jacket next to me busts out a taser and starts shocking the air wildly. I think he is telling a story, attempting to impress his female companions, but I really have no idea what is going on. I pay the bill, which I´m pretty sure is too expensive, and step outside to realize I have no idea where I am. Dizzy, disoriented and out of breath I eventually make my way back to the hostel to find Mike still asleep.

After hibernating for 34 hours Mike wakes up and runs to the bathroom. We spend the next day speaking with tour companies and comparing prices for the Salkantay Trek. We didn´t go with the cheapest but rather the company that seemed most professional and spoke the most English. We considered booking the trek via Internet, but thankfully we waited until we got to Cuzco.

Advice for Machu Picchu - If you want to hike the actual Inca Trail, plan ahead. The trail has a daily capacity and it is absolutely impossible to join a tour unless you reserve a spot/permit via a tour company months in advance. The Salkantay trek is cheaper, less crowded, one day longer, always available and absolutely gorgeous. You must reserve the Inca Trail trek from home, but definitely wait to book the Salkantay trek upon arrival in Cuzco because: 1) It´s cheaper. The least expensive tour we could find on the Internet was $400. We paid $180 for the Salkantay 5 day trek and we could leave any day we wanted. 2) Altitude sickness is real. Most tour companies suggest arriving in Cuzco two days before your trek to allow your body to acclimate to the city´s elevation. We waited three days and I´m thankful we took the extra day – a decision you might not know until you arrive in Cuzco.

Up next: 5 day trek through mountain and jungle to visit Machu Picchu…

A preview of the trekkers

Lima is for Drinkers

9/15/09 – 12:17 am. Mike and I land in Lima, Peru.

Teresa and Milagros meet us at the airport and lead us to a taxi. We hop in and Teresa immediately hands me a beer. I think I´m going to like South America. And so my first impression of Peru – there are no rules.

We spend the first night getting to know each other over Pisco sours and cancha, the popular Andean snack made from a special variety of corn called maiz chulpe. The kernels are salted and toasted but don´t pop and burst out like traditional popcorn. They are the Peruvian equivalent to American bar nuts. The first word I learn in South America is ¨borracho,¨ (drunk) which appropriately sets the theme for our first week. After a day of stress, airplanes, beer and Pisco we  retire to bed.

The next day we go to Bembo´s and sample Peruvian fast food. I order a burger topped with chorizo and some sort of fried flakes that look like frings (onion ring slices). I come to the conclusion that 1) Fast food is universally disappointing 2) The food barely resembles the pictures on the menu 3) When hungry, fast food always seems like a great idea but I always immediately regret eating it.

They do sell beer, however, which Mike brings along while we check out the mall and supermarket. Upon entering the grocery store an employee stops Mike; not to take the beer but to give him a sticker to show proof of purchase. Apparently in Lima it is perfectly suitable to sip a beer while grocery shopping.

The girls show us different sections of the city via cab, which is an experience in itself. Driving in Lima could and should be considered an extreme sport. The taxi drivers are hands down the worst drivers I have ever seen – and I´m from New Jersey. They treat traffic laws as mere suggestions, driving four vehicles across a three lane street, darting in front of one another, all without glancing in a mirror. Forget about yielding for pedestrians. If 6 Flags opened a ¨Lima Taxi¨ ride it would probably be the most popular attraction. The drivers are that ridiculous.

At face value the city of Lima gives the impression of being crowded, fast-paced, and slightly dangerous. From April to December garúa (coastal fog) plagues the city, making the weather grey and chilly every day. The city´s gloomy tone started to wear on me after four days so it´s no wonder everyone looks miserable. Most neighborhoods look like the developing world but there are a few diamonds in the rough worth a visit. The Barranco district is one of them.

Teresa and Milagros both work at a Barranco bar called Santos. The foosball table, outside terrace, delicious food, potent drinks and bohemian decor give Santos a stellar combination that lands it on my list of top 5 favorite bars in South America.

Our first night at Santos we try Coca Sours. Made with coca-leaf-infused Pisco, the drink has a slightly darker green hue than a traditional Pisco Sour and a more complex flavor thanks to some herbal overtones. Later that night we party at a disco called Tequila´s for someone´s birthday – I´m still not sure whose it was. Mike and I get a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, a bottle of rum and a bunch of mixers, all for $25. When we finally leave we step out into daylight – it´s 7am.

Another day we seek out the popular cuisine Cuy (aka guinea pig). The waiter gives us the option of ordering the whole rodent or just a section. We opt for the whole damn thing – head, teeth and claws still in tact. I must say it was quite disappointing. There is very little meat on it. It tastes like chicken, only worse; it is tougher and gamier. The dish´s appearance is unappetizing, to say the least, with its menacing head still attached, baring teeth. And it was expensive. It cost around $20 for the plate!

We were only in Lima for 4 days but thanks to our wonderful tour guides we saw a ton. In a glimpse: drank pisco/coca sours, ate cuy, enjoyed arroz con pollo, took siestas, chilled at Santos, walked around Miraflores, rock climbed, partied at Tequila disco til 7am, watched Alf, ran through fountains, played soccer futbol, visited the oldest bar in the city, and saw the president´s house.

[Background: It was our first time meeting Teresa and Milagros but we quickly became good friends. Thanks so much for everything!]

The Circuito Magico del Agua is an aquatic exhibit made up of 10 or so giant water fountains and is a surprisingly cool attraction that I recommend visiting given the chance.

Tip: Visit at night when the exhibits are illuminated.

Although Lima isn´t likely to win any beauty awards, its generous conversion rate and laid back tone make it a fun city for partying.

Next stop: Machu Picchu via Cusco!

Did I Really Just Quit My Job and Move to South America?

9/13. My last night in the US was surprisingly calm… until OCD got the best of me.

12:07 am. I pull up the web page for Peru´s entry requirements just to make sure I am not forgetting any obvious documentation. Passport – check. No immunizations necessary – sounds good. Evidence of return or onward travel – what the?! I am going to Chile but I don´t have any ¨evidence¨ and, according to the Peruvian government website, in order to enter the country travelers must show proof of continued travel (ie. a plane ticket,  ie.  something I do not have). Considering my flight leaves in less than 8 hours this could potentially be a problem. I scour travel forum after travel forum, Googling ¨peru entrance requirements¨ and such, reading peoples´experiences with this dilemma and I learn…

-If customs doesn´t allow you to enter the country it is the airline´s responsibility to fly you back to your country of residence

-Customs won´t necessarily give you a problem but the airline might deny you a boarding pass unless you purchase a return/onward travel ticket -  to ¨cover their ass¨

-Some people purchase tickets on the spot and then refund them later

Too tired to think of a good solution I close my eyes and sleep for a few hours.

8 am. At the airport Continental offers to bump me for $300. I pass. I get my ticket to Houston, no problems. Phew, I breath a little easier. Arrive in Houston and board a plane for Lima, Peru. Alright, another hurdle down. Land in Lima and walk up to the immigration counter. An elderly Peruvian man glances at my paperwork and says just one word – ¨Tourist?¨ to which I respond with an exasperated ¨Si!¨. He pounds my passport with a stamp.  I am in South America. A weight is lifted. I  stop stressing about entrance requirements and am hit with a completely new feeling…

I just landed in South America and don´t have a ticket home.

I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes from the movie The Beach:

From mine it’s a generation that circles the globe and searches for something we haven’t tried before. So never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay the welcome. Just keep your mind open and suck in the experience. And if it hurts, you know what? It’s probably worth it.

Bursting with excitement, slightly nervous, completely liberated, I step out of the airport and into Lima…

Back in Business

After two months of traveling and exploring it´s time for some reflection and documentation.  I have been writing in my journal every few days or so, but I haven´t had access to a computer for enough time to update the blog. Here is the trip so far…

Background details

Clothes: 2 hiking t-shirts, 2 cotton (v neck) t-shirts, 1 long sleeve shirt, 1 polar fleece shirt, 2 button down hiking shirts, 2 hiking pants, a pair of long johns, pair of jeans, pair of puma pants, 1 pair of shorts, bathing suit, 4 hiking socks, 1 reg ankle socks, hiking boots, sneakers, sandals, camping towel, warm jacket and gloves.

Hiking Gear: sleeping bag, leatherman, 2 nalgenes, water purification tablets, sunscreen, 2 bandannas

Electronics: Canon Digital Rebel Xti, wristwatch

Entertainment: Life of Pi, a notebook, a surf mag, Fodor´s guide to South America

I fit it all in two bags; a big backpacker´s rucksack and a small day pack.

I have used and worn everything, but I wish I could swap some of my hiking apparel for some of my ¨normal¨street clothes. Yes, I have worn Northface to the discos. If I had the chance to repack I wouldn´t change anything, but there are a few items I wish I had now – a guitar, a wetsuit, a netbook and my ipod.

Game plan: The original plan was to get an apartment in Santiago, Chile. Why? It´s safe, affordable, close to the mountains, close to the sea and has a decent reputation. Tickets straight to Santiago were expensive and I had heard good things about Machu Picchu so Peru was then added to the agenda. The plan then became to spend a week in Lima, fly to Cusco, do the Salkantay 5 day trek to Machu Picchu, then cross into the north of Chile and continue down the coast by bus, stopping in coastal towns for a few days at a time upon landing in Santiago in mid October.

Now the plan is…

LaRana the Vagabonding Bus

Missoula, Montana.

Dharma Bum 2.0

San Diego is no stranger to beauty with its…

…vibrant flowers…

…enchanting hotels…

…breathtaking sunsets…

…surfers’ dreams…

… and 323 sun-filled days a year.

All this preparation for my upcoming trip to South America brings back memories of my move to San Diego. It’s an interesting feeling, somewhat cathartic, to sort through your life and belongings, determine what has real value to you, toss it in a suitcase and throw yourself head first into a new culture. Packing for my last trip involved stuffing my car with superfluous items, from video games to lamps to frisbees, trying to bring as much junk as I could to save money upon arrival on the west coast.

Packing for my current endeavor is quite the opposite – filling a single backpack with a maximum capacity of 4600 cubic inches that I will be carrying with me for months on end. In this case, less is more. I haven’t created my final pack list but it will contain roughly these items: a few pair of pants/ shirts/socks/underwear, sandals, sleeping bag, Nalgene bottles, a camera, toiletries, Spanish phrase book and notebook and pen to chronicle my travels. I will most likely have street clothes shipped down to Santiago once I arrive, but I will purchase anything else down there if need be.

If you asked me a few months ago to spend one day without using my cell phone, checking e-mail and listening to mp3s I would have told you to screw off. But now I’m actually looking forward to escaping technology, getting away from deleting my inbox garbage and checking pointless facebook updates, and returning to a simpler way of life. Removing these distractions may not ultimately provide me with more peace, but I am looking forward to the experience nonetheless.

My most recent read has been Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums, in which the Ray, based on the real-life Kerouac, travels around in the pursuit of peace, truth and happiness through Zen Buddhism. The essence of the book is summed up in one paragraph:

“…see the whole thing is a world of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn’t really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of ‘em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures…”

[Side note: I can't help but be reminded of Chuck Palahinuik's popular book-turned-movie, Fight Club. But instead of preaching peace and prayer, Palahniuk's story is one of pessimism and destruction:

"You have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something.  Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need.  Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need...We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them."]

Sure, these stories may be eccentric and extreme, suggesting we completely reject conventional society, but the essence of simplicity and unconventional living is one that I am looking forward to exploring.

My Personal Vendetta Against Snakes

I awoke this morning with a large knot in my stomach and a dream fresh in my mind…

…walking through dense woods, the leaf covered ground and dull orange-brown scenery is reminiscent of late autumn in New England. The identities of the two hikers leading the trek are unclear, but I carefully follow along, aligning my steps with those of the ones in front of me. I duck under a branch and stumble forward, bumping into the person in front of me. “What’s the…” He lets out a soft “Shhh” and draws his finger from his mouth out towards the trail before us. I follow his gaze and spot the giant bobcat up ahead in the distance. The creature stands still, its eyes fixated on a cat perched on a branch above. My heart pumps in anticipation of the epic event we are about to witness; a rare, national geographic type of moment that few view firsthand. We inch closer trying to get a better view of the massacre that is about to ensue. Oblivious to everything except the animals ahead, I step forward and my leg crashes through a pile of branches and twigs. I quickly pull out my leg and feel the sharp pain of pointy branches scrape my shin. I roll up my pant leg to find two symmetrical, neatly spaced puncture wounds slowly spouting blood. The other hiker turns around, looks down at the injury and with a worried look on his face asks, “Did you see what kind of snake bit you?”

That is the last thing I remember. The knot in my stomach is due to the fact that snakes are one of my greatest fears.

(Picture provided by funnyhub.com)

I was not always terrified of snakes. In fact, there was a time in my life when I was somewhat tolerant of them. When I was growing up there was a Gartner snake that would often sun itself on the green bush in front of our house. We saw him so frequently that we nicknamed him – Jake the Snake (after pro wrestler Jake “The Snake” Roberts). At age seven I had no problem strolling by the sunning serpent, throwing up a wave and saying, “Hey Jake!” to which he would respond with his usual flickering of the tongue. Neither of us fled at the sight of one another. Neither of us tried to harm one another. We coexisted on a level of mutual respect. I even remember having feelings of remorse when the little guy met his unfortunate fate under the tire of my dad’s Jeep. Unfortunately, these feelings of pacifism soon transform into bellicosity and trepidation.

(Picture provided by wrestlingvalley.org)

A few years later I am walking in the woods with my two cousins, in a situation similar to my dream, and with one careless step my foot ignites a pile of leaves into fury of foliage. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a snake’s body, which is enough to send me sprinting back to the house. My grandpa immediately grabs a shovel, approaches the snake and with a quick downward thrust he decapitates it. I watch from the house as he scoops up its lifeless body and flings it into the surrounding woods. With the severing of that snake came the severance of my tolerance for the creatures.

Ever since that encounter I can’t stand to be within twenty feet of snakes. Thankfully I rarely come across them; that is until I returned home from college for summer break and my parents asked me to mow the lawn.

I remember pushing the mower up my front yard for the first time. A few steps into the job I see a long black snake slithering under a bush. It severely catches me off guard and sends me running away shouting obscenities from the top of my lungs. Next time I start with the backyard with hopes that the noisy mower would give any snakes residing in the front ample time to hide. Instead, I spot a five-foot-long rat snake slowly retreating into the brush at the back edge of my property. I freak out in a similar manner, completely emasculated and cursing.

Each and every subsequent time I mowed the lawn I ran into a new snake. Hearing the roar of the mower starting up was enough to get my adrenaline going. I could have been a poster boy for Pavlovian conditioning. After a few months my senses were heightened so much while cutting the grass that my eyes became irritated from not blinking.

There is one time that finally pushed me over the edge. I am finishing up the last patch of grass and starting to relax. Out of nowhere a snake slithers towards me and like a car playing chicken it stays its course. Adrenaline racing, heart pumping, I close my eyes and push the mower in the direction of the snake. My mower is a push one, the kind with a lever that you have to hold down to keep running. The advancing mower quickly turns off and to this day I don’t know if it made it to the snake. Defeated, I accept losing the turf battle and, like a Crip in a Blood’s neighborhood, I have no business being there. That was the last time I ever mowed my lawn.

A few evenings later I pull into the driveway on my motorcycle. The motion activated spot light illuminates a motionless snake coiled up directly under the access keypad to the garage. Sure, I could slink by in fear again, but I have had enough. These snakes have tormented me all summer and I was not about to let them invade my garage – my safe haven. This was my goddamn Braveheart moment. I enter the garage via a side door, walk directly to the wall of tools and grab the square tip shovel. With my hands strangling the shovel’s grip, I take a few deep breathes, march toward the snake and bring down the shovel just behind its neck with a force so strong that it leaves a mark in the driveway. Then, just like my grandpa, I scrape up its limp body, turn the shovel around and I hurl it into the neighboring woods like a lacrosse player in a championship game.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still terrified of snakes and will run like a little bitch if I see one, but at least for one night I faced one of my biggest fears.

Independence Day in New Paltz

Rather than deal with Turnpike traffic, obnoxious crowds and boisterous BBQs, I spent my 4th of July weekend in New Paltz, NY with a few buddies. Just a little over an hour from my house we found scenic views, peaceful trails, thundering waterfalls, delicious wine and free whiskey. New Paltz is a little college town with an interesting bohemian twist. Nestled in the town’s center you will find organic coffee shops, micro breweries, live music and loitering hippies all within a few short blocks.

Johnny watching the falls (inspiration for Whitecliff’s Awosting White)

Located in the Hudson River Valley, New Paltz provides easy access to over ten wineries. We first stopped at Adair Vineyards, which failed to impress with their “limited” selection of 4 wines. Thankfully our second stop more than made up for the disappointment. We were instantly charmed by the serene scenery of Whitecliff Winery’s surrounding vineyard . I don’t know if it was the calming classical music or the cool breeze flowing through the bar or the 11 wines we tasted, but I loved the place. I just kept thinking, “Now this is a winery.” The two bartenders leading our tasting were excellent as well. One of them even stayed past her shift to share her New Paltz knowledge. I always enjoy talking with the locals and learning about what’s off the beaten path. Apparently a whiskey distillery had just opened that would be giving out free samples the next day. So we headed over to Tuthilltown Spirits the following afternoon and sure enough there was free whiskey!

Don’t worry, New Paltz isn’t just for alcoholics seeking booze soaked getaways. We also went hiking, rock climbing and enjoyed our hotel’s hot tub. I even got some pretty decent pictures during the trip. Johnny asked me to take his picture while suspended from a ledge with a cigarette in his mouth…it didn’t go so well.

But he still made it to the top.

Doing a little victory dance. He deserves it. After all, this is what we climbed up:

We were only there for a few days, but had a great time and didn’t spend too much money. Access to the hiking trail was $10, which I think is ridiculous. But besides that the wine tastings were cheap and the whiskey was free. Viva USA! I mean…Happy 4th of July!