goodbye south america

As we make our way from South to Central America, I felt it necessary to make a little tribute video to a kick ass continent.

Gracias América del Sur. Me encantó cada minuto.

Based on some good constructive criticism, i’ve made some changes to the site. Big thanks to those who helped me on this. I’m always open to suggestions.

the longest left

I’ve done some pretty crazy shit.

I bridged jumped in Ecuador, partied with bumble bee men at Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro, went to a Cholita wrestling match in La Paz, ate giant blood sausages in Uruguay (which were really good by the way), and biked down the world’s most dangerous road in Bolivia.

I’m a really lucky guy and I’m thankful that I’ve been able to experience this amazing continent without any broken bones, robberies, strange diseases. 

But Peru, the last country to visit as we made our way back around, knew of my good fortune and was waiting in the shadows with brass knuckles.

First, we had bus trouble. 

36 hours on bus from La Paz, Bolivia to Lima, Peru. 

This bus broke down twice, had no food nor bathrooms, and took an additional 9 hours to get to our destination. We ate mashed potatoes from a plastic bag. No joke.

Then, we had car trouble.

Our Ecuadorian friend Xavi bought a car a few months prior and it was waiting for us in Lima. This beast was a 1985 Chevy Trooper that was well past it’s prime. Sometimes it started, sometimes it didn’t. Every time he turned the key I held my breath and silently said “God, if there is a God, please start the car and protect us from the engine fire that will soon engulf the dashboard.”

Thankfully, my prayers were heard and we made it to Chicama, in northern Peru.

It was like surf heaven - the world’s longest left waves.

The locals there said that during a big swell, one wave can carry a surfer almost 2.5 km. Although we were unable to ride a wave that far I still managed to ride one for just under a minute - a huge feat for me as I still really suck (as you can probably tell from the above video).

After Chicama, we made our way back to Ecuador. The trip was particularly stressful for him and he was so happy to be back home that he actually kissed the ground.

We were happy too as our entrance back into Ecuador was a milestone for us - we had officially made it all the way around the continent.

Ecuador - Colombia - Guyana - Brazil - Uruguay - Argentina - Chile - Bolivia - Peru

Epic.

full circle

a long way for a salt shaker

Food – check
Toilet paper – check
Water – check
Ipod – charged

“Let the 37 hour ass numb begin,” I said.

It was amazing. Argentina provided such luxuries that it was almost hard to believe we were in South America. It actually reminded me more of my trip to Europe back in 2003. But to be honest, I was beginning to miss the feel of traditional Andean culture so I was ready for Bolivia – just not as ready for the long trip to get me there. Including the train ride, this trip was going to be a whopping 37 hours.

Thankfully, I had one more Argentinean luxury left: an Argentinean bus. This bad boy was like a double decked limo from heaven. Food, bathrooms, and semi-cama reclining seats were all provided for around $60 per person.

But it was not all sunshine and rainbows. By day two I realized I had forgotten my toothbrush in my bag which was now under the bus – and everybody knows that place is like a chastity belt, you can’t touch it until the man in control gives permission. Needless to say, my mouth began to taste and smell like a dead animal who gave birth to stanky babies.

Once in Bolivia, things went pretty smoothly. The train from the boarder to Uyuni, Bolivia was a slow and windy 9 hours that ran through a desolate desert landscape. A little dusty but the views were worth it.

I went to Uyuni for the same reason that any other traveler does, the iconic salt flats – 10,582 square miles of salt covering what used to be water. Now usually I try and attack these tourist traps from different angles in an effort to escape the ordinary. However there is really no way around this one. Unless you’re willing to hire a private tour for around $300 you are forced to jump into a crowded jeep for well a planned tour. These tours run every day and can be booked for one to five days depending on your budget and how much you want to see.

I chose a two day tour for $50 per person and I saw a lot. Despite the fact that this is an almost overwhelmingly busy tourist attraction it does not infringe on the views and the overall feel you get once you step foot on the salt. For anyone debating Uyuni, my suggestion is to just do it. It’s one of those things that you will never forget.

Word of caution: Make it clear to your tour operator that you do not want any more that 7 people (the max allowed) in your jeep at one time. I did my best to clarify this before the tour began but still ended up with 9 people at one point. Oh, and make sure you bring CD’s or your Ipod (with the audio cord). Our packed jeep listened to I’m Blue by Eiffel 65 too many times to count… by the second day everyone in the jeep wanted to snap that CD in half and bury those talentless morons under 6 feet of salt.

Just could not help myself, had to take a few of these photos.

when things fall down

A few weeks ago, against the advice of friends and family, we went to Santiago, Chile to follow a lead on a story Mari wanted to write. That story is currently being pitched to newspapers in Canada. 

We were blown away by what we saw and the people we met in Chile.

• We spent a day David, a guy my age, as he returned to Chile from Argentina to pick up the pieces.
• We spent two hours with the Chilean Red Cross and watched them pack boxes to send to families in need of simple supplies like food and water.
• And we spent an afternoon with Natalie and listened to her explain how she narrowly escaped her crumbling apartment building with the husband and three year-old son.

The above video is a brief collection of photos and audio collected from our day with Natalie.

photos by Mari suyama

meet the brewers

In Cordoba, Argentina we met some brewers.
If you can learn anything from this story it’s that dreams take time, so you might as well have fun while you wait.

This post is dedicated to Emily McInnes-Greenberg and Dave White.

Every travel budget works like this: at first you spend like a fool, thinking that that extra beer could not possibly put a dent in the almighty pot. Then as your money dwindles like an hourglass and you begin to see the last few grains of sand pass through the threshold, you do what most intelligent travelers do in that situation - Panic like a five-year old who just lost his mom. “No way,” you say, “we must have counted wrong.” But alas, denial will do you no good and acceptance is better for your conscious insist the Yogis.

This stage - acceptance, is where I currently reside.

I’ll be painfully honest - we have roughly $1500 left in the pot.

Our travel expenses are pretty much fixed - accommodation is stretched to the max (hi-five to bed bugs!) and we could not possibly cut back on attractions as this would completely undermine the point of traveling.

Therefore, the only variable left is food and drink.

The above photo is a short letter I wrote to my friend beer.

With that out of the way we began to focus on how we can cut back on food costs and in doing so we ran into a little problem - when you can’t find a hostel with a kitchen… eating out is expensive.

So with that in mind, I present to you today’s post.

Top 10 signs you can’t afford a restaurant in South America:
The backpacker edition.

1) Table cloths - of the non plastic variety
2) Bilingual menus
3) Waiters with uniforms
4) Toilets with toilet seats
5) Cutlery - of the non plastic variety
6) Wine and/or wine gasses
7) Music other than radio
8) Real chairs - again, of the non plastic variety
9) Waiters with teeth (this is less of an example of what you can’t afford and more of an example of what you can)
10) Establishments that take Visa/Mastercard or any electronic payment for that matter. Dinner club = run.

and what ever you do, stay away from this guy!

a look inside sierra flor

A few months ago a friend of mine, Daniela Troya, started working on a video to promote the Sierra Flor school in Ecuador, a very special place where I had the pleasure of working for three months. Last week, after a lot of hard work she finished it and this is her final product. I think she did an awesome job.

If anyone has any interest at working at this school please contact Jacky at escuelasf@yahoo.com

a day with the babalorixá

Drop the lights, sacrifice a few chickens and prepare to fall into trance. This week’s post follows Mari Suyama as she dives deep into Candomblé, an Afro-Brazilian religion that’s as interesting as it is creepy.

Babalorixá Luis Miguel furiously shook his upper body from the possession he was experiencing. He hunched his back over a shrine and touched his head to a table covered in fortune telling shells and gold trinkets. The spirit of a dead woman and foetus then released him from the trance and he stared me in the eyes as if to say, “You are healed.”

Now it was me falling into a trance. I was standing nervously in the corner of the Candomblé Terreiro, a house where the Afro-Brazilian religion of Candomblé is celebrated. My body and mind were fading into a coma from standing for two hours and from the potent smell of freshly slaughtered chicken. Blood spatters were still drying, and as the hours passed, the smell grew stronger and stronger.

I waited alone in the main room for much of the afternoon as Babalorixá Luis Miguel, the head priest, and other Candomblé followers participated in the secret rituals out back near the slaughter house. From the moment I walked into the Terreiro to when I mentioned Candomblé to other Brazilians in passing, I was always met with cold reception. The religion originated 400 years before Christ and is still frowned upon for its connection to voodoo and witchcraft. I snuck a peak through the window overlooking the backyard trying not to be noticed. They sang while cooking and eating the sacrificial chicken whose feathers and skin were left at the doorstep of the Terreiro as an offering. I pulled back from the window and hoped that no one would offer me any food.

As the private ceremony ended, women dressed in traditional Bahian outfits emerged from the forbidden backyard shrine and chanted while dancing circles around each other.

But where was the Babalorixá?

Eyes kept wandering to the staircase wondering when he would appear. We waited for what seemed like an eternity. His entrance was grand and his bare torso shone from the sparkles that were glued from head to toe. He shook and twisted around the room letting out sporadic screams. His eyes were half closed and he moved as if he were shaking out a spirit from inside. He approached swinging his arms and I pursed my lips out of nervousness. The pure energy of possession scared me.

The ceremony was in honour of Orixá Exú. A young boy, the youngest one in the room was summoned downstairs by the Babalorixá. A case of beer was brought into the room and set in front of the Babalorixá`s throne. The boy returned no longer dressed in street clothes but in silk pants that matched the red of the blood dripping from the shrine. He paced the main room – eyes closed, hands clasped behind his back, cowboy hat tilted low on his face. The rest of the followers continued to dance, sing and drink beer.

I noticed the painting on the wall of the African God Exú – he was depicted wearing the same dress as the boy, cowboy hat too. The boy was in trance, trying to summon Exú.

I left the Terreiro shortly after Exú appeared through the body of the young boy. I was feeling dizzy and disoriented from all the colours, movement and chanting. The crowd had grown from half a dozen to thirty. Four hours of the ceremony had passed and I didn`t get the impression it would be ending anytime soon. Beer was in constant flow, drums kept the rhythm of the room and bodies flailed, shook and twisted almost nauseatingly. Or maybe that was still the smell of uncooked chicken in a hot room.

I left not knowing what to think of Candomblé. I still don`t. All I know is my future as Babalorixá Luis Miguel saw in the fortune telling shells. I have a long and difficult road ahead, with many good thing hiding. They`re just hard to find.