Day 14 Colombia, Day 1 Laureles

 I arrived into the neighborhood of Laureles today. I am sietting in a Kentucky Fried Chicken writing this blog post. It's my 14th day here in Medellin. I've done alot. I also miss Guatemala. Ive traded in backpack-freedom for city-living. The stories of thievery and drugging here in Medellin bother me. I dont like living somewhere that I have to watch my back. I am vigilent and that's exhausting. I think there are plenty of beautiful cities with good wifi wherein someone can live and run an online business. 

I am not in love with Medellin. Perhaps it will grow on me when I make more connections and friends. 

My best friend so far has been an old lady named Luz Marina. She was introduced to me as a disciplinarian who cant take any level of non-cleanliness. I found her to give respect freely and provide a nice chat. I gave her a hug when I left my Pobalado appt this AM. 

I felt no great love leaving the Manila neighborhood of Poblado. People told me it was an AMAZING place to be. I dont think restaurants make the place. It's not gyms either. It's not supermarkets. It's people.  

My favorite people moment in Poblado came just this morning, playing ball with the Medellin Basketball Whats App group at my local court. I wish I'd gotten to play with them more. It was awesome connecting with them. I will have to go visit, from time to time. 

This morning I had a phone conversation with a good friend. When we were both younger, I served as his mentor. I talked to him about the business world and listened to his trials and tribulations, going through middle and high school. It's crazy how quickly they age. We talk now about Star Wars, business, reading... alot of good stuff. He's gone from mentee to friend. 

Actually, my best people-moment came two weeks ago when I won the local Spanish Language pre-release tournament. I entered with a warrior mindset, applying tools for focus that I learned from my travels. I went 8-1 and took first place. My one loss came from a disqualification after I claimed a turn-one victory over my opponent in the 8th game of the tournament. 

The locals were very impressed by me and it felt cool. Now, I'm getting to know them personally. I get a certain level of celebrity, but what's more, it's let everyone know who I am. I'm now developing relationships. I cant wait to really play-play with them. 

I have created two all new deck archetypes. I have been creating decks since I was a child, and can often brew up some really unique, 2nd tier decks. I still lose to decks at the top of the competitive tiers. I want to make one of those decks one day. I think I will. 

Medellin is beautiful. It's temperate every day. It's verdant. I just wonder if it's wasting away, chasing dreams of capitalism. Luz Marina said all the young people care about is drinking and partying. Typical old-people talk. I spoke with a man about my age and he told me all about the ongoing presidential elections. Actually the vote has taken place and results should be published in the next few days. He spewed borderline Anti-American vitriol and decried the candidates who were not his preferred choice. I dont like talking to people who see politics as Black/White. I do not believe our sources of information are good enough to feel so strongly. I wish to learn more from valid sources. I don't appreciate conversations that get into the illuminati... because there's so much real stuff going on in local communities and on a larger scale that matter more than the illuminati murdering Keanu Reeves' wife -- allegedly ;) 

Now that I am in Laureles, I am looking forward to pursuing these hobbies: dance, basketball, weightlifting, pokemon, yoga, and writing. Above all, I will continue to put in good work-days for my business. 

Explosive Catharsis - Day 32/28 - San Pedro.

Half Way Crooks

Life has been crazy since my last post. I’d previously explained how I felt like a leaking coconut. Well, life popped. 

I had been hermit-ing for a good while; since I'd injured my shoulder and Ecstatic Danced. I was feeling overwhelming anxiety and I was not looking people in the eye. This happens to me sometimes. There's no shelter out here.

Looking for an outlet, I left my apartment after a day of work and went to La Parada, my favorite little dive bar; known for its support of the local alcoholic population. There, I saw a new-friend I'd once gotten drunk with. Leo had a wild personage.  Upon meeting him for a second time, he sensed something was off with me. Quickly his recognition turned to  disappointment. He said he saw bullshit in my eyes. He quickly became irate: taunting me.

Initially, Leo's aggression flummoxed me. While he was antagonizing me, it seemed ... good-hearted. I asked him a childish question; was he my friend or enemy? I could see in his eyes honesty when he said 'friend.' I then knew what Leo was; a friend pushing me out of the place I'd been. I sensed Leo wanted to help me and was playing heel. I wanted to help myself and so I signed on for a ride. 

What I needed to do was to let go and to stop fighting; which, ironically, led to fighting. 

 

Leo was drunk as shit. This is La, Parada. This is Guatemala's San Pedro...

La Parada, San Pedro

La Parada is probably this bohemian lake-side town's only classic dive bar. I havent met another person who likes it; only ever people who dislike it or go there to drink -- heavily. I wouldnt need to ask those people if they like the bar.

La Parada has an unassuming metal door and steep staircase leading up to a 2nd floor bar that manages to be spacious, yet cramped, as well as dingy, despite having an entire open-air terrace hang out. Because the buildings on the other side of the street are taller, La Parada gets no view of the beautiful lake nor very much sun. 

For me, La Parada is a great place to sink into alcohol with great company. I've loved and hated the bartenders and few patrons.  Their live music always sucks. The place is coursing with crawling life. 

I usually don't trust myself in conflict... I don't like having no control over an outcome and it makes me feel impotent. Rather than confront this situation, I avoid it.

 As uncomfortable as it was, I decided I'd flow with Leo and pick up what he was putting down. I'd trust... Tonight Leo was a great deal drunker than the first time we'd gotten drunk together. He was becoming more belligerent toward me each moment. He seemed fixated on his declaration of their being bullshit in my eyes. I think what he really saw was fear.

Leo began openly mocking me, intoning "bullshit” ... "bullllllshit" over and over. I tried to talk my way through getting him to leave me alone, but everything I said felt like tippy-toeing around the real issue.

No matter what I said, I still felt the way I felt and he saw what he saw. There was no move to make, so I moved -- away. I moved to the other side of the bar but Leo wouldn't stop. I could still hear Leo's slurred heckling.

Now Introducing ... The World Champion...

 

On the other side of the bar, I was alone.  There was a couple to my left with their backs turned, apparently disinterested. The man looked like Tyson Fury. The girl was a petite, pretty Guatemalan girl. I didn’t think much of them and did not intend on talking to them, or anyone. I was focused on hoping that if I continued to ignore Leo, he'd stop taunting me.

Over my drink, I heard a voice beckoning my attention. It wasn't Leo. The Tyson Fury looking man had risen and come over to introduce himself. He was about 6”2, maybe 220 pounds, and had a smile that said I love to snort cocaine. He was out of shape; He was some sort of something New York had spit out.

Tyson Fury said his name was ~ I can't remember ~ and his girlfriend said hello as well. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Washington DC. Tyson Fury leaned his head back, rolled his eyes, and, through a smirk, he asked rhetorically if it was a bit arrogant for me to introduce my city, instead of my country, in a foreign land. 

I told him that I did not consider my response arrogant but that I'd remember he said that and think about it when I wasn't drinking. 

  

New York Tyson Fury must have been picking up on Leo's lead, because he responded by mocking my answer... I couldn’t win at this bar, and that's precisely what NY Tyson told me.

 

 

"Nobody likes you here. Why don't you just go away?" 

 

I thought to myself, maybe I should leave. I scanned my surroundings.

The bartender was a demure, rail-thin gay man. He busied himself around the bar -- generally abstracted. When me met my searching eyes, though, he looked at me with the sympathetic gaze of a deer watching it's partner in the headlights of an oncoming truck.  

Tyson was hurling sidelong insults at me, to which I'd generally had no response, while his girlfriend tried to calm him down. He was an ornery sort and wasn't going to stay down for long. All of our buzzing caught Leo's on the other side of the bar and he started up with his chorus of “bullshit!” “buuuuullshit!”

When the Going Gets Tough...

I ordered another drink, hunching my shoulders up to block my hecklers on both sides. 

In my periphery, a sort of out-of-breath fat man in his 40's leaned on to the bar. He sported spiked hair from the 90's and sunglasses (indoors). Through a cigarette, he announced "I'm the DJ -- and nobody's vibing ... What kind of music should I play?" I'm not sure Leo took Guy Fieri's meaning, through his drunken stupor. I piped in, "hip hop." With a jaunty nod, the DJ pushed himself off the bar and returned to his station. 

Over my hunched shoudler, I felt New York Tyson Fury beckoning for my attention. I turned. He had a wide smile on his face and he told me he wanted to play a game. He explained that he had an encyclopedic recollection of every flag in the world. If I could name one flag he didn't know, he would buy me a drink. If he named the flag, I bought him a drink.

 

I quickly discarded the notion of selecting an obscure autonomous region, like Andorra. I figure a weirdo like him would get off on knowing those random non-states. I searched my memory for obscure state-knowledge. I thought to the video game Rome Total War. With 100's of hours in the game, I had familiarity with the flags carried into battle by each of the games 20+ empires from 200AD.

What could I remember? I thought, first, of Scythia and Thrace. I discarded these ideas; they were too obscure. Then I thought SPQR - Rome - but that one might be a bit too much -- as it literally bore the letters 'SPQR' on the flag.

While I was deep in thought, the DJ was doing his thing. I heard the first haunting synth notes of Mob Deep's Shook Ones Pt. II...

 

 

All of a sudden, I had a thought. 

 The empire of Carthage! 

It was once Rome's greatest rival - a major player in the history of Western Civilization and also extremely obscure to a trivia douchebag. No way he'd know it. I looked up the flag and even I had no idea this was their flag.

I loaded up the image and flipped the phone to him. The lines on his face turned, spiraled, and dropped all at once. New York Tyson dropped his mouth open and puffed out "that’s not a country!” 

 "Not one that you know!"

New York Tyson Fury got up out of his seat, yelling at me, himself, and at nobody in particular. He was really in a tizzy now. His girlfriend's face was stricken, showing a mix of concern and familiar helplessness. I turned away and let him stew. Through his meltdown, he accused me of cheating, and his indignance transformed into vitriol. He began to hurl a new bevy of pointed insults directly at me... some of which were lost to the droning Shook Ones, blaring out of the DJ's speakers. 

Like a pointer dog, Leo alerted to the new evolution in the altercation and woke back to life with his his chorus of "bullshit" "buuuulshit"!!! Piggybacking off of Leo, New York Tyson also started telling me I was "bullshit" and that I was "just scared."

Maybe I was, but certainly not of him... At this point, something switched in me. I was being pushed to my own limit. New York Tyson and Leo had me in a corner.

Just then, the chorus of Shook Ones cut right in through the drama:

“You scared to move. You shook. Cus aint no such thing as halfway crooks”

“You scared to move. You shook. Cus aint no such thing as halfway crooks”

New York Tyson knew the lyrics, joyously singing at me. 

“You scared to move. You shook. Cus aint no such thing as halfway crooks”

I felt the tension building in me, and I did not want these people to uproot me. I let go of control over the outcome of this situation. I gave in to my emotion...

Some sort of an action was welling up in me. I hadn't realized Leo had stopped heckling me until I heard his voice, direct and forceful, as if he'd been just a foot from my ear:

"Do it!" 

I whirled on New York Tyson Fury. I got in his face and looked him directly in the eyes. I explained some things to him forcefully. 

I told him that that every name he'd thrown at me was projection. It was he who was the arrogant American. It was he who was actually scared of me. He had a wry smile on his face. He liked this.

"How eloquent," he intoned.

So then I got personal, and said something I hadn't previously even thought. I turned to his girlfriend and, pointing at her, said that he was acting out in order to impress her but that her passive response to his flashing emotion showed she didn't care for him and that she was un-suprised by his buffoonery, which ultimately meant she was already thinking of moving on. 

Check

He spit out, "she's my ex!"

"That makes even more sense... She's already talking to somebody else, and that's why you acting out doesn't move her."  

 

Check

"But you still want her to care and that's why you're acting like this."

New York Tyson Fury's eyes went cold. At the same time, we both looked at his (ex) girlfriend. She'd put a hand over her face. That could not cover that a look of disbelief was frozen across her countenance. I looked back to New York Tyson, who must have felt like Broadway spotlights where shining on him. He looked lost, confused, and unraveled. 

 

I took a breath and told him 

"Look, man. Chill out. You're in paradise. Enjoy the time you do have with her and don't bother me anymore..."

I turned and walked back over to Leo, who had turned into an entire team of cheerleaders. He took me in a rough, wrestling embrace (which has become our on-the-street greeting). 

Shook Ones Pt. II petered out in the background and things settled into silence as I took a deep draught of Gin and Tonic. I felt fire surging through me.

Before long, New York Tyson Fury had come over to me again. This time he had a different look on his face and energy in his body. He immediately apologized and offered his hand. I accepted. 

That is when I felt all that tension and fire empty out of me, leaving in surreal, swimming weightlessness.

Leo had wanted blood but conceded that what needed to happen had happened. 

Leo congratulated me. I asked him why that altercation had to happen. 

He said for people like us “it must be this way.” 

At that point, my night was complete. I was departing when the DJ was playing some rock song with a drop. I felt compelled to return and release on the dance floor. I ended up in a mosh pit with New York and we had some fun thrashing around before I felt complete and did depart.

Day 21 in San Pedro: Ecstatic Dance

All of a sudden, I have just one week remaining here in San Pedro la Laguna.

Life on the lake has delivered. I feel I've lived through profound phases. I will make time to decompress.  

First I felt fearless. Then trepidation settled in, heavy. That dissipated. Now... Now I'm feeling a calm somewhere in-between.

Bye Bye Russ

Russell Wilson was traded from my favorite NFL team, the Seattle Seahawks. He is a hero of mine. Without Russell Wilson, I would never have moved to Seattle. For that, he has been a major figure in my life. I recall attending his game against the Washington Football Team (Now: Commanders) this past year, waiting in the bitter cold at the team busses just to see him. The reason he left is that he doesnt believe Seattle is capable of winning Superbowls anymore. Our leader is leaving because he believes we've peaked... It's like when a good man leaves you because you cant seem to give up your hoe ways, even though you said you would, but you caynt... 

 

 

Ecstatic Dance

I attended Ecstatic Dance last night. It's not just a 5 hour dance party. It's a DJ-guided descent into chaos/ecstasy. At the end of that journey, the participant arrives in a profound state inside themselves. It takes release and trust to arrive. 

??? What does Cacao feel like ??? 

As far as I could tell, the effect of cacao is something between a coffee and a beer. I felt loose and loopy as the dance got going.

Cacao Ceremony

 

Estatic dance is a 5-hr long event. Those who arrived early enough participated in a cacao ceremony, but people were welcome anytime after. 

 

Ecstatic Dance is not as much anti-drug as it is pro-sobriety, and I did the event with nothing more than ceremonial cacao. 

A cacao ceremony unites its participants in embibing a coffee-like drink in the context of the giving and loving nature of earth as a mother. 

The leader of the ceremony addressed the 30-or so particpants as souls who'd joined in on with the intent to enliven this place and time; like kids releasing into recess. 

He spoke about the cacao; where it'd come from, who grew it, who brewed it. 

We sat in a circle and were guided in a sort of prayerful, intention-setting song. The ceremony affected me deeply. I felt tears before I knew it. 

The chanting reminded me of the many cycles of life my blood has seen. The cadence made me think of life and death; the inevitability of my own and my loved ones' demise - this all playing out in the context of the beauty of nature and the seed and gift of love. I cried and that was okay. That was not the only time I got emotional during the ceremony and preceding dance. 

The leader of the ceremony was also the head DJ, Andrew Avocados aka "DJ Aguacate." His messaging was deeply hippie and he spoke whimsically, like a fairy. I generally reject the mindsets of hippies. But on this night I was like Cher when that preacher in Memphis asked her if she was a Christian. 

Truly, though, my mind has opened up and found space for the hippies here. I now feel that, even if I do not agree with everything that they say, I do agree with certain elements and I can stomach their overall message. I am willing to open myself and learn in their direction. 

Chaos/Ecstasy

The dance began like we were in middle school. You know, someone announces the dance has begun and the first thing everybody does is head for the nearest exit -- evacuating the dance floor. 

I knew nobody at the event -- and so I felt almost as much anxiety at the prospect of exiting the dance floor to socialize as I did at dancing by myself. 

Dance begins with a single movement. I focused on a single movement, and then another. Before long, the dance floor was no longer empty.

Time passed and more faces entered Gaia Dance Temple. I recognized faces from other parts of towns, activities, and places.

Signs

I'm not sure if you've heard this, but I sure have - alot - especially in the last year of my life... Oddly coinciding events ("synchronicities" or "kismet") indicate your progress upon a sacred path.

That path is supposedly hidden from one's own faculties of conscious observation... It is only through synchronicities that one realizes they are on the, otherwise, invisible path. One traverses the sacred path in subconscious harmony with destiny/energy. 

The signs are almost impossible sequences of almost impossibly coincidental happenings... chance meetings, unlikely occurances, when Ash Ketchum saw Ho-Oh at the end of episode I, etc. Some people call it bull shit. But guess what; you are also bull shit and know very little about anything. Important for context. 

 

 

This topic came up in conversation with, Ry, another Digital Nomad I'd met at my favorite little coffee shop. This was my first spiritual-y conversation with a digital nomad; it was awesome and evidence that the business person can thrive out where worlds collide. 

 

(Note: as I edited this article for publication, I am on a writers retreat on the edge of San Pedro... I walk into a coffee shop after finishing the final draft and Ry walks right in... First time I've seen her in two weeks, and its as random of a place to find her as is possible.)

Back to Ecstasy

In the context of ones progress on a sacred path denoted by synchronicities, I want to discuss an interesting event:

I attended a Unity Circle. This is a sort of intentional practice where men and women share thougths and emotions. 

This particular Unity Circle was co-hosted by a woman, Crystal, who'd set out a deck of Tarot-ish, spiritual-being cards. I was the first person to arrive and so I selected one face-down card. 

...Wait, I think I need to backtrack... 

Me: Once Sleepless in Seattle, now Pedantic in San Marcos

If you read my previous blog posts, you'll see that I had been struggling with feelings of being trapped; fears of stunted development. These fears became the character of my idle musings when I was a 20-something living on my own in the strange, new city of Seattle -- where I'd arrived knowing nobody. That's what used to keep me up at night. 

Those feelings had returned for some days here in San Pedro. I am not the same young man I once was, and so I was able to break those thought patterns through conscious action. That was awesome, but release came more like a coconut leaking juice than the cathartic, waterfall release I'd expected. I'd starved my anxieties of their food supply and they were falling off, dead, in chunks. 

So here we have me, pedantic, taking a boat across Lake Atitlan to the town of San Marcos to play my normal AM basketball on Tuesday. At the center of San Marcos, there is a beautiful court with young people from all around the world playing full-court basketball. I had music blaring in my ears and I was tuning myself up for some serious competition -- but when I arrived, there were chairs and tables set up all over the court. Apparently, the space was being used in a municipal event for the day. I left my group of deflated international ballers and went to explore San Marcos. 

I was wandering around, and eventually decided to find an off-the-path coffee shop to work from. I followed signs for a coffee shop that ended up shuddered/closed -- but right next to it was a beautiful, otherworldy set of stairs. Each stair was set with a beautifully painted ceramic plate sealed in by laquer/epoxy. The staircase was painted in the dark hues of space and splashed with cosmic purples, blues, and radiant oranges. The stone-white handrail was wrapped with old, tangling vines. It was like walking on a galaxy. Pretty cool. How could I resist? 

I decided to walk up the stairs under the pretense that I was looking for the "real" cafe. I felt kind of like Jack did when he climbed the beanstalk. If memory serves, he knew he was not headed where he had expected to go, but continued to follow with his curiosity. 

I ascended the staircase, arriving into another chamber painted like the swirling interior of a nebula. Drooping plants hung from an ornately tiled ceiling, creating the effect of a sort of plant wall where the space was otherwise open-air. Great clay fire-places in the corners burned bunches of spices. The air smelled amazing. I continued through to a door, on the other side of which was clearly a more mundane domicile. I stepped into what was the living room and there was a man sitting cross legged on the couch. 

The man had long brown hair and loose fitting clothing tied in a pony-tail. This was Drazzo, a man who'd go on to take me under his wing.

 

Drazzo's first words to me were "are you okay?" The way he looked at me and asked me cut through to my unsettled core, what I called my being pedantic -- the slow leaking coconut -- and I told him "no" I was not. Before long, he'd invited me to a Unity Circle. I'd read about this event before and had noted to myself that I'd like to attend. He was leading the event, apparently, and it was starting in that starry chamber room within the hour. 

Back to Ecstasy -- Again

I selected one of the Tarot cards entitled Hi'AKA What I took from the description was an invitation to dance under the moon... and that dance started with just a nothing more than a single movement. 

 

 

I didn't take the card's guidance to be divine instruction as much as I did good advice for my back pocket. 

You see, dancing; moving my body without control; does not come naturally to me. I feel almost like Basil from The Picture of Dorian Grey, who feared everybody would know he had a gay crush on Dorian Grey if ppl saw his (magnificent) painting. I am apparently embarrassed to express myself without the sieve of critical thought.

That's not right in my opinion. That's how humanity poisons the deep lake that feeds. That's how a human cages something and it rots away, becoming monstrous. 

 

Dancing in the Moonlight

The moon shined down above the Estatic Dance Ceremony, now in its third hour. String lights and stars twinkled in the sky over the dance floor. I thought to the tarot card's advice; dance begins with one movement. I thought about it and I thought about expressing what was deepest in my soul in a single, unfettered movement, and then the next movement, and every one that came afterward. 

It was beautiful. I was touched. I drifted away from the dance floor and in to conversations with people who all provided me with poiniant guidance: 

From Leoni I learned about the natural progression one feels in ecstatic dance:

1. The Regular World

2. Staccato

3. Chaos

4. Integration 

5. Stillness

From Rich, who is actually a basketball friend, I learned that I was not the only one feeling negative emotions or anxiety during the dance. 

From Iofha (pronounced "Efa"??? - idk) I learned what stillness looked and felt like. Iofha was like a goddess. She was about 6 feet tall, with electric blue eyes, wearing white bands that flowed through the air as she moved. She came by herself and had big Persephone energy. 

These people helped me to release; and this event was less fun than it was extremely powerful for me. Way better than middle school dances which always left me feeling empty because I would not dance -- except for that 8th grade dance up the hill where me and Ben Mitchell got hopped up on Bawls Guarana energy drinks and he passed out on the floor in a fit of laughter. That was lit. 

Overall, I kind of choked down Ecstatic Dance, but I got it down. I am clearly a neophyte when it comes to expression. That chaotic dance floor was unlike any Id touched.

After it was over, I spoke to many of the people I'd danced with -- for the last 5 hours -- for the first time. It was funny to me how the dynamics shifted so much once we spoke. After speaking with a person I'd previously spent 320 wordless minutes dancing with, I felt a new dynamic appreciation for that person -- something plumbed in from a totally differing dimension. Bodies and voices do not say the same things. 

I had a blast, overall. I met really interesting people and just had a fantastic experience. I will certainly do it again. 

Wow you made it all the way through a looping blog post: From cacao, to signs, to coconut anxiety, to tarot, and then to this, my moment of release, dancing in the moonlight. Thank you

Day 17 San Pedro

I was able to read this aloud at a Unity Circle event in San Marcos. People related to this content and I felt I'd had made some pretty wicked word choice decisions. I can proudly share this... 

Life has been difficult since my last update. They say your demons will eventually catch up to you if you go traveling. I've been thinking back to my days in Seattle a lot lately. When I first arrived in Seattle, I recall the excitement of landing in Chinatown; walking downtown. The lights were so bright. The water was so beautiful. The air felt so fresh. 

    Before long, I was starting a business. Sauntering days turned into hard nights, working until 2 or 3AM by myself in empty co-working spaces. I felt like a mouse navigating the buildings unfinished, hidden shortcuts. That building became like my second home in the night. Between binge drinking and developing my business, I hardly had time for thought. I was on a mission. 

    It was when my mind became idle that my demons caught back up with me. For all I've been able to accomplish in my life, success, to me, has to do with a state of actively opposing the world - of fighting up against pressure - I need to walk a difficult path. Comfort is both  succor and shameful indulgence. I am happiest when I am surrounded by creation and chaos.

    That's a nice way of saying that I often feel I am falling short of my own expectations and wasting my life. Living is a feeling, and not a set of accomplishments. I dont care that I went to space. Wrote a play that caused my evil school principal to meltdown. Robbed Noam Chomsky. I dont view merits as what makes me -- me. Accomplishments are things that happened when I felt alive.

And so, now, I am here in beautiful San Pedro with expensive pain.

    San Pedro has been a microcosm of Seattle. I sought balance in my arrival but ended up riding on a swinging pendulum. Landing here was chaos. Fun and chaos. Work and chaos. Fun and Work and Chaos. Before I knew it, I'd sealed myself up in my room and was pillowing myself in with comforts; watching the Spanish telecast of NBA basketball on ESPN, re-doubling my attention into my online Pokemon community; reneging on my goals.

    I am, by my nature, a Digital Nomad. That means I am working and not on vacation. But that doesnt mean I cant learn about myself... Walking such a path requires great balance and patience. I am impatient and, as yoga has shown, very flexible but with terrible balance. I'm not working to my strengths (you know what they say about what doesnt kill you...) I could not have walked this path when I was 16, defiant and indefatigable, or 23, inspired and relentless. This requires a new level of maturity and discipline. I have those things. I know I can discover the balance. It's 100% the road less taken and the shit has bramble and growth all over the path. 

I wonder... How many layers of whatever this is does one need to pass through? I feel like giving up, and I despise myself for it. My core dynamic creates anguish. It creates other things, but it wants from me something that takes my whole being to give. The journey inside is the most intense journey one faces in life, and it's so so so easy to let up, pretend the path never existed, and that one is stuck on an island...

Working sans Base

I've been pondering what I want to do with my time here. I've decided to become more planned, to discover opportunities in my schedule, and to excite and challenge myself through conscious action. 

Something I've always been interested in is exploring. The thing with exploring is that it takes you away from your base. It's easy to learn without a base. It's hard to work without a base. 

    How can I do both? Unless work puts me in a bad mood or something, there's no reason I can't do both. Like, what's wrong with living adventurously and working? To me, I'm inventing something. Nobody's taught me how to do this and I have no wise mentor. 

    I have a setup that allows me to travel anywhere and work. I have a local cell phone that functions as a mobile hotspot; big USA phone that is basically a computer (Ultra S-21), a notebook that keeps me organized, a bluetooth keyboard, and some other items that support my operation. 

Highway to San Juan

 

 

I woke for a sunrise online Yoga session. It was not a great practice; my calm was shattered when a bird, twice, dive-bombed me. I'd practiced yoga there many times, so Im not sure what that stupid bird's issue was, but there it is. I packed a backpack and set off from my hotel on foot.

    I followed locals' directions to the highway to San Juan. I'd heard the highway was a dirt road and so I expected things to be dusty. I brought my mask, sunglasses, and an extra shirt I could use to wrap my face. Of course, the internet was wrong -- but this time, in my favor!!! The road had been recently paved and so it was a dust-less and very pretty walk to San Juan. All hail the internet!!!

    Near the edge of town. I bumped into a traveler and, on a whim, asked him about his accomodation. Ive been interested in downgrading my accomodation to better suit my budget. Where better to be than the outskirts of town. He explained that where he lived sucked, but there were other places nearby -- one where "people are always working upstairs." 

**a ping on my wifi-dar** 

    Where there are workers, there must be internet!!! The traveler was nice enough to walk with me to the -- encampment. It was called "Tzunun'ya" meaning nectar of the hummingbird. It sure was an interesting accomodation. There were about 10 tents and teepees out front of a large, shack-like construction that housed a bar, pool table, private room, kitchen, and, on the second floor, a collection of wooden tables from which one could work. In the back was a beautiful beach area with hammocks, shade, and lake access. Not bad... 

    Teepees were available for just $200/month. I'm thinking about it. Lord knows what I'll hear at night, living among a huddle of teepees but I'm not averse to the idea of saving some money and having all of my accommodations be shared, rather than private. Maybe for a few weeks.

 

    I moved on from Tzunun'ya and walked the road from San Pedro to San Juan. The highway was narrow. I walked along the road's outer edge, against on-coming traffic. I stepped off the road occasionally when a large truck or chickenbus would pass. On the running ridge of rocks to my left, there were occasional stone staircases which seemed to go off into the thick wilderness. My curiosity was piqued, but this was a workday... 

San Juan, el Pueblo Magico

 

    I arrived into San Juan which has a distinct air, as if it were on the top of a mountain. It's far different than San Pedro, with its urban clash of tourist lux and mayan life. San Pedro was 90% local and it pretty obvious where tourists were funneled. It's more off the grid. There are a lot of single middle age women in San Juan. There were multiple coffee and local-work collectives where prices were sky-high, and tourists were obviously sent. I saw tourists in small guide-led groups wobbling over cobblestone pathways. 

I despise being on guided tours. I do appreciate local knowledge but, for me, travel is best done according to the wild voice inside of you, and not a scripted voice from without. 

    I happened upon the city center which, just like San Marcos, is a basketball court! This court was beautiful; rimmed by hexagonal chips filled with vivid traditional Mayan colors. 

 

    I walked the few city blocks that had stores and cafes. I bought a pack of cigarettes for $2.25 and bought some fried chicken for $1.50. I sat for some coffee at a tourist-trap and bought a V-60 Pour Over for $3.25. I sat and worked for about three hours. I worked off my phone. I'm not bringing my laptop on walking adventures. There are some things I just cannot do on the phone. I'm still trying to figure out how to work off a phone vs a computer. 

    I stayed past closing at the coffee shop. The owner came out to let me know they'd been closed for 40 minutes and that I needed to leave. I left and was funneled into a tourist trap mayal local work collective where I spent money I didn't need to spend. 

    These work collectives are meant to unite women workers out from isolation and garner for them a living wage. Of course, this naturally involves a middle-man and while I can't claim corruption because I have no evidence, I didn't come to Guatemala for expensive Oatmeal Soap.

    I ended up buying a book cover thing for $12.50. I am not happy with myself but, I'm actually using it now. The book cover seems to tick every box for what I've been looking for to serve as a structure for my remote work setup. It can house and protect all of the items, like a brief case and it can roll up on itself and create a prop for me to stand my phone on...

    I stopped into an art studio. I found the artist hanging out with his father and son. His elderly father sat peacefully. His infant son stamped around in a shoddily constructed crib, and was not happy to be trapped. I love seeing children trapped like that, with the pain on their face. He was trapped, surrounded by colorful art. The juxtaposition was first-rate.

    Most of the studio held generic art I see in every stand and studio, but there was one psychedelic piece that caught my eye. I recognized it was different and that, next to it, were used paint brushes. I figured this was the artist's own work. It was clear he was the most talented artist in the room. He confirmed that assumption. In a corner, he had about five of his own works. He painted magical forest-scapes; one depicted two of the Quetzal, the national bird of Gautemala, from which the local currency's name is derived. The painting had beautiful greens of the canopy forest and blues in the forest floor, obfuscated by a layer of mist. The artist, himself, had been inspired to create the image after visiting such a vista, himself. He showed me one of his favorite works, The Spirit of the Ocean. It did have some Lisa Frank vibes with dolphins floating around but I didn't mention it. I loved his work but I'm not exactly in the market for $200-$500 pieces of art and I dont have the balls to haggle with an artist. I know those people suffer for their work.

    I walked back and received a text back from a girl Id met online. We'd met up a few times and become friends. We drunkenly made plans to start an Improv group but, after she didnt respond over the weekend, I figured I'd been ghosted for who knows why. She texted me confirming practice in just an hour. I walked back to San Pedro on the highway, stopped at the city square, and saw a funeral procession while sitting outside a tattoo parlor playing the album Savage Mode by 21 Savage. 

 

 

Day 10 San Pedro

 I usually just post my travel content but this trip my travel writing seems to have blended with my diary writing. I haven't been journaling enough. Journaling while you travel is like writing down the details of a dream. A dream is ephemeral and turns to sand when you wake. No matter how you cup your hands or hold on to it, the details blow away and are largely lost to the waking mind's recall. Only by writing those details down can you measure them. Travel is the same way. There's so much going on and it's so easy to go with the flow. Travel is laced with discomfort but also pleasure. By these two drivers, the mind is drawn away from introspection.

   

 These last days have been a whirl. I'm definitely taking a break from drinking. I drank Thursday night and Saturday night. The bars here are filled with kids and alcoholics getting fucked up. It's fun, but there's a place for that -- and it's not in my life every day.

    I met a man on the street whose vibe I really like. He seems to be a really kind, intelligent bum. Marshall is originally from Iowa but has been living around the world for a long time. Last night I asked him if he ever misses the life he moved away from: the one in Iowa with friends and family. He says no, and that Iowa just is not home to him.

    Marshall makes his living by selling Chai Tea and Mojitos while he sits on the side of the road near the touristy downtown. He lights a few candles and basically just is super kind, and so people hang out with him and drink his Chai Tea and Mojitos. Often musicians will sit and play music. I've heard some extremely talented guitarists sitting at Marshall's roadside establishment. Ill post a picture of Marshall if he gives me permission.

Price Shopping and Gouging

Money has been difficult here. There are plenty of opportunities to over-spend. Prices are pretty much different everywhere you go and I lack knowledge and time-spent to know where to spend my money. The result has been I've gotten taken advantage of -- not hugely -- a few times. 

    For example, I had been purchasing 8 gallon bottles of water from one corner store for 20 Quetzales (About $2.50). I tried a different corner store today and purchased 20 Gallons for 10 Quetzales! Jesus. She gave me the price and I was floored and purchased immediately.

    I'm a big fan of shopping in the local markets. I love the energy and deals. I can't wait to visit tomorrow. 

    Exchanging $$$ has been very hard here on lake Atitlan, especially when I'm not in the major lakeside city-town, Panajachel. Ive had to transact with local tour companies who will change your money but at an inferior rate.

• Agency #1: "you have small bills ($20s). We can only offer you 6.5 Quetzales per dollar.
• Agency #2:  "you have small bills ($20s). We can offer you 7 Quetzales per dollar.
• Bank Across the Lake: We can offer you 7.56 Quetzales per dollar.

    Further, I've been unable to withdraw any money because no ATMs seem to offer cash withdrawls on credit cards and my dumbass forgot to bring debit cards. 

Young People

    I went out and partied on my first Thursday in San Pedro. I went to a quite crazy establishment called Mr. Mullet's Party Hostel (I think). That night I met a bartender with whom I felt a fast connection. She was tall with blond hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw; quintessentially German. I met Louise that night and we chatted for a bit before going our separate ways. 

    Three days later, on Saturday at a different bar, Louise joined my table with a group of friends; apparently a friend-of-a friend - sort of thing. 

    I had been at the bar meeting with a friend, Kayla. The energy between Kayla was purely platonic, but it was kind of crazy. Definitely a kindred spirit. Our conversation quickly evolved into mock yelling and lots of wild gesticulation. It was fun to hang out with Kayla. She was a UFC superfan, and it was kind of awesome to meet a girl who just knew way more about combat sports than I did. 

    I'm not sure if I want to broach this subject, but YOLO I reckon. I am attracting people who are classically in personality disorder relationships. Meaning, I have met ppl w personality disorders as well as care-taking types, freshly out of relationships with one. I have quite an eye for these people, and I have been one of them.

    Kayla was such a person. I'd also met another guy who'd exited such a relationship as well as somebody with a disorder.  

    Anyway, Kayla and I basically spent the whole evening arguing - loudly - with animation. There is no doubt in my mind that Louise picked up on my presence at the other side of the table.  

    On Louise's side of the table, she was cloistered by attractive men: all in their early 20's, wearing fashionable, airy clothing; apparently some sort of friend group. Her demeanor changed. The easy smile she'd worn had turned into a tight-lipped german grimace. The same one appeared on each of her friends' faces. Their group was all sorts of restrained and, as an old man, I recognize the power of group conformity as well as what it's like to not be comfortable acting according to what's in your heart. Louise and her squad was all sorts of restrained.

    Kayla and I spent the night yelling at eachother and eventually the night went on, UFC ended, and we departed from the bar. On the way out, I said goodbye to the other half of our table -- Louise and her merry men. I said goodbye to Louise, specifically, and I looked to see if there was any recognition on her face. There was not.

    Louise is a sign of the dichotomous nature of this city: foolish 20-somethings who dont know themselves and the floating single people with whomst I vibe: Marshall and Kayla.

Summer Camp Musings

Why isnt this the path I expected? Really, I thought I'd be in San Marcos. This place where I am is familiar enough that I feel comfortable on the path. I am more comfortable than Theo is comfortable with. I did not come on this trip to float away. I came on this trip to learn trust...

How is that going? Problems are emergent. That's nothing new. My hotel seems to have overcharged me. There's a street urchin whos taken a liking to me and I sense his intentions are less than genuine; rather, I don't trust his judgement, whatsoever. He's a bit of an idiot. Nice, but I am not comfortable with a fumbler in my inner circle. I will let the hotel matter go. What they did is low-down but there's little that can be done at this time. I need to be careful and mindful. I cant do that if Im out getting schwasted.

Im not rushing this process. The synchronicities indicate I'm in the right place. It's not what I thought I'd get, but one of my favorite sayings is that no plan survives first contact. 

 

BONUS STORY: Day 2 - San Pedro - Tis I, Whose Heart is a Basketball Court and Who Hath Verily Dunked on These Hoes

 
I didn't understand the cultural difference between San Pedro and San Marcos through internet research, but I get it now. San Marcos did the one thing that could dissuade me from staying in San Pedro for months on end. It had a basketball court right smack dab in the middle of the town. The heart of San Marcos is a basketball court.

San Pedro has the parties, the view, the room, the kitchen, the hot water, the wifi, the location, the markets, the locals, the terrace... it's the shit... What it lacks, however, is a bussin' basketball court -- which San Marcos has at its center.

San Marcos: A spiritual body and its heart is a basketball court. Thats how I'm tryna be.

I hopped into a few games on the court. My opponents were from Germany, Colombia, France, Chicago, Cali, and NYC.

Initially, I scored all of our points. As Bobby Yancey once said it, I have a "sort of decent mid range jump shot" and I've worked with. I made a few layups and some rangy mid range jump shots before fatigue hobbled me. Our team struggled to score buckets afterwards. We reached a score of 7-11 and then 10-14 (game point 15). I took over as Point Guard out of desperation, and Rich, who had been playing PG, caught fire at SG. Rich (from Cali) drilled three consecutive 3-pt shots to win us the game. Rich plays in clogs and I like him.

March of the Chicken Busses ~ Day Two ~ San Pedro

I am sitting here at the dock, feet from Lake Atitlan. Finally.

I woke at about 5:30AM to catch a bus rumored to run at 5, 6, 7, and 9AM. Others suggested it didn't run at all. Most of the good, always-reliable people of the internet agreed that the one-way Chicken Bus ran from Antigua to Panajachel at 7AM.

Of course, it didn't.

Soon after waking, there came a knock at the door... I had been staying in a small complex of about 8 apartments, separated from a bar by a crumbling plaster wall... I ignored it as a I normally do, but the knock came again - louder and more insistent KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. It was far too early for visitors and too late for drunkards. I descended a steep stair-case to and through our interior courtyard's door. On the other side of the door was a professionally dressed local man with an idling van behind him. The man was there to pick up a guest at my hotel for transport to Panajachel.

The driver indicated he was willing to wait and I shouted up into the rooms that someone's transport had arrived. Hearing no answer, I returned to packing. Naturally, I realized I could just take the free private shuttle if this person was going to miss their shuttle.

If you've known me for a long time, you know I had an identity theft period on Facebook wherein I'd change my name and picture on FB to represent other people. Those days are long behind me -- but not so long lost that I couldn't be Alfredo from New York.

 

 

I finished packing and I hadn't seen the envelope containing all my money. A voice in me said to go on - if the money was gone, it was gone. I knew I shouldn't bother, but I gave in to the self-destructive human drive to re-pack. Of course it was in my hidden pocket. The delay ran too long and Alfredo and Alfredo (me) missed the shuttle.

A couple of pasta heads. In retrospect, I am glad I didn't respond to that early morning, knock knock knock at my door. You could even go so far as to call me ... lucky

 

I left the hotel on-foot at 615AM. I walked through the sleepy ancient town square, not yet buzzing with droves of tourists, past the local mercado, and onto unfinished dirt roads, lined with stacked cinderblock walls. Eventually, I arrived into an ad-hoc sort of bus depot.

This was the shipyard for Guatemala's legendary Chicken Busses. These busses are the Central American equivalent of a metro bus system; each bus is more of an indepentent craft, running it's line. It's less scheduled and more 'everybody knows Han Solo's Millenium Falcon departs Mos Espa at 11AM each Tuesday.' And they're just about as janky as the Millenium Falcon. These busses obviously hark from American operation 1985 - 2010. Some of the yellow busses still bear blacked out lettering on the side indicating which school district they once served. Now they served different masters; ones who've changed them. The busses are chromed TF out. Huge speakers are installed. Christmas lights run the inside and outside. Some sport hot paint jobs. It's all very Pimp My Ride and, across the lot, some busses lied in tatters, half-(re?)constructed. Others rumbled w Frankenstein-ien life.

The busses were picking up operation for the day.

I approached the nearest bus and I asked in my best, clearest spanish where I could find transport to the city of Panajachel. The man nodded to me and opened the emergency exit of the nearest Chicken Bus, motioning me inside. What luck! I didn't even have to look for the bus!

This was my first, and not last, experience with drivers who will just respond in the affirmative to anything you ask them.

Is this a bus?
Si

Is this a chicken bus?
Si

Is this a chicken?
Si  

 

 

**The Adelante Problem**

I don't know why these bus drivers are so keen to entrap tourists into the Chicken Bus spider's web.

I'm finna Karen: This whole situation transpired because a bus driver gave me bad information at Antigua. I once got off at a wrong stop in Japan. I consequently ran out of money, and almost had to sleep outside. That was my fault becuase I didn't speak Japanese. These Guatemalan Chicken Bus drivers dont give a shit. You could ask them how their mom grew herself a cow's ass and they would tell you "adelante" - keep moving. 

... Adeeeelannteeeeeeee?

 

 

 

And thus was set into motion my Chicken Bus Extravaganza...

 

My destiny was sealed upon alighting the resting, early morning Chicken Bus. I was the first rider (what luck - a private ride to Panajachel!). The driver cranked the Chicken Bus to life and red christmas lights popped on all around me as the speakers woke up, blaring Funky Town. 

 

 

  

We stopped off a few times and more people got on the bus. I asked a fellow passenger how long it would take to arrive into Panajachel. The passenger confusedly advised me that the bus did not go to Panajachel, it went to Los Cruces ("The Crossing")

 

  

It was that I had the That's So Raven vision back to when I'd researched the trip from Antigua to Lake Atitlan. You could take a $100 cab, a $30 private "alfredo" shuttle, the $10 direct bus or the not-recommended $2.00 'local bus' trip.
 

I laughed and mentally steeled myself for chaotic bullshit. 

The chicken busses are managed by a sort of Conductor, except he's a mangy 15 year old, hanging out of the bus door, talking shit, and stuffing his pockets with wads of cash. He's sometimes slightly more useful than the driver. 

It's been a long time since I've been on a school bus as full as that one. It filled all the way up, and I was certainly the only foreigner. I stuck out like a white thumb. A woman, mostly just happy to see such a fool as myself, introduced herself and pushed in to sit next to me. Evelia Lucinda was dressed in colorful Mayan garb and could, as I would soon find out, talk a house into falling over.

Evelia's vocal box must have run off solar energy or raw entropy, because she didn't as much as breathe for 45 minutes... I get it now... I'm Shrek and she's Donkey. Hahaha.

Evelia was telling me about everything, from the danger of being a gringo in Los Cruces to how proud she was of her grand-daughter, who works with two of her nieces at an Antigua restaurant... I needed to return to Antigua and find her grand-daughter, Sylvia, and ask about the Guatemalan cooking book grandma, Evelia, had contributed to 40 years ago. I got car sick and Evelia either did not understand me or did not care, as the stories continued to the rhytym of the Chicken Bus lurching.

Las Cruces felt like the wild west. It was a New York city block sold second-hand to Guatemala. There was a pervading sense of disarray as throngs pushed against eachother on narrow sidewalks.

 
Busses flew through a crossing with no traffic light. Vendors shook bells and hollered out about their tostadas and smoothies for sale. Evelia tided us through the madness to another block, where I boarded the first bus to pull up. I looked over my shoulder to see Evelia waving goodbye, yelling out "I am not going there! Have fun in Pana!"

I sat down and asked a slight, older Mayan woman if this bus was going to Panajachel. She said "sort of. It's going to El Encuentro (The Finding); Great. I recognized this name from my research. I had performed only enough research to know I was not doing this trip (lol), but I recognized that name.

I want to take a break to say that the only thing keeping these transit centers operating is oral legacy. By that, I refer to that issue antiquated, dying cultures from my college textbooks have: where they have nothing written down, and so their existence is carried forward in spoken stories, transferred from person to person. There are no printed schedules, transit information centers, or online apps. There isnt even a bus stop! People just know which busses do and dont go where - most of the time. It's amazing to an American who even uses an app to schedule his shits. I was in Los Cruces and El Encuentro for about 60 seconds - total. A sunned-drenched, dusty whirlwind.

The Bus to El Encuentro was a bat out of hell. It clearly had the most powerful motor. Speakers blaired Guatemala's traditional music as the Chicken Bus plummeted down winding mountain highways. The driver often took up both lanes and took turns like slalom skiiers. 

 The chicken busses are managed by a sort of Conductor, except he's a mangy 15 year old, hanging out of the bus door, talking shit, and stuffing his pockets with wads of cash. He's sometimes slightly more useful than the driver.

 
I saw roadkill that looked like an empty coat and pool of blood. That's not how roadkill appears in the USA. I later learned this is becuse there's not a practice of removing roadkill from roads. Drivers just keep pulverizing the carcas until it's nothing... Oooookay.

I enjoyed the ride on that chromed out, 8000 pound missle from Culpepper County Schools. It was actually quite exhilirating. The driver was extremely skilled and in control. 10/10. Probably would not do again.

We arrived into El Embarcadero. This place was very busy with road-side stores and little mini-marts called tiendas. It was lively. Whereas Las Cruces felt like an unsafe city block, El Embarcadero felt like a busy mountain outpost.

At this point in the trip, I'd adapted and started talking to literally everyone, trying to get my information. A mayan woman helped me find my way to the next bus. Again, I prayed it was for Panajachel, but it was not. It was for Soloa, which is very close to Panajachel.

**The Adelante Problem**

I don't know why these bus drivers are so keen to entrap tourists into the Chicken Bus spider's web.

I'm finna Karen: This whole situation transpired because a bus driver gave me bad information at Antigua. I once got off at a wrong stop in Japan. I consequently ran out of money, and almost had to sleep outside. That was my fault because I didn't speak Japanese. These Guatemalan Chicken Bus drivers dont give a chicken shit. You could ask them how their mom grew herself a cow's ass and they would tell you "adelante" - keep moving.

... Adeeeelannteeeeeeee?

 

 

The Arrival

I arrived into Panajachel quite exhausted. I walked 30 minutes down to the dock and needed to wait another 30 before a boat was leaving.  I sat down for a cheap breakfast and bought a water.

The small motor boat filled with about 12 passangers and set off onto placcid Lake Atitlan. The water taxis run the perimiter of the lake, picking up and dropping passengers off each of the local villages. You listen out for your stop and ask people if you're confused.

We arrived to my village, the "Party" village, San Pedro. stacked my backpacks, one to the front and one to the back, and hiked about 20 confused minutes to my hotel, Shanti Shanti, which is run by the lovely young, Angelica, who appears to be in her early 30's and runs the place with the occasional help of younger employees and her adorable 6-year old daughter.

PICTURE OF ME

The town of San Pedro strikes me as a bohemian slew of drinking and cultural establshments. There are people living here, relocated from Europe, Japan, and Middle East. It seems like, over the years, those who have fallen in love with San Pedro have set up establishments (mostly food) to share their cultural offerings.

The reputation I had heard regarding San Pedro was that it was the center for party-life. As of today, I haven't seen that. I havent gone out to the drinking center of town but I certianly dont see the unbalanced life I expected in the town. Its way more of a paradise than a party town. As in, there's no bunch slumped over, raving mad, half-naked people, stumbling around, looking for their lost bag of ketamine from last night. (update: I did go to a party where people were super fucked up and naked except for boxes over their P & V - so I was wrong) There are children playing in the streets and sunrise yoga sessions. The town starts to buzz around 7AM (update: people start shooting fireworks off at 5AM on an almost daily basis). I expected this place to be the University of Maryland with more access to drugs, but what I've found is far more mature and spiritual. I was worried I'd revert into a more base, lawless thing. Those concerns have been allayed, and I look forward to the next month that I have booked here.

My apartment is fantastic. I've been advised that I'm overpaying, but it's not a big deal. (update: I am definitely overpaying and Angelica pulled some shady shit, taking the reservation off booking.com, upgrading me, offering a 'discount' on the secretly-elevated rate.)