Let me tell you about a very interesting conversation with a stranger…
Where to begin?
As I’ve said before, I hate traveling, but I love going places. For this reason, I tend to spend a bit of time wherever I go, make friends, get to know the place, the local cuisine and music, the cool local spots that your average tourist wouldn’t know… and so on.
For this reason, I’ve made a bit of a home here in El Salvador in a wonderful place run by an amazing dueña , have met all kinds of interesting, beautiful people who have also found their way here. We’re all here for the sunshine, the waves, the tranquilidad, the privacy and security and the sense of being a witness to history.
I’ve made a couple of good friends and a few pleasant connections. The sense of gratitude is palpable; I thank God with every sunrise and every sunset, every time I drift off to sleep listening to the waves, even every time I log in for work.
That meanders from the point of this post though. El Salvador is an interesting place to be at this juncture in history. It is probably the most optimistic country in the world, the only place where life is better today than it was ten years ago, where people believe the future will be even better.
Most of us from privileged countries take everyday life for granted. One Salvadoran told me how they used to see mutilated bodies on their way to school. Another gushed about how she and her friend were on their way home at 9 pm — and they never would have dared to be out at that time not so long ago — when the car broke down. A terrifying, dangerous situation just a few years ago becomes a happy, “I just called my husband and he came and picked us up!”
You don’t realize how bad things were and how just being able to live a free life without worry of being murdered, organ harvested, raped every time you exit the gate of your humble home… you just can’t appreciate how BIG that is.
Bukele has been criticized for a tactically brilliant operation that resulted in 80,000 bad guys getting what they deserve: prison. It perplexes me as to why anyone would regard this with anything but respect. Given the “Spy vs Spy” nature of cartels and governments here in Latin America — both sides have moles and rats — it’s amazing that they planned, trained, and executed in a way that hit the bad guys totally unaware. Military and law enforcement strategists will study what was done here for decades, maybe centuries.
The end result is that life is better for everyone. 80,000 criminals were incarcerated, but 4 million people were freed.
But the poor are still poor…
Today I met the first Salvadoran I’ve ever met who had anything bad to say about Bukele. I don’t want to dox the guy, but he’s a media personality, and I’ve seen his show.
His main point was that the poor are still poor.
“Lo mismo en todo el mundo, amigo,” I said, playing devil’s advocate, “Así es.”
He played devil’s advocate to my devil’s advocate and showed me that he is my brother in soul.
“No soy un fanático de nadie o nada.”
This was after a rant about how sick he was of everyone fawning over their president. The poor are still poor. Yeah, the rich are richer, but the poor are still poor. This guy isn’t a god. Let’s get real here. He’s just an idol, and I don’t idolize anyone.
This little rant got the noggin’ joggin’, and I realized that I’m exactly the same. “Celebrities” and sports stars and business tycoons and all the people we’re supposed to revere as gods have always made me want to pick up my guitar, crank it up to 11 and play a punk rock song that I’m writing as I play it.
Those people get up, have breakfast and take a shit like the rest of us.
Revere the unsung stars, ignore the manufactured “stars”
Some years ago, one of my proudest moments happened after a few rounds when I told a famous movie star that he was just an actor who sucked the right dick. “I know a thousand actors, dude. You want to impress me? Go undercover as a mole in a criminal organization where you die if you break character.”
The guy looked like I had just kicked him directly in the nuts, which I suppose I had in a way.
Side note: Bukele must have had a few unsung actors/moles when he managed to round up 80,000 brutal killers, not that I idolize him; I’m more impressed with the unsung ninja actors that made it possible.
Anyway, I’m really glad that I chose El Salvador and will probably come back next year if only for the sunshine and waves.
Been so far away, I only learned the other day that Bob Weir has passed
So here is my open letter to Bob Weir, for what it’s worth (not much)…
Wow, what an intense realization that as I “listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul” in my bed by the waterside, one of my favorite musicians has passed into the Great Beyond. Bobby, I know you know all from your perch in the purely spiritual realm, but I just wanted to say:
Thank you!
Quite literally, some of the very best days of my life were spent in beautiful places with beautiful people following the Grateful Dead and — much later — Dead and Company. At Dead shows, I met some of my best friends and even a couple of my best lovers… well, at least one of my best lovers and maybe a notable mention.
There was nothing — NOTHING — like a Grateful Dead show, and I love how we are everywhere. I love the glint in the eyes of fellow Deadheads as we connect in the weirdest places. “Oh, you were at that show too? Best ‘Box of Rain’ I ever experienced.” I loved how I could chat (in 2023 as an old head) with some freshly initiated 23-year-old kid on the LIRR about last night’s show and know that kid tapped into the same vibe I tapped into all those decades ago, know it by the enthusiasm with which he described the experience. There’s an exclusive universe that only us Deadheads will ever know, and I thank you so very much for your part in generating that, Bobby.
You may not remember, but we met in person. You probably forgot the last show at McNichols Sports Arena in Denver. I was the dude in the Robin Hood cap with the long feather. We chatted during Drums while you were on break. By happenstance, you guys flagged me down a block from the Brown Palace (where I assume you were staying) from your limo. I was in the same hat but on my bicycle on the way home from the show.
That show was the last I ever saw Jerry perform but not the last I saw you perform. My whole face was wet with tears as the lights came up after it was over, and I only realized why years later after Jerry went to the big Dead Show in the Sky — it was the last time I would experience the original Grateful Dead.
I want to thank you for keeping the torch burning right up until your body couldn’t do it anymore. The Dead and Company shows were great, not quite the same as the original, but great. You gave that 23-year-old kid the experience, and you didn’t need to do that. You already had millions of fans and dollars.
I love how you guys never sold out, really, stayed above the fray, apolitical and very much not “celebrities” parroting the latest cause. In a sense, you were the last true “celebrities.” We celebrated and celebrate you for the singular experience you provided, not because the media told us to; in fact, the media were snooty assholes when it came to you, owned as they were by the same parasitical record companies at which you thumbed your noses for all those decades. You did it on your own merit, without the bullshit celebrity-making media machine.
I’ll end this with a couple of videos. To me, “Minglewood” is the ultimate “Bobby song.” (“Throwing Stones” would be a close second or maybe “Sugar Magnolia” or even “Hell In a Bucket” if I’m in a certain mood — heck, does it matter?) You were the sacral chakra of the Dead, the sexy one, but I also happen to know that you were the penultimate gentleman (we’re zero degrees of separation — I know one of your groupies); how could you have been anything else as a high-vibing Libra?
Finally, as I listen at this very moment to the river sing sweet songs, I just want to leave you with this from Citi Field, near the end of your career. I was there in the chorus of 50,000, not far from the cameraman in this video. Thank you from the bottom of my soul, Bobby. We are indeed grateful and will remain so long after we’re dead.
Pretty intense jump from chilly mountains to warm beach…
This is half-baked, but it’s fresh. Something compels me to get this down before it fades into memory.
Perú is a fantastic place, and I intend to return there as a dedicated tourist. My current situation is hybrid; I have a day job which I take seriously, but this job allows me a certain amount of bandwidth to explore the world (and escape miserable NYC winters) so I might as well take advantage of it.
Perú, a country bigger than Alaska and California combined and even more geologically diverse, impressed me and challenged me. I only saw a tiny little bit of it, just a few days in Lima and a couple weeks in Cuzco. Either place deserves a full-spectrum experience. Cuzco (aka “Cusco”), was especially other-worldly, though Lima was a highly enticing tease since it’s such a massive city with so much happening. The little bit I tasted, I liked a lot. Felt like a place worth spending a year or more. Lima felt comfortable, like a place where I could easily make friends and music.
Cuzco was a totally different story. Like most places in the world that survive on tourism, a cold distance, a cultural void spanning galaxies , made me feel welcome-not-welcome. Oddly, I did connect with a few locals and even met a friend who makes me want to go back. But I could never live there; too damn cold, too far away from “home,” wherever that is.
Even with a constant sense of not belonging, lingering discomfort from the altitude and cold, I developed a deep respect for the culture and power of the place. The “fashion scene” absolutely blew me away. Baby alpaca wool is the finest fabric in the world, and the clothing produced from it is exquisite. By accident, I ended up learning something about how they produce it. A quechua woman demonstrated with her own hands how they color it with natural plants that grow, impossibly, at 3000+ meters above sea level. Those colors are sublime and unique and muyhermoso.
The experience of “seeing how it’s done” drove home what I was talking about in the very first post of this version of this blog: No Logo. Quality speaks for itself. The beautiful clothing of Cuzco, with its unique, inimitable style, locally designed and sourced, locally produced, locally sold (at premium prices), is as fine as any apparel in the world. As a matter of fact, I would say that Cuzco is a fashion capital as much as Paris, New York, or Milan… more so, in fact.
It’s better when you can touch and try on.Not so colorful, but these earth tones would be high style in the autumn in NYCThe “Sydney Sweeny Has Good Genes” thing has not missed Cuzco
A Gucci label doesn’t say “quality” to me; it says “Insecure sucker who will overpay for mediocrity.” What says “quality” to me is something else. Is it beautiful? Is it natural? Does it serve its purpose (making the wearer both lovely and warm)? Is it unique? Does the soul of its creator live on through the work?
Cuzco was full of that, and I haven’t even gotten started on the ruins and other-worldly sense of civilization. In fact, I’m only going to touch on that; you can visibly see civilization being built on top of civilization for millennia in that place, in real time, in real life. The Inca told the Spanish (and this is documented) that they had built on top of an older, more advanced civilization, just as the Spanish eventually did to the Inca. To this day, nobody knows how the original stone work was done, upon which the cathedrals and elegant, non-corporate-chain hotels (and even the less classy corporate ones, the JW Marriott and whatever) were built. You can still see that stone work right in the center of town. You don’t even need to follow the tourist hordes to Machu Picchu.
See how the stones on top are not as big or perfect as the ones on bottom? See how there’s no cement? Top stones are Inca. Bottom, pre-Inca. Not shown — shitty Spanish masonry on top. Civilizations are built on top of civilizations, and for the past 3000 years or so, devolution has been the trend.
If you want to ride a horse or hike a bit, you can even see what Machu Picchu looked like before it was excavated. It’s mind-blowing. One gets the sense that once upon a time, a much bigger city existed there in the uninhabited heights.
Even with this sense of wonder, every second I spent in Cuzco, I felt a bit out of place, a bit uncomfortable, except in bed where I slept wonderfully in the cool of night, soothed by the warm embrace of heavy natural bedding.
Let’s skip to the chase, returning to El Salvador…
It was a stressful journey. I won’t bore you with the details. I traveled off the beaten path a bit, making a direct beeline from the mountainous chill and light air to the hottest place I’ve ever been, right at sea level: El Salvador.
As I write this, I’m about 10 feet above the crashing waves, in a bungalow on a cliff rooted in the beach, a cliff that will eventually succumb to the waves and become beach. It’s warm. It was hot this afternoon.
And, goddamn, it feels good!
If you’ve been following this blog, you know that my travel in Perú — wonderful and worthwhile as it was — was fraught with stress and peril. El Salvador is a totally different experience. They don’t fingerprint me on my way in (and OUT ?!?) of the country. My accommodations were graciously prepared (and I haven’t even paid for them yet, though I will, of course). The locals are warm and welcoming. I don’t have to put on shoes and socks, let alone a coat and hat.
It feels so good to be barefoot again, roasting in the sun, calmed by the rolling waves. I feel so clean, having spent some time frolicking in the salty sea. My neighbors are friendly. Oh, and I can breathe. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if I’ve already lost weight; exercise at 3100m above sea level is… burdensome.
Yeah, I’m more of a beach bum than a mountain boy, for sure. Just 24 hours ago I was gasping for breath, chasing down my ride to the airport. Now I’m chillin’ like Bob Dylan, enjoying the mating calls of geckos as a percussive enhancement to the infinite melody of waves, warm and happy as a clam. Another day, another timeline jump…
It’s not just the warmth and thick, oxygenated air that I like about El Salvador; it’s the sense of participating in history.
Not sure if I’ve mentioned that one of the more uncomfortable moments in Perú was having a cajero gobble up — for no apparent reason — my suitably funded Fidelity debit card. By the way, if you’re traveling internationally, I recommend getting that card as it waives all ATM fees and foreign transaction charges. Of course I had a backup debit card from my shitty (hint) bank. The magnetic strip on that old card had given out. It worked as tap-to-pay but wouldn’t give me cash. That kind of sucked, not having access to cash.
Since I’ll be here for the next several weeks, I thought, “Well, I’ll have Fidelity send me a replacement card.”
Then I went to the supermarket, and the moment of epiphany hit. A big, modern supermarket had a sign on the checkout line, “Aquí puede pargar con Bitcoin.”
As it turns out, I have a bit of Bitcoin dust in a wallet on my phone. I put a couple hundred bucks worth there a few years ago as an emergency measure. Turns out, it’s… uh… more than a couple hundred bucks now. I thought, “What the heck, let’s see how this works.”
It was so easy. It was so quick. It didn’t involve any bank or intermediary, just me paying the store directly, as if with cash.
Fix the money, fix the world. Yup.
At some point I realized that they have Bitcoin ATMs here. I can just get some cash with my phone, directly, without need for a bank. Suffice to say, I will wait until I return to ‘Mairka to get a replacement for the inexplicably devoured Fidelity debit card. Bitcoin works here, and I have a bit, as it turns out.
That got me thinking about Bukele and El Salvador (“The Savior”). It wouldn’t surprise me if El Salvador ended up being the Singapore of the Americas. It’s a very similar situation.
If you look at Singapore today, you would never believe that just 75 years ago it was a poor, crime-ridden backwater. Now it is a clean, modern, multi-cultural powerhouse, a great innovator in finance, a beacon of prosperity.
Why? Lee Kwon Yoo. He cleaned up the crime, made bold moves in terms of commercial/financial innovation, and turned Singapore into what it is today. He was called a despot and a dictator by The New York Slimes and all the usual suspects, but the proof’s in the puddin’, darlin’. Results speak for themselves, not unlike quality.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking about cosmetics, here. I hope that El Salvador doesn’t go so far as making chewing gum illegal.
There is a lot of hope here, and if Bukele plays his cards right, El Salvador could become a small-but-mighty beacon of prosperity in the Americas, as is Singapore to our eastern counterparts.
I know that el Presidente has more important things to do than read this blog, but if I were to advise Bukele, I would say the key is in education and continued innovation. Of course the bankers will apply pressure to kill Bitcoin and other substantial financial evolution. Play their game a little bit but not too much. Most importantly, invest in education. A small country’s greatest resource is its people.
There are plenty of folks like me who share a vision of peace and prosperity, a lot more of us than there are of “them,” the criminal parasites who once had their boots on the neck of the little nation in which I currently find myself.
OK. That’s enough. I’m tired of staring at this screen. Time to watch the full moon rise and enjoy the splendor of nature.
I really love El Salvador and wish the greatest success upon her and the world, and I hope to return to Perú one day as a full-time tourist.
Peace, Chuck
I’ll take this bungalow over just about any mansion in the US
It all works out, and it was a Sunday I’ll never forget.
(Note: To fully appreciate this post, listen to me spin the yarn about my first few highly stressful hours here in Perú. This was done in audio format on my podcast.)
Today should have been a Sunday fun day. The original plan involved sleeping in (which for me means getting out of bed at 8:00 a.m.), going for a hike, taking a nap after the hike, then watching my Broncos defeat the ignominious Patriots.
It didn’t work out that way, but it worked out OK.
Yesterday I realized that I had lost my Fidelity debit card, the one that gives me a full rebate on all ATM fees and cancellation of all foreign transaction charges. I tried my old fallback debit card and discovered that the magnetic strip is shot. Yipes. No access to cash. No bueno.
OK, fine, whatever. Suck it up. Take a deep breath. You’re not gonna starve; you just can’t buy from street vendors. Not a catastrophe.
That’s what I told myself yesterday.
Oh, uh… rewind a bit. Two days ago I set my travel itinerary which involves spending another week here in Cuzco. Now that the altitude doesn’t faze me, It seems like a place that’s worth another week of my life. It’s like no other place I’ve been. Might as well enjoy it. I am, after all, a person who enjoys going places but hates travel. After all the trouble of traveling to this place and the way it has not let me down in terms of “this is why I travel,” it’s worth another week.
So I got up at 7 this morning and booked another week at the hotel where I’ve been.
Sometime after breakfast and my morning walk, everything changed.
Early in the afternoon, I checked my e-mail. Reservation cancelled? Payment not received? WTAF?
OK, dude, relax. Everything will work out. Deep breath.Let’s get to the bottom of this.
That’s what I told myself. First I checked the payment. It had been processed.
Next I went on the app where I had made the reservation, the one that had taken my money, and explained my situation. “Uh, I don’t want to sleep on the streets of Cuzco tonight. WTF, guys?”
While chatting to the app rep, I talked to the manager of the hotel where I have been staying for the past few days and explained the situation. He assured me that I could stay here for the night.
The app’s business office tried to call the hotel but got no answer. I jotted down the number that they were trying to reach.
Went down to the desk and talked to the manager again. “Is this the number?”
“Oh, that’s the number of the office. It’s Sunday, and they’re out until tomorrow.”
That left me in limbo. I had a verbal agreement but nothing official. The app people were like, “Let us find you something else.” They made a few more calls. Same result. It’s Sunday. None of the office people for any of the hotels are working here in Cuzco.
Then it happened, the miracle: I got an email confirming my reservation here at this very hotel. Someone somewhere had done me a solid. It wasn’t the front desk guy, either. He seemed surprised.
After a few hours of stress, wondering where my payment had gone, whether or not I could securely lay my head in this comfy bed another night, having no cash whatsoever… todo bien now. Let’s relax.
Off to the pub we go for some football
It’s a pretty special experience at Paddy’s, highest Irish Pub in the world. The food is decent and atmosphere authentic.
The best chance I had of seeing an NFL game was Paddy’s Irish Pub which I had been meaning to try anyway. By the time I arrived, it was almost halftime, but it didn’t matter. The place was full of Euros and Latinos watching a futból match between Rome and Milan or some euro crap. Paddy’s only had one screen so I had to wait for that match to end.
That match ended in a draw (soccer is so f-ing boring — who wants to watch for 90 minutes and have it end in a 1-1 draw? I seriously don’t get it.). It’s a fun game to play, but watching it? Yeah, not seeing it…
Gimme football, man, Norte Americano-style.
They tuned the TV to the Broncos game after the euros achieved their boring draw. I watched most of the second half. I was the only one in the bar who watched. It was surreal; here’s this huge game — winner goes to the gdmf Super Bowl — and nobody cares in 95% of the world.
The Broncos lost, but at least I have a room until the next leg of this adventure which I will tell you about soon. Feel free to subscribe to this blog’s feed so you don’t miss a single, exciting post.
Looking forward to tomorrow; that’s what it’s all about. If you can look forward to Monday, you’re doing better than most. After a Sunday like this, a nice, normal working Monday sounds pretty nice.
Alpacas are such cool animals, so soft! The fabrics are as fine as any cashmere.
Almost exactly 24 hours have passed since the wheels touched down, and I felt light and dizzy the minute I stepped out of the little old-fashioned airport. Having spent my formative years in Colorado, I’m no stranger to high altitude, but this place is twice as high as Denver, the Mile High City, and a thousand feet higher than Leadville, the Two Mile High Town.
I have climbed eight or nine 14,000-foot peaks in my life. In that case, you’re just kind of up and down in a gradual way. Since you probably live in Denver or Boulder at 5,260 feet above sea level, camp the night before at 11,000 feet before the final ascent and only spend a few minutes at the peak, it’s really no big deal.
Going directly from sea level to 11,000+ feet is a different experience. Fortunately, they have herbs and plants here which they happily offer upon your statement of being mareada (which I was). These herbs and plants actually help… and why wouldn’t they? The earth gives us what we need, when and where we need it. Peaches in the Georgia summer (peaches tangibly lower body temperature and provide electrolytes specifically lost by summer sweat) oranges and other citrus in the winter when the body craves vitamin C to fight off the winter colds. And so on… literally hundreds of thousands of examples of safe and effective natural remedies, but go ahead and ask your doctor about that toxic chemical they’re advertising on TV.
(Sorry-not-sorry for kicking a bit of truth. Now let’s get back on topic.)
After just 24 hours, I’m no longer huffing and puffing after walking a couple blocks. So that’s good. Impressive, too, considering I’m an overweight smoker of 40 years.
The taxi driver from the airport told me as if he were stating a mathematical law that “la comida es mejor aquí” when I mentioned my wonderful gastronomical experience in Lima. He also suggested maté de coca and Agua de Flórida for altitude sickness. More on the latter later…
He may or may not be right… but the food here is at least as good as it was in Lima. It’s different, though. Lima has great seafood and tropical fruits. Here they have a thousand types of quinoa and pretty little tasty flowers and alpaca and guinea pigs and all kinds of stuff that grows within 4000 vertical feet of here.
I think I figured out why the food is so exceptional in Perú: This is basically California on steroids. It has a large north-south latitude range and a very large vertical range (0-22,000ft — Second only to India, a much larger country) that produces a vast array of fresh ingredients for well trained chefs. Indian food is wonderful too, but Peru is a lot cleaner — Japan levels of clean and tidy. It’s more comparable to California than India, but this place puts California, USA to shame in terms of its culinary universe, and that’s saying a lot. No shade on California (especially after the fires).
Anyway, back to my first impression of Cuzco…
It’s interesting that somehow the natives here remind me of Colorado “high country” people. Mountain folk just have a certain aura about them, a mellowness. Here it is amplified (“amplified mellowness” — there may be a lyric in there somewhere). I’ve encountered many people — including the taxi driver mentioned above and shop girl to be mentioned below — who just have a glow. Words do not capture this, but if you’re a high viber, you know how it is to be able to read people’s etheric bodies. It protects you from bad people, but it reveals the beauty of good people too. What can I say? I’m a hippy-dippy aura reader. 👽*shrug* If you don’t like it, move along; I probably don’t want to exchange energy and time with you anyway.
The weirdest experience I’ve had here so far was wandering into a little knick-knack shop to buy Agua de Flórida, a fragrant herbal concoction to relieve altitude sickness. The bored-looking (and very pretty) shop girl offered me a massage when I paid. I didn’t take her up on it. I don’t think I could satisfy her with my current cardiovascular deficiency at this altitude anyway. It was strange; flattering, but strange. She intimated that this is not something she does normally, usually it’s busier, etc. … must have been ovulating or whatever. Women are weird. South America is weird.
Another thing that was otherworldly was last night at 10:00 pm. This whole city went dead silent at the stroke of 10. I mean, it was so soundless that when I turned out the lights to go to sleep, slipping into slumber — seldom and issue for me — challenged me just because it was soooo eerily quiet!
I slept like a log once the silence became comfortable, and a single little birdy woke me up well before I had to log in for work.
After work, I ate alpaca meat and bright-pink organic quinoa for the first time and went for a walk (and encountered the horny shop girl, among other things). Composing this post, I watch the intense clouds change colors over the enormous mountains in the moments when I need to collect my thoughts between sentences or words.
One last thing: if you come to Cuzco, bring a warmish jacket and hat. It gets pretty chilly at night. Hotel rooms have heaters, not air conditioners here. Cuzco is cool, year-round. The sidewalks are lovely too. Considering the terrain, that is miraculous.
My mind has been racing like it hasn’t in many years. Maybe it’s the maté coca. I have a lot more to say. These are just my first impressions. Thanks for reading, and check back soon.
Peace, love and all the good stuff,
Chuck
Alpaca meat in a wild mushroom sauce with organic pink quinoa, garnished with fresh veggies, herbs and even a flower
For one thing, how do they keep the sidewalks so perfect?
This isn’t even unusual, just the way the light hit it…Another example of a perfect Lima sidewalkDamn good Lima sidewalk in a busy area
The book 1491by Charles Mann explores what pre-Colombian America, north and south, was really like. It uses first-hand accounts written by the earliest explorers. It will make you question what you were taught about indigenous cultures.
What I remember about the Andean chapter is that the early explorers, most notably Pizzaro, wrote not of dirty savages but of — among other things — fantastic roads, perfect roads through incredibly rough terrain, the high and steep Andes. The food blew Pizzaro’s mind too; remember, they didn’t even have potatoes, tomatoes, or corn in Europe at that time.
I haven’t experienced the Andes yet. Tomorrow I’ll go there.
But one thing that totally impresses me about Lima, one thing that sets it apart from almost every other city I’ve visited, is how smooth, clean and perfect are its sidewalks. In Mexico or Colombia or even in New York, sidewalks represent as dirty, treacherous ankle sprainers. Here I don’t feel like I have to watch my step any more than I do in my own kitchen.
Sidewalks as smooth as an ice rink after the Zamboni does its thing? It’s delightfully absurd that this impresses me, but it does. I’m sure there are neighborhoods where the sidewalks are uneven and dirty, but I haven’t found one.
It’s just something I’ve noticed, something interesting in light of the gushing, over-the-top firsthand accounts of perfect roads through the Andes 500 years ago.
Another surprise: the food
I had no idea just how good the food is here, on par with France or Italy in terms of the quality of ingredients and expertise of preparation. Refreshingly, they don’t serve it to you here with European snootiness; good food just comes with the territory.
Of course I’ve eaten at Peruvian restaurants in NYC. In Medellín I found a pretty good one(affordable too — like $10 USD for a filling dinner, maybe $15 with a couple beers) and ate there several times. I thought I had some idea, but I had no idea.
By no means have I become an expert on Peruvian cuisine, but just walking the streets you can see and smell the rich array of options available. Yesterday I treated myself to a more expensive meal than I usually would, a “fine dining” experience. I ordered a dish with which I am familiar — lomo saltado (beef tenderloin stir fry — which I believe is prepared in a wok).
It was espectacular! It ruined Peruvian food for me outside of Peru. I think the quality of ingredients makes prepared food so good here, not to dab on the chefs in any way, mind you. They cultivate 300 different types of potatoes in Peru. Many dishes feature potatoes which taste very “potatoey.” It’s hard to explain, but it’s like eating a real potato after a lifetime of eating genetically modified fakes.
I also tried a grilled octopus dish (forgot what it’s called, “[something] pulpo,” obviously), served in a creamy potato sauce. The textures and flavors were sublime. Octopus is a guilty pleasure for me; I don’t like eating a creature that may well be more intelligent than I. When I eat it, I feel super bad if it’s just grilled chewy protein, like a high consciousness being was sacrificed for nothing. I didn’t feel bad about eating the octopus I ate yesterday, it was a singular culinary experience; I hope that some creature dines on my corpse and enjoys it as much as I enjoyed that octopus… not any time soon, of course.
The “chifa” (Peruvian-style Chinese food… or is it Chinese-style Peruvian food?) remains on the yet-to-try list. Those restaurants are everywhere so I’ll just wander into one some afternoon when I’m hungry, perhaps today.
I’m not yet qualified to talk intelligently about Peruvian food. Options abound, and I only know a few. I will do a more extensive post on food at a later date. Suffice to say, it’s yummy, nourishing and satisfying.
The weather — not brutally hot?
Having spent a couple weeks in El Salvador in the middle of their winter and sweating like a pig the whole time, I braced myself for serious heat here in Lima, especially since it’s the middle of summer here. Lima is not much further from the equator than is San Salvador. It’s at sea level. It should be similarly hot, right?
It’s not. It’s the middle of summer, and the high temperatures have been around 80F/27C. I was in the park yesterday afternoon, and it was beautiful not just because of the sea views and flora but because of the kids getting lessons of various kinds: There were kids on the tennis courts being coached, kids roller blading between cones as their coach cheered them on, kids in boxing gloves sparring gently — all kinds of learning and physical activity going on.
Lessons galore…
I found out that this phenomenon in the park is called “summer school” because it’s summer vacation so apparently kids learn these various things instead of sitting around scrolling their phones all day (or whatever USA kids do these days). How could they do that if the weather were too hot or too rainy or whatever?
There are also various classes and lessons available to us older folks every single day. Apparently, they have a big salsa lesson/party in Pueblo Libre every single night. Cost: $10 SOL (around $3 USD). There’s also a cooking school near where I’m staying in Miraflores. When I come back, I will definitely be taking full advantage of that.
Surprisingly tall and fashionable people…
This is the only place I’ve ever been in Latin America where they don’t clock me as a gringo right off the bat. In fact, I haven’t even heard the word “gringo” here; apparently it’s regarded as a rude slur.
Not to say that gringos are tall and fashionable, mind you, just that we tend to stand out down here. Even if you’re short and pudgy and wearing a wife-beater muscle shirt, you’re going to be identified as a gringo instantly in CDMX or San Salvador.
I expected to find diminutive, sun-weathered mountain people, indigenous folks blowing happily on zampoñas. Instead, I meet tall, good looking, well groomed, well educated people.
(I realize that this section might offend some people, but please don’t be offended. In a way, I take pleasure in sticking out like a sore thumb as a gringo even while admiring the luminous beauty of mestizo Latinos. Just saying that I don’t feel like I’m sticking out here. This is also not racially based — black gringos stand out vs. black Mexicans or Colombians or Dominicans.)
Bicycles and safe bike lanes everywhere!
This I did not expect, and it absolutely delights me! Those of you who know me know that I’m allergic to gyms, preferring to get my exercise in the fresh air. I love hiking, swimming, sailing, and especially bicycling. One thing I love about La Paz, Mexico, is that it’s easy to get around, at least in el centro, on a bicycle. The same is true here. There are bike lanes everywhere, and what’s cool is that they are largely on parkways, safely separate from cars. Even where there are no bike lanes, the roads seem fairly safe.
The roads and bike lanes are just as nice as the sidewalks mentioned above, and given the comfortable climate, this city strikes me as a cyclist’s dream. I’m actually a cycling zealot and firmly believe that the world would be a better place if more people could take advantage of this wonderful, healthy form of transportation on a more regular basis.
Lots and lots to do!
I only have a few days here before going to Cuzco. One of those was Martin Luther King Day, a day off for me. As I looked for things to do and explore, the options overwhelmed me a bit. There are artsy districts like Barranco, beautiful parks with cool sculptures and gardens (I especially enjoyed “Parque del Amor”), tons of museums, historical and even archaeological sites right inside the city!
Obviamente, I didn’t see it all in my one day off, but I will be coming back to this unexpectedly (especially in light of the first impression) beautiful and cosmopolitan city. Even as a New Yorker, I feel like a bit of a hayseed here, I guess because I’m still a newbie finding my way around instead of the grizzled NYC veteran that I am when home.
At least I don’t have to worry about spraining my ankle because of a crappy sidewalk. 😉 It’s easier to find your way around when your eyes aren’t on the ground constantly.
I really like this place. It’s easy to believe that pre-Colombian civilization was a lot more advanced than we were led to believe. It’s probably related to earth energy.
Fancy restaurant at Pucllana archaelogical site in Lima — recommended
(Click images to enlarge)
Mosaic bench with love-related quote. There were about 50 of them but most were occupied by lovers. 🙂 Historic lighthouse and whatnotStaging area for hang gliders — jumping off a 200m cliff with the city’s permission… imagine that!Zoom in and read the quote
As I woke up this morning, happy to have a day off, I found myself horrified by a since-deleted post I wrote while drunk and frustrated about Twitter/Musk. I have always liked Twitter and feel that it has gone downhill since they removed the character limit. The thing I liked about old Twitter is that it was very organic and one did not need to waste a lot of time finding one’s interests or expressing one’s thoughts.
It’s frustrating that I see Musk’s latest tweet at the top of my feed every time I log in (which is rarely lately). It’s frustrating that I barely see the people I follow; maybe they’re shadow banned like me. It’s frustrating to not see my own tweets in the hashtag lists in which I put them. Most of all, it’s frustrating that I cannot tweet at all most of the time.
Musk has ruined Twitter. He’s treated like some kind of demigod because he received untold billions of dollars to fund an overrated golf cart company. Teslas are horrible cars in my opinion. They could have been cool if they had been made to run on hydrogen fuel cells which require no batteries. Honda makes a hydrogen fuel car, but it’s fairly useless without infrastructure to support it. It’s interesting that Honda also led the way with EVs with the Insight which failed for the same reason — lack of infrastructure.
It’s a pity.
But today is Martin Luther King Day, and it has me thinking about that great man, a true leader who changed the world in a good way by leading African-Americans to their God-given civil rights. He paid with his own life for this. That is integrity. That is courage. That is true leadership.
Where are such men and women today? Protests all seem contrived, and they are for the most part by various well funded interest groups. I can’t even remember the last charismatic leader who led an organic movement.
I wish I could lead a movement where people started their own websites instead of using social media platforms owned by billionaire oligarchs, but I’m shadow banned on those platforms and dislike them anyway — it would be pretty hypocritical of me to use them to promote my movement.
I wish I could start a hydrogen car company and build out the infrastructure for that superior technology, but Wall Street isn’t going to throw tens of billions of dollars at me to do that. There’s no money in hydrogen, but there is in cobalt and lithium and toxic EV batteries in general.
I wish someone would start an “Earth First” movement that aims to make things better on this planet before selling pipe dreams about going to Mars. Humans are never going to Mars, at least not in the way Musk envisions.
I really hope my boss didn’t see the drunken, angry post I made last night, and I sincerely apologize to anyone who did. It was not a good post considering the peaceful spirit of the person we celebrate today.
Is silver the new Bitcoin in terms of building generational wealth in a matter of years?
Disclaimer: I am not qualified or allowed to answer that question because I don’t have a piece of paper from the government licensing me to give financial advice. What follows is not financial advice, just one man’s opinion.
The most telling thing about silver’s recent explosive rise in value compared to the U.S. dollar is the mainstream media’s complete silence on the issue. It’s almost like they’re being told to shut up about it by the entities that own them. I’m speaking, of course, of BlackRock, State Street, Vanguard and a couple others who own, basically, every large company in America and have de facto operational control over such companies through their ability to control those companies’ boards of directors.
As an aside, the companies above own each other, and because they’re not publicly traded, nobody knows who really owns them. It’s really crazy to think about. Every company is owned by, considering cross-ownership of the holding companies/hedge funds above, one entity whose identity is unknown. Is it the Vatican? Israel? The Illuminati? Lizards from outer space? Not only do we not know, we’re not allowed to know, and that makes me want to adjust the fit of my tin foil hat.
In the interest of economizing words, we will refer to the above entity that owns everything as “BlackStreetGuard” hereafter in this article.
If a stonk in your portfolio had risen 300% in a year, the mainstream media puppets of BlackStreetGuard would be screaming it from the rooftops like they do with the AI stuff, the EV stuff, and whatever other bullcrap they want you to buy. Apparently, they don’t want you to buy silver. Here’s why:
Without silver, AI doesn’t work. Bombs don’t work. Solar panels don’t work. Most electronics don’t work. For this reason, BlackStreetGuard, with the help of a few of its large banks and the CME/CBOE, have been actively suppressing the price of silver for well over a decade, maybe even a century. They do this by issuing paper contracts at ridiculously low prices with the gentleman’s agreement that nobody ever demands physical delivery.
The problem with the bankster scam — and this is far broader than just silver — is that things have to happen in the real world for wealth to be created. Money is not wealth; it is a claim on wealth. They can print all the money they want, print it to infinity, in fact, but if the actual wealth in the real world does not rise to match the increased money supply, all that happens is that larger amounts of money are required for the same claims to wealth (inflation).
If your name is something like Rockefeller, this means the market cap of your companies goes up. If your name is Smith or Jones, it means you pay more for your claims on wealth; you know, the roof over your head, your education and trifling little things like that.
In the “good old days,” a bank lent money to a business. The business created products/services (and jobs) and increased economic activity in the real world. This can work as long as the money is being used for the purpose of generating actual wealth in the real world.
Since the late 1990s, money creation has not resulted in tangible increases in wealth. Oh sure, we got smartphones and AI, but have either of these resulted in an enhanced standard of living? If anything, they have diminished our quality of life; where we used to hang out and talk about things, now we hunch over and ask AI to spoon-feed us all the answers, mostly in solitude.
Your iPhone is a distraction (and Apple is, of course, owned by BlackStreetGuard) designed to keep you wrapped up in AI slop, oblivious to what is really going on in the world, which is this:
Actual wealth is diminishing while money creation chases infinity.
Remember, money is a claim on wealth, not wealth itself. What has been happening in orgiastic proportions since the near-collapse of 2008 is that money (claims on wealth) has been conjured into existence in amounts so large that it might as well be infinite. Those who stand next to the money printer and had existing claims on wealth (those with names like Rockefeller) have done quite well. Those who need money to claim “wealth” just to survive, working slobs like you and me… have not done so well.
So… what does this have to do with the recent (and I believe, only beginning) rise in the price of silver?
Silver is one of those things that “they” need to keep their AI data centers going, to keep iPhones in the hands of the plebes. As long as they could get it cheaply, todo bien. The problem is that the physical supply of silver is finite; infinite money creation does nothing to change this basic fact.
What is happening is that physical delivery is, in reality, required. By selling silver cheap for so long, BlackStreetGuard has completely fucked itself. If I sell you silver for $30/oz. in a paper contract, and you demand delivery, I have to honor that. If I don’t have the silver, I have to scramble for it.
Essentially, what is happening is a bank run. Governments, companies, and individuals are demanding their “deposits,” but the “bankers” don’t have said deposits.
In the real world, this means things have to become expensive, including capital inputs like data centers and bombs. There are physical limits on the pipe dreams of BlackStreetGuard, as it turns out. God seems to have a sense of humor about letting hubris send the devil’s minions to Hell, balancing the scales without lifting a finger, letting them dig their own graves, etc.
I’m not recommending that anyone buy physical silver as a middle finger to our would-be slave masters, but I will leave you with this:
There is not enough silver in the world for every person to own even one ounce.
… all that ancient wisdom about “Chi” or “Shakti” is obviously true on some level. I’m not a big cigar smoker, though I am a lifelong nicotine addict. Nicotine addiction has had me since I was forming in the womb — back then, women didn’t know that smoking while pregnant was le bad. I’m not sure it is, frankly. Both my brother and I turned out pretty well, and we were both born as nicotine addicts. He kicked it, but I’ve leaned into it.
This is a very old living thing that provides for other living things. Trees are awesome! Hug one today.
Tobacco is a sacred gift of the Great Spirit in my opinion, along with coffee, chocolate, many herbs and even hallucinogenic substances like magic mushrooms. Of course all of these things can be abused, but they can also be used to great benefit. That is a topic for another post, however.
Currently, my mind traverses the subject of quality, not merely the fact that this marvelous world offers such gifts.
What is it that makes New York grow such crisp, juicy, wonderful apples while apples grown in Ohio or California are just… apples? What is it that makes Cuban cigars so incredibly superior to all other cigars? I’m no aficionado, but I have smoked more cigars than usual in the past couple months. Nicaragua comes in a close second from what I can tell, but Cubans are a cut far above.
You could try to make the argument that it’s just le science — Cuban soil has a mineral composition that (blah blah blah). Cubans take great pride in their cigars and cure and roll them with more skill than people in other countries. Yadda yadda — tell me you’re a dumb, compliant, materialistic, “science”-worshipping, non-doubting NPC without stating it in those words.
It would be an interesting experiment testing purely empirical science itself to take Cuban soil, Cuban water, Cuban seeds, Cuban farmers and tobacconists to another country at the same latitude, grow tobacco, and see if we get the same result in terms of cigar quality.
I’d be willing to bet that we would not.
Why? Chi. Shakti. Energy. Travel enough, and you will begin to appreciate how the energy of the realm, flowing between the earth and sky, affects its fruits. If you’ve ever crossed the Pyrenees from Spain to France, you’ve experienced it. Even crossing the Rockies in Colorado demonstrates it — the Western Slope and Front Range have distinctly different feels.
Latin America’s vibrant earth energy presents itself boldly; Mexico alone is full of different vibes reflecting its many microclimates. Colombia is a whole new experience for me, energetically. It’s like a more intense version of Mexico. The sexual energy here is next-level; everywhere you go you see couples elegantly and passionately doing the dance leading up to “the nasty.” Percentage-wise, there are more beautiful women here than I’ve ever seen anywhere.
It is definitely somehow related to the fertility and abundance and beauty of the land. I’ve noticed the same phenomenon in other places — parts of California, specific regions of Korea and Japan, the south of France, La Paz — but here it’s a whole. notha. level. like Cuban cigars.
Soon I’ll be moving on to Peru, right next door, and I’m sure that the energy there will be something different. Several trusted sources have reported that Peruvian cuisine is among the best in the world. Of course I’ve eaten in Peruvian restaurants in New York and even here in Medellín, but it’s like Thai food or Mexican food — it just doesn’t hit the same outside of those countries where the fresh local ingredients make it pop. It will be something like smoking a real Cuban to eat real Peruvian food, I think.
I’m also looking forward to experiencing those massive mountains and will make a point of getting to the Amazonian side which is off the beaten path and apparently quite magical.
For now, though, I’m here in Colombia, and I’m liking it. I have a couple more Cubans to enjoy. 😊
Wherever you are, take a moment to breathe and tap into the energy that Gaia gives freely. Trust me on this.
You might also consider subscribing to my podcast. Soon an episode will drop like Colombian rain. Next episode relates to energy and how it delineates natural from artificial intelligence. Don’t miss it!
Joins pantheon that includes Saddam Hussein, Bashar al-Assad, et al
Let’s just get the side note out of the way right up front: I’m writing this from Colombia, one of several countries that have already absorbed a large number of Venezuelan “illegal immigrants,” currently bracing for more. The USA is not the only country in the world facing the issue of poor and dispossessed people pouring over its borders.
Venezuela’s oil wealth obviously has nothing to do with kidnapping its leader and indicting him in a kangaroo court on bogus charges
Unless you live under a rock, you know that Venezuelan strongman Nicolás Maduro has been “arrested” by US Special Forces. The US Department of Justice indictment charges Maduro with “narco-terrorism conspiracy, cocaine-importation conspiracy and weapons charges.”
Uhhh… what? “weapons charges?” He is a head of state and commander in chief. He commands an army, navy, and air force. How is he in violation of US weapons laws?
As far as “narco-terrorism conspiracy” goes, what does that even mean? Again, as a head of state, all kinds of scenarios would be war gamed. Notice the word “conspiracy.” Why not just call it “narco-terrorism?” Couldn’t it be considered terrorism to invade another country and capture its leader when that country has not done anything to you? Could it not be considered terrorism to randomly bomb boats and seize oil tankers?
Seriously ask yourself, “Who is in violation of international laws and norms here? Who is the terrorist?” How can you charge another government with “conspiracy” when every government on the planet plans nefarious clandestine activities against other governments?
The truth is, Maduro has already been found guilty of ruling a country sitting on a LOT of oil and not being willing to give it away in exchange for dollars that the US government prints to infinity (to the detriment of all people who work for that currency, I might add, in the form of inflation), just like Saddam Hussein, Mohamar Khadafi, and Bashar al-Assad — and that’s just recent history.
As an American citizen, I would like to believe the usual propaganda that our noble armed forces are liberating the Venezuelan people from an evil dictator, but I’m way too old and jaded to buy that. Venezuela is already a mess and will become more of a mess. They sold us that line of goods with Libya 14 years ago, and Libya is a lawless hellscape to this very day. Venezuela is likely to break into civil war in addition to the problems they already have with crime and poverty. That’s just how it is.
Proud to be an American? I wish. I’m embarrassed to be an American at this moment, and being in the country next door to Venezuela, even uncomfortable with my citizenship.
