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.
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
… 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!
One gets the sense that if all human activity ceased, this place would revert to a state of nature within years; not centuries, not decades, years. This is, by far, the most verdant, fertile place I’ve ever been, both literally and figuratively.
Green Medellín
I’ve been here just over 24 hours and have already had a bunch of wonderful, beautiful, life-affirming experiences; have already met interesting, fun people; have eaten some amazingly fresh fruit (those who know me know I loves me some fruit) and have barely spent any money.
This city is NOT paradise. Visible signs of poverty are everywhere outside of the rich areas. The Medellín river is nothing short of a massive sewer. Crime is definitely a “thing.”
Example: Upon arrival, I met this young Dutch dude at the airport who directed me to a bus that saved me a $50 Uber ride… and dropped me a couple miles from my hotel. Having no Colombian cash, I needed a cajero and had to navigate a treacherous set of road crossings with all my baggage, exhausted after a night’s travel. On my way to the ATM, I asked directions, and they were like, “Go that way. It’s safer.” This was in broad daylight at 10 in the morning. I found the ATM which was guarded by armed, very serious looking fellows. The display on the machine helpfully warned as it dispensed cabbage, “Cuidadté! Put your cash and card in your wallet before turning around.”
Needing a ride to the hotel, I found a line of taxis, and the driver and his friend were salivating, saying, “Give me your phone so I can get directions.” Bro, please. I was born during the day, but it wasn’t yesterday. Pretty sure they were going to rob me or kidnap me or something… so I called Uber. It cost four bucks and felt safer.
So, yeah, it’s not paradise. A lot of Colombians have parted with, “Cuidaté” which can mean “take care” or “be careful,” and I’ve sensed that “be careful” was moreso the intended meaning.
But, you know, it’s like that everywhere. People get conned and robbed and murdered every single day back home in NYC. Hell, listen to the voice of experience: I’ve been conned and robbed there more times than I can count.
Fuck, at this point I’m not exactly an easy target. I get this shit everywhere. Seen it before and clock it everywhere, even on Park Ave. Especially on Park Ave. A dapper dickhead in a $10,000 suit can (and does) rob you a lot more easily and for a lot more than can some taxi driver in Medellín.
But I’ve digressed, as usual.
I’m looking out my window and seeing the lights twinkle on the nearby mountainsides as if the stars had fallen to earth, reflecting on the beautiful and intense experiences I’ve already had here. If you want more of a feel for it, listen to my latest podcast episode.
A lot of you know that I’m mostly uncomfortable with putting my personal business out there on the Internet; it’s one of the reasons I don’t do “social media.” Yeah, if you go back and look at this blog over the past 20 years, you will find posts where I show my whole ass, but it’s usually in relation to some global event or trend. Right now, i have no idea what’s going on in the world. I came across something about a shooting in Australia or something but didn’t look into it and don’t care, frankly. RIP to the victims, “thoughts and prayers,” whatever…
Anyway, this is feeling like a public diary entry, and that’s apropos to the topic at hand: the battle between introversion and extroversion, between chillin’ like Bob Dylan on an exclusive private beach or wilin’ out on a public beach with the hoi polloi. What follows is a bit personal but potentially of interest to the general public so here goes:
I’m posting this from a private beach, the nicest beach I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve seen some nice ones. I’m here 24/7, vibing to the sound of the waves. I put my feet in the moist, black volcanic sand and play in the surf whenever I want, and the water temperature is perfect. I’ve not seen one piece of garbage in the water. The surf is better than I’ve seen anywhere, not a single rock, even a nice, smooth round one that bumps but doesn’t gash you should you catch a wave and eat earth at the end of your ride. A wonderful breakfast arrives as if by magic each morning. There are exotic and lovely flowers and birds. Only a few lucky people share this beach; it’s private, exclusive.
But that’s the problem. I think I prefer the social beach experience. All those days at Coromuel in La Paz were so… social. I met people, normal people, working people and befriended some of them. There was music. There was food (that I didn’t cook and wasn’t served to me on a schedule). It was free, wide open to the public and inclusive, not fancy or “elite” in any way, but a breathtakingly beautiful beach open to everyone nevertheless.
The “problem” I’m facing here in El Salvador after one week is that I’m experiencing exclusivity… and not really liking it even though this beach is objectively superior to the private beach at the Ritz in Kapalua — and a hell of a lot less expensive.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining, just thinking. My gratitude is boundless. It’s just that this is a new experience for me and one that is both perfectly aligned with the introverted “twin” who is happy to read and write and contemplate his navel for days on end while anathema to the extroverted “twin” who happily presses the flesh with billionaires and hobos alike. It’s tough out here for a Gemini, man. We’re always at home and never at home.
Intuition informs me that I’m going to make incredible friends here… but how do I meet them? Are they lurking in the few other bungalows and haciendas enjoying this very experience, or do I need to venture out to other, more publicly available beaches? There seem to be plenty within a mile or two.
The wrath of my own independence bears down as well. I’m not generally susceptible to loneliness, preferring my own company most of the time, yet willing to take others along for the ride or to ride with them. But I’m really feeling the lack of a companion right now, like all of this would be better with a best friend, confidant, and lover. I suppose this is a result of ending a 20+ year partnership recently. Then again, if she were here, she’d be annoying me, killing my buzz, and ruining it for me as usual so… growing pains? A necessary respite from guaranteed company? A chance to reconnect with myself in a profound way? I’ll go with that.
It has only been a week, but I haven’t made a single friend other than the dueña. This is probably the longest I’ve ever gone in my life without bringing a single person into my orbit. It’s a little strange, but I’ll just go with it for now.
We’ll end it on a positive note: I have been writing, cooking yummy food, playing my guitar, and flowing nicely at my day job. 24/7 wave action does that to a person, no matter how thick or jovial the crowd.
Upon officially completing my first 24 hours in this lovely little country, I just wanted to record my initial thoughts. As some of you know, I have spent the past five winters in La Paz, Mexico. I have made many great friends in La Paz and regard it as one of my favorite places in the world so it was a tough call to forsake it this year in favor of new adventures. Initially, my plan was to head for Santa Marta, Colombia which I have been told is sort of the La Paz of Colombia: a small city that is a bit off the radar, having a vibrant music, art and culinary scene and surrounded by incredible natural beauty. Santa Marta is also reputed to be a sailing mecca, like La Paz, and sailing is probably the thing I most love to do; either that or making music, anyway… It seemed like a good call. More on my second thoughts later…
To be quite frank, I’m more or less done with big cities. If I’m going to live in a city, it’s going to be a small, culturally vibrant city where I can visit a friend on the other side of town in 15 minutes. Either that, or I’m going to live in New York, my home. Spending the past two weeks in Denver confirmed that large non-NYC cities are not for me. Denver is a cool city, and people whom I love live there, but I just hate having to hop in a car and drive 20 minutes in traffic to fetch a loaf of bread. The near total lack of pedestrians who are not homeless crackheads turns me off, but absolute dependence on a car for every stupid little thing is just… not my bag.
If I’m going to be dependent on a car, I’m going to live in the woods and only drive into town once a week for supplies. Yeah, I’m weird. Proudly so. Small, energetic cities like Sevilla, Spain, La Paz, Mexico, Ithaca, NY and many others float my boat. Highwayland is not my native land.
Anyhoo…
Santa Marta seemed to fit the bill as a small city with a rich cultural life and proximity to nature, but security concerns kept me away. A lot of Venezuelans live there, and it is close to Venezuela. I’m sure it’s as safe as La Paz in normal times, but it seems that some animosity toward Americans might be present with the USA sinking and seizing boats while threatening to invade the country right next door. Apparently, kidnapping is an issue there in normal times (it is in parts of Mexico too but can be avoided easily), and I’m not crazy about the idea of being kidnapped by some Latin American cult/gang and tortured for more money than I have. Being judged/hated for being a gringo, while understandable, was part of the reason I avoided Mexico this year: There is a lot of (well founded) “gringo go home!” energy in Mexico lately. Who needs that?
So here I am in El Salvador which a couple of locals have proudly proclaimed as the safest country in the world now. It does feel very, very safe, I must say, especially where I am, in a bungalow on a cliff above a private beach somewhere between El Tunco and El Zonte. All I hear here is the waves and the occasional impossibly loud bird, and the view is fantastic. I feel like some kind of king waking up in the morning and not even having to raise my head from the pillow to enjoy an expansive view of the Pacific, framed by almond and palm branches.
Last night I slept for ten hours, and I needed it after a 14-hour overnight journey. Sleeping to the sound of surf is the best you can do in life — full-stop, point-blank, period. Aside from a brief disturbance when a coconut thunked on the tin roof, it was a flawless slumber session. The WiFi is good, and I had a highly productive day at work this morning. The dueña of this place, a very sweet lady named Vilma, prepared a delicious breakfast which I ate whilst I worked, overlooking the mighty Pacific in fresh, clean, downright victorious air.
It is incredibly healthy being so immersed in the natural flow of things. I am planning a side trip this winter to explore points south. (It will be required to leave the country to renew my visa after 90 days anyway.) Peru and Colombia are both of great interest to me for different reasons. At the moment, I am extremely content where I am while looking forward to enjoying the nearby gringo surf beaches, the mountains, the lakes, and even the (shudder) city of San Salvador at some point.
It feels like my creative energy is supercharged by this environment. If you’re one of my “fans,” you will definitely find some new, inspired work in the 4.0 version of this site. I am equipped with a real camera, tripod, decent recording device, guitar and plenty of books and notebooks and intend to use them to create new music, new videos, new writings and ramblings, perhaps even a drawing or two. It should be pretty good so check back regularly!
This site hit the scene way back in 2006. That’s right: 2026 represents the 20th anniversary of chucklinart.com! I’m back for the fourth iteration. The other three have been obliterated by bit-rot and carelessness. You can still find some of the stuff on the Wayback Machine. Unfortunately, a lot of the old multimedia files — music, pictures, and self-hosted videos — are gone with the wind. Somebody probably downloaded copies, I suppose. Lucky them.
Turned up to 11
This iteration will be different. In previous versions of this blog/site, I played small ball, ever cognizant of the possible damage inflicted (or assistance rendered) to my reputation or career.
Those days are over. My personal life is undergoing a major transformation; it truly feels as though I’m entering a new timeline or parallel universe. In this universe, I am done shrinking myself to fit in rooms where I don’t even belong, done dimming my light because it causes demons to squint, done trying to make myself understood to people incapable of understanding me or — worse — hellbent on misunderstanding me even with adequate hardware, done turning myself down because lame, irrelevant people prefer elevator music.
What I am starting to see in this new timeline is that living authentically and fearlessly, speaking my truth, and aligning with kindred souls is the path to a new level of success I’ve not yet achieved, not that I’ve been “unsuccessful” in my life; I’m just entering a new timeline where “success” is defined in terms of beautiful experiences, peace of mind, mutually fulfilling relationships, good health (physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual) and, cheesy though it may sound, bliss/joy/happiness.
“Follow your bliss.” I read those words from Joseph Campbell so many years ago, and now, decades later, I understand them… deeply, ecstatically.
I am only now, after four-plus decades in this illusory realm, starting to see that time is all we have here and to waste one’s time on people, places, and things that don’t deserve it is the biggest tragedy. This, for me, is the essence of “mindfulness”: awareness that living your best life, doing the best possible thing in this moment defines success, not the other materialistic, soul-killing, time-wasting distraction they sell you like bootleg Gucci at the swap meet. Hell, the bootleg stuff beats the real thing anyway in terms of coolness; it’s all made in China by slaves so why pay $1200 for a pair of sneakers you can get for 50 bucks on the street in Flushing, Queens? To me, the fakes are way cooler. At least with the fake shit you’re sticking it to the Man in a small way. You have to know “the guy” to get the good fakes. Fuck the Man. Nobody knows the difference anyway. If I’m gonna rock brand-name shit, you bet your ass it’s gonna be fake af and cooler than cool, and what tf is cooler than that?
Oh, ummm… right, unbranded authentic top-grade shit is cooler than cooler than cool, and that’s what I deliver.
There will be nothing fake about this next chapter. We’re going hardcore “No Logo.” Quality speaks for itself. I fully expect the third act of my life to be to be the most productive and creative yet. Hope you enjoyed intermission. Take your seat to see the climax. The resolution/denoument will probably come in chucklinart.com 6.0 or 7.0, but things are definitely coming to a head here in 4.0. The curtain is coming up on a whole new act here, not just a scene.
This will be the best version of chucklinart.com yet. I intend to top myself and keep topping myself until I draw my final breath. I intend to inspire you to think, to dream, and to live life to its fullest in pursuit of those dreams. Feel free to bookmark, and welcome back to all my fans from back in the day (especially those who pre-date chucklinart.com). If you liked me back then, you’re gonna looooove me now! I know I do, and there’s not a damn thing wrong with that. ;-). How can you love anyone or anything if you can’t even love yourself, after all?
