Where is Reid?

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Oh My God Its March Already

“I thought I’d miss mom more, but I am thriving. This is my version of moving out to find myself.”
– Gus

Introduction

Do you ever feel like weeks are passing like days? Day/night cycles slip together and suddenly you are far removed in time from where you started? Does it feel like the only constant thing in your life is permanently wet feet and the horrible stench of your damp shoes? These last few months have been an absolute blur. No one told me that days now only have 20 hrs – only this can explain how fast they are going by. This was true before Megan left for Canada, and is extra true after the fact. We spent the month of January living in Tunsel where Megan was nannying, and that already is a year ago for the mind.

His Brother is a Cat, His Best Friend is a Horse

This period has had some of the old familiar challenges, but the wins are really starting to stack up, the biggest of which centers completely around Herr Schmidt.

Herr Schmidt – My Light, My Love

Herr Schmidt is the engineer that was destined by fate to assess our vehicles road worthiness. Our paths were written in the stars, doomed to be mortal enemies out of sheer circumstance alone. Now, it is not this guys fault, but he is the embodiment of this Kafkaesque system capable of producing only frustration. It’s not his fault, but I’ll never forgive him. The TÜV (and by the transitive property, Herr Schmidt) has sole responsibility for my lowest lows since arriving in Germany. Even a brief review of my journal indicates the psychological resources we allocated to this god-forsaken bureau.

Morale was off the charts, in the wrong quadrant. This is from October!

Herr Schmidt is a uniquely difficult fellow to read. Most people have 43 facial muscles. Herr Schmidt has only 2 – the ones responsible for narrowing the eyes into a squint. The only human emotion he required was the one to look quizzically annoyed, all else was vestigial. His face was so stiff that the Brits use it for calibration. Each time he would emerge from our vehicle and deliver a dagger to our hearts I was truly unaware whether he was taking any joy in our devastation.

Sorry Passenger Door Squeaks, Come Back When Fixed

Sorry, Your Tires Didn’t Withstand My Machete Slash, Come Back When Fixed

Sorry, Your Headlight Angle Doesn’t Adjust 1.5 Degrees, Come Back When Fixed

Thanks to many kindnesses, we had our headlights ‘fixed’ (I’d argue they were never broken). So me and Megan, being the masochists we are, decided to head back into the TÜV for another round of heartbreak and metaphorical spankings. Herr Schmidt was ready to greet us with his quizzically annoyed concrete slab face.

After some time at the vehicle Herr Schmidt appeared at the entrance to the waiting room and beckoned for me to join him – he had ‘something to show me’. My heart didn’t even sink, so accustomed I was to the routine.

Our headlight actuators had been installed inverted – the dial to make them raise actually lowered them, but the range of motion was correct. I geared myself up mentally to go do some new wiring and return for more heartbreak at a later date, but Herr Schmidt was not done talking.

He looked up at me, eyes shining, and said “I will still make for you”. I watched in shock and awe, as long dead electrical circuitry around his mouth tried to spark to life. I was witnessing evolution in real time – Herr Schmidt was trying to smile. An energy filled the garage – were we about to kiss?

The last few months flooded back through the mind. I came to realize that Herr Schmidt had fallen helplessly in love for myself and Megan, failing us for the most arbitrary of things, so that we would have to come back and he could bask in our warm glow once again. There was simply no other explanation. Now here he was, realizing our tri-une relationship had slipped into toxicity and if he truly loved us (which he did with the whole cavernous space in his ribcage), he would have to let us go.

Your lights are fine. Now go, get outta here! Just leave! I don’t want you anymore!

I’ve rarely been more excited to never see someone again. The task was not quite finished, but the largest hurdle was completed. Megan got to experience this euphoria as well, limping us over the TÜV finish line just before abandoning me to the whims of the universe.

Later on, I checked for a registration appointment availability at the Landkreishaus. There happened to be one in 20 minutes, and so it was an easy decision, I am gonna jump on it. I did not have all the papers the website said I required, but at this point I am a pro at showing up unprepared and really did not care. Unsurprisingly, they could not complete my case that day (see lack of all relevant papers comment), but what was surprising was that they had completed the registration the following day. An unexpected success.

What have I learned from all of this? Be confidently unprepared and get in front of a regular human. No one seems to know all the interconnecting systems anyways, and if you don’t have one arbitrary paper, who cares – 90% is a fantastic grade. That is why these people get paid the big bucks – they will figure it out. In other words, zero personal growth has occurred, and my problems are typically the fault and problem of those surrounding me. Secretly I had always suspected this to be the case, but it was great to have it so clearly demonstrated and enable me to live this profound truth out in the open.

Team Tapeworm

As homeowners me and Megan will suddenly be struck with a wave of responsibility-pressure and will get the sickening feeling that there are some things we “really ought to look into”. After ignoring these whisperings for a few more days we inevitably bring ourselves to the very threshold of “looking into it”, tiptoe over that line and instantly be confronted with the reason we tend to glide down the path of avoidance. Here is a hypothetical example for illustrative purposes:

MEGAN: “Its been pretty humid, we should take a peak under the mattress.”
ME: “Yeah not a bad idea, we should really look into that. It would be the responsible thing.”
-YouTube and Art Occurs-
-Megan and Reid regain consciousness 2-3 days later-
UNISON: “Oh Shit! We never looked into it!”
-Reid and Megan gingerly approach the mattress, lift it slowly to reveal rampant dampness and an overflowing mold problem-
UNISON: (TURN TO CAMERA, BREAK 4th WALL) “Gosh Darnit why do we ever look into things”

The brutal reality is that looking into things forces your hand to deal with said things. As long as you don’t check, the issue occupies some sort of superposition of states in which it simultaneously most likely is a problem, but also might not. I live for this uncertainty. Thrive on it. It is my happy place.

Deciding not to look into things is a great way to apply Quantum Mechanics to your everyday life

One of the things we had been meaning to look into was our fresh water tank’s level of cleanliness. Being mostly water myself (presumably Meg too) it seemed reasonable to want nothing but the best. We aren’t being divas here.

Being largely water is one of 7 core common grounds me and megan share

After many days being completely blackout unaware of our adult tasks, our responsibility glands came back online and started to once again excrete their foul enzymes. It was time to look into it.

We prefer our responsibility glands dry and cracked

We opened the lid and, just as we had suspected, were instantly regretting having looked into it. It is an absolute exaggeration to say that the tank contained discoveries wholly new to science and it is another absolute exaggeration to say that the tank was teaming with all forms of life. What is not an exaggeration is that there was more stuff in there than one would like in their fresh water tank (and by extension their bodies), and now because WE had looked into it (like newborn fools), WE had to deal with it. Or at least WE would have, if Megan wasn’t heading back to Canada to be my bacon-providin’ Zucker-Mutter.

After taking the requisite 3-5 days of processing I need to do when confronted with a task I eventually got down to it and emptied the tank for a cleaning. There were exoskeletons bobbing to and fro in there from who knows how long ago. They were completely bleached and clean, so I am guessing quite a while. Among these amazing artifacts was a snail shell. Megan started affectionately referring to us as team tapeworm, which is just so sweet of her (#solidarity), but I think is a little bit easier to say when you are thousands of kms away and not still sipping on your snail water.

In not much time the aquarium had been cleaned out, and new water put in. They system was going to get a nice bleaching, and I’d be hauling water old school with my camelback for the night. However, laziness once again prevailed and one night with the bleach in the tank turned to two. Each time I had to haul water I would think “Ah yeah, I should really look into emptying the tank”. As you probably can guess, I did not look into emptying the tank.

My daily water commute bordered on 2000km

One day I came home to see water drip coming from the wheel well. The inside of the van was also wet. Gus practically spills his water every single day (his foot being drawn inexplicably to the rim of his bowl may constitute a fifth fundamental force), but for some reason my panic completely overlooked that explanation and assumed that the bleach had been left in too long and was eating through the tank. A quick Google also told me bleach could eat some plastics. Confirmed – I had destroyed the tank, the van, my life and my relationship. Obviously, my worst imaginations did not come true, but my hand was forced to deal with things, and finally that little job was done.

Bike Rides with Gus

Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to our family foundation in early February. Megan, calm, collected and composed has taken on the job of being the sole person keeping this family afloat. Me and Gus, alone and adrift, without the anchoring presence of the tiny shmee.

Since she has been gone, our days have gone by extremely fast, but are generally following a straight forward pattern (wake up, lab work, ball time, pass out). Among those patterns is a twice weekly bike ride taking Gus to his new Aunty, Paula. Gus is terrified of stationary bikes, and so I must say I am so proud of him for running alongside with one. The bike rides are somewhat meditative, and I think that riding through Freiburg with my buddy alongside me is going to be a special memory I will carry for a long time.

Me and Gus had never fallen, so I took the above video. Of course this means on this particular ride we ate shit when someone opened their door and spooked Gus. RIP Insta360, I loved you. In typical fashion I have not learned any lesson from this and continue to film random stuff, like my grocery trips for Gus.

Odds and Ends

What else has happened?

I was honored to make the January spread of my coworkers annual nude calendar. I understand that this is a highly prestigious honor and will assume the honor correlates with immeasurable hotness.

We took a quick trip to Strasbourg, a city known for its treasure clues hiding around every corner.

Alternated between two personas in Switzerland. The first persona was being a couple of firmly established members of the gentry class, land and business owners, that were comically bemused by the absolute price gauging going on in that country. Persona two was being a couple of under the radar cat burglars trying to ride the trains for free so that we don’t have to go into a deep hole of debt and regret. We always got caught, so persona one really started to take a back seat. Beautiful country, but please if anyone from Switzerland is reading, get over yourself you Davos brained, out-of-touch hyper capitalist.

It pains me to say it, but it is beautiful

Aside from the travel school is also heating up. I submitted the official thesis start paperwork, and have been given my deadline – September 2nd. It feels good to have that target in front of me. Something to work towards and to know everything will be completed by then. The working title is “Characterization of Degradation Mechanisms in Organic Solar Cells” and if that doesn’t make you convulse with glee I don’t know what to tell ya. It’ll be hitting bookshelves nowhere in the fall. Preorder now.

Conclusions

What else is there to say that has not been said? I miss Megan, and I have it on good authority that Gus does too. We are calling the time before she left “Germany Chapter 1” and the time after she gets back “Germany Chapter 2”. Chapter one was full of growth, and I am putting it out into the universe that chapter 2 will be full of fun. When does chapter 2 start? God (and probably his eyes, ears and mouth on Earth the Pope) only knows – Megan currently sits in visa purgatory. But our patience muscles are well exercised, and the time will pass. I am really looking forward to having less peripheral bullshit to deal with, and to be able to focus on the lab work and writing. As for now, living at the campground puts me in proximity to birds, sunshine, trees and a nice mode of being. The rain is steadily being replaced by days nice enough to mountain bike in shorts and t-shirts. Travel plans with friends and family are emerging just as the flowers are emerging as well.

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That’s All folks

“This post is gonna be like a vingette episode”
– Reid, On The Nature of This Post

Introduction

As I crossed into Colombia from Ecuador I was blissfully unaware that just two weeks later that very border would be closed. The world was still mine and I was finally ready to make a plan for returning home. I crafted an epic one: I would fly to Mexico City and meet my dad in Texas for a father son road trip home, arriving back in Canada 6 months from when I first left. To say I was excited is an understatement.

My father, as a photographer, would surely be excited to give the Mac selfie a shot (as they say, the tree doesn’t grow far from where the apple fell). As you are probably gathering, this was not to be. Parks, transport and borders all closed up. I got picked up off the street by police and taken back to my hostel for being out past curfew. Sometimes the universe gives you a small sign and other times it beats you over the head with a 2×4. With not much available to me, I decided to return to Canada, ready for that #quarantinelyfe. I offer these last few scattered stories and conclusions. Please enjoy.

3 Transport Stories in Colombia

To go from Mocoa to Cali requires 12 hours. I decided to do this as a night bus as per usual with long rides. I purchased a seat in the front row which normally comes with extra leg room. When the bus arrived it was more of a school bus and the front row had a guard fence for the entry stairs. Clearly the front seat was intended for a double leg amputee because I had to either man spread to the point of tearing my groin or turn my legs out in the aisle. The second option seemed like the appropriate one to take, but the seat reclining handle was designed to stick out and tear into your body like a scimitar. The design engineers clearly had an intimate knowledge of human centred design principals, yet chose to do everything opposite for the laughs.

Boss: “What Do People Want From Their Bus Service?”
Idiot Intern: “…Leg Room?”
Boss: “Yup lol, Do The Opposite lolololol”

I looked about the bus in search of any remedy to my situation. Turning around I saw the back row of seats completely empty, angelic light raining down upon them. I made my move, and soon learned why they were empty. Every millisecond I was launched out of my seat, unsure where I would land. I tried to lie down to minimize the launching, but had to endure my head jackhammering against the toilet door. As it turns out this road is uniquely bumpy, it is actually called The Trampoline of Death Road (and no, this is not a joke: https://trans-americas.com/trampoline-of-death-road-colombia/). So I was spoiled by choice: Sit in the back and maybe spew chunks upon the innocent, lie in the back and risk a spinal or sit in my assigned seat and very likely never use my legs again. What a great way to spend 12 hours!

Its really tough to decide whether this trip from Mocoa to Cali was more or less comfortable than the infamously windy road between Medellin and Santa Marta. If my life were a comedy, this bus ride would have been scored with an ironic rendition of the hallelujah chorus being played over a montage of people puking. It was really quite the experience.

Upon arrival in Cartagena I required a hostel near the airport so I could leave in the morning. The person I was chatting to ended up not being a taxi driver, but someone with a motorcycle. It was my last chance to say “porque no?” We threw my backpack on his lap and I crawled onto the back. We took off at a pace that really pushed the boundaries of my comfort zone. For the first time on my trip I got to assume the role of motorcyclist with a death wish. We cut savagely back and forth between cars, using the oncoming traffic lane and swerving out of the way from all those doing likewise. Each time we pulled one of these manoeuvres or got a bit too close to the rotating wheels of a semi I was very clearly reminded of my own mortality, and the fact that my tank top, shorts, sandals and helmet-lacking hair would provide less than optimal protection. To compound this anxiety, I witnessed my first accident in this situation. The culprits? Two motorcycles. After seeing this I had thoughts of bailing out, but instead I simply whispered in my drivers ear “cuidado”. This only brought a smile, chuckle and a roar from the engine. So I held a little tighter and tried to savour one of my final true South American experiences.

Aprendiendo Bailar

If you were trying to write the word California, but your modern attention span stopped you at four letters, you would have written “Cali” which is the city of Salsa (and I don’t mean cutting tomatoes and onions). I have done some South American cultural anthropology and have reached one conclusion: people here have a way of moving that can only be described as hypnotic. I have a way of moving that is typically described not by words but by sputtering gags and pained whimpers. Something had to change, so I went to Cali specifically to learn some salsa. Turns out I am actually an undiscovered salsa talent. I breezed through learning the basic steps as easily as a silverback gorilla spins in the grass.

Once again completely blown away by my own raw talent in a new field I decided to level up for subsequent lessons. Things here were different. Our Cha-Cha-Chas were much more rapid and the dips, dives and ducks came at me quick. The difficulty was compounded by the fact that I could understand nothing the instructor said in this high stakes environment. “MANOS” she would shout. “CON MUCHO FUERZA” she shouted again, all the while blistering my corneas with a deeply penetrating stare. Normally I might consider that this indicated I was doing something wrong, but filled with confidence from my beginner class I knew this was not possible.

Clearly I’m Doing All Things Correct (pictured: me)

Armed with an arsenal of approximately 7 moves I hit the club “La Topa Tolandra”, one of the most famous salsa clubs in the city. Its a neat place where dancing partners are exchanged every song, and the songs go well into the night. Upon entry I want into high alert, ready to perform first aid if required. The gals were being whipped around in such a frenzy I was certain they would pass out from the extreme G-forces they must be experiencing.

Encapsulates The Face of Every Girl In The House

Of course I was no different. My few lessons completely prepared me to be a total stud here. People were chanting my name and I had to put the ladies in a queue for their limited opportunity to dance with me. Yessiree I had found my calling. Unfortunately, when exiting the club I suffered a tragic yet classically comedic pratfall.

Not His Amygdala -> Hippocampus -> Salsa Centre -> Pre-Frontal Cortex Pathway!

I struck my head on the corner of a salchipapa stand, permanently destroying my brains’ finely-tuned salsa centre. In that instant the world lost one of the great body movers it had ever seen. When I return home I’ll never be able to display my skills, and even to ask me to display them would be considered extremely rude. I’m sorry, but definitely not as sorry as all of you must be.

Spanish Practice And English Learning

In Cali I made a friend from Quito. He spoke not a lick of English, but at the time in Cali we had speakers of both english and spanish. We got back together in Medellin for two days, and swiftly realized the difficulty of communication (especially with my lack of translator app). In spite of this, we found a way to connect and form up a friendship. I am not used to being the one with better language skills than someone (and truthfully mine are still worse, he speaks portuguese also), so this was my chance to really work. We travelled the city together, saw the sights, ate and drank together.

At one point he found an American dime on the metro floor and picked it up to show me.

“Dime?” he asked, proud of the word. I agreed, and decided that every moment is a good moment for an English idiom lesson. So I launched into the alternate meaning of Dime. In my original (and terrible) spanish:

“Si, pero Dime tener una otra sentido tambien. Cuando tu veo una mujer muy hermosa, ella es una Dime.”

He nodded his approval, and I mentally high-fived myself for being such a gifted educator. Something was lost in translation however, because from that point on he would elbow me in the kidneys, point to someone walking and whisper “Diez centimos.”

While technically the same concept, I find there to be a huge difference between being called a Dime, and being called Ten Cents. But maybe thats just me.

Medellin’s Healing

Medellin; if you’ve heard of it it’s likely for the wrong reasons. Previously known as the “world’s most dangerous city” and the home of Pablo Escobar, Medellin (and the country overall) has done a tremendous job of reinventing itself. As recently as the 2000’s some of the barrios were outright war zones, child soldiers were utilized and car bombs occurred. If you flash forward to 2020, a common draw for tourists is the “Pablo Escobar” tour. Understandably the residents have mixed feelings on this. On one hand money is money, but on the other hand Escobar is directly responsible for the deaths and disappearances of many. This is one industry I chose not to support, and instead visited the museum commemorating the victims of cartel and FARC violence.

There is a lot of sobering imagery in this place, but overall the vibe is one of healing, renewal and celebrating peace. One particular story stuck with me.

A quick summary: On October 3rd of 1984 Luis Fernando Lalinde became a victim of torture, execution and “disappearance”. His mother, Fabiola, spent twelve straight years in search for her son. Her search became known as Operación Ciriri. I cannot explain it better than the plaque, so here it is:

Obviously, this search did not turn out in Fabiola’s favour. But she inspired many others and thus a movement of change. Today’s Medellin is completely different. It has given itself a facelift, and integrated its poor and rich neighbourhoods with one of the best metro systems I have ever seen. The people are friendly and welcoming. The city bristles with life.

A Bit of Nature

Colombia is spoiled by beauty. For instance, they have this enormous rock.

Getting to the top of this rock you receive the following view.

What is The Big Deal? Water and Trees. Lame

Elsewhere in the south, you might come across this beautiful waterfall.

And all over the place you will come across beautifully coloured cities.

There is much more. I made it to the very gates of Tayrona National Park, but it had closed. Elsewhere the worlds tallest palm trees exist. Within my friend and family group I think Colombia had the biggest prejudice against it. That’s why I’m hear to say it is a gorgeous and friendly country. Update your mental view of it and give it a shot.

You Will Have To Wait Until Next Time Tayrona

Conclusions

“People say they travel to ‘find themselves’, well, I’ve been gone a long time and all I am is more lost.”
– Colin, a most unexpected friend of mine

On the last day before my sudden flight I stood in Santa Marta with my feet in the Caribbean Sea. The Caribbean had always been an unwritten goal of mine, to go from Patagonia up to the furthest reaches north. Now I had done it.

If You are Silhouetted You Can Be Naked and No One Will Know

There is a feeling you get when you spend a day on planes travelling somewhere far away. After all the time flying, running through terminals and enduring layovers you reflect in disbelief upon your day:

“Did I really start today in Saskatoon? Now I’m here, and haven’t even slept yet?”

As I stood at the Caribbean I had the same feelings about the last four months. Had me and Andrew really slept on the beach in Rio? Had we really camped outside Fitz Roy? Had we learned to drive standard in the most stressful environment we could find? Had I really spent time as a bartender in the desert? Had I really travelled with Luma? Had I really been swimming with the Cayman in the Amazon? Had I really gone crazy during Carnival? Had I really ran from dogs to go climbing? How had I gotten here? It is all a blur.

As much as I would have loved to finish off according to my plan, I am very thankful for everything that did go right (and all the things that went delightfully wrong). Since Andy left I have not had a travel plan, so I suppose its fitting that as soon as I got one it blew up.

I met a girl who asked me “What do you think the purpose of all this travel is?” Honestly, I don’t think there is one. I am just an individual of privilege and I need to acknowledge that. I had a job that gave me money, parents that help me and encourage me to go and explore. There isn’t a big lesson, I’m just lucky and seized upon an opportunity. However, even if there is no purpose it doesn’t mean that you return the same as how you left, and I do have a little bit of advice for those that want to take their own adventure:

Say yes to things. The plans and places that arise spontaneously are often better than what you could imagine.
Eat where the locals eat. It might be a hole in the wall, but thats part of the fun.
Most places are less scary than you think. Give them a shot.
Don’t be afraid about spending a few days only in your head, without opening your mouth.
If you have a friend you want to transform into a best friend, go travelling together.
Meet as many people as you can. You’ll often have to be the first to say hello.

Emphasis should be placed on that last point. The next little bit is dedicated to some of “my people”:

There are many, many others. Of course there is someone missing from these. This whole thing started out 9 years ago. Sitting on my aunt and uncle’s couch in Regina, me and some idiot hatched a plan to travel South America. Hard to believe it has come and gone, but the stories will live forever.

For the next little while the question “where is Reid?” will be easily answered. I’ll be quarantined in my parents basement. The website has run its course, I hope people out there enjoyed reading as much as I (and Andy) enjoyed writing. I’m pleased to announce that the site reached all six inhabited continents, however writing proved less lucrative than I hoped, so I guess I’ll need to find a job. If you read more than one post, please leave a comment, I am interested in who the faithful followers were. Someday my adventures will continue and perhaps I’ll dust this old blog off. Time shall tell.

This has been Where is Reid.

Reid Patterson

Currently flying home, already wondering what is next.

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Ecuador (Part 2)

“There are two types of companies – those that work to raise prices, and those that work to lower them.”
– Jeff Bezos, creator and owner of the Amazon

Introduction

I arrived in Riobamba, ready to get high off of the fresh mountain air. I have so many experiences to write here – hiking on Chimborazo, experiencing carnival and having my phone stolen, but all of that can wait. First, I must tell you all that something transformational has happened. I have converted to Mormonism.

As I waited for Niels (the German urging me to be less lazy) to finish an overnight hike, I went wandering through the town square. The sun was shining, birds were singing and I was happily content with my ice cream and a granadilla for later. This all came crashing down when out of nowhere I was approached by some anthropomorphic mayonnaise shaped as two humans.

“Well hiya there buckaroo! Have you heard the good news?”

This peaked my interest. What could it be? Had the stock I purchased in the adult diaper industry made healthy returns? Had Prime Minister Trudeau shaved his beard into a Fu-Manchu, thereby fixing relations with China? Had Caramilk finally made their secret public knowledge? As it turns out, the good news was that Jesus Christ had travelled to the Americas, something about a prophet Moroni and a local hero named Joseph Smith discovering the golden tablets letting us know these things.

I’ll Take One Back Tatoo of This Por Favor

Initially I was skeptical, but the conversation continued.

“As you can see from these photos, Jesus really did visit the Americas!” said Elder Vanillayoghurt, pointing to what was clearly a painting. To me though, the confidence to point to a painting, call it a photo, and claim it is as evidence all at once was nothing short of miraculous. So I said sign me up, and everyone can expect me door knocking soon as I return home. The only major hassle will be fitting in a huge Joseph Smith back tattoo when my Carlos back tattoo has already claimed such valuable tracts of land.

With that off of my chest, lets get down to the nitty gritty.

Phone Stolen

This is more of a service announcement to my hordes of frenzied fans the world over. During the festivities of Carnival, I had my phone swiped. This is devastating news for the blog because I no longer have the ability to take quick random pics and vids of things I find funny. I can also no longer make award winning personalized gifs, which I’m sure readers will shed a tear over. The other things, like loss of translator, maps and etc is almost a little fun. I feel more lost, less capable and increasingly uncertain about how I will get by. Fun! I miss my treasure trove of selfies, but its alright guys, there are mirrors here.

Chimborazo

Outside Riobamba stands a wee little mountain named Chimborazo. Its height is 6200m, its colour is red and its weight is almost certainly approaching that of your mother.

6200m you say? Thats not a big deal! There are higher mountains! The people here will wag a finger at you and say nope! Chimborazo is so close to the equator that the equatorial bulge on the earth makes this the point furthest from Earth’s core. See ya later Everest, you had your 15 minutes of fame. I like this theory but it is ultimately misleading, because as we all know the Earth is flat.

Even in spite of these lies Chimborazo remains a great place to hike. I reached 5200m which is a new personal best. Even at this height you can look up and see the mountain climb an additional 1000m (which is about the average vertical change of my hikes in Banff). Its inspiring, its amazing, its exhausting and it makes you feel extraordinarily small.

I hitch hiked away from this location, and you descend a further 2km down into Riobamba. I wish I had had my bike.

Carnival in Rio…bamba

When I arrived back in Riobamba the city’s atmosphere had changed noticeably. I was walking back to my hostel and got sprayed by a kid carrying foam. Later, some voices from a car shouted “Hola Gringo!” and when I turned to look received more foam. At another corner some kids were misting the air with water. Having just been hiking I thought this water felt great so I turned to them and said “Eh chicos, poco mas por favor!” and had to sprint out of there as five torrential streams of water flowed after me. By the time I got back I had been sprayed until soaked, and realized it was the beginning of carnival. Niels had returned and experienced the same. Together we declared that if it was a war the children wanted, it was a war they were going to get.

Carnival is just a big weeklong party mixed with a weeklong water and paint fight. Expect to be soaked daily in foam, water and balloons raining down from above. Expect to be covered in paint. Even the parade performers get sprayed from the sidelines.

You’ll likely dance in the street until the police shut you down, and then dance in the clubs until they shut you down again. I had an egg smashed in my hair. It began raining and I was picked up, placed in the street and had water kicked all over me. But then I got to participate and do that to someone else! We witnessed a real fight break out, and the crowds running around breaking it up. One thing carnival is not is boring.

The people were so nice. We were invited to share in everything local groups had, mostly because I think Riobamba isn’t too touristy and it is neat to have non-locals join in the festivities. I got into vehicles with plenty of groups of strangers, just as my mother had always taught me. Even with all the fun, you can only be wet and party for so long, so me and Niels had to leave to Baños.

Baños

Baños is the self proclaimed adventure capital of Ecuador, and me and Niels were ready for some climbing. So we were extremely disappointed when no one would let us rent a rope. We went on an epic quest throughout the city only to be turned away everywhere. They wanted us to also use a guide or go canyoning and we wanted no such thing. To make up for it we rented bikes and went straight downhill past plenty of falling water.

We didn’t get the adrenaline hit we so desired though so to make up for it we also crossed a rickety old bridge that had been long been condemned.

When we had enough of biking we pulled over to hitch a ride back. We had been under the impression that any old bus would stop for us, but after four cruised by it was apparent that this was not the case. We waited thumbs up, hoping for a bus or a truck. Niels started putting thumbs up for all vehicles, and I told him maybe we don’t want a small car to stop, seeing as we had two bikes with us. Of course, only because I said this it was fate that a small car would stop for us. It pulled over, completely blocking the highway lane at a corner with its blinkers on. Out stepped a friendly face, eager to try and shove our bikes into the back. In the end we had to dismantle the bikes, tie them into the trunk with the door hanging wide open, crawl in with his family of five and hold two wheels on our laps. We were the embodiment a clown car, but it worked and the family was super friendly.

And the View From Where We Waited Was Not Too Shabby

No climbing could be done here, so we declared to hell with Baños, its time for the Amazon.

Cuyabeno

Me and Niels were dying to do something only locals do, so we took a tour of the Amazon. To our great disappointment we were surrounded by Europeans and North Americans. I’m sure this is just an anomaly, and we found a way to have fun anyhow.

We boated into where we were staying, nearly bumping into animals every turn.

Hey Pal! Don’t Mind Me While I Just KILL YOU WITH FIRE

I was at the hand rail made of bamboo talking to our guide about tarantula activity, learning that they are nocturnal creatures. He tapped the bamboo I was leaning on and said one has made its home in there and that I’d see it tonight. I thought maybe he joked but nope, it was there every single night. I could not have been more thrilled by this news.

Me and Francesca Grew To Love Each Other

Also, they live in the thatch roof. You see many in the common areas. Then I realized my bedroom has the same thatch roof, so I tucked my bug net quite tight.

This Is NOT Going to Be One Of The 8 Spiders I Eat This Year

I was actually more at peace with the creepy crawlies here than I had anticipated. Somehow they just fit in the jungle, and I could take a very academic and photographic approach to living in close quarters with them.

Its not just small creatures that live here though. We saw the magnificent pink river dolphins, cayman, and even a few anacondas.

The cayman can grow up to 5m, and the anaconda can grow to an astonishing 8m, both of which could easily dust a human. Faced with these incredible forces of nature you have only one choice, and the right choices is obvious:

During this swim, myself and Niels both independently swam under the boat on a mission to suddenly grab the unsuspecting leg of Fabian (the third swimmer). I think we took about 5 years off of his life, but at least we got a laugh out of it. Fair trade I reckon.

Speaking of losing life, one of the most challenging trials of the jungle was just keeping things out of Niels mouth.

Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief when we came across jungle cocoa and he could finally chow down on something safe.

The plants of the jungle are equally as amazing and diverse as the animals. Many have healing properties. We visited a local Shaman to learn more, and he was kind enough to give us all a rub down with what I assume was poison Ivy.

Smirk Says It All. He Knows What He Has Done

Each night we went out to search for cayman with our lights. More often than not, these nights were filled with incredible starry skies. The jungle is never a silent place, the forest is alive with all kinds of sounds. Often I’d enjoy looking for cayman, but just as often I’d enjoy tilting my head back, listen to the roar of the jungle and observe the stars. I think that looking up at the stars and taking time to really contemplate how small we are should be a fundamental human experience, and one that I hope we don’t lose.

To Colombia

The next step was to get into Colombia. We were going back to Lago Agrio, and heading straight north to cross at the San Miguel crossing. If you look these place up on the internet you will learn that Lago Agrio is one of the most dangerous places in Ecuador, and San Miguel is one of the most dangerous crossings for the two countries. The Canadian travel agency advises against travel to this area of the two countries. I’m not here to tell you that this is ridiculous, or that you should not take caution, but definitely take what you read with a grain of salt. We were treated very well here, even being surrounded by students that wanted to hang out with us. These students bought us local snacks they liked, wanted to take pics with us, learn our english curse words and find out the music we like. When we went to the border we took a vehicle with a young mother and her two children. The Colombians at the border were extremely helpful, getting us to the trucks we needed for the next leg of our journey (no busses here, we sat in the backs of trucks for 4 hrs). The point is this, everyone else we met in Cuyabeno was horrified that we had stayed in Lago Agrio, intended to go back and would consider a crossing there. They all flew in, got on with a tour company and left by flight as well. To me its sad to hear these awful things, and then to be treated so well because you are so uncommon. Humans are human wherever you are, and once again I was filled with the belief that the majority of us are pretty good.

Conclusions

Life with no phone is fine, maybe even refreshing. The mormons make some excellent points. Foam and egg start to really smell if you don’t get on it quickly. The amazon is a magic, unique place. Definitely worthy of protection. The older gen told us not to believe everything you see on tv, im here to say don’t believe everything you read on the internet (they just hand blogs out to any old idiot these days). Whatever you think a car can hold, it can hold more.

Reid Patterson

Currently in very rural Colombia (and surviving just fine).

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Ecuador (Part 1)

“Wow no way, it’s called Ecuador and it’s on the Equator? Seriously, what are the odds?”
– Some Idiot, Sometime, Presumably

The Ecuadorian border was the easiest crossing I think I have ever had, bags were not even checked, let alone sniffed by dogs. This disappointed me greatly, as I had turned down a highly lucrative offer of smuggling dozens of human kidneys across the border. I stood to earn hundreds of thousands, but now it was a bygone opportunity. As famous businessman Warren Buffet frequently said “Always take the kidneys, those assets never depreciate” (citation needed). Should have listened but live and learn I guess. I drowned my sorrows with some fresh empanadas and a glass of morocho. Putting that behind me I was ready to explore Cuenca.

Potentially Accurate Representation of my Backpack

Cuenca

Have you ever had the feeling that something just isn’t right? That’s how I felt entering Cuenca. I felt like Tom Cruise wandering the streets of NYC, completely devoid of all activity.

The Streets Were Devoid of Activity. Tom is Always Active, Typically Seen Running

The problem we had in common was not that there weren’t any people for us to espouse the virtues of Scientology to, but rather an eerie silence. It finally hit me; no one is honking here! The tranquility hit me hard and that was all it took for me to fall in love with Cuenca.

“You Hear That? Nope, Nothing to Hear, Just Silence”
– Simon to Garfunkle moments before writing their hit *Bridge Over Troubled Water*

If you like churches, I have great news for you: Cuenca has a few. Seeing as it was sunday, I wandered into the main one for my first ever Catholic mass. Here there were plenty of people to tell about scientology, but I managed to refrain and just enjoy the interior beauty and the nice acoustics.

Cuenca is a beautiful place to get lost in. So I tried twice, once on foot and once by bike. Over all, the bike option proved more successful. I was using a rickety thing with faulty breaks, poor shifting and a slipping chain. I considered going up the hills to be pure joy, and returning down them to be something close to heavenly. It felt great to sweat a little, as it had been a while.

I’m Told Others Enjoy My Sweat Less Than Me

Cuenca is tucked into a beautiful green valley. In all directions hills rise above it, for a long ways.

If This Looks Mostly Red You May Be Colorblind

Cuenca is also culturally rich, with more museums than I can count (but I’m notoriously terrible at counting). So much to do but I decided to move on and get some more nature. I turned to my right, somehow knowing that thousands of kilometers away Andy was turning to his left. I screamed “No Museums! Only Nature!” Somehow I had all the confidence that Andy had said the same thing simultaneously (although my brother informs me that “simultaneous events” is not really a thing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relativity_of_simultaneity But what does he know?) To me, after I had seen this (see below), I had seen all I needed culture-wise.

Cajas National Park

As you head west from Cuenca you are required to climb up and over some pesky mountains. As you ascend, the trees and greenery are replaced in favour of grasses, shrubs, cacti and bogs. In this region lies Cajas National Park.

Exactly Like Grasslands National Park in Canada. Exactly.

I got to the park and felt as though I was the only one there. This caused my mind to wander back to the days of early explorers; ships getting frozen into the northwest passage, hardy individuals battling frostbite at high altitudes, those who were lost for weeks in the deserts and crews with limited rations fighting a losing battle with scurvy. Waves of inadequacy cascaded over me. I closed my eyes, turned my head skyward and thought: “Modern convenience, you fickle beast you. You have turned me soft!” In an attempt to prove myself to my forebears I stepped off the road, onto the trail and directly into boggy mud.

I pulled my shoe from the bog as Arthur had once done with a sword from a stone. Just as he had been changed in that moment, I too was a new creature. I had successfully increased my hardship, and continued on my trek. Certainly I would now be mentioned in the same breath as Henry Hudson, Marco Polo and Lewis/Clark. I set off, ready to map out the area and find passage from Cuenca to Guayaquil.

The paths in this park are extremely difficult to follow and you lose them often (great for feeling like an explorer). I was in the middle of one of my off path adventures when I stumbled across two new Belgian friends (not good for feeling like an explorer). I would like to say that I acted extremely rude and frightened them off so that I could maintain my solitude and hardship, but I didn’t. I took the cowards way out and befriended them, hiking the rest of the day together.

At the end of the day, all that was required was to simply hitch hike back to Cuenca. I had been led to believe this would be easy, but to my complete surprise cars weren’t pulling over and starting fisticuffs for the right to have me on board.

I Mean COME ON ECUADOR!! When Are You Gonna Get Another Opportunity Like This

Our trio did finally get picked up, but for me the damage had been done. These hill folk don’t love and faun over an absolute stranger? I just could not abide. Tomorrow I will go to the beach and see if I am idolized there as a world famous explorer ought to be. Next stop Montanita.

Montañita

Heading from Cuenca to Guayaquil you pass up and over Cajas. From Cajas to Guayaquil it is essentially all downwards. You pass through at least four distinct biomes as you descend: grasslands, alpine, rainforest and desert. The Andes end abruptly and are replaced by an expansive plain out to the coast. These plains were covered in a great and diverse forest, but that has been removed and crops of bananas and palm oil have taken over.

This is of course an ecological tragedy, but to me it is something else also. In my opinion complaining about palm oil crops is another item in a long list of things that developed countries finger point over. Hypocritically.

I’m pretty uneducated on this, but at the surface level it seems that any monoculture represents an ecological wrongdoing. Maybe one is worse. I don’t know, but if we can use our land other places can to.

We Need the Fire Dept. To Get Us Off Our High Horse

Anyways, after arriving in Guayaquil I took a brief bus out to the beach of montanita, a place where the soft, white, powdery sand isn’t the only white, powdery substance in abundance. Friends I had made in Ica were going to be here for surfing, all I had to do was find them. I expected this to be hard, but I wandered one street and immediately found the tied back blonde hair of a person I recognized. He was not expecting me, and that made the reunion all the sweeter.

I got reunited with my American, Russian and Colombian friends from the days of bar tending. In addition to this I got to meet two real cool Swiss guys:

We made a pretty stellar crew. The days all blurred together: Get up for breakfast and a banana-oreo shake, take a siesta, meet up for swimming and surfing, hit up supper and head out to enjoy the beach fiestas until the sun rises. Montanita was a vacation from my vacation. The only work I had to do was capture the area with the worlds best camera:

People Always Need Instruction on How To Use PhotoBooth 2011

A Kindly Surfer Even Took A Picture With Me!

The End Result Is A Keeper For Sure! Perfect Angle, She Did A Good Job

On top of it all, every night we were treated by this:

Could Say It Was Bad, But It Was Not Bad

Yessiree things were going smoothly. That is until my german climbing friend from Huaraz texted. “Hey man, quit being lazy and come to Riobamba, I’m keen on Chimborazo.” I was a little offended. “Lazy? What could he mean by that?” I thought to myself from the beach hammock I had been swaying in for hours. I was going to get to the bottom of that comment, but first I needed a nap. Once I woke up I had clarity, and that clarity spelled the end for Montanita. I left for Riobamba the next morning.

But thats a story for Part 2.

Conclusions

Early explorers weren’t that special. Cuenca is a tranquil town, go there after you’ve listened to honks passively for three months. Educate yourself before sharing opinions on complicated and divisive topics (oops). There are things out there that will help you fiesta until the sun rises day after day, take or don’t, I’m not the boss of anyone. Ecuador is certainly more expensive than Peru, but try to keep the context on Canadian (or wherever you are from. This blogs official stance is to love foreign readers!) prices. If given the opportunity to smuggle organs, go for it!

Reid Patterson

Currently 5200m above sea level, loving the high.

This Picture is A Complex Metaphor for The Ending Of This Post

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Goodbye Peru

After Huaraz, I had nothing else I really wanted to achieve in Peru. I could have hopped a bus straight to Ecuador, but there was a friend from Saskatoon I intended to visit. She had flown to Colombia with her bike and was bikepacking down through the Andes towards Lima. Finding a time and place to meet up was difficult, but seeing as I had all the time in the world we could make it work. The plan was to shoot for Cajamarca within one week, so I gathered my stuff, went around the town giving the dogs some goodbye kisses and started to pick my way northward.

Trujillo

Yellow and Blue? Wow Someone Knew Their Colour Wheel

I got into Trujillo in the middle of the night, without a place to stay. I asked the taxi driver to go to a cheap place near centro and he agreed. We drove down and he stopped at a hotel that looked fancy. Not fancy enough to host the Queen, but maybe one of the royals nobody really cares about.

It Was Probably A Fitting Place for Lord Frederick Windsor

Being a proud individual of substantial means I entered anyways. I made a good attempt at making an exit without seeming as though it was the cost that deterred me.

“I presume breakfast is included?”

“But of course sir.”

“Very good, very good. And of course there will be a jacuzzi in my quarters?”

“This is not a hotel for peasants sir, there will be both a sauna and a hot tub.”

“Hmm, and all water closets include a bidet?”

“No sir, but hygienic paper is included.”

This was the opportunity I had waited for. Turning my nose to the sky, I let out the most scoffing tut-tut I could muster and strolled out into the night.

Going out in the wee hours of the morning was a bit of a miscalculation. Nothing happened to me, but walking around with all my possessions on my back through abandoned streets felt less spectacularly liberating than I had anticipated. When I came across a hostel I knocked and hoped they would take me in. They did.

It was a fine place, but within my quarters I had to overcome my fear of spiders, and pretend I didn’t hear the scurrying going on in the thatch roof. The scurrying wasn’t too bad in the end, it’s easier to sleep with a little white noise anyhow! In the mornings I would enjoy some breakfast, coffee and pray my toes don’t get bitten off by the tortoise pet.

If you like colours, Trujillo is one location in the world where you can see some. The region encircling the Plaza De Armas has been sprayed with yellows, blues and reds. The best part however is if you happen to show up at the same time as the random Mariachi band.

Speaking of hats, lets go down a quick Peruvian cultural rabbit hole. We will return to Trujillo shortly. DON’T WORRY TRUJILLO FANS!

Interlude: The Many Hats of Peru

Throughout this rabbit hole, I want to clarify that absolutely no research was done. All I am offering is my opinion and observations. However, I would still consider you, dear reader, as being very lucky because I hold my opinions and observations in extremely high regard.

Every location within Peru has a different local hat for the women to wear. This trend continues into Bolivia, as me and Andrew saw our absolute favourite hats – tiny black bowlers that provided no sun shade or rain protection whatsoever – in the airport of La Paz.

Andrew Nearly Got Me To Wear One Our Entire Duration in Peru with What Are The Odds….I Almost Regret That He Didn’t Suceed

It seems to me that the many hats are typically worn by the indigenous women. The hats are taken seriously, in the andes everyone had plastic hat bags that they would wear on their heads during rain. The hat didn’t come off, the bag went on.

Like I said before, I have nothing to say definitively. All I know is that every city I went to had a predominant hat style, and they changed frequently.

Back to Trujillo

If that break in the narrative flow caused anyone anxiety I apologize. But life is full of twists and turns, so maybe it ended up being a good exercise for you. Trujillo has several ancient adobe building sites. Large complexes with intricate reliefs pushed into the mud.

Barely Got it Protected Before the Rain Took It All

Shockingly, my favourite site was not even a UNESCO world heritage site! Under normal circumstances this would mean I would never even consider going to it, but fate must have drawn me there. The reliefs were so amazingly well preserved, and had even predicted a pulp culture phenomenon well before its time.

This culture had successfully predicted the 2003 hit classic “Elf” with this early portrayal of the titular character amongst the evergreens. Other civilizations attempted to predict things (see “MAYANS” re: end of world) but came up short. Surrounding the elf character dragons make out and tongue each other, which of course symbolizes good luck and prosperity. Now consider this:

I came away from this place confused. The universe is large and full of mysteries, and I am but a humble observer. The ancients truly had a phenomenal amount of knowledge and ways of knowing we may never recover. In the words of Buddy the Elf: “You did it! Congratulations! Worlds best *prediction*! Great job, everybody! Its great to be here.”

Cajamarca

My amiga was nearing Cajamarca so it was time to leave. Having not learned my lesson I showed up in Cajamarca very early and with no place to stay. Cue knocking on places! This went on for some time, until one place let me sleep on their couch. This only reaffirmed in my mind that planning ahead was pointless.

While this was going on, storms were surging higher in the mountains, making it impossible for my friend to arrive for a few days. So I went about wandering, made some new friends and tried new fruit.

Interlude: You Better Believe its A Fruit Interlude

My new favourite activity is finding new fruit and trying them. I have no idea how they taste let alone how to even eat them. This usually results in me savagely tearing the fruit apart and trying to make do. Some favourites:

Granadilla, So Fun To Slurp Disgustingly!

Finding fruit and going for it is a lot of fun. I like to post my eatings, especially because I have many Peruvian and Ecuadorian friends here and at home that like to comment and share their knowledge with me. I had just posted my latest fruit:

When I got the informative texts I had come to expect. “It’s called Pitajaya. Peel it like an orange, but only eat half, otherwise you will get diarrhea!” “Perfect! Thanks for the heads up!” I replied while finishing the last bite of the fruit. Luckily my stomach had strengthened a bit in the past few months. I was merely gassy.

Back to Cajamarca

Cajamarca is the scene of Peru’s biggest carnival experience, and the city was getting more and more ready by the day.

There is lots to do around the Cajamarca, but it is similar to Huaraz. Hikes in the volcanic hills, or enjoying thermal springs. Instead I just walked around and tried to get lost.

Getting Lost Would Be So Much Easier Without All These Dang Fabulous Vantage Points

Me and my new Austrian friend took a day to visit Polloc, to see an interesting church filled with crazy mosaics and gold.

He believes that in the churches around here there is the inclusion of imagery from psychedelics. He said south america has a strange fusion of the Shaman/Drug type of religious experience and Catholicism. Kind of like the spiritual version of Tex-Mex. I am not sure where I land on his musings, but it would really help to explain the eyes of all these murals.

Finally the roads cleared and the fellow Saskatchewaner was able to arrive in Cajamarca. She too had made a new friend, so the four of us went on a long trek out of the city to an ancient funerary called Otuzko.

After that day we all moved on. My friend from Sask had a flight to catch in Lima, and my new Austrian friend was jungle bound. So I made an attempt to get out of there also. It was nearly unsuccessful, but eventually I found one seat with the last bus company I went to. It was barebones and too hot to sleep. To make matters worse, this was the day I had eaten the diarrhea fruit. I think I wracked up enough bad gas karma that I will spend my next life as a fart cloud.

I arrived in Chiclayo and somehow slept sitting upright on the floor in the middle of the bus terminal. Eventually I got kicked out and began my walk to the next bus terminal I required (Peruvian bus lines are all decentralized from each other). It was incredibly hot there, and my back sweat nearly destroyed my journal. I bought a ticket to Cuenca for later that day and went about killing time. There is really nothing to report about Chiclayo.

Conclusions

Peru is a great place. Wait for old friends, but make new ones in the mean time. Some background research into fruits you eat can pay dividends, sometimes not just for yourself. Pre-planning is for chumps. An ancient civilization predicted “Elf” and not enough people are talking about it.

Reid Patterson

Currently headed to Cuenca, Ecuador

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Huaraz

“Climbing may be hard, but it’s easier than growing up.”
– Ed Sklar

Introduction

After leaving Arequipa I returned to Lima, and got out as quick as I could. The real destination was Huaraz, a place I had never heard of until I googled “places to climb SA”. My body had grown soft and supple over the last few months and something needed to change, I needed some time hanging onto rocks. After seeing the setting of Huaraz, I was sold.

Huaraz is Nestled in Amongst these 6000m Beauties

The setting for Huaraz is what is important. You don’t come here for the city, you come here for what the city has access to. Especially after a place like Arequipa the architecture of Huaraz can be somewhat uninspired (or perhaps simply whelming).

And The Concrete and Brick Industry is Going Gangbusters

The shopping scene is great, with Huaraz having access to some of the feshest brands available.

I arrived in Huaraz and found a climbers hospedaje named Monkeywasi. So far so good. There was just one tiny drawback; being named Reid and not Alex Honnold, I would require a belaying partner. I know, I should hang my head in shame. When me and Andrew were travelling the world together, everyone we met we would ask to be our best friends. We would ask people we just met if they would be our best friends and go on an 8 day road trip with us. We asked others if they thought of us as our best friends like we did to them. The results were mixed.

Fortunately the year is 2020, not 1850 and if you want to make a new best friend, there is an app for that. I opened a hangout on couchsurfer stating that I desired to climb, and within seconds a French dude named Leo responded. New best friend, thankyou modern convenience!

He Was Nice Enough to Take Action Shots of Me Also

The toughest part of each climbing day was getting up out of bed by 8:00. Somehow I surmounted the insurmountable and was up, fed and watered by 8:30. If the older generation thinks we are getting softer, please refer them to the preceding sentence. We rented gear from Monkeywasi and set out through Huaraz to Los Olivos, a crag just on the outskirts of the city.

Not All Dogs Go To Heaven

Huaraz is the first Peruvian city I have visited with a significant dog population. The ones in city centre are as sweet as those from El Calafate, but as you move closer to the suburbs things begin to get hairy. Around every corner there is a new pack of 6-7 dogs that “own” that part of the neighbourhood. If I could understand their barks I’m sure they would all be saying “Oh, you came to the wrong part of town,” “I’ll wreck ya, swear on me mum,” or “Let’s make an example of this one.”

“I’m Actually Nice Once You Get To Know Me!”

You know the situation is dire when I didn’t even honour any of these dogs with a dishonouring name like Trash-Boi-Swol. To give any name, bad or good, is more than they deserve. The first time we moved through their hoods I was making my peace with going for the rabies vaccine and preparing myself for a fight. As hard as it may be, if you keep your head down and keep moving forward the dogs seemingly are all bark and no bite. They follow right on your heels, teeth barred and woofing like they never woofed before, but once you leave their territory they retreat. You get about a milliseconds reprieve before the next gang takes their place.

Being the optimist that I am however, I noted that this is actually good; there is no need to warm up because your heart rate is already through the roof by the time you reach the crag.

What If Crag’s Were Called Greg’s. Would The World Be Different?

The next time we decided to go to Los Olivos (Me, Leo, German Niels and American Carl), we did not feel like going passed the crazy dogs guarding the crag entrance. Instead, we would take a large detour up and around the other side of the valley, crawl down to the river, ford the river and crawl up the other side. This seemed well and good as a theory, but the practice was much different. The dogs were all over us once again, and while in the alley descending the slopes, a huge one burst out from under a tarp. Me and Leo turned to run, and unfortunately Monsieur France caught his foot on a tin fence and fell straight down the hill, wrapped in tin and wood. Again, this was looked upon favourably, as tetanus is an improvement over rabies.

“Sa-cre Bl-eu” He Screamed With Each Bump

All in all I rate these dogs a 0/10. I am not even very afraid of dogs, so if you have a predisposition against them, think twice trying to hike outside of Huaraz.

Climbing in Town

Los Olivos is a cool crag with three sectors right inside of Huaraz. The thing about climbing as a duo, is that it is really difficult to take pictures. You are either climbing which is an important job, or belaying, which I am told is also relatively important. Every now and then though, I would carefully remove my phone from my pocket and take a shot downwards. One might say I like to live dangerously.

To Hold The Life Of Your Cell Phone In Your Hands is Very Sobering

The first day at Los Olivos I was just trying to pretend I wasn’t afraid. All routes were being done by lead climbing, and it had been a while since I climbed anything at all. My friends would casually say “How about this route? It’s 5.10c!” To which I would steady my voice and say “Oh yeah man, sounds great.”

Thankfully something switched in my brain and I started to feel less fear than ever climbing. I did my first large boulder problem (a 4.5m slab), lead my first 5.10d (complete with a dyno above the bolt) and took a whip on the first bolt of a route. All of these things were tasks I was very apprehensive of, so getting the experiences out of the way was a huge gain mentally.

Huaraz is so cool because of the huge amount of quality climbing accessible from within the town. Go there, but pay the 30 cents to take a collectivo or tuk-tuk past the dogs. Even if it breaks the bank, its worth the non-mauling.

Hiking Up High

As a rest day me, Leo and Ryan (Canadian from approx. Whitehorse) hiked up to a Lagoon. You know a place is awesome when a “rest day” includes hiking up to 4600m. It being the rainy season we were socked into cloud, with fleeting views of our surroundings. I also only brought my wind breaker and got thoroughly soaked. My outdoor school teachers voice rang through my head “There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad preparation.” I was alright with this though as I hadn’t showered in a coon’s age. Me and Ryan being Canadian were fine with being cold, Leo on the other hand, being a Parisian was not excited by the temperature. He claimed to get cold at anything below +15. Completely to my surprise, his complaints did not receive much sympathy.

After a few hours, and some climbing with chains we reached what should have been the lake and mountains. What we got instead was further evidence that the Earth is flat.

As we left, the clouds parted and gave us a bit of a view. Still just a tease, and honestly I wished I hadn’t seen it because now I need to readjust my world view. I had the smoking gun for a flat Earth, now its back to the drawing board.

Maybe That Rock Wall is The Earth’s Rim?

Enjoy This Picture Plant-Loving Freak-Losers

Hatun Mache

Two hours outside Huaraz, at an altitude of 4200m sits Hatun Mache. Its an old volcanic formation where the outer rock eroded leaving the hard volcanic rock core. Many of the spires are 40m tall, making this a climbers paradise.

Much higher than Huaraz means focussing on breathing is even more important, and the height makes the air/rock cold, completely freezing your hands on these long routes. The cold was a blessing in disguise though, because it gave me the opportunity to workshop some new looks I have been working on.

Santa Clause Rebranded for the 21st Century

Me and Leo stayed here two days, which was worth it, especially because we got to stay in a five star tent. I was so happy I sent my garbage tent home with Andrew. What made the accommodation extra perfect was that it was sized for a Peruano, meaning that my head pushed one end of the tent out, while my feet bulged the other end out. I was so pleased by the extreme cooling each end received as a result.

Complete With Duct Tape? One Happy Camper!

The climbing is epic, but the stone rips you apart (at least it did my hands, which were admittedly fairly soft). After a day of climbing, two of my finger pads were so thin that they left small droplets of blood on the stone, despite not being cut. Over the course of the two days my shoes wore the toes out.

This sounds like a lot of complaining, but I am absolutely not. Hatun Mache cracks the list of most magical places I have been to. The clouds roll in and give the feeling that you are on the set of Lord of The Rings. It is totally possible to get lost when the cloud rolls in, visibility goes to zero, and the rock forest twists you and turns you around.

Something deep inside me wanted to get lost forever so I took a gander into the rocks through the fog. It’s a shame my sense of direction is so perfect, because I made it out free from harm and/or rock goblins.

I Would Have Found The NorthWest Passage First Try

The only issue is making the walk from the rock forest back to camp. The method is really to just set out and pray you don’t miss it. However, the walk takes about a half hour of panting, so the thought that you did miss it sets in pretty quick. I tried to use echo location but it’s harder than the dolphins make it look. Just another reason to hate dolphins.

Chewing the Coca Leaf

Tastier Than Grass, Less Tasty Than Stevia

Huaraz the city is at an altitude of 3052m, which is nearly higher than most mountains I have climbed in Canada. Climbing and hiking require a lot of breathing, and sometimes you just don’t get enough oxygen.

Enter the coca leaf. Chewing on this wakes you up, clears your head and paints your smile a beautiful green shade.

To really work, you put in a pinch of Sodium Bicarbonate. The good stuff comes out of the leaves, numbs your cheeks and gives a bit of an energy boost. In the time-honoured tradition of a “totally non addict” my German friend had sourced a base that was “better” than Sodium Bicarbonate, named Cali. It had all the aesthetic features of bicarb powder, so what could go wrong? My aunt and dedicated reader of this blog began her career as a chemical technician. She always taught me that when it comes to substances you are unsure of; leap, don’t look. “Down the hatch!” I recall her saying. She has since moved into the field of safety, but her messaging regarding chemical tasting has been consistent and I respect that. So we all took a pinch of Cali and immediately regretted it. It was so basic, the pain was immediate. My tongue swelled up, and anything passing over it for the next two days felt like fire. I considered the possibility that that region of my tongue might die. We figured the only thing Cali could be was mine tailings from the local silver mine. I asked the German what he thought about this new experience and he said “It hurts like hell, but it gets you there I guess.” Spoken like a true totally non addict.

Conclusions

Making friends is easier than ever. Come to Huaraz in the dry season. Skin grows back. Not all dogs are man’s best friend. Don’t judge a city by its appearance. Getting wet is not the end of the world. Get out and learn to climb! Maybe don’t try every random substance that comes your way.

Huaraz: Two thumbs up

Reid Patterson

Currently on my way to Trujillo

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Going in Circles

Colca Canyon: Deeper than the Grand Canyon, yet Proving that Depth isn’t Everything

“This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea.”
– Reid, crossing Plaza De Armas in Arequipa

Introduction

When I first went to Arequipa, I had plans to continue south. I was planning to go to Puno and Lago Titicaca, La Paz to cycle the death rode and down to Uyuni to visit the salt flats.

With Advanced Camera and Lighting Tricks I Still Got the All Important Selfie Though, So No Loss

As avid readers will know, these plans had to be abandoned, I returned to Ica and was sworn in as a bartender.

Somehow Being Sworn in as An Engineer is Still Weirder. (2019, decolourized).

I was jaded as I left Arequipa and thought that from that point onward I would head resolutely northward. Two weeks later, I found myself walking across the Plaza De Armas of Arequipa. But before that story….

A Brief Update

In Ica, I had just hit “Publish” on the scamming blog post and my phone began to rumble and light up. Ricardo (Captain Ceviche from a few posts back) was sending me message after message. His cousin is a lawyer in Ica and he was desperate to get us in contact with one another. He was sending messages in English and Spanish, acting as the go between of me and his cousin. He texted me and said “she is on her way, send a picture of yourself to the group”. This picture was nearly my first contribution to the goings-on, and after I sent it Ricardo instructed me to go outside and walk around. I did so, and soon a lady waved at me. It felt very surreal. She called the police for an hour, and said she’d take me for supper and my bus that evening. I went in to say my goodbyes, and the Wild Rover staff cranked the song “You Are Beautiful” and sang me out. Me and the lawyer left for supper, ice cream and seeing some sights. She said she would continue looking into the case, and that I was free to move on. What a whirl wind.

Unrelatedly, Some Children Wanted to Take a Picture. CUTE

Where To Go Next?

Just prior to this lawyer event, I was faced with the crisis of where to go next. Should I go to Huaraz? Trujillo? Home to Saskatoon? Fortunately, the human body is an amazing machine. Our meat vehicles come fully equipped with all manner of directional aids. When in doubt, anyone can follow their nose, and those in tune with their emotional selves can follow their heart. If you are a deep sleeper you may be able to chase after your dreams. The religious among us listen and respond to the movements and prodding of their soul. There is however one compass that is uniquely male and in retrospect it would be hard to argue that this wasn’t the one that dicktated the mental conversation.

Pro Tip: Your Limbs Can Also Point Directions, Like a Compass

You see, I was invited to visit Arequipa alongside Luma, the mysteriously aforementioned (previous post) Brazilian wife. Seeing as Andy had tried so very hard to find one prior to this, it felt dishonourable to him to not at least go and see. The brain justifications had begun, and I bought my ticket.

Back To Arequipa

Upon arrival in Arequipa I was doused in a panic sweat. My brow played host to rivers of perspiration that cascaded down over my shoulders and flooded down my back. What had I done? Suddenly this whole thing felt very very stupid. But I marched onward, found a hostel and tried to find out where Luma was. She was in Plaza de Armas, so off I went, desperately trying to recover the Silverback persona I had in Cusco.

A Brief Aside: Since turing 26, my facial hair has been growing a little bit faster, and in a few more places! Wow, I think 2020 is gonna be a banger.

Back to the Main Story: I found her in a balcony and we re-introduced. I was extremely suave and debonaire, well put together and a general 10/10.

Can’t Hear You Over the Angelic Choir Always Singing For Me

I was under the impression her name was “Luma Atica” but discovered that that was just play on words for “lumatica”, the Portuguese word for lunatic. Another cold sweat broke out with this revelation; she was a self proclaimed maniac. Luckily she did not kill me, and we decided on a few things to do.

A Different Paced Week

Following the insanity of Wild Rover in Huacachina I was excited to just chill out. Luma was in Arequipa volunteering at a kids summer program. I am not proud of this, but I pretty much just slept until she was off work everyday (noon). I think I needed it! From there all days looked the same: we would meet up after work or after I bouldered, we would explore a portion of the city, make or get food, either go out for a party or just go to sleep.

There isn’t the same level of excitement to report as the previous post, and for that I am sorry, but I was also glad to be able to spend some days not under constant pounding stress.

My Destroyed Thumb Only Bled on Half the Holds

Learning Spanish

I had jokingly referred to Luma as my Spanish Professor, but it turned out that that is actually what she is. At home in Brazil she teaches spanish in a university. We tried to communicate as best we could in our off languages (her english was pretty good though). She taught me dozens of words and phrases, and I managed to teach her that “Not Bad” actually meant good where I am from. Guess we are even.

Our conversations led to so many strange observations about english:

You can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, but never whelmed (originally came across this idea in The Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson)
You see each other in the morning, in the afternoon but AT night
Wanting so much popcorn is much different than wanting popcorn so much
Many other merry mixups

When I had questions about things in Spanish, Luma could describe the proper uses, the linguistic evolution and the cognitive theories relating to how we learn language. When she asked me questions about English, I had to tell her that English is more like Samba: Its just a feeling, don’t try to make sense of it. There are no correct teaching styles.

Maybe Should Have Just Streamed This For Her

I’m sure at one point my high school english teacher Ms. Chef (name changed to protect identity) taught me what to do when a gerund double backflips and dangles from a participle, but (and this may come as a shock to all) I was not exactly a star english student. Being more interested in math I performed better in Mr. Wife and Señor Bandito’s courses.

Around Town

Arequipa is nestled in the ample bosom of three active volcanoes, each one typically shrouded in cloud.

The surrounds are beautiful but the real treat is that the local nunnery is a UNESCO world heritage site. You heard that right! Another one! Unbelievable! So me and Luma gotst thineselfes to a nunnery, poste haste.

Luma is practically a historian and taught me about this and that everywhere. A famous author named Flora Tristan had come to this nunnery, and went on to publish a book about being a pariah. Luma is interested in “resistance” women, and introduced me to many. Also a lover of art, we checked out some galleries. In one of them I was stopped dead in my tracks. My younger brother Devin had clearly been the muse for some South American painter, and I was frightened by the artwork.

In addition to this some artist used a grotesque amount of potential horse feed just to make a sculpture.

Much of this was just from wandering around. Arequipa is a very nice place to be directionless, and I recommend being just that if you go there.

Colca Canyon

One afternoon, fed up with being well rested and in good spirits I launched an enquiry towards Luma:

“Luma, is there any way I can be forced to wake up at 2:00 a.m.? I am really distressed with how much sleep I am catching up on!”

She told me we should go to Colca Canyon, and that luckily the busses leave Arequipa at 2:30 a.m.! She made me wait outside the tour office so that she could go in alone and perhaps get a better price. This method generally worked well for us anytime we wanted to buy something. She would warm them up, then motion to me to step forward. No more Gringo pricing schemes!

The next morning we were off. The funny thing about getting up that early (after dancing the night before) is that you pretty much sleep the whole time on the bus and get jolted awake only when there is a stop to see. Maybe it would have been a good idea to go to bed earlier. Maybe not. So here is a series of photos allowing you to have the same experience as me:

No Peru Day is Complete Without Alpaccas

I hope you have enjoyed the tour.

One Last Memory

Arequipa is a great place. The main square is always extremely busy; day time concerts, carnival, peaceful protests, or night time mourners. Its a great place to just be in, with or without a plan. One night, that was exactly what we were doing. Suddenly drums start roaring and this squad of clowns come running into the square, with signs and balloons and a full band. They start a huge circle dance, and soon Luma is pulled into it. Not long after I am pulled into it. At the conclusion of this, a large amount of hugging ensues. There is about a 5 person hug, and me and Luma are side by side. At this point another clown hugs me from behind, surprising me and causing me to inhale sharply. The strangest thing happened in that moment, my sharp inhale sucked a sizable amount of Luma’s hair straight down my windpipe and tickled the inside of my lungs. There are some bad first date things to do; eating messy food, farting and talking too much politics. I had no idea that being caught with a fair amount of their hair dangling a foot down into your body cavity was even possible, but was sure it fit into the category of things not to do. The extraction process was….interesting. But it made for a good laugh.

The clowns ran around the square a few more times, and then scattered into the night; off towards the next square. Luma had talked to some of them so I asked what that had all been about.

“They are just a club of young people that want to make people smile.”

I like that.

Conclusions

I went back to a place I thought I would never be again, and did not do a whole lot. Despite this, it was one wonderful week. Whatever I followed, be it heart, mind, nose or something else, it did not lead me astray. Arequipa is a beautiful place to try and blend into, and having someone fun to do it with makes it that much greater.

As A Brazilian, She Cannot Sit Still During Any Song

Some Learnings: If at first you don’t find your brazilian wife, try, try again. Knowing someone only one week-ish can still make it hard to say goodbye. Arequipa is better when you are exploring it and not constantly calling your bank. Follow your body’s many compasses, because they lead to a lot better things than your brains plans do.

Reid Patterson,

Currently sitting in Huaraz, ready to climb rocks

P.S. Luma, if you are reading this, see you someday in Brazil. That would be really not bad.

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A New Form of Adventure

I Got This View for About 2 Hours Before Heading Back to Ica

Like Taking Candy From a Baby.
– Owner of the Silva Ica (Likely)

To Arequipa

With a great Christmas under my belt, I bought a ticket for the next destination: Arequipa. Stoked out of my mind to begin some climbing and find new friends to do so with. I left with a Quebec friend who was stoked to do the Colca Canyon trek. We were both feeling pretty high.

Flash forward to Arequipa, post 12 hour bus ride. I decide to pay my credit card off, and am floored to see a charge from the Silva Ica (a bar next to the Wild Rover) for a lot of money (think roughly a months worth of work). This starts a whole conversation with the bank to figure out what is going on. But calling the bank is no easy task as my phone will not make any calls here in Peru. I go on a goose chase through the streets of Arequipa, to a microscopic phone booth in the back of the convenience store. This seems to work but the call keeps dropping. Thankfully FaceTime works over wifi, so I call my moms phone via FaceTime, and she presses her phone up against my dads, which is on the line with BMO. Its a McGyvered solution that works only so-so. Then a radical idea crosses my mind: what if I Googled how to call Canada from Peru? It was just so crazy that it was destined to work. Apparently you dial +001 rather than +1. It works seamlessly, and I realize an important thing about myself. I am an idiot posing as someone with intelligence.

My Mom and Dad on Their Honeymoon (1988)

The upshot of many hours of phone conversation is that the transaction was PIN approved, and is therefore difficult to claim as fraud. I need to return to Ica, and talk with the business, after that point I can go to the police. If the police open an investigation then the bank can become involved. Good thing I love long bus rides. I was about to complain when I received a healthy dose of perspective; my Quebec had developed leg pain on bus and went to get it checked out. Blood clot. He needs to be bed ridden for 3 days, and may have to return to Canada (update, he did fly back for medical treatment). It can always be worse.

Bartending at the Wild Rover

I cancelled my nights in Arequipa and ventured to the bus station, snagging one of the last two seats on the last bus back to Ica. Ringing in my birthday on the bus, just as I had dreamed for myself. I returned to the Wild Rover and immediately asked to volunteer, as I had no idea how long I would stay. The staff were very helpful and immediately started to try to get in contact with the owner next door. Unsurprisingly he was very difficult to get a hold of, but after a few days we got him on the phone. He would meet with us monday, which was more than a week away. So I pushed it from my mind and made a good attempt at enjoying the present situation. This task was easier than I anticipated, because the groups of people I was volunteering with were all gemstones.

My first night on the job was a New Year’s Eve’s Eve bingo game. Cards were handed out to the participants and I went about serving drinks. A fairly inebriated English fellow looked at me and said “ah, ye knew this was coming” and motioned for me to come listen to him. I did, and he grabbed my face and planted a fairly substantial kiss. Unbeknownst to him, I did not know that was coming. “Kiss a bartender” was on the bingo sheet, and as a silver lining this incident set the kissing bar fairly low for me, and was easily surpassed with subsequent interactions. Also, I can now empathize with any lady that complains that you are not clean shaven. I see you.

If Your Behind The Sign, You Won’t Know What It Said *METAPHOR*

The next day was New Year’s Eve, and all hands were on deck. I started my shift four hours early, and ended it 5 hours late. On a normal night, we are encouraged to have a good time with the partiers but this night there was simply no time. All I saw for 14 hours straight was 550 bodies milling about, taking turns hanging over the bar, flopping dinero in my face and shouting “PISCO”, “CERVEZA”, “MOJITO”, “POOOOORRRR FAAAVVOOORRRRR”. It didn’t help the mood that I required instruction on how to mix each drink. But I learned fast, and must have put on 20k steps in my little 8ft square zone.

Later, a handful of people would each independently tell me that I looked like the most stressed human being they had ever seen. So, maybe I lost a few years off my life but at least I was getting free bed. A few times per night at Wild Rover there is the call of “FREEEEE SHOOOOTTS” and a staffer will climb up on the bar and mother-bird fresh booze into the keenly awaiting gullets of the masses. I had the distinct pleasure of doing this New Year’s, simultaneously being the most popular person and learning how nasty this practice is. Some people try to suck on the tip as though they are a common hamster going for water, while others move or close their mouthes too quickly, allowing sticky juice to cascade down their faces and onto their clothes. VERY COOL!

The rest of the days were spent suntanning and chilling with my friends during the day, and slanging drinks, partying and table dancing in the night.

This included myself doing karaoke to “Juice” by Lizzo, a song no one had heard. Am I hero for introducing them to it? I’d say yes. Additionally, I was forced into another ladies night, however, this also happened to be the only night I made any substantial tips. I think I’ll take the dress with me, I might need to make some money back.

If I had to describe my time here, it’d be a little too close to the word “bender” then I would like. The toll on the body is hard, you are up super late without fail, and cannot sleep too long because it is incredibly hot, and the music starts early. I feel myself withering away. I was so withered that during a shift I nearly sliced the tip of my thumb clean off. Luckily it instantly was filled with lime juice which felt great.

And of course, any experience doesn’t count for anything if you don’t properly document it. So I needed to climb up on that bar and taking some dancing computer selfies. The results speak for themselves!!

Can You Hear This Picture Speaking For Itself?

Monday Meeting

The Earth continued to revolve and soon it was Monday. “Time to go have an amicable conversation with an upstanding member of society” I thought to myself. However, my hopes slowly dispersed as me and Daniel (the Wild Rover general manager) slipped deeper and deeper into the dark club. It felt as though I was diving into a mafia den, and the fact that the owner appeared before us lounging by a pool, shirtless with chain, and smoking did not help that feeling.

It started to feel serious pretty quickly. He did not shy away from jabbing his finger into my chest, and used some colourful language. “Its not my fault you are fucking loco! You should have seen yourself! You don’t remember do you? You were high on cocaine, molly, everything! You ask me all the time for more drugs.” Daniel was painfully silent, so I had to stick up for myself. It took a lot of restraint to not come back at him, but luckily I kept my cool. I asked him to show me what they charged me for, and he grabbed his book.

45 Shots and 40 Beers; Honestly a Tame Night for Me.

He continued to barely let me get a word in edgewise. He said I bought round after round for all the revellers, and that he has video of me going crazy. So I asked for the video, but he didn’t really want to go to the trouble of grabbing it. I asked if I paid for every line item individually, because it seems like poor business to let someone rack up that tab. He said yes, so I said that I had only one transaction on my statement for this night. After some hesitation he said I left my card with them. So, his version of events was that I was blackout drunk and high on everything imaginable, they took my card, and allowed me to buy the bar dozens of rounds. To me that sounded even scummier than my accusation of an intentional and hidden overcharge. I let him know I was going to go talk with the police, and he invited me to do so. We left with him saying he respected me, and myself saying I wish I could say the same.

Police Time

A man named Guillermo from Colombia became my best friend through this time. He wanted to help, and he did all the talking and translating for me. He really went to bat for me, and did his best. I asked him why he was doing this because we were strangers and he said “You need a friend right now”. We got to the police station, and had some police come out to the business. Arguments ensued, and the owner again was no where in sight and would not answer any phone. The police instructed us to return at 10 when he would be here and to fill out a page in his reclamation book. We went there, and he made us wait an awful long time. Eventually he brought us in, shut off the lights and turned on the revolving green, blue and red club lights. This was done for ambience I can only assume.

The long and short of this is that he refused to give us the book, which was in violation of the police. So, tack on another day. Me and Guillermo rode the tuk-tuk like a couple of absolute bosses back to the police station the next day to tell the tale of last night.

Safe and Secure Under the Cloth Roll Cage

Eventually they came out and explored his business, finding him in violation of the reclamation book law. He will be fined a minimum of $1700 CAD. This tit for tat raised my spirits for the first time in a little while. They also gave him 24 hrs to produce evidence against me, and if it was not to their liking, they would allow me to fill out a demand. This day went much better than I had anticipated!

So the next day we wander down to the station. The owner never showed up, instead sending a picture of the receipt, which looked produced that day and had no features identifying me. Either way, we were told there wasn’t time for this today, and to come back tomorrow. One more day hopefully.

This was the standard for the next few days; wake up, chill out, tuktuk to Ica, wait in the police station and be told to come back the next day. Eventually one morning I was extremely ready to get out of Ica, I had Guillermo text the officer to see if a demand could happen or not. They responded saying a demand would not be possible, with no real reason given as to why. They told us the owner had said I bought drinks for the whole bar that night, which is not new info. The momentum I had believed was present had crashed and burned.

Conclusions

In his book Slaughter-House Five, Kurt Vonnegut’s protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, describes most events in his life, happy and sad, by saying “So it goes”. During this period of events those words were on my mind lots.

I met a tonne of great friends, and being in one place for a long time really cemented them with me. So it goes.

I spent far too much time in a place I really did not want to be. So it goes.

I finally met my extremely elusive Brazilian wife. So it goes.

Out of the many people I met, only one was bad. Guillermo is one of the best I have met! I believe that most people are fundamentally good. So it goes.

I will never receive closure on this problem. The business owner may do the same things in the future. Was I scammed? Was I drugged? Why did the police go from helpful to not? Somethings, like this blog post, have no resolution.

So it goes.

Reid

Currently unsure of where is next.

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Lima and Huacachina

I don’t like sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.
– Anakin, discussing the merits of sand

A Brief Disclaimer

Since the last post happened, a minor tragedy has occurred. Andrew has reverse snow-birded and returned to Canada. He was absolutely livid regarding South Americas lack of crows and just could not tolerate it anymore. The main thing to suffer however will be this blog. I must apologize to the biggest fans of this blog, because my writing style doesn’t make nearly enough use of the word “savage” and its derivatives. Pair this with the fact that the stories will no longer be a mess of changing first persons with third person writing sprinkled in for good measure. I fear that the beloved tone of the blog will change, and maybe not for the better. But I will try my absolute best to maintain it. So Reid boldly continued to type savagely, fingers pounding the keys as though he were a 1000 lb silverback, while stress sweats rained down from his brow like liquid sledgehammers.

Lima

We flew into Lima, happy but deflated. This was the end of the road for Andy, and we subconsciously felt that if that fact went unacknowledged, it might just go away. We had come early to Lima, because we had an offer to cruise Lima’s varied regions with our own street-smart guide Ricardo. Plans changed however and Ricardo couldn’t meet us for a few days, so we posted up in Centro, a UNESCO world heritage site. Turns out nearly the entirety of Earth’s surface is a UNESCO world heritage site. Ricardo found out we were staying in Centro and was about one minute from calling an SOS helicopter rescue to extricate us. We didn’t match his level of fear regarding the situation and decided to stick around, nearly joining in on a potential protest for a true cultural experience.

The Experience Never Really Materialized

Lima has without a doubt the best food we have come across in South America, so we made sure to forego all of it in favour of KFC. Savagely we slurped down the freshly minced chicken carcasses like a couple of lions after a long-awaited hunting success. Apart from eating KFC we went around Centro to see the buildings before heading to Miraflores area with Ricardo.

To complete the Centro experience I was very nearly completely devastated by a speeding motorcycle whilst crossing the street. Ah well, I suppose getting merked by a bike will be something that keeps me coming back.

Once we arrived in Miraflores, Ricardo wasted no time in having our stomachs pumped. He lectured us on the art that is Peruvian food and was completely shooketh that we had consumed KFC. We hung our heads as he scolded us repeatedly, claiming to be nauseated by our actions. I didn’t complain because the stomach pumping was covered by travel insurance and was thrilled to try new food. We had a line on a market that would sell us the choicest of foods, the only obstacle being the navigation from hotel to market. No dogs seem to have been employed in the city planning of Lima (little call-back action for my major whereisreid heads). Rather than meander aimlessly, the streets and avenues are laid out in a grid-type pattern. Craziness! Understandably Ricardo was struggling to locate the market, but like any fearless leader he was unafraid to ask for help. I am sworn to secrecy over how many times he stopped to ask directions, but let’s just ballpark it in the lower teens. Not too shabby.

But the food was well worth the wait. Ricardo opened my eyes and heart to ceviche and for that I am forever in his debt. Literally everything else was a delight as well, but I think eating kidney once is enough for this guy.

After showing us the food scene, Ricardo – being a family man – sprinted away from us at top speed as though he were Usain Bolt, chasing glory one last time. He had to return to Canada, which is a fairly long distance to run. Myself and Andrew turned to one another and declared in unison “Ricardo is much faster than I expected. Now what shall we do?”

Luckily enough for us, there was another local UNESCO world heritage site. Huaca Pucllana is the nicest set of bricks you’ll ever see (unless you are a signature landscaping client). To say there is a lot of bricks would be accurate, so I will say it; there is a lot of bricks.

Coming off of the high of Machu Picchu this place was not completely incredible, however when viewed in a vacuum it is pretty neat. These are ruins from the Limans, much before the Inca. They gave their bricks air gaps, to absorb shocks from the frequent earthquakes. SAVAGELY FASCINATING!

Just imagining laying all that brick made Andrew extremely tired, so we went to la playa to take a relaxing nap on the warm stones.

The rest of our time in Lima together was spent taking in the food, and reminiscing on the great times we had. We pined for the early days of Rio, soft and not yet battle hardened by 24 hour busses. We drank deeply from the cup of memory and sat quietly, smirking at one another and slowly shaking our heads, much like Lando Calrissian remembering the wild times of the first rebellion. Finally, I said “Adios you scruffy nerf-herder”, and that was it. Andrew was gone.

Is This The Best Picture Ever Taken? Yes.

After my world stopped spinning I picked myself up, slapped my face with such force I needed concussion protocol and moved on. Putting one foot in front of the other I reached the Barranco region of Lima. It was here that I tried my hand at graffiti.

Seeing that I had reached the pinnacle of my new craft, I determined Lima held nothing more for me (except for a quick viewing of Star Wars). I quickly enabled boss-mode and slang the money required for a bus ticket straight into the desert.

Huacachina

Resolutely I strolled straight into the dunes of the Pacific Desert. I was prepared for death to wash over me, and I knew it would be slow and miserable. Tongue cracked and bleeding I had to constantly mutter to myself “you wanted this, you wanted this…”. I had always wanted to feel just like my favourite street-rat Aladdin, but hadn’t suspected that it would be the last thing I got to do.

This Image is An Elaborate Metaphor For My Ending Life

I began to grow delirious, and the hallucinations crept in. The roar of an engine, the hoops and hollers of humans being mildly entertained, a tinge of green in the dune. But then I heard an unmistakable sound, one that jogged a primal memory buried deep: ” 3-2-1 FREEEEEEEEEEE SHOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTSS”. I had stumbled upon another Wild Rover.

Being near death changes a person, and I am no different. Armed with new clarity and perspective I took the opportunity to just relax in this oasis in quiet reflection. I am also armed with the attention span of a house fly, so quiet reflection did not last and soon I found myself in a dune buggy. Our driver was all serious, grabbing the wheel he furrowed his brow, preparing to teach the dunes a thing or two. The driver was a clear relative of Captain Stormy van Gerhard IV (another call-back, how lucky). Death-wishes must run in the Gerhard family because Baron Thunder McCrack (the presumed name of the driver) did his absolute best to send us hurtling down the dune.

The driver stopped and threw boards at us and simply said “slide”. Our group all looked at each other, wondering if this was the last moment we would see clearly with eyes free from sand. Coming to terms with our potential blindness we did as the driver said and slid. Led by a brave Australian and two embarrassing Canadians that had caused quite a scene the night prior.

Crikey Look at That Mate. Blimey That’s Steep-As

I came back from this experience a changed man once again. This time the change was physical. I fear that my bodies many nooks and crannies will never be free from sand. Doomed to chafe it seems.

I extended my stay to be here for Christmas, among people. Its crazy how was you make and lose friends while travelling. I had some pals and we all planned to feast together. In the meantime it was sunburn city (my body looks covered in tattoos, courtesy of a haphazard sunscreen application), enjoying the pool and doing not much. I tried to complain, but found that I could not.

Too Bad Because Oh How I Love To Complain

I had to fully dislocate my jaw to feast on christmas dinner. I definitely overdid it, and needed a walk to shake things down a bit. The meal was great, but I did miss the sticky buns and chats of home.

My graffiti skills came in handy, providing me with a free drink.

Fun night, but definitely time to move on. Luckily, I don’t have to meander through the desert this time. I’ll have a lift to Arequipa, very luxurious. My Aussie and Dutch friends are headed the opposite direction, so that just means the cycle starts again. This post is dedicated to my new best friends I don’t know yet; I want you all to know that you will never be Andrew. But I’d appreciate it if you tried, let’s have fun.

Conclusions

Capitalism sows the seeds of its own destruction. To err is to be human. Nothing is new under the sun. These thoughts are all original by me, from my reflective period. Clarity and perspective get boring quickly, and dune buggying is a terrific remedy. Go to Huacachina if you want, I’m no ones boss.

Lima: one quarter bowl of ceviche out of 2

Huacachina: Giant butt full of sand out of ….. 2 (somehow?)

This Picture is An Elaborate Metaphor for Being Deserted by Andy

Reid (with Andy in Spirit),

Currently savagely rolling in sand, awaiting Arequipa.

Featured

Cusco

We turn him into a flea, put him in a box, put that box in another box, then we mail that box to ourselves and when it arrives we SMASH that box with a hammer!
– Yzma, on Cusco

Sleepless Accomodations

We arrived in Cusco by way of Puerto Montt, Santiago, and La Paz, some of the best airports we ever have had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. Santiago in particular provided one of the best meals we have ever had.

We were greeted in Cusco like celebrity warrior-kings; every taxi driver desperate for our affection and attention. We settled in with Mauro, a cabby who called us “my friends” just enough times to be suspicious, and headed to our highly recommended hostel: The Wild Rover.

Mauro our compadre and new closest friend doubled as an excursion agent and sold us on heading to the acclaimed Rainbow Mountain. We jumped at his mere mention of the tour. Before we knew it we were handing out money to a strange taxi driver who wished us to provide a deposit in exchange for the promise of his picking us up at 4:30am. Smartest tourists in the game baby.

Move Over Rick, There are Smarter Tourists in the Game

We sat down in the lobby of the Wild Rover to book an excursion to Machu Picchu. With that done we felt set up for success and were ready to just relax and chill out our days in Cusco. After a night of travel, and with an early morning looming we decided a nap might be the best next step. But it quickly became apparent that the Wild Rover was no place to get sleep unless you had blacked out. This was especially true with our beds being pressed up right against the bar, with only a sheet of drywall for acoustic damping. If you can’t beat them you might as well join them.

Not Pictured: Reid and Andrew Sleeping Behind the Drywall and Wallpaper Sound Barrier

For background, the Wild Rover is a chain of party hostels through Peru, one we found out about through our Swiss friends in El Calafate. A certain type of people from around the world stay here, and fall in love with the atmosphere. They then choose to volunteer to spend even more time on the cheap. The only place for volunteers is behind the bar, where they get drinks as well. The bartenders seem to be the ones most woozy, causing their pours get more and more generous, and often for free. These are the perfect conditions for two things: fun, and no sleep.

Rainbow Mountain

Our Favourite Time of Day: Before Sunrise

We were so tired that sleep eventually did come, but the morning came far too fast. We were outside our hostel at 4:30 in the morning, waiting on Mauro. He did not show, and we began to worry that we had been taken.

When hope seemed to be entirely lost a car whipped up beside us and out he jumped. “My friends! I am so sorry my friends! This never happens my friends. My friends, I tell you, my alarm never went off my friends. You can see, my friends, that I am still in sleeping clothes. If we hurry, I can get you to your bus my friends!” So we hopped in, and moved faster through the narrow streets of Cusco than I had ever thought could be possible. Mauro was honking at every intersection as a warning to oncoming traffic that we were not to be stopped.

We had a surprising amount of time to kill at the tour agency our bus left from, so the manager fetched us some coca leaf tea while we waited. This miracle plant was supposed to cure the ailments of altitude sickness, as Cusco sits 3,400m above sea level, however our trip to the Rainbow Mountain would reach an astonishing 5km. The trip up to the rainbow mountains involved a tight winding road with a sheer cliff promising us certain death. Our driver with no regard for human life smashed the horn until people in front could slide enough inches over to the right to complete a suicide pass. There was one moment when Reid truly thought death was imminent (Andrew was asleep). As we approached two oncoming semi trucks, the driver of a large bus behind them decided it was the perfect time to cross the river styx and pulled out to pass both. Our minibus got the pleasure of a rapid deceleration and a pull over to the absolute edge of the cliff. The large bus did not back down and completed the pass, the suicidal driver likely fuming that it was a success and not the horrific multi bus and semi pile up/careen down a 1km cliff they had dreamed of.

Not Pictured: Smouldering Wreckage Bellow

After several life threatening moments in which we both had flashbacks to childhood memories that had otherwise escaped our consciousness we stopped for a buffet breakfast. Fried rice and watermelon, the usual. Finally upon the beginning of the hike we were handed walking sticks and set off. Thinking these were absolutely unnecessary crutches representing the failure of human evolution Reid sent his flying down the cliff whilst pounding his chest like an angry silverback gorilla.

Reid would soon regret this as the hike was a test with the oxygen becoming thinner each step we took. This hike at normal elevation would be so simple a zero-legged nonagenarian could achieve it before their afternoon tea and crib game. At 5km up however, moving too fast (which is actually very slow) causes the heart to race, and pain to creep into the brain. Reid’s silverback persona was very quickly replaced with that of a slug. The andean women noticed this and tried to give us horse rides but our pride was too strong. They simply shrugged their shoulders and sprinted straight up the mountain to the next person. Our silverback persona shrank further.

We finally dogged it to the top, and were treated to great views of cute baby alpacas. The mountain’s colours did not disappoint either, rich red colours stood out the most prominent against the deep green throughout the valleys bellow. Snow capped mountains also lined the horizon, as some stretched as high as 6km above sea level.

Before heading down Reid had to pry 3 fresh baby alpacas out of Andrew’s arms, pleading that they were not his.

Andy Had Incredible Grip Strength on That Thing

The walk down was the most entertaining, almost as though you were in a private screening of “The Walking Dead” watching people slug their way to the summit. Seeing their suffering reinstated Reid’s Silverback persona to a whole new level.

On the way down the heaven’s opened up and pelted us with hail. The hail stung, and we were very glad not to be the ones going up. We had had excellent weather, but at 5km elevation the weather is extremely volatile and will swing 180 degrees with no warning.

Needed Concussion Protocol After Being Pelted

We drove the narrow muddy mountain road back down into the valley, keenly aware that mudslides are a frequent reality. We made it back to the safety of the buffet for lunch (more fried rice and watermelon) and the trip back to the hostel went without hitch.

After a short and surprisingly successful nap, we were dragged out of bed for ladies night at the bar. Ladies night sounded very promising, so we went. We found out that we were instead to be dressed as ladies. Good thing no pictures exist of this.

Oh Shoot, I Guess They Do Exist. Pretty Hot Though

Killing Time

The next day we were happy to sleep in and have no plans. We leisurely began walking (ensuring our first turn was to the right), and soon decided to go up to Sacsayhuaman (pronounced sexy woman (reference picture above)), which we had learned of during a walking tour.

We got up there and found a group just walking passed the ticket booth. Emboldened by their actions we followed right through the ticket booth and asked what was up. They were going to some free ruins and asked if we would join. In perfect synchronization we said “What great fortune have we! Huzzah, we shall follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth!” The rest of the day was spent with two Germans, two Aussies and at one point several sheep. The scenery was spattered with caves along the rolling green pastures. We explored and got to know our new best friends eventually going for shawarma and hasheesh as one does in Cusco. We sat around for drinks with our Aussie best friends, and made plans to meet up in the morning for more frivolity.

Can You Spot the 2 Aussies? Not Pictured: Vicki (A Non-Aus)

The next morning we got up to meet in the main square. Inspired by the offers presented to us in the main square of Cusco, Reid approached a gentleman offering free walking tours to see if he would take us “up there”, only to find out they were only taking tourists around the square.

Moey showed up, but Ben was sick. We wandered towards the San Blas market to get some cheap-as (Aus, saying, and no its not spelled wrong) food. It did not disappoint, each person getting a pitcher of fresh juice for $2 and a large meal for $3.

The food was good, but the resulting sickness was immediate. Perhaps we now had what Ben did. We aimlessly wandered stopping wherever we felt like it. These included the Coca museum where we learned to make cocaine, a churro store, and a chocolate museum where we thoroughly abused their free sample policy. We split up from there with Moey, needing to rest up as the sickness progressed. The night was uneventful as we prepped for the Sacred Valley and Maccu Picchu tomorrow morning, praying that the sickness pass us by.

Jewelry Stores. Oh, and Machu Picchu

The next morning it was immediately apparent the sickness had not passed us by. Reid waddled to the washroom, eyes fixed on the goal, completely disinterested by the free line of blow being offered to him. A random dude met us outside the hostel and instructed us to follow. We did, and by divine providence we stopped for more people outside a farmacia. Like Jason Bourne remembering his training, a voice rang through Reid’s head. It was the voice of his doctor, and to be accurate this quotation should be read very very quickly; “Listen Reid, if you ever have the worst shits of your life, like we are talking really really bad ones you gotta go for this. *Scribbles on a post it*. Take this, its a miracle, works so good you may worry you’ll never sit down for a disposal again.” Reid ran into the farmacia, slammed the post it down on the counter and received a true modern miracle. Highly recommend Gardasil 9 to all worried about embarrassing bowel movement.

Reid After Feeling Doctor’s Note in Pocket

We hopped onto the bus with only a little bit of liquid poop dripping down the leg only to be reassured by the fact that this was going to be another winding road up and down through the infinite Andean mountains. Our first stop was a very cool Incan Terrace overlooking a valley in the mountains. This ancient farmland design inspired Andrew with the amazing grading and use of retaining walls. However despite his kicking and screaming the tour guide dragged Andy aboard citing there was more to come.

But first, we were lucky enough to be granted the rare and exclusive opportunity of getting dropped off at a silver shop! Wow. We couldn’t believe our eyes as a person offered us a speech on rocks and energy all compiling to the announcement that somehow this related the Incan people to chakras. What a rich history! Reid inquired about the most expensive and valuable piece of craftsmanship, holding it as his money burned a literal hole into his pocket; however in the nick of time nature called. Disappointed we had to get funnelled back onto the bus before the transaction was ever completed.

The next two stops were far less interesting than the silver shop imbued with chakra energy. They were just ancient Inca settlements of Pisaqa and Olantaytambo. Wow, ok how boring, could we please just go buy more silver trinkets?

The tour of the Sacred Valley ended in the the new Olantaytambo square, where we waited for the train to take us to Aguas Calientes, at the foot of Machu Picchu. We got into our 5-star accommodations – only slightly filled to the brim with bed bugs – and went to bed. The forecast was not promising, but we maintained optimism that Machu Picchu would show its face to us.

Without further adieu we reached the point most everyone who visits this area reaches. It was extremely calm outside as we walked toward the bus station prepared to reach the famed mountain top citadel. Only until we turned the corner after the purchase of our bus ticket did we see a massive line of 100+ people curl around the road as we were directed to head to the back.

“Don’t Be a Typical Tourist, Just do What Everyone Else Does” – Marketing Genius

In an attempt to “not be a typical tourist” as many promotional posters prompted, Reid ate his breakfast from the gutter, a small mixture of greasy long millipedes and “whatever that greenish brown thing is”.

How atypical! Feeling completely unique as tourists at this point, we followed the large groups of people to one of the most visited places on Earth.

At first, the clouds had created a low hanging halo over the citadel and mountains above. Only until divine intervention parted the clouds just a few moments later. Andrew and Reid had perfect weather once again! Feeling as though this moment couldn’t be passed up upon without a computer selfie session, a photo shoot began! A worker there was really into it, and facebook lived the whole proceedings. As usual, the photos turned out great.

We had both been very concerned that Machu Picchu would be overrated, but those concerns flew out the window. It is really incredible.

The Inca stone carving techniques are so precise, and they really knew how to pick a location to live. We spent hours exploring and taking photos. At one point Andrew hit the pinnacle of human existence when being passed by a rascal of Llamas!

Eventually the time to leave came, so we went down to Aguas Calientes and awaited the train back to Olantaytambo. We were very casual, waiting until the last possible second before heading to the train station. This turned out to be the correct decision, because it resulted in a grand adventure. We could not find the train station, and time was ticking by. We walked out of town along the tracks expecting to find a train somewhere. A person directed us up a hill and back into town. The tracks split, and the train station was hidden within a market. We saw where we needed to be, but a long fence was blocking our way. The brakes were being released, and we could hear the train engines revving. So we took off sprinting, at first missing the small sign sticking out of a store that said “train station <–“. Again like Jason Bourne we wove through the market and got to the train. Not 30 seconds after sitting down the train pulled off. The 30 second wait time indicated to us that we could have chilled a little bit longer before leaving for the train.

Our bus ride back was dominated by a British couple trying to find their phone. They were on the phone with someone who either stole their phone or found it. Either way this person was very interested in being rewarded handsomely and made demands for time and place to meet up. We felt for them, and were very happy to not be in that situation. We arrived at the hostel, very tired, but decided to hit the town and make it a full 24 hour day. Our time together was rapidly closing, so might as well go ham. Cusco was empty in the streets, and we followed our ears to wherever music was being shred. The next morning was a flight to Lima, bittersweet as it was the end of our road together.

Conclusions

Cusco is a required city for anyone that enjoys travelling. The Wild Rover Hostel is appropriately named. Macchu Picchu is appropriately rated. Leave for your trains at the last second for a good time. Gardasil 9 will block you up incredibly. Plenty of wife options, but excursions will keep you busy in Cusco, plan accordingly!

Reid and Andrew

Currently in Lima, crying, hugging, and saying our Ciao’s

Featured

Chile and the Carretera Austral

Smoked Sea Lion is Much Better Than Smoked Salmon
– Roberto, discussing culinary tastes

Learning the Ropes

To many people road tripping is synonymous with driving. In fact, everybody thinks this because it defines the term road trip. This intro is meaningless therefore, but such is life. Each day slipping by like the sands in an hourglass, how is one to define and acknowledge their purpose within this existence. Anyhow, due to the nature of road trips me and Andy required a car. We had rented a choice micro-mini-compact (the cheapest available) and were all smiles. The only drawback was that in a bid to save further dinero, we had rented a standard transmission vehicle. We looked at each other and stated that neither of us had ever driven one before, in unison. Didn’t matter, we had all the confidence of Bernardo O’higgins, certain that he would liberate Chile, and figured we would drive it off the airport lot and learn trial-by-fire on the mean, wild, and tumultuous streets of Puerto Montt.

Reid drew the short straw of the first rip. By a miracle he got our upgraded Duster (all the micro-mini-compacts were out) out of the parking space no problem. At the exit our rental dude was waiting to see us off. Reid stalled twice right in front of him whist saying goodbye, offering a “I don’t drive stick very often.” The joke is really on him though because Reid had never driven one before. Hehe. Hoho.

Puerto Montt is a city built on volcanoes that have exploded upwards from the sea. It is very hilly, full of multi-lane roundabouts and the most savage taxi drivers (a south american standard). Without doubt it is the best place to learn standard. Shockingly the first days drive did not go well, and our confidence deflated down to that of a yodeller with strep throat. We found a hostel (which ended up just being Ingrid’s house (don’t feel bad if you don’t know Ingrid (I have literally never mentioned her until now))), and devoured YouTube tutorials (turns out I had been letting out the clutch way too fast, giving way too much gas, and Andy’s advice of giving gas before shifting hadn’t helped the situation). We practiced the next day, but still got nervous when we strayed too far into the meanest streets. After two days, we left for Chile’s Southern Highway – The Carretera Austral.

Puerto Montt -> Hornopiren

Like a flash of lightening we were on the open road, hair in the wind blowing as though Reid and I were a couple Fabios from a romance novel cover. Except we stalled a bunch of times and the road was extremely bumpy and rugged.

The Carretera Austral is Less Known for Its Baño Network

Nevertheless the feeling of freedom rode through our hearts much like Fabio on horse back. Speaking of horseback we took a ferry following a meagre one and a half hours on the highway. This offered the perfect picturesque moment for Reid to get his computer readied for a selfie. Photobooth takes the BEST photos!

Our first stop on this journey over sea and land was Hornopiren, a port city that connects the Carretera Austral by ferry to Caleta Gonzalo in the south. We stumbled upon an eco campground on the iOverlander app and decided to take a look. On maps the road comes to an end but there was a very rustic trail leading along the coast with what looked to be a homemade bridge. So like any reasonable first time rental car users and manual drivers we ploughed through.

Sure enough there was a campsite, one with a very cool path through the rainforest leading to a cafe on stilts onlooking the ocean. A sign was hung reading “Regreso En 30 Minutos” so we sat and waited (we later learned the sign is a permanent fixture). Eventually we were greeted by a man called Roberto, little did we know he was about to be our adventure guide. He showed us around his slice of paradise hand built and onlooking the fjord. There were paths leading to organic gardens, a hand-built waterwheel, and various structures all fitted with living roofs. We even helped him hand drill holes in the 12″ thick supports for a new hostel addition.

A very brief sampling of the work Roberto has done:

Hand cut a trail through brush up a mountain from his home
Hand built his home with manual tools
Dredged sand to build a beach
Chiselled through a boulder blocking his trail to his house (a supposed 4 month endeavour)
Diverted a stream to his handmade waterwheel, providing his site with electricity

When asked if Roberto would like to build a wooden boat (Hornopiren is littered with them), he declared the task to be too much work. We found this odd given the four months spent chiselling a rock in two. That night we slept in the old generator room off from the waterwheel.

Roberto filled our heads with the many adventures possible in the area. The following day he showed us exactly what he meant. After napping and relaxing by the fire in his cafe during a rainy morning, Roberto dragged us out to drive through private properties to where the road ended. Like a deranged serial killer he pulled out his machete and made the thick brush his victim. We followed behind while he worked to carve a path. The end result was a beautiful and completly closed in waterfall gushing out of the earth.

He talked about how he planned to build rope swings across while we stood by in amazement. He then pivoted from being a jungle explorer to an alpine mountaineer and took us for a hike up a rockslide to see the Hornopiren fjord from above. Unfortunately we had to leave for our long ferry crossing at midnight, but without fail we again turned to one another in unison and said, “We will be making a return to this region, of this I am certain.” More time hanging out with the legend named Roberto was going to be necessary.

Even Machete Wielding Psychopaths Enjoy the Simple Things

Hornopiren -> Futaleufu

We awoke from our extremely deep slumbers in our car aboard the ferry feeling completely refreshed and rejuvenated. “A better sleep I have never had” declared Andrew with authority. We drove off the ferry directly onto a road that seemed to be built only from rumble strip sections. The jungle was close on all sides, and dust was kicked up from our tires. We pumped the tunes and set off, intending to raft at Futaleufu. The Carretera Austral is sectioned off into road that is beautifully smooth, and road that has seemingly been bombed into oblivion. There is no rhyme or reason to where the gravel starts or ends, it is always a surprise. When the road did open up we were shocked by the beauty of the area. It really did make us feel like we were home in Canada. We stopped in by Lago Yelcho to cook up some breakfast.

Contemplating What To Eat, The Life of Dogs, And How Much Piss it Would Take to Fill This Lake.

A major difference between Canada and Chile is the presence of stray dogs, and this lake was patrolled by a dog thief that was going to every effort to heist our food. This dog was no Stormy, nor Gerhard, and annoyed us to the point of breaking. We dishonoured this dog with the name Trash-boi-swol.

Futaleufu is 77km off of the main road towards Argentina. The path is all gravel and shakes you like those miracle work out platforms that allows you to shed pounds just by standing. This would explain how we arrived in Futa completely shredded. The Futaleufu river is a world renowned competition river for kayaking and rafting. It is one of the places where tours take novices down Class V rapids. Turning to each other, we uttered in perfect unison “This river represents a unique opportunity, one that we should not pass up. We will have plenty of fun, and might even form life long memories. Let us register post haste!” We registered for the next day, and drove into the local nature reserve for the remainder of the present day. The nature reserve afforded us the opportunity to swerve around cattle, sheep and road graters. Majestic. That night we camped in someones backyard.

The next morning we left for the rapids full of hype. It was the companies birthday, and they were offering the full day tour at a reduced rate. This was Andrews first time rafting, but he showed no fear, wetting his pants only once. He took the first shift up front, and it was not long before he was disappearing completely into the water.

We did a total of 22 rapid sets, with 5 of them being Class V. Our first Class V was named The Terminator, and was a long set with huge volume requiring some rock navigation. Clearly it was the perfect time to take a swim, so that is precisely what I did. They did not have a “slippery when wet” stamp on the raft, so how was I supposed to know I might slip in?

Currently Being Rescued By My Hero Carlos

A fellow passenger (Carlos) leapt into action and rescued me. I have now promised to name my first child Carlos, and got a massive back tattoo of his face in his honour.

Carlos had my back, now my back has Carlos

Futaleufu -> Nowhere in Particular

Following the epic rescue and Reid’s 14 hour full back tattoo session we took off, driving nowhere in particular. Our plan was only to head south and to see how far we could get this evening. We pulled over to the side of the road after research on the iOverlander app pointed us to “free camping”. As noted by the app’s reviews it was quaint, while only being passed by vehicles every 10 minutes. However the other occupant (Reid) was blasting music late into the night. 1.5/5 stars.

Our Review to Help Future Budget Hunters

The next day Reid’s full back tattoo had almost completely healed. Very Cool!!! So our next move was to find the famed trail to Queulat National Park’s hangin’ glacier. Had we checked the rear-view mirror we would have seen it within 20 minutes of our drive, however we pushed forward squinting at every sign, assuming one would be the trailhead. The road ended up taking us up a mountain, weaving hairpin turns while we alternated exclaiming, “not bad.” At one point a semi truck offered for us to pass as they maxed out at 1km/hour, only to be almost wiped out by another oncoming semi. One Kilometre per hour it is!

After the very interesting trip up and down this mountain we came to a fork in the road, a classic dice roll for the two of us. We decided to stay right, as once again upon reflection it has never failed us. The chosen path lead to Puerto Cisnes, next to the ocean, which meant we surely missed the hanging glacier. Finally we set our pride aside and asked for directions. This was a tough moment for us both. After a meal we drove back the way we came exploring various view points of waterfalls and mountainscapes until seeing the glacier on the horizon not 15km from where we slept. The park had long closed so tomorrow it is! Slept in someone’s garage this night. For one night. Please. https://youtu.be/TzpAYv0AP68?t=685

Queulat -> Chaiten

That morning, Chilean Patagonia was gifted a new and spectacular volcano. The fish from Puerto Cisnes had not sat well, and mount Reid was in the midst of a violent eruption. This had to be pushed aside, as this was our one opportunity to hit Queulat. So off we drove. The hike up to the main viewpoint is not long, nor is it too hard, but progress was slow due to mount Reid really doggin’ it like a complete turd. Andrew offered a tablespoon of empathy, and tried to bring enough energy for the both of us.

The park was worth it, but not enormous, so after completing this hike we took off towards Chaiten. In and around Chaiten is Parque Nacional Pumalin, recently created by the Douglas Tompkins Foundation, the owner of the North Face. We stayed at Hospedaje Rita, a womans home that never quite felt like home, but had a super cute litter of cats.

Chaiten – > Hornopiren

The next morning we said Ciao to Rita after asking, “Hey Rita, did you wear magma to the dome from Volcán Chaiten, which had erupted in 2008.” Anyhow, we went to hike said Volcano. The hike up is at a 75 degree angle, and quite tiring, but felt much easier than the day before (for Reid). The mountain has had new growth, but all the old trees still stand like sentinels over it all. The pyroclastic flow blew off all branches, leaving just grey trunks. When we got to the top, fog filled the caldera making it appear as though we were at the end of the world.

We took a literal dirt nap to see if the fog would clear, and it did partially. Couldn’t see the full cylinder cone, but could see the ash filled lake, and hear the steam coming from the mountain.

We moved further north to take a walk passed some ancient Alerce trees, some as old as 3,000 years. These trees grow many meters in diameter, but have very small canopies. Andrew was in his own personal heaven. Big tree guy, total freak. The trail took us to some more falling water. We camped outside this trail, close to the ferry for the morning.

Hornopiren Part II Baby, not bad

The next day was dominated by ferrying into Hornopiren. We got great looks at the bay and the volcano. We wasted no time in getting back to Roberto. He greated us with a smile and immediately started to outline plans for kayaking to sea lions, camping on islands and etc. He said if we went tomorrow he would come with us, and that we would be free to go to some thermal hot springs that night with his friend Espon from Norway, among others. We decided this sounded great, even after he said this would be “muy clandestina” because to enter the hot springs is illegal. These hot springs were open to the public for ages, until a set of Germans bought and privatized them. Roberto plans to go to court on behalf of the town, to try to have nights be available free for residents. We hopped over fencing and followed Roberto to the springs, under cover of darkness.

It was great, Espon told us of his life driving a Combi from South Africa to Norway. We had hot water, drinks and stars; a perfect life. Eventually the police showed up and kicked us out, but it was great while it lasted. We retuned to the campsite to pitch our tent while we heard the dolphins spouting out in the fjord around 2am.

Andrew Pitched a Tent While Looking At That Tree

Initially Roberto had explained we needed to be up for 5am to be out on the water for 6am. However this did not happen. Lucky for us our late wakeup was appreciated, as he was late also. By the time we actually launched the kayaks the conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. It was surreal as the ocean water was completely still; Roberto explained it as, “a mug of milk.” Not how we’d describe it but whatever man.

We paddled across the bay to an island that fits almost as a puzzle piece into the bay Roberto called home and followed along the coast. After a few hours it was obvious we had arrived to the famed sea lion colony by the presence of sea lions. “We have arrived. You can tell by the sea lions positioned along the shoreline”, announced Roberto. These critters were fascinating to witness up close, as the closer we got hoards launched their bodies into the water and bobbed their heads up and down with curiosity.

Their Black Eyes Piercing My Soul Like a Hot Knife Pierces Butter

However we seemed to steal the show as a boat transporting people to a nearby island had passengers on deck just filming us in kayaks as though we were Fabio on horseback. “AIR DROP ME THOSE VIDS” Reid screamed, however the boat sped away and the people aboard scrambling to airdrop left connection range.

After a quick lunch break in a neighbouring bay where we sat on a rock, eating cookies and laughing in a very deep and slow tone like a couple of bosses, we took off to the equally famed penguin island. The weather was not as pleasant as before as we shot a strait to reach the coastline. As we approached we could already see a small group of penguins interested in our intentions.

We wrapped around and pulled the kayaks ashore to get a closer look. First we saw the pack out at sea, hunting for the finest fishes, and later saw a pair near by cautiously still in a stalemate with Reid as he took their photograph.

Buckle Up. There’s Even More Penguin Pics Coming.

The penguins were especially unique, and as we ventured into the forest (better described as penguin city) we watched as they came back in from their hunt in the ocean. It was a super amazing experience interacting and being so close to these creatures. We took off back to the café at Roberto’s place after sharing a beer and all taking a nap on the driftwood.

“Curiosity Killed the Penguin”, Reid as He Clubs an Endangered Penguin to Death

It was a brilliant day shared with the best tour guide. We finished off enjoying dinner and drinks in the café with Espon and Roberto among friends. Andrew and Reid stood upright in robotic fashion and said, “That nine hours of kayaking has my energy stores depleted. We are best served to rest and become refreshed for the next day. I am pleased with todays events.”

Return to Puerto Montt

We said our Ciao’s and headed back to Puerto Montt. The drive to the city was uneventful and smooth. The plan was to find Ingrid’s house and sit outside to steal some wifi in order to make reservations for the steps ahead. By some complete miracle we navigated without maps back to her home nearly flawlessly. Reid’s confidence was at a whole new level from his first Puerto Montt experience, and was slashing savagely in front of people rather than being the slashed. We gassed up and moved on towards the airport. This Puerto Montt session had by far been Reid’s greatest driving accomplishment so far, but for good measure and to come full circle he stalled immediately after getting a ticket for the airport parking lot. With the gate barrier threatening to swing down and smash our roof we threw the Duster in neutral and slowly shifted to safety. Our guardian angels had kept the Duster safe from damage, and by proxy us safe from extra fees.

Conclusions:

Everyone should travel to Hornopiren and visit Roberto. Hitchhikers are really nice and should be picked up. Sleeping in a car is less great than sleeping in a tent. Never trust iOverlander reviews. You can do anything you put your mind to, except apparently finding a South American wife.

Reid and Andrew,

Currently on a train, hoping to not plummet into an Andean valley.

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El Calafate, El Chaltén, and the Journey to Puerto Montt

Lickin’ Our Chops Over the Bagged Ice Empire We Could Create

Inhale, exhale. Know that you are alive. Are you still alive?
– Andrew to Reid, upon Reid passing out at sight of Glacier

Reid and Andrew knew once again that they were in fact living beings on this rotating rock we call earth, this time in a town named El Calafate. How they got here was truly a dance with the devil, one that resulted in them leaving the capital of Argentina to a Patagonian town in the Andes. But we shall skip that story, and instead focus on just describing an ice chunk, a big rock and a long ride on the bus (which they lovingly refer to as Lucifer’s Wagon).

The day of our arrival to El Calafate we took to aimlessly wondering much to the chagrin of the hostel staff who attempted to guide us. Leaving the hostel we took a right, which again led us to the ripest green pastures of the town centre. We walked eager to find a car rental that would allow us to take their vehicle 2200km north with no one way drop off fee. This proved impossible. However it did not discourage us from walking into an excursions office and signing up for a hike on the Perito Moreno Glacier.

Big Chunk of Ice

Stoke levels high, we figured that the rental car situation could wait to be sorted out. We headed back to the hostel to partake in the nightly feast of carne. Our meal had four courses: pork chop, sausage, steak and lamb. A meal for kings! We met some Swiss friends and stayed up late into the night, chatting and drinking our $1.25 wine.

No Friends Shown, but We Swear They Exist

Our evening decisions did not make for a pleasant morning. The carne that had been so good last night did not sit well. Pair that with a couple days of no sleep and you have a recipe for feeling nasty. But we had to endure, to go out and see the beautiful chunk of ice. Hopping onto a bus we set off to view the main attraction of the area. However upon the bus’ first stop (a hotel) a good Samaritan turned and said, “You guys know this bus is dropping people off from the airport right?” We had no idea. Another classic shenanigan brought to you by Andy and Reid impulses. We remained unharmed, managing to get to the shuttle in the nick of time. The first stop of the tour afforded us an hour and a half to walk the short trails to various viewpoints of the Perito Moreno Glacier. We also stopped to sit and eat our lunches while the ice calved and shot sounds similar to heavy artillery through our souls. Majesty, beauty, we were in absolute awe.

18 Trillion Bags of Ice, at $2.00/bag gives Reid and Andy a Lot of Money. No Business Plan Necessary.

But it gets better. Back into Lucifer’s Wagon we headed to the next stop, our ferry to the south base of the glacier. Once we reached the small marina, our bus driver slammed on the brakes, turned the engine off and cranked “My Heart Will Go On” from the Titanic soundtrack. Cold sweats instantly erupted from our pores. With apprehension we walked to the bus exit and witnessed above the drivers chair a photo of his head taped to the naked sketch of Rose from the classic film. Wearily we stepped aboard with a feeling of there would almost certainly be a captain beckoning, “ICE BURG AHEAD!” The boat never sunk, and our hike on the glacier went without a hitch. Whew, thanks universe! We felt like explorers trying to reach the South Pole. The day was great, nearly making us forget our sickness.

I Taste Money, My Eyes Are Dollar Signs and I Stroke My Curly ‘Stache. Normal Responses to this Natural Beauty.

The following day was spent hiking a local El Calafate mountain. El Calafate is filled to the brim with stray dogs. For the most part they seem to be really good boys, and we have nicknamed a handful. The one we are a little unsure of (who tries to bite every passing car) we have named Psychopath-Freak. Another pooch we witnessed on our multiple walks we nicknamed Fat Lardo, due to him being fat and also a lardo. When leaving for the hike, two of the best dogs (named Stormy and Gerhard after our Iguazu boat driver) ran to meet us and hiked the whole day.

The hostel in El Calafate had a relaxing vibe and we chilled out there to make some future plans. A road trip was fairly important to us, and Andrew ended up finding a way to make it work by renting and returning to Puerto Montt in Chile. Getting there was going to be a major inconvenience, so we took some days to just soak in America Del Sur. With short memories we made our final El Calafate meal another barbecue, this one complete with beef small intestine. Not one single regret was had.

A Big Rock

A morning bus from El Calafate to El Chalten took us passed flocks of Guanacos and the occasional Emu. The scenery was so nice I had to ask the bus driver to come to a complete halt so I could take a computer selfie.

We did not have much time in El Chalten, so our objective was to get to the Fitz Roy campsite ASAP, wake up in the morning to go see the sunrise, pack up and come down. We needed to chow down and drop some gear off first, and both tasks were accomplished with relative ease. An individual from China was following us around after the bus, assuming we were heading the Fitz Roy. He randomly accompanied us for most of our errands, but eventually got bored and ran away. We would later see him running to and fro, looking generally lost. We sure hope he found what he was looking for. On the trail we made fast friends out of two Californians. The clouds had parted and the views were great. Everything was going our way.

Moments after arrival at the campsite the wind picked up and a blizzard started to roll in. It became cold very suddenly. We all went for a walk to try to warm ourselves, but it wasn’t enough. We had to dance.

The Californians were also cheap booze aficionados and offered us some “Breeder’s Choice” whiskey to warm the bones. That did the trick, and offered us a short glance through the eyes of an Argentine ranch hand. Yeehaw. The night was going to be very cold. We had anticipated 3C and had only brought the thinnest of sleeping bags. Andrew was down a sleeping mat. Not much sleep happened that night.

“Awakening” (never really slept) at 3:30am, we made our way up the Fitz Roy summit. The snow from the night before covered the trees and shrubs along the mountainside as well as the grizzled rocks that formed a makeshift staircase to the mountain ridge. It took just over an hour, with the first half hour being only visible with our headlamps, and the second visible through pinkish hues forming in the clouds over the valley. The summit was a sight to behold. Although we did not manage to get a completely cloud free view of the Fitz Roy itself, the sun rising and colouring the snow covered mountains pink and gold was worth the effort.

We came down, and wouldn’t you know it, the clouds finally cleared a bit.

I Free Soloed it, But Andy’s Video Was A Little Blurry, So It Has Been Deleted

Lucifer’s Wagon Marathon

24hr bus rides are so hype. Soooooo hype. So hype in fact we booked one from El Chalten the day after spending a sleepless night at the foot of a mountain amidst a snowstorm. The reason being that we rented a vehicle in Puerto Montt, Chile, and needed to get there within two days. The bus swerved its way through the Ruta 40 whilst dodging pot holes and veering onto grid service roads at any opportunity. The driver meanwhile played both lanes of the highway while sending snap chats to his loved ones and sharing 100lb bags of Mate with his compadres.

The washroom was off-limits on this particular bus, so when we finally reached a pit stop, most people were understandably antsy. A line for the stalls was huge, each person anticipated their moment. Finally, a stall cracked open and out slithered Swag-Lord Flex who took his time washing his hands. Meanwhile, his stall was volcano-ing water as though he had taken Iguazu Falls and tipped it on its head. The entire bathroom was quickly flooded and 50 people were left to battle a tough physical and mental challenge for the duration of the ride on Lucifer’s Wagon – oh well, only 12 more hours! Swag-Lord Flex was unrepentant and walked away slowly, willing anyone to challenge him. No one did.

Lucifer’s Wagon pulled up to some random road in Bariloche and jettisoned all passengers into the rain to grab their bags and scatter like ants. We hoofed it to our hostel to spend a lovely 9 hours. It was a great 9 hours, but we missed the bus experience so much that we went on another the next day, this time to Puerto Montt, Chile. We showed up to the bus station ready to rock, bags in hand and bus tickets ready to be purchased. Unfortunately, this was the one bus station in all South America that only accepted cash, and we were 120 pesos ($3CAD) short. No matter, I will find an ATM. Unfortunately, this was the one bus station in all South America without an ATM. Built for convenience and smooth sailing. Fortunately, Andrew met the one kiosk owner in all South America willing to exchange pesos for the one Canadian bill he had been lugging around.

“Sure, I’ll Take Your Canadian. Not Bad” – Kiosk Owner

So life has a funny way of working out, and we made our bus. Never been so relieved to receive the final two tickets for an 8 hr rumble on Lucifer’s Wagon.

Conclusions

Southern Patagonia is a place one should spend many, many more days than we did. So great, and with all the ice hanging around the capitalistic bagged ice companies are just waiting to be founded. This place definitely warrants its own trip.

El Calafate: 2.5 out of 3 dogs

El Chalten: 1 big rock

Reid and Andy,

Currently in somebodies house, keeping our heads low to avoid the riots in Puerto Montt Chile.

P.S. Reid is WIFELLESSSSSSS NOOOOOOOOO. Oh heavens please have mercy…

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Buenos Aires

What are the odds you stay in Buenos Aires forever?
– Reid, trying to sewer Andrew’s life

Our last post described the circumstances leading to our trip into BA. We were making steps to keep a positive outlook, but the first night really tested our patience. The guidebook described Hostel Estoril as “one of the best hostels in the world”, so we were pumped to get a space there. In fairness, the location was awesome! But beyond that, you would have to extend the definition of “best” to be enormously broad, and maintain a very open mind to the term “one of”, realizing that it really doesn’t say anything. With those conditions, I can say the hostel was one of the best in the world. The main issue was just the heat. For those of you that are not geography buffs, BA is located right near the surface of the sun, and you can tell just walking around.

This problem is compounded when you try to escape to your room for a bit of shade and cool, only for the room to be a nice sauna. Our time in BA could really be summed up with one adjective: soupy.

We needed food, and decided to just grab some fast food. All four of our cards were denied, so we needed to cancel the order. Justin Trudeau, if you could just put this on you list of things to figure out as well, we would appreciate it. After finding an open bank and miraculously acquiring some legal tender we returned and place the order again. Seriously, the worst burgers of all time.

However, this burger spawned a new round of “What are the odds” games. Here is the idea:

Someone asks the other “what are the odds” to do X
other responds with a number
at count of three, both say a number between 1 and the responded number
if the two numbers are the same the person has to perform X

Andrew turned to me and asked “what are the odds you eat here every meal we have in BA”. Suddenly I was sweating for a new reason; fear. I escaped, but the precedent was set. Our walks through this city became a lot more dangerous.

What Are The Odds You Ask to Kiss His Cat

What Are The Odds You Climb The Pink House?

What Are the Odds You Backflip Onto Poseidon’s Trident?

What Are the Odds You Ask for Her Hand in Marriage

It goes on and on. It was mostly Andrew asking me to do dumb things, so I had to step my game up eventually.

Tigre

Bravely we navigated the Subte and Tren to a suburb named Tigre. We felt just like the explorer Magellan, wishing to reach his goal but unsure if he will ever return. We found our destination much quicker than Magellan ever did. Tigre is an odd place, a web of rivers near the Rio Plata. People drive there watercraft around to get from place to place, and it has a much more chill feeling than BA.

What Are the Odds You Jump in and Capsize Their Canoe

Exploring the network of rivers was something of a must do in this area, so across the river we went to get aboard the next available boat tour. To our jubilant pleasure we we’re told that we had 9 minutes before the boat left for the tour. We looked at one another and in unison shouted, “LUNCHTIME”. Back across the river to a cafe we went. Without much delay to the boat staff we climbed aboard and began our excursion yet again proving that cutting it close is a gift we carried. The tour was a great way to experience these narrow channels upon which few Argentine’s call home. Along the route we noticed an abandoned amusement park, and once again Reid was posed the question, “What’re the odds you break in?”.

Unscathed we managed to reach the train station to make our return back into Buenos Aires.

Conclusions

Is BA a bad place? Absolutely not, it is very beautiful.

Were we happy to leave still? Absolutely. We had strange issues here. Couldn’t cool ourselves, couldn’t use our bank cards, and kept having Uber drivers arrive only to not let us enter and drive away (we later learned Uber still isn’t allowed in Argentina). BA is pretty, but we are ready for El Calafate and the Patagonia region.

Buenos Aires: 5 out of 5 sweat drops

Reid and Andrew, currently waiting in a power outage stricken airport, hoping the conveyors come back on line to take our luggage and we do not miss our flight.

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Foz Do Iguaçu, Puerto Iguazú y Ciudad Del Este

Would you just look at that!
– Reid, upon first sighting of waterfall

Arriving in Foz do Iguacu was a breath of fresh air. The intense Sao Paulo atmosphere was exchanged for much more laid back feeling. We stayed a day at the Tetris Container Hostel, which is a super cool eco hostel made from shipping containers and has lots of events going on.

We had lost so much time on the bus that I was extremely ready to be headed to the main goal: Parque Nacional Iguacu. We dropped our bags and left the hostel immediately. The taxi driver offered the sage advice that we eat prior to park entry, to save money. So we blasted into a buffet and dieseled some food (we hadn’t eaten for nearly a full day on the bus). In a delirious state I took a salad that was getting rained on from water exiting a ceiling tile. On top of that, Andrew and I marched high and proud while slowly and with increasing volume chanting, “Carne mas! Carne mas! Carne mas!” en route to the counter to be dished unlimited meats. Either my body is a bug warrior, or I’m still getting ready to be sick. Fully fuelled, we were ready to explore the park.

As most (all) of the readers of this are from the Canadian Prairies, I will try to describe a waterfall. If you are from Saskatoon, consider the weir:

Iguacu Falls is essentially that. Water moves from a higher position, to a lower one. This occurs often very rapidly and very violently. Unfortunately for our readers in Regina and elsewhere, there is simply no way we can meet minds and explain this concept (Signature Landscaping clients excluded).

Brasil Side

In Brasil, you get vistas of the main falls, seeing panoramic views from afar. It all culminates with a platform that enters a stepped waterfall, allowing you to get nice and moist from the spray.

Speaking of moist, we hopped onto a boat after wrapping up the hike. Boat captain Stormy Van Gerhard IV drove us recklessly through the current, hitting massive rocks and ramping the whitest of waters. He kept screaming “I have a death wish!”, as the fifty year old ladies aboard screamed, “Wooooo!”. Although we don’t know what “I have a death wish” is in Portuguese, we are certain this is what he was saying especially following his decision to drive directly under a wall of falling water that felt like being slapped by 1,000lbs liquid sledge hammers. All in all the Brazil falls were a hoot!

About 1/50 Of a Second To Through Our Electronics in a Dry Bag

To cap off our Brazil side experience, we saw a jaguar and a puma! Together! Totally unobstructed! We sure are two lucky skunks. Wow oh Wow.

Argentina Side

“Wow, not bad!”, is one entirely adequate way to describe Iguazu Falls. Another might be, “okay, nice!” The Argentine side had less of the beautiful vistas, and more raw power. Instead you got up close and personal views from atop some of the largest falls. We discussed at length where one should decide to jump into the falls, if being forced to do so. Finding a good spot to jump in proved very difficult. We concluded that the falls would really thrash you anywhere.

Approaching the main falls from the Argentine side is wild. You cross endless floodplains on elevated bridges. After walking a while you see something that looks like a sinkhole, and the water simply disappears. As you approach closer, its one of the most beautiful and terrifying views.

Magnificence might be a fair description for the Cataratas (waterfalls), however it still does not factor in the main concern of ours throughout the trip to this point. The of love of birds is extremely fundamental to our identities, and when we say birds we mean crows. Toucan’s are great and all but they should be completely eradicated from the earths atmosphere (along with every other bird) in favour of the great and mighty crow. This is no minor blemish on what what could be a great trip.

To Paraguay

As terrific as the falls have been it was time for us to move into the next step of our journey, Ciudad del Este, Paraguay! Suddenly we awoke, feeling well rested and very close to literally bullet proof. We left our roach infested but beautiful accommodations (we had left Tetris for a cabin in Puerto Iguazu the previous day) on the outskirts of the city to hit the dusty red trail in search of a taxi. Someone quickly pealed over to the side of the road like a scene from the Fast and the Furious 7. Some might believe it to have been due to the 30kg bags on our backs, but we believed it to be an act of fate. We jumped aboard and requested that he chauffeur us to our Paraguayan hostel. We had had such a difficult time booking accommodation for our Iguacu Falls excursion that we decided to plan well ahead and book hostels in Cuidad Del Este (CDE), Asuncion as well as a flight from Asuncion to El Calafate in Patagonia. We were geniuses. The taxi drive started well enough, we blasted out of Argentina and were well on our way across the Parana river to Paraguay when boom, bumper to bumper traffic.

Turns out, CDE has the choicest wares of the three towns in the Tres Fronteras area, and most Brazilians and Argentines like to head over for Black Friday. No matter, we will arrive when we arrive. Our taxi driver was vying for the tip to end all tips because he was incredible. He rode the median, he passed semi’s by mere sixteenths of inches and would change lanes through seemingly impossible margins.

Our jaws were slack the whole time. Finally we arrived at the border:

“No visa, no entry”

Our genius deflated and was immediately replaced with the feeling one gets when they realize they are a complete and utter tool/goon. We had planned ahead into a country that we couldn’t even enter, and our flights leave from an airport we would never see. But we would have to think about that later, for now we had to tell our driver he would need to u-turn through 15 lanes and take us back to Brazil. He let out a sigh, but did what he did best and drove like a total boss, one hand on the wheel, the other with a thumbs up to the other drivers he savagely sliced in front of.

We will save you the details of our ciphering, but just know that there was a tonne of it. The net result of it was is that we leave to Buenos Aires and will fly to El Calafate. There has been a financial penalty for this mistake, and we have learned a lesson. But thats all behind us now and we can get back to what is really important to us, finding crows on this crow-forsaken chunk of earth.

Conclusions

Iguazu Falls is undoubtably as cool as Saskatoons weir. We thoroughly enjoyed our time, and perhaps could have even used a bit more. Not super crazy about Paraguay however and would really encourage Justin Trudeau to fix Canadian-Paraguayan relations.

Iguazu Falls: 10/10 stars

Paraguay: Big dump out of ten stars

Reid and Andrew, currently on a plane, on a toilet, 1,000,000 feet in the sky.

PS. We have left Brazil wifeless for Reid. It is a tough pill to swallow. However he might have met his nun wife in the Argentine airport, fingers crossed!

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São Paulo

Reid, Andy and 12.6 Million of Our Closest Friends

Our plans to sleep on an overnight bus were fine in theory, but disappointing in practice. Brazilian AC is a marvel of modern engineering; somehow the air is piped directly from the lower Antarctic and delivered straight to your face. Its impressive to be sure, but not helpful for sleep. Our bus left Rio at midnight, and we arrived in Sao Paulo (Sampa) at 7:00, feeling just slightly less than fresh. Luckily the bus terminal was a calm and relaxing environment to enter during this state. Sampa has the second largest bus station in the world serving a modest 90 000 people per day (Source: my massive brain). Rio’s station had English as well, but Sampa’s did not. We wanted to purchase a ticket now for Foz do Iguacu. Each ticket kiosk is operated by different bus companies which each service different areas. We had to aimlessly wander the terminal to find the one sign that had “Foz do Iguacu” written in microprint amongst dozens of other cities. There was only one kiosk to have this. Having successfully attained our ticket, we headed out into the world to find our hostel.

Sampa and Rio are about as different as it gets. In Sampa, we seemed to drive the speed limit and stick in our lane, but the sights are less of mountains, beaches and favelas and more of endless concrete jungle. At first we were worried that it was going to be a charmless and intimidating place, but it didn’t take long to love it.

The hostel backyard, aka picnic tables we try to sleep at

Suddenly we awoke from our sleep with impressions on our faces resembling the wooden boards we used as pillows, learning without any doubt that picnic tables are a cruel and unforgiving place to rest. Once again we had arrived too early to check in, and seeing as sleep was not an option we were forced to take in the sights via 15km walk while delirious and sleep deprived. We exited the hostel and head right, a direction that has yet to fail us. We stumbled upon an open air market laid out over an overpass completely restricting traffic.

To your left: choice wares. To your right: the finest produce.

Locals were selling their finest produce and wares. We nabbed some mega choice wares. Just up the block from the open air market we witnessed a street ball dynasty unfold before our very eyes. Many challengers rose but all fell to the shirtless fleet of middle aged men. We thought this would be the high point saying to one another, “This is the high point.” But little did we know our walk had more in store for us. There was an open recreational space that caught our attention. An open gate was beckoning us with the sounds of drums and frivolity, we had to enter. Unfortunately the security guard didn’t see things that way, instead directing us into a nearby building. We went and tried to walk through, finding ourselves outside a locker room only to be redirected by some administration staff. The admin took us back outside and over to where the security guard was. An argument ensued, which we could only imagine was a great political and social deliberation having nothing to do with us. Three police officers approached as the administration gentleman communicated to them pointing at us. They instructed us to follow them and we didn’t argue. They ended up bringing us through the back of the football stadium and said we could just watch the game from there. It was very much an unexpected surprise.

I think they planned on matching. Me and Andy did not.

We chatted a while, because the one officer was happy to have a moment to practice english. One officer remained silent, while the last officer tried to make some light small talk. The small talk went something like this:

“I admire President Trump. Bolsonaro and Trump like this” (brings his index fingers together).

“I see.”

“Is your president right or left?”

“Well, things in Canada are certainly different. Our leader is left though.”

*Long fart sound, and thumbs down from him*

All in all it was the best political discussion I have been apart of. They left us and we watched the game until half. We left and went to the Futebol Museum that is within the stadium. It was cool, we mostly learned that Pele was the GOAT, personifying perfection according to the placard. We were a bit more into taking pics of these horrifying clowns however.

We left the stadium through the main entrance and had a good laugh about how ridiculous our entry had been. Headed to our hostel and slept.

Although this just screams “front entrance” it was our exit

Life in Beco Do Batman

Sampa is a town made for foodies and partiers. Restaurants, bars and clubs line the streets, especially in Villa Madalena. Quite by accident, that is where we were staying. Beco do Batman is a small area within Villa Madalena that has an intensely hipster vibe. Most of the walls have street art, unique and abstract.

In the Sampa food scene all cultures seem to be represented, but there is a special focus on Japanese. Sampa has the most Japanese people outside of Japan; a carry over from workers coming to work on coffee farms (Source: See Above). We ate Mexican food, chicharrons which were salty chicken skins wrapped in corn tortillas. Had a taste of american style burgers with cheese fries on the side, followed by a way to expensive bottle of sakes at a Japanese establishment. One place we visited every morning was Duckbill Coffee and Cookies for a much needed caffeine boost to begin our days. All these things were excellent, but the main reason we would ever return is just to have the opportunity to stay in a place named after Batman once again.

Some Quick Sightseeing

We lost a bunch of time in Sampa because planning our next stops became very difficult. There was a real panic that we might not get hostels where we want, or flights to Patagonia. Even now, there are holes in our plan that desperately need to be filled. Time for fun in Sao Paulo was sacrificed to work on planning for fun later. Staying in the whole time was simply not an option though, so we grabbed an Uber and went for a tour of the city. Up the Edificio Italia to see the intense sprawling metropolis.

Andrew just signed a $2000 deal to manually paving stone the entire city

Inside the Catedral de Se.

And over to Avenida Paulista (the 5th Avenue of Sao Paulo) where we walked home from.

If you like painted pictures go in this building

In Search of Nightlife

Following our Mexican meal we decided we should try to find some of this acclaimed nightlife. We asked our server if he could point us in the direction of anywhere good, and he excitedly nodded. He took our phone, started Google Translate and typed furiously. Andrew was the first to see the advice and told him he had done a great job, which was kind, but untrue.

We tried to go super down the road a little, but ended up missing our first straight. We went home instead.

Our final day we figured, alright, last chance to go out. We are going to go for it. Our driver from earlier in the day had mentioned D-EDGE, and we appreciated its Dad joke name, so we went. There was absolutely no one milling about, which is not a great sign. A man who seemed like a bouncer was snoring heavily from a chair. We had to shake him awake and when he finally came to he confirmed our suspicions. D-EDGE was closed that night. We had to make a quick adjustment and found out about a place named LABCLUB. With time slipping we decided to head straight over. We were ready to shred the dance floor, but found that there was some intense competition. A group of six guys were owning the floor dancing perfectly synchronized, with extreme energy and flopping all over. They could have been dancing backup for Beyonce. A dance battle was brewing, but me and Andrew didn’t have the courage to challenge them. Instead I stuck to my usual awkward shuffling, humiliated.

Conclusions

Sao Paulo started off feeling sketchy, dirty and crumbling, but those feelings were unfair. Sampa has character, and is a cool place to wander and treat yourself to a burger or a bottle of sake.

Sao Paulo: Half star out of ten.

Reid and Andrew,

Currently on a 21 hour bus (that we thought was 10 hours) to Foz do Iguacu.

PS: Reid still has no Brazilian wife, and time is running out. NOT VERY COOL!

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Rio de Janeiro

Dark and tan and young and lovely, the boys from Ipanema go walking…
– Tom Jobin

On November 5, Andrew and myself awoke to a beautiful Saskatchewan -10C. We went to a large building, entered a metal tube, and emerged to find that it was November 6, 29C and extremely humid. This was seen by both as an improvement. With most of the travel behind us, we had only to complete the drive from airport to hostel. I have never been so thankful to be a passenger. Had I been driving we would not have even left the airport. I would have been sitting there with my turn signal flashing, cars flowing around me on either side and quietly muttering to myself that we would merge next time. We have been too conditioned to believe lanes and traffic systems are important. In Rio they see right through all of that and just go.

Long Walks by the Beach

When we arrived at our hostel we were instructed to check in at 2:00pm. The current time was 7:00am. So we forced our adrenaline glands to overclock and went for a walk to check out the beaches. Ipanema and Copacabana are well known for good reason. The sand is the softest I have ever experienced, and they go on forever and ever. We learned this the hard way actually. Beaches are somewhat deceiving because you can see all the way across them and assume that the distance must not be that great. What you don’t realize initially is that those tic-tacs at the far end of the beach are not in fact tic-tacs, they are buildings. Honestly though, shame on me for even considering that I would be seeing tic-tacs, what an absurd thing to think. We walked 13.8km alongside the beaches thinking the whole time how nice it would be to just fall in the sand and pass out.

Perhaps the best part about taking this beach walk was being able to observe locals just living life. Rio’s beaches are where a lot of exercise activity goes on: runners jog nearby, makeshift weight lifting zones having barbells with concrete ends and pull-up spots. But these conventional fitness modes are completely pedestrian when compared to this individuals deep sea thrusts.

Long Walks up a Mountain

The next day we went for a walk once again. The weather was not beach weather, so we tried to go find Christ the Redeemer (Corcavado). Finding things in certain neighbourhoods can be difficult because the city planning changes wildly from planned to unplanned it seems. The current theory is that some streets were marked out for construction by tying a marker to a dog and letting it run wherever. Walking around the lagoon we got our first (and only) glimpse of the statue on top of the mountain.

At the same time we found the entrance to Parque Nacional Tijuca, a place I had no idea we would come across. We entered, and found a path that lead to Corcavado and decided to go that way. In order to go on the path, we had to sign a paper at a police outpost stating our names, entry time and emergency contact. Up the jungle path we met a German tourist named Sophie waiting for someone to walk with her as she was afraid of snakes. She rounded out our duo into a trio. The hike was sweaty work, we had never hiked through such humidity and it showed.

It looked as though Sophie had rescued us from the surf. Sweat dripped from places you did not want it to drip from, and covered places I was hoping to keep dry. The cheese slices in my bag melted into one delicious chunk. When we reached the top we looked like terrifying bush people. Everyone else had taken a car or a train, and then these three individuals emerge from the bush dirty, sweaty and exhausted. When we arrived the summit was completely not cloud covered and we were met with awe inspiring views of the bay and statue.

Long Walks Shuffling in Place

Sophie said that she always tries to go to Samba parties when in Brazil and became a resource for finding one. We had to enter our names onto an online registration sheet and went out to find the place in the evening. Beforehand, we met some of our hostel-mates during a drink at the bar. One was from Israel, and had apparently recently married Gal Gadot. VERY COOL! In turn he asked if we had ever met Justin Bieber, and I informed him that he and Andrew had recently tied the knot as well. VERY COOL! We left Ipenema in an Uber shortly after continuing with our strict diet of meat and carbs. It seemed every meal was inching us closer and closer to being ridden with scurvy. VERY COOL! Once we had reached Sophie’s hostel in Copacabana we hopped out of the Uber just to watch it drive away while thinking, we should order another… Once we actually reached our first parties destination we realized it was not the party we expected. The rooftop samba party was on the main floor. NOT VERY COOL! We went to the rooftop anyhow only to map out Lapa and devise a strategy so as to not use our phones. After leaving venue number one we looked for somewhere to stop for a cheap drink or two. Lucky for us there was a massive rivalry underway fighting skin and bone over our every Reais; two of the exact same confectionary spaces serving the finest liquors in all of Rio side by side. The one confectionary rose above the other by a large margin due to their supply of random liquid in large corked bottles, only $1,50 Reais per ounce. Andy went for the mystery liquid hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Andrew, feeling good and full of mystery liquid led the team across the street to Paiol 08. We slipped in like locals and shredded the dance floor until the sun came up.

Hot Take: Samba is Just Prettier Shuffling

Long Walks to Kill Time

We have been hoping to extend our time in Rio, but it just isn’t going to happen. We lost our hostel spot today and so decided to hit the dusty trail to Sao Paulo on the night bus. We took a walk out to some botanical gardens so that Andrew may officially right off part of this trip as a learning opportunity. The botanical gardens were neat, but too many plants for my garden tastes. Overall, the time in Rio is much to short. If we could stay, we would. We didn’t even have nice weather and still loved it a tonne. We got soaked by rain today, yet still enjoyed ourselves. Rio is gorgeous, so hopefully someday we will find our way back – and to better weather!

Rio de Janeiro: 2.5 stars out of 15

Reid and Andrew,

Currently headed to Sao Paulo

PS: Reid plans to move back after a short sabbatical to pursue the dream of finding a Brazilian wife using billboards broadcasting his availability. For work we have identified an opening in the fencing engineering field. Sounds like a smooth transition into his new and exciting life. VERY COOL!

Featured

Introductions

Time to let people know whats up
— Reid, 2019

The only person that is going to reliably read this blog is my Aunt Gloria. Not my mother. Not my grandmother. Not my best friend. In fact, I anticipate not much reading of this blog outside of my Aunt Gloria, bless her soul. This however, will in no way inhibit my ego, and its desire to make my mark upon the internet. If you are here and not named Gloria, thank-you. Please continue reading, sit by the fire and enjoy yourself, then promptly e-transfer me a nice tip.

A Brief Background

This blog is going to chronicle a trip. It may morph and change as time goes on, but for now it is solidly here to document backpacking through South America with my arch nemesis Andrew. Me and Andrew get along like faces and rocks thrown at faces – not well, and frequently bloody. He is an extremely dangerous figure, and honestly is best avoided all together if you value your physical safety.

But Andrew is more than just a physical dynamo. His cunning is razor sharp and is a master of deception and trickery. A conversation can be just as deadly as a skirmish with this fellow. You’ve heard of reverse psychology, the most elementary form of manipulation. Andrew practices inverse psychology, leaving you so completely bewildered as to not know up from down. Happens every time.

Andrew Moments Before Giving Me Faulty Directions and Leaving Me for Dead

If you still aren’t fearful for me, here is a short list of further reasons. Andrew:

Has never described a baby animal as “cute” – psychopath?
Laughs at the frequency of the brown note
Speaks only in spooky haikus
Makes constant and unnerving eye contact

Now, I can just hear Gloria screaming out “Why would two archenemies travel together?” Firstly, please calm down. Secondly, world peace. If you become friends, you simply cannot maintain being enemies, and fewer enemies makes for a more peaceful planet. Thirdly, I have been lying this entire time. As today’s kids might say; me and Andrew are kindred spirits. Travelling to South America has been on our radar for a startling 8 years now. Just when I began to think this trip was nothing more than fantasy the planets aligned and tickets were bought. To say I am excited would be accurate – really hitting the nail on the head as it were.

In Closing

I don’t live in a fantasy world. I know this isn’t going to be anyone’s home page. Truthfully, I am more interested in practicing writing and doing something creative. But I will ask just one thing of all of you that have made it this far. Please set up roughly 100 bots each to check this website daily. I would love the ad revenue.

Cheers,

Reid,

Currently In: Saskatoon SK

4 January Tasks I Dread Every New Year

How Light Therapy Lamps Actually Work | Hackensack Meridian Health — Where Does The Time Go

I’m drowning in a tidal wave of tasks.

Hercules

Introduction

Well. Here we are. It’s the middle of August. Naturally my mind is thinking about the coming January. For many, New Years is a time to try something new and develop as a person, but for me it is absolutely filled to the brim with tasks. Getting set up for the next 365 is never easy and the sheer amount of leg work makes me go completely catatonic for days. I don’t think I could survive the onslaught of January thoughts into my soggy brain if not for my DIY S.A.D Lamp.

Works Best During Months with Lots of Sun

Oddly enough there is a strong correlation between my yearly January thoughts and my yearly severe heatstroke. It’s only after heatstroke recovery that I move my feelings from a space of dread to a space of planning. As I go through this now I decided I would take some time to share my top 4 least looked-forward to tasks of the year. Shower me in sympathies. Don’t forget to tell me your least favorite January tasks in the comments!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Neighbourhood Waiver Renewals

Everyone at some point in their life experiences a moment in which they cross a threshold and undergo a step change in responsibility. It is those instants in which you buy a dog, say “I do”, or hold your newborn child for the first time. Whatever. All of these pale in comparison to the moment my sensei wrapped my black belt about my waist. From that point on, civilians in my vicinity would forever be in clear and present danger. All that stands between them and me, is me. Clearly I require a legal shield to protect myself from the ramifications of my these hands.

Guy Hits Himself In The Face With Nunchucks | Best Funny Gifs Updated Daily — Not Even My Best Demo Tape

Barely anyone can handle the training required to become a black belt and of those that do survive, fewer still can shoulder the isolation and burden of responsibility. My intent of course is to protect my block, but early on I did not have a clear understanding to the bounds of my power and needed to be prepared for anything. Years ago I drafted up a waiver and went door to door in my local community. I had everyone consent to sharing the block with me.

Steven Seagal's Top 5 Aikido Techniques ... — I’m Not Yet Sure What I Am Capable Of

In recent years I have come to know myself and my meteoric power. Regardless, every January I go about the community and collect signatures of consent once again. This behaviour stems from fears I have gained as a byproduct of my obsession with true crime. Liability case law and civil tortes due to accidental injury are my favorite genres, and I often listen to podcasts right before bed. Sometimes I can’t sleep. In the eyes of the law would I be the probable cause of all injury to the civilians on my block? Will the neighbours have difficulty getting life insurance as a result of living near unsafe conditions? Are they threatened by my success in life? Do I fit the definition of a reasonable individual? If my podcasts are to be believed, the case law would not be on my side. So I perform my task. It is typically cold, and it pains me to see the fear in my neighbours eyes as I approach up the drive way. Never look forward to this one.

Lay the Ground Work for an Meaningful Vet Visit

Every year Gus “has” to get dewormed, yet every time I ask the vet if Gus has worms the answer is the same; no. Well I for one am completely tired of getting jerked around by these vets that assume we aren’t going to notice. As a child my mother always tried to impress upon me that money should come by blood and sweat alone and that charity was a socialist plot aimed right at the heart of the economy. Well congrats mom, you have taught me well.

Once I decided to take matters into my own hands, I began to feel a lot better about these vet appointments. Roughly the same exchange occurs, but nowadays our vet has to actually work for it because every January I spend about a week pre-worming Gus. The process is completely awful and haunts me for months afterward, but the concerned and stupified face of our vet makes it completely worth it.

Vet clinic concept. Sad veterinarian holding black pug dog and crying, sobbing with miserable face, standing over white background Stock Photo - Alamy — Shouln’t Have Ripped Me Off

Renew My Silicone Mould

They say that there are two deaths. The first is the familiar passing away, and the second is when the last person with memory of you passes. I don’t intend to even die once if I can hack it, but twice? No shot. Upon my passing I have prepaid for statues in my likeness to be installed in 65 of the worlds great cities including Balcarres SK, Beulah ND, Dildo NL, and Mablethorpe GB. They are going to be made of bronze, cast from a mould made in the shape of my actual body. No artistic liberties please and thank you. To make this so, I need to update my silicone mould yearly. My silicone mould guy parties in Ibiza every year from February to December, so January is really the only time of year we can link up. I meet him on the tarmac with a hot chocolate and cozy socks because he nearly always stumbles off the plane in a thong and mink fur ascot. Once silicone mould guy comes to he wastes no time getting things started. Before I know it I’ve been stripped, waxed and am in the bathtub getting gallons of silicone poured onto me. Typically he hears my pleas for a breathing apparatus and will provide a snorkel or nose straws to use over the next 48 hours as the silicone cures.

How To Use Body Double™ FAST SET to Make a Mold of a Head — Alright, Catch Ya In a Couple Days

At some point in the future I am ripped from the tub by a collections agent demanding payment. I pay happily, having budgeted for this expense long ago. The process is an absolute torment and near unbearable, however, to me a fresh silicone mould is insurance and peace of mind, making it well worth the spend and abject agony. Me and my silicone mould guy really are in a perfect symbiosis – he provides the means for me to be remembered forever, while I provide him the means to forget the year.

Full Body Casting Kit, Bodycasting Kit - ArtMolds — EnvironMolds — But Maybe Next Year I Can Cut Out The Middleman

Meal Prep

Love onions, hate crying. Need I say more?

Smiths Cover) [Elijah] | Giant Onion — Probably

In January when I can keep my kitchen dark and out of sight from prying eyes, I like to send my wife on a gals trip, put Gus in his kennel, take the phones off the hook, shut the blinds and cut my onions. A year supply all in one go. 190 lbs. I sob. I let go. I release. It’s terrible.

How to cut onions without crying — Not Me

About half way through my eyes have lost so much fluid that focussing is essentially impossible. I try to rehydrate via my gator aide icy blast, but the search through sticky and wrinkled eyes is no easy task. Every year I claim it’s the year I hook up to IV fluids before the cutting commences, but a year is a long time for a short memory. It takes roughly until April for our freezer space to open up and host anything but onions. It’s a terrible task that I dread each and every year, but one that pays off huge for someone with so much clout tied up in being a hyper masculine black belt. Can’t afford to be seen teary eyed, this is the only way.

Conclusions

In the age of social media we are constantly kept abreast of all the bad and evil that is going on in the world. There is no escape to the deluge of bad news. Now, on top of all of this my readers will be plagued with the knowledge that January is a really hard month on me.

Top 5 Roadtrips In and Around Balcarres, SK – RANKED!

My first Balcarres roadtrip came at a special time in my life. I’ll never forget being a recent graduate of managerial accounting and celebrating with a drive straight down mainstreet.

Gerald, 1977

Hello fellow globetrotters, welcome back. You’ve likely recently began planning the yearly family trip to central Saskatchewan and are overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fantastic drives right at your fingertips. Lucky you, you’ve found the list authored by the authorities on rural roadways in and around Balcarres. Let us take the burden of decision making out of your hands. Just sit back, buckle up, slide on your favorite fingerless driving gloves, and plop down with a delicious hot cider to prepare for this transformative read.

#5 Township Road 257

What is there to say that hasn’t already been said about Township Road 257. I will let the above photograph do the talking (ps: it’s worth a thousand words). Uttering the number ‘257’ to any local will surely have you wrapped in an enthralling life altering tale with winding twists of fate, in stark contrast to the road itself.

#4 Main Street

Whether you do this one in an afternoon or spread it out over a seven day pilgrimage, Main Street in Balcarres has more than enough to keep the whole family absolutely locked in. My personal relationship with this road dates back one day, and without exaggeration it opened my third eye to the metaphysical universe, our existence within, and my purpose in this 4th dimension. Also, stop in to the local confectionary ‘Midnight Munchies’ for a quick snack if you’re famished. Cannot recommend enough the plain Lay’s chips – ask for the family size bag off their “secret menu”.

#3 Township Road 258

Set exactly 1 mile west of our number 5 spot, this township road is arrow straight with significant washboarding. Hit this road at just the right speed and you’ll feel butterflies.

#2 Range Road 12

Going north/south is about as good as it gets, but if you’ve been yearning to try out different directions this one is for you. Originally it can be a little bit disorienting to be going 90 degrees to your normal direction, but after a few hours your ears will adjust and the vision will stop spinning. Try going west at dusk for a thrilling experience of simulated blindness.

#1 Township Road 256

You always knew this one was coming, didn’t you. Most don’t earn their fingerless gloves until at least two or three trips down Township Road 256. A classic, this road grips you from start to finish. It evokes ancient memories of chariot races and naval warfare. Once the kids stop screaming in terror they will have made a memory to last a life time and will for sure be making return visits with their own little rugrats. Timeless and evocative.

Honourable Mentions:

Township Road 259

This might inspire some controversy but I didn’t become the ‘Road Rating Bad Boy’ by accident. Anyone that has an extra three or four weeks in and around the area should at least attempt a look, if not a drive, down this rugged piece of rustic construction. You just might change your tune and even turn your gaze to the infamous 260 (yes I said it)!

Township Road 260

Just go ahead and hate. This is MY list and I don’t even care.

South Service Road

This road was impossibly hard to understand in a ranking system that can seem so subjective (yet is 100% objective). It has everything, and nothing at the same time. If I could justify having a 1a and 1b this would surely still land somewhere in the honorable mentions. It’s great, and also not. Time to think for yourself on this one.

Conclusion

Balcarres, SK may offer a limited number of roads but they themselves contain unlimited freedom. Blast down any of these trails with your head cranked out the window, yelling whoopee and you’ll be transported to a simpler time before big government ruined literally all facets of life. After careful consideration these 5 roads represent the cream of the cream, but it should be noted that the whole 100 km radius around Balcarres is a straight-line drivers paradise. Enjoy!

Crisis At The Border

“When Canada sends its people, they’re not sending their best” – Border Control Guard, Directly to Megan’s Face

Heading into the final few days before flying back to Canada, Megan’s visa to remain in Germany was still in question. Time evaporated and she had to fly home and hope that things would work themselves out.

A couple weeks later, with Megan comfortably in Canada she received a conclusive message from the department responsible for her residence permit (and therefore the ability to return to us in Germany as planned).

“…you have already been informed several times that you cannot enter with your current fiktion certificate. Since you are not here a new permit cannot be issued. We ask you to arrange for the deregistration”

Not exactly as planned to say the least. So many emails. So many calls. Megan’s prospective employer (and our new friends) had really gone to bat for us. What had gone wrong here and when did things go off the rails?

When a real life train goes off the rails it is very simple to pinpoint where. Regardless, I think everyone understands what I am getting at.

Back in January, Megan received her fiktionsbescheinigung (which is a temporary permit to remain in the country while your full application is being assessed) before me, but it did not come with a meeting date as mine had. Time went on (as it is prone to do) and her return to Canada rapidly approached. As we white knuckled the deadline we reached out to find out what the hold up was and heard “… we are still waiting for documents from you, otherwise a residence permit would have been issued long ago.”

Clearly this was a great annoyance. We didn’t know more was required of us, and mentioning that a permit could have been issued long ago was a special gut punch. What documents remained? The application package was seemingly comprehensive and even guided by the Canadian consulate and Megan’s employers who are German! We never really got an answer for the root issue. Nothing we could send in (and we sent in a lot) seemed to resolve the situation, or make clear what we were lacking.

So, this email asking Megan to deregister after having next to no help from that office prompted some unique thoughts and feelings directed toward the frustrating Frau we were working with. I really hoped this miserable person hated every miserable moment working at their miserable job.

I actually got really angry. Reading and re-reading our email threads made me feel like the person handling our case didn’t really give a shit, and could not be bothered to help. Here is a general rule of thumb: when your internal monologue declares that someone would fit right in with the German society of previous eras you know it is time to take a step back and do a self-evaluation. I needed to cool my collar, and here is roughly a stream of consciousness as I did just that.

Thought 1 – Zoom Out:

Reid, your woes are pathetic. The world has genocides, wars, rampant discrimination and inequality, and is prone to fascist flare-ups. What are we upset about here? A wee financial loss, another month of separation and Megan misses out on travels with my parents? Really nothing to complain about, in fact we should be celebrating daily with immense joy.

Every day before the heat death of the universe is a gift. Rejoice!

Giving context to your situation is good to make sure you don’t get too carried away and overdramatic, but is it really useful? No matter what you can zoom further out and find something worse. It’s always possible to make your problems insignificant in an absolute sense, but not in a relative sense. If I gaslight myself into thinking my problems are not even worthy of being a problem it isn’t going to prevent the feelings they evoke and I’ll just bottle it all up.

Now on the other side of this emotional teeter totter, I believe in some ability to “suck it up” and not to get too bogged down in my victimhood. Problems exist on a spectrum from trivial to existential – where do I set the pivot point between feeling something and not.

Thought 2: This Would Be So Much Easier In Canada

This idea crossed my mind before I could stop it. Obviously I don’t know this with certainty at all. I have never even had to try and pass through the cogs and gears of any immigration system before. Of course you hate the experience, who wouldn’t? It’s probably a fallacy to assume that the German one is worse or better than any other – it’s a single data point. I thought that things would be easier in Canada because I have never really faced any difficulties there. There is a tonne of privilege wrapped up into that train of thought! I live a life where I can believe the Canadian systems work for me – not everyone can claim the same thing.

Cue Another one of Meg’s Torticollis Episodes

And to be fair their system sucks and people saying “Welcome to Germany”, everytime you complain is not heartfelt and fails to imagine a better world and we demand reform now

Thought 3: What If We Are the Problem?

The reality is that we definitely made mistakes along the way of this process. Pretty much impossible not to, even with the help of our German friends. Maybe this is being an adult; you do something wrong, you don’t get the result you want. At the bottom of this well of self reflection is the truth nugget to why this stings so bad – because I expected it not to. I felt completely entitled to showing up in Europe, skirting around the rules to live in a van, and expect everything to go as smooth as can be. I expect to be able to do things my way, and never encounter any friction.

It always seems like others have a better understanding of systems than us. “Didn’t you know X? Have you checked Y?” All I know is that we tried our best in this situation, and came out with some error, and more than likely a percentage of the blame is on us no matter how much we want to blame the instruments of bureaucracy. In my travels there is one other story I don’t like to tell too much. I’ll link it here. It isn’t that it is a bad story, its because it is one where I feel like an idiot, and feel that blame implicitly lands on me when questioned. I lost a bunch of money in South America, and the typical questions also come out – “Didn’t you try X? Didn’t you have Y?” Similar to this situation, I feel like the problem was out of my control, but if you dig deep, there is a kernel of uncomfortable self-blame. I was drunk after all – maybe it was my fault. Or here, I was entitled after all – maybe it was my fault.

Zen Buddha Monk

So in a nutshell – I minimized my problems before deciding that it did not honor my problems very well. I moved on to deciding it was a Germany problem and that these issues are unique to this failed state before deciding I did not know that at all and came face-to-face with the privilege I carry always. Looking inward forced the acknowledgement that there is a point of blame to fall on our shoulders. Over all I think there is a combination to be had – could we have been better navigators of the system? Sure! Could they have been more helpful and not so dismissive? Definitely! Are we lucky to have helpful friends? So much so! Do We feel the need to learn some of Canada’s systems and give back? Absolutely! Do I now believe in complete Anarchy and the abolishing of world governments to enable the free movement of all humans? Yes!

Vote for Me as Leader of the Anarchy Party

At the end of the day, this problem was frustrating but minor. Megan “technically” cannot enter the country, but this has not stopped anyone (including my own German visa agent) from suggesting that she just take a swing at it, because who is going to care? So, in a decision that probably seems like we learned negative lessons from this ordeal, we are leaning towards Megan flying back, seeing what happens at the border, and then cease pursuing the residence permit further. A bit of a don’t-ask don’t-tell style solution. I think there is a great chance things go fine at the border, but the fact they technically could not means we will be sweating until it is over.

I wish I could say that I have confidence in Megan to pull it off, but I have been with her at normal border crossings before and seen otherwise. Once, when driving to Alaska the border guard asked her what her purpose was and she descended into an existential silence, presumably taking a fine accounting of her life thus far and her finite time left to build a legacy. I leaned over and said “travel” and the border guard let us through. God speed little Megan.

EDIT:
She made it! We are reunited and it feels great. This probably cheapens the above even further, but I am fine with being labelled as a whiner in the minds of my two readers. Me and Gus met Megan at the train station and after months of barely scraping by on pizza and noodles I felt energized simply by a hug and the absorption of her “second-hand salad” aura. Additionally, we now have the benefit of feeling like our love is forbidden which is a major boost to our relationship head canon.

Mad Money

The main reason Megan travelled home was to fulfill her lifelong dream of providing a comfortable lifestyle for a much younger, very handsome man. She took her nursing skills home to secure the bag of wild riches that me as a student simply could not access.

Turned out there really was a hot sugar momma in my area DYING to meet me – thanks phone!

Megan’s selflessness immediately prompted a lot of reflection in Gus. For the first time ever he came face to face with his position in the family. Had he been selfish to make ball his entire life’s work? Was fetch his entire legacy? No it simply could not be, he was capable of vastly more and wanted to prove it.

About a week into Megan’s absence I came home to find Gus sitting at the table furiously scribbling at a piece of paper. He informed my that he had just completed his application for a business license and intended to also help the family financially. After conducting zero market research he was convinced that there would be a demand for next-day answers to “The Sudoku Puzzles”. I asked which sudoku puzzles – newspaper, book or what? He simply looked at me with an expression that said he had no time for me and my limited understanding of economics (both macro and micro).

Day old Sudoku answers is an incredibly competitive space

Gus was an immediately changed dog. Owning a small business was incredibly stressful on Gus, and despite having literally no expenses he constantly worried about overhead. He became moody and jaded. Gus had set his prices so low to attract a huge amount of users, claiming that he was the Uber of sudoku, a disruptor dog. However, he only had one client (someone from Canada that went by the mysterious moniker of “Reid’sDad420”) causing Gus to loose money daily because the postage to send the sudoku answers to Canada far exceeded his price point. Trying to contribute, I suggested a pivot to digital distribution, but Gus said he would rather die than to sacrifice on his quality – part of his differentiation is the excitement of mail, the smell of the paper and the crackle of opening the envelope. Two days after the business license had been filed the business was on the verge of collapse. Gus remained firm in the conviction that his business plan had been bulletproof, and that the real killer had been the damn carbon tax.

Costs me twice as much to even fart, how am I supposed to compete with China?

As his father, I am proud for Gus for trying to help, but ultimately wished he had not. He now lives in constant fear of overhead, and is a staunch conservative. Me and him are going to leave money making to the pro from now on.

Conclusion

There is a twofold reality of these stresses and issues we face. Firstly, they are real, they are upsetting, and they are very fatiguing. Secondly, they are a direct byproduct of us taking advantage of an amazing opportunity and living the way we want to. We are so lucky to have this time in our lives, and while we may have been less stressed day to day by sticking at home, we wouldn’t feel as fulfilled. Perhaps the best learning is to do your best, but chill out and relax. Don’t make perceived issues into real issues prematurely. Easier said than done – I tend to worry.

We have been calling Megan’s return “Germany Chapter 2”. Chapter 1 was full of rain, UTI’s, learning curves, discomfort, and home sickness (but a fair amount of greatness as well). Chapter 2 is yet to be written, but it is really putting its best foot forward. The sun is shining, work is exciting, our community grows and we have a steady stream of visitors. Having Megan back is an enormous help; being the single father of a dog with a struggling business was fun but very time consuming. In addition to everything else she does, Megan is a huge pressure release valve, and now with the changed perspective of Chapter 2 finds a lot of enjoyment in the tasks of constant camping.

One of Megans Newest Alter-Egos: Fix-It Frau, Complete with Hospital Tourniquet and Skin Glue

Megan is already known around our campground as “The Woman of Leisure”, and gets greeted as such daily. As I leave for work I hear the accented workers say “Ahh, well here comes the Woman of Leisure, finally waking up”, as she wanders for her morning cappuccino. To me this is a great omen of what is ahead.

From Fighting the Culture to Embracing It

I can already offer spoilers that the next entry will have less of me whining and complaining. How do I know? Because all I wrote about today happened about a month ago – I am not exactly current. In that month we had holidays with the parents, Megan becomes the prophesied “Woman of Leisure”, and Gus grapples with his desire to enter the political arena. But I’ll get into all that next time.

Weihnachten & Whatnot

It’s no Texas Megachurch But It’ll Have To Do

Christmas is more expensive than ever thanks to Joe Biden and the Democrats.
– GOP Twitter

Intro

Several years ago now (time flies) a young virgin became with child. This didn’t cause an immediate stir, as communication technology was not so refined as today. Eventually, word got around and most people believed her because fake news and deepfakes were not as common back then. This babe went on to touch the hearts of many, and his birth is celebrated the world over. This seems to be especially true in Europe, where people really went hog-wild. Some say they are still going hog-wild to this day (‘some’ being me).

circa 1258: Tourism poster for Europe. Colorized.

Museum for Details

For hundreds of years, European artists and artisans and artisanal tradesfolk could render no other form of art apart from this baby and his mom and generally the whole circumstances of his birth. To see the centuries of Jesus art, we went to the Augustiner Museum. I was pleased to see that the true auteurs still managed to work in their own subtle details to make the scenes their own. This one imagines the sacred circumcision to have been aided and abetted by an out-of-work saxophonist.

This detail was not in MY bible, but going forward this blues brother is going to be gracing my nativity sets always.

Another detail that really came alive for me involves the announcement of the babe by the Angels to the Shepherds. I had always imagined this as an incredibly impactful moment; the heavens torn asunder, and beings so radiant you cannot look at them bellowing the coming of the child. This mental image could not be further from the truth. It just so happens that the birth announcement was conveyed by a toddler breathlessly asking the shepherds to “just come look”.

Safe to say we learned a lot.

Somewhere along the line, people got less interested in the birth of this child, and much more fixated on the brutally violent death he suffered. And boy, did the artists go to work. This art is rendered in such detail that I think most of the artists were trying to work through something. Cheaper than therapy amiright.

This is an intervention, you need to talk to someone

Fraunhofer ISE Christmas

Christmas and New Year are times of reflection and introspection. People around the globe are asking themselves have I been naughty or nice? The same goes for companies therefore before the ISE Christmas party, we had corporate introspection in the form of an AGM. I’m a new employee, so I was absolutely frothing at the mouth to impress the party goer’s.

Honestly, I like it here at the party, but part of me wishes I was still at the office

I don’t have technical skills, or people skills, so it was difficult to find a way to make a splash. I surveyed the doors to the building and found that other eager beavers were already at these posts ready to open the door for others. Eventually, I spied the perfect thing – a photobooth with props. What an excellent opportunity to show some team-building skills! My attention turned to finding the office person I knew the least, and I demanded they take some fun pictures with me.

Something like this, a real display of commerarderie

The pics were flawless. I wore a beard, and he wore funny glasses. In short, we were killing it. The hall was abuzz with the news of our magnificent coworking friendship. “This new kid, Reid, real potential” I heard some say. Others went further proclaiming “amazing team building skills”. As our photo session wound to an end, I went up to the camera to do a full face closeup. I wanted the person who downloaded the picture to be pleasantly surprised by this closeup photo and perhaps think that I was quite the scamp, that had a fun-loving side capable of safe-for-work pranks to compliment my amazing team leadership skills.

I’m Capable of Seriousness AND Fun, a Real Triple Threat!

Satisfied that I had placed myself on a tenure track I returned to the small side room where the ISE choir was preparing to bring down the house. As we buzzed our little lips, and did our little dances, the main hall entered a lull in the program. The camera that had captured my bearded likeness was the very same as the one that had been capturing the evening events. Events such as the ISE year-in-review speeches, the freshly minted Ph. D.s receiving their congrats, and various awards being given out. These images were set to loop from the projector to serve as a screensaver while the choir got ready (cannot rush art). Some 350 partygoers got to go on a trip down memory lane that concluded with my beard pictures, and this one:

Thankfully, the pictures looped several times before the choir finally took the stage, so everyone got a good look. All those try-hards that went for the door-opening route really missed a huge opportunity for exposure. Better luck next time.

As for the choir performance, it went unbelievably well. The warmups paired with the liter of olive oil I had been nursing all night had prepped my vocal chords to be limber and primed. Not only was there no problem with hitting the notes but there was also no issue with nailing all the German words.

Markets and Friendship

Our first visitors from Canada made it after only a slight flight delay of 36 hours. It is great to have a taste of home and to remember to be tourists here as well. Their interest in Freiburg and the surroundings rekindled ours. We took in plenty of Glühwein, markets, and surrounding towns.

I actually didn’t go to Colmar or Gegenbach because I was still hustling and earning bread. One of our pals who goes by the moniker Chef Supreme (to protect his identity) had to go home after just a few short days. This was easily the hardest moment of my life. Watching him drift away on the train felt as though a wheelbarrow had plowed over my heart.

As Chef Supreme rocketed away from us we screamed and yelled so many swears that we needed to go to church. Fortunately for us, there was one just across the street.

Photography was not allowed, so I had to remain in church

Real Talk: “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” is one of the greatest songs of all time

Conclusion

We have some phenomenal friends, both here in Germany and from back home. With no prompting a co-worker named Glutes McAllister offered us his flat for the holidays. This gesture of kindness made for such a great time – more space than the RV, full kitchen, posh and prim livin’. Unfortunately for Glutes, we plan on applying squatters’ rights and not returning the keys. Certainly, this will make for slightly more awkward work interactions, but I’ll still bring mail and things for him.

We feel very lucky to have had friends come and remind us that this adventure is a great one, and to make us feel like yes we are making progress at integration and settling down. It was fantastic once again to see Freiburg through fresh eyes. We missed our main people back home over the holidays, but some technology softened it (certainly no replacement).

We are thankful for friends:

Chef Supreme and Skip Milkson Will Keep us Company

We are thankful for German vending machines that distribute cakes:

Thankful for kickers that absolutely ball out:

And thankful for sweet little 8lb 5oz baby Jesus:

Frohe Weihnachten from our Squad!

A Kafkaesque Hellscape: Part One

“Welcome to Germany”
– Typical response on the topic of bureaucracy.

Introduction

When me and Megan discussed the impending move to Europe we had all kinds of visions dancing through our minds. Most of my visions involved us clad in flowing silk scarves, picking up bread from our local bakery, discussing the arts over a gelato and generally smiling all the time. “What a grand adventure this was going to be!” I thought to myself. Most of Megan’s visions were of me, strong and aloof, taking a wilderness shower under a flowing waterfall. It is very hard to get her to focus on things and she ends up daydreaming about this specific image a lot.

Megan’s Vision. If there is a concept of “Screen Burn-in” for brains, this is Megan’s

What we did not envision was the soul crushing onslaught of adult tasks we were taking on. The thing is, we can’t even in honesty say we were blindsided by this. We did some research, and most blogs and journals say something like “hell no don’t move to Germany and try to live in a van, it won’t work for you”. But these kinds of people said the same type of negative things to the first people flying to the moon, and look what happened there. “Things will certainly be different for gorgeous and capable people like us” I thought. Megan thought things too albeit it was still about my body being cascaded upon by a fresh glacier fed stream.

Preparations

Me and Megan are good at procrastinating, so this time around we wanted to really do things different. Months in advance we bought a white board and started to throw up everything we needed to do in advance of our move.

I Kept Adding “Finish the Last of Us II” but its Mysteriously Absent

The primary issue with this technique was that we saw day in and day out all the things we had neglected to do and it only served to increase the stress levels. Eventually though push comes to shove and I needed my visa yesterday. Despite the visa paper work being arduous and intense, it actually wasn’t that fun to do! With my package complete I searched the internet for what to do with my application package. Turns out the only place that processes these is Toronto. That couldn’t possible be (it could). It says you need to book an appointment and show up in person, that can’t be either (it could be as well).

As someone who nearly always knows better (picture a Gandalf or Dumbledore archetype), I sent off my application via mail to Toronto. Sure, it felt a little weird to put my passport and degrees in the mail, but I have unwavering confidence in my fellow humans and in the rule of law.

It wasn’t two days before I was informed that they could not process my application and that my stuff was being returned. I had tried to do it my way, and failed; somewhere Jon Bon Jovi rolled in his grave. The bureau had no available appointments, but offered me and emergency one in 4 days. Thank goodness Canada is not some huge country like Russia, otherwise this would have been a real pain in the ass.

I snagged that appointment as hungrily as the very hungry caterpillar prior to its enormous binge. The only issue, all my stuff is in the mail. I’ll cut the chase and say that my stuff arrived at my door about an hour before I needed to get to my flight. Normally, I’d say something involving how tight my butthole got through all of this but I have really matured.

Cross the Pond

People these days think they are real hot shit if they travel with “only a carry on”. Oh you travel with a checked bag? You’re not really traveling if you bring your whole home with you. People who travel carry-on only tend to think of themselves as the elite of the elite. They are the god kings of travel. The airport is their domain and you are just a hapless scrub that thought you needed to bring your own microwave with you. To make matters worse, there are loads of how-to’s devoted to traveling with only a carry on. How is this a how-to industry? Just pack a pair of underwear, a baggy sweater, your laptop and toothbrush and you’re done. People should be telling you what to do if you want to travel with a metric tonne of assorted paraphernalia. Because I’ve done that, and it is way harder.

Grab your three favorite bikes (you are going to want at least 1.5 bikes/person) and pack them. For this step, you are going to make sure that you are still fairly fresh with your mother in law so that her rage towards you and your bikes boils only within and does not steam out to scald you or your ego.

Next, get your dog and put it in a crate it does not want to be in. Drug the dog and make sure it has its passport that is for some reason 5x as long as yours (4 of these pages are devoted to ensuring your dog does not have worms) that you got from the Canada Food Inspection Agency. Contemplate your dog as being food, and shake that idea from your head quickly.

Do not forget your guitar. You are going to want it with you in your van, so that you always know that playing it is a possibility. Worry about its safety often for best results.

Bring your bags for hiking and camping, climbing and snorkeling (I’m questioning this one), bike repairs, photography, art supplies and journalling. Drag all of this through elevators, escalators and those things that just drag you along horizontally? If you are a carry-on only person you probably know the technical name for these devices.

Your success in getting your stuff to your destination is going to be directly proportional to the number of crystals you have in your home and inversely proportional to your negative energy. So keep a smile slapped on and tape some amethyst to your thighs.

The Smile is Easy to See, But Trust me, The Amethyst is There.

I followed those instructions to a T, and all of our stuff miraculously arrived. We had to pull off a total clown car situation fitting everything into a couple cars, but with a little elbow grease and can-do attitude everything fit! We have made it to Germany.

Now What

Me and Megan are exacting and calculated. We knew from the outset that we needed time in Germany before I begin work to get all of our affairs in order. All we needed to do was slip into this incredibly bureaucratic system while doing things kiiiiiinnnndddda under the table. Buy a van in the Netherlands, pass the TÜV inspection, get a bank account, register an address, get Megan an extended visa, find Gus a vet, set myself up with a tax ID and various insurances. We gave ourselves a week to get everything done. Was it enough? Find out in Part 2 – coming whenever I can.

I Dream of The Day Someone at the TÜV Does This With Me

Conclusions

Life has been a bit chaotic and at many times extremely frustrating. Looking back though, it’s often easy to see the hilarity in the absurd. All the issues we have had are essentially issues that we signed up for, and can eventually be categorized as “adventure”. I think we are lucky to be doing it. We get fatigued spending time at the TÜV, the Rathaus and the ausländerbehörde, but we also get a lot of time living close to nature and enjoying the Black Forest (Schwarzwald).

Also, me and Megan get the opportunity here to really litmus test our relationship, and so far I must say I have far less notes than I anticipated (no notes). Fantastic teammate, and we are getting better and better every day.

The probability of part two coming before Christmas is approaching zero, so I will sign off with a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Triumphant Return

“Strap in, we have a lot of ground to cover”
– Einstein

Introduction

Welcome back Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Your son, Crack McDusty (name changed for privacy) tells me that you have been eagerly awaiting your next big hit of this blog. I simply cannot comprehend that this is true, but Crack insists that you have practically been inconsolable the last few years. I was merely doing what all great auteurs do – vanish at the very peak of their fame. It makes the art just way more sexy that way. If wanting to return to my simple life of anonymity is a crime then call me the Hamburgler (reference – famous criminal). But wipe that frown off both your faces, because I’m back.

Just a Little Off The Top

If you rewind the clock to mid November 2019, me and Andy were wandering the streets of Buenos Aires, sweating enough to single handedly keep the Gatorade Industry afloat, playing what are the odds. Andy asked me the question “what are the odds you grow your hair out, and I cut it into a mullet?” and managed to nail me on that one. So, I travelled, with and without Andy, returned home, started work (for Andy) all without cutting my hair. Every weekend I would silently wonder to myself “Is this the day Andy gives me the snips?” I began to feel that he had forgotten about the whole bet like some sort of lobotomized rat riddled with dementia. Things were going along swimmingly, until one day at a friends cabin he reached over and squeezed my shoulder. I looked at him. He looked at me. In slow motion his mouth opened and out came the words “tonight is the night”. My butthole clenched, my heart fluttered and my adams apple stood at attention, quivering. My feelings were wrong. Andy had proven himself a studly elephant, with a Ph.D in the field of remembering things. It was not long before he was ridding me of all that pesky hair.

Honestly he didn’t do too bad. If the landscaping thing doesn’t pan out I can really see him being a rising star in the cutthroat world of manscaping.

It Was Around This Time I Started to Be Called Dr. Smart

In some circles my fresh new style actually received rave reviews. But I began to fear that it was maybe a bit too much. The attention was really coming from directions that I didn’t desire it from.

I Met A Lady

Why do I tell all this about hair, and show the grisly details you ask? It’s because it is under these exact hair circumstances that I met Megan. You see, Andy’s mom decided that she would steer the ship of my love life, and that I would be relegated to swabbing the poop deck.

This fact is neither SAD nor PATHETIC of me. I could have done it for myself but I was just really busy. Turns out my personal cupid did a good job, and Megan was wildly attracted to the haircut Andy had provided me. The universe works in mysterious ways.

So that pretty much sums that up. I think it should be super clear now why all the backstory about haircuts was necessary. More on the family at a later time.

Germany

During Covid, everyone wanted to hire me for a job, but ended up forgetting to send me formal offers. As a forgetful person myself I found this really relatable and honestly pretty humanizing for these large companies. I strongly admired how much hustle all the workers were working with such that they would have no time for me.

This guy could have been my boss, but now I have to save up just to purchase his SwagBoss MasterClass

After suffering a single rejection I decided that I would just do more school. I found this:

It was exactly what fit for me. I could study abroad while I work (assuming that I would get some), and do research and thesis writing at the labs when the time came. I also got the added benefit of being asked by everyone I know if “I was still going to Germany” every time I saw them over the last three years.

But, amazingly, 3 years passed in a whirl, and me, Megan and Gus have made the voyage to Germany.

Here I’ll be working in the Organic and Perovskite Photovoltaics group, doing research into the stability of Organic Solar Cells.

As me and Megan began looking at flats to move into we noticed one thing – rent here was hella expensive, and not overly dog friendly. So we made the extremely rational, huge brained decision to purchase a RV and move into that instead.

Gus finds everything about this situation to be pretty horrifying. The new ‘house’ incorporates a ladder which is a big no-go for him. Pair this with the fact that the great outdoors are now full of trains and bikes and you have a consistently scared Gus. But he is adapting, we are adapting and the crew is on an upward trajectory.

Conclusion

Well, there you have it Bell’s. Where is Reid is back. The consistency of posts is likely to be low at best, and it might not even be chronological. Maybe we will even look back in time and do some writing about our summer in the Yukon. Sometime maybe it will just be about solar physics. All I can say is that the next post will be about our journey to Germany, and the struggles of getting settled. If you really hate the format, take it up with your son Crack.