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kipmaddog


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Inconsistent Internet in Pleasant Peru

Cusco, Peru


Sleeping in Cusco was cold as a witches titty.

Packs of tousists meandered amongst crowds of other torusists. They all had the same deal going. Camera slung over the neck, all of them costing probably at least a couple grand, floppy hat mated down on the head, the newest North Face wind-breaker, and all had looks of ambigiuty on their faces.

Of course, Cusco was quite known throughout the world as a toursistic hotspot, with archeological sites galore. These sites, for the most part are all quite accesible. Therefore, just about anyone, from anywhere can see them with come dough in their pocket. Simple. The real gravy is where the routes to the sites become difficult. thats where the crowd is weeded out, only the strongest and most determined can make it, and you get bitchin, over the top, in your face views, which for the average photographer, means pictures galore. My camera isnt quite at the quility level yet to be considered a proper tool for an enthusiastic photographer. Moving on...My point is I happen to find this mountain in Otevallaya (spelling?) that made my day and made me realize the power of discovering the treks which were off the beaten path.

Earlier in the day, I awoke at 7 am, packed up the clothes scattered across my room, hit the shower, and was out the door to meet Josh and his buddy at another hostel. They wanted to take motorcycles to Machu Pichu. TO me this didnt seem like a great idea. It had rained last night nd the trek would be 7 hours of winding mountain roads. I had breakfast I followed them to a shop just out of curiosity. The shops to rent the bikes were not open yet. They all said 9 am. The time was 8. They wanted to head to a town Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu Pichu and so did I . My gut was telling me though I would take another option: the buses. It would be cheaper and hopefully safer. They were lagging after a while. I told them I wanted to get the show on the road. We slapped high fives and I was off to Aguas Calientes and they would probably dick around for another half an hour before they left. They had to wait for the bike shops to open and they were set on taking the bikes, so I bummed outta there.

I hopped in a small bus of about 20 people and headed up a winedy mountain road. Snow caped peaks loomed in the distance like Incan Gods. On each side of the road there were fields with old ladies net over picking the dirt. There were no trackers. Mules pulled large metal rakes as the metal claws dug trenches in the soil suitable for farming. I met a young university student on the bus. We chatted for a bit, practicing English and Spanish. The bus was full of farmers, old ladies, and vaqueros. Quite a surreal experience.

I got to a small town and the bus let some of us off. The ride had been about an hour thirty, not bad. The next bus was quite the same, only the ride to the next town I needed to go to was only 25 minutes. I arrived at another small town. Now I needed to catch a bus to Santa Maria and then Aguas Calientes. This bus ride coming up would be 4 hours. I walked around the plaza, yet I couldnt find out where to wait for the next bus. I asked a woman in a store. She informs me to just wait in the small plaza in the center of this town and it will cruise by. Gosh the answers are always so noncholant and ambiguous. I waited near the plaza. A half hour goes by. I now walk to another mujera. Shes a vendor and I ask her where the bus to Santa Maria is. And what time. She tells me to wait in the plaza as well. I wait in the plaza. Another 30 minutes go by. Now its been an hour and the sun is beating down on me amongst the dust clouds hitting my face. I now go to the building entitled "tourist information". Boy do I feel like a tool. I walk in and ask the guy in Spanish where the bus stop is and what th heck time was the bus coming. He replies in English and tells me there is a bus in 30 minutes and to wait in the plaza. AAhhhhhhhh, ione more person tells me to wait in the plaza, there gonna have it!!

I wait in the plaza like a patient sick person in a crowded hosptial waiting room. I head to a cafe to order a sandwich de pollo while I"m killing time. The guy who brough it out to me starts asking me all sorts of questions about where I"m from and yada yada. I make small conversation with him and soon after an hour of conversation my patience is thin ice. there is no bus. pop the question once again and ask the dude for the low down. He tells me there wil be a bus in 30 minutes as well. I retort back to tell hm everyone has already told me that buddy, nice try sucker! No he says, they are wrong, and he then goes into this long rant in Spanish about why he is right. Alright buddy, I"ll test your theory, I"ll wait for 30 minutes, one last time.

I wait for another 30 minutes. I then wait for another 30 minutes, figuring that since it had begun to rain the bus bus that this guy predicted would arrive in thirty minutes would arrive in double the time. I soon realize that everyone has no clue if a bus is coming or not, but hey why not blow smoke up the travlers real end for some giggles? Around 3 pm after still waiting at the same cafe near the plaze, there is still no bus. I call it quites after someone informed me of the most logical explanation. IT had rained today, the road was quite dangerous, and someone had driven off the road. I would now saty at this small town for a large bedroom and a bathroom for 5 bucks. Tomorrow I would try to get to this damn town at the base of Machu Pichu.

permalink written by  kipmaddog on September 21, 2009 from Cusco, Peru
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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Inconsistent Internet in Pleasant Peru

Cusco, Peru


Sleeping in Cusco was cold as a witches titty.

Packs of tousists meandered amongst crowds of other torusists. They all had the same deal going. Camera slung over the neck, all of them costing probably at least a couple grand, floppy hat mated down on the head, the newest North Face wind-breaker, and all had looks of ambigiuty on their faces.

Of course, Cusco was quite known throughout the world as a toursistic hotspot, with archeological sites galore. These sites, for the most part are all quite accesible. Therefore, just about anyone, from anywhere can see them with come dough in their pocket. Simple. The real gravy is where the routes to the sites become difficult. thats where the crowd is weeded out, only the strongest and most determined can make it, and you get bitchin, over the top, in your face views, which for the average photographer, means pictures galore. My camera isnt quite at the quility level yet to be considered a proper tool for an enthusiastic photographer. Moving on...My point is I happen to find this mountain in Otevallaya (spelling?) that made my day and made me realize the power of discovering the treks which were off the beaten path.

Earlier in the day, I awoke at 7 am, packed up the clothes scattered across my room, hit the shower, and was out the door to meet Josh and his buddy at another hostel. They wanted to take motorcycles to Machu Pichu. TO me this didnt seem like a great idea. It had rained last night nd the trek would be 7 hours of winding mountain roads. I had breakfast I followed them to a shop just out of curiosity. The shops to rent the bikes were not open yet. They all said 9 am. The time was 8. They wanted to head to a town Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu Pichu and so did I . My gut was telling me though I would take another option: the buses. It would be cheaper and hopefully safer. They were lagging after a while. I told them I wanted to get the show on the road. We slapped high fives and I was off to Aguas Calientes and they would probably dick around for another half an hour before they left. They had to wait for the bike shops to open and they were set on taking the bikes, so I bummed outta there.

I hopped in a small bus of about 20 people and headed up a winedy mountain road. Snow caped peaks loomed in the distance like Incan Gods. On each side of the road there were fields with old ladies net over picking the dirt. There were no trackers. Mules pulled large metal rakes as the metal claws dug trenches in the soil suitable for farming. I met a young university student on the bus. We chatted for a bit, practicing English and Spanish. The bus was full of farmers, old ladies, and vaqueros. Quite a surreal experience.

I got to a small town and the bus let some of us off. The ride had been about an hour thirty, not bad. The next bus was quite the same, only the ride to the next town I needed to go to was only 25 minutes. I arrived at another small town. Now I needed to catch a bus to Santa Maria and then Aguas Calientes. This bus ride coming up would be 4 hours. I walked around the plaza, yet I couldnt find out where to wait for the next bus. I asked a woman in a store. She informs me to just wait in the small plaza in the center of this town and it will cruise by. Gosh the answers are always so noncholant and ambiguous. I waited near the plaza. A half hour goes by. I now walk to another mujera. Shes a vendor and I ask her where the bus to Santa Maria is. And what time. She tells me to wait in the plaza as well. I wait in the plaza. Another 30 minutes go by. Now its been an hour and the sun is beating down on me amongst the dust clouds hitting my face. I now go to the building entitled "tourist information". Boy do I feel like a tool. I walk in and ask the guy in Spanish where the bus stop is and what th heck time was the bus coming. He replies in English and tells me there is a bus in 30 minutes and to wait in the plaza. AAhhhhhhhh, ione more person tells me to wait in the plaza, there gonna have it!!

I wait in the plaza like a patient sick person in a crowded hosptial waiting room. I head to a cafe to order a sandwich de pollo while I"m killing time. The guy who brough it out to me starts asking me all sorts of questions about where I"m from and yada yada. I make small conversation with him and soon after an hour of conversation my patience is thin ice. there is no bus. pop the question once again and ask the dude for the low down. He tells me there wil be a bus in 30 minutes as well. I retort back to tell hm everyone has already told me that buddy, nice try sucker! No he says, they are wrong, and he then goes into this long rant in Spanish about why he is right. Alright buddy, I"ll test your theory, I"ll wait for 30 minutes, one last time.

I wait for another 30 minutes. I then wait for another 30 minutes, figuring that since it had begun to rain the bus bus that this guy predicted would arrive in thirty minutes would arrive in double the time. I soon realize that everyone has no clue if a bus is coming or not, but hey why not blow smoke up the travlers real end for some giggles? Around 3 pm after still waiting at the same cafe near the plaze, there is still no bus. I call it quites after someone informed me of the most logical explanation. IT had rained today, the road was quite dangerous, and someone had driven off the road. I would now saty at this small town for a large bedroom and a bathroom for 5 bucks. Tomorrow I would try to get to this damn town at the base of Machu Pichu.

permalink written by  kipmaddog on September 21, 2009 from Cusco, Peru
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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Elevation, baby!

Cusco, Peru


The day began after a 21 hour bus ride from Lima, Peru. I could have flown from San Diego to Japan faster thn I could have taken a bus from Lima to Cusco. When I stepped off the bus in Cusco we had climbed from sea level at Lima to around 10,000 feet in elevation. I hailed a cab and had him take me to a hostel at the top of town. We sped over coble-stone streets, past white, colonial-looking buildings. I flipped the cabbie some coins for the ride and stepped into a hostel at the top of the city.

Cusco is situtated in a cradle-like valley. Rocky mountains surround the valley. In the late 16th century Cusco was home to the Incas. One day, Francisco Pizarro charged into the valley of Cusco along with a gang of about 57 other Spanish Conquistadors. They were equipped with Guns, Steel, Domesticated Horses, and Disease. These land pirates had gotten word that the Incas had enough gold to make a large mountain. So the legend goes. The Incas main "base" was Cusco. Led by Attapultatec (spelling might be a bit off), the 200,000 plus Incas in the valley welcomed Pizarro and his troops with open arms. Within a couple of days the Spaniards had taken Attapultatec hostage (eventually killing him) and raped, pilaged, and burned the town. So, 50 plus Spanish soldiers were able to defeat hundreds of thousands of Inca warriors. Even though the Incas heavily out-numbered the Spaniards, the introduction of steel, guns, domesticated horses, and foreign disease, were too much for the Incas to handle. The result: the Spanish murdering hundreds of thousands of Incas, the Spanish acquiring the gold, and a story to tell present day tourists.

The first day in Cusco was carried out at the pace of a Sloth. I didnt want to do anything rash after having gone from sea level to about 10,000 feet in 21 hours. The altitude would bite me in the ass if I pushed things the first day. I met an Israeli fellow from London named Paul. A large majority of the afternoon was spent sipping Matte tea, talking philosophy, and politics. Paul is a 25 year old lawyer from London and damn, can that man put up a decent argument on any topic ranging from the best Cook Book to buy to what is the best land mammal. I mean anything.....well-trained dude.

We walked the cobble-stone streets and people watched most of the day. Cusco had the air of a romantic, Venice-style city, and the grounded history of ancient Rome. I was eager to let this city sink into my senses and give me a true feeling of what this city could offer to the passing traveler....

permalink written by  kipmaddog on September 18, 2009 from Cusco, Peru
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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and the waves just keep on comin!

Perugorria, Argentina


Well, presently the day has been spent napping and nursing my wounded shoulders. Damn, a pain just jotted down my shoulder as I write this. They must hurt.

The morning was filled with a 30 minute walk from our hostel, Los Feroles, to the surf break, "El Faro", also known as the gangster of all left-handers. It"s got punch like a wave coming in at Blacks"s and point-wave style similar to breaks in Baja. We awoke at 7 am to San Francisco like fog outside. The ground outside our door was damp and sticky. The air felt maybe 55 degrees. Let"s just say it was a bit "nipply" out. We gathered up our United Nations of a surf gang: Brazil, Japan, Germany, Australia, France, Peru, and the United States. It was quite the crew. Every morning lately we have all been coming out of our rooms in the early morning hours, groggie-eyed and sleepy, yet eager to see the days swell. We brew coffee and eat sweet bread before the adventure. And boy is it an adventure to get to this wave, which is a fast, punchy left coming off the end of a point. The outside is peaky and punchy. Once one makes it to the inside after having already been on the wave for 1 minute, one hits the inside. The inside section turns into a steep barallel, reforming for maybe another 200-1000 meter ride, depending on swell direction, wind, and so forth.

We would all leave camp and make our way to the point, which was where the surf break is. The walk was gruesome. This beach allways had a weird side-shore, off-shore, kind of wind. So when we would walk you would have to hold onto the board with 2 hands. The ground was covered in large, sometimes mossy rocks. Traversing the rocks was a task in itself. WE"d get to the surf break finally. Imagine a large desert point from the sahara desert. Now, place that in Peru, along with some amazing waves. The point jutted out about 1 km, with no houses or buildings of any kind. Just the howling wind, the blowing sand, and the soothing sound of crashing waves. The point could have peen a painting for one reason in particular. On the end of the point was a white lighthouse. The top of the lighthouse had a black roof that hung down about 3 feet from the top. There was also one window at the top. Everytime I surfed I always looked back, imagining an old PEruvian man in a Sailor"s cap, peering out the window towards the sea. The lighthouse most definitely gave the point an eery feel to it, especially along with the upper 50 degree water, heavy fog, and chilly breeze.

the days have been spent reading books from other surfers, laying back amomgst wide, soft hammocks and starring at the sky. The town is small. One can walk through it in 1o minutes. Past the auromatic bakeries serving fresh assorted bread, the old ladies selling carne asada skewers with one potatoe on the end for 50 cents, or something that took quite some getting used to: the stores closing every day for 2-3 hours. I suppose they have similar style to the Italians and Spaniards in this sense. Siestas must be the most highly vauled time of the day. 10-4 over and out..........



permalink written by  kipmaddog on September 10, 2009 from Perugorria, Argentina
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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Out of the Chaos, Back on Track for Now...

Pacasmayo, Peru


Days have been passes haning barefeet off the end of wooden piers, dipping fishing line into the cool green water, as splintered, colorful boats bounce with the Peruvian tide. For the past couple of weeks finding steady internet access has been like looking for an In-N-Out Burger in Colombia, nearly impossible.At the moment I am in Pacasmayo Peru, waiting for surf. I am traveling with this French couple I met in the north of Peru. Currently we are at a surf hostel called Los Feroles. We are all staying in a room together. There is Ceceile, an aspiring student of medicine, who has the bed by the window. She likes poetry, romance novels, and bread. Paul, the other link in the french pair, is sleeping below me in bunk beds. I have the top bunk and he"s below me. Paul is a student of industrial design. He is only 23 years old, but he has traveled through India, all of south east Asia, Europe, and now South America. I just happened to meet these folks back at a town called Mancora. I happened to be heading in the same direction as they were and we thought we might join international communities and head south through Peru, as an American-French Triplet. When they first met me they asked where I was from and I told them California. When I asked them they said France, not Paris. They thought this was quite funny because I ddint respond saying the United States. They felt I should say the United States and not California. I tried to explain to them that California was a different culture from the rest of the united States and for this I feel as though I should tell people California and not the united states. They really get a crack out of this.

There is a small kitchen at the hostel. To relly save money I"ve been boiling my own water for coffee each morning and using the instant, stir in coffee. Then I might make a large bowl of rice and crack 2 eggs over the rice. this is breakfast. For lunch I might eat 3 or 4 tangerines, a can of tuna, and a huge bowl of pasta. For dinner, I "ll have a vegetable of some kind, bread, more rice or pasta, maybe some potatoes, and maybe some soup. everything is very cheap, very basic. People may laugh at such a simplistic diet, but each day I"m spending about 5 dollars on food, including maybe a beer or 2.

The hostel is one of the only ones in town. It has about 6 rooms. In this town the only tourists are surfers. So at this hostel the only occupants are surfers. The cost is 25 solas a night or about 8 dollars. So overall, one is able to maintain quite a cheap budget here. there are 2 dogs that run around the hostel frantically. 2 families live on the hostel. During the day the kids come out to play in the grass. I sit there with a book, or maybe I"ll be cooking or nappin. Currently, there are no waves. the first swell is bound to hit in 3 days. I dont feel motivated to wait it out, but the benefits would be mind-blowing. 100 yrds away is the beach. When you get to the beach you look out to your left. About a mile down the beach is the giant point that bends about a half mile out into the ocean. At the end of the point sits an old, archaic light-house. When the waves are good a set comes in and hits the reef on the outside of the point. The wave jacks up and breaks, and immediately turns into a mile long ride. The wave is a left. It is fast, chunky, and barelling. The bottom is perfectly flat. The sand dunes, from the cliffs near the beach continually blow sand into the ocean, filling in the holes on the bottom, making for a perfectly flat surface for the waves to form over.

At the moment, we are just killing the time until the swell gets here. With some books, guitars, ping-pong table, foose-ball table, and points of view from all over the world that make for some of the most incredible conversation, I think we are quite alright waiting here for the next swell to arrive..

permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 31, 2009 from Pacasmayo, Peru
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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Colombia, We Are Officially Over Gurl.....Ecuador, here I come babe

San Augustine, United States


Ricardo and I took a bus to an archeological town in the middle of Colombian country-side. The town goes by the enchanting name, Saint Augustine. Yeah, at first it seems like a town definitely haveing to do with Catholicism with the word Saint in the name. After 6 hours on a high elevation dirt road in a bus, we made it. St. Augustine, quaint and colonial, provided us a hostel at the top of the 2,000 person town. The hostel had a very Lost Boys, camping in the jungle sort of feel to it, even though we werent in the jungle. The owner reminded us of a mystical shawman living in the jungle. He liked to wear elaborate, colorful jewelry and talk about invisible spirits. St. Augustine had ancient, indigenous peoples, dating to 3300 B.C., that were extremly cannabalistic. What is left of the culture are these massive Stone heads, mounting the outside of burial tombs. The burial tombs were filed with riches, along with the dead. All of the human carvings has these long, vampire-like fangs, carved into the mouth. The fangs represent the cannabalistic side to these crazy bastards.
Ricardo and I hiked around the archeological park all day, snapping photos and getting some decent nature walking in, your welcome, Jon Muir, where ever you rest! We did laundry before we left for the park. When we returned from the park, the raining was pissing down all over our clothes. Darn, once agan we"d have to travel with a backpack full of mildewed clothes. We didnt have time to wait for the sun, we would just have to keep smelling like bums. The positivity would have to prosper. Our clothes would have the mildew syndorome, no question about it.
Nect, we were headed to Otovalo, a town known for its famous Saturday markets. We would travel about 24 hrs. to Otovalo from St. Augustine. Otovalo had the largest Market in all of South America every week. We left St. Augustine in an offroad jeep at 3 pm. That jeep took us flying through winding roads in Colombian backcountry to a town called Pipalito. We then took a bus from Pipalito at 530 to Popayan. We got to Pipayan at 1130. We then crashed at the bus station a but, waiting to catch a 1am bus to ipiales, a border town between colombia and ecuador. the security guard harassed us with his constanst maddogging. he looked quite bored. we were his only subjects to test his security guard skills on. i got on the bus and recieved the worst seat in the bus. ricardos was equally as bad, but a bit better since he was able to sit near to window. our seats were next to each other, but in the wee back of the bus, right nect to the bathrooms. ahh, icing on the cake! the seats were also made for the size of infants, so it was quite hard to not sit down and then upon wanting to stand up, one gets stuck. The motor hummed away, endlessly through the night. everytime someone would go to the bathroom, i"d get a whiff of whatever they had for lunch and maybe a door slam to the right knee. we didnt sleep all night. we arrived in ipiales at 9am. it reminded me of a more deserty version of tijiuana, with less people, yet far more apparent poverty. people were strewn across sidewalks. the pace was fast once you stepped out of a cab and the air gave me an uncomfortable feel. we then took a cab across the border, no search of any kind was included. we simly got a stamp on our passport and a bienvedidos once we got to ecuador. we then took another bus at the ecuadorian border to a town called tulcan. we then took a 3 hour bus ride to octalvo. we arrived with our eyes bloodshot, hair matted, mouth dry, and smelling like 3 bags of nacho cheese doritos. octovalo is 9000 feet high. we havent noticed the elevation much though. we scrored a sweet pad in the middle of town for 6 bucks. its got beds for once, hot water for once, and silence for once. oh yes, and we thought tosay was friday, but it was truly saturday. we planned on going to the market all day saturday, but we ddint know that at 3pm, we only had 3 more hours left until the market was closed.i gentleman informedus that it was in fact saturday, not friday, and we onlyhad 3 hours to catch the market. we viewed traditional ecuadorian men with the traditional long poneytail, with a black hat covering it up, and leathered sandals to cover the cauloused feet. ricardo and i scored some handwovenm giant andean designed, traditional cloth pants for 5 bucks. there were about 30 blocks everything from wool caps, and jewlry, to wooden sculptures and ecuadorian rugs


permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 24, 2009 from San Augustine, United States
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Visiting the town of Banos:also known as "bathrooms"

Banos, Ecuador


A man with a short,trimmed mustache leads you toward the back of the hostel. All you have is a pair of trunks on, or for you females the newest and cutest bikini. In your right hand is a towel. In your left hand is a cerveca, extra chilled. Ricardo and I happened to be the subjects of this experiment. We got to where the man was elading us and there they were: the steam baths, Ecuadorian style. Ricardo and I put our stuff in a small,brick changing room. We grab a towel and a brew and are lead into the steam baths. There are 3 steam baths in all. Each one is about 4 and a half feet high and about 4 and a half feet across. A wooden bench is mounted inside the cement enclosure.The 3 walls surroundingyou are cement. You sit on the bench. The mystical Ecuadorian man pulls a wooden board up to your neck, with a hole cut out for your neck. Fresh euclypstic (aahhh, spelling?) leaves are at the floor of your enclosure. The man closes the wooden top and the steam is turned on. You go through about 7 rotations of sensual, euphoric, bliss of intense relaxation. Every 5 minutes the man would return to our stations. He would then take us out my the arm, one-by-one, in case we got dizzy. He would then give us wash cloths dipped in icy wate, sourced from the waterfall of the nearest mountain. We would rinse in cold waterfor about 3 minutes and then we would get back in the boxes. Steam would be let out again, the box would fill with steam, as your neck reted on the wooden board, and the only thing sticking out, your beat red face. After 35 minues of this the man led us to this other cement box. we had to stand facing him. He then proceeded to shoot us with a high powered hose. The water was cold as heck and the power of the water tore at the skin. YOu felt limp as a noodle. We dragged ourselves out of there like slugs.

Steam baths are quite popular in this regionof Ecuador. I don"t reckon its a historical practice. Banos is equipped with some natural hot springs, but I think the Steam baths we engaged in were some creation of a brilliant minded Ecuadorian Mystical Shaman.

permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 24, 2009 from Banos, Ecuador
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rappin some beats in a high andean town in ecudor

Otavalo, Ecuador


Thirty hours of sitting in the last two back seats in the bus. The motor is right under your ass and your wedges in a child like seat right next to the bus bathroom, smelling whatever anyone had for dinner, while trying to shut your eyes, fighting off the claustrophobia of the high-chair size seat your sitting in.

Waking up, to your bus, hugging the side of high elevation andean mountains, looking through the window to see snow-caped peaks and a 1000 ft. drop off the side of the road.

The windows fog up, the glass is icy, and all that is in one"s sight are the high elevation, Andean vilages lining the bottom of snow-caped mountains.

Braided black ponet-tails shoot out from under black wool, Sherlock Holmes style detective hats, while thick wooled black panchos cover their leathered skin.

Children grin, bright-eyed and cheerful for a simple smile shot their way.

With it"s opening icy chills, dry air, and the intriguing aura of genuity, carried out by generations of andean peoples, Ecuador truly is the land of enchantment.

permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 23, 2009 from Otavalo, Ecuador
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Tippin the hat to Medellin

Medellin, Colombia


I slept one night to the hacking and grunting that had been going on every night for the past 17 days in my couchsurfing apartment. I awoke and took my last shower in that icy stream that had no shower head, but only a rusty old pipe. I took one last glance out the 11th Story window, seeing the wet laundry that was handing from all of the rusted metal balconies. The sky was as it usually was: crystal blue, with thunder-head clouds looming in the dinstance. I took one last stroll to my favorite empanada stand, ordering two, washing it all down with a whole lotta" garlic spice and fresh guacamole. I said one last "muchas Gracias" to the old man behind the counter. He had probably owned this stand for a good 20 years and would continue to serve some of the best empanadas in Medellin for years to come. And then it hit me as I walked away from the stand: this was what traveling was all about: leaving your mark on every person you met. YOu didnt have to make an impression, undertsand their language, or their culture. The human connection was indivisible, traveling through a timeless ether you couldnt quite put your finger on at any one moment. Whether you liked it or not, a simple meeting of the eyes or brush of shoulders in a passing crowd was all that you needed to make this connection. You gave them a bit of you presence and they injected a bit of their presence into you. I would leave my mark on the people of this city. The next traveler would come along and tag their presence after me. YOu didnt have to do anything grand or spectacular, but simply be present in a special time and place in the world, all the while carrying your joy from the people you met on your journey, like an uncontrolable wildfire, engulfing everyhting in its path.

permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 20, 2009 from Medellin, Colombia
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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Fast-Forwarding the blog a bit: Armenia, Salento, and then Cali with Ricardo, the climber from Chile...

Salento, Colombia


I took a bus from Medellin to Armenia. The city has been destroyed by many earthquakes. I got in late and wasnt able to catch the bus to Salento. I stayed the night in a dingy motel. I awoke the next morning and took a bus to Salento. Salento is in Zona Cafaterra, the most popular coffee region in all of Colombia. Picture vegetataion of all kinds: pine trees, palm trees, coffee groves, and rugged mountains, all squashed together in one region. Thats Zona Cafaterra for ya. I met a Chilean dude name Ricardo. He has been traveling fro 5 months down from Mexico City. We decided to head to Ecuador together. We met 2 spanish guys in their early 30"s. They were bald, had wacky facial hair, wacky personalities, were quite the intellectuals, and were quite the party animals. They liked to rumba and travel to world. We all went to a coffee Plantation in the morning and saw the whole coffee production process. We then picked our own coffee beans and tried the freshed coffee these here taste buds have ever been exposed to. Later in the day we took 10 guys in a jeep and headed up some mountains to the Cocora Valley for some adventure hiking. We saw lush mountains, waterfalls, and sexy palm trees. Ricardo and I rode on the roof of the jeep for about 20 kilometers...nuts!
We said goodbye to the Spanish dudes and headed to Cali for the night. We took a car that offered the same price as the bus. We danced for 1 night in Cali (it is the salsa capital of the world). We then decided to pack up and head to Popayan. We are now in Popayan after a near death experience in a bus, through winding roads of COlombian back-country. We have been getting along great. Hes adventerous and is incredibly spontaneous like me. Tomorrow we will head to San Augustine, then Ecuador.


permalink written by  kipmaddog on August 20, 2009 from Salento, Colombia
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
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