I
reached into my pockets to find them holding little less than enough for
another glass of whiskey if the bartender favored me, I told him the best story
I had on me and put the rest of what I had in front of me. A few soles short.
He threw a little shine on me as the closing lights went up and my glass filled
amber brown and sticky one more time. It was 5 in the morning and I was tired,
the rest of my cash along with my backpack was locked away in a dingy room on
the other side of the city. Everyone I knew was a day in front of me. I decided
to stay on in Cusco another night alone and wait for Halloween to die down.
I
posted up outside the hostel across the street and threw rocks until the guard
got distracted, then I slipped by him and grabbed the first empty bed I could
find.
I
woke to find myself in the women’s dorm and girls in towels surrounded me with
a playful curiosity. One of them immediately remembered me from Colombia and
they all welcomed me to breakfast, told me I smelt like booze and offered to
dress me up for Halloween. I declined the wardrobe but took em up on the eggs
and marijuana. Despite my small protests the night ended well with my face
painted like a lion, it felt good to participate again. It’s been years since
I’ve dressed up. I stayed out till my bus left at 7AM. Forgetting to wash off
the make-up, or not caring, I can’t remember which. I entered my 10-hour ride
full of mariachi music and the same damn Adam Sandler movie. I probably look like I
make more sense down here this way. A more tangible circus act covered in
tattoos with a lions head.
I
show up in Puno to meet up with Ben, Chad, Elizabeth, get off the bus and
realizing what a shit-hole the place is, I just get back on and leave. I see
Lake Titicaca from the window and don’t feel like I’m missing much but
Disneyland style reed islands, frustration, and Bolivia, which I want to go to
but refuse to get the vaccines for.
In
Arequipa I can feel Peru coming to a close. This will be my last stop here
before I enter Chile, I am excited to go again and long only for Colombia now
and her. Although Arequipa reminds me of home as all deserts do. I can smell
the sage, feel the cacti, rub the dirt into my pores, close my eyes and imagine
the land where I was born with ease. Homesick remedies have to be creative
these days.
I
go again to see the doctor here. Where he has me diagnose myself and then gives
me medication according to what I think is wrong with me. He tells his
assistant to have me pull my pants down and lie ass up on the table and then he
comes in and asks me what the fuck I am doing with my pants off. We laugh about
it and talk bout bad US movies and tattoos. As the girl at the reception begins
to print me my bill he pats me on the back and says this one is on the house. Best
hospital experience ever. He still doesn’t fix me. The sides of my legs feel
like they have a million ants fighting and dying in them.
Me
and Ben take a taxi out so some local bullfight where two bulls are encouraged
to battle each other by having their handlers grab their balls, finger their
asses, and excite them in other such old school fashions. The betting system is
you yell out a bet and another man takes it or raises it. The first bull to
walk away looses. We end up with the old school papas who run this place and I
earn their respect by picking the bulls better than they do. I try to trade my
I-phone for the most amazing bolo tie I have ever seen and am laughed at, its
on a golden rope with a pre-incan coin and I will find my own if it’s the death
of me. Treasure has killed many men.
They take us past the gates and introduce us to the refs, the bull
owners, the champions. In the middle of the winners circle in the middle of the
ring we get prestige placement, hold trophies and are bought drinks.
The
fights come to an end and we hitch a ride in the dark in the back of a
deep-dish truck with one of the bulls out to a bar in the barrio where we drink
with the prizewinners from the night until everything and everyone feels good
and celebrated. Walking back into town we stumble upon a punk rock show with
only four people in attendance. Finally I can dance. We bounce the place off
the walls and make the band feel like they are better than the Ramones. In the
moment it’s true.
In
the morning we pack our bags for a three-day excursion to hike Colca Canyon,
the deepest canyon in the world. Excitement runs. I love condors and they fly
so close here. The canyon doesn’t disappoint me. The condors don’t leave me. A
little oasis lies at the bottom for us to rest and make spears. The vastness of
this place dwarfs even the biggest story. On the third day I hike the entirety
out of the canyon from the bottom
without stopping once. I am proud of myself for this, I know my will is strong
for this.
Another
24-hour bus ride and now I am in Chile. We rent a car and Chad drives us out to
one of the best observatories in South America. I can see distant nebulas that
no longer exist anymore and shooting stars plainly fire blind every few
minutes. I have seen some of the details of these other galaxies in my
ayahuasca ceremony, and know things about their positions I didn’t recognize I
knew before. I can locate the Andromeda Galaxy with a blindfold on. We keep
driving another 5 hours south to the Capitol city of Santiago, a riot is taking
place as we enter…police are firing water cannons and tear gas, several walls
have been knocked over and most of the public building are covered in graffiti
all of the statues are being held hostage. I like it here. The parks are full at
night and the people seem to be constantly up to activities. I’ve been here
three days all full of soap-box derbies, hells angels tattoo conventions,
rude-boy festivals, car shows. My
days in South America now lie severely numbered, after the new year I will go
to Amsterdam, two months after that I will be riding a motorcycle from LA to
New Orleans with Josh Mills…I hope to get a return flight to Colombia though. I
hope between here and there I find it. It’s almost time to put out a new
record. I can feel it, but I can’t quite see it. I know it has to be good and I
can’t settle. I never do but I tend to rush things. Maybe between all the 20
hour bus rides, bad Spanish, and blank stares…I have learned enough patience to
make it work.
The Colombian government has a
bounty out on a herd of Pablo Escobar’s escaped hippos. They don’t care what
happens to them, they just want them gone. I pull my hat down a little lower
and think about the possibilities.
Signing out from the thick my campaneros,
R. Vigilantics
No comments:
Post a Comment