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You COULD hike to La Ciudad Perdida in the dry season, but then you´d miss out on...


pre-hike muscle warm ups...


showers with REAL water pressure...


hour-after-hour of giggle worthy mud music...


alternative modes of aerial transport...


raftless white water crossings...


...and the friendly funk that comes with wearing clothes that have been wet for six days.

It´s a good thing that one of those funky wet t-shirts read...



I still haven´t the time to put together all the words, but the pictures can now be found in the Colombia Album.

And if you live in Germany, you might even catch a glimpse of my muddy boots stomping by on the tube, as we had THIS guy...



and a journalist from ZDF.de stalking us around, interviewing and capturing footage for a documentary on, "Why travellers consciously choose to travel in notoriously dangerous areas..."

My answer coming soon.

(Just in case the slant of my sarcasm slipped, let me be clear that the trek -- monsoon, mud and all -- was absolutely awesome. It´s an mysterious and magical equation that the more you endure, the more you hold dear.)


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Wandering but not lost.

On a 6 day trek to La Ciudad Perdida (the lost city.)

Here are some pics I found online while mine are in the making...)


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Come closer my friend, for I have something to share with you that we don't necessarily want the rest of the world to know...

Colombia is I-N-C-R-E-D-I-B-L-E.

*hands down*

The best kept secret of South America.

Where to start?! The gasp-worthy countryside? The wicked rumbas (parties)? The "ambiente caliente"? The masses of photo-worthy faces? The daunting size of the avocados and mangos? The smells wafting from the bakeries? The alleys full of flowers tumbling over amazing architecture? The breed of backpacker? The sweaty salsa discoteques? And the people! The people! The people!

Let me give you two of a dozen examples...

-- I walk into a hotel in Popayan and inquire as to if a room is available. The young woman smiles and informs me that the entire town is booked because of a conference. The first drops of the afternoon monsoon start to splatter in the garden in the center plaza of the hotel. "Ni una cama?" (Not one bed?) I plead. The smile never leaves the face of the girl as she replies, "No problem. You can sleep in the bed of mi papi. He's out of town for the weekend. Okay? Follow me."

-- I wander out of the rain and into a building in Cali and ask the receptionist where I can find a map of the city. She shakes her head and tells me she hasn't any idea. A young girl approaches me and says, "Come with me. I'll drive you to the tourist office. And here's my card. Call me tonight and I'll show you around all of Cali, okay?!"

I have never, in all my travels, met such a warm and welcoming people as the Colombians.

The backpackers too are of a whole other breed; Uniquely united in a dare to challenge the rumor of danger, they've each surrendered their security at the border in exchange for a romp where only those that take their life less seriously can wander. In the last two nights, I was the only American at tables with representatives from Serbia, Slovenia, Denmark, Czech Republic, Israel, Colombia, Thailand, Holland, Norway, Australia, France, England, Belgium and Zimbabwe. And not a pair of zip-off pants in the whole bunch.

And Colombia is easy on the backpacker budget as well -- although the value of dollar has dropped dramatically in the last week (ranging from 3000 to 2000 pesos in exchange for US1$). My taxi driver informs me that the drop is due to the US presidential elections. He then tells me that he should be able to vote for my president because, "...what happens in your country probably actually affects me more than it does you." I nod my head in absolute agreement.

And the cities!!! There aren't enough pretty adjectives in the dictionary so I'll just let you see for yourself...

            

>63 New Pictures in the Colombian Album.

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*Did you just get goosebumps? Because I did!*

So my mother would like to clarify for the "blog-record" that she is NOT "fine" (as I had previously assumed and posted) with my going to Colombia, but, in her own words...

"Colombia does give me pause. I just am not shocked that you’re going. No, I do NOT want you to go there. I want you to come home and do good stuff around here. "Have fun" is short for, "we know you’re going to go where you’re gong to go regardless of what we say, so you might as well have a good time; Bring home some good stories and stay healthy and alive. We love you and we’re living vicariously through you. And don’t let anyone think you're worth kidnapping for any money."

I’m a nightmare of an offspring. And in the unlikely case that I actually live long/full enough, my parents will take great joy in the curse that will in turn be passed down to those that spring off me; For the one advise I will never be able to dish or defend is, "don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

So yes! To Colombia, for an undefined and frosted slice of delicious time!

And deserving credit for the documentation of this upcoming adventure in “Locoland” goes to two very important supporters of this site.

First, as you can see by the new link (coming) on the right side of this page, solbeam.com has reached across both continents and cyberland to eagerly and appreciatively shake the hand of Australian based, WorldNomads.com.


WorldNomads has so graciously offered to indefinitely sponsor my spiritually-fueled and passionate pursuit of truth and inspiration in this world as it takes me physically around the globe.

And seeing as I have unlimited funds of passion, but a severely dwindling cash account, I, with joy, accept this partnership. AND they have even extended an offer to insure my laptop (the most prized and valuable material possession I’ve ever invested in) and digital camera. In consideration of the theft risk that IS present in Colombia, I had previously planned on leaving both in a safe in Quito. But thanks to the extended hand of WorldNomads, the live visual and verbal documentation of my adventures in Colombia will proceed!

(And if you are planning a trip, I can also, with perfect integrity, send you there with my personal recommendation. Their travel insurance rates are slashed to half of those that I’ve paid for in the past and their services, as well, are adapted, not to the touring retiree, but to the web savvy and long-term backpacker.)

And an additional heartfelt thanks goes to this girl...


Who, upon the sad and sudden death of mine, sacrificed and sent to me her own personal digital camera in order to help this penniless pilgrim continue to visually document the pursuit of her path.

The entire Colombia Photo Album will be in due and direct thanks to this wonderful woman.

Thank you Shal.

So I’ve got a few bus rides to catch (and hopefully less stops to sleep through). And if you care to read along with me, my backpack book of choice is the following:



Colombia: The Genocidal Democracy
Javier Giraldo and Noam Chomsky

(About the Book: "Behind the media's focus on Colombia's drug war is an unmentioned horror story: the Dirty War that has given Colombia the worst human rights record in the hemisphere. With icy precision and passionate prose, Father Giraldo and Noam Chomsky reveal the deadly landscape of what Eduardo Galeano termed the "Democratatorship": how the United States helped Colombia carry out unrelenting human rights travesties; how the paramilitary system functions to shield the military from connection to death squad activities; and what Americans can do to change a situation funded with our tax dollars.")

The book is actually still in transit from the States to Colombia via a very good friend of mine who’ll be meeting me in Cartagena in a few weeks. When I asked him to bring the book for me his response was...

"Are you trying to get me arrested? I can just see the immigration officials finding that beauty of a book title in my bag. Any other requests? "Idiot's Guide to Overthrowing South American Governments?" Maybe I'll put a Snoopy book cover on it or something..."

*Are you laughing? Because I am.*


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>New Pictures in the Ecuador Album

A bus ride across Ecuador will leave anyone aspiring to be a National Geographic photographer, as you don’t need a talented eye to see or appreciate the vibrant visions that cast themselves through this country’s rollercoaster of mountains, volcanoes and valleys. I’m not a big fan of superlatives, but I hereby give Ecuador my highest mark and star as the country owning, “the best bus ride” of all my worldly travels.

And I would know, seeing as I just finished a 30-hour sit on a cross-country trip.

Of course, it doesn’t actually TAKE 30 hours to traverse the entire of Ecuador. Not unless you sleep through your stop and wake up in the Eastern Oriente, 16 hours out of your way, anyway.

So was it the way my hair had suddenly sprung into ringlets (climate change) that gave me my clue that I wasn’t on my way to the city anymore? Or the mud and gravel road and bushy hands of thick rain forest trying to reach through my window to shake me to attention? Or the way the patrol officer raised one confused and curious eyebrow when he shook me awake for a brief moment to answer his inquiry and I told him I was on my way “TO” Quito?

No. I’m pretty sure it was when the bus driver discovered me under a blanket in the back seat of the bus and said, “Ah Gringita! I didn’t know you were still here! I thought you wanted to go to Quito! You know we stopped there eight hours ago?”

Yes. That’s about when it dawned on me.

So I stumbled out of the bus and sat on the curb and watched my 4th consecutive sunrise in four days (I get an inch of credit in consideration of the fact that prior to my “nap” of consciousness to the obvious, I hadn’t slept for 40 hours) rise over the North Eastern Oriente of Ecuador. And suddenly, something else started to rise inside of me. It started as a low tickle in my stomach, and then gurgled into a rising giggle, jumped out of my mouth as leaping laugh and finally hurdled me into a mass of hiccupping hysterics.

And sure the situation was funny, but this was a bottle that I had been -- in taking myself (and life) all too seriously -- shaking for weeks. And in this breaking moment, the comedy of life finally uncorked, I had no choice but to absolutely explode in relief. Oh to laugh at myself! To smile upon my mistakes. To chuckle over my insecurities. To see the unsuspected curves in my path as nothing but terribly needed comic relief! And as I sighed and wiped the last tears of joy from my cheeks, peace overcame me.

I think sometimes we forget how important it is to forgive, have compassion, practice undefended love, and LAUGH at ourselves. Life will be a drama if we allow it, but incognito, underneath, lays always a divine comedy. And I’m so happy that I can be confident that if I ever get too caught up to get the pun and punch lines of living, then Life WILL go the extra 500 miles to redeliver them -- until I do.

(If you missed hearing about the time I got on the wrong PLANE, feel free to laugh again with me in my story of "Adventure Incognito.")

*****


Sitting one day on a cliff to the sea
Opened from the sky and fell from above a small key
Unlocking the divine in one single beam
A path to the source of all light, love and being

Opened old, closed and dusty love doors
Swung suddenly wide open, where now the wind blows
Let finally out to breathe in a breeze,
On which all things and persons can now come as they please


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