Life oh' . .
oh'. . .
Ode to life
Blink a dink clink.
I don't know
but
I've been told
You keep on
(insert favorite verb)
you never grow old
You keep on
(jivin?)
You never
grow old.

Conflicting Principals = The Principle of the Matter
(Reflections from volunteering in El Alto, Bolivia)

Hypocrisy is a defining characteristic of he human species. No human yet has placed in harmony their words and actions without flaw. Although it is possible to reduce the incongruities between spoken word and actual action, it takes personal sacrifice and commitment. For a die hard idealist, no differential exists between the importance of carrying out their ideals in either the public and private spheres of their society. The commitment of an idealist to their staunch ideals transcends socially constructed boundaries of a ¨home¨ world and ¨work¨ world because idealists understand a societies limitations as an all-pervasive epidemic.

In my brief lifetime, I have seen that those with the integrity to consistently uphold ideals in all spaces and crowds, are the most harshly criticized by fellow citizens. Why? I believe the reason is because of their disregard for socially constructed boundaries and the corresponding threat posed to normative society and daily life. A challenge to normative lifestyles is often perceived as a very threat to the fabric holding together the established order of a given society. Such a challenge is often feared because people fear even the mere idea of anarchy, associating anarchy with chaos and violence that is capable of completely dismanteling their life. And in a world where the international market is dictated by competitive capitalism, so are the lives of individuals. Dictated by competitve capitalism people seek security for themselves first. After security in their own personal life is established, they then seek to secure their extant security which, on a macro-scale means fighting for change via alternative ideals is extraordinarily difficult. Change is almost impossible from without the system, but truly impossible from within until there is a massive shift in a societies philosophical current.

For some, ¨idealist¨ is an inherently pejorative term while, for others it is an inherently positive term. However, when individual interests and prejudices are stripped away, the basic essence of the word remains neutral. To be or label a person as an ¨idealist¨ is nothing more than to be or label that person as someone who has high ideals. I maintain the word has an evasive and inherently neutral definition precisely because the word ¨high¨ is itself vastly open for interpretation. To have ¨high¨ ideals could mean merely to have ideals one works hard to maintain, or it could be to have a specific set of ideals. For example, a particular ideal regarded as high by an Evangelical Christian of monogamy may be regarded as ¨high¨ and applied as a universal standard with which to categorize people as ¨evil¨ or ¨good¨. But beyond such a judgement remains the reality that for other people, such as the Morman religion, polygamy was traditionally highly held ideal (in the sense it was regarded as important to the Morman lifestyle and identity). The definition of the word therefore remains ambiguous which in turn enables the word´s use as either a complement for or a weapon against any human being one does not feel adequately meets their same ¨high ideals¨ or in other words, someone who doesn´t ¨meet their standards¨.
We have all experienced judgement and criticism in our lives. Anyone who has at least once gone against the grain by remaining firmly committed to an alternative opinion has experienced criticism. For ¨idealists¨ and/or ¨romantics¨, ¨alternative opinions¨ often manifest into ¨alternative visions¨ to which their whole life becomes dedicated. Persistent harsh and collective scrutiny from others often are the corresponding manifestation. The internationally recognized contemporary central iconic idealist of Latin America is Ernesto ¨Che¨ Guevara. But of course, myriad other´s exist. Other grandiose historical idealists range from George Washington to Emma Goldman, Mahatma Ghandi to Adolf Hitler.

A common critique of ¨idealists¨ is based on disbelief in any pragmatic possibilities growing out of an idealistic philosophy. This criticism/assumption develops a philosophical impasse between the perceived idealist and the criticizer. However, if we allow ourselves to take a step back we see the basic and essential foundation of said impasse. Stated baldly, the perceived irreconcilability of philosophical beliefs (idealism is pragmatic or not) arises because of a contingent belief one´s own theoretical practices are not only valid, but ¨correct¨ and universally ¨applicable¨. A belief one´s own ethics not only can be, but are, objectively correct and absolute, inherently render the differing ethics of another as false and obsolete. The important question stemming from this is, historically how successful have humans been when imposing moral principles to politics and other political systems? How many wars have been caused, how many embargoes have been raised because the moral principals a nation has applied to philisophically divergent political systems, are perceived to be in contradiction to the point a nation feels threatened by the mere philosophy of another? With norms and values embedded in any political or governmental system creates an ethics-bound citizen, a citizen obliged to follow certain morals. However, when ethics or morals are assumed to be universally valid and politically correct and then confront an alternative set of ethics or morals, wars can happen, oppression can happen, and many other disasters that are completely avoidable. I contend it is not the philosophy that is the core issue but rather people´s perception and presumption a basic ontological truth exists.

It is unclear how individuals are capable of completely developing a new political tradition when they themselves exist within the confines of that tradition. Such individuals are trying to criticize a system from which they themselves came from in the first place. It is almost impossible to envision a complete separation of a person from their society as possible. But what is crucial to keep in mind is that ethics are to be created rather than simply discovered. All ethics are human inventions, which mean they can in fact be destroyed and recreated. So, of course, can the international trend of universal application of one's own ideals and politics as the standard and norm.

Working in El Alto I have seen the direct and real effects being considered an ¨idealist¨ can have. Two years ago the project was spearheaded by former ¨street child¨ and now licenced anthropologist Don Angel. Originally granted a $25,000.00 stipend through the democratic initiatives program of USAID, Proyecto Por Un Mundo Mejor´s pockets are jingling with the minimal change left from that donation. USAID, one of the largest and oldest development assistant programs throughout the world and in Bolivia, soon after actually pulled out of Bolivia as a donor. Regardless, it is my belief donation´s are band-aids. It is also my belief that donation´s can often prove a sufficient economic buffer period during which an organization can secure permanent or more long-term funds. So despite two-years of existence (June 22 was the anniversary), a well-established recycling program (and one of the only in the region), a significant population in need of their services, opening of a bread store, commissioned artisan projects, and a program to create greeting cards, why can´t the volunteers of those at Proyecto Por Un Mundo Mejor provide the participants dinner, why do all volunteers remain completely unpaid? One of my principal suspicions is Don Angel´s adherence to his alternative and strong ideals.

Don Angel has written numerous letters to his government, solicited churches, knocked on doors of well-known donors or other NGO's, but has bee ignored or turned down time after time. Many challenges face Don Angel in this quest: the newness of the program, the existence of several similar but older projects, the fact all who work there are volunteers, and I believe, his ideals. Don Angel's dream and ultimate goal is to build a sustainable home that provides cabins for small groups of kids to live in with a single volunteer as a family. He wants livestock and a garden, education programs, access to medical services, sexual/reproductive health programs, resources for the kids to seek education and work, and an education program on how to be a responsible father. Not many would objectively disagree with those goals. All of those goals are oriented towards actively fighting for and raising the standards of human rights and dignity. So for me, it was at first befuddling that Don Angel could not secure more funds. I figured there was a missing piece of information I did not know about. I was curious and only became more curious with time as I witnessed the growth of the kids and the serious commitment of Don Angel and the other volunteers. After 5 months of working with this population and getting to know Don Angel on a personal level, as well as learn more about the political systems in Bolivia, I now believe one of the principal obstacles to Don Angel's securing funds are his ideals.

It is not Don Angels ideals per say that are the trouble, but rather the ideas he has on how to carry out his ideals. He has realized that many organizations do not want to offer assistance unless also given permission to impose their own belief of what is best for the kids (in other words, how the money should be used). Many doubt Don Angel's programs as the best way possible to help these abandoned children. Many suggestions are given such as abstinence education, teaching the kids the bible, or kicking kids out if they are ever caught using alcohol or drugs. But what most of these donors do not have that Don Angel does have is an entire childhood's experience as a street child in Bolivia. Now, as an adult who has a university degree in anthropology, Don Angel faces the same challenge of being disrespected, untrusted, and alone amongst his peers. Yet those who do work with Don Angel are there to stay. I personally became more involved than I had anticipated because I saw how much love and care Don Angel transmitted within his shelter, and wanted to be part of that creation. I also saw how willing the kids are to work to improve their situation, their lives, and the lives of others. Towards the end of the stay the kids and I completed a zine together about their experiences. At first I doubted if I could motivate the kids to partake in the project, let alone communicate to them why I thought is was important, but once they became involved, several personal uncensored stories were told. From personal accounts of huffing to personal accounts of prostitution, the kids wanted to honestly share their stories in the hopes that any potential reader might now not nly believe their story, but why they deserve assistance and why Don Angel deserves to be respected and believed as a leader. But in a society where it is normal that street kids get hit by a police man in passing, where the president defines the "landless" sectors of his society with a total exclusion of homeless kids, and a school system where kids cannot enter without a birth certificate their unknown parents may have, it is clear there is a social aversion to this population. It is no grand surprise that the most successful NGO's that deal with this population are NGO's whose core philosophy is based on "cleaning up", "providing morals for", "proselytizing", or "changing" the kids who walk through their dorrs. DOn Angel's philosophy is much simpler: provide love, affection, and a support system from which each individual can build themselves and grow. He's more like a parent than anything else which I think makes perfect sense when dealing with a population whose main challenge is exactly that, having no parent to guide them or love them. In my mind, a five year old will benefit much more from a loving touch than the Lord's prayer.

Part Three: Machu Picchu, Blessed with Truth

It´s extremely difficult to write about Machu Picchu without over-dosing the reader on cliches. Most at one time were original and interesting descriptions. Within the chamber of time, however, truthful original statements become mundanities. The truth that underlies must cliches makes it tough to escape the writing-plague of the cliche doldrums and come up with an original description. Most cliches about Machu Picchu are totally deserved and valid which leaves me strapped and bound o the table of writer's block.

Many have advised me just to write from the heart. But when the words wiggle their way out of y heart and out of my hand onto paper, they are nearly always cliches, and certainly always trite. Through this struggle I've realized that squandering desperately to come up with an original metaphor or description for the incomprehensible beauty of Machu Picchu would be to commit an act of vanity. To feign I could do justice to the mystical terrain of Machu Picchu with original sentences and words would be to deceive myself. The difficulty of relaying the magic of Machu Picchu is no boorish lack of inspiration, but rather an admittance of the impossibility to capture the astonishing accomplishments of a yet mysterious civilization within written word. The fact is, Machu Picchu is astonishing and it is ultimately irrelevant how many ineffective or effective descriptions I write. No matter what, much will be lacking and left out.

So, here goes:

Participating in a guided tour at Machu Picchu was informative, but I by far preferred ambling around uncontrolled by the dictates of time after the tour's completion. For me, the main benefit of the tour was orientation within the ruins that later would allow me to tarry with confidence. During the tour we visited several distinct areas of the ancient sacred city. The ruins that were once a city preserved for the most prestigious members of Incan society include separate agricultural, ceremonial, residential, etc. sectors.

Once the tour was over though, more questions boomed in my brain than before the tour had began. By the end of my entire stay in Cuzco, after visits to several ruins, I remained with the impression that no history book or guide is capable of giving a complete picture of the Incan civilization and it´s history. The more you learn, the more you realize how much you actually do not and never will know. Ultimately each person becomes engaged in deducing for themselves what they do and don´t choose to believe. The many myths surrounding Machu Picchu: the possibilities of secret tunnels between sacred cities, or of other undiscovered sacred cities, teases the likes of the strictly methodical as well as the likes of the dreamers of the possible to discover some firm ground for conjecture.

Ultimately I found my own personal vacillation between the truths and possible truths of the Incan Civilization and their remains the most engaging part of Machu Picchu. The amount of questions that still surround a civilization so recently eliminated (although of course Incan descendants still remain an active part of Peruvian/Ecuadorian/Bolivian culture) are a testament to the complex sophistication of that culture.

As Eli and I perused the ancient Incan streets of Machu Picchu, the flawless masonry was first to grab my attention. Incan masonry displays a certain aesthetic and structural perfection that defies that of the common 4-angle stone or brick. The stones ranging from one meter to cover four meters in size and range from trapezoidal to 12-sided polygonal. The multi-sized and multi-shaped stones are cut with angles so that they fit together like puzzle pieces. When compared to a wall made of rectangular stones the polygonal shapes of the stones provide more structural integrity. On May 21st of 1950 when a major earthquake struck Cuzco, the Domincan Priory and Church of Santo Domingo were both badly destroyed. The crumbled Spanish architecture was juxtaposed atop the massive stone walls of the ancient Incan Temple of the Sun which firmly withstood the earthquake. These Incans knew what they were doing.

The masonry at Machu Picchu made me wonder if the Incan population was genetically afflicted with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I write that with all due respect. I just wonder how the heck such precise, tedious functional beauty could be constructed without a genetic predisposition for hyper-perfection.

An alternative to this hypothesis is an Incan reverence for all forms and branches of life. Within Machu Picchu there is a Puerta del Sol (Door of the Sun) designed so each year on summer solstice the sun shines right through, a Templo del Sol (Temple of the Sun) for worshipping the sun, a giant semi-abstract sculpture of the condor, deity of the sky. Numerous edifices seem constructed to worship nature's inherent wonder and beauty. I believe Incans also were animists, believing all things have a divine spirit or soul (from rocks to llamas).

These two hypotheses aren't mutually exclusive of course. It is entirely possible, perhaps even probable, the Incans were Obsessive-Compulsive animists. Who knows. Ultimately, I remain with such a sense of bewilderment that my Machu Picchu experience feels incomplete. Don't get me wrong, it was positively awesome. It's just that my curiosity had been so stimulated that I feel a need to return (possibly several times) just to see Machu Picchu with a different set of eye's.

Part Two: Machu Picchu, You Move Me

Despot Roman emperor Caligula would not have been remembered quite as insane and eccentric if in place of choosing his horse Incititus to possibly appoint a seat in the senate as consul, he would have instead chosen a llama. The well-socialized llama is at once the apex of humility, the epitome of regality, and of extraordinarily friendly disposition. More so than the sometimes stubborn, sometimes flighty, and fiercely independent horse which of course possesses many outstanding merits. However, it is almost incontestable the biological evolution of the llama has developed it as the animal perfectly suited to be a level-headed ruler. Maybe horses are good political companions in an autocracy, and llamas in a democracy? Instead of a reputation for their regality though, llamas have a reputation as beasts of burden famed for their defense mechanism of spitting at an aggressor. Not aggressive by nature, you can tell how ticked off or agitated a threatened llama is by the contents of their spit. I just learned that apparently the more disturbed the llama is, the further back in one of it´s three stomach chambers it will draw the contents of it´s spit.

My affection for the llama was well-fed at Machu Picchu. Before our visit to Machu Picchu I was aware that the llama was the principal cargo-transporter of the Incan civilization. I was not sure, however, whether or not live llamas would be roaming the ruins of the Incan civilization. I thought perhaps part of the tourist infrastructure would include llama-controls both to preserve the ruins and ensure safety for tourists. I was enthused to discover llamas roam as freely as people in Machu Picchu, and in fact, even more so at times. Llamas at Machu Picchu also have the advantage of not having to embark on a 20 minute round-tip hike to the bathrooms, they just go where they please of course. Discovered that one the hard way; as I lifted my body up and over a terraced wall to reach the flat plain where the llamas were grazing, I put my right hand in a nice big pile. I love llamas, but still can´t help but curse when something like that happens with no sink in the vicinity.

The first speech by our guide delayed in it´s beginning as we had to wait for sleepy stragglers who arrived at the first meeting point a little later than intended. I was more than fine with that because that delay is what provided me the 15-minute-or-so opportunity to mingle with a 6-llama herd. It´s been a privilege to see so many live llamas while travelling through Peru, most the llamas a person sees in La Paz are dried out llama fetuses sold in the Witch´s Market for ritual purposes. Bizarre, but you get used to it. Seeing llamas roam around Machu Picchu was also for me, an integral element of how I experienced the ruins. The llamas are the only part of Machu Picchu that survive as living, breathing presence of the cultural patrimony of the Incas. The llamas and the occasional condor one sees if lucky. Seeing that animal life amidst was a useful reminder of the former abundance of production and creation that took place between what are now numerous, stacked solitary stoic stones. Indeed, the many walls are comprised of stones that although inanimate, nonetheless evoke an incomparable and truly magnificent cultural history. Part of what I found so engaging about visiting Machu Picchu was in fact the high level of interpretation one can apply to what they hear and see, much information and understanding of this empire remains highly disputable.

Anthropologists now recognize as true, however, that the Incas had knowledge of neurosurgery that after destroyed along with their culture, was not rediscovered again until the19th century by Western science. Just imagine how advanced humanities knowledge of neurosurgery and the brain in general would be if all that information would not have been lost for hundreds of years, leaving us to start again at square one. Popular history often undermines the sophistication of Incan understanding of the brain. Text books attribute the practice or ¨trepanation¨to the Incan culture (the drilling of holes in the skull,) but cut the explanation short with an insufficient explanation for the reasons why. The reason given portrays a picture of native superstition that ¨bad spirits¨ had to be released from an afflicted brain. Popular history leaves out the evidence that surgeries were frequently performed to cure war injuries, damage suffered from aneurysms, to remove tumors, and that the patients not only survived the surgery but healthfully lived for many years after.

Perhaps even more significantly, however, is the reality that the Incas also has anesthetic. Modern neuroscience is not solely responsible for the development of anesthetic (as is often the belief): the Incas developed an effective anesthetic from the plant-base of Coca leaves. In fact, in the beginning stages of the development of modern dental practices, a similar derivative of the Coca plant was also used as an anesthetic. This, to me, is also further proof of the many benefits of the Coca leaf that outnumber the one major drawback: the U.S. used it as a base to invent cocaine. The War on Drugs' often savage and biased attack against the Coca plant thus does not make it surprising to me that the many benefits of the plant that were enjoyed by Andean cultures, are suppressed as such information would undermine the demonization of the plant. The Coca leaf is not a drug, it is not cocaine, and in fact has been used for thousands of years as a nutritional staple in the Andes. It contains one´s daily needs of calcium, iron, and all the essential amino acids. It only even acts as a mild stimulant (less dramatic than coffee) when chewed in combination with a special gum derived from the ashes of native Andean plants.

Eli called me away from my llama diversion once the tour guide started shrieking her spiel about the agricultural terraces of Machu Picchu and we wandered back over to our group, took a seat at a distance behind, and listened. This is where our journey of the ruins began, and where I will pick up on my next blog about the magical Machu Picchu.

Part One: Machu Picchu, Take My Breath Away.

Awakening at 4:15 am is no challenge to the body when anticipation electrifies the mind. In truth, I was awake 45 minutes before the alarm even had the opportunity to rouse me out of my dream-world peregrinations. The only reason I even hesitated not to immediately bound out the door and up the staircase to Machu Picchu at the moment I woke were plans to meet two Peruvians acquaintances in the main plaza at 4:30 am. The previous night Eli and I had made an agreement to share the hike with the young artistic Liman couple we had met while being funneled through a cyclone fence door onto the train.

Spontaneous combustion has never seemed an agreeable way to die to me. True fear of such a fate caused me to spend the 45 minute wait in bed flipping and flopping. This measure seemed prudent in the face of my sensation of possible explosion from over- excitement. Physically, I felt like all the atoms in my body were at a rave on ecstasy and had invited all their friends. Overdose would be deadly.

Finally when 4:15 am arrived I verbalized to myself ¨make haste slowly¨ to myself. With that reminder I could be certain that in my excitement I did not strap my kicks on the wrong feet. Such a mistake could make for some bizarre and horrible blisters which was an unpleasantry I didn´t want to endure on my day of magic walking around Machu Picchu. At last at 4:40 am (ten minutes later than planned to meet, but here in the Andes showing up 10 minutes late means usually you are still 20 minutes ahead of schedule), Eli and I were headed out into the dawn. Downhill a half-block and we were at our meeting spot of the main plaza. There the Peruvians we met at the train station in Ollantantambo were waiting, anticipating.

The city of Ollantantambu is the crux of Incan-descendant and Gringo-tourist cultural encounter. Two-person carriages zoom-powered by a motorcycle attached to the front transporting tourists whiz past hundred year old Incan ruins. While the main plaza of Ollantantambo has metamorphosed into a convenience center serving tourist needs, the original city plan maintains it´s Incan roots. The city plan is shaped as a giant piece of corn with each building acting as a single kernel. Indeed, it would be imprudent not to emphasise the local importance of a vegetable with more than 3000 regional varieties. Cities designed in the shape of Incan gods and other revered cultural elements is common in the Incan world. Cuzco takes the form of a puma, an earth God, and another city is known to be in the shape of the Condor, a sky God.

Less than 12 hours after meeting our friends in the stalk of a giant corn, we headed on the road to adventure together. Headed on the road to the train station in Aguas Calientes. Our friend had forgotten to buy her return train tickets and needed to do so that morning to ensure a seat home. So there I was at 4:50am, flipping and flopping around in a series of erratic fidgeting on a park bench.

Par for the morning´s course, the train station´s computer system used to produce train tickets had crashed. But I found compassion easy, I would shut down too if I were put to work at 5am. But the shut-down converted the simple ritual of buying a train ticket into a complicated ceremony of archaic paper-methods. It is fascinating how easily humans accustomed to computer´s become stumped when faced with a manual task that perhaps 10 years earlier would have been completed swiftly and practically on auto-pilot.

The experience was a cruel, harsh test of my patience and I barely passed. I stayed relatively calm (meaning no major outbursts) but in my grapple with anticipation my nervous system took a bruising punch. I had shimmied and shook around the square until I found myself with a cup of coffee in my hand. It was the only food stand or kiosk open, the only place available as an outlet for my precarious enrapturement. Luckily for all members of our party, soon after I chugged the coffee the train station interaction was complete and we finally headed on the road to the trail.

The instructions were almost as simple as ¨follow the yellow brick road¨: follow the road along the train tracks until the bridge, cross the bridge, look for the stone steps, go up. The climb up was no more than a Class I clamber. For most hikers altitude is the real challenge. For a 29-year old Peruvian painter and a 30-year old Peruvian sculptor from sea-level Lima, an ascent of 400m (about 1000 feet) that begins at 2000m is a nearly unbearable chemical burn in the respiratory system. But for capoeiristas and a runner who have been living at 3800m above sea level, the air felt like the warm, thick air from under our bed-covers earlier that morning.

Early into the ascent we all four decided it best to split. Strong and consistent Eli took the turtle philosophy of ¨lento y contento¨ (slow and steady) which is a sagacious decision when you have a 20-pound shell on your back. Eli desired the work-out of Sherpa-duty so I rabbited the ascent, springing and sproinging up the awkwardly tall stone steps. The abnormally large height of the steps may be the first physical structure fit to Eli´s advantage in South America. Several times air-deprived others kindly allowed me to pass but several times I was also humbled by guides and children literally running past me up towards the top. Before I separated from Eli though I didn´t miss the opportunity to hear Eli´s verbal accostment of, ¨that causes erosion, a**hole!¨ to a youthful male red-head scrambling off-trail. Oh Eli, the wily rogue environmentalist.

At 6:15 am I sprung out of the forest and into the clearing that makes the entrance to Machu Picchu. For the sake of being classy I leaned against a post whose enscription matched the slogan of my t-shirt. I stretched on the ¨Peace on Earth¨ post until 5 minutes later I saw Eli emerging through the trees. Eli arose from the brush at the same pace he entered and as we attached our souls in reciprocal smiles, he emanated the strength, wisdom, and patience of the surrounding trees. Old souls existing firm and constant, giving creatures of life.

Grasping hands Eli and I climbed the stairwell up to the office to buy our entrance tickets. The stalwart South American tour experience, of course, wouldn´t be justly titled as such if it lacked in confusion and necessary information. The entrance of Machu Picchu, like so many ¨organized´ South American tours, was more or less a ¨choose your own adventure¨ saga of asking others, poking our heads in offices, etc. until we uncovered the proper steps to gain entry. Oh, and for future visitors to Machu Picchu, exact change is preferred. Thankfully for Eli and I the ticket-seller was gracious enough to let us in $0.30 Soles short since she did not have 5 soles change for our 10 sole bill.

With a handful of unpredictable (mis)adventures already under our belt, Eli, I and our tour group passed go and entered Machu Picchu at 6:45am-ish. At the last instant Eli and I switched from an English-speaking guide to a Spanish-speaking guide due to the lack of tact and care displayed by the English-speaking guide. Despite shaking Eli´s hand only 8 hours before, that morning at 6:45am the guide blew right past us, responding to Eli´s ¨hola¨ with a baffled look of, ¨who the hell are you?¨. Eli´s impression the night before was less than favorable as well so we opted for the ultimately more educational option of the Spanish-speaking guide. Won´t say it was the wrong choice, but certainly can´t say it was the right choice. Our guide seemed the better choice until she spoke. While I can´t complain about her knowledge of Machu Picchu, her screeching delivery was as terrifying to me as the enthusiastic delivery by Pat Robertson of blatant untruths to a susceptible evangelical public. Shocking in different ways, but equally terrifying. Or perhaps a more immediate and more universally recognizeable analogy is better; she was, more or less, the Peruvian conterpart of Frau Farbissina of Austin Powers.

Amogst the mystic mountains of the surrounding Cordillera and the remarkably enigmatic masonry of Machu Picchu ruins, however,our guide was easy to listen to selectively. After the entrance a 10 minute walk up path lead us to a grass lawn on the terraces earth with our first even non-photographed view of Machu Picchu. Looking down on the ruins made me feel like I was looking down on a field sprinkled by a vast sea of dead butterflies. The astounding and eloquent beauty that physically remains is so damn vivid it seems impossible the life is truly gone. I stood in contemplation haunted by the notion there is something more that remains, something more to be uncovered and understood. And like the many mummies Eli and I saw crouched in fetal position with their original hair and fingernails, the ruins of Machu Picchu seemed at any moment capable of stirring to life and reawakening their beauty.

Happy Independence Day

A day late according to Pope Gregory XIII, but Happy 4th to my fellow estadosunidensias. To celebrate I like to read our independence documents. It may not be more patriotic than blowing off my own hand with a Chinese Firehouse Firework to commemorate all the fallen soldiers of our nation, but I enjoy reading the documents to remind myself of the origins of our nation, of the freedom´s which our constitution, our Declaration of Independence were written to guarantee us. Reading these works always make me curious if the founding father´s would be appalled at the prolifieration of apathy demonstrated in our nation throughout the recent era of criminal government. Apart from my own feelings about the current administration and type of government under which we live, however, reading the documents always inspires me to remember the importance of discovering and maintaining freedom and independece throughout the world and throughout all lifetimes. To me, freedom to live out one´s own life undictated by the politics, ethics, or interests of another is not a rightist, leftist, or centralist matter, but instead a matter of guaranteeing human dignity. Happy fourth to you all! Much Love on one of my favorite holidays.

http://www.gilderlehrman.org/collection/online/index.html

Anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others.
- Edward Abbey

Leaps and Bounds

When in a hurry a steep paceñan downhill is an insurpassable ally, but that ally can become a fatal enemy if one lacks proper hussle equipment. Exceptional traction on the toes of your shoes is crucial to survival in La Paz. It should be placed in the category of ¨requiremed equipment¨ on any basic travel list designed for destinees of La Paz. Just as a seatbelt in a car is insufficient to save a driver or passenger´s life, however, so is good shoe traction for a pedestrian in La Paz. Prevention via diligence and vigilance are also crucial. When reaching the crux between a steep downhill slope and flat road, a controlled screeching halt is the crucial buffer between yourself and the runaway traffic. So far as I am aware pedestrians have yet to score a victory in the battle of runaway cars vs. runaway legs. Until that victory is scored, good traction is a necessary emergency break.

Just two days ago I found myself bounding down such a hill. The hill from home to the central downtown area. To try and put into perspective the grade of incline/decline from our home to the nearest flat road below, it is a hill that takes 12 minutes to climb up, and only 4 minutes to fly down at a hurry. Sometimes the difference between our leg size slips Eli´s mind and I have to remind him his flying downhill La Paz stride is a slight jog for me.

As I reached the bottom of the hill two days ago, a maniac taxi rounding the corner causes me to put into use my shoes super-runner-grip power as I slide along the slippery pavement and just barely avoid tumbling head first off the curb. Enough of a speedy recovery allowed me the leisure time to observe the taxi driver excessively honk at a pedestrian with unfortunate street-crossing timing. I notice the pedestrian wave in apology and jog out of the way. The taxi accelerates away and I notice the pedestrian is a traffic cop. Perhaps only in La Paz would the taxi driver have authority over a traffic cop.

Being a pedestrian in La Paz provides myriad opportunities for reflecting on the capricious taste of death, and the corresponding unpredictable nature of life. Multiple such encounters a day remind me of the preciousness of life. This relatively minor incident gave me the following fresh insight on my passion for life in La Paz: it is feasible the invigoration that jolts me into action each morning is the by-product of such consistent mingling with death and illness. To see the elephant from this point of view for the first time makes the elephant seem a different animal entirely. This thought provoked me to interpret the culture of world travel and professional scallawags from a fresh vantage point as well. The reality that dedicated world travelers create and thrive upon is one where instability in day-to-day life is used as the foil to intensifiy the vibrancy of life. That is why similar to those lost in the additction to methamphetamines, one can become addicted to travel: it enhances the vivid joys of the quotidian and can leave the unprepared depressed and strung out on boredom when forced to return to a normative life.