Hello everyone, havn’t been able to post because i’ve been too busy absorbing all that has happened to write anything, that and we’ve been dealing with some interesting circumstances so i’m writing this kind of in retrospect. I hope I will be able to convey my experience to ya’ll.
So Hillary and I are headed to Ko Samui to get some much needed beach time after seven days of cloudy skies. Everyone we’ve talked to has recommended going to Ko Samui and a few have recommended the full moon party on Ko Pha nang. After reaching Ko Samui short most of our electronics (another long story) we realize that there are thousands more young people on the island than usual due to the full moon party. We learn from some people that the full moon party is scheduled for the day after we arrive and begin to contemplate what it will be like. We both decide we should sleep on it being that we’ve just spent around 15 hours traveling and set off into dreamland. When we awake we realize that A.) The beach we’re staying on might as well be located on cancun becuase there are so many tourists you can barely see the beach. On top of that they are renting JETSKIES to some handicapped bros for aruond 20$ for TEN MINUTES. It goes without saying that this isn’t our scene and we plan a hasty retreat to what the lonely planet refers to as a “secluded” beach. We first decide, however, that we can’t just miss out on the legendary full moon party and go to our “resort’s” travel agency to get some tickets. This is rather lengthy. Continue reading here.
Everyone has got their story. I love hearing them; there´s nothing better than getting an animated account of another´s triumph or turmoil. It´s the reward for trying to be a people person. And travelling around, hostel after hotel, sleepy dirt village after asphalt jungle, I´m hard pressed for a better way to absorb the intriguing streams of humanity. Really, nothing better.
Except when it comes my turn. I go over my home, my family. Then comes this trip, those motorcycles. Every North American has a run-of-the-mill expression:
¨Hey, like Che Guevara, right?¨
Every time, spot on. Each reaction the same. My response has evolved after weeks of this middling whitebread. First, I explained, sure, I suppose there are similarities but now now—Che Guevara couldn´t have been the first guy to ride a motorcycle around South America. Just the most well known. I certainly won´t be the last.
Time and Bolivia pass. I consider typing prepared responses. Handing them out would have been absurd and offensive. (¨I thought you may say that and,¨ handing over an envelope, ¨took the liberty at peparing you this.¨)
But now I play dumb. I play so dumb it´s become an inside joke and a hilarious one at that:
¨You guys are like the Motorcycle Diaries, huh?¨ another American might ask.
¨Not following you.¨
¨That movie? The Motorcycle Diaries?¨
¨Hmm,¨ quizzical head scratching. ¨Sorry—just not ringing a bell. Wait, I keep a journal . . . more of a captain´s log, actually.¨This is rather lengthy. Continue reading here.
. . . I made light of one of my more heady boasts. What¨, say you? ¨No. . . he couldn´t have.¨
That´s right. Driver and Live sucked it up, smacked the clams down, Beaned it up a notch—and landed some motorcycles : Oh-seven (brand new!) Chinese knock-offs , top speed fiftyish, at $660 a pop.
Tomorrow, we baby ém around town.
One week, we get plates—the most badass souveneir—along with proper papers.
After that, we light up for Argentina. Then Brasilia. Can´t put a price on setting your own agenda, right?
Ok If you want pictures/songs/tales of adventure from Alaska made by the Growers, there are now two spots to recive such priceless plesentries.
Pictures/blurbs can be found at
All else is @
Happy summers to all
Some people really like grape juice, a lot. Here in America exists a thriving culture, entirley independent of the cares and woes of the rest of the nation, with the exception of one…and that is their desire to drink a fermented grape beverage. Life litteraly revolves around the vino in Napa valley. As we have stencilled concrete patterns of leaves and evergreen trees along the I-5 corridor in washingtown, they have stenciled clusters of grapes. Small décor grape clustes are present on the left side of every street sign, all of the art galleries house works of art gesturing at the relish of wine, menus at breweries are dominated on one side by food, the other by wine, with no mention of beer. Drinking and driving is a bit of a sport in the valley, and it is not unheard of for one to drink red coffee with breakfast. And what have I learned from this experience thus far? How to tell the difference between a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon and a 2004 Rutherford. Cheers.