The Maverick Tribe - travel

The End - for now

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 01:25:00 +0200

This will be the last blog entry I make for this trip. It is Easter Sunday and I´m still in Venezuela, preparing for my trip back to Brazil, and then on back to the States. Venezuela is definitely a religious country, and on Easter week, this is definitely not a place for tourists. Most everything since we´ve been here has been closed. Even serving alcohol has been banned after a certain time of day, which means that there´s basically nothing to do at night. I don´t drink, but it would have been nice for Chris and I to have some place to hang out besides the hotel.

At any rate, this weekend has been a time for us to sit around by the pool and contemplate our recent adventure, and our future adventures. Of course the trip has had its ups and downs, and it was much more expensive than I had planned on. But most of you out there know why I made this journey, and it wasn´t specifically to see South America. And based on what I´ve learned here, about Chris and about myself, I think I´m ready to begin charting my course for the future.

I never loved Paris Hilton so much

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Fri, 06 Apr 2007 21:13:57 +0200

Well, I haven`t entered anything in my blog for awhile. I`m finally in a position where I can give an update, since I haven`t had ready access to an internet connection in awhile.

Travelling in foreign countries can be frustrating. Especially 3rd world countries. Especially 3rd world countries that are experiencing a upsurge in socialist nationalism and the requisite anti-Americanism. And especially if you`re under the power of the Chris Austin Brazilian Candomblè hex.

We arrived in Manaus on Monday. Everything was honky-dory. We experienced the jungle, saw an alligator, rode on little water taxis through the Amazon canals, ate piranha, all that and a bag of chips. The trouble began when we began making our journey to Venezuela. First they wouldn´t sell Chris a bus ticket to Venezuela because he didn`t have exactly the right kind of yellow fever vaccination certificate. So we finagled a bit and managed to get on the bus, but we were worried about what would happen at the border. Turns out at the Venezuelan border there was just a sweet old lady stamping passports, so we breathed a sigh of relief. Our relief was in fact premature, as there happened to be a number of military checkpoints inside Venezuela checking documents. At one of the stops, the Venezuelan officials racially profiled Chris, thinking he was a Brazilian drug runner. After some hassles with searching bags and showing passports we were let go, only to discover that Chris' passport was missing and nowhere to be found.

So now after the iPod, 3 cell phones, a wallet, and emptying a bank account, the Brazilian hex had struck again, claiming Chris' passport. Nevertheless, after some wheeling and dealing in Spanish at 3 am in the Puerto la Cruz bus terminal, we were finally on our way to Caracas. The troubles wouldn`t stop there, as we encountered most everything being closed during the Holy week before Easter. With no passport and a holiday weekend, the American Embassy closed, we were unable to head to the Los Roques islands for a beach weekend, unable to rent a car, and unable to get almost any kind of information that we needed. There were plenty of people selling crucifixes and Virgen Mary refigerator magnets though.

Venezuela is a country squarely focused on national pride, religious observances, political demonstrations... not terribly focused on serving American tourists. As such, the two of us through in our backpacks and checking into the Caracas Hilton. Pool, tennis courts, air conditioning, internet cafe and English speakers baby! I've never been so happy to be associated with good ol' American Paris Hilton in my life.

Rio de Janeiro, bitches!

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Sat, 31 Mar 2007 01:40:00 +0200

The two days I just spent in Rio really hit the spot. There´s really nothing like hang gliding hundreds of feet above Santa Teresa beach with the rugged mountain formations of Brazil´s coastline as a backdrop. Rio was perfect -- 30 degree (Centigrade) weather, lots of folks on the beach, great churrascaria. Churrascaria is one of the things that really draws me to Brazil. You go to a restaurant, fill up your plate at a lavish buffet, while handsome waiters come by with skewers of meat to serve you. I say skewers, but really these things resemble swords, and the swordsman slices off a hefty slice of lamb or sirloin steak right onto your plate. I ate like the better part of a cow that night.

Then there was, again, the hang gliding. This is something I meant to do the last time I was in Rio, but didn´t get a chance to. Needless to say, it´s exhilerating. Well, exhilerating but at the same time much more relaxing than I had expected, since the whole time you´re basically floating above the beach, looking down at forest and people and vistas below. At the end, Ronaldo, the guy taking me out, asked me if I wanted a landing ¨with emotion¨, or ¨without emotion¨. Despite what a certain someone might say about me being too emotional, I chose to land ¨with emotion¨. As soon as I said that, Ronaldo replied ¨good choice¨and put the hang glider into freefall, as we careened toward the beach below. That was the best part, and I´m glad I chose the ¨emotional¨ending.

Below are some of the pictures of this experience.

This the platform that you take off from.

Frivolous worries

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 20:05:00 +0200

Before I left for Brazil, I happened to read an article in the San Francisco Chronicle describing proposed legislation that would require require all cats and dogs to be spayed and neutered, except in special circumstances such as for licensed breeders. Explains Assemblyman Lloyd Levine, D-Van Nuys:

We simply have a huge problem in the state with pet overpopulation. I can't tell you how many people have complained to me about cats defecating in their yards, flowerbeds ... and in sandboxes where kids play. It's a huge public safety and public health issue.

Meanwhile, down here in South America, Chris and I just had our yellow fever vaccinations, which will probably be required before we enter Venezuela next week. Reading up on all the tropical ailments in and around the Amazon rainforest can be sobering. In addition to concerns about yellow fever, one needs to be wary of Brucellosis, Cholera, Dengue Fever, Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, Leishmaniasis, Malaria, Measles, Rabies, Schistosmiasis, Tick-borne Relapsing Fever, Typhoid Fever, and, my personal favorite, Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis.

So let´s see.

Venezuela´s public health concerns: 13 potentially life-threatening infectious diseases.

California´s public health concerns: cat shit.

São Sebastião and Ilhabela

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 16:29:07 +0100

I took a quick overnight trip to São Sebastião, a coastal town within São Paulo state, and to Ilhabela, a gorgeous island just off São Sebastião. It was great to get away from the bustle of Mogi das Cruzes and São Paulo for a bit. I hiked around the island, which is thick with mountain and jungle and has waterfalls throughout. (I felt a bit like I was on the set of Lost.) For most of time, I was the only one within earshot. I took a quick dip in one of the streams, which actually reminded me of swimming in the rivers in Vermont back home, only with fewer naked hippies running around.

Here´s where I stayed in São Sebastião:

And a few of Ilhabela:

São Paulo: Another urban jungle

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 15:50:00 +0100

I liked São Paulo a lot more than I thought I would. I was imagining lots of slums, pollution, and ugly, functional architecture. Of course that stuff is there, but there is indeed a swanky side to São Paulo. And like Rio de Janeiro, and even Singapore, it´s got that urban jungle feel to it. Walking around the Jardins ("the gardens") neighborhood can feel like hanging out in the nicer parts of Miami or L.A.

A Quickie

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 17:38:08 +0100

Well, I had planned to have more time in front of a computer so that I could keep a daily update on my blog. As it turns out, I haven´t had much of a chance yet, so I´m just going to check in to say hello to all you out there. I´ve been to São Paulo a couple of times so far, and I have to say it´s a beautiful city -- not as captivating as Rio, but much nicer than I had expected. I took a lot of pictures and hope to post them soon. Today I´m headed to the coast to relax at the beach and do a little hiking. Otherwise, everything´s been going fine -- it´s rained pretty much since I got here, today is finally a nice day and it´s beautiful. Stay tuned!

I made it to Brazil

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 18:46:50 +0100

It was a long night of traveling. My itinerary to Brazil was supposed to go San Francisco - Los Angeles - Lima, Peru - São Paulo, but it ended up being San Francisco - Los Angeles - Lima - Santiago, Chile - São Paulo. It´s funny how these South American airlines work. You see, my flight INTO Lima was scheduled to land at 12:30 am, while my flight OUT of Lima was scheduled to depart at 12:25 am. Now, I´m a pretty experienced traveller and a pretty fast runner, but not even I am able to make a connection in negative five minutes. Perhaps someday someone will explain to me how this is possible - perhaps it has something to do with being below the equator. (I still have so much to learn about this culture!)

Anyway, I realized this discrepancy at some point flying 33,000 feet above the Pacific coast of Panama, and eventually had to get rerouted through Santiago. All in all, from SFO to touchdown at São Paulo Gaurulhos airport, it was about a 24 hour trip. Luckily, I have Chris and his friend Julia in Brazil who were able to accomodate to my schedule change and meet me at the airport. Chris and I are staying in Mogi das Cruzes, which is where Chris and Julia teach English. They helped me settle in to the hotel, and last night I was already a guest star in one of Chris´ classes. Here´s a picture of Chris and Julia:

And one of the school where they teach:

Tonight we´re off to check out São Paulo, the 3rd biggest city in the world. Should take a while.

Tomb Raider

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Wed, 23 May 2001 07:45:00 +0200

Angkor Wat. It is the crown jewel of Southeast Asian landmarks. And due to geopolitical restrictions, only recently available to a wide audience. Even now it is beyond the reach of those both too poor to afford the airfare and too infirm to endure the sole overland route. The latter is a 7 hour ride on the back of a pickup over the soggy country "road" riddled with the pockmarks of land mines and grenades. Guess which route I took?

I always like relics that blueprint the imagination, and the ruins of Angkor really deliver. Standing on the jungle floor and overlooking the expanse of green that forms the king's arena, you can almost picture the clash of spears and the wail of elephants. This vision is greatly assisted by the fact that, rendered in stone all along the boundaries are carvings of spears clashing and elephants wailing.

The gists of Khmer history are pictorially recorded in the bas reliefs that span every major structure; no Rosetta Stone necessary. Invaded by the Chams, invaded by the Thais, ripped off by the Chinese; all tests of resolve faithfully etched into their monument walls. Social customs are also represented. These consisted mainly of self-congratulatory feasting after a battle victory, organizing harems, and executing people. The detail on this stuff is amazing: right down to the erect nipple featured on the misbehaving concubine, and, in the next panel, the wily eyes of the alligators they're feeding her to.

The ancient kingdom of Angkor strikes me as what would result if a bunch of horny 13-year-old boys were allowed to create their own society. (Given that the afternoon heat makes you want to kill yourself as soon as you become sophisticated enough to figure out how to do so painlessly, that may be precisely what it was.) Have you heard of the Linga stone? The Angkor version is a most holy representation of the Hindu god Shiva's phallus, and by divine association, that of whatever god-king ordered it built. One of the rituals involves the king's minions pouring water into a small reservoir on the top, allowing it to overflow and gush down the shaft. The resulting pool that collects around the base is then deemed "holy water". Charming, isn't it?

Another terribly important ritual has the king make a daily ascent to the top of his personal altar, where he meditates, prays, feels the holy tingle, and then selects the day's divine sexual repository from among the pool of bathing mistresses below. As I'm sure you can imagine, the gods are thoroughly displeased if this particular religious observance isn't strictly adhered to.

Modern Cambodia is a lesson in what happens when you keep these little rascals in relative cultural isolation and then give them guns: they, of course, divide into teams and shoot at each other. Now, I know what you're thinking: arrogant white boy thinks he can essentialize an entire culture he's not a part of, and in a condescending way at that. To this my reply is: touché.

But, however paradoxically, meeting the Cambodians on the street, it's hard to imagine a people of a gentler nature. Even the obligatory touts and scam artists seemed to act out their roles in life in limited earnest. And then, somehow, from this humble collage of labor, routine and coy smiles, the penultimate destruction of the Khmer nation unfolded. No one knows exactly how, but it seems collateral spillage of Cold War geopolitical acid onto native, revolutionary baseness – or whatever it was – detonated one of the most morbid social experiments the world as ever seen.

Which brings me to the point I’m trying to make, being an arrogant white boy or, perhaps, being merely an armchair sociologist. In either case, I think I'm sitting on firm cushion here when I say that, the greater the general tendency of a people toward humility and honor, the greater the tendency for those anomolous, Grade-A assholes to rise to the top.

Now, in America we benefit from a progressive system of checks and balances that distribute our asshole qualities more or less equitably among the populace. As you know, each of us is afforded moderate leeway to act like a complete jackass from time to time, but not so much as to dominate over the other 250 million jackasses out there. Granted, it is an imperfect system, with a disproportionate share allocated to our nightclub doormen, sports franchise owners, and U.S. Senators from Mississippi, but we should be thankful nonetheless.

Thankful that we don’t have the system the Cambodians had in the time of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, with no legal system to sue the guy responsible for that piece of shrapnel embedded in your daughter’s skull, no protection given by the police (or FROM the police)… not even a bloody monetary currency to buy your way out of trouble, that most fundamental exercise of capitalist freedom. Because 99% of the people were nice; they were trusting; and they were vulnerable – when the assholes took over. This I will call my First Law of Assholes.

My Second Law of Assholes states that, for every action, some righteous bastard feels he needs to react in an UNequal and opposing way. This is why so many nations, like Cambodia, become engulfed in endless, self-fueling civil war. And this is way we ourselves became engulfed in the Cold War.

But this isn’t supposed to be about the Cold War, civil wars, or any other kind of war. It’s supposed to be about Cambodia, which is, frankly, in times of war and in times of peace, a simple case of testosterone run amok.

I was solicited for the services of a lady companion at least five times during my 3-day stay in the country – always by men… pimps, I suppose, though they also happened to be my tour guides, my motorbike drivers, and my guesthouse manager, respectively. So, either there is quite a bit of horse trading of women that goes on there, or there is something about my manner that screams to people, “I’m straight and in desperate need of a good lay!”

Back in the city of Angkor, a few of the altars in the major temples are still tended to by Buddhist nuns. In the Wat itself there is one, just after the doorway with a deity carving. (Before you pass you are invited to rub her breasts for good luck. These are two mounds protruding from the otherwise porous stone that have been completely smoothed over by centuries of prurient blessings.) The nun that resides in the Wat altar is just like all the other nuns that reside in all the other altars: old, bald, and completely nuts. As you enter she waves a fistful of incense sticks at you, cackles, and points to a donation basket full of U.S. dollars. After you pay up she goes back to her ill-tempered singing and chanting, high on incense fumes – or something. Again I tried to mentally transport myself back in time. Would it be the same? A woman? In saffron robes like that? With a shaved head? If I were a Khmer woman in the 12th century I think I would have striven for the senile nun gig.

Perhaps I still would today. In addition to needing religious custodians and call girls, Cambodia needs a lot of people to rebuild things. Since a good lot of the fit men were slaughtered during the wars and holocausts, much of this rebuilding will necessarily be done by women and children. They were out in full force working on the roads and bridges along the route back into Thailand, but there is still a tremendous amount yet to be done. As many of the bridges were still incomplete, our tour bus often had to detour down into the soppy irrigation ditches that the bridges were going to span. Testosterone is indeed amuck, but then again, a lot of things are amuck in Cambodia, not the least of which is the muck itself. The bus got stuck a couple times and we all got out and pushed.

About the same time I returned to Bangkok, the movie “Tomb Raider” hit the theatres. In it, Angelina Jolie stars as a witty, sexy, and kick-ass video game heroine come to life. As an international special operations agent, a gun-wielding, martial arts trained, defender of the free world, and so on and so forth, her mission takes her to the ruins of Angkor. (It was filmed on-site.) I went to see the movie and sat there watching Angelina out-wit, out-fight, and generally out-class all the male villains on the very grounds from which I had just returned. I would have thought that I might be able to just feel a faint sense of satisfaction, a whisper of retribution, a tinkle of justice in watching Angelina kick the living crap out of all those bad guys. But all I could think the whole time was: Too little, too late, Karma.

Songkran

noreply@blogspirit.com (Jake) — Mon, 16 Apr 2001 06:05:00 +0200

(Ed. note: The author scores points on a number of fronts with this entry. In addition to criticizing the Taliban several months before the events of September 11, 2001, he actually managed to employ alliteration on the letter "q". Bravo! -- MT)

Last Friday morning I woke up and decided that I needed a gun. Preferably a rifle, something high caliber. The sophistication and craftsmanship of my weapon would not be as important as its range and its ability to fire off vast quantities of ammunition, which in this case would be… water.

This past weekend Thailand celebrated Songkran, or the Thai New Year, now being the year 2544. Songkran is also a celebration of water, dispensed from hoses, squirt guns, or simply poured on one’s head from a bucket. The roots of this tradition are dignified and lofty. At the turning of the New Year, you are to ceremoniously bathe yourself in flower-scented water and powder yourself dry; this is to signify that you have cleansed and purified your spirit in a fresh start to the coming year. Songkran, however, is an example of an ancient Thai observance that has been bastardized by heathenistic modern society. As the Christian West has turned Christmas into an excuse for more enterprise, Thais have turned Songkran into an excuse for more mayhem.

I needed my gun to defend myself. For three straight days it was impossible to leave the house without getting an utter dousing from locals waiting for the innocent passer-by (preferably a foreigner). I’d skip off to the 7-Eleven for some groceries, freshly showered and dressed, and return ten minutes later drenched from head to toe and filthy with a chalky-mud that has replaced the original ritual powder. The onslaught is from all sides: from passing pickup trucks, from street-side shops, from the balconies above. Supersoaker-style guns are distributed everywhere, as are water cannons and plastic buckets. Ordinary water pistols will simply not do.

The center of the action is on Kao San Road, the locale for the migrant backpacking set. It is difficult to describe what the festivities are like there. Imagine an enormous outdoor college kegger, whose participants have been herded into a narrow street and then drenched by a filthy monsoon. The locals carry buckets of chalk-mud and insist upon slathering it on your face as they wish you a happy new year. There is absolutely nothing you can do to avoid getting systematically terrorized, except arm yourself and fight back.

That’s the first day. This year Songkran lasted four straight days, with a few fanatics extending the chaos even longer. I wondered aloud to some Thais about whether having water fights might get tiresome after 24 or 48 hours of nonstop showers. All I got in return were confused looks. By Day Two, however, I realized that the jarring effect of getting blasted with water at room temperature begins to wear off, even for me. The next logical step? Ice, of course.

Bucket after bucket of ice is trucked in to Kao San Road and diluted in tubs to give your ammo a bit more of a kick. Get used to freezing water careening against the back or your neck; more than one prankster is bound to get you good. Not even the police are immune.

Occasionally you will encounter the Angry Tourist. The Angry Tourist is some white man or woman who holds futile notions that they can avoid the filth. They glower their way down the street, and, to those of us who are already drenched, come off as the worst kind of party pooper. I actually did feel a touch of sympathy for the Angry Tourists. Imagine taking a vacation and travelling thousands of miles to the Land of Smiles. After a twelve-hour flight, you take a taxi to your swanky hotel. You step out of the cab and are greeted by a beautiful Thai woman, smiling just like you’ve seen in all the brochures. Then after a traditional Thai curtsey, she slaps your cheeks with mud and pours a glass of ice down your shirt. “Happy New Year!” she’ll cry, to which you are expected to reply, “Thank you!”

Oh well, you’re just going to have to live with it, this is Bangkok after all. If you wanted to stay dry and ignored, you should have gone to Afghanistan. In Afghanistan there are no marauding gangs of gleeful hoodlums packing chill. There are, however, plenty of government-sanctioned thugs abusing women and blowing up ancient statues. Call me quixotic, call me quaint, call me a love-and-peace queer, but I can’t help thinking that if the world had more senseless bouts with water guns, people wouldn’t be so eager to deploy the real variety.

I’ve stopped reading the newspapers. Regional news is just too grim and monotonous. Most international news is essentially the same story: someone’s screwing over someone else, and the screw-ees are mad as hell. Then they get armed. The Singaporean Chinese marginalize the Malays, who can’t stand the Hindus. Indonesia is busy playing Musical Ethnic Clashes. There’s vast corruption in India. There’s vast corruption everywhere. The Vietnamese, a society that’s been taking it on the chin from foreign meddlers throughout recorded history, are discriminating against their tribal minorities. So the tribes get themselves some M-16’s. For all I know, the tribesmen, after a long day of being oppressed by the government, take their anger out by kicking their dogs around. The dogs are probably sniffling at each other, planning their revolt.

The fragile Philippine government is cracking down militarily on threats from all sides, from an ousted ex-President’s cartel to a Muslim terrorist group. The other day I sat down to my morning coffee to the headline, “[Philippine President Gloria Macapagal] Arroyo: Surrender or Be Pulverized”. Um… another cup, please. Thank God China’s press is restricted; I don’t even want to know what goes on there.

Then of course there’s the Great and Majestic U.S. of A. Like it or not, our forces are here, and don’t touch us unless you want to get creamed.

I long for American news media, wringing its hands over the safety of PlaySkool tricycles and playing voyeur to the tawdry sex lives of public figures. (I remember what you did, Marv Albert. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten, you pervert.) And oh yeah, some brown people are killing each other on the other side of the world. As for the latest developments in the Jon Benet Ramsey case…

How’s Oprah’s diet coming along these days, anyway?

Not that America doesn’t have it’s own racial strife to report, but let’s face it: most mainstream Americans are disinterested in things like gang violence unless it involves a rap star they can recognize from MTV.

Back here in Thailand, we’re soaking wet and groping each other. That’s not to imply that this place is a Third World Woodstock (redundancy?), because it isn’t. Thais can be as classist and racist as anybody. And I suppose I should mention that over 600 people were killed during Songkran’s events, mostly from alcohol-related motorcycle accidents. The inadvertent carnage notwithstanding, there’s an important lesson here. To all you gun-toters who think that your firearm gives you a macho-injection, how about a fresh squirt of freezing water in the ear? To all you pretention pimps who think you can cordon off social boundaries with your clothes and jewelry, let’s see how your Jag looks slathered in mud! To all of you who are caught up in what you think things should be instead of what they are, the message is apt: Chill out!

In light of all this, it’s interesting to reflect on how little armed conflict exists in Thailand’s history, relative to other nations in the region, and in the world for that matter. Subsequently, and admittedly, I also wonder about this country’s military readiness. The last army enlist I met was busy smoking methamphetamine vapor in preparation for a night out at the gay bars. “Boy”, I believe his name was. I don’t know if I should feel safe living in a society whose national security is in the hands of speed freaks named “Boy”.

Just in case, I’m keeping my supersoakers under the kitchen sink, near the ammunition.