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  Well, Monday evening I set out from Cuidad Bolivar, Venezuela on what was to be a 10-hour journey to Boa Vista, Brazil some time around 3:30am the bus breaks down. The Pneumatic line for our suspension had a hole in it and the entire bus was leaning to the left, but did the driver call for help? Perhaps a mechanic or even a tow truck?  Apparently he thought the problem was going to fix itself and he climbed into the back of the bus and went to sleep! At about 7:30am a passenger who wanted to get home faster then the driver came up with an idea, and about another 4 hours we were on our way. The bus now only half filled, most of the passengers got rides throughout the night from passing cars, went on it's way. The time now is 11:30 Whew!!! Arriving in St. Elena on the Brazilian boarder at 2:00 in the afternoon I wait for 3 hours for the next bus to Boa Vista, had I only known that I had to get a taxi to a different bus terminal at the boarder 14km away, I may not have missed that one as well. The next morning I traveled from Boa Vista to the Takatu River where I will cross into Lethem, Guyana on a small fishing boat. Once across and into Guyana a man says "Hey mon welcome to Guyana, with a thick rasta accent. I put on my pack and began walking up a slight hill towards town, a beautiful day, no customs or immigration at the boarder just a cool breeze and the sound of roosters in the foreground, and a great welcome it was in deed. I

found a room along with a ride to Georgetown for the following day and settled in for the night.  The ride was by Land Rover and to leave sometime in the morning when it was full.  The following morning I get ready for the long drive to Georgetown, 13 to 15 hours, only about 250 miles.  The road is barely passable 3 months of the year and closed the other 9 so I'm one of the lucky ones they tell me. Well morning turned into afternoon and we didn't leave Lethem till after 3, 3:10 to be exact! too late to catch the last ferry over the Essequibo River at 6 so we will end up sleeping in the jungle along the route somewhere.  The road to Georgetown is crap at best and gets worse, much worse. One broken front drive shaft, a rollover and speeds that never break 10 mph. We finally call it quits for the night once we reached the river. Most slept inside the Land Rover, one strung out a hammock between a couple of trees and I, well I sought refuge out in the rain atop the vehicle on a tarp that was protecting the luggage. Listening to wild monkeys scream and shake the trees when jumping from one to the next, I don’t think they were all that happy about their new guests.

In the morning I awoke to find myself sitting in a lake! I had maneuvered the luggage in such a manner that had allowed me to rest comfortably on top as if to be sitting in a recliner. My butt being much lower than the rest of my body allowed the tarp to act as a valley, gallons of water surround my body as if it were a small island on top of that Land Rover.  Wet, tired and full of mud we continued the journey to Georgetown.  The rain making the road even more difficult, as if this was even possible.

I hadn’t eaten since the morning prior, 250 miles and nowhere to eat. There hadn’t been a place to stop since we had started, imagine, traveling from Minneapolis to Chicago without a single restaurant, gas station, or roadside rest stop. I’m told halfway into the journey that if I wanted food I should have brought it with, something that would have been nice to know prior to leaving Lethem. We finally arrive in Georgetown at 8:30 at night, making the trip an official 28 hours and 20 minutes!!! 35 hours without food.

Getting in much later than expected, I was unable to get to the bank for some much-needed currency and a Visa to Suriname, so I'll have to wait till Monday. With limited funds I’m spending the day on the net and relaxing. With a sports bar 1 block from my room, I'm spending tomorrow watching the Packers crush the Bears to second place.

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As expected, the Packers were victorious in their win over the Bears-keeping the Bear's glory years in the mid 80's where they should forever remain.  Unfortunately, I was unable to witness the historic event as it unfolded. The sports bar down the road from where I was staying opened after the game was over. Bears fans no doubt!

The coastal area of Guyana, where most of the people live, is much different than the interior jungle. Coconut palms and Calypso music, Hindu Temples and Islamic Mosques are everywhere. Ever hear a Muslim speak with a Rasta accent?

Much of Monday was spent at the bank and trying to get a Suriname visa. Afterwards, I took a mini van to a town called Parika, which was a cultural experience in itself. 21 people in a "mini" van and the driver was still wanting to take on more. Fortunately, it was only an hour drive. Once in Parika I planned to take a ferry to an old Dutch fort, but instead I opted to hang around the docks, listening to and seeing everyday life pass by.  This is truly what traveling is all about. For those of you that ask why I'm doing this, had you been at the docks that day you too would have packed your bags and headed out the door for places unknowing. Watching as the wooden boats are being unloaded with their cargo of bananas from the interior, thousands upon thousands of bananas- all being carried off the boat on the tops of their heads. Most of the people speaking their indigenous tongue, buying, selling and moving their cargo of fruit. I have officially witnessed the 1800's.

Tuesday I set out for Paramaribo at 4:00am. We must leave early to catch the ferry crossing into Suriname.  I bring only my small day bag, leaving behind my backpack in Georgetown for when I return. We made it to the Corentyne River, just in time for the 10:00 ferry.

The next morning I get into another mini van and head towards St. Laurent du Maroni, French Guiane, a 3-hour drive. On the way I saw indigenous tribes doing their wash in the river and carring their clothes in baskets on their heads back to the village (and we complain if we don't have first floor laundry!) They must of been washing their tops because most of the woman had none on. Perhaps they should do their wash a little more often!

I arrive in Albina on the Suriname side and was mobbed by locals, all wanting my 3 dollars to get me to the other side of the river, and into French Guiane, which is as illegal as jaywalking, a law against it but freely broken. Half way across the river I realize that I never cleared customs, luckily the F. Guiane immigration never noticed. I just hope I don't have a problem when I leave Suriname and they ask how I was able to get to F. Guiane without ever leaving Suriname. Once in Guiane I head straight to the post office where it is said they have an ATM that my card will work at. I was betting everything that the one machine in town was going to work due to the fact that I had no money to return to Suriname much less Guyana to retrieve my backpack. I have plenty of Brazilian Reals that nobody will exchange. In Suriname my Visa card isn't accepted, you know, the "don't leave home without it card!" in fact in Suriname many places won't even except the Suriname Guilder, their own currency!

So here's my dilemma,, I know how much I spent on room and transportation coming but that was in the Guilder and the Guilder is an unrecognized currency in F. Guiane so there is no official exchange rate. I don't know the rate of exchange for the dollar to the frank or even if the ATM will spit out franks or the new Euro which I have no idea of that exchange either! Q? is, how much do I withdrawal in Franks/Euros? I do know that in algebra there can't be more than one unknown. If I get too little I will be stuck in Suriname, and too much I will have a fist full of non-recognized currency, the kind that has as much value as the ones that come with the game of Monopoly. Augh!

St. Laurent is definitely French. It is here that I witness flowers for the first time in S.A. and people using trash cans, in fact it is the first that I've seen trash cans. All the cars are Renaults and there are baguette shops at every corner. After spending sometime walking around an old prison built in the 1800's I decide to go back to Paramaribo. Was planning to stay in F. Guiane but can't find a room that won't break the bank, and in the town of Albina, on the Suriname side, there's only one commercial building standing after the "civil" war in the early '90's, (hmmm, ever wonder how a war can be called "civil"?) and it is the customs house, remember, the one that I never went to! How could of I missed it?

  The next day in Paramaribo I spend walking the town center, it has a New England feel to it with all the colonial riverfront buildings. I spend most of the day at the Zeelandia Fort, imagining how things might have been. The next few days have been spent in traveling. I left Paramaribo for Manaus, Brazil, via Georgetown and Boa Vista. Spending Sunday, game day, eating my words. At least when the season is over we will have beating the Bears not only once but TWICE,!!!

Today, Tuesday, I'm in Manaus, this is were I will get on a ferry tomorrow and travel up the Amazon and into Iquitos, Peru.

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Ever wonder why the English always end their sentences with a question? "It's rather lovely weather we're having today, isn't it?, "Perhaps we'll get into Iquitos rather late, don't you think?"

Well, I started the week on the Amazon and ended it there as well. I originally assumed the ferry would be full of backpackers like me, but being so close to Christmas it was all locals trying to get home for the holidays, along with myself. You see, I didn't plan to be on the river over Christmas. I was going to fly from Iquitos to Minneapolis and suprise my bride, but what was to be four days turned into eight, and Christmas was spent on board the N/M Voyager I, full of Brazilians and two gringos, myself and the first American that I've met since I left Atlanta three weeks earlier. Oh well it was bound to happen sometime.

The sights and sounds of the basin were incredible, both for much different reasons. The river is much more developed than I thought it would be. Several missions dot the shore line along with villages and farms with their crops of corn and bananas. My days were spent with young children trying to teach me Portuguese and watching kids run to the shore to look and listen to our boat pass by, while others were seen throwing their nets from dugout canoes and doing the wash along the bank of the river.

Throughout the day’s dugout canoes would speed up to us, tie off, and board the boat only to return to their villages with armloads of cigarettes and candy. Others would board the boat and continue up stream with us to the next village with their live chickens and fruits for a much-awaited Christmas feast.

While in port on Christmas Eve day I noticed quite a few fish along side the boat so I ventured off to buy a hook and some line. The storekeeper began unraveling some line and asked me how much I would  like to buy. I guess I just expected to buy the whole role? He measured out three meters and then opened up a box pulling out one hook, “there that should do you”. I could have been pulling out fish all day. No bait required! as soon as the bare hook would hit the water a fish would bite.  The kids were more excited than I. You would think fish wouldn't excite someone who has growing up on the Amazon.

That night I was on the top deck when I felt the boat run aground. As I looked over I saw several children running to the boat to say their good-byes to their friend as he boarded with his bags, it was then that the crew took the candy from behind the bar and began throwing it all over board. The kids were going crazy! Probley the only Christmas treat many of them had gotten. The older kids were in such awe over the music coming from the ferry, which brings me to the sounds of the Amazon. The Brazilians are crazy over a c/d called Auga Crystalina to which  they dance the Bragga. It is turned on at 7:30am and placed on repeat till around 8:00pm! then kareoke starts where everyone is now singing Auga Crystalina. This went on 18 hours a day for  eight days straight the only thing that went on longer was my headache!

Unfortunately the birds and monkeys weren't fans of Brazilian pop music either and not much wild life was to be seen other than a few fresh water dolphins and some Caymans, which is why you have to go into the tributaries to see any wildlife and that is exactly what I did when I got to Tabatinga. I was planning to go straight to Iquitos, Peru but had to wait three days in Tabatinga for an open boat. Tabatinga is a frontier town with Letica on the Brazilian/Colombian frontier. One can come and go at will between the two countries.

Spending the day in Letica, I went to the wharf and hired a canoe to take me to a place called Monkey Island where there are Friar monkeys, the kind you see collecting money for organ grinders. Armed with only a banana I ventured into the Colombian jungle and soon had the monkeys eating right out of my hands.

On the way back I had the driver stop at an Indian village where I walked around. It was a human zoo, except that I don't quite know who was the exhibit, me or them! Everyone came from their thatched roofed homes to look at the gringo. Back in Letica I headed to the Plaza de Armas where hundreds of thousands of parakeets came to roost just before dusk. The noise was so deafening that you can't even here the traffic. This was last night and today I find myself in a twelve hour speed boat to Iquitos, writing and looking out the window at more poverty while listening to Madonna's "Material girl" over the radio.

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We arrive to Iquitos late and after securing a room I head to the plaza and was surprised to see the tourist information still open. I got less then one step inside and in plain American English a man asked me where I'm from, I said Minnesota and in a southern accent he replied "I'm from Texas with a capital "T", and I'm the first and only American in the whole S. of America to be put at head of tourism and I'm kicking ass and taking names Texas style! If you have any problems with hotels, taxis or guides just let me know and I'll have their jobs! Nobody messes with my tourists!

After getting my ears full of Texas arrogance it was time to get my stomach full of Texas beef. Eight days on the Amazon with only chicken, rice and beans I couldn't wait to have something different. The waitress brought me my hamburger and fries, WOW! this burger took up the whole plate, I couldn't help but to imagine that Tex had something to do with that. I can hear him now, "Everything must be big around here, that's right! Big with a capital "B" and if my tourists leave here with clean plates I'll have your jobs too! I took one bite and ,yuck, yuck, it wasn't USDA choice after all, it was Minnesota beef, knowing to others around the globe as Spam, the famous ham in a can that has it's own gelatin glaze.

Iquitos is full of moto-taxis, three wheeled motorcycles that ask for your business every 10 seconds or less. Most spend the day trying to run over your feet, my big toe will vouch for me, YEOUCH!

The streets are also full of young entrepreneurs, mostly under 12 who are selling candy and shining shoes, from morning till night these kids are working. When I go back to my room at night I pass these same kids sleeping in the in the doorways of shops, but they are the happiest kids, full of smiles, and at night they will all get together and eat at a local restaurant where food is shared with the others who don't have any. The local market in Iquitos not only serves up Armadillo's but also has a variety of concoctions, with everything from tree bark and roots to flower pedals, and are used to cure everything from the common cold to impotence-a witch doctors heaven.

I ended up spending 6 days in Iquitos, it was a great place to relax and bring in the New Year. Half way through the night, after telling a gazillion revelers "Feliz Ano Nuevo" I found out that I've actually been telling people "Happy New Ass". Amazing...how leaving out the squiggly in años changes the entire meaning.

Partly the reason I think I stayed so long in Iquitos is that I was dreading getting back on that boat for two days, but this time I was going to be prepared, I brought my own food so I'd have a little variety to the beans and rice. While on the boat waiting for it to leave, droves of people boarded trying to sell everything from food to Tupperware. There even was one guy selling jumper cables! Well, the boat sets out to Yurimaguas just in time, two and a half hours past the scheduled departure. You see not only do the toilets flush backward below the equator, time also runes slower.

The next morning I get a sinking feeling as I watch everyone prepare for breakfast by getting out their Tupperware bowls and forks! The boat doesn't provide anything to eat off of1 Just as well, I find that the site of it turns my stomach and I ration my food to last the entire trip-living the next two days on cheese and crackers. In the back of my mind I can't help but to wonder, perhaps I should of bought those jumper cables.

The little girl next to me tells me she is eight years old and I tell her that I'm only seven but next year I will be as big as she is. A secret handshake later and we are instant amigo's. She tells me that she wants to learn English and soon she is able to say, "Oh my god!", "That's right", "Gimme some skin" and "What's up doc." Our journey came to an end the next night when we arrived in Yurimaguas, very late. I look for information on transportation to Tarapoto and find out that the road has been blocked due to a truckers strike. They are allowing passenger busses through but you have to get a moto-taxi out of town to the other side of the road block and busses will be waiting there. When I arrived the next morning there were so many semi's lined up in the road that our bus driver decided to go around them via the ditch and approx. 15 seconds later I'm sure he realized it wasn't a smart idea. The bus now full of passengers, several birds, a turtle and one monkey lay, in silence with sand up to its axle. 2-3 hours later we're back in business and climbing up and out of the Amazon basin and into the Andes. The road is windy and the bus is at times able to reach speeds well over 10-mph. making the journey not only dusty but very long. What I thought would only be four hours turns into ten and once again I'm arriving in a new city in the dark and in search of a room. My goal when I left Iquitos was to be in Lima by the tenth of January to meet up with two friends from Delta. Giving myself over a week to make a distance equivalent to Minneapolis to Chicago, one would think this feat would of been relaxing, but I'm finding myself in a race with time and skipping many things along the way. Up early the next morning my bus to Chacapoyas once again leaves right on time, Peruvian time, which today is about three hours past N. American time.

The scenery is by far the best I've seen, we are still climbing up into the Andes and the road winds parallel to the Chamaya river, which for the past two hours has been solid rapids. In that same two hours the homes have changed from wood and thatch to mud huts, the land from lush jungle with palm and banana to cacti and brush, then to nothing, absolutely nothing at all. The people in this area must dream of someday living in Afghanistan, where there is more vegetation.

One flat tire and a severed brake line later we arrive in a small village at a crossroad where I have to change to a different bus to get to a pre Inca civilization called Kuelap, but it is already past 11:30 p.m. and the next bus isn't till tomorrow morning, not giving me anytime to get to Lima by the 10th, so I have to skip Kuelap and I head straight to lima in the morning.

Once again morning turns to afternoon and a short twenty hours later, six days after leaving Iquitos, one brake line, one flat tire and stuck in the ditch as strikers laugh at us, I arrive in Lima and find myself at the Hostel Espainia, a backpacker's paradise that was suggested to me by a hobo in Iquitos.

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Once in Lima, I was officially on the "gringo trail", which was very evident when I checked into the Hostel Espainia, a place I think could entice anyone to strap on a backpack and wander the earth. With an Italian atmosphere this hostel is full of sculptures, wrought iron, and marble. One can relax on the roof top cafe, which overlooks the Lime skyline of domed cathedrals, and exchange stories of all the ins and outs with all the fellow travelers. Whatever direction you're heading someone has just been there. I spent the day on the main plaza where there have been several local people throughout the day approach me and ask where I'm from. They each told me that they are English students and that they want to practice there English with me. I'm not sure of what kind of scam they are trying to pull so I ignore them all and relax on the cathedral steps, which overlook the 17th century fountain. At first I'm the only one on the steps, which run the length of the block, then one by one, people began to sit next to me. With so much room around I clinch my fingers tightly around my day bag which holds all my must haves, passport, toilet paper, etc. When one of them asks where I'm from, while the others pretend not to listen. I reluctantly say the Estados Unidos and all of their eyes focused on the gringo. Well what do you know, He also happens to be an English student as well. I felt very uncomfortable but decided to stay and talk to them. I began to relax more and more as I notice they all seam to have Spanish/English dictionaries and one even lets me put on his headphones which wasn't music but a language tape. He says that his teacher told him to go to the plaza and practice English with others. Within a half-hour we're all sitting around in a circle laughing and having a great time while I'm trying to explain the differences in the sound of "as" and "ass" and that you only milk a cow and NOT!!! a bull. I had such a great time that I almost forgot to pick up a friend from Delta at the airport. I was on those steps for almost 10 hours. I arrived at the airport to meet Rob and we decided to stay the night there, since we had a 6:00am flight to Cusco, land of the most famous Inca civilization, Machu Picchu. We soon find out that one can no longer hike the Inca trail on their own. So you must get the much needed, no exceptions travel agency to bring us on the Inca trail-it's a 3-4 day hike past several Inca villages and of course Machu Picchu- only to have our trip canceled at the last minute which forced us to take the train.

Spending the day beating Rob at gin rummy wasn't actually the highlight you see, the day was Sunday, but not just any given Sunday. Today was the day the Packers walloped the 49ers into oblivion, crushing any sparkle they may or had in their eyes at receiving the sought after Lambardi award, and I get the honor of spending it with a Bears fan. With a little more pep in my step we set out in the morning to see the famous city. Well there it is. It looks just like all the pictures plastered all over Cusco. After burning up some film of our own, we decided to hike/crawl to the top of Huayna Picchu, the mountain overlooking Machu Picchu. Rob I think was having a much more difficult time than I. Being a Bears fan, I think he was dreading the fact that they may end up hosting the infamous G.B.P. in the weeks to come. More weight on ones shoulders than any human being should have to endure. After returning that day, Rob heads out by train and I opted to head out to the hot springs located just a short walk from my room. The next morning I set out to board the train myself only to find out that it is sold out, not only for that day but the next 3 days as well. While watching locals still buying tickets for a fraction of the cost offered to me, several of us complain and they reluctantly let us board in the locals car, which was much more posh than the tourist car. Up early I set out from Cusco and head over the high snowcapped Andes at around 14000+ feet. Our bus makes some infrequent stops waiting for the llamas, cows and anything else to cross the road. We stop in a town called Puno, which is situated on the shores of lake Titicaca. Here I will spend a few days on a couple of islands in the lake.

In the morning I set out to visit the first of three islands, Uros. These tiny islands are about 60 feet in diameter and are home to the Uros Indian. They are nothing but clumps of reeds that are floating on top of the lake. No soil to grow things and everything is made from the reeds-their houses, boats, and of course all of their souvenirs. Walking on the islands was like walking on a waterbed. You could even see the ripple of waves cross the islands by passing boats. Next I'm off to the island of Amantani, where I will spend the night. There are no hotels so the captain said he could arrange for me to stay with a family on the island.

After I arrived, the family's 12 year old daughter shows me to my room, a 2 story mud hut with it's own entrance, a hand carved 6-panel door that stands about 3' high, or about 4 feet low, however you want to look at it, either way I had to enter the room on my hands and knees. After I get things situated, I head to the top of the islands highest peek, Pacha Tata, where once a year, today, the island's four villages come together and celebrate mother earth by oddly marching down from Pacha Tata (father earth). Afterward, I head back to my room for dinner, which is still being prepared. The kitchen is no larger than 3' x 8' and with a height of only 4 feet, one can only sit, which is what I did on the dirt floor watching the mother and daughter prepare my food in the dark and smoke filled room. I grab my flashlight so they could see, and what I see are a pair of 12 year old hands that look older than my own, wrapped around a stone smashing potatoes while the mother feeds twigs in the mud stove to heat the soup. After seeing this, how could I even think about picking out the onions and mushrooms from my food. The next morning I set out to the island of Taquile, and yet another damn hill to climb. The lake is near 13,000 feet and just my luck these Incas had to worship the sun, and in doing so put every city/ruin on the top of the highest of the highest mountains.

Arriving in Copacabana the following day I can see the Isla de Sol from my room and this is as close as I'm going to get to the island where the creator of the Inca civilization was born. My lungs have had enough. I think my throat is freezer burnt from the cold and my face is one big scab from the sun. Yes the sun, one in the same as the Inca God. Why would one worship such a cruel and evil beast? Speaking of sun, the day is Sunday and I found a bar that said they would open early just for me so I can watch the Packer game! It was the first game that I have been able to see since I left Minnesota. How embarrassing. I knew it was going to be a tough one, but did they have to give it away? Oh well, our season lasted two weeks longer than Denny Green's contract and 24 hours longer than the Bear's season. I'm just thankful I'm no longer in Atlanta where 80% of the Delta population is from Steeler country! With my head hung low, on Monday I boarded a bus to La Paz. Today, Tuesday, I spent in a place called Valle de Luna, just 14-km from La Paz. This place is much like the badlands of South Dakota. Perhaps I should have just taken the short drive west of Minnesota? 

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La Paz, Bolivia the highest capital in the world, sits in a crater on the edge of the Andes. It is here I take a mountain bike for a spin. A five-hour, 11,000 foot drop from La Paz to Coroico, from what is said to be the world's most dangerous road. Unfortunately a car every two and a half weeks will make a trip from the high Andes to the thick jungle in a matter of seconds.

The crosses at every corner prove to me how true this is. Well above the tree line, the ground is spotted with snow and our breath is easily seen. As the sun starts peeking it's way above the mountains we start our decent. For five hours we continue down, looking at the landscape change from snow covered mountains to that of thick jungle vegetation, palms and bananas canopy the road, and waterfalls at each bend make this a spectacular journey. At the end when we reach Corioco several kids with water balloons greet us. Some might find humor in these vicious juveniles, but I can guarantee you the only humor to be found was when they were being held under the water faucet until their little smiles were washed away. With our bodies dripping wet, we start our assent up the steep canyon and I notice our bus driver falling fast asleep. I continually have to tap him on his head, each time with more and more force, by this time, all I wanted to do was get out and walk back to La Paz. In the morning I start my way to Uyuni by first hopping a bus to a town called Oruro, where in a few short weeks they will have the biggest carnival celebration in Bolivia-i.e. the water balloon episode. On arrival I must carefully tiptoe my way from the bus to the train station, hiding behind every tree, and looking behind me for those adolescent juveniles armed with water grenades. I make my way to the train station safely and dry, and I'm on my way to Uyuni. Here I plan to do a three-day tour that will lead me to Chile, but first I will spend a few days traveling through the hills to see a few villages. My first stop is a town called Potasi. This little known town was at one time the largest in all of the America's. It is here that the largest silver deposits in the world were discovered. They say that with all the silver Spain took you could build a bridge with it from Potasi to Madrid and another back again with all of the bodies of the miners that died trying to remove it. I was walking from the plaza de Armas to....SPLOOSH!  Augh%""!!  My hair is plastered to the side of my face and dripping wet. Fortunately less than three feet away, I'm able to buy two water balloons and return fire. They run and hide in their home, like the little kids that they are, but fortunately they are the typical 8-year olds that we all were at one time and they leave the door open behind them.  SPLOOSH!  SPLOOSH!

Next I head south to a small village called Tupiza. This is Butch and Sundance country, just a few short km's north is the hacienda where they took advantage of their last victim and ran off with the loot, it wasn't as much as expected so they took his donkey as well, which had a marked hoof and was easily tracked. Two days later, four Bolivian police had them surrounded. The rightful owner of the money had even a harder time getting it back from the police.

A sign as you enter the village of San Vincent reads, "Butck Kasidy y Sundunce amerikans death heer". Back in Uyuni, I set up the three day trip through the Solor de Uyuni, the highest salt lake in the world, no water just salt flats as far as the eye can see. This place even boast of a hotel constructed entirely of salt, furniture and all. The remainder of the two days was spent looking at flamingos, geysers, and swimming in hot springs, compared to  the flamingos in Florida, they actually use both feet to stand.

Reaching the boarder of Chile, I notice there is some sort of black substance on the road. Others tell me that it is called asphalt, but being over three weeks since I've last witnessed this phenomenon, I could neither confirm of deny what I am told. Arriving in San Pedro de Atacama was accomplished in a mere ten minutes, a feat that would have been impossible in Bolivia, given the vast ten-mile distance that had to be crossed. Perhaps this may have been what Einstein meant: time and distance is "relative" to whether you're in Bolivia or Chile.

San Pedro de Atacama is a small outpost of a town, situated in the northern desert of Chile where there are odd rock formations and large plots of sand that would make one think they are in northern Africa. This is where I decide to try my luck with sand boarding. Snow boarding minus the snow and chair lifts! With flashbacks of visiting the Inca sites I arrive to the top of the dunes after a long and tiring journey, wax my board and prepare for my first descent. If my memory serves me correctly I was approximately half way down when the sand had removed all the wax and my board stuck to the dune as if it had became nailed down. It was precisely at this moment, my face was moving faster than my feet, and I spent the next few days removing sand from my teeth, ears, and butt crack.

The following day was spent on a ten-hour bus ride to a seaside town called La Serena. Situated in the heart of pisco country, a local drink made from sun ripened grapes.  From here I'm able to go up the Elque River valley. The hillsides covered in vineyards, I arrive in a village called Pisco Elque, where I will indulge in the local concoction of Pisco Sour. Drinking the last bottle, the bartender ran over to the distillery for another. While sitting at the pub, I watch the last bus to Vacuña depart town, important to the fact that this is where I have my room for the night and I'm forced to make the one-hour ride using my thumb, arriving just in time to watch the sunrise.

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I arrive in Santiago and head to the airport the following day to meet Sara it was so great to see her after two and a half months. We decided to stay in Santiago that night and head down to a city called Puerto Montt where we could catch a ferry to a nearby island and in doing so we would pass through the Chilean lake district, Unfortunately none of the lakes or volcano's could be seen from the main road and were unable to do both in the ten days that we had. The next morning unknowing to the both of us, we have our last hot shower for four days and head to Ancud. A town on the North shore of Chiloe island which was built to protect the shipping route around cape horn. Most of the morning was spent trying to scrap my frozen butt from the shower wall and the rest was spent on a small excursion to a place on the west coast where we were able to see some penguins. Happiest of all were the sea otters that had a lump under one side of their cheek. It is spring and the penguins are nesting so the sneakier the otters the bigger the lump. The remainder of the day was spent walking aimlessly around a charmless village so we were told of another village not too far away and spent the next day there walking aimlessly around that charmless village. Sara fell in love with all the hand made sweaters and I fell in love with the fact that she had no room in her luggage for them. We decided to leave the area the next morning and head closer to Puerto Montt where Sara has to catch a flight out of in three days. We end up in a small town called Puerto Varas, located a short distance north of P. Montt and at the very south of the lake district.

The same time German immigrants were settling in the mid west they were also immigrating to this area so their is a lot of German influence here. The church overlooking town is an exact replica of Marieenkirche in the black forest of Germany. The streets and plaza are loaded with flowers and of course there's the beer, do I need to say any more? A small festival was going on in town were some German umm pah pah could be heard while meandering through the streets at night. For our last day together we head to a village a few minutes north called Frutilla. The towns main attraction is the beach but it also has a small open air German museum of a typical settlement village and several gardens.

After saying our good-byes I head toward Argentina via the town of Pucon, which is dominated by the active volcano, Villarrica. Once in Argentina I do some camping and trekking on Lago Lacar where there's waterfalls and Mapuchi Indian paintings. A few days later I head back into Chile via the Hua Hum pass but this time I'm traveling a very unused road with no transportation, in fact only two cars were able to throw dust in my face as I stood with my thumb in the air. Continuing the four hour hike I pass the time eating blackberries and plums till I get to the end of the road at which I will wait another four hours for the ferry crossing into Panguipulli. Here the boulevards are full of rose bushes, over four thousand of them are said to be planted. From here I travel back to Puerto Varas and will try for a second time to make the crossing into Argentina via a series of busses and boats but like the first attempt, the sky is full of rain. After waiting for three days I give up and hop a bus to Bariloche, Argentina.  I've been looking forward to this crossing for several months but the rain is to last a week or more. I'm in the most scenic part of Chile and I'm unable to see it.  Arriving at a hostel in Bariloche I'm ready to sell my, oops, our house and move in.  It is a large log cabin and everyone is inside due to the rain, laughing, drinking, sitting around singing and playing guitar while others are grilling the largest steak I've ever seen. Earlier they all pitched in for dinner and bought a steak/side of beef, about two feet by three feet and throw the entire thing on a hand made stone grill. The fun part was watching them try and flip it.  If for some unknowing reason you never hear from me again, you might be able to find me at La Bolsa de Deporte, Bariloche

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Dragging myself away from Baroloche I head to El Bolson where I can catch a train to Esqule, The last remaining section of the "Old Patigonian express" with the only timetable in existence at the El Maitain terminal, the trains departure point, I quickly find out the old express isn't as express as it is old. The train only travels a few kms. south than returns in El Maitan, now the only way I get south is to wait two days for the next bus so I once again stick out my thumb and find myself traveling south learning everything one could possible need to know about sheep. Sheep farming, sheep wool, sheep breading, sheep sheering, the history of sheep, sheep conventions and associations, well I'm sure you get the point. I get let off only to find out the next bus out of this town isn't till Monday either so out pops the thumb again, this time a 1993 Ford Falcon, yes, a Ford Falcon, they still make them in Argentina, brings me just a few kms. when I get let out and who should come by but the sheep farmer on his way to a friends, you guessed it, sheep farm to pick up a ram, all this to get to a town on the Chilean frontier called Futalafu where the longest class five rapids in the world are to be. Over 15 minutes worth! walking most of the day through cattle country where I see Goucho's, Argentines equivalent to the cowboy complete with hat, spurs, chaps and poncho, rounding up horses and bringing them from one estancia to another. Like the Marlboro man minus the smokes. I'm just about to call it quits for the day, been walking six plus hours and only four cars all day. I began to look for a place to pitch the tent when a car stops and brings me all the way to Futalafu, but not before stopping off at his mother-in-laws for some good home cooking over a wood stove. Chicken, potatoes, and beer, what a meal!

In Futalafu there's only one outfit going down the river this time of year but they tell me that I should be able to go sometime this week, being Saturday I must wait till Monday. I find out Sunday that there is room for me and that I'm first on the list, so Monday I get ready for the class five's and they tell me no! but maybe next week because they are full! I tell them that they are full alright and now I have to hitchhike out of town. Augh! Many miles with no traffic, and five hours of gravel under my feet I get a ride from two women whose car breaks down, she turns it off and now it wont start, but we are in luck, it is a stick shift and a large hill sits just after a slight incline but the small hill wins and was a little too much for us, so she sets out to a nearby farm, but instead of returning with a car and a set of jumper cables, she returns with one farmer, a horse, and a rope, but not just any rope this one is hand made from rawhide and resembles a very long and narrow chew toy for a dog, the idea is to pull the 5000 pound vehicle up the hill with a chew toy 20 feet long tied to a horse. The trick works and soon we are on our way to Chaiten were we stop for matte at a friends. Here in Chaiten I can catch a bus. Timing is on my side today. The bank opened at 9:00am and the bus left at 9:30am, normally things are the other way around. 16 and a half hours later we arrive in Coyhaique, dark and rainy and at 2:30am when nothing is open, so I find out that minivans leave at 5:30am to Chile Chico and I make the phone call and set up a ride. I arrive in Chile Chico at noon and am greeted by a sign that reads "Welcome to Chile Chico, were we have over 350 days of sunshine a year" the sign, well, it is dripping wet! not only that day but the next three as well. Everything to do around here one must have a car. With no rental cars and buses that leave three days a week I'm once again stuck in a rainy windy town that has nothing.

  Arriving in P. Moreno three days later, I get off the bus and ask two Israeli travelers about going to the cave of hands, caves that are somewhat nearby with pictographs and no transportation to, which I had already known but if there's a way to do something the Israeli travelers are your best source of info. They're everywhere and seem to know everyone. They tell me of a guy just down the street with camping in his yard and that he has an American with him who is going. I find this place and I feel as if I'm at Fred Sanfords, Raul is his name and he lives in a bus that is parked in his yard, among other vehicles and objects. I soon have a ride set up with a couple from Buenos Aires, an American and an Apache born in 1961 as our guide. The five of us are winding through the dusty countryside to the end of the road where we leave our Apache friend behind and head out for the two km. hike. Down and back up the other side of a beautiful canyon full of every color in a box of crayons, the big one with the sharpener in the back!

Arriving at the site I'm awestruck at the 9500 year old paintings where the Indians placed their hands on the stone walls and put colored plant in their mouth, chewed and blow the colors over their hands leaving a negative image of their hand on the stone wall.

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The Road from P. Moreno south to El Chalten is a desolate landscape full of sand tumbleweed and twelve hours of gravel road in front of us. The driver stops every two hours or so to tighten up the lugs on the tires, about six hours into our trip and one hour after a tire change, the entire bus begins shaking, it is then that we discover four broken studs and two lugs half way off the tire that was just changed. One look at that along with the fact that we only seen four cars out on the road that day, we knew we were in for a long night. Within minutes one of the passengers started walking toward a dry river bed and began dragging back some wood and turned a bad situation into a fun filled night, with the seven of us, driver included, sitting around a warm campfire laughing and eating pasta, Tomato soup and drinking hot tea. The eight-hour delay turned into a blessing, instead of arriving at midnight we arrive in El Chalten just as the sun began to rise and in doing so we were able to witness a rare phenomenon called Amanecer de fuego (sunrise of fire) which turned the mountains of Fitzroy a bright red for a few seconds. Once in El Chalten we quickly find that today is the first in ten that Fitzroy has been visible so we wasted no time and started our hike up to Cerro Torres. Not a cloud in the sky which makes today # four for no rain since Sara flew home one month ago.   From El Chalten I traveled to El Calafate to see Moreno Glacier, blue as blue can be I spent half the day just watching pieces of ice calf off the glacier and crash into the lake with a thunderous sound. Continuing on to Puerto Natales, the entry point into Torres del Paine, I find out that due to all the rain that most of the park is closed. Several hikers had to be evacuated with helicopters because of the mud slides and not only has the road to Moreno Glacier, where I was yesterday, been whipped out but the only bridge leading into  El Chalten, where I was three days prior, been shut down leaving everyone in town trapped. I head to the park anyway and make an eight hour day hike to see Glacier Gray, a small piece of ice that I'm told is larger than the country of Israel, trying to give time for the trails to dry and reopen which they did a few days later, enabling us to do another day hike up to see the Torres del Paine. That day during our accent one could see why the trails had been closed, entire mountain sides had been washed away! trees and all. We finally arrive at the top in time to see little windows open in the clouds, just long enough to snap a photo or two. The next day was spent in a bus to Punta Arenas in the rain of course, and it is here that I get my first glimpse of the straits of Magellan, where the first westerners sailed from the Atlantic to the Pacific and in doing so became the first to circumnavigate the globe. Other than that nothing much to see in this place except the bus station to get my final ticket south. In the morning I head straight to the bus for a twelve hour ride to Ushuaia, Argentina.

Across the straits of Magellan and on to Tierra del Fuego, a barren treeless landscape where the wind can reach 80 miles per hour in the winter. I make my final crossing out of Chile, a month and a half ago I made my first from Bolivia and since have crossed the frontier six times in fact at one point I even had to pull money out of my pocket just to see what country I was in. The south of the island is full of trees that grow at an angle due to the strong winds and the land rises up forming mountains that eventually break apart and begin to form several islands making up the southernmost land in South America. 114 days after leaving Minneapolis I arrive in Ushuaia the Fin del Mundo.

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  When leaving Ushuaia I had 2 choices, 1. A 40+-hour bus ride to Buenos Aires with nothing out my window to look at. The East coast of Argentina is much different than the West. Not a tree or blade of grass or even a hill to admirer so I opt. for choice #2, a flight that cost less than the bus and what took me one and a half months to cover going south will now take a mire four hours to travel northbound. Stepping inside the B737 was such a surreal experience. To be back in an aircraft after four months, a place that I had been practically everyday for the past eleven years. The sounds, the smells, I think I could even smell some PRC1422 curing somewhere.

Once in Buenos Aires I headed straight for a hostel that I have heard so much about. It was a happening place, fun people, a pool table, music and FULL! so off to another I went. Dull and boring, I checked in and then I checked out, the city that is. Locals dancing the Tango for the paying tourist, then there was Boca, an Old Italian district that is knowing for the colorful facades of the buildings. Every side, window, door, roof, angle. It was all a different

color. Originally painted years ago with the leftover paint from all the boats. It is here in B. Aires that I head home for a couple of weeks. Then back to B.A. to continue my travels. Ooh what a wife!

Back in B.A. I checked into that happening place (I reserved it from Mpls.) and then it was off to some botanical gardens and Eva Peron's grave. Nothing spectacular about it except that she was just put to rest there in 1997, only 45 years after her funeral procession passed by millions of spectators as the world overflowed into the Argentine streets. From Buenos Aires I jumped a ferry to Colonia, Uruguay a town that has the highest percentage of vintage cars, but unlike Cuba, their cars are not held together by duct tape. Its not uncommon to see model A's and T's driving the streets of Colonia alongside 57 Chevy's and old vintage American trucks. Colonia is a beautiful town but with nothing much to do we decide to continue north to Puerto Iguazu, arriving after two days of travel. It is located in the extreme N.E. of Argentina alongside the boarders of Brazil and Paraguay. Iguazu falls or Foz do Iguacu as it is called in Brazil is one of the most spectacular places on Earth. It is truly the land before time, with over 280 waterfalls in less than a sq. mile. Several rainbows fill the air from the continuous mist. The river dumps its water over a cliff approximately 1 mile long and then again for a second drop from a lower tier, as if it were giving us an encore! A truly amazon place to be.

Being so close to Paraguay I decide to head over to check it out by ironically crossing over the "friendship" bridge. Chaos, confusion and corruption would just about sum it up. Upon entering Paraguay, immigration stamped my passport "in" and then demanded $50 USD to have it returned to the rightful owner. I laughed at him and called him loco along with a few words in English, which now looking back at the situation probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. He then stamped me back out of the country and told me to go back to Brazil but his partner in crime wouldn't let him return my passport quite yet and told him to tare out the stamped page from my book, I quickly grabbed my passport and told him if he tore my book that it was illegal and he would force me to call the U.S. consulate on him. He then placed a big red CANCELADO stamp four times over his original stamp, oh well. I then left as if I was heading back to Brazil then I one-upped him by quickly ducking around the corner and into Paraguay, ha! only to find the trash so deep in the streets that it has became permanent fixtures to the automobiles just as corn stalks would affix themselves to our cars when back in high school.

Today I find myself in the same place as yesterday, row 5 seat 4, on a bus to Rio. 24 hours,

56 minutes and one flat tire ago I boarded the Brazilian vessel. The windows open, the air conditioner broken (I won't mention the brand) I can smell Rio for the past two hours but haven't yet seen it.

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Rio de Janeiro is a not so beautiful city in a beautiful setting, which is best seen from high above looking down at from the Redeemer. Four days in Rio was three too many. The famous Copacabana beach has a four lane traffic congested, smog filled road running ten feet from the sand. I heard so much about the little restaurants at the beach where people could just waste the day away at, well I'd rather not waste any day looking at traffic and towering hotels. The last night however was a funfilled night that was spent with a couple of friends I

had meet earlier in the trip, then it was off to the Pantanal, a wildlife refuge in Brazil that is full of animals but first one must stop in Campo Granda, a starting point for the Pantanal which is also going to be a place to do some much needed laundry.

Steeping off the bus only twenty two hours from boarding it in Rio I find out that my tour leaves in two hours. I'm able to only shower but not do laundry, it's another seven hours to camp, five days till civilization and over one week with dirty clothes with another soon to be added.

Me and two Israeli travelers, Hila and Avishay, make our way toward camp when a little over half way we stop at a crossroad to wait on two other travelers, an English chap and his lady, that go by the name of Tim and Clare, due to arrive on the 7:22 from Bonito. The five of us find ourselves sitting in the back of a truck on makeshift benches getting acquainted while traveling along a long and dusty road, deep into the Pantanal as the sun was setting. The night sky was briefly being interrupted by flashes of heat lightning displaying the silhouette of nearby fauna. Arriving at camp only meant one thing for the others that where already there, Supper!

In the morning our guide, Acuña, soon to be knowing as Acuña Dundee, took us for a hike.

Makaws, monkeys and alligators were on the list for today along with several birds, among them was the largest crane in the world with a height of over one and a half meters. Each day in the Pantanal we would head back to camp at midday for several hours when the sun was at it's hottest, allowing plenty of time for yanee and perhaps even a kip before lunch. In the afternoon Acuña showed us his skills and lassod us an alligator which was easily put to sleep in seconds by mearly rubbing it's belly! Acuña we find out was twenty four and has lived in the Pantanal for twelve of those years guiding blokes like us. The strange thing is that he was more fluent in Hebrew than English and Hila and Avishay AKA Tarzan, would normally translate for us.

The following morning was spent in the back of the truck that we had arrived in. It felt as if we were on an African safari but instead of seeing wildebeest it was a herd of wild boar, around  fifty or so. We were even able to scare away a flock of Flamingo’s but the best of all wasn't the Armadillo, but watching ol' Dundee himself run after it. It was as if he hadn't eating in over two weeks. It had ran about twenty yards and into some bushes, hot on it's trail was Acuña but when he began walking toward us without any excitement, I knew the armadillo had out foxed ol' Dundee, then without any emotion he raised his left hand and hanging by it's tail was the armadillo.

  After a little yanee and a short kip we all headed out to do a little Piranha fishing, without a boat and only cane poles, we had to actually get into the water, past our waist, while keeping a keen eye out so no alligators would try and pull a fast one and steal our bait. With the hook a little too big for the Piranha we had to try and snag them. Clare became the clear winner when after she caught the first Piranha she then tried her luck and pulled in a Sardine. I came up empty handed, not that there weren’t any fish, I must have feed those damn things over a pound of meat, none from my hide at least. Acuña caught seven but I think he was cheating and was using his bare hands. After which he started a fire and cooked them right on the spot. Yum!

The next day after a walk in the morning that scared up a Tarantella and scared away a Todd, we went horseback riding. I haven't been on a horse since I was in my single digits and as I remember it was done in two stages, first it took everything I had to climb up this enormous rock, then if I was successful and if the horse stayed still I would stretch my foot as high as it would go and place it in the stirrups. On a lucky day it could be done in as little as two to three tries. Fortunately for me I have doubled my height since then, being that there wasn't a booster rock anywhere to be found and the only thing that I had to remember

Acuña tells me is no uppy uppy. Not many animals were seen today apart from a few birds and alligators. It did seem a bit strange thou, being on horses and looking down at alligators where you would normally expect to see snakes. Tarzan then decided to inhance the day by showing us his riding skills, soon after he also decided to show us how one looks when picking themselves off the ground, complete with starteld look on his face and all.

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Each day a new group of people would leave and a new one arrive making us, day by day, the old folks, it was as if I could feel the gray hair and crook in my back worsening when the first dayers and second dayers would ask us, "third dayers" what to expect the following day.  We had to leave the following afternoon which meant plenty of time for yanee before that long dusty road back to civilization. It was a bit of a sureal experience when being in the Pantanal four plus days and then a few short hours later on a luxury bus headed toward the frontier town of Corumbâ paved road and all. We ended up having to spend the night there before crossing into Bolivia and boarding a twenty hour train to Santa Cruz, actually it would have been a much shorter ride had the train not been traveling at a walking pace. Fortunately we purchased tickets on the first class carriage, complete with no movies or air condition that we were told existed. It is days like this that I have no regrets about leaving Hotlanta where one can pass the day away just sitting and doing nothing but watching the ground around your feet get wet from the sweet dripping from your forehead. Finally we arrive in Santa Cruz, secure a place to stay and do my laundry! Remember? It's only been about ETERNATY! since my last wash. But soon I find out one should be forbidding to have dirty laundry on a Sunday as the cleaners are all closed and as for Monday, well one should of thought about this prior to the town being shut down do to the nation celebrating the death of a dictator, so Tuesday it was! I can't even remember the last time I felt so spring fresh.

After saying our good-byes over a game or two of yanee and a few cervaces, Lahime!, I'm once again on my own, traveling to Cochabamba where I had planned to spend some time at Torotoro National park but the bus leaves only once a week and so I decided to get a move on and put some distance behind me and head to Araquipa, Peru via Oruro, Bolivia where I'm assured by the bus companies that they're busses from Oruro to Arica, Chile where I can get a bus to Araquipa from but what do you know, I'm once again stuck in a nothing town. It is ten o'clock in the morning and the next bus isn't till one o'clock the following day, so I decide to get the best room in town and veg out. It was just what I needed, a cable TV and my own bathroom, I felt like a king in my eighteen dollar a night room. The bus to Arica, Chile was going smooth, it was only one hour late from leaving but when we arrived at the Chilean frontier three Bolivians were denied entry and the bus had to bring them back to the Bolivian boarder while we were left in Chile to stare at one another. Forty minutes later we were back on the road, but two hours after that and sometime during the movie when the lights were out, a Chilean soccer player discovered all his belongings had been gone through and dumped out on to the floor with all his money taking. Only two seats behind me too. I write mostly about my misfortunes and at times you may even ask why am I even traveling, but I am having a great time and try to look at the humor at the mismanagement of my travel skills in a sarcastic sort of way, but in reality I've been lucky so far on my travels and it's times like this that one realizes how fast your luck can turn.

With all the delays I had to spend the night in Arica, Chile and cross the Peruvian frontier in the morning, it was here that the immigration officer looked at me and then my passport and me again, he then stamped it and instead of giving me my passport he shook my hand and said "Happy birthday" Birthday I thought? is it the eleventh already? I knew it was coming up but with all the traveling the past week it almost slipped by me. So there I am in a bus for six hours on my way to Arequipa, a bus with a bubblegum aroma from all the Inca Cola being consumed, Peruvian equivalent to water, on my birthday with a massave headache which is about to explode from every food item one can think of, being pushed in your face and asked to buy, along with horns honking at the cars in front of them because they are stopped at a red light of all things. Arriving in Arequipa I get to my hostel, a fantastic place, a balcony and a volcano just out my window. Even the birds drowned out the sound of traffic and horns of passing cars. I secure my belongings and head out for some food and a little internet. I couldn't believe it at first, then I realized Sara had been up to a little trickery. Thanks to all of you, it was as great of a birthday as one could possibly have apart from being home for it.

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Up early the next morning, I set out for a two-day adventure through the Colca Canyon.  Just before we ascend up the mountain pass we stop at a restaurant -a restaurant just about in the middle of nowhere.  Not a house, tree, nor blade of grass for miles.  Must have been family of the same person driving our vehicle.  How else could they remain in business?

Heading up the pass the temperature was dropping and just as we crest the highest point, hail begins to slam down onto the van and our driver pulls over at a roadside stop. Just as before, we're a million miles from civilization and just like before people are waiting for us to get out of the van, must be more of the driver's family waiting for an opportunity to increase their annual salary.  This time it wasn't chicken sandwiches on the menu, it was Alpaca wool!  At fourteen thousand feet, and temperature that was below freezing, they had a good spot all scouted out to sell their handmade sweaters, scarves, hats, gloves to a bunch of newly arrived gringos from Arequipa, wearing shorts and sandals.

Arriving in the small village of Chavay was wonderful.  It was a village with a population mostly dressed in traditional hand-made clothing.  Colorful children being carried around town by a cloth that holds them tightly to their mother's back.  These sites aren't at all uncommon in Peru or Bolivia, but what made this place so different was that the outsiders seemed not to exist.  This village is basically a starting point into the Colca Valley, so it gets its share of gringos, but yet the locals just went about their business.  No one rushed to you for a handout.  This is the first time that I have experienced this in Peru and Bolivia.  I could actually sit on a bench in the main square and not bet bothered. 

Up very early in the morning, we drive along the edge of the canyon, twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, we head to the mirador, a overlook that has several condors flying about.   We got there early enough to be able to look down at them.  By 10:00 a.m. they had ridden the thermals up past our heads.  There was that moment, that one moment when they were eye to eye with you.  I stood in awe at the cliff's edge as one was approaching ever so close.   I could hear the wind pass over his wing as he flew a mere five yards from my face.   Truly an experience not to be forgotten. 

The rest of the day was great.  But compared to the condors, it seemed to be little more than your average day riding through the Peruvian countryside, looking at your average pre-Inca burial sites, and centuries old terraced landscape.  Oh hum drum. 

We get back to Arequipa just in time to grab my belongings and head to the bus station.  It was going to be a night bus to Nasca, then off to stay at an oasis in Huacachina.  I arrived in Nasca at 4:00 a.m. I'm the only one to get off of the bus at a terminal that was completely shut down, not even an outside light left on.  Where are all of those pesky entrepreneurs when you need them.  Just then a taxi screeches up and wants to know if I want to see the lines.  I tell him that the Nasca lines are the only reason I got off of the bus and away we went, back to his place.  Imagine that, he happens to be a taxi driver/tourist agent/hostel operator, and lets me sleep the rest of the morning on the couch in his tourist agency.  He comes back at 9:00 a.m. and takes me to the airport.   The lines are a series of animals and geometrical shapes that have been drawn out on the surface of the earth and are best viewed from an aircraft.  I was told not to eat anything before we went or you would be sure to see it again. The pilot banks the plane a full 90 degrees so you are able to look straight down at the drawings.  Then, with a smile on his face, he banks it again 180 degrees so the other on the opposite side of the plane can view the lines. I, along with others on the plane almost got to see my dinner from the night before! 

After leaving, I head to Ica where I can take a taxi to Huacachina.  I was told of this place by some fellow travelers in Bolivia that it is a great place to relax.  Huacachina is an oasis and the best way to get a take on the place is up above.  There you realize how far away from civilization you actually are.  This lush green dot sits amid amazing sand dunes.  Once you've taken it all in, you strap on a sand board and ski down to your hostel, the Casa de la Arena with your own swimming pool and bar.  It was a great place to relax indeed. 

Lima, Peru, located only a few short hours to the north is where seat number 15, the one located directly under my butt, is heading.  I was here earlier in the trip, but this time I'm

going to have my own tour guide, Kathy, a fellow traveler/friend that I met outside of Buenos Aires on a ferry to Uruguay, we traveled together for about a week, then met up again in Rio de Janeiro, but now she is through with her travels and ready to show me the big city of Lima.  One of my favorite things about traveling is to get inside of someone's home, see how the live.   So much of traveling is seen from outside and looking in with wonder.  Eating home grown chicken from a wood burning stove with locals that you've just met moments prior or enjoying matte in the Chilean countryside, around a table with a few newfound friends.  So

needless to say, going to see where Kathy grew up and to meet her family was a great experience.   She had been adopted by a family, not typical of what I've been used to seeing, Middle class, a home in the suburbs, even a car in the driveway. But what was the same was the way that I had been welcomed by her mother's open arms.  What a wonderful person and so excited to have me in her home.  We had decided to go see a movie, but it was sold out so Kathy's mom had drug is across the street to the local casino.  I'm not much of a gambler, but to see Kathy's mom at the slots was like seeing Sara with a bucket of sunflower seeds. 

The next night we spent in Lima's bar district, Miraflores, and went bar hopping.  It was such a different city than the first time I had been there four months prior, when I had spent my time at museums and walking the plaza talking to English students who I had thought were after my luggage.

The following afternoon, I had said my good-byes to Lima and headed out on a night bus.  It was to be a 14-16 hour ride to Piura, a change point to catch a bus into Ecuador.  So I thought I was to spurge and go in luxury.  Never ask the people that you're buying the ticket from about luxury!  First of all, their standards are a little different than ours, and second, they are the ones profiting from the tickets!  I know they have very nice busses in Peru.  I see them all of the time.  But it is just that whenever I really would like one, I get one that is full of must and small seats that don't recline.  Did I mention all of the people standing in the isle?  Or using my armrest as their chair?  Some days I just dream of the day I can get in my gas-guzzling American truck and drive where I want, when I want!  But for today, I have a two year old next to me that has filled his pants hours ago and is drooling his crumbs of cookie all over my seat.  So there I am, rather than riding down the road enjoying myself, I have a foul odor coming from the baby next to me, my butt is only using the corner of the seat to avoid the drool soaked crumbs, and some bozo is sitting on my armrest sleeping and about to put his head on my shoulder.

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As I look around the inside of the bus, it looks so peaceful.  Everyone is sound asleep, and here I am in agony.  Held prisoner with no bathroom, I'm thinking about going on the floor.  Who would know?  It already smells, it's dark, and everyone is sleeping.  Fortunately, without notice, the driver pulls over at a wayside stop, right alongside of several other

busses.  The all too familiar sound of the airbrakes was followed by the interior lights being turned on and groggy people filing out of the bus, one by one.  As I step out of the bus, chaos is what comes to mind.  The once dark sky is not illuminated with 1,000 watt lamps, the soft murmur of hundreds of people talking, as they eat, elbow to elbow, being drowned out with the clanking of dishes, from the bussers clearing tables for the next group.  As the server delivers your prepared plate of hot slop, the busses is just moments behind, clearing off the tables, whether you're done or not.  Normally, I keep a keen eye on the driver so as not to miss the bus.  Just one of those things one learns to do when you're unable to speak the language and simply ask "how long are we going to be here?" Moments later, we're all back on the bus traveling north, as if we had never stopped. The odor was still emulating from the child next to me, and bozo is practically sitting on my lap, with his head drifting closer to my shoulder as he sleeps, but this time, unlike before, he is snoring.  I am able to get a little sleep before arriving Piura. 

It's daylight now, and sometime around 11:00 a.m.  As I step off of the bus, I am immediately taken back by the heat.  It was so hot out, my clothes are already beginning to stick to me, as I wait for my luggage to be unloaded from beneath the vehicle.  Like in most cities, there is not a single bus station, but rather each bus company has their own office in which they depart from.   For this I place a lot of trust in my South American handbook to find out which ones go to where I want and at what time.  But the handbook has no control over the proximity in which the different companies are from one another.  Then there is that all too familiar disclaimer "although we try to make this handbook as up to date as possible, schedules change, companies go bankrupt, prices to up and governments get overthrown."  And today, would fall into one of those categories, as to the best that I can figure, after about four hours of carrying my backpack from one side of town, to the other, one company no longer exists, and the other has changed their schedule and won't leave until the following night.  I've got one more option before my thumb is used, I've heard that there is a special taxi company that will take you the two-hours needed to get to the Ecuadorian border, great!  I head in the direction my informant's finger is pointing and soon come up to the taxi stand with three people, all ready piled in the car and they're in need of one more before they go, ME! So I'm off to Ecuador with the windows open, my sweaty clothes can

finally get a chance to air out.  

For over an hour and a half the road is flat and straight.  Then it begins to wind up and down hills with the jungle becoming extremely thick.  We approach a valley where the car pulls over to the side of the road, just before crossing a bridge, a bridge with a banner strung high above from one side to the other, "Welcome to Ecuador".  This was it, after I donned my backpack and cross over the bridge, I'll have been to every South American country.  Such a spectacular place this is.  High in the jungle covered mountains, with the sound of rushing whitewater below my feet as I cross the bridge.   I make my way to a truck going into town and climb into bed while I wait for a couple of others to do the same.  I pass the time watching a local make his way from truck to truck selling pieces of fresh watermelon.  The ride into Latina was just as spectacular, winding through the thick jungle in the back of a truck full of poorly shaven Ecuadorians, I felt that I was in a movie with a truck full of drug smuggling gorillas. 

I've been making my way to a town in Ecuador called Cuenca that I've heard so much about from other travelers, but when I got there, it was a disappointment to me.  It's truly in a beautiful setting, but not much else to offer.  I think that I may be just getting tired of the travel.  Six months of living in bus stations, figuring out schedules, and finding rooms practically every night, and when I'm not doing that, I'm doing laundry or fighting off locals, trying to sell me something, anything, toys, corn, chicken, kabobs, finger puppets, shirts, hats, toothpaste, combs, jumper cables, or Tupperware..... the list is endless.  I've also been on my own now for about one month besides my time in Lima.  Everything that I find to do seems to not interest me anymore.  I think I'm getting ready to call it quits and head home.

As dumb as it might sound, I'm looking forward to standing on the equator.  When I crossed it traveling south, it was in the middle of the night on a bus, so I was unable to enjoy the full excitement, an equilateral line may give to someone.  In fact, I've already made a mental note of which direction the toilets below the line flush.  I caught a bus from Cuenca to Quito, this landscape is just unbelievable, but short lived as the sun sets on me.  I look in my book to study up on Quito and figure out where I will perhaps stay.  Unknowing to me, I have a hostel already circled, El Centro Del Mundo, I don't know by whom, but I thank them.  Since it's a dark rainy night, in fact, I'm so tired of traveling I just jump in a cab and have them bring me to this hostel.   Normally I would try to navigate it out on my own.   When the cab pulls up to the address, I'm not quite sure it's the correct place.  Dark and quiet, I ring the bell, and I'm buzzed in.  When I open the door, the music is cranked, people everywhere, with drinks in hand.  I don't even get the door shut and someone hands me a cold beer.  I hit the jackpot, three times a week this place has a party.  It was the strangest experience.

The area of Quito that I'm in is very much Americanized.  A refreshing surprise, the traveling is starting to wear on me and I'm having ridiculous thoughts of sleeping in my own bed.  Today I took a bus and spend time at the official Centro Del Mundo, then I walk next door and see the unofficial, but actual equilateral line and it's here that I watch water drain on either side of the line.   Only six inches apart from each other, it actually works! 

Tired of all that excitement, I head back to my room, pack my things, and get ready for my flight to Panama City, Panama.   My original plan was to travel all the way over land to Minneapolis, but here in Quito, I'm running into travelers that have been traveling south through Central America for seven months.  Well, I don't have that kind of time, if I can at least get to Panama City, I'll be able to continue my journey in the future, by traveling shorter trips from capital to capital, throughout Central America.  The only way one can get to Panama from South America without flying is by boat, from Columbia.  And last week, a British traveler had been killed in a kidnapping attempt.  I've been to Columbia twice now, each time it was wonderful while I was there, but I'm going to avoid it at this point and just fly to Panama.  My South American journey is coming to a quick end, tomorrow I will be in Panama, but tonight is spent at the hostel, another rainy night in a cozy hostel with a party, but I make it an early night.  My cab is scheduled to pick me up at 3:30 a.m.

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Panama City was surprisingly different than I had imagined.  In my mind was the news footage of the US Military occupation when Manuel Noreiga was removed from power.  Tanks rolling through the shantytowns with trash and graffiti, littering every inch of the camera's view, but in reality it was a vibrant city, full of towering skyscrapers, and cars that you would see in a Western world, new and nonpolluting.  Uniquely, Panama has all the American school busses, that have been brought down here and are being used for public transportation.  Chrome rims, tinted glass, and airbrushed flames decorate the sides of these buses.  A startling contrast to their former livery of original yellow and black. Tomorrow, I fly to Atlanta, totaling six months of travel to the day, in that time, I have taken 268 busses, 85 taxis, 4 trains, 25 boats, 5 planes, hitched 11 times, and covered over 40,000 Km or 25,000 miles! What a lifetime of memories it has been. 

The rest of Central America I will leave for another time...