Going Native in São Paolo

I haven't written much recently as hotmail erased all of my old e-mails and contact information. That has actually worked out alright for me since I have had more time for myself to get more acclimated to Brazil and its culture. It continued to rain for a quite a while after I left Curitiba, leaving me wet and annoyed. I already have a rip in the crotch of the rainpants I bought in southern Brazil but, at least, the rain isn't cold like it is in the Andes. I can get wet and not worry about frostbite and hypothermia like I would in the mountains at 4,000 meters.

I am nearing the end of my journey. I have ridden through countless mountains, deserts, and jungles to get to where I am now. I have endured tempurature extremes, both hot and cold. I have dealt with lots of water and little water. I have endured weather of biblical proportions. Cycle touring is the best training available to prepare for the coming apocalypse. Rio de Janeiro, my final destination, is only 350 kilometers away from São Paolo. Many Paulistas look at me in amazement when I tell them that I am going to ride my bike from here to Rio de Janeiro. In response, I can only shrug as 350 kilometers seems like nothing to me. I could cover that distance in less than a week while relaxing. I have been on the road for over two years now. After thousands of kilometers to get to this point, 350 kilometers IS nothing.

That being said, as ready as I am to get to Rio de Janeiro and establish a base camp, I keep on getting sucked back into the seductive embrace of São Paolo. I have always been in love with the massive cities of the world so São Paolo is no exception. How large is São Paolo? It is the largest city in South America and one of the top five largest in the world. There are around 20 million people living in the São Paolo metropolitan area.

One of my very favorite things to do is wander around aimlessly on my bicycle. The city is filled with graffiti. In fact, I would venture to say that São Paolo is the current graffiti capital of the world. The graffiti here is unique in style to the graffiti of other large cities in Latin America and it is pervasive in this labyrintine city. I am constantly discovering art that is hidden in a shaded corner or nook of one of the thousands of buildings that sprout from the ground here. Throw in the highway under and overpasses and there is still a lot of blank space just waiting for art. Despite the pervasiveness of art in the city, I get the feeling that São Paolo hasn't even come close to fulfilling the public art potential in its walls.

There have been a number of famous graffiti artists from São Paolo. Two of the better known artists are Os Gêmeos. These two identical twins, as their namesake implies, have painted their art in cities all over the world. The largest of their pieces rival the murals of Diego Rivera in size and complexity and the work of Salvador Dali in their surrealism. They have achieved such a mainstream success that the Brazilian national art museum here in São Paolo has a free exhibition of their work until the end of the year.

Aside from exploring all the nooks and crannies of this massive city, I have been sampling the flavors of Brazil. After being in this country for a couple of months I have began to figure out which foods I like the most. The fresh fruits feature strongly in the food of this country. I have probably been averaging about two liters of fresh juice daily here. The juice can be as simple as fresh squeezed orange juice or as complex as coconut water blended with fresh mint and ginger. When I get a smoothie with my meals I have to choose from a dizzying array of choices for what I want to put in it. If you are having trouble figuring out where to get juice you can generally judge a juice place by the amount of fresh fruit they have hanging over their counters.

I have also developed a fondness for empadas which is the Portuguese way of saying empanada. The truth is every country in Latin America has their own version of empanadas, usually being quite different from the empanadas in other countries. While the Argentinan version is made with a bread dough, the Brazilian version is made with a pie crust and it is like a little miniature pie filled with yumminess. At my favorite empadaria, I like the shrimp empada which is really filled with more of a shimp étouffée than just shrimp. I also really like the empada which is just filled with palmito which is the center of a small palm tree cooked up with butter and garlic.

São Paolo is filled with lots and lots of restaurants of varying quality with notable contributions from its sizable groups of Lebanese and Japanese immigrants. One can find both good sushi and good hummus in São Paolo. The immigrants' contribution to the food of São Paolo, obviously, goes beyond sushi and hummus. You can find many more obscure and authentic recipes as well. I am completely addicted to the middle eastern desserts made in a restaurant close to where I am staying. My favorite is baked in a filo dough pie crust and filled with pistachios and other nuts and then covered in a really thick and complex tasting apricot jam. I often spend my days following my stomach to my favorite restaurants in this city. I'm spending a lot of money at restaurants but I am really enjoying it.

One of the things that I try to do in every country I pass through is learn more about its music. I have discovered so much beautiful and wonderful music in my journeys thus far. I finally had that spiritual and orgasmic experience with samba that I had been searching for since I arrived in Brazil when I went to a free samba show in the basketball court at O Beco do Batman, a park in the Magdalena neighborhood of São Paolo which is a well known graffiti gallery. Not only was the music beautiful and rythmically complex but everyone there was rocking out. Brazilian women seem to have a special gene which allows them to shake their booty at astonishing speed while dancing to samba. I saw an old-timer at the edge of the music, with a huge smile, singing along to almost everything as most of the songs the group was playing were classics. The look on his face was one of complete, unadulterated joy. Up until this point, I had only experienced momentary flashes of the good samba, the stuff that foreigners know nothing about. I kept on wondering what was making the crazy monkey sound in the sambas I liked the most. At this show I finally found out what was making the sound: an instrument called the cuica. At first glance it looks like a drum but then you notice it is not played like one. On closer inspection, one can see that the cuica is played by rubbing a wet cloth on a stick that is attached to the inside of the drum. It has quickly become one of my favorite percussive instruments.

I left the show at O Beco armed with the name of Clara Nunes, the queen diva of samba, though that isn't the only type of music she recorded. The problem with looking for music on Youtube is that you have to wade through a lot of muck if you just type "samba" in the search box. When I typed in "Clara Nunes" I discovered a whole world of amazing music I had never been exposed to. I have placed her in the heirarchy of my musical gods, deified after their deaths and immortalized by their music. How important is Clara Nunes's music to me? If I had to rank influential musicians from my most favorite to least favorite, I would place her above both the Beatles and Michael Jackson. The truth is that I am not apeshit crazy for either the Beatles or Michael Jackson but Clara Nunes rocks my world.

In my time here in São Paolo, I also had the opportunity to attend a rehearsal of one of the samba schools here in São Paolo. Rio de Janeiro is not the only place that has samba schools. The rehearsal was full of good positive energy. With percussionists numbering about a hundred, the music was a joyfully thunderous cacophany under the bridge where the Aguia de Ouro, or Eagle of Gold, samba school meets every Sunday to rehearse for Carnaval. The school itself is made up of more than just percussionists as there are dancers and flag holders strutting and dancing in front of them. As this is parade music, the whole samba school is mobile. Some of the dancers had the air of true divas, strutting and dancing with such confidence that they would challenge those who just idly watched to start dancing by dancing in front of them. My favorite thing about the samba school is that the gay community seems to have found an acceptable outlet in the samba school for all of their flamboyance. One of my very favorite divas at the rehearsal was a tranny who looked like she could dunk. Her six-inch heels only exaggerated her height even more. I could only sit back and absorb the atmosphere but I am already thinking of joining a samba school after Carnaval this year. Soon enough, I will be strutting around in one of the parades like the most flamboyant of flaming queens.

I am feeling right now that my decision to live in Brazil was a good one. At this point, I think I am going to have a really good time here in Brazil. There is good food and good music here. Did I mention that the nation is populated with Amazonian goddesses that bless us mere mortals with their presence. I am not sure that I am coming back to the U.S.

I Am Sisyphus and My Bicycle Is My Rock

In nature the mama bird throws her chicks out of the nest and if they can not fly then too bad.I guess that is a good way to describe my immersion technique for learning a new language. It is, by far, the most effective technique of language acquisition that I know of. I am alone here in Brazil and I do not have anyone here to translate for me. I am reading books written in Portuguese to expand my vocabulary. My goal is to try to learn twenty words every day. The problem with this goal is that I actually already have a rather large vocabulary in Portuguese. When I read a book I recognize the vast majority of the words. I can have a conversation and I can write in Portuguese. The thing that is difficult for me is understanding the language when it is spoken to me. I still have to train my ear. Despite my difficulties, you would never guess that I have only been in Brazil for three weeks. I am already getting complements on my Portuguese, though I strive for perfection.

The hard physical challenges of riding my bicycle through Latin America have not ended. Apparently we are having an El Niño year which means it is cold and wet in the southern part of Brazil. I have seen more rain in the last month than I had seen in almost all of my travels thus far. It is wearing my patience thin. None of the rain gear I started the trip with works for me any more (A quick note: Northface may have a lifetime warranty but they do not respond to emails asking them about this. I would recommend another brand if you are going to spend a whole bunch of money on gear.).I spent about ten dollars for a plastic rain suit so I do not have to be completely cold and miserable. I am trying to camp underneath bridges when I can and avoiding the rain in every way possible.

There are no real mountains in Brazil but the entire southern part of the country is covered in interminable hills so I end up climbing as much as if there were mountains here. Combined with the rain, riding through Brazil has been no cakewalk. Rio de Janeiro is only about 900 kilometers away from where I am right now so I do not have much farther to go.

I am in Curitiba right now, staying at the house of a friend. Tomorrow, I plan to extend my tourist visa one more time and then I am going to disappear into the cracks here. I am pretty sure that I can get a job teaching English, especially with the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics being in Rio. Once I am feeling more confident with my Portuguese, I plan to give private lessons for at least $20 an hour.

In the past I have said that I want to stay here in Brazil for at least a year. I am actually thinking of staying permanently now. I have many reasons to not want to pay taxes to the U.S. government but the thought of an individual insurance mandate brings my disgust with the American government to new levels. There is no fucking way that I am going to be forced give my money to those thieving bastards. I might either wait for an amnesty for immigrants here in Brazil or cynically marry a Brazilian for citizenship. If I manage to obtain Brazilian citizenship I might even renounce my American citizenship. The U.S. Congress has not passed this mandate yet but I fear that it is a foregone conclusion.

Bem-vindo a Brasil and Saying Goodbye to a Friend

I recently learned about the death of friend through Facebook. To say that Eliseo and I were the greatest of friends would be an exaggeration but he was a friend and his death has actually dominated my conscious thoughts for the last week. When Eliseo and I lived together at New Guild Co-op, I was the cycling fanatic. He used his bicycle but wasn´t half as zealous about commuting by bicycle as I was. When he moved to New York City that changed. I know that he used his bike as his primary form of transportation from his facebook posts about riding across the Brooklyn bridge while it was raining. On my birthday this year, he wrote one of the most memorable birthday wishes for me. "May your chain never slip, your tires never puncture, your calves never cramp, and may the sun always shine on the road you're on. From one bicycle riding madman to another, happy birthday."

To learn that he died from the injuries he sustained from getting hit by a car while riding his bicycle only saddened me more. He held on for five days after the accident with several moments of consciousness and false hope of a recovery. I am always saddened when a bicycle commuter gets killed by a car but this time I wasn´t separated by the normal degrees of separation that I usually have between me and the victim. Eliseo is not just another ghostbike to me; he was a real person who loved life.

Getting disrespected by truck drivers on the last stretch of road in Argentina was even more offensive to me than normal. I am used to drivers refusing to acknowledge the deadly force they harness with their hands on the steering wheel of several tons of steel hurling down the road, but this time it was personal. I couldn´t help but glower at them accusingly each time they passed me with minimal space between me and them, even if the fault was not so much theirs as it was of the Argentinan government for not providing adequate space on the highways for all forms of transportation. This includes not just myself but all of the poor folks who also ride bikes or ride motorcycles that seem to have lawnmower motors for their engines.

Eliseo wanted to be a writer. He would constantly post haikus on his facebook, renewing my interest in this poetic form. I consider the fact that he had big dreams that died with him to make his death even that much more tragic. His death has been a reminder to me that life is too short and can be taken from us at any moment. It can´t be taken for granted. He was never able to create his opus and this resonates with me. In his honor and in honor of all of those who have lost their lives way too early, I plan to redouble my efforts to savor every single moment I have on this planet. I am going to make a much greater effort in conquering the last of my remaining fears that stand between me and total happiness. I know what you are all thinking: what is this world- travelling, knife-fighting, ganjobiciclatholic anarcyclist afraid of? I am still afraid of rejection both in romance and in my creative and professional life. I am going to make an effort to talk to the pretty girl standing alone at a party. I will seek out more musician friends and work more actively to perform the music I love. I will try harder to find a job that I love, not just one that pays the bills. I will no longer let my fear of rejection limit my options.

I have really been appreciating the admonition that you should be careful what you wish for these last few weeks. After riding through the altiplano of Bolivia, I was so sick of the cold that I found myself desiring the other extreme that I am so used to from growing up in Texas. Well, I have gotten that and then some and now I miss the cold. It sure was nice being able to camp without constructing my tent as there were no mosquitos or blood-sucking gnats. I never got any of the skin rashes which always seem to be optimally placed for maximum discomfort. I didn´t have to deal with thunderstorms, though I am always mesmerized by the beauty of the lightning. I forgot about the enervating effects of the heat. At the end of the day, I am just that much more exhausted. This is all just a reminder that the physical challenges of my bike ride are not over even though I don´t have to deal with multiple-day ascents.

These last few weeks have also reminded me that there is indeed some crushing poverty in Argentina. I have seen the dilapidated houses which all seem to be concentrated in the northeast. I had also grown used to all the gas stations having Wi-Fi and cappucino machines but no more. I was just happy if there was shade now. Argentina cut down the majority of its old-growth forests a long time ago to make space for ranch and farm land. What remains of the forests are mostly obscene rows of eucalyptus or pine trees ready to be harvested to meet domestic wood demand. I am happy that the Argentinan lumber industry has developed a sustainable model but not happy that it came only after the decimation of almost every last natural forest in Argentina. It is really sad when poverty forces people to do things that are bad in the long term for a short term gain.

I mentioned earlier that I was looking forward to the mental challenge of learning a new language. It is most definitely satisfying to know that I can actually hold a conversation in Portuguese but I feel somewhat stupid. I have gone from using mostly Spanish, which I speak pretty much automatically, to using a new language. In all fairness, I did prepare for this. I have actually been reading through my Portuguese-English dictionary and memorizing regular and irregular conjugation forms. I have made it all the way to the "l"s. There are a lot of similarities between Spanish and Portuguese but there are a lot of differences as well. The main difference is the pronunciation which varies a lot just within Brazil. I think I am going to have to choose a pronunciation and just stick with it. I can read and hold conversations in Portuguese but my mind does not work fast enough to follow São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro accents in rapid fire on television. I actually speak significantly more Portuguese now than I spoke Spanish when I lived in Mexico five years ago. Welcome to Brazil. It is time to learn Portuguese or die.

It is interesting seeing the news from a Latin American perspective instead of my typical American perspective. The news we watch on the T.V. or read in American papers is so myopic that it drives me crazy. I am particularly irked by C.N.N. in Spanish. Not only is the news U.S.-centric but it is often innacurate. I still remember when they had a news story about the Bolivian city of Sucre celebrating its bicentennial. The only problem with the news story was that the stock photos they showed of the city for the news segment were actually of Potosí. I know this because I was in Potosí at the time and I had recently been to Sucre.

C.N.N. also bungled the news when they showed a short headline stating that the Argentinan Supreme court had just declared that arresting people for small amounts of marijuana was unconstitutional. This is technically true as the specific case involved several young people in the city of Rosario who were arrested by police after they were searched and it was discovered that they were carrying small amounts of marijuana. It did not, however, reveal the whole truth as the court struck down a law that refers to the possession of all drugs, not just marijuana. The court did not define the amounts that would be considered small enough to be considered as "for personal consumption" only. That is up to the legislature which, I suspect, will model the new law on the one that was recently passed and signed into law in Mexico.

American media is definitely guilty of omission when it comes to reporting on the rest of the world but it is also guilty of underemphasizing the importance of certain stories to the rest of the world. Another example in the recent news is the issue of Colombia´s signing of an agreement with the United States allowing for the U.S. use of Colombian military bases for drug interdiction. This issue is buried in the back pages of American newspapers but is in the front-page headlines here. I was watching a televised meeting of Unasur which is kind of like a mini-U.N. composed of just South American countries. Literally every single South American president was at the meeting in Bariloche where the issue of the U.S. military presence in Colombia was the main topic of discussion. I couldn´t help but notice who was noticably absent: Barack Obama. Despite his pledges to renew diplomacy with Latin America, he refrained from making what would be the most symbolically significant way of demonstrating the United State´s renewed commitment to strengthening its relationship with Latin America. He probably hasn´t even met half the people that were in the room. If Hugo Chavez and Alvaro Uribé can put aside their personal enmity to share a room together than Obama can make an appearance. He could have, at least, sent his Secretary of State who was also noticably absent.

As further evidence that United States is quickly becoming an international backwater, Uruguay recently legalized adoption of children by gay couples. Their was also an article in the news about how every student in Uruguay is going to have their own personal laptop to aid in their studies. I might have to move to Uruguay as they seem to be on a more progressive path than the U.S.

Bad Luck and the Death Truck

I have come to expect things on my bike to break but there are parts I have never seen break, even after thousands of miles on the road. This morning one of those parts broke. For those who are uninitiated in bike-speak, the derailler is the part on the back of the bike, above the wheel, that shifts gears. To my dismay, the arm of the derailler twisted and snapped off first thing this morning bending the part of the frame that it hangs off of with it. Even though I knew that this was a problem I was not going to be able to fix on the side of the road, I couldn't help but stare at my busted derailler in disbelief for at least 15 minutes while several trucks that could have carried me to the nearest city zoomed by.

Resigned to my fate of having to hitchhike the next 60 kilometers to a city large enough to have a bike shop that sold new deraillers, I finally made a sign that said, "Concordia, emergency." The funny thing about hitchhiking is that people never seem to stop when you most need them to. Luckily, I think I appeared despondent enough that after about half an hour some truckers with an "empty" truckbed stopped for me. I was so happy for the lift that I was able to overlook the fact that the truck was normally used to transport the left-over body parts of dead animals. On the bottom of the truck bed, there was a piece of brain here, a hoof there, a piece of scalp here, and parts which I was unable to identify randomly strewn about. I was originally going to sit down for my trip but then I noticed that the floor was slippery with the fat of dead animals. I almost slipped and fell a number of times when the semi came to a stop. Fortunately, the trip lasted just under an hour so I didn't have to endure the nastiness too long.

When the truckers dropped me off at the edge of the city, there was a nice supermarket owner who let me wash my hands in the back of his store and gave me a ride to a bicycle shop so I could beat the afternoon siesta. The mechanic at the shop appeared optimistic about being able bend the frame back into place.Hopefully, the mechanic will be able to fix my bike like new again but I am worried that it will never shift quite the same again. I can only pray to my heathen gods that everything will be allright.

On the way out of Buenos Aires, towards the border with Brazil, I actually had to pay a bribe to some corrupt cops for the first time. This is after riding through all of of Mexico, Central America, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. Anyone who has ever driven through Argentina knows that there are police checkpoints everywhere. They usually are just checking for identifying documents but, I found out the hard way, sometimes they are looking for a pound of flesh.

As I approached the checkpoint, the cop indicated to me that he wanted me to stop so that is exactly what I did. He asked, "Why don't you have a knee or elbow pads?" I wanted to say, "Do I look like a fucking five-year-old, asshole?" but I only said, " I have ridden over 15,000 kilometers without falling. I am willing to risk it." To my surprise he said, "Come inside so you can talk to the boss." I didn't think anything of it since I have encountered many incredulous police officers who feigned concern over my safety before so I went along with it.

When inside, the boss immediately began talking about "fines." I protested immediately. Not only was I wearing a helmet and had a bicycle that was almost entirely reflective but I had ridden well over 2,000 kilometers in Argentina and passed through many police checkpoints without hearing a word about any of the traffic laws that I was supposedly violating. At this point, I should mention that a pig never uses the word bribe directly when that is what they want. I should also mention that the bribe is negotiable. They start high and you lowball them as much as you can. After my protest, the cop persisted in trying to get me to pay the "fine." He even showed me some bullshit law they only enforce on rich gringos since I have seen literally thousands of cyclists without mirrors on their bikes or reflectice clothing.

Realizing that the pigfucker wasn't going to give up I asked him how much the fine was, expecting some small number. My eyes popped out of my head when he told me the fine was 900 pesos. That is comfortably over $200. There was no way in fucking hell that I was going to fork over this kind of money. I would rather give my money to the Taliban than to these inbred, thieving pigs. I told him I wasn't carrying that kind of money. "You aren't carrying dollars?" he asked. "Why would I be carrying dollars? We're in Argentina." He then pointed at a Mastercard emblem on the door and said, "We accept credit cards." I lied, "My card only works in cash machines." "Well, since you have a helmet and your bike is reflective we can reduce the 'fine' for you. How does $100 sound to you?" " I can eat for a month with $100. That is way too much. I am not even carrying that kind of money."

At this point, we had come to an impasse. The cop obviously didn't want to drop below $100 and I have a healthy contempt for police so I wasn't budging either. Finally, I called his bluff, "I would much rather go to jail than pay that much." "Oh, we can't take you to jail for this. It is only an infraction. How much do you have?" At this point I took out the second wallet I carry: the one with significantly less cash in it. I carry this wallet for the sole purpose of having something to give thieves if they are better armed than me. I just didn't expect that the thieves would be wearing badges. I counted out 90 pesos and said that was all I had. "How much will you give us for this infraction?" "I can only give you 50 since I need to eat," At that, a deal was struck.

I am still pissed about this even though I talked the cops down from well over $200 to about $13. I suppose I should feel grateful that I wasn't "disappeared" since that is exactly what happened to over 30,000 Argentinans during the military dictatorship during the late 70s and early 80s. I should also mention that as much as I fulminate about taser-happy police in the United States, cops in the developing world bring thuggery to a new level. It was just last month that a Nigerian Islamic militant died while in the custody of police. Whenever, Mexican cops arrest some drug kingpin they usually beat the shit out of him. This is evidenced by the black eyes and bloody noses that they almost invariably have when they are paraded before the press. American cops are models of professionalism and restraint in comparison. I remember how angry people got when a L.A. police officer kicked a suspect in the head after he finally gave up and jumped to the ground. The cop would have gotten away with it too if this whole event wasn't captured on videotape. My point to this is that when cops abuse prisoners this abuse is revisited upon them by the abused. Don't think that the Nigerian Islamic militants didn't take notice when their leader mysteriously died in police custody. When the Mexican cartels hire assassins to kill police and soldiers, the victims frequently show signs of torture. Restraint and professionalism is the only way the cops can legitimize what they do and it is what supposedly separates them from the criminals and terrorists.
I couldn't help but notice the blurbs in the news about the gun nuts showing up at rallies that president Obama attended. My favorite one was the man who brought the fully loaded AR-15 to they rally in Phoenix. The news article mentioned that Arizona was one of seven "open carry" states meaning that anyone can openly carry a gun with them for any reason. This peaked my curiousity and my Texas pride. "How could those Arizonans be any crazier than us Texans?" I asked. After a quick wikipedia search, I was disappointed to find out that Texas was not one of the seven "open carry" states. We can only openly carry firearms when we are ostensibly hunting. There goes my lifelong dream of opening up a drive-thru gun and liquor store. Maybe I will have to move to Phoenix. I can already imagine riding my bicycle around with a fully loaded automatic rifle strapped to my back on a 120 degree day. I don't think anyone would ever cut me off again.


DIE PIG, DIE

There is danger lurking on every street
But it's not from the criminals but the cops on the beat.
Through coercion and fear
And beatings admininistered in riot gear
They control the populations
Of all the world's nations.
And if that doesn't work they'll throw you in jail.
They'll call you a terrorist and deny your bail
And if that doesn't work they'll kill you outright,
Bursting in through the door in the middle of the night.
You should never underestimate a pig's brutality.
They can make your worst nightmare become your reality.

BRIDGE:

The only good cop is a dead cop.

CHORUS:
Die pig, motherfucker die.
When the revolution comes you'll have nowhere to hide.
We will no longer tolerate your bold-faced lies.
When the people rise up you'll be on the wrong side.

In Russia, and China, and the U.S.A.
In Iran, and Israel, and Zimbabwe
In Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany
Across time and space the pigs are the same to me.
If your party's too loud they'll be there without delay
But if you're mugged on the street they look the other way.
If you're smoking a joint they'll jail you right away
But in a government massacre they guilty never pay.
Those lying, thieving pigs have got some fucking nerve
When they say their job is to protect and serve

BRIDGE:

The only good cop is a dead cop.

CHORUS:
Die pig, motherfucker die.
When the revolution comes you'll have nowhere to hide.
We will no longer tolerate your bold-faced lies.
When the people rise up you'll be on the wrong side.

CODA:
One day this worldwide police state
Will collapse and crumble under its own weight
And the machine that's lubricated with the blood of innocents
Will come grinding to a halt for lack of acquiescence.

Adventures of a Ganjobiciclatholic Anarcyclist in a Worldwide Fascist State

I have made it to Buenos Aires, the southernmost point in my trip. It is starting to warm up but I am officially sick and tired of the cold. I am looking forward to the steamy weather of Brazil. After looking at a map, I have come to the realization that my trip is almost over as I plan to end up in either Sao Paulo or Rio de Janeiro. That does not mean I am coming back to the U.S. any time soon. On the contrary, I plan to stay in Brazil for at least a year so I can learn Portuguese. I will also be on the lookout for a monkey skull to mount on my helmet. I have actually been reading a Portuguese/English dictionary page by page to familiarize myself with some Portuguese vocabulary and to practice my pronunciation. Portuguese is a little bit harder for me than Spanish because, unlike Spanish, the pronunciation seems to be more random.
The other week when I was in Rosario I was asking for directions to a hostel from a street juggler who indicated to me that, if I continued in the direction that I wanted to, I would be going in the wrong direction. I told him that I didn't care because I was an "anarciclista." We both had a good laugh about that but I thought that was a good word to describe me both politically and as a cyclist. When Argentinans cut me off while making a right turn without even signalling I see no reason to respect traffic laws written for people in cars. When the highway has signs that say, "Bicycles prohibited." I ignore them. The ironic thing is that the highway that has all of these signs is the safest road in all of Argentina for cyclists as it has a wide shoulder and a median to prevent cars from crossing over to the opposite lane. When there was, what looked like, a deadly crash on the highway that backed up traffic for at least 50 kilometers, I crossed the median and rode on the shoulder of the opposite side while thousands of drivers stranded in the traffic jam eyed me enviously. Strangely enough, the cops didn't give me any trouble about riding my bicycle on the highway even once.
The closest I got to getting in any trouble on the highway was when I underestimated the velocity of a motorcyclist leaving an on-ramp for a highway and cut across him. He then slowed down to have words with me and I flipped him off since I don't like being yelled at. He then drove alongside me for a while trying to be menacing. Fortunately he was all bark and no bite or as I like to say all fart and no shit. The funny thing is I actually ran into him later while I was eating lunch. He did the same old thing trying to be menacing but then drove off. The funny thing is that if he actually stuck around I would have apologized to him. Oh well. On the way back, I will try to not underestimate the speed of motorcyclists leaving the on-ramp.
Entering Buenos Aires on a bicycle is not for the faint-hearted. There was one part where I was in the middle of the road after two six-lane highways merged. This highway eventually morphed into a twenty-lane behemoth. When I knew that I was closer to my friend's house, I was happy to leave this monstrosity.
Despite the Argentinan government's complete disregard for cyclists, I see a surprisingly large number of cyclist on the road, many of them middle-aged women. Once you become comfortable maneuvering around the massive streets in Buenos Aires, you can actually move quite a bit faster than people in cars. I think I would go absolutely crazy if I were stuck in a car behind traffic that I could easily cut through on my bicycle.
Buenos Aires has some fantastic graffiti. Unfortunately, a lot of it is in seedier areas of town. When I was taking a picture of a fabulous demonic nun underneath a bridge, a one-legged junkie came up to me trying to intimidate me. "Why are you taking pictures?", he barked. With a smile that belied the look I gave him that said I wouldn't think twice about breaking his good knee if he threatened me I told him, "It's a pretty painting." I them walked off and took some more graffiti pictures.
I have been reading a lot of the news about police abuses of power in the U.S. The Henry Louis Gates has finally made it out of the headlines. I am happy to see discussion about racial profiling in the news but I don't think that this was a classic case of racial profiling. He didn't even get tased or shot in the back while handcuffed. This is just a classic case of police abuse of power. Disorderly conduct is by far the vaguest charge a police officer can make when arresting a person. In my opinion it is unconstitutional as it is both "cruel and unusual" and used as a means of stifling the criticism of police officers protected by the first amendment.
Speaking of taser-happy cops and racial profiling, I read with horror that police in Prince William County, North Carolina tased a pregnant woman during her son's baptism. She was Mexican so I guess that makes it allright. Seriously though, police in the U.S. need to follow very strict guidelines as to when they can tase someone. I would start by saying that they should never tase children, elderly people, noticably pregnant women, people on elevated platforms, and noticably disabled people. They should also never aim for the head, heart, or anus (yes, cops have tased people in the anus before). There should also be a very serious follow-up on tasing victims to make sure that tasers are, in fact, "non-lethal." I have read about tasers leading to heart arrhythmia.
I have advice for anyone that encounters police officers in the United States. Always be polite. Start out with, "Well sir/mamn." Then lie to their face. If you are questioned regarding any crime do not speak to them without the presence of a lawyer. I have seen too many cases of people serving on murder charges because the police coerced a confession. To summarize, do not cooperate with police as they are not here to protect you but to provide fodder for the prison-industrial complex.

How to Travel Cheaply in Argentina

Though my opinion of Argentina remains pretty high, I have noticed some more cracks in the facade. Despite Argentina's European tendencies, there is still one Latin American tradition that holds strongly here: the midday siesta. Of all the Latin Americans, Argentinans are by far the most militant siesteros. I have been in cities of half a million people where almost all the businesses, save the gas stations, close for the four hour period from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. I am all for slacking off but it is pretty frustrating when I arrive in a new town at 1:05 p.m. and I can't buy fruit, or anything for that matter, for the next four hours. If you want to buy something other than food or medicine, those stores don't even open until 5 p.m. I am somewhat skeptical that businesses can effectively turn a profit with such limited business hours. I also don't like how it is impossible to run any errands without being forced to wait in long lines as everyone runs their errands at the same time. As someone who has worked mostly nights for the past several years I would also be annoyed by having to run errands on my days off, which for me are sacred.
Another annoyance for me is that, despite the high traffic volume between cities, Argentinan highways almost never deviate from the two-lane highway with no shoulder. This isn't just dangerous for cyclists but for the many moped drivers and drivers in general as people generally execute dangerous maneuvers to get around the many semis that clog the highways. It is pretty clear to me that the government already has the rights to the land in order to expand some of these highways as the property lines are consistently offset at least 20 meters from the road. The other day the police tried to stop me when I was on one of these overburdened highways. As I knew that I did not have an alternate route to follow and I generally don't respect law enforcement officers, I just ignored them and continued on anyway. They would have told me that I couldn't be on the highway even though there are no signs indicating this and I would have told them that I was already there and I needed to continue on. For this reason, I didn't see any reason in stopping for them. Let them chase me.
The difference in the prices for lodging between Bolivia and Argentina is at least five-fold but there are ways to cut costs. Most of the large cities have municipal camping sites that charge anywhere between $1 and $3 for pitching your tent. These camping sites also almost always have hot water and barbeque grills which for me is luxurious. The other day, I spent $5 for a bag of charcoal, two T-bones, and morcilla, the Argentinan blood sausauge which I have become obsessed with. This is a lot cheaper than the same meal would have worked out to at a restuarant.
Between the cities, the camping options are fewer and far between. This isn't like the Bolivian and Peruvian altiplano where the highway traverses miles and miles of unfenced, open land. Almost all of the land is fenced off here in Argentina. I have resorted to full on homeless camping as a result. I haven't even been constructing my tent as doing so saves me a lot of time in the morning when I am repacking my bicycle. People here are always telling me that it gets cold at night but I always chuckle at this suggestion since it hasn't even been freezing at night. I have slept in abandoned houses and behind Catholic shrines to Gauchito Gil who I suppose is the Argentinan version of La Virgen de Guadalupe. Last night, I was awoken by police when they discovered my campsite. After explaining that the nearby campsite was closed, which it was, and that there was little time left before the sunset to choose a campsite, the cops let me be. This happened after a carpenter who thought I was the thief who was stealing his wood approached me when I was putting down my bed. At first I was like, "Robar madera? Excuse me but I am not sure what you are talking about." After showing the carpenter my bicycle he was satisfied that I couldn't steal his wood even if I wanted to and let me be. The other times that I have been discovered while setting up my campsite, I have had to turn down the families trying to offer me everything from food to letting me sleep in their house as I carry my own food and don't want to be a burden. I just wanted to be clear that not all of my experiences being discovered are unpleasant.
I wanted to make a quick observation that, of all the female politicians in the world, President Christina Fernandez Kirchner is by far the most feminine leader I have ever seen. While Hillary Clinton rocks the pant-suits and tries to appear as manly as possible in a male dominated world, the Argentinan president makes no pretensions whatsoever to try to conceal her femininity. The other day, I saw her on television at a church service commemorating Argentinan independence (July 9th). While all of the other congregants were dressed conservatively with dark colors, she stood out in her lavender outfit which looked like it was designed by Gucci. I don't have any opinion on this, I just thought it was an interesting observation.

The Amerikkkan Cult of Mediocrity

I am slowly making my way down towards Buenos Aires. There is a part of me that wants to slack off and there is the part of me that wants to make it to Brazil before long. The slacker in me got rewarded with a cold that forced me to stay in Tafi del Valle during my recuperation. Being sick made me realize that, as much as I love Argentina, I probably couldn't live here. The thing that disappointed me was that I could not find either fresh chiles or ginger anywhere I looked. I am in Tucuman right now. It is one of the bigger cities and I still can't find these ingredients. When I am congested, I usually like to make spicy food and ginger root tea to speed up the recovery process but I had to live without. In Argentina, it is not hard to find good meats or cheeses but try looking for fresh vegetables, that aren't regularly used here, and you will eventually have to give up in desperation.
Another negative thing that I have noticed about Argentina is that more people smoke and it is banned in less public places. I even see mothers walking down the street holding a child with one hand and a cigarette with the other. Smoking is a nasty habit not to mention the fact that just being around cigarette smoke gives me a nasty headache. I have been turned off from countless women on account of their smoking. It is the feeling that I just have to grin and bear it that makes me think I might not enjoy living here.
The death of Michael Jackson has made me reflect on a growing phenomenon in Amerikkka: mediocrity. Mediocrity pervades Amerikkkan life. We have mediocre schools, mediocre healthcare, mediocre politicians, and mediocre everything. The tragic thing about this is that Amerikkka used to produce excellence. It is the country that gave the world jazz and rock and roll. Now its contribution to the world is Christina Aguilera and The Fast and the Furious.
Michael Jackson was the personification of mediocrity. His entire career was just one giant piece of shit in my opinion. I can't think of a single Jackson 5 song that doesn't make me want to stab chopsticks into my eardrums. Hearing a prepubescent child sing about love drives me into a murderous rage that causes me to have dark fantasies about torturing Tila Tequila and then stoning her to death with the severed heads of the Jonas Brothers. The only thing that could possibly be more cringe-worthy is if the adult Michael Jackson wrote a song for N.A.M.B.L.A. For those of yall who aren't in the know, N.A.M.B.L.A. stands for the North Amerikkkan Man-Boy Love Association. Since the Jackson 5 was commercially successful, the large music companies have been marketing bands with children in them ever since. You can blame the Jackson 5 for Hansen, the Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, and any other shit band made up of children. As a rule of thumb, unless the child is channeling Django Reinhardt, I don't want to hear it.
I can't deny that I liked Thriller when I was a child but looking back now, armed with the awareness of much greater musicians, I see it for what it really was. Thriller marks a crucial turning point in the devolution of Amerikkkan music. It laid the foundation for Madonna, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Justin Timberlake, and any other "musician" who makes me want to kill people randomly. Looking back, there were only three songs on the album that I liked even when I was a kid. Jack-Off made only one hit song after that album. He was too busy morphing from a black man into the alabaster freak that he became.
Did I mention that M.J. was an overrated dancer. He had a very limited dance repertoire that consisted of the moonwalk, a counterclockwise pirouette, a right-footed kick, a right-handed crotch grab, and a few jerky motions. He was nothing compared to greats like Barishnikov and any of the street dancers who helped invent break dancing. In fact, I don't think he would make it past the second round of So You Think You Can Dance. You can again blame M.J. for the prevalence of pop stars whose only qualification is that they hit the right notes and can dance with back-up dancers. Speaking of back-up dancers, Michael Jackson was frequently upstaged by his in almost all of his music videos.
Why does this matter so much to me? Because I am tired of being told that something that is truly mediocre is really excellent. It is this American complacency with mediocrity that gives us politicians like Sarah Palin. Can you think of a better example of someone who best epitomizes megalomaniacal mediocrity. I think she is so popular because she is mediocre just like her supporters. People want to vote for someone who mirrors them.
Barack Obama is a man of exceptional intelligence and exceptional P.R. who, nonetheless, produces mediocre results. The Audacity of Hope should have been called the Audacity of Bullshit. I am trying to think if there is a single promise he has made that he hasn't already broken or botched. I can't think of anything. I could exhaust myself by going down the list, starting with giving immunity to telecommunications companies that assisted the Bush administration with illegal wiretaps, but then I would be too pissed off to think clearly. To make matters worse he was all buddy-buddy with Alvaro Uribe during his visit to the White House. Obama praised the Colombian president for his "human rights" record. This is the same president who has presided over the country the entire time that homeless people were being killed and disguised as rebels to facilitate the promotions of army officers. I guess Barack Obama is the mediocre president that mediocre Amerikkka deserves.
Amerikkka still excels at two things: greed and gluttony. Only in Amerikkka would a man have the greed-induced chutzpah to create a $50 billion pyramid scheme like Bernard Madoff. If he had shut down the operation after only a few hundred million dollars he probably would have gotten away with it. Joey Chestnut is a new Amerikkkan hero. He is the man who has now defeated the Michael Jordan of competitive eating three times a row at the annual Fourth of July Hot Dog Eating Contest. Before Chestnut came along, Takeru Kobayashi, the little Japanese guy, was dominating the world of competitive eating. As an aside I should mention that the video of Kobayashi going head-to-head with a giant Kodiac bear in a hot dog eating contest is hilarious. Despite the fact that Kobayashi has broken his own personal records in latest hot dog eating contests, Joey Chestnut has dominated him. In the last contest Chestnut consumed 68 hot dogs. U.S.A., U.S.A. We're number one!
The California budget crisis has brought out the anti-immigrant folks. Mirroring Proposition 187, these folks are trying to deny all state services to immigrants and their American born children. After hurling thinly veiled racist attacks on the "illiterate" hordes of Mexicans they then go around by interpreting the 14th Amendment to the Constitution in a manner that only displays their functional illiteracy. They actually believe that they can interpret, "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." to mean, "No wetback children." I almost feel sorry for these folks since they are most definitely products of our mediocre educational system.
Amerikkka is a society in decay. I will probably come back for a little while to make some money and say my goodbyes but my long term plan is to get the fuck off of this sinking ship. In twenty years, the dollar won't be worth shit. We already spend more money paying the interest on our debt than even our military budget. When our debt is around $15 trillion-- it will reach that-- our foreign creditors will probably want a higher interest rate than what they are paid now. The current economic crisis is a direct result of Amerikkkan greed. I don't want to pay taxes or even spend money within the Amerikkkan economy any more. I am ready to opt out.

I Love Argentina

I know that I have not been in Argentina very long but I love this place. I am a man of primal urges who thinks a lot more with his stomach than with his penis. To put it another way, the road to my heart goes through my stomach. For this reason, Argentina has won my heart and then some. This is a country that truly enjoys food. I am very seriously thinking about moving here permanently, not right away but after I can save some more money back in Babylon.
Argentina may not have quite as much money as the United States or parts of Europe but I am convinced that the quality of life is better. I still can't believe it, but I ate a $2 T-bone steak last night. I have vivid memories of buying a T-bone steak from Whole Foods for no less than $16. A homeless man can sit down after a hard day of begging and eat a $2 T-bone and wash it down with a $2 bottle of wine that rivals the quality of more expensive bottles of wine in the U.S.
There are some things I don't like about Argentina. One thing I have noticed is that they commemorate their war against the indigenous of Patagonia on the back of their 100 peso note. This is pretty much the same thing as if the U.S. government had some glorified depiction of the Trail of Tears on the back of the Andrew Jackson-twenty dollar bill. Part of me thinks that would be appropriate since Jackson was a murderous thug but the other part of me thinks that no government should celebrate genocide.
In my previous post, I made a claim that Paraguay is the only country that borders Bolivia that might lose a war with it. I take that back. These two countries fought a war back in the 1930s and the then numerically and technologically superior Bolivian forces had their asses handed back to them. The Bolivian troops, who were mostly indigenous, quechua-speaking people from the highlands couldn't handle the weather in what is the hottest part of South America. Moreover, those fucking dumbasses didn't have the wherewithall to hire Guarani-speaking intelligence officers to intercept Paraguayan radio transmissions. As the recent coup in Honduras should prove, militaries are a much greater threat to democracy than they are its defenders. Anyway, enough of that. I am going to go eat a $2 T-bone.

Bienvenidos a Argentina

Bolivia is beautiful but I am so happy to be out of that country. I will miss the breathtaking scenery and the anything-goes lawlessness but beyond that I can't think of anything else that I will long for. I will not miss the sand-covered washboard dirt roads, the shitty cans of "tuna", and the complete lack of decent broadband network. There were so many times when I wandered into a town looking for food only to be disappointed by the selection of items. My typical conversation would go like this:
"Is there a comedor in town?"
" No."
"Is there internet?"
"No."
"Is there a even a store."
"Yes there is."
"What do they sell?"
"Cookies and soda."
"What kind of cookies do you have?"
"We have shit cookies with vomit cream filling."
"You don't have chocolate?"
"Nope."
"Well, thanks anyway, bye."
I am still pissed off that Bolivia even has a military since they would get the living shit kicked out of them by any one of their neighbors except maybe Paraguay. Chile, Argentina, and Brazil would defeat them in a matter of days while Peru might take a week. In my past post I said nationalism is obselete but I should have been more direct;it is fucking stupid. If I were in charge of Bolivia I would fire every last soldier and hire a bunch of construction workers to pave Bolivia's pitiful roads and lay broadband wires in all of the cities that don't have any internet access. Not only is a Bolivian military useless but they are potentially harmful as the recent coup d'etat in Honduras should prove my point.
A friend of mine,who has crossed the land border from Bolivia into Argentina, described crossing the border as "leaving Kansas for Oz." That description is not to far off. The difference is just about as stark as leaving the U.S. for Mexico. Actually the difference is more stark because Mexico has well-paved roads. Everything here cost more but the quality of what you are buying more than makes up for the difference in price. I have spent more on food but I have eaten some amazing meals. The sheer size of the barbeque platters here makes my eyes pop out. The pizzas, pasta, and wine is good, too. The way to my heart is through my stomach and Argentina has already won my heart. In fact, I think I like it better here than in U.S. I have even heard that they have free health care here. With the good food and free health care here I can say that I might not come back.
Speaking of health care in America, I can honestly say that not reforming health care at all would probably be better than the bill the Democrats have advanced in Congress. There are not enough curse words in the English language to thoroughly convey how fucking pissed off I am about the two-party monopoly on power in the United States. The thing that pisses me off about the bill so much is the health insurance mandate. I currently don't have health insurance and there is actually a reason for it. I have had it in the past and discovered that they were so unresponsive and unhelpful that I cancelled it. Once I went to the doctor for a regular check-up only for the insurance company to drag their feet so long in paying the claim that I started getting collection letters from the doctor's office in the mail. The insurance company claimed they never even received my claim which was an outright lie. At that point, I sent only certified mail to them so they couldn't lie through their teeth like that. It still took about six months for them to pay only about %60 of the claim. After this, I figured it was best to just not have insurance and gamble that I never get really sick or break a bone. If yall think insurance companies are unresponsive and unhelpful now, just wait until you are forced to purchase health insurance. A public plan probably wouldn't be any better since the government would probably just subcontract out to the health insurance industry anyway. I can not accept health care reform that doesn't cut these thieving bastards out of the loop. This doesn't absolve hospitals, doctors,or the pharmaceutical industry from their culpability but I think the insurance companies are the worst culprits. This is yet another reason I might not come back to the U.S.
On a happier note, I have recently discovered some wonderful music online. Now that I have access to broadband, I have actually been able to give a good listen to Vladimir Visotsky. All I can say is that I want to learn Russian and take up chain smoking so I can sing like him. A friend of mine also turned me on to the Plasmatics. I can't believe I had never listened to any of their music. When I listen to it I just want to torch a cop car and slit some pig's throat. If any of yall don't think that there is censorship and coercion in the U.S. all yall have to look at is a picture of Wendy O. Williams after Milwaukee police beat the shit out of her while arresting her for an obscenity charge. As one music critic in the United States said, "Conservatives in America had castration anxiety," when they saw her chainsaw televisions in half. I am convinced that there are still efforts to erase the history of the Plasmatics as it is still very difficult to find their music. Youtube even seems to mysteriously fail when I am trying to load their videos. This makes me even more determined to rip off the music industry. I hope all of them go down with the shit music they have been trying to force down my throat through there control of the distribution channels. I am so happy that I have alternate routes of music discovery now that we have the internet.
I was in Jujuy, Argentina when my friend told me that Farrah Fawcett died. My response was, "Who fucking cares." Then I came back with the news that Michael Jackson had died. To me he died about twenty years ago but that is a moot point. I can't remember the last time people were so freaked out about a single person's death. It is like a god died or something. I suppose his music touched a lot of people but I can't say I really care. I want to ask people if they expected him to live for ever. For me Michael Jackson is far down the list of musicians who I find inspirational. Most of us mere mortals will never achieve the immortality that he has achieved through his music.

Argentina Bound

After 5 days and 4 flats between Uyuni and Tupiza, I am ready to get out of this country. Don't get me wrong. Bolivia is an incredibly beautiful country, a geologists wet dream where every other hill is a different color, but I am tired of the shitty roads and the cold, I repeat COLD, nights. One morning, recently, I camped in a valley that was still above 13,000 feet. This was problematic because it takes longer for the sunshine to reach every corner of the valley and, hence, stays cold longer. It was so cold that the small streams in the valley froze solid. I tested the hardness of the ice by smashing rocks the size of my head to pieces on it. I was so happy to finally reach civilization again that I am staying in Tupiza for three days before I ride the final two or three days to the Argentinian border.
I am looking forward to riding on paved roads again in Argentina as I have recently discovered a couple of cracks in my third rear rim. I am also looking forward to the Argentinian barbeques as I have recently been partially starving myself as there are no places to buy food. I go to sleep at night salivating and fantasizing about food I want to cook and eat. The parrilladas await me. Sorry vegetarians, I am going to eat so much meat that yall might as well put me on a cholesterol I.V. drip. I already have friends and parrilladas waiting for me.
On a manliness scale of 1 to 10, a bike trip is probably somewhere between a 9 and 10 so I am not afraid to say that I love ballet. It is so funny how one's perspective can completely change over time. I remember when I was 9 and my mom tried to put me in ballet lessons. This experiment didn't last long as I steadfastly remained in the corner of the studio and refused to participate. I also remember my mom dragging me to see Gregory Hines and Mikhail Baryshnikof in the movie White Nights. As a kid this pissed me off but I had the unusual priviledge of seeing the movie for a second time last night. Dance movies are one of my guilty pleasures and I have a serious man-crush on Baryshnikof. His dancing seems to defy the laws of physics. Gregory Hines was no slouch but Baryshnikof is fucking spectacular. Most of the music in the movie is shit since it comes from the 80s (Yeah I know, it was the golden era of heavy metal and punk but the rest of the music is shit) but I was turned on to the music of Vladimir Vysotsky which is worth checking out. This is another reason I can't wait to get out of Bolivia. I need to indulge my high-speed broadband addiction and watch as many videos of Vysotsky and Baryshnikov as possible.

Cold Nights, Oppressive Pigfuckers, Saint Bill Hicks, and International Unity

The highlands of Southwestern Bolivia are unbelievably cold. I have read that the temperatures drop to -25º C. which is close to -10º F. for those of yall that are afraid of conversion. I actually had to go to the trouble of buying a new blanket which is about 2 centimeters thick. It goes on top of my sleeping bag while I sleep inside with 4 pairs of socks, three pants, 3 shirts, a sweater, and 3 wool hats. Don't feel sorry for me because I sleep comfortably. Without the blanket, though, I was freezing my ass off at night. I don't carry a thermometer with me but I can assure yall this is the coldest weather that this Texas boy has ever experienced. Anecdotally, I have camped next to ponds which freeze so thouroughly that I can put my entire weight on the edge without breaking the ice and no less than a softball-sized rock thrown at an upward angle breaks the surface. The water in my camelbak tube freezes and I have to insulate all of the water I am carrying so it doesn't freeze solid.
My tent no longer zips shut but this isn't too much of a problem right now as it is too cold for any insects or other critters to intrude upon my space while I sleep. I already wrote a letter to R.E.I. that was persuasive enough for them to refund my money for the tent and I have ordered and sent a new one to my friend who lives in Buenos Aires where I plan to stop on my way towards Brazil.
Braving the cold is not without its rewards. This part of Bolivia is beautiful. If the southern coast of Peru is a martian landscape the Salar de Uyuni is a venetian landscape, beautiful in its stark white infinity. I had to wear my sunglasses the whole time because it is more than sufficiently bright and reflective to cause snowblindness. I rode out to the Isla de Pescado or Isla de Inkahuasi if yall prefer. The cacti on this island are incredible, reaching up to 12 meters and living for hundreds of years. Most of them are massive, moreso than the same variety in other parts of Bolivia. The trip to the Inkahuasi was definitely worth the trouble.
I have previously mentioned that the Salar de Uyuni holds over half the world's lithium carbonate deposits. This metal is essential for both laptop batteries and for the batteries in electric cars as it is the lightest compound from which batteries can be manufactured. So far these supplies continue unexploited, as I hope the Evo Morales administration is driving a hard bargain to any company which wishes to access these deposits. The developing world has long suffered economically from the exportation of raw materials and the importation of manufactured goods leading to trade deficits which always benefit the more advanced economies. Evo Morales should offer access to these deposits for no less than having the multinationals build battery manufacturing plants for laptops and electric cars. In fact, he should hold out until the companies offer to build laptop and electric car factories in Bolivia. Until then, I hope the natural beauty of the salar remains untouched.
I finally encountered a road which caused me to hitchhike out of a situation without experiencing mechanical problems. Heading south from the salar, which has wonderful, hard, and flat surface, the roads can only be described as a washboard covered with 3 inches of sand. After moving maybe 10 kilometers in about 5 hours I hitchhiked the fuck out of there at the first chance I got. The road from Uyuni to Tupiza isn't a whole lot better but I doubt it will drive me to the fits of rage that I was experiencing on this glorified sand pit. Bolivia is beautiful but it has the worst roads I have experienced by far. I can't wait to get to Argentina where I already have friends waiting to share barbeque with me.
If anyone wonders why I don't like cops the case of a a 72-year-old Austin woman who got tazed by a trigger-happy cop should illustrate why. I actually read about this in the B.B.C. so the rest of the world is learning how brutal these Texas pigfuckers are. Ever since the vast majority of American police departments were equipped with these "non-lethal" tazers, the incidences of abuses have steadily risen every year. Because they are "non-lethal" police use them much more excessively than they would ever dare use a gun. You mouth off to a cop, you get tazed. You move suddenly, you get tazed. You have dark skin, you get tazed. The federal government should make very strict guidelines for when a police officer should be allowed to use his/her tazer. I would suggest that they only be allowed to use their tazers when the "suspect" is exhibiting violent behavior.
I had a dream last night that was so vivid that, dare I say, I think it was a vision. Many saints have visions of bleeding Jesi or weeping virgins but the late, great Bill Hicks appeared to me in my vision. In the dream, I had gone to a KKKristian church for the sole purpose of mocking them and laughing at them. After making loud fart noises and laughing hysterically at the verbal flatulence coming out of the pastor's mouth, a raging redneck dragged me out into the church lobby and threatened to pummel me when a plastered Bill Hicks showed up, shooed the redneck away, put his arm around my shoulder, and told me to, "Keep up the good work." I have interpreted this as an endorsement of the Ganjobiclatholic church. In my authority as the Grand Supreme High Archbishop of Austin, I have decided to mark this miraculous vision by canonizing Bill Hicks. He will, from now on, be referred to as Saint Bill Hicks by all Ganjobiclatholic practitioners. It has been decreed.
On a more serious note, I have been trying to form a new political manifesto that best represents my beliefs. I have fulminated many times on this blog about my objection to the drug war, racism towards immigrants, the bloated military budget, etc... but I have never tried to formulate an overreaching political agenda. My main objection to national politics is that they are so myopic. The problems that face the world face us all and not just each individual nation. We need solutions that encompass the whole world and not a patchwork of solutions for each nation. Nationalism replaced the obsolete system of feudalism but it has become obsolete itself. We need to form a political party with an international perspective to confront the problems that our world faces today.
I believe that every human being has a fundamental right to education, health care, access to clean water, access to nutritious food, access to shelter, and access to all job markets. The right to make money is subordinate to these rights. I was tempted to include security on this list but I fear that this has too much potential to be abused and misinterpreted by this world's governments. I will now elaborate on these rights.
Education is the great equalizer. It is the only thing that can enable someone to rise from poverty and improve their lot in life. There have been studies that have shown that birth rates decline when women have real educational and economic opportunities. I would define the minimum standards of education as being trilingual (not bilingual) with emphasis on the use of technology and access to higher education for all. I prefer trilingual education for several reasons: there are already children who grow up bilingual and it would allow the entire world to have a common language without forcing the extinction of less commonly spoken languages. For example, a Peruvian kid could learn Spanish, English, and Quechua, an Israeli kid could learn Hebrew, English, and Arabic, and a Chinese kid could learn Chinese, English, and some other Asian language depending on what region they live in. Not only would this give everyone on the planet a common language with which we could resolve our differences but it would allow us to open up our perspectives to better understand the cultures of others.
Access to health care, clean water, nutritious food, and shelter are really one and the same problem. Take away any one of these and the others fail. A child without proper shelter can't really defend against mosquito-born malaria just as a child without access to clean water really can't defend against typhoid. We all know that lack of access to proper nutrition can lead to a number of ailments. The reason why the right to make money has to be subordinate to these rights is to prevent companies from hoarding water for industrial purposes. Water intensive industries such as nuclear power production has to be subordinate to agriculture which, in turn, has to be subordinate to the right of everyone to have access to clean water. I should mention that health care should emphasize preventative care rather than reactionary care.
Access to all job markets means that all borders should be open everywhere. This would allow people to leave areas that, due to drought, famine, poverty, government corruption, or anything else that might disadvantage these populations, in search of jobs elsewhere. The only legitimate use of a border, in my opinion, is for epidemic control. An American has no inherent right to jobs over people from any other part of the world and vice versa. Borders only serve to lock poverty in to certain regions while other regions benefit from pseudo-slave labor of their poorer neighbors. Remittences sent home from immigrants to their home countries are ten times as much as all foreign assistance and do more to alleviate poverty than anything else. Moreover, there are people from the developed world, such as myself, who prefer the cultures and the climates of the developing world.
I admit that I am an idealist but I am also pragmatic enough to know that this vision will probably never be complete within my lifetime. In response to this, I would say that I am on a hundred-year plan. I am doing my part by learning new languages and living and working in parts of the world other than the United States. This international political party would have a difficult time establishing a foothold in the United States since the two-party monopoly has a stranglehold on power but could be a force to reckoned with in parliamentary systems where governments have to create coalitions. Some of these plans are expensive but could easily be paid for if we collectively cut our military budgets. Even countries like Bolivia waste money on their militaries. I have passed by way too many military bases in this country. The fact is that Bolivia would get their asses handed to them in a conventional war with any one of their neighbors except maybe Paraguay. I am not so naive to think that world would function in the absence of security forces but I think that these security forces should be international in nature and should only be used in the face of humanitarian crises. In future blog posts, I will try to focus on ideas I have for implementing these changes to our world political structure.

Potosì

My timing for being in Sucre couldn't have been any more serendipitous. The city celebrated its bicentenial of independence for the entire month of May. There have been free concerts and parades all over the city. I got to see the Bolivian supergroup Kjarkas play a free concert. Noticably absent from the festivities is the Bolivian president Evo Morales who, despite his nation-wide popularity, is persona non grata in Sucre. The reason for this is that Sucre is, constitutionally, the capital of Bolivia but La Paz is where the center of the executive and legislative branches are. As anyone who has power is loath to let go of it, Sucre has been the site of various protests against Evo Morales, even blockading the airport runway and preventing his plane from landing in Sucre on one occasion. You can see signs scrawled in graffiti that say, "Sucre capital of Bolivia." I think Evo Morales knows that even showing up in Sucre would piss a lot of people off.
I ended up lingering in Sucre longer than I expected, partially because I am lazy and partially because I had an accident between myself and a car on the day I was leaving. I left the accident with only bruises to my pride and my body but my bicycle required a new wheel and I needed to get a new part machined for my saddlebags. I take at least partial blame for the accident as I was being a little too aggressive in challenging a yellow light. What I forgot was that, while the light changes from green to yellow and then to red, the other light changes from red to yellow and then to green. As these are old colonial streets, I thought I could easily beat the yellow light as I only had to cross a one-lane street. What I didn't anticipate, though, was that any driver a distance away from the intersection might try to anticipate the green light by accelerating on their yellow. This led to me slamming into the side of their car as I didn't see the car coming or have enough time to react in order to avoid the collision. I could tell the driver felt a little bit guilty himself for ,even though he stopped to check and see if I was alright, he was quickly gone. I am sure that I probably left a good sized dent in the side of his car as two hundred pounds of flesh, bones, steel, and rubber hurling into anything is sure to leave a mark. I might have even perforated the steel as my metal-spiked helmet impacted with the car first. I am now almost completely healed and my bike is in optimal condition. It didn't even cost me that much to buy a new wheel and machine a new part.
I am in Potosì now, site of the greatest theft of mineral wealth in the history of mankind. I have read before that Potosì supplied half of the worlds silver for over two centuries. The Spanish, ruled by the Habsburg dynasty during most of this time, mostly squandered this wealth on wars and luxury goods and were in decline by the end of the seventeenth century. The Cerro Rico, or rich hill, which looms over the south of the city has also swallowed literally millions of lives. Most of the estimates I have seen range from 4 to 8 million deaths. To put that in perspective the current population of Bolivia is around 9.1 million.
To be a miner in Potosì pretty much guaranteed, and still does guarantee, an early death. There are numerous ways that you can die in a mine: a tunnel can collapse, you can stumble upon noxious or explosive gas, you are exposed to many different toxins, and, if none of that kills you, than you will probably die from silicosis which is caused by the constant inhalation of microparticulate matter. Back when the mercury amalgamation technique for purifying silver was discovered, those who worked in refining the silver would mix the mercury and impure silver with their bare feet. They almost inevitably died from mercury poisoning afterwards. By the time Bolivia gained its independence from Spain, the silver in the mines had mostly run out. People still work, and die, in the mines of el Cerro Rico today, only they mine more tin and zinc instead of silver. This is a sad world we live in where people risk their lives for a pittance to feed the avaricious appetites of people on the other side of the world. If people ever wonder why I don't buy silver, gold, or any other kind of jewelery and I never will, this is why.

Leaving the Road of My Worst Nightmares

I am now resting in Sucre, Bolivia after riding on what was probably the worst dirt road that I have ever ridden on in my life. I will probably have nightmares about this road 20 years from now. There are many parts of the road with rocky, 30 degree inclines, some of which go on for miles at a time. Pretty much all of the switchbacks were at these inclines and also had loose dirt which added yet another layer of difficulty to this road. Sisyphus has it easy. The strange thing is that I actually preferred ascending over descending because I was afraid of damaging my bike. I have no doubt that this road has snapped car axles in half and destroyed transmissions. If I was lucky enough to ride on a flat part of the road I was pretty much guaranteed to be riding through a glorified sand pit. If there was a creek or river there was probably not a bridge. I suspect that the road is impassable during the rainy season. There was very little traffic and only a few towns where I could stock up on food and water and eat prepared meals. Most of the people who go from Oruro to Sucre take the longer, paved route via Potosì but I did not heed the warnings of those who told me that it was a bad road because I did not want to backtrack. I ended up needing just over a week to ride the 320 kilometers of dirt road between the town of Huanuni and Sucre.
The upside to riding on this road was that it was, indeed, beautiful. The mountains seem to painted every color that you can imagine a mountain would be. They are jagged and steep. I rode on many a mountain ridge with 1,000 foot dropoffs. The views were stunning. One night, when I was camping on the side of the road, I even got snowed on. The flurry only lasted about 30 or 40 minutes but left a pretty healthy blanket of snow on my bicyle, tent, and my surroundings. Despite the beauty of this part of Bolivia, I was happy to make it out of the wilderness as the road was definitely testing my morale. My bicycle is happy to be done with that road too and is due for a tune-up.
One casualty of the road was my G.P.S. device. I had already noticed that my G.P.S. wasn't accurately recording elevation gains when I was in Peru but I could live with that. I had also noticed that it would automatically shut off when I was going to down long descents. It took me a while to realize what was causing this problem. I would usually hit some kind of bump or pothole which would jolt the batteries loose for a microsecond and break the circuit therefore shutting it off. This was a manageable problem before but this road was so rocky that I decided it would be better to just turn it off and use it more sparingly. This means that I am no longer recording my total ascent or kilometers logged but I am saving a lot of batteries this way.
I was lucky or unlucky enough to witness something that few gringos ever get to see while passing through the towns on this road. I happened to pass through these towns during the festival called Tinku. Apparently, the townsfolk all get together and beat the shit out of each other but I didn't witness any of that. What I saw was everyone getting dressed up in traditional clothing and parading around town, rhythmically stomping their feet, and playing charangoes and sanpoñas. I was even awakened during the night one night while camping by people stomping through the countryside with their charangoes where I was camping.
The downside of Tinku is that it is pretty much an excuse, like most holidays in Latin America, for the men to get ridiculously drunk. In most of the towns I passed through, at least half of the male population was falling down drunk before noon. This created a volatile situation for me as I had to deal with pushy drunks trying to get me to drink with them in every town. In one town, a group of them even surrounded me when I was going up a hill and tried to get me to drink with them. I am damn near a teetotaler and particularly despise drunks so I politely declined to drink with them telling them that I was allergic to alcohol but they were unswayed by this argument and annoyingly persisted in trying to get me to drink. One of them was particularly belligerent and stole the sunglasses off of my bike before I was able to ride off. I then got off of my bike and politely but insistently asked for him to give me my glasses back. I knew that it was wise to pursue a diplomatic solution to this standoff rather than stab 5 or 6 drunk guys in the throat over sunglasses so I maintained this strategy until one of the more reasonable drunks intervened on my behalf. At this point I rode off and put as much distance between myself and the drunks as possible because I knew that once I was out of sight they would forget that I had even passed through.
One consequence of riding through the Incan nation, as I like to call the Bolivian, Ecuadoran, and Peruvian Andes, is that the iconic image of the masculine cowboy on a horse herding his cattle has now been indelibly replaced with that of an indigenous woman, wearing a bowler hat, following her cows around and cursing at them in Quechua when they don't move across the road fast enough. I have a similar image now for shepherds as well. When I hear, "The lord is my shepherd." I can't help but think of the little Incan lady cursing and throwing rocks at her sheep. I occasionally see a man with his cows or sheep but it is almost always a woman. God only knows where the men are. After Tinku, I am starting to think that they are off drinking somewhere.
I was cut off from the rest of the world during my week on the nightmare road because there was no internet access in most of the towns I passed through. When I finally got to Sucre, I wasn't shocked but I was nonetheless pissed off to find out that the scandal involving the Colombian army's deceiving and murdering of indigent people to pad the numbers of rebel kills they have has only grown. According to the B.B.C. there are now over a thousand cases pending against the army for these unspeakable human rights violations. The Colombian government, of course, claims that most of these cases were actually rebels but I think they are lying. I am so angry about this that I actually going to write a letter to my Congressmen and Senators urging them to end Plan Colombia and demand an international investigation with prosecutions of all those involved. I don't think that this will actually do anything but I don't want to feel powerless in light of these crimes against humanity perpetrated in the name of the holy drug war.

Moving Through Bolivia

I spent a week in La Paz. There is something I like about big, massive, congested cities. La Paz has its charming idiosyncracies that make it an interesting place to stay as well. My favorite thing about La Paz is that they have zebras directing traffic. Yes, zebras. Other cities have traffic cops--and there are some of those-- but the local government decided that people dressed in zebra suits would be more effective at directing traffic for some reason.
What did I do in La Paz? Not much. I pretty much just enjoyed eating good food for good prices and indulged in my newfound capuccino addiction. I never drank coffee until I passed through Colombia and then I got spoiled by the good stuff. A cup of cafe con leche with a little bit of sugar there is a cup of heaven as far as I am concerned. After you leave Colombia, you can only find good coffee in the big cities, everywhere else you can only find that powdered, instantaneous shit. Capuccino is the closest I have come to recreating that perfect cup of cafe con leche. Knowing that, as soon as I left the city, I was going to have to endure freezing temperatures and monotonous food, it was easy to stay a week.
I did do one touristy thing while I was in La Paz. I road on El Camino de la Muerte or Deathroad if you like. Back in the day, it used to serve as a highway between La Paz and Coroico to the east. With 100+ fatalities every year it earned the moniker El Camino de la Muerte after a U.N. study determined that it was the world's most dangerous highway at the time. The Bolivian government has since built a new highway and the Deathroad has become nothing more than a high-falutin mountain bike trail. Apparently there are still some fools who die on the mountain bike tour but I was not one of them. We were babysat a little too much by the tour guides to my liking but I compensated by smoking copious amounts of marijuana during the 10,000 foot descent. Even though we had our nannies with us, the tour was still fun. It was nice being able to hurl down the side of a mountain without carrying half of my body weight in gear. I consistently stayed at the front and only had to ask the tour guide in front to move faster once.
After studying a map of Bolivia, I have decided on a rough course of where I want to go in Bolivia. I am in Oruro right now and I plan to traverse Sucre, Potosì, el Salar de Uyuni, and Tarija in that order. Once I get close to the Salar de Uyuni, I will be in a very remote part of the country so I am mentally preparing myself for the monotony of eating nothing but cans of tuna and cookies and riding on dirt roads for days on end. It should all be worth it, though, as the Salar de Uyuni is best described as an extraterrestrial, altiplano desert. If I play my cards right, I should be able to pass through the town where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were killed on the way to Argentina. I had back-to-back one hundred kilometer days on the way to Oruro from La Paz so there is a possibility that I will complete my tour of Bolivia in less than a month.
George Bush really opened up a can of worms with his excessive use of the word terrorist to describe pretty much anyone that disagrees with the dominant imperialist agenda whether it be religiously fanatic Muslim suicide bombers in the Middle East, left-wing narco-rebels in Colombia, or, now, animal rights activists. What the hell does terrorist mean anyway. If the definition of terrorist is someone who terrifies in order to coerce change or adherence to the status quo than I propose that the U.S. government qualifies. We are, afterall, the only country to ever detonate a nuclear bomb on a civilian target. The government of Evo Morales has taken a cue from the Bush school of rhetoric. He blithely calls the supposed international assassins, that his government filled with bullets, terrorists. I usually support Evo Morales's actions but this goes too far. Even if the government has incontrovertible proof that these men intended to assassinate the president, these men should have been arrested and not killed while sleeping during a S.W.A.T. style raid. The pictures of the so-called "terrorist" ringleader naked and bloody in his bed belie the governments case that they were planning actions. If the government really had proof of their intentions they should have tried much harder to arrest these people and bring them to justice. Extrajudicial assassinations of terrorist subjects set a bad precedent but I can only say that the Bolivians are learning from us.
I admit that my creation of the Ganjobicicletholic is more in the spirit of Abbie Hoffman than of Martin Luther but I have been thinking a lot about morality and how it needs a serious updating. My objection to the major religions of the world is that their morality is obselete. I can see how homosexuality would be considered sinful in a patriarchal society. When the man is always in charge in a relationship, who is in charge in a relationship between two men? One uppity bottom challenges the entire patriarchal hegemony of power. When the vast majority of people tend the earth and the average life expectancy doesn't exceed 40, be fruitful and multiply makes a lot of sense. The problem is that when the earth becomes overpopulated, as it has, being fruitful and multiplying only fucks things up worse. Old-time religion also lets people off too easily for their profligate, consumer-whore ways. What is worse, a man stealing bread to feed his family or a man buying a $10,000 Rolex when there are people starving in the world. How about when a man buys a $1,000,000 Ferrari that gets less than 10 miles to the gallon when he could buy a much more practical car for much less or, even better, ride a bike. The religious leaders of the world stand in shocking silence, or worse enable this selfishness as our society celebrates these pompous asses. If this world were truly just, as those who believe in an omnipotent god would have us believe, the Ferrari driver would feel such a palpable sense of hatred anytime he left his house that he would not buy the Ferrari in the first place. For me there is nothing wrong with having money. It is the obscene displays of wealth that irk me. Religious leaders are too busy bickering about homosexuality and abortion to realize that we are destroying this planet we will soon send the human race to extinction if we don't drastically alter our behavior. For this reason, religion needs a serious updating.
As a quick note, the Supreme Court of the U.S. recently said it was okay for the F.C.C. to fine television networks even for the accidental airing of expletives. This decision pisses me off. What the fuck is wrong with cursing, goddamnit? Since the internet is, thus far, free from this censorship, which in my opinion is a direct violation of the First Ammendment, I have only one thing to say: fuck the skull of the rotting corpse of Jesus while fingering the Virgen Mary. I think I will silkscreen a shirt that says this and wear it to church.

Bolivia, Web Piracy, and the Ganjobicicletholic Church

I finally left Peru two days ago and I am now sitting in an internet cafe in La Paz. I arrived here last night after a long, tiring day. La Paz sits in a large valley which makes it difficult to navegate for someone who is visiting for the first time. After, blatantly disregarding a sign that prohibits cyclists from entering the highway that descends into the valley from Barrios Altos, I arrived in the hotel zone of La Paz, about a half-hour later, ready for the embrace of a nice, warm bed.
My first impression of Bolivia is that it is dirt-cheap aside from the $135 dollars I had to pay to enter Bolivia. I actually paid $140 since I didn't have any change. The immigration office claimed to not have any change and I didn't protest the extra $5 as I saw it as a fee to expedite the process. I have heard from other Americans entering Bolivia that they have been given a hard time by the authorities. Aside from paying the money and filling out a long immigration form, I found the process to be relatively painless. My first meal in Bolivian territory cost 5 bolivianos and my first stay in a lodging cost 12 bolivianos. The current boliviano to dollar ratio is 7 to 1. There don't seem to be many places to spend my money here so I wouldn't be surprised if I spend less money in all of Bolivia than I did to enter it. I should mention a certain caveat: the 12 boliviano lodging did not have even a collective bathroom for its guests.
Bolivia is the only country I know of where the president goes on hunger strike when he doesn't get his way, legislatively speaking that is. I am a fan of Evo Morales. I think he is overplaying his hand with a lot of the social reforms that he is trying to enact but, overall, I like him. There are not enough presidents in this world who are single and Evo Morales is one of them. He has made his sister the offical First Lady of Bolivia. His life story pretty inspiring for me. He grew up in a family where the vast majority of his brothers and sisters didn't even reach adulthood. He is a polarizing figure as evidenced by the recent attempt on his life in the Santa Cruz region but I believe he really cares about the long neglected Bolivian indigenous majority. I hope that he succeeds in elevating the indigenous poor of this country.
Recently, it was in the news that the proprietors of Pirate Bay have been convicted in a Swedish court of making copyrighted material available for illegal downloading. I have high hopes that they win their appeal as I would like to see recording industry go bankrupt. The music industry has been producing too much homogenous shit for too long. I am tired of hearing songs that range from cliched love songs to celebrations of self-indulgent narcissism. The copyright laws which grant protection to a copyright holder up to 150 years after the death of the original artist need to be changed, too. Even if the proprietors of Pirate Bay lose their appeals, I hope that pirates of the world unite to bring those motherfuckers to their knees.
I have been thinking a lot about creating the Ganjobicletholic Church. The Native American church won the right to use peyote a long time ago from the U.S. Supreme Court so I figured why not use religion as an excuse to smoke pot. The question is how does one create an officially recognized religion. My solution is to apply for I.R.S. tax-exempt status. In order to do this I will have to submit Articles of Confederation and a Constition, among other things, to the I.R.S. I figure if the Jedi Church can get offical recognition in Great Britain than I should be able to achieve official recognition in the U.S.
The next step is to create an official mythology and rituals of the Ganjobicletholic Church. I figured I would just borrow from other religions to create a patchwork of the positive aspects of various religions, kind of like the Unitarian Universalists. We will worship, the sun, the moon, the winds, and nature in general. Prometheus, the bringer of fire in Greek mythology, will be rebranded as the bringer of technology. As fire can grow out of control if one isn't careful so can the use of technology as evidenced by global warming. It will behoove us, the members of the Ganjobicletholic Church, to limit our use of technology in order to achieve a greater balance with nature.
As far as rituals are concerned, I can think of a few rituals that we will borrow from other religions. I like the Day of the Dead which is practised in Catholic Latin America but not much elsewhere. Honoring our dead ancestors is a positive thing as far as I am concerned. I also like the Muslim idea of a once-in-a-lifetime religious pilgrimage. Instead of going to Mecca, though, the end point of a pilgrimage will be discretionary as long as the pilgrimage is made using only human and sail power. Every full moon, we will have a feast and smoke-out which culminates in a large group bike ride afterwards. The use of hallucinogens will be encouraged with proper supervision.
I don't like any of the religions that the world has to offer me. I consider Christianity, Judaism, and Islam to be obselete religions as they were all created at least a thousand years ago in response to the trials and tribulations of said ancient times. I would like to have a religion that incorporates wastefulness and profligacy into our concepts of sinfullness. Jesus never said anything about people who drive Hummers but I think that it doesn't take much imagination to see that this is bad for the world and should, hence, be considered sinful. I don't want to be considered godly or messianic or elevated beyond the rest of humanity so I don't want to be the leader of this new church. I will happily accept the title of Grand Supreme High Archbishop of Austin, though.

Goodbye Peru, Hello Bolivia

Peru is one of those places that strikes you as just another poor place but them grows on you as you scratch the surface and discover that the richness of the culture more than makes up for the poverty of worldly possessions. I have had the good fortune of getting to know a number of Peruvians who have turned me on to some of the more beautiful aspects of Peruvian culture. Even now that I am going to be in Bolivia in a couple of days, I am still discovering new things about Peru. I am going to really miss Peru as I have completely fallen in love with it.
When I first arrived in Puno, I made friends with a photographer who is just a little bit younger than me. He saw me on my bike and realized I was confused about where I was and decided to help me find the place I was looking for. Usually, upon arriving in a new city, I am extremely wary of strangers as my white skin attracts all sorts of conmen and charlatans, but I could tell that Giorgio was not using subterfuge to try to liberate me of my possessions. I have only known Giorgio for a few days but I am so glad to have met him. He is one of the people who has helped open my eyes to the beauty of Peru by introducing to me to new things. I also got to spend some time cooking with Giorgio and friends of his as well as go on some bike rides with them. All in all, Giorgio and his friends have shown me a wonderful time in Puno.
As some of you are probably aware, this week is Semana Santa or Easter week for those who are ignorant of Latin culture. To understand Semana Santa it is important to understand that Easter is much more important than Christmas here, even as far as religious holidays are concerned. When I was living and working in Mexico, I got the day off for Christmas but two weeks off for Semana Santa. All throughout the Catholic world, but especially in Spanish-speaking countries, there are all sorts of parades and pilgrimages honoring the last living days of Jesus.
Here in Puno, there is a large procession to the top of a hill where there is a giant cross. People then light candles at the top and make there way back down the hill. My new-found amigos puneños and I decided that it would be a fun idea to drink a bunch San Pedro cactus tea and go on the procession in a happily altered state. Maybe we could speak to God that way. Despite the rain and the cold, the hill was packed with the faithful and it was still a beautiful ceremony.
In the past I have made some pretty damning statements about religion and, more specifically, Christianity. I should say, however, that I do appreciate some of the symbolism and the beauty of some religious ceremonies. Catholicism has so much history and tradition (not all of it good) that I would have to choose it over other forms of Christianity if I had a gun to my head. Evangelism doesn't hold a candle to Catholicism when it comes to integrating beauty into its ceremonies. It is just a cheap, tacky, plastic church for cheap, tacky, plastic people living in a cheap, tacky, plastic society. Catholicism gave us Michaelangelo's sistine chapel while Evangelism gave us Pat Boone and ugly, suburban megachurches.
Ganjobicicletolismo is the name I have given my religion of one in the past and I thought I might expound on it since I am the high priest of it after all. As a true cultural syncretist, I have decided that I am going to borrow some of the symbolism from Catholicism since not every single aspect of it is bad. As a non-Christian I have to say that I, nonetheless, like the concept of human sinfulness. I only wish more people could see their own sinfullness instead of the sinfulness of those around them. During the procession to the cross on top of the hill, one thing that I saw that I really liked was that there were people carrying stones up the hill and placing them on the various prayer stations before they reached the cross at the top. My friends explained to me that the rocks were symbolic of the people's sins and that carrying this burden up the hill was seen as a form of pennance. This really jived well with me since I had already kind of thought of myself as performing some kind of pennance by hauling my bike with all of its gear up the sides of massive mountains. So there you have it. I have a way of paying pennance in ganjobicletolismo. Also in the spirit of cultural syncretism, my friends and I used one of the candles used in the procession to light our weed. Marijuana use is one of the central tenets of my religion.