Real Justice

You want me to grab your attention and hold it? OK, read this…

I have been pulled over by local police in California for having a florescent light on my license plate; stopped by the Highway patrol in Wyoming for flirting with the speed limit; there was that time in Mexico I’d rather not discuss. On the flip side, I hitchhiked with a Chilean cop last summer and he was rather nice about it. Suffice to say, I have experienced the law in numerous situations and countries… My experience with the Peruvian police is one completely different. This one was for real.

On the fly to get to Bolivia from Machu Picchu I stopped the night in Puno, on the Lago Titicaca… I bought my ticket to Bolivia for the next morning and just wanted to do a couple of tasks before crossing the border. I was brought to a hostel from the terminal and dropped my stuff. Wandering around, I thought I found my way to the Tourist information, but instead to the tourism police. There I met Dante, the big-boss-man and he was excited to speak English, so he served as a tour guide for my short time in Puno. He told me about the local tours, but I had already written them off. Back to the hostel after another wonderful meal and to sleep… woke up at 6am and hit the road… towards the border!

We went through the rigmarole of border crossings and I boarded the bus with my newly acquired Bolivianos. As I reached for my stash of cash, I discovered the traveler’s worst nightmare… invisible money! The bus continued to the Bolivian destination and I was livid… boiling over with emotions of anger, denial, confusion, you name it. I decided that I would keep traveling and not let it hurt me… but then I realized that $150 is quite a bit of money and I had to get back to Puno to retrieve what was stolen from me! Bought the first ticket back and re-crossed the border (somewhat illegal, because one has to be in Bolivia for a minimum of 24 before leaving- they were cool with it!)

I can bore you with details, but they are more fun to discuss in person… so here is the short… realized the hostel had robbed me, went back to the police, and filed a report (in Spanish); my friend happened to come by on his day off… and after 4 hours (in Spanish) and negotiations (in Spanish) with the hostel owner I received what was rightfully mine. It was all “smoking gun” stuff for all of my lawyer friends, but the right outcome occurred. The only proof was my word against theirs. But the police knew… this kind of law doesn’t work in the States… our lawyer friends get bogged up in words and bullshit instead of doing the right thing… Long story short- I was "travel-cocky," got robbed and had amazing luck… and I have the Peruvian police to thank, not for wasting time, but for knowing and doing what was right… civilized countries perfect their laws to discuss and look at, but here I witnessed real justice.

The interrogations continued tonight as to who is responsible. I offered to stay as long as necessary, but Dante knows who is at fault… and he told me to enjoy the rest of my trip. I gave him my email address, so that he can practice more English with me. I hope he writes. That would be just.

Make sure to see all of the photos at the bottom, maybe you've mised some!

Mauw-tch Who?

Picchu...

Not your typical a call-and-response, like Marco---Polo. Machupicchu, reminants of the Incan empire, consumed my past two days.

What an incredible experience; especially because I tried to speak Quechua- the native tongue of the Incans and their ancestors (thanks for the idea, Gordo!)

Enjoy the photo, it says more than I can. I am just happy to post it, after a friendly lady wiped out a quarter of my pictures. She was really nice, but I think I'll rock my own picture uploading/copying from now on.

After "losing" 1/4 of my memories, in the form of digital images, I was able to reflect and be happy that I am still in good health (despite the usual traveler flea and mosquito bites). The food continues to be of a fantastic quality at a price that doesn't make sense. Like my three course dinner last night for 4 Nuevo soles... yeah, $1.40. And I laughed because I overheard another tourist synonymously use the word "memories" for "photos" Fortunately, even with the loss of pictures, I SAW the sites and EXPERIENCED being there...

They are trying to encourage people to vote for Machu Picchu as one of the "new seven wonders of the world." I don't know anything about the implications of this vote, but the place is impressionante to say the least... the location, the beauty, the energy. I particularly liked the lawn, grass kept perfectly green by the quasi-rainforest climate.

I'll use this opportunity to quote myself, "Words just get in the way of what I am trying to say."

Kutimunaykama (soon)

after the Colca Canyon

(English first, Español/Catellano despues)

I know, I said I would never do a tour again, but this one seemed like it would be good... and don't get me wrong... it was fantastic, action-packed (too much) and access to a unique area (later found out I could have done it my way, but such is life.) My busmates had all come from Cusco, Machu Picchu and the Inca trail, so i guess I am going at it backwards, geographically. But, fortunately, I have a lot of information about the places so maybe that can help me as I go along. And I was able to binge on English for 32 hours.

We traveled to the Colca Canyon, east of Arequipa, for two days (one night) and saw some Peruvian culture from the Altiplano. Despite my raging altitude/hypothermia/dehydration problems, I watched a lovely dance and music show and continued samping flavorful foods... today's alpaca steak was delish! When my health-related issues were cured I enjoyed the town of Chivay (elev. 3650 meters), its termas (hot baths) and other local municipalities (Yanque, and others.) We drove to Cruz de Condor... a vista point to see the family of twenty of so condors, mostly juvenile, floating around, propelled upwards by forceful winds... afterall, they claim that the Colca Canyon is the deepest in the world... something like 4000 meters. I dont know about that, but it was certainly impressive... and the drive out there was full of impressive agricultural techniques (not like I understand this type of work) ... awesome, staggered terraces on cliff edges... criss-crossing shades of green on desert brown mountainsides. Such peace.

And we also drove to the highest point I've ever been. As a Swiss friend Phillip said, "It's just a shame we had to drive up here... that seems wrong." True enough, but 4910 meters was pretty nuts. Lots of wind, cold wind, and an energy that was amazing. I made it a little bit higher because there was a small hill next to the mirador. I calculate something like 14,730 feet, perhaps a bit more. A certain rush to say the least and calm walking, as my body was still acclimatizing. We arrived back in Arequipa an hour ago and in an hour, I have an overnight bus to Cusco. Though I dread the tourists and the associated madness, especially as the high season approaches, I am looking forward to sharing with them the amazing energy that flows from those Incan ruins. I have heard that the Inca trail was great, the porters are strong and the food is exceptional- but I wonder if there is more... Further, I didn't make a reservation (all trips are full through August) and would rather enjoy the ruins without hiking.

In my last post I firmly stated that plans are silly because no one can control the future. But the bus ticket is in hand and I am ready to use it! I am also prepared to use the Quechua language (more native than Spanish, here)... "Allillanchu Kachanky?" (How are you?)

This is more uplifting than the last one. And real too. I guess my experience has both ups and downs... I appreciate them both! I would love to post fotos, but I suppose it will be impossible because I dont have a cable, I can't find internet stores with card readers and, well, I 'll need something to post while I am in California... to keep you reading/looking.

Soon


Yo se, dije que no haría un tur un otra vez, pero lo me pareció sería bueno... y me entiendes... fue fantastico, lleno de accion (demasiado) y acesso a un lugar unico (despues discrubí que yo podía hacerlo en mi estilo, pero cést la vie- (fraces, yo se!). Mis compañeros venia de Cusco, Machu Pichu y el sendero Inca, asi que supongo que estoy viajando backwards (?), geograficamente. Pero, fortunatamente, tengo mucha informacion sobre los lugares, así tal vez se puede ayudarme como voy. Y hababa ingles durante los 32 horas.

Fuimos al Cañon de Colca, al este de Arequipa, para pasar dos dias y una noche y vimos la cultura de los Peruanos que vive en el Altiplano. Despite (?) mi enfermidad del altitud/hipotermia/dehidracion, miré danzas y musica y continuaba comiendo comidas saboradas... el bistek de alpaca fue deliciouso! Disfruté el pueblo de Chivay (elev. 3650 me.), las termas y otros municipalidades (como Yanque--- no yanqui!). Fuimos al Cruz de Condor... un vista para ver la familia de mas que 20 condores, mostly(?) infantiles, volando por los vientos del bajo... porque, se dice que el cañon es lo mas profundo en el mundo... casi 4000 meters. No lo creo, pero era impresionante... y me encantaba el estilo agricultiro que lo vi durante el viaje... (lee en ingles porla descripcion!)

Tambien, manejamos al punto mas alto que me he ido. Como un amigo suizo Philip dijó, "Que lastima que tuvimos que conducir por aquí... me parece raro." La verdad, pero 4910 meteres era loco. Habia mucho viento, viento frio, y una energia que era amazing(?). Fui un poquito mas alto porque habia un cerrito al lado del mirador. Calculo 14.730 pies, tal vez mas. Un "rush" a decir lo minimo, caminé lentamente, porque mi cuerpo estaba aclimatando. Llegamos en Arequipa hace una hora y en una hora mas, ando en bus (durane la noche) a Cusco. No estoy feliz para navegar la situacion con ellos ni el loquito asociado (?) que viene, especialmente porque la temporada alta esta veniendo. Pero tengo ganas de compartir laenergia amazing que exista en las ruinas. He escuchado que el sendero Inca fue bueno, los porteros son fuertes y la comida es excepcional- pero me parece que hay mas para concer... Tambien, no lo hice una reservacion (todos grupos están llenos entre ahora y augosto) y me gustaira disfrutar las ruins sin hacer un expedicion.

Hay un poquito mas que no he traducido (o intentado traducir) porque no tenog tiempo... disfrútela en ingles entonces!

Pronto

from Arequipa, Perú

I started last Tuesday morning from Santiago... It was a 24-hour bus ride that took me north through La Serena, Copiapo, Antofagasta (i was sleeping here) and finally to Iquique. It is paranoia-inducing not to have a guide telling me the highlights of the area, places to stay, things to expect. It might have been helpful to bring one, but that's what makes this trip a different one... a small red backpack and me for a month (if I can last)... though I bought a small woven bag, more on that.

During our re-fuel/ bus cleaning in Copiapo, I realized I hadn't eaten much more than bread in the preceding 12 hours so I ran to the adjacent market, deliriously looking for something to eat. In a huge supermarket, I got confused by florescent lights and couldn't wait for my number to be called at the deli... I found a banana and a can of tuna that I figured would get the blood sugar going... i ran back to the busstop and found two distinctly smaller buses. I panicked, you should have felt my adreneline rush... it was unbelievable... my backpack gone, I had a bit of food and it was dark in a town about which I knew nothing. I looked around and finally I got, "Oye, flaco, no llegó, no te preocupes." My fellow passenger in a Scansia hat told me kindly that we were still waiting for our bus to return... and it did 20 minutes later. What a feeling... i don't know where that reserve energy came from, but it was insane. I ate the banana and tuna as my headache raged and finally I passed out as the rhythm of the bus floated northwards in the night.

Fortunately I was on the ocean-side of the bus and I woke up to watch the magnificently empty sand cliff drop steeply into the Pacific... little fishing villages popped up from time to time that brought my attention away from glistening waves. Iquique was a 30 min turn-around to a ghost-town called Humberstone. I was going with the mining thing still... a North American company set up shop quickly but didn't really dismantle it so it was a marvellous feat to see all of the equipment used to extract salt from the high desert plains... only 50 years old... not so much past or even recent past... but present time. Weird to see this in the middle of nowhere... but that is the story of the Chilean high desert north. So many minerals, so much exploitation, towns abandoned and currently vibrant in the middle of seemingly nothing.

From there to the Oasis of Pica, first real stop n the journey of power places. Verdant green in a small nook in at the base of the Andes, stark in the middle of the desert, named the Atacama, supposedly the driest one in the world. Fresh mango, orange and g____ (i don't know the name of the fruit but it was awesome) juices to pass a long lazy afternoon. And the pools were marvelously refreshing too, heated slightly by the underlying volcanic activity somewhere in the distance. This is where I bought my bag of Alpaca fur, after I watched the woman make it with her small, tanned cracked hands.

Back to Iquique, upwards to Arica where I passed a night on the edge of the Chilean/Peruvian border. Then to Tacna, Perú by means of a collective car in which i was crammed into the middle of the front seat with the driver to my left (shifting, mind you) and a surprisingly big Chilean man to the right. Tacna has the biggest population of Muslims in Peru and we passed a beautiful mosque upon entering the city... Here, another quick turn around, so I had a small lunch of ceviche, pieces of fish seared and doused with lemon juice, onions, boiled corn (it has a special name that has been lost on me) and a purple-orange potato (name also lost in the memory banks)- typical for coastal Peru... keep in mind it is still dry and brown everywhere, even near the coast... With the Andes peering down, they don't seem so tall, but they remain glorious even as we started to climb upwards and inwards.

Upwards to Arequipa, Perú's "White City", elevation 2350 meters... after more desert than you can imagine... four straight days of it (the inspiration for some creative words that I blogged earlier). Al base de los Vulcanes Misti y Chachani. Its buildings are made of sillar, the white, petrified, volcanic rocks that cooled so many years ago. I didn't know this was a city of over a million people, so when I arrived at dusk it was a certain shock. But things tend to work out (or they don't, right Drew?), so the taxi driver found me a nice place to stay. Instead of finding my way to local hot springs as originally planned, I spent today exploring this 500+ year old city- viewpoints from las municipalidades de Sachaca, Yanahuara, Sabandia and Israel.

I coughed and got the shivers as I sat in the lobby of the hostal this afternoon while cavern-like ceilings and ancient walls allowed it to stay cool despite the raging heat outside. My palms turned dark when I pressed them lightly to a roof-top surface while setting up my camara. The dust that I acquired was not filthy, but sacred. I see the reminants of the Spanish conquests from so long ago. But the oppresive history is almost forgetten as their buildings are overcome by modern shacks. The Spanish language and disorganization from their hasty departure seem to be the only proof of their original invasions. From the wood burning stoves to the white rock particles floating in the air, this places smells so old... and I think because it has been living for so long.

I had originally ended this post with a "wait until next time" sort of theme, with plans of the future and so forth... but I can not be certain of the future. Life is constantly living as I go on witnessing. So, as I report, adding some descriptive spice from time to time, I want to discuss a real world that exists. Not the "real world" that exists on TV, nor the "real world" that makes graduating university students shiver when they look towards the future. But a real world ignored and called a "third" world in order to seperate the fortunate from the unfortaunte. These terminologies were determined with definite distinction. But common to both "worlders," life unexpectedly changes forms and I am more committed to exploring life in this present moment.

These thoughts crossed my mind as I watched medics try to revive a woman lying, dying in the street.

If this got too intense for your liking, then I hope you can let it go as I did when I wrote it down. In reporting my findings, I am just trying to keep it real. I end this post to eat real food with a savory taste.

Soon

(enjoy the following piece of writing too! It's entitled "Three's", at least for now...)

Three's

(as always, a work in progress)

I couldn't remember the last time I cried, so that is why the second tear ran down my cheek. The third one was proof that they can cascade once the eyegates are open. Thus, the rest of them aren't important while I passed my third straight day on a bus.

Three days of sitting, watching the world go by. How many others have a window through which to look at a planet spinning, a moon rising, a sun setting? Who else sits as I sit, entertained by movies to pass a couple of hours as distractions from the long road?

Three days of desert- dry, rocky, beige- spanning leftwardly, right-ways and to the front, towards infinity. Endless dunes, one after the other after the other after the other, result from lifeless winds. The grandeur stretches iteself towards peaks and troughs; the mind recalls the future, predicts the past and flees the present.

That first tear paralyzed my actions, scared my thoughts and overwhlemed my emotions beacuse it didn't fall from my eye.

Sewell en Castellano

Nací David Strich en San Diego, California. Es mi historia en el mundo corriente. Así que soy estadounidense (gringo) del mundo del dinero y sin corazón. Nunca será yo un Latino con el sangre de bailar bien ni hablar Castellano (o Español) como un nativo… no es una posibildad. Pero, es un parte de mi vida porque he pasado tiempo en la cultura Latina. Entonces, ¿qué estoy haciendo? Le digo a usted que voy a intentar a hacer lo mejor para contar las historias en mi segunda idioma cuando se me dice la vida. Necesito un editor (ahora, solo tengo un diccionario) así que, si quisieras ayudarme, estaría apreciativo. Oiga…

Ayer fui a un lugar unico en el mundo. Pasé el día en tour (sí, no me gusta hacerlos, pero en esto caso fue la unica posibilidad) en la ciudad Sewell. No hay calles, solo escalares porque contruyó en el cerro al lado de la mina. Sewell es un campamento minero de las personas que comenzaba con la explotación del cobre hace cien años. Emprezas Norteamericanas trayeron las maquinas y el proceso por la mina durante 70 años, más o menos. En la decada de los setentas, el país de Chile nacionalizó las minas y “compró” todo… Luego, en la tarde entramos la mina, “El Teniente”. Es la mayor mina functionada en el mundo. “Ha perforado más de 2.400 kilómetros de galerías subterraneas, en 14 niveles diferentes…” A decir lo minimo, fue increible.

En los días maximos, había 15.000 personas en el pueblo chico: trabajaba, vivía, celebraba festivals, ect. La majoridad de los trabajadores vivía en Rancagua 45 minutos al oeste y andaba en micro todos los días. Ya, hay mas historias, pero no entendí todo porque era un día de Castellano, y despues de cinco horas, mi cerebro estaba distuyido…

El guía vivía en Sewell cuando era niño… Para escuchar a sus historias y ver las fotos suyas, fue precioso. Tambien, él tenía amigos en la mina, asi que fuimos a lugares dónde normalmente no hay turistas. Tambien, miramos el proceso de extracción empezar con tones de piedra machacan cada minuto por chancador. Solo puedo decir… GUAU.

Espero que te disfrutas con las fotos y mis errores gramaticales… si no me entiende, pregúnateme en íngles!

Going to Sewell on a professional tour was a great experience even though it was only one day. A mining ghost town without streets, only stairs, what an amazing place. (Kind of cliché, huh) And being so deep underground was truly mine-boggling!! I had the opportunity to clear my head after weeks of city-living without a break. It just goes to show that a day away can be much more than a trip, rather a remedy and a wake-up call.

La próxima post será de la calle… del norte!

Pronto

from the day after Cinco de Mayo…

So, I have been doing something quite foreign to me. I am renting an apartment and living in a major city. It has been a month, exactly, incidentally. Thus, I made a drastic decision today (ok, I planned and thought it out) but I will get to that later.

Living in an apartment is wonderful. I have a comfortable chair in which to read. A wonderful bed in which to pass the time dreaming and resting. The television allows me to follow Champions League futbol. And the internet connection keeps me up-to-date with emails and news from BBC, ESPN and other important websites. I can follow my friends’ blogs and communicate with my father in planning a backpacking trip this summer. Would you believe that technology is so wonderful that I have the ability to watch live NBA games from my laptop too? It’s called Slingbox and it’s amazing. (I’m rooting for Baron Davis and Matt Barnes of course, my classmates, but I am not joining that bandwagon… Lakers for life…) Skype allows me to see (webcam) and chat (“real” voices) with friends and family all over the world.

Living in a city is wonderful. My gym is a short metro ride away and I hang out with the crowd there during a fantastic daily workout. The metro is clean and efficient, albeit PACKED during rush hour. But I can navigate around and explore various parts of the city using this efficient (but boring) transportation system. I even found the local basketball courts and threw my ‘bows around near the hoop yesterday (yeah, I am playing center here, ha!). The markets are convenient and I even have my local “picas” (places) to eat when I want a good, cheap meal. I have been able to shower regularly (surprise coming from me, huh!) and cook in any style I desire. Even cleaning the apartment is a great thing because I get to enjoy the cleanliness of it all afterwards. There's nothing like watering the plants and watching them sprout, despite the cold winter approaching. I can study and read Spanish in the newspaper everyday, and chat with my doorman about politics, the state of the world and our favorite NBA stars from the ’92 Dream Team.

But it has been a month of "staying-put-ness" and travel anxiety has been nipping at my feet. So, despite the luxuries of living in a city- concrete sidewalks, technology galore and anything and everything close by, I am leaving the "perfectness" of the consistently-connected world for the "madness" of the road. (In fact, I am going to attempt a minimalist approach.) I bought the ticket to Iquique today, and hope to explore Northern Chile and the surrounding areas over the next month. I ship out of Santiago on the ides of May and will continue this traveling experience on the road.

Yes, I have been and currently am traveling. Whereas this is not paid work, true traveling also cannot be considered a vacation. It is work because one is responsible for absorbing and appreciating culture; for talking with people from all over the world, in different languages when applicable; for facilitating the movement of energy from one person or group to another through story-telling or smiling; for wisely spending money in places where normal people can earn it. Not paying some CEO one of his unnecessary millions, but purchasing artesinal goods from the actual makers. Not paying some middle-business-man for arranging unnecessary logistics, but paying for the services provided by the actual individuals.

Real travelers can be considered on the frontlines of peace- living, breathing examples of thinking and expressing the true feelings and unique thoughts in the exact moment. They discuss and communicate everyday, in a sea of cultural mixing with natives from the area as well as other travelers from distant corners and familiar communities of the globe. They are the dreamers, the seers, the examples of patience and understanding who try to bring about a better tomorrow... by living the example they wish to see. Though seemingly selfish, the true traveler is anything but that. (The fakers, however, are a different story.)

With semantics aside, I am trying to emphasize… anything is possible, friends… And it even helps to have a vision and a plan of action. Traveling the world, enjoying a scheduled lifestyle and helping to bring about peace… they're all possible with some flexibility, patience and occasional steps into the unknown. In a world where men are technologically obsolete (uh, yes, artificial insemination) and glaciers are bleeding more heavily than normal, we ought to live every moment to the fullest… no?

Soon---

The Nomad

Nomad (a work in progress)

The only permanent thing about me is my label.

I am a homeless man from a homeless tradition, but I am the glue that binds communities of people; I encourage ideas, pictures and thoughts from some so that I can bring it to others.

I have nothing to give but my stories and nothing to take but a place to rest for the night; if you have a morsel of warm water then I can exchange a chunk of camaraderie.

I bring tales from another place that I hope you are willing to receive; the chronicle I share is timeless and the moments of rest you allow me is worth what I am recounting.

I am the elasticity that acts as a buffer between different groups- by absorbing energy, helping it move. In this sense, I am a transformer, a vagabond who freely travels between the peoples of the world encouraging peace.

My job seems obsolete, but I earn my living in the smiles and gifts of nourishment I receive from gracious hosts. Though I wasn’t trained for this occupation, I happen to be good at what I am and do.

I have nothing but my ability to move. Everything I have is invaluable, because I have no items of value to show for it. I have the nicest things, because I don’t have anything.

I am blessed and doomed at the same time. I am always around people, but I am destined to be alone. Though I am free to move and wander, I am subjugated to loneliness and despair because I wander so.

Whether telling stories, trading ideas or asking for a place to sleep, I am a reminder that humans have sentient connection that runs deeper than worldly concerns. My words may be the others’ dramas, but my being is our awareness.