Since we’ve moved up here, there’s been:
--Celtics Championship
--Red Sox Championship
--Patriots best football season ever (then superbowl flop)
--Revolution in the finals
--Boston College football doing something important
--Hacky-sack guy on the street corner flipping a miraculous spin kick
Maybe we’re good luck. Hacky-sack guy says so.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
No Bus
Today I had to pick Sean up from daycare because he was sick. We walked down the street to the bus stop (Sean was saying 'hi daddy' in a sad sickly voice the whole way). When the bus came, Sean said "Bus!". I asked him, in my best baby talk voice, "Do you want to get on the bus?". Then an Indian guy standing to my side replies, "No, I'm just waiting for someone". That was funny.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Pics
New blog header - with faces!* I'll probably insert some more pictures at some point; feel free to email me any must-haves. Maybe I'll catch some good ones over labor day.
*pending the Bubb seal of approval.
*pending the Bubb seal of approval.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Another Self-Indulgent Rob-Writing
The following is an article I wrote for an online music magazine called Kemiks. If anyone likes to write about music, it's a good place to put your stuff. I'm friends with the guy that runs it and he's desperate for more articles. Also, if you write a few for him, he's good at getting free concert or festival tickets, often press passes that could allow you some front row action. This is a review of the newest album from my favorite rapper, that I incorporated some psychology knowledge into.
Album Review
R.E.B.I.R.T.H. by OneBeLo
By Rob Smith
R.E.B.I.R.T.H. stands for Real Emcees Bring Intelligent Rhymes To Hip hop. There is no doubt that OneBeLo, also known as OneManArmy from the group Binary Star, is bringing intelligent rhymes to hip hop with this and every other album he’s created. He’s the best in the world at it. However, I feel that he didn’t bring as many of these intelligent rhymes that he’s known for to this long-awaited second album. I might also argue that he brought a little extra baggage to the project. So I have a few complaints to go with my high praise for Lo’s music. In this review, I’ll also be bringing some extra baggage as I follow up each statement I make with the psychological basis for it. I think it will add something positive to the review.
Actually, this is more likely an example if intellectual masturbation coupled with my desperation to apply the thousands of hours I have spent reading psychology research to something outside of the classroom. Everyone wants to believe they have something unique to say and that they are living for a coherent reason. These needs increase during mortality salience.
It’s a solid album, but it’s unfortunately short with only 12 tracks. In the song Hip Hop Heaven, one of the best on the album, Lo talks about a day spent entirely devoted to making music. He uses lines like “I guess it’s just another day in the life of OneBeLo, 5 hours of work, an album worth of material.” We lovers of his music wish this were our reality, but this album is only the second “official” release of his nearly 10-year solo career. Yet he does seem capable of this kind of prolific production. Multiple albums have been created entirely of his tracks that weren’t intended for release, and each of these collections (F.E.T.U.S., S.T.I.L.L.B.O.R.N, and the Virus Mixtape) contain tracks of incredible quality. Brilliant rhymes show up on his Myspace page like he wrote them while he was taking a shit and thought them of similar quality. I’m wishing those songs were thrown on the end of an album, and I’m writing this in the hope that maybe I can increase the chances of that happening.
Actually, A major reason I wrote this was to establish myself as an authority by citing his lesser known works. Any advertiser will tell you that its worthwhile to establish a spokesperson as an expert before he makes his statement, and any psychologist or blog reader will tell you that anybody who is an expert of anything will actively seek out avenues to express his expertise.
So after years of waiting, listening to his previous albums in awe, even the unreleased ones, I was in a frenzy of anticipation. I thought it somehow would be even better than the incredible S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. album. I imagined more time spent in a studio, a better studio, without any detrimental influence from A&Rs or average rappers from his Subterraneous record label. Yet when the album release tour came through and I finally heard the songs live and got my ears on the album, I felt disappointed. Almost cheated. I gave it a few listens, and then took it off the regular rotation and dreaded writing this article.
Here we see the incredible power that expectations hold over satisfaction. A great experience is not enjoyed if engrained expectations are even greater. The expected enjoyment becomes the references point, and anything short of that feels like a loss.
A major source of these expectations were the incredible quality of his other albums. S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. and Binary Star: Masters of the Universe are two of the best five hip hop albums ever recorded (along with Black on Both Sides, Blazing Arrow, and … Midnight Marauders?). If you’re into undergroup hip hop and you haven’t savored these albums, you need to fix that with a quickness.
This paragraph is a result of an effect known as cognitive dissonance. I love Lo and Lo’s music. I want Lo to succeed; to receive some adequate fragment of the respect and resources that he deserves as a brilliant artist. However, I find myself writing a neutral or negative review of his latest offering. This gives me a mental discomfort known as cognitive dissonance, which I attempt to alleviate by a) affirming my self-concept and b) emphasizing my great respect for his other albums and him as an artist.
One final complaint of the album is the over-use of movie sound-bites. There are over twenty (20) of them, many are long, annoying, and at the front of songs where they are not easily skipped. Most of Lo’s listeners are in the habit of really listening to every word on an album, and by now we’re all probably pretty sick of Rocky III sound-bites that we unfortunately know by heart.
Actually, this complaint is more an example of me exercising the universal need for self-expression. The sound-bites do not ruin the album. They do however provide me with an opportunity to express a self-signaling pet-peeve.
This album might just be another unfortunate case of an artist pushing the boundaries of his art form at the cost of alienating some of his fans.
Actually, that previous sentence is an unfortunate case of stereotyping. Other long-time members of my “brilliant rhymers” mental category such as Andre Benjamin and Mos Def seem to have left me with a thinking shortcut that has all lyrical geniuses releasing some strange shit once they hit their 30s. This album is not an example of Lo exploring an experimental side of the art of rhyming, it’s much more likely an example of creativity and passion fading with age. There’s another stereotype for ya.
Even given these powerful psychological effects, not all fans found this album to be disappointing. A friend of mine who also considers Lo the best rapper in the world and therefore had similarly impossible expectations recently told me that “R.E.B.I.R.T.H. is what hip-hop was meant to be since Erik. B.” I must agree.
Actually that last line is testimony to the power of subconscious social influence. I feel like I agree with the statement because I know the person so well and have so many opinions in common with him that my first reaction is to agree. However, upon rare further review, I now must admit that I’m not quite sure what his quote means. It is true that this is good hip-hop, which should certainly be what hip-hop was meant to be. But why are we beginning with Erik B., a DJ and producer, when this album is marked by its lyrics?
The last statement I’d like to make is that this is an album that requires many listenings. Many of Lo’s lines require a little thought before they can be understood, and many of his songs seem to get better with every listen. As I listen to the album right now, probably my 20th listen, I am absolutely loving it. Every song has great rhymes and energy and the last two songs on the album (Gray and Hip Hop Heaven) are two of the best I’ve ever heard. Get this album.
Here we see the power of emotional context. Researchers have found that a person who has had positive emotional boost, even when its as small as finding a quarter, will rate everything more positively, even if its unrelated and as large as their life satisfaction. They’ve also found that there’s not much better for subjective well-being than creative expression.
Ratings
Beats: 4
Rhymes: 4 1/2
Life: 4
R.E.B.I.R.T.H. by OneBeLo
By Rob Smith
R.E.B.I.R.T.H. stands for Real Emcees Bring Intelligent Rhymes To Hip hop. There is no doubt that OneBeLo, also known as OneManArmy from the group Binary Star, is bringing intelligent rhymes to hip hop with this and every other album he’s created. He’s the best in the world at it. However, I feel that he didn’t bring as many of these intelligent rhymes that he’s known for to this long-awaited second album. I might also argue that he brought a little extra baggage to the project. So I have a few complaints to go with my high praise for Lo’s music. In this review, I’ll also be bringing some extra baggage as I follow up each statement I make with the psychological basis for it. I think it will add something positive to the review.
Actually, this is more likely an example if intellectual masturbation coupled with my desperation to apply the thousands of hours I have spent reading psychology research to something outside of the classroom. Everyone wants to believe they have something unique to say and that they are living for a coherent reason. These needs increase during mortality salience.
It’s a solid album, but it’s unfortunately short with only 12 tracks. In the song Hip Hop Heaven, one of the best on the album, Lo talks about a day spent entirely devoted to making music. He uses lines like “I guess it’s just another day in the life of OneBeLo, 5 hours of work, an album worth of material.” We lovers of his music wish this were our reality, but this album is only the second “official” release of his nearly 10-year solo career. Yet he does seem capable of this kind of prolific production. Multiple albums have been created entirely of his tracks that weren’t intended for release, and each of these collections (F.E.T.U.S., S.T.I.L.L.B.O.R.N, and the Virus Mixtape) contain tracks of incredible quality. Brilliant rhymes show up on his Myspace page like he wrote them while he was taking a shit and thought them of similar quality. I’m wishing those songs were thrown on the end of an album, and I’m writing this in the hope that maybe I can increase the chances of that happening.
Actually, A major reason I wrote this was to establish myself as an authority by citing his lesser known works. Any advertiser will tell you that its worthwhile to establish a spokesperson as an expert before he makes his statement, and any psychologist or blog reader will tell you that anybody who is an expert of anything will actively seek out avenues to express his expertise.
So after years of waiting, listening to his previous albums in awe, even the unreleased ones, I was in a frenzy of anticipation. I thought it somehow would be even better than the incredible S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. album. I imagined more time spent in a studio, a better studio, without any detrimental influence from A&Rs or average rappers from his Subterraneous record label. Yet when the album release tour came through and I finally heard the songs live and got my ears on the album, I felt disappointed. Almost cheated. I gave it a few listens, and then took it off the regular rotation and dreaded writing this article.
Here we see the incredible power that expectations hold over satisfaction. A great experience is not enjoyed if engrained expectations are even greater. The expected enjoyment becomes the references point, and anything short of that feels like a loss.
A major source of these expectations were the incredible quality of his other albums. S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. and Binary Star: Masters of the Universe are two of the best five hip hop albums ever recorded (along with Black on Both Sides, Blazing Arrow, and … Midnight Marauders?). If you’re into undergroup hip hop and you haven’t savored these albums, you need to fix that with a quickness.
This paragraph is a result of an effect known as cognitive dissonance. I love Lo and Lo’s music. I want Lo to succeed; to receive some adequate fragment of the respect and resources that he deserves as a brilliant artist. However, I find myself writing a neutral or negative review of his latest offering. This gives me a mental discomfort known as cognitive dissonance, which I attempt to alleviate by a) affirming my self-concept and b) emphasizing my great respect for his other albums and him as an artist.
One final complaint of the album is the over-use of movie sound-bites. There are over twenty (20) of them, many are long, annoying, and at the front of songs where they are not easily skipped. Most of Lo’s listeners are in the habit of really listening to every word on an album, and by now we’re all probably pretty sick of Rocky III sound-bites that we unfortunately know by heart.
Actually, this complaint is more an example of me exercising the universal need for self-expression. The sound-bites do not ruin the album. They do however provide me with an opportunity to express a self-signaling pet-peeve.
This album might just be another unfortunate case of an artist pushing the boundaries of his art form at the cost of alienating some of his fans.
Actually, that previous sentence is an unfortunate case of stereotyping. Other long-time members of my “brilliant rhymers” mental category such as Andre Benjamin and Mos Def seem to have left me with a thinking shortcut that has all lyrical geniuses releasing some strange shit once they hit their 30s. This album is not an example of Lo exploring an experimental side of the art of rhyming, it’s much more likely an example of creativity and passion fading with age. There’s another stereotype for ya.
Even given these powerful psychological effects, not all fans found this album to be disappointing. A friend of mine who also considers Lo the best rapper in the world and therefore had similarly impossible expectations recently told me that “R.E.B.I.R.T.H. is what hip-hop was meant to be since Erik. B.” I must agree.
Actually that last line is testimony to the power of subconscious social influence. I feel like I agree with the statement because I know the person so well and have so many opinions in common with him that my first reaction is to agree. However, upon rare further review, I now must admit that I’m not quite sure what his quote means. It is true that this is good hip-hop, which should certainly be what hip-hop was meant to be. But why are we beginning with Erik B., a DJ and producer, when this album is marked by its lyrics?
The last statement I’d like to make is that this is an album that requires many listenings. Many of Lo’s lines require a little thought before they can be understood, and many of his songs seem to get better with every listen. As I listen to the album right now, probably my 20th listen, I am absolutely loving it. Every song has great rhymes and energy and the last two songs on the album (Gray and Hip Hop Heaven) are two of the best I’ve ever heard. Get this album.
Here we see the power of emotional context. Researchers have found that a person who has had positive emotional boost, even when its as small as finding a quarter, will rate everything more positively, even if its unrelated and as large as their life satisfaction. They’ve also found that there’s not much better for subjective well-being than creative expression.
Ratings
Beats: 4
Rhymes: 4 1/2
Life: 4
Labor intensive
Looks like we'll be in Snowmass for the labor day jazz fest. What are people [Matt, Jeremy, Adam] thinking in terms of the festival schedule? Widespread Panic I'm guessing? I don't like them at all--the rebel Cournoyer that I am--but would go for the hanging out if that's other's plan. And I know Jeremy loves Xavier Rudd. Bob Dylan is a bit of a dud in concerts, and Dee and I have seen him. Fogerty would be at my top, but then I'd have to see Yoakam. I don't know what Kerry/Ryan would do. It's a puzzle.
In other news, a bear broke into my parent's place last night. Trounced Jeremy's window/room then ate some cookies and steak. Jeremy wasn't there fortunately, though it would have been quite the experience to wake up with a bear climbing over your bed and/or mauling your face.
In other news, a bear broke into my parent's place last night. Trounced Jeremy's window/room then ate some cookies and steak. Jeremy wasn't there fortunately, though it would have been quite the experience to wake up with a bear climbing over your bed and/or mauling your face.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Call for Adventure
Hello All. I know we're not far off of the excellent backpacking adventure, but I thought I'd post the following with the hope that it might inspire further adventure. I don't know if you'll find it as motivating for randomness as i just found it. Either way, here's me saying we should plan some adventure, and here's my Peru recap i wrote upon return, exactly one year since:
the first night in peru was spent hanging out all night in the hotel in lima, drinking duty free scoth and enjoying the company of my travel mates, my cousin jake and his best friend. we talked to some fellow gringo travelers and shared advice, and got gradually more manic as the night went on. we arrived in cuzco at 7am the next morning, completely disoriented, and enentually found a hostel. a private room with three beds was under $20 and as we sat down to talk about the details we were served coca tea. as in cocaine tea. it would not be my last taste of the leaf.
we spent that day and the next planning our machu picchu journey, sipping the local beer, and getting toursit crap shoved in our face. food and souvenirs are cheap and the people are quite friendly, but the combination can be overwhelming.
muchu picchu journey, day 1: a very confused start. the guide said he'd show up at 7:30 and drive us to the bus station for the 8am 3 hour bus to the start. showed up at 7:50, on a bike. the bus was oversold, so peruvians sat in my lap. after we}ve been climbing a seemingly endless muddy mountain road with attempted construciton and closures for 6 hours through the rain, the guide decides its time to get out and get on bikes. the peruvians happily take our seats and stare dumbfounded as we put on some strange helmets, sit on the bikes, and start riding down to the jungle, instantly covered in mud. expectations were quite low at this point. it was about 40 miles downhill and turned out to be one of my favorite strange adventures. we eventually descended below the clouds, the road and mud on my face dried, no more consturction, great views over the amazon basin. my ass paid the price of entry to this paradise. my cousin{s bike exploded and was stranded in the jungle as night fell.
day 2 and 3 were about 30 miles through the jungle on foot with small packs, picking fruit off trees for snacks, chewing coca leaves and being dominated by mosquitos. we slept in busted hostels in small jungle town and failed to converse with the guide in spanish. we drink heavily one of these nights in a bar that was like an interrogation room from cop movies and are taught a drinking game that involves poking a cigarette into a napkin on a beer and having to drink the ash beer if you do it wrong. we try to explain flippy cup but it deteriorates into drinking a full beer every time you miss the flip. i got zapatos locos (crazy shows) and refused to go to bed when the guide said it was time and ran away while my travel mates convinced the guide to take us to another bar. he said i was a small problem. roosters do not just crow once during sunrise. those fuckers are relentless. we also crossed a rovier by a self propelled zipline and learned the hungry chicken handshake.
day 4 we climbed a moutnain in the dark to get to machu picchu for sunrise, then climbed
another mountain to be able to look down on it. absolute beauty. i was really expecting to feel a special power to the place, and i´m a little disappointed that i did not. perhaps it was that there were thousands of tourists and those that pray on them. either way, an incredible place.
Despite sicknesses from the other two travelers, one (cousin's friend) of which resulted in a return to the US and some time in the hospital (pollo loco), we did manage to get to a hike outside of cuzco. We traveled uphill along a lush river meadow to about 14,000 feet, where we encountered a town that didn't even have a road within 5 miles of it. Their 'houses' were made of piles of rocks, the nice ones had roofs made of grass. They spoke Quecha, the language the country spoke before Columbus' "discovery", as did many of the small mountain town people we would later meet. After this difficult 15 mile hike, we got on a bus back to Cusco, which of course didnt have seats for us. It did, however, have a hog-tied goat, a bag of chickens, and a pig in a bag, attached to the luggage compartment (tied to the roof).
We left Cusco and spent a day in Lima. Lima has 8 million people, most of whom are very poor, but we found a cool kinda hippy disctrict. We walked along the beach for most of the morning, and had mystery meat sandwiches. As my cousin showered that afternoon, I wandered out of the hostel and met up with some peruvians and a swede, and within 5 minutes of walking out my door, was staring down the barrell of a cup full of peruvian tap water and san pedro, a psychadelic cactus with mescaline. The swede considered himself a shaman, and proceeded to tell me the way of things for the next several hours, and eventually gave me more san pedro, and a cryptic map to the world he insisted should be tattooed on my heart. He dropped a lot of wisdom, mostly about the power of love and the sun. I liked his phrase "soy un otro tu" (i am another you) quite a lot.
Huaraz was absolutely beautiful. Cool little mountain city. Nestled in the Cordillera Blanca mountain range, the highest tropical range in the world, with a peak towering above it at about 22,000 feet. Found a nice hostel with a great view. Went to a soccer game, whose highlights included the swat team coming out to protect a player on the other team, and a man in the stands near me repeatedly attempting to light a home made celebratory bomb but being too drunk to do so. Also sun burn. We then spent 3 days hiking by ourselves, which involved beautiful camp-sites, views of glacier capped mountains and bright green lakes, and making it to 17,000 feet, much higher than colorado's highest mountains depsite being only a pass through to the next valley. The trip also involved repeated encounters with bulls, and a severe altitude-induced panic while trying to sleep at 15,000 feet. It was among the worst I've ever felt, definitely the most home-sick.
We then spent some time enjoying Huaraz, and found a restaurant called chilli heaven which was the perfect antedote to bland peruvian food. We wandered into a climbing place at one point, trying to scout out another mountain journey, and walked out with our entire remaining 9 days booked, with a 5 day trek up to 6000 meters (about 20,000 feet) that included another 18,000 foot mountain, and an additional 3 day training hike. I became quite depressed by the revelation that we would be spending the entire remainder of our vacation suffering up mountains, and we decided to skip the training hike in favor of a night of drinking. that night we discovered Liquer De Coca and drank an absurd amount of it. we also drank some coke based energy drinks, as we were apparently in the midst of some strange liquid coke binge. Also had a day of rock climbing at a real cool spot, where I learned some skills that probably later saved my life, and a short day hike to another beautiful lake, where we fell asleep because it was after the night of drinking. Also considerable dreading turning to excitement over the impending summit journey.
Summit Journey:
Day 1, easy 4 mile hike up to base camp with mules carrying our shit. Turns out the guide is a big stoner. Decent weed. Base camp is above 14,000 feet, and has something like 50 other tents, yet every single person there was asleep by 7pm. Mt. Toclliaraju (6,032 meters) towers above us.
Day 2. Climb mt. Ishinca. 18,000 feet. Very very very hard. hardest thing i've ever done. leave at 4 am, 7 hours up hill, either carrying a bag of metal, or using it to climb. deep breaths stranglely unsatisfying. none of our equipment fit properly, and the metal spikes that attached to our shoes (crampons) were surprisingly difficult to maneuver. We made it though. The view from the top of the other glacier mountains made it almost worth it, but on the way down, hurting like hell and left behind by my triathlon running cousin and the guide, I decided I didn't want to climb the 6000 meter peak, it just didnt seem as fun as drinking more san pedro with my friends in huaraz. upon arriving at base camp, and experiencing some heaven in the form of my feet being dipped in the cold stream and an orange, eaten like an apple, I decided I might as well go for it.
Day 3. Even worse. Hike the incredible steep and rocky path up to high camp (17,000 feet). By far the biggest, heaviest backpack I've ever carried, food, tent, sleeping bag, clothes, ski boots, ice axes, crampons, climbing shit... fuckin sucked. Decided again that I was going home, i just dont have what it takes. Decided again that I might as well make a run at it. Needed to fix my mind though, replenish my strength reserves. Spent the next several hours sitting bymyself in my rented turqous and purple down coat, melting bags and bags of snow, repeating to myself that I would make it, I would make it, I would not be deterred by exhuastion. Whirled myself into quite an excitement, and slept only about 2 hours that night. Felt ready.
Day 4. Up at 4, prepared to suffer, completely ready, composed, willful. We find a slow hiking rhythm in the dark, going so slow that you almost rest while walking. the slightest move, such as pulling up the harness, leaves you exhuasted for several minutes but you keep walking. I alternate between thinking of my home bed, complete with naked kelly and feisty doggy that await me, and the idea that it is my swarn duty to push my little headlight spot on the snow up the mountain, while singing A Tribe Called Quest. Push it along, just push it along, all you gotta do is push it along... The sun rises, we're about half way there, and i'm starting to run out of energy, I can't eat, but I'm close. We keep pushing it along, and arrive at the last pitch, which gives Toclliaraju its "Difficult" Rating. over 60 degree angle for about 80 yards. We can hardly hear the guide's instructions for tying our harnesses into the rope over the howling wind, which scared my cousin like crazy, as he works in a climbing gym and understood just how many fundamental climbing rules we were breaking. I was just happy to be almost done. We climbed up the wall, clinging to the moutnain for some 15 minutes in the middle as the guide pulled up the rope we had just climbed and set it up again near the top. My cousin had another big freak out after seeing the poor excuse for an anchor and nearly headed down 30 meters short of the summit. But we fucking made it. I kissed the snow at the top and nearly cried. cousin was deeply shaken, convinced we were lucky to be alive and going down would be even sketchier. incredible view. survive the down-hill, sometimes elated to be done, sometimes completely drained, struggling to take the next step. then we got to high camp, packed our shit, and put those fucking bags back on our backs, and I really didnt think i'd make it down. got left behind again, and kinda fell apart. we were basically jumping from boulder to boulder, down a steep hill, with 50 pounds on our backs and no energy, and I just couldnt do it. I fell about every 10 feet and struggled to get back up every time and wanted to cry. at some point a peruvian porter sees me, constantly falling and looking defeated, and offers to help carry my bags, for free, because I clearly cannot. quite a blessing. I tell myself I earned it by going through hell and still trying to focus on enjoying the scenery. We sleep at base camp and I felt basically indifferent. didnt have the energy for emotion. I no longer hated looking at the mountain, became almost infatuated with staring at it, thinking and feeling nothing.
day 5: back downhill, mules carry our shit, we smoke a bunch, and I say goodbye to the rural peru with mixed feelings. i wonder more about why I put myself through these sufferings, and have a good answer, but thats for another blog. I had (and still have) a very clear mind and an iron confidence. That night I met a cute little columbian archeoligist and learned how to salsa dance...
the first night in peru was spent hanging out all night in the hotel in lima, drinking duty free scoth and enjoying the company of my travel mates, my cousin jake and his best friend. we talked to some fellow gringo travelers and shared advice, and got gradually more manic as the night went on. we arrived in cuzco at 7am the next morning, completely disoriented, and enentually found a hostel. a private room with three beds was under $20 and as we sat down to talk about the details we were served coca tea. as in cocaine tea. it would not be my last taste of the leaf.
we spent that day and the next planning our machu picchu journey, sipping the local beer, and getting toursit crap shoved in our face. food and souvenirs are cheap and the people are quite friendly, but the combination can be overwhelming.
muchu picchu journey, day 1: a very confused start. the guide said he'd show up at 7:30 and drive us to the bus station for the 8am 3 hour bus to the start. showed up at 7:50, on a bike. the bus was oversold, so peruvians sat in my lap. after we}ve been climbing a seemingly endless muddy mountain road with attempted construciton and closures for 6 hours through the rain, the guide decides its time to get out and get on bikes. the peruvians happily take our seats and stare dumbfounded as we put on some strange helmets, sit on the bikes, and start riding down to the jungle, instantly covered in mud. expectations were quite low at this point. it was about 40 miles downhill and turned out to be one of my favorite strange adventures. we eventually descended below the clouds, the road and mud on my face dried, no more consturction, great views over the amazon basin. my ass paid the price of entry to this paradise. my cousin{s bike exploded and was stranded in the jungle as night fell.
day 2 and 3 were about 30 miles through the jungle on foot with small packs, picking fruit off trees for snacks, chewing coca leaves and being dominated by mosquitos. we slept in busted hostels in small jungle town and failed to converse with the guide in spanish. we drink heavily one of these nights in a bar that was like an interrogation room from cop movies and are taught a drinking game that involves poking a cigarette into a napkin on a beer and having to drink the ash beer if you do it wrong. we try to explain flippy cup but it deteriorates into drinking a full beer every time you miss the flip. i got zapatos locos (crazy shows) and refused to go to bed when the guide said it was time and ran away while my travel mates convinced the guide to take us to another bar. he said i was a small problem. roosters do not just crow once during sunrise. those fuckers are relentless. we also crossed a rovier by a self propelled zipline and learned the hungry chicken handshake.
day 4 we climbed a moutnain in the dark to get to machu picchu for sunrise, then climbed
another mountain to be able to look down on it. absolute beauty. i was really expecting to feel a special power to the place, and i´m a little disappointed that i did not. perhaps it was that there were thousands of tourists and those that pray on them. either way, an incredible place.Despite sicknesses from the other two travelers, one (cousin's friend) of which resulted in a return to the US and some time in the hospital (pollo loco), we did manage to get to a hike outside of cuzco. We traveled uphill along a lush river meadow to about 14,000 feet, where we encountered a town that didn't even have a road within 5 miles of it. Their 'houses' were made of piles of rocks, the nice ones had roofs made of grass. They spoke Quecha, the language the country spoke before Columbus' "discovery", as did many of the small mountain town people we would later meet. After this difficult 15 mile hike, we got on a bus back to Cusco, which of course didnt have seats for us. It did, however, have a hog-tied goat, a bag of chickens, and a pig in a bag, attached to the luggage compartment (tied to the roof).
We left Cusco and spent a day in Lima. Lima has 8 million people, most of whom are very poor, but we found a cool kinda hippy disctrict. We walked along the beach for most of the morning, and had mystery meat sandwiches. As my cousin showered that afternoon, I wandered out of the hostel and met up with some peruvians and a swede, and within 5 minutes of walking out my door, was staring down the barrell of a cup full of peruvian tap water and san pedro, a psychadelic cactus with mescaline. The swede considered himself a shaman, and proceeded to tell me the way of things for the next several hours, and eventually gave me more san pedro, and a cryptic map to the world he insisted should be tattooed on my heart. He dropped a lot of wisdom, mostly about the power of love and the sun. I liked his phrase "soy un otro tu" (i am another you) quite a lot.
Huaraz was absolutely beautiful. Cool little mountain city. Nestled in the Cordillera Blanca mountain range, the highest tropical range in the world, with a peak towering above it at about 22,000 feet. Found a nice hostel with a great view. Went to a soccer game, whose highlights included the swat team coming out to protect a player on the other team, and a man in the stands near me repeatedly attempting to light a home made celebratory bomb but being too drunk to do so. Also sun burn. We then spent 3 days hiking by ourselves, which involved beautiful camp-sites, views of glacier capped mountains and bright green lakes, and making it to 17,000 feet, much higher than colorado's highest mountains depsite being only a pass through to the next valley. The trip also involved repeated encounters with bulls, and a severe altitude-induced panic while trying to sleep at 15,000 feet. It was among the worst I've ever felt, definitely the most home-sick.
We then spent some time enjoying Huaraz, and found a restaurant called chilli heaven which was the perfect antedote to bland peruvian food. We wandered into a climbing place at one point, trying to scout out another mountain journey, and walked out with our entire remaining 9 days booked, with a 5 day trek up to 6000 meters (about 20,000 feet) that included another 18,000 foot mountain, and an additional 3 day training hike. I became quite depressed by the revelation that we would be spending the entire remainder of our vacation suffering up mountains, and we decided to skip the training hike in favor of a night of drinking. that night we discovered Liquer De Coca and drank an absurd amount of it. we also drank some coke based energy drinks, as we were apparently in the midst of some strange liquid coke binge. Also had a day of rock climbing at a real cool spot, where I learned some skills that probably later saved my life, and a short day hike to another beautiful lake, where we fell asleep because it was after the night of drinking. Also considerable dreading turning to excitement over the impending summit journey.
Summit Journey:
Day 1, easy 4 mile hike up to base camp with mules carrying our shit. Turns out the guide is a big stoner. Decent weed. Base camp is above 14,000 feet, and has something like 50 other tents, yet every single person there was asleep by 7pm. Mt. Toclliaraju (6,032 meters) towers above us.
Day 2. Climb mt. Ishinca. 18,000 feet. Very very very hard. hardest thing i've ever done. leave at 4 am, 7 hours up hill, either carrying a bag of metal, or using it to climb. deep breaths stranglely unsatisfying. none of our equipment fit properly, and the metal spikes that attached to our shoes (crampons) were surprisingly difficult to maneuver. We made it though. The view from the top of the other glacier mountains made it almost worth it, but on the way down, hurting like hell and left behind by my triathlon running cousin and the guide, I decided I didn't want to climb the 6000 meter peak, it just didnt seem as fun as drinking more san pedro with my friends in huaraz. upon arriving at base camp, and experiencing some heaven in the form of my feet being dipped in the cold stream and an orange, eaten like an apple, I decided I might as well go for it.
Day 3. Even worse. Hike the incredible steep and rocky path up to high camp (17,000 feet). By far the biggest, heaviest backpack I've ever carried, food, tent, sleeping bag, clothes, ski boots, ice axes, crampons, climbing shit... fuckin sucked. Decided again that I was going home, i just dont have what it takes. Decided again that I might as well make a run at it. Needed to fix my mind though, replenish my strength reserves. Spent the next several hours sitting bymyself in my rented turqous and purple down coat, melting bags and bags of snow, repeating to myself that I would make it, I would make it, I would not be deterred by exhuastion. Whirled myself into quite an excitement, and slept only about 2 hours that night. Felt ready.
Day 4. Up at 4, prepared to suffer, completely ready, composed, willful. We find a slow hiking rhythm in the dark, going so slow that you almost rest while walking. the slightest move, such as pulling up the harness, leaves you exhuasted for several minutes but you keep walking. I alternate between thinking of my home bed, complete with naked kelly and feisty doggy that await me, and the idea that it is my swarn duty to push my little headlight spot on the snow up the mountain, while singing A Tribe Called Quest. Push it along, just push it along, all you gotta do is push it along... The sun rises, we're about half way there, and i'm starting to run out of energy, I can't eat, but I'm close. We keep pushing it along, and arrive at the last pitch, which gives Toclliaraju its "Difficult" Rating. over 60 degree angle for about 80 yards. We can hardly hear the guide's instructions for tying our harnesses into the rope over the howling wind, which scared my cousin like crazy, as he works in a climbing gym and understood just how many fundamental climbing rules we were breaking. I was just happy to be almost done. We climbed up the wall, clinging to the moutnain for some 15 minutes in the middle as the guide pulled up the rope we had just climbed and set it up again near the top. My cousin had another big freak out after seeing the poor excuse for an anchor and nearly headed down 30 meters short of the summit. But we fucking made it. I kissed the snow at the top and nearly cried. cousin was deeply shaken, convinced we were lucky to be alive and going down would be even sketchier. incredible view. survive the down-hill, sometimes elated to be done, sometimes completely drained, struggling to take the next step. then we got to high camp, packed our shit, and put those fucking bags back on our backs, and I really didnt think i'd make it down. got left behind again, and kinda fell apart. we were basically jumping from boulder to boulder, down a steep hill, with 50 pounds on our backs and no energy, and I just couldnt do it. I fell about every 10 feet and struggled to get back up every time and wanted to cry. at some point a peruvian porter sees me, constantly falling and looking defeated, and offers to help carry my bags, for free, because I clearly cannot. quite a blessing. I tell myself I earned it by going through hell and still trying to focus on enjoying the scenery. We sleep at base camp and I felt basically indifferent. didnt have the energy for emotion. I no longer hated looking at the mountain, became almost infatuated with staring at it, thinking and feeling nothing.
day 5: back downhill, mules carry our shit, we smoke a bunch, and I say goodbye to the rural peru with mixed feelings. i wonder more about why I put myself through these sufferings, and have a good answer, but thats for another blog. I had (and still have) a very clear mind and an iron confidence. That night I met a cute little columbian archeoligist and learned how to salsa dance...
Monday, June 02, 2008
Guess the Cousin
Who is this mysterious cousin?
No guessing allowed for members of this year's expedition.
Much more pictures here:
http://flickr.com/photos/graceandfriends/sets/72157605360332633/
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