I have just done something vastly different than I had planned

My bus from La Paz, Bolivia to Cusco, Peru was three hours late, bringing me to the sprawling and confusing city at the uncomfortable hour of eleven PM. But, I knew I was safe; I already had a hostel reservation complete with detailed directions for a cab-driver.

The directions were sound and I arrived at ´Av. Los Incas 1726´ within minutes of getting off my bus. Excpept that the building at ´Av. Los Incas 1726´ was a house. After I rang the doorbell some seven times, a vaguely ethnic man in a robe answered the door, with the air of someone expecting Jehova´s Witnesses. In my most hurried and nervous spanish I rattled off an explanation of why I had woken him, saying:

"Lo siento mucho por despertarse Usted, pero es que mi hostal debe ser aqui en Los Incas 1726, y esta es Los Incas 1726, no? Y Sabe Usted si estamos cerca de un hostal que se llama ´Casa de Carola?´ Pues, de veras, es en Ingles, entonces se llama ´House of Carola.´ pero sabe si hay un hostal cerca?"

To which he replied,

"Calm down, I´m from Jersey. Stop speaking Spanish."

His attitude reminded me of the old saying "You can take the man out of New Jersey, but you can´t take the unhelpful asshole out of the man."

As far as I know, ´the House of Carola´ does not exist except as an eloborate internet prank. Instead, I stayed the night at a three dollar hostel that the cabbie recomended. When we entered the cabbie told the kid checking me in (he couldn´t have been older than fourteen) to "give him a clean room, he understands spanish."

If the room I stayed in was ´clean´ I cannot imagine what the other rooms are like. Nevertheless, I survived. And, having decided that Cusco was not my favorite city, I left early in the morning on the mythical ´backroad to Machu Picchu.´

The route took me through three towns over two days. It involved a six -hour local busride, two ninety-minute car rides (in overpacked subarus over perilous dirt roads) and a two-and-a-half-hour trek along an active railway (with the occasional rush to avoid an oncoming train).

Visisting Machu Picchu was pretty amazing (photos to be posted upon my return to Asuncion) and I managed to top off the excursion with a nice long rest at some beautiful hot springs in Santa Teresa.

I plan on returning to Asuncion in the next few days, but who knows? I also planned on getting A´s in high school.

Join me next Saturday for "There´s no place like Asuncion"

A slight roadblock...

A few days ago I wrote the following down on the notepad I carry with me.

"First ever diary entry of Malcolm Yates: April 13th, 2009.

I am wearing a pair of shorts under my pants. In it´s left front pocket is my passport, with visas or entry stamps for Argentina, Bolivia and Paraguay. In it´s right, my wallet, containing one U. S. Dollar, 10,000 Guaranies, and three debit/credit cards, all of which have been denied in the last half hour. Lying in a desk at the Santa Cruz bus terminal is my iPod, which is serving as collateral for $40 I did not have. The pen writing these words is borrowed from the lady in the seat infront of me.


I am sitting right next to the bathroom in the last seat of a charter bus between Santa Cruz and La Paz. My destination is Machu Picchu, Peru. I will not make it. My body is still pumping adrenaline as a result of a heated argument (in Spanish) I had with a Paraguayan busdriver. It began with him exclaiming that I should be in jail and ended with him saying ´no hard feelings.´

I could really do with one of those egg-laden hamburgers that Teresa makes."

Yes, I hit a literal roadblock at the Bolivian border because of a problem with my visa. I didn´t have one. I was told by the agents at the bus station in Asuncion that I would not need one. They were mistaken (or more likely lying). The solving of this problem sapped a large portion of my money and thus my travel options are now severely limited.

But, no matter. I am currently staying in a hostel full of good-looking Europeans in La Paz, Bolivia. These Eurotrash party every night of the week until past three and I´m having a very good time. I have decided to try to get to Machu Picchu using an extremely cheap altnerative route which is widely discussed in the blog community. No doubt I am taking my life in my hands.

Join me next Saturday for "I have just done something vastly different than I had planned"

From Paraguay to Peru: The search for new cultures to insult and belittle

I spent much of yesterday casually reading poolside, occasionally pausing to cool off in the water or eat a delicious meal that I had not cooked or earned in any way.

Tomorrow, I will voluntarily begin a three day bus trip from Paraguay through Bolivia and into Peru. From there, I will meet up with some Germans (whom I have only met online) and together we will hike for awhile in the Andes carrying heavy packs, sleeping on the ground and eating meals uncooked by me or anyone else.

Obviously, I am fool.

I am taking this excursion to "enrich the nearly blank canvas that is my stifled, American experience. I need to color my image of the world with the vibrant paint of unique culture. My eyes, hitherto blinded by the systematic self-deception of middle-class America, will be forcibly opened by the inspiring sincerity of a beautifully different people."

That's the line I'll use to hit on girls wearing endangered species t-shirts at college democrat meetings next year.

Actually, I am hoping to find new material to write about for the benefit of this blog and its dedicated reader.

For the sake of consistency (and because I am too juvenile to write anything meaningful) I intend to keep a keen eye out for that which would amuse a group of especially immature fourth grade boys.

Perhaps I will find something funny about the genitalia of Peruvian stray dogs. Or it could be a hilariously primitive Bolivian toilet system. Indeed, I may learn about an old Incan religious custom which can be exaggerated and ridiculed for a cheap laugh.

Who knows what comic goldmines await me on my journey?

All I can do bide is my time and hope to God I can snag a photo of two squirrels doin' it.

Join me next Saturday for "You never know who much you depend on elderly Paraguayan women until they're gone"

This IS a great photo of all us, but who's the gringo? ... Oh, right.

Since coming to Paragauy, I have taken about two thousand photos which, regrettably, I have already started to sift through, organize and reflect on. I'm not proud of it. I feel like that all-too-common teenage girl, who spends the first three hours of a party taking pictures of herself with anyone willing and spends the last hour looking through them for a new facebook profile shot.

Yet, hypocrite that I am, I have looked through my photo collection so far and I think it gives a fairly accurate image of Asuncion.

In it are the hundreds of old buses, bought cheaply from from richer countries who have long since upgraded.

It shows (not surprisingly) the disparity between the luxurious mansions of the rich few and the broken streets, on which live many thousands of impoverished natives.

It contains the well-shaped, tanned faces of the youth as well as the inevitably sun-damaged skin of the elderly.

While these subjects (and many more) highlight the pleasant personality of this forgotten country, one also catches glimpses in my collection of a pale something that does not belong. An unsightly blemish sullies the clean pages of my album. Like a persistent rash on the skin of my portfolio, it contributes nothing to my attempt at showing the true Asuncion and serves only as an unwanted itch and distraction.

It is me.

I have tried to avoid it (or at least pretended to) but people like playing with my camera and my image is just as strange and novel to them as theirs to mine.

When I see myself among my photos, I realize that I have forgotten just how white I am. No amount of familiarity with the language or the neighborhood can change the fact that I am wholly separate from the culture here.

Thus, before compiling my definitive collection, intend to purge it of my ugly mug.

Join me next Saturday for "From Paraguay to Peru: The search for new cultures to insult and belittle"