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While on the descent into the vast Venezuelan capital of Caracas, the Caraceño (a person native to Caracas), explained that the plethora of lights gleaming from los cerros (the hills), were those coming from the vastly populated ranchitos(shacks), where the lowest economic segment of society resided. In preceding years, during an incredible economic boom, millions of people from el campo (the country), flocked into the city in search of new hope. What they failed to realize was that without education and contacts, they would be forced to live in the hills that pop out at every angle in and surrounding the large modern metropolis. Lacking identity or home addresses, these people live as virtual untouchables. Hence, some of the people fortunate enough to be born into the middle and upper classes joke that the abundance of lights in the hills are decoration for the city during the Christmas holiday season. I then touched down at Maiquetía International airport and was escorted to a friends house where typical homemade cuisine was fed to me in very frequent intervals during my stay of two weeks. It was hearty and filling, titillating my taste buds beyond belief. The city was hot and crowded, and by far, not the ideal sitio (place), to pass time. Although a good percentage of the women had an exotic, hermosisima (very beautiful) appearance, they also existed in many other more comfortable places. I visited many young people in the middle to upper segment of society, all making a durable effort to hold respectable puestos (job positions). They were extremely amiable, feeding me with food, drink and stimulating conversation about their country which they hold a great deal of orgullo (pride), for. Sitting exactly beside the city, however within city limits, was the entrance to the mountain trail of La Avila. From there, a five hour hike, (A bit steep in certain spots), constituted a breathtaking view of El Mar Caribe (The Caribbean Sea). Another slight highlight of Caracas is the section of Bellas Artes (Beautiful Arts). In this zona (area), there consists an art museum, and a rather contemporary science museum. However, despite a couple of good qualities, Caracas is no more than a big, typical city, very far from the top of just about anybody's list of important destinations, unless of course they were on business, or visiting friends and family. Next was a 12 hour bus journey to Mérida, located high in the Andes of Western Venezuela, a pleasant and sharp contrast from Caracas. Here, aside from manefestaciónes (demonstrations), by students, causing the police and national guard to heavily infest large areas with tear gas, and people running amok in a particular discotheque stabbing random patrons with HIV infected needles, Mérida is actually a fantastic place to visit. There I passed two and one-half weeks. The pretty Merideñas (women native to Mérida), would call to gringos, with an inviting hiss, thus quite pleasant. The city consisted of a very moving bar where gringos, Venezuelan tourists and Merideños alike, comfortably mingled. Later, many would eventually make their way to one of two discotheques to pass away the early morning until around 4 or 5 a.m. Mérida also offers a wide variety of mountain excursions and sports including hangliding, paragliding, intense subiendo (climbing), up to snow covered picos (summits), horseback riding, jeep excursions to wild animal reserves, and good honest trekking. I was fortunate enough to go on a 5 day trekking journey through the vast area and altitude of a section of the Andes entitled Los Nevados. There, I stayed in a village of 80 inhabitants where the majority of people appeared related. It was about a 20 hour walk to civilization as the late 20th century human knows it. The homes were spread out, most of which were sitting on picturesque plains. While not serving their owners, the animals of the campesinos (farmers), roamed freely in the wild. The night climate was similar to a brisk northern Autumn while days were temperately warm. In comparison to western civilization, there was nothing to do but enjoy la naturaleza (the nature). From there, I road through tough terrain on a mule for about 6 hours, upon which an 8 hour trek was in store. Just before nightfall, in the desolate altitude, I came across an isolated house by a beautiful river and mammoth waterfall. In addition, a large prado (meadow), complimented the generously sized abode. For a meager fee, I was able to eat an abundance of spaghetti and sleep for the night. As electricity was not an option, I was forced to stargaze and retire early. Next it was off to Chichirivichi, which is the gateway to Morroccoy National Park. There I camped on a Caribbean island for four days. Filled with gruelingly hot sun, holding perhaps a strength content 20 times that of a northern Summer effect, being cuidado (careful), was the way of the intake, or fry. During the brief dusk period, the temperature was perhaps a perfect 75 degrees with mild winds. This was a very comforting & deserving relief. The sunset was splendid. Then as nightfall quickly seeped in, the tropical breeze blew the aroma of marijuana all around, hence embracing the clean breeze. Fires and beach parties would begin to crop. Bare footed in the cushioned sand along with a perfect temperature combined for an extremely relaxed human existence, it constituted paraiso (paradise). This was life for four days. Next it was off to Colombia's Caribbean coast. Rolling hills, which sprouted a delightful array of tropical botany allowed for unprecedented seaside panorama. The stereotype of an abundance of Cocaine and Marijuana was quite fitting here. A house dealer frequented the rather cheap and shanty ambiance of the hotel 15 hours per day, more or less. The clients were mostly Western European, with a fair deal of North Americans. The prices for these drugs were about 20 to 40 times cheaper than at home. How could one refuse? Perhaps resistance would constitute regret later. Hence, the traveling explorers that experimented to find out what it was like, were fine. Experimenting with a substance should not foster complication in one's life. However, the consumers that allowed the dealer to put his children through college in the states were the important ones. These travelers would get stuck for months at a time and on raras veces (rare occasions), a whole year. SNIFFING COCAINE FRIVOLOUSLY "Fuck man, I've gotta get the fuck out of here, I gotta clean up my act before I go home." "This place has got me desperate for more powder man." "Hey mate, how you doing, what are you doing down here?" "I'm traveling, learning Spanish, fucking around." "I'm just here to snort mate." "How long you here?" "About 7 months or so. Would you like a line mate?" "Sure." "I've got Santa Marta, Cartegena and Baranquilla, which would you prefer?" "Fuck, I don't know, actually I have no idea." "Well, she prefers the Cartegena, I prefer the Santa Marta." bla, bla, bla................ This was a place to do drugs ... cocaine ... useless ... overrated ... and lacking purpose. On the coast of Northern Colombia the heat was strong. It's kind of like a caja de sudar (sweat box). But the food and drink were rich. Freshly squeezed juices or shakes of virtually all types of fruit were available. They even had jugo de arroz (juice made of rice). These refreshments were Godly. Also, fresh camarones (shrimp), was available along with a vast array of other mariscos (seafood). The area is not lacking sustenance. After two days of frolicking in a coastal town, relaxing in hammocks and admiring the exotic Caribbean women, it was time for a 4 hour de lujo (deluxe), bus ride for Cartagena. It is a beautiful Spanish colonial town not lacking in ritzy vecindarios, (neighborhoods). Especially striking is the Boca Grande zone. Beautiful mansions were placed nicely behind grand front yards. Everyone had groundskeepers, ensuring immaculacy. Of course in the areas of the cheap backpackers dives, there was everything, including prostitutes galore, coke pushers, and food vendors with boom boxes cranked to 10, blasting the high energy of the prevalent Caribbean music. These dives featured many travelers snorting to their heart's discontent. Next it was off for the Ecuadorian border. Traveling through Colombia went fine. Horror stories were floating every which way about Colombian travel. ........ A tourist was shot ........ Some guys hijacked a bus, then made the driver take them off on a dirt road, had everyone get off the bus, sliced the bus' tires, stripped everyone, took everything, clothing, luggage and all personal belongings. All were left naked, with nothing. ........ Some guys attacked a bar with machetes because they wanted to kill the owner, a personal vendetta or something. A bunch of tourists who had been frequenting the place had become rather friendly with the owner so they and some Colombians fought the guys off, however, withstanding serious injuries. ........ Some guys broke into this tourist hotel and took everyone's shit. ........ In the Hotel Miramar, a fellow walked in, pulled out his gun, and shot a Swiss guy dead in the head. These stories were told to me by people who claim to have witnessed them first hand. However, I was fortunate not to experience anything of major conflict. I believe Colombia to be as safe as home, wherever that may be. Next it was time to hop on a plane to the southwestern city of Cali. From there I would arrive at the Ecuadorian border in 15 hours. As it was 5:30 in the morning when I arrived, I had to wait an hour and a half for the border patrol to open. I then hopped on a bus for Quito, where I was due to arrive in five or six hours. However, as travel in Ecuador is no guarantee, that didn't happen. This is due to the fact that the Laundry Workers Coalition of Ecuador decided to protest against unfair treatment. Thus, they blocked the roads with piedras enormas (huge boulders), and burning tires. The ejecutivo (first class), bus' conductor declared, "We're turning around and going back." I felt as if I'd experienced something BIZARRE. I was forced to hike along the Pan American highway (a road in the mountains), until an old rickety bus pulled by and yelled Q-U-I-T-O, I joyfully entered the bus and arrived in Quito later that day. It was much bigger than I had expected. A geezer from London had told me that it is a small city and very cool. I then realized that you can't take advice about the size of a city from a person of London. London is so fucking huge that Quito would seem very small. This is a perfect example of the loopholes involved in ‘secondhand perception'. I stayed in Ciudad Antigua (the old town). Old it was, and gothic in a sense. As I ventured out it was dark. All of a sudden a barreling rain storm took command of the city. I scurried through the first door I saw. There were hordes of women in skimpy outfits, an organized brothel. I glanced in surprise happy to be out of the rain. I gawked and gazed for half an hour or so until the rain started to subside. Guys would walk up to a desk, purchase a ficha (token), for $3 and go choose a girl. As I had never seen anything like this before, it was slightly shocking. It was a bit strange grasping the concept, but it became easy fast, money and sex is all it was. It would be interesting to compile a survey, what are the two most frequented things on the average persons mind? If I were a gambling man, I'd be willing to bet it is money and sex. As Quito is a city, filled with contaminación (pollution), congestion and mere normality, it didn't do a whole lot for me. However, as it sits high in Ecuador's Andes, glimpses of rolling hills appear from many spots. It is the home over 100 Spanish language schools, therefore, it attracts many North Americans and Europeans with the aspiration to learn Spanish, either for a more enhanced South American travel experience or simply because Spanish is perhaps the widest spoken language in the world. I spent a couple of days visiting schools and decided that while away from home, city life was not the style for me. I then peacefully ventured for Baños, a beautiful town that sat amidst giant waterfalls, huge mountains and a towering volcano up to the side. The town possessed a hard rock cafe, fantastic hiking opportunities, video stores that offered separate rooms to view the movie of one's choice, restaurants with many varieties of scrumptious comidas (meals), at extremely affordable rates, natural bathing springs, and more taffy that could actually be consumed by the town's inhabitants in a life time . . . . . ten-fold. Next it was off to la selva (the jungle), Eastern Equador 's lowlands, and hotlands which are filled with every type of tropical insect imaginable, and more. After all, it sits amidst pouring heat just an inkling south of the Equator. The insects varied immensely in shape, size, color and ecological specialty. After a nice, powerful, high-grade Colombian ganga smoke, a 6 hour canoe ride along a scenic river in close proximity to Rio Amazonas was in store. The reason it was rather difficult to go as far as Rio Amazonas, is because it lays in an area where the land is currently under altercation between Peru and Ecuador. Rumor has it that if a traveler ventures into this heavily disputed territory, he may be shot in cold blood. The river's views were somewhat spectacular at times. The highly dense, green forests were a robust site, but what really made it worthwhile was the site of the indigenous people passing their day in the wilderness, bathing, working their animals and lunching on canoes in the river. As I was forced to ride in a canoe with gringos only, I was able to witness at instants, five or six cameras shooting up at once, taking photos of the indigenous people. They did not appear happy, it was if their mother land had been turned into a zoo, with them posing as the animals. I then arrived in Coca, a hot scuzzhole consisting of filth and oil workers who didn't appear to receive any free time except for sleeping. Outside of the town, in it's vast jungle surroundings, are coca leaves, used in the form of chew to numb up the mouth and wake the brain. Stepping off the canoe, there was a passport check with a military man who seemed to derive pleasure from having his shotgun barrel inadvertently sticking up in the air, so as to be pointed directly at all of the tourists heads as they gently stepped passed him. The next day constituted a 12 hour bus ride for Quito. The bus stopped in Lago Agrio for lunch. This town sits low down at sea level right on the Equator, where life is lethargic. After walking slowly for one hour, I was dripping in sweat, lacking any worthwhile energy. Getting back on the bus was a relief, until the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere for ten minutes. The bus was full to capacity, It must have been 100 degrees out, or more, The heat was unbearable, A suffrage, Breathing was growing increasingly difficult, People were yelling and screaming, The bus pulled out and the wind started generating We were all saved. After a couple of days of bus travel, I arrived in Cuenca, Ecuador's third largest city and perhaps the richest. The people appeared healthy and strong, they lived in great, big, immaculate houses, well, the one's with the plata (money) did anyway. The women parecieron (appeared), more exotic than in any other place in Ecuador. And they were muy simpatico (very nice), as well. Cuenca is by far the ritziest looking place in the country. Parts are even very majestic by western standards. It's amazing Spanish, colonial architecture could be compared to one of the more revealing cities of Southern Europe. Next it was off to Surlandia. A small town nestled at a perfect altitude in the south, very near to the Peruvian border. It is said to be home to the world's longest living citizens. Supposedly there are some 40 odd people living over the age of 100. The people live off the land, and breath fresh, exhilarating air, stress free. Surlandia is also home to San Pedro, a hallucinogenic juice extracted from the cactus. Many tourists arrive, and go straight to the tourist office to see the towns most popular man, Gonzalo. After all, he possesses the magical San Pedro. San Pedro is not the most refreshing juice in the world. As a matter of fact, it's probably closer to the most rancid. It causes many people to vomit during their extreme altered state. At times, much of the bodies physical feeling goes away, or feels a bit like floating putty. While at the same time all of the bodies senses become amazingly keen and alert. All senses are elevated so high that it is hard to make reason at times because everything is noticeable, simultaneously, it is impossible to avoid noticing virtually every single thing that is complimenting the day. A pulsating river flowing rapidly in millions of currents, mountains breathing and curving every which way, big healthy cows milking, people riding horses, carrying their machetes as they always do during the work day, and a beautifully, custom made bamboo bridge were included in the ambiance. Everything is made of bamboo, as the material sprouts from the ground in forests. The trip just doesn't want to stop, another dimension, another planet - - - is entered. "How can the world be like this? This is so weird. "Weird, what do you mean weird, this is way beyond weird, weird is normal, you can't be trying to tell me that this is normal, oh my goodness." A gaze up reveals a sky of serene spider webs, featuring giant tropical spiders feeding on a vast array of varieties of the insect class. Hundreds of animal sounds are being heard at once, the exuberant trees are pulsating to a perfect breeze. All is so visible, animals of all sorts are roaming, philosophy is trying to be made of life. It's very difficult to get words out of the mouth. And it goes on and on. But as it goes on, adaptation is attained, and words eventually splatter out. Anything done feels 100 times more intense, therefore it is advisable to be in good spirits, or else. In order to depart Surlandia, a passage to Loja (one hour north), was mandatory. A proud Ecuadorian man of 76 years stopped in his pick up truck and said to the 4 gringos, ¿"Loja"? "Si, señor, muchisimas gracias." The gringos had one, big fat joint left over from the police-free utopia of Surlandia. It was torched in the back of the pick up immediately. The man then stopped on the side of a road by a store and proceeded to buy beer for his newly aquainted amigos. The five of them proceeded to start a little party in the street. When the beer was consumed, they drove again until they arrived at the next store, and did the same thing for three more stores. Not to mention that the man was already a bit tipsy when he picked them up, this was not the safest way to be traveling. I then got on the noon time bus back to Cuenca, catching a pretty good midday glow. It made for a miserable bus ride through the lofty Andean landscape. Needing to use a urinal, there was none to be found, until I told the bus driver that I had to vomit, he immediately stopped the bus, I then ran behind a house and absolved perhaps the most needed urination of my life. Then the mid-afternoon hangover kicked in and constituted a nice, big, fat, headache. After roughly a day and a half of bus travel, I arrived in Otavalo, just in time for the big Saturday market. It offered hand made crafts and clothing at very attractive prices. It was swarming with Ecuadorians and gringos alike. Unfortunately, it was difficult to purchase a great deal as a lighter, less stuffed, muchila (backpack), made for a safer, easier and less conspicuous journey. Next were the two most picturesque bus passages of the journey. First, it was from Ipiales (Colombian border town), to Popayan. The well paved Andean road, (part of the Pan American Highway), twisted and turned, up and down and all around. The tierra (earth), was raging with beauty. Waterfalls of broad proportions hurled against dense green praries, while up yonder immense peaks contributed to the dazzling landscape, .... while at home, travel agents are flaunting posters of flat, Irish pasture. Popayan, another incredible looking Spanish colonial town, the most prestigious in all of Colombia, was peaceful, there, lived a higher segment of Colombian society, and again, the Popayanitas were radiant. Next it was a six hour bus ride along a road made of dirt. It was narrow, curvy and went up and down etc. etc. etc. As the bus was so rickety and rackety, combined with the unconventional carretera (roadway), the passengers were forced to bounce around for much of the way. However, the scenery made for truly stupendous sights. The lush, mountainous, tropical rain and cloud forests made up for a sufferable, uncomfortable ride, which was actually quite hilarious to witness and be part of. Then, it was an arrival in San Agustino, a most peaceful pueblo (town), nuzzled in the south-central isolated confines of Colombia. There it was possible to obtain many types of drugs. It was another one of those places that seemed to be lacking police. Other than this, the town possessed Inca ruins, horseback riding in a natural wonderland, and in actuality, it was like something out of a well imagined fairy tale. As it attracted many Colombian tourists, it was a way to get a real feel for the country. They seemed to live true, and therefore happy. They really knew how to spread their kindness. These people were not from the streets or the bush. They were from the cities of Bogotá, Cali and Medellin. They didn't bullshit, they weren't lacking in knowledge or integrity, and they had no qualms about inviting gringos into their homes. I stayed in the mountains for one week. This escape from contemporary civilization was quite refreshing. I attended a full moon celebration. It took place in a big meadow around a huge fire and lasted all night. It consisted of Gringos and locals. As Marijuana in Colombia costs almost nothing, there were large stogies floating around the fire. It made for a rather lethargic evening. Next it was off to Bogotá, a large sprawling metropolis filled with culture, money, art, intellectuals and the list could probably go on to fill a book. I stayed in the section of Candalaria, a nice, again, colonial section. I was not able to do a whole lot as I had to fly out of Caracas in just a few short days. Therefore, it was just long bus rides until I reached the large Venezuelan megalopolis. Immediately following, slight culture shock, or perhaps lifestyle shock, began to set in. All in all, I can not imagine a better way to spend a winter.