Memento Mori

"some guy died yesterday, he got gored through the neck", This is what the kid sitting next to me said on the bus to Pamplona Friday night. Then he proceeded to tell me that he wasn't going to run it because he didnt have a death wish. Welllll fuck that, I certainly have no death wish but I was still gonna run anyways, after all I was gonna be wearing my lucky batman boxers so what could possibly go wrong? It's funny that the running of the Bulls is such a small part of the festival of San Fermin. Drinking, to honor a saint, thats what this festival is really about, I decided on the bus that I was gonna do my best to honor the saints with a serious bout of binge drinking. Not wanting to drink alone I befriended a couple of Canadian girls who also didnt have a place to stay. Oh yea, did I mention that I was going without anywhere to sleep? I decided not to bother with finding a place, because nothing saves a little dough like sleeping on the streets in what is hopefully your own vomit. When we got our luggage stowed away we headed for a bar grabbed a couple of beers and took them out on the streets, content to drink and follow the mass of insanity. A couple drinks later and were all feelin pretty good watching some bands and doing our thing. I had been somewhat apprensive since I had no white pants and no red bandana, but then I was able to score a sick pair of see thru white womans capris and a stylin red bandana all for under six euros. So yea needless to say I was walking a little bit taller after I knew that I´d just compiled the sexiest outfit possible.
Two hours later I´m in the middle of a park and were all watching an absolutely breathtaking fireworks display, the kind where right when you think its gonna end and it couldn't get any better, couldn't make you any happier, somehow amazingly, it marches on.

Three hours later im pissing on the sidewalk then subsequently taking pictures with one of the guys from a mariachi band that I had watched earlier.

Ten minutes later im throwing up in the middle of a crowd, everyone laughed at me, I laughed at myself thinking that I had just done something awesome.

One hour later im in the park with the girls, in a bed made of dirty cardboard. It's cold.

Five minutes later i'm wandering around the park desperately searching for more cardboard, I needed at least three more pieces then I knew I could make the absolute sweetest fort ever. At the time making that fort was more important than anything in the world, I had visions swirling in my head of a beautiful fully turreted cardboard castle.

two hours later im waking up in the middle of the floor of a dirty dirty bus station. The last thing I remember before passing out down there is the girls saying "dont leave well be right back" Fuck it I say, i'm getting out of here.

Three minutes later i'm in the corner of the bus stop retching for all im worth, it felt refreshing, at the time there was no better way for me to start my day.

Ten minutes later I meet up with a group of guys from portland who ran it the day before and I decided to join up since they said they knew the perfect spot to start from.

One hour later, I´m in the the middle of the street stretching waiting for the gun to sound still fairly drunk but feeling pretty aware. Laughing, joking, making small talk. Then it hits me like a fucking cement truck, I forgot my lucky batman boxers and to make it worse my womans capris are nowhere to be found. In one swoop my luck and my sensual capris have become just a daydream. The gun sounds, my heart stops beating, this is it, I really hope I dont get gored. You can hear the screams and shouts coming towards you but cant see anything because of the crowd We start to run and all of a sudden the bulls are right behind you, I dodged to the side of the wall as a group of bulls came thundering by. When the biggest group of bulls passes I dash after them with the rest of the crowd, in a veritable frenzy to catch up to them, hoping against hope that there are no stray bulls coming up behind me.

Ten minutes later I am in the stadium all the big bulls are gone and now they let out small bulls only about three to four hundred pounds into the ring and whoever feels like a daredevil in the crowd can jump into the ring and do there best to dodge them, heedless of the fact that I was clearly pushing my luck I jumped into the ring along with a couple hundred other brave young lads and spent the next half hour running after the bulls only to turn on my tail and run away scared shitless whenever they turned towards me. Pumped to say that the bull never gored me or flipped me, there were quite a few unlucky ones who would get knocked out by the bull and had to be lifted out of the ring.

Quite the experience

The No-Fear Sloth Philosophy

This picture above is me with some friends on a highway in Manaus, Brazil. We were on our way from Manaus to a bunch of famous waterfalls in Presidente Figuereiro. That crazy creature in the middle is a sloth, moving at its deathly slow pace crossing this highway. We grabbed a stick and coerced him out of this modern age danger zone.

I feel Kevin would wish me to use some deep insight, so in this very post I would like to compare my very self to the sloth. A creature, wandering across an unknown path, putting itself in danger to reach the other side.... What's so special about the other side? Who even knows what's on the other side, but that journey is worth taking - even if you're in dangers way. Because it can be guaranteed that on the "other side", well, it's gonna be different. It's gonna be special, and it's gonna mark your mind with new puzzling philosophies and thoughts that you will never seem to solve. What ever is on the other side, the 3 huge nailed paws dig in, and continue forward, never looking back, never regretting a move. And don't be surprised when passer-byers stop to see what you're up to, and more oftenly offer you a helping hand.

How many times have I been inches from death, but a random action from a stranger saved me? I've often wondered that. Of the countless travels I've journeyed through South America, I always found it surprising that strangers and natives of the land open up their lives to me, trusting me from the get-go, and going to earth's ends to show me why their culture is so special to them.

Now, on a temporary travelling hiatus, I can reflect back on some of my adventures. I wish Kevin were with me to ponder these thoughts, but lo and behold he's flying high in Europe. Rock on brother.

Day by day..

I went to Morocco, I don't really want to say anything about that right now. It's been three days and I still cant find the words to describe it and that sucks because I desperately want to do it justice. Maybe someday I'll figure out what I want to say, until then lets just call it being in an Indiana Jones movie and leave it at that. After Morocco I cruised up to Sevilla. Sevilla is beautiful, relaxing, fast paced, and sexy, somehow, almost seemingly impossibly all rolled into one. A city perfect for seeing the sights during the day then relaxing in the evening. My hostel had a rooftop pool which is a perfect place to relax with a bottle of wine and as corny as it sounds just enjoy life and enjoy the company of friends. Afterwards grab some kids and head to a tapas bar for drinks (I'd recommend anywhere in or near Alfalfa square) and quite possibly some of the best food you will have in spain. Enjoy it, watch the people walk by, pick at your food, have conversations that linger. This is Europe in the best sense. Around 12 :30 at night when the tapas bars start to close is when the frantic pace starts to pick up again. Bar doors that were closed moments before are all of a sudden open and inviting, blasting music down the long alleys. People start to mingle, yelling, laughing, clogging the narrow streets, a veritable block party will spring up before your very eyes. Go into random bars order some drinks and let fate take over.
And that in my humble opinion is a perfect day in Sevilla.

Tapa

I got bombed in Granada, I had no choice, its the only true jet lag cure. I was staying at the Oasis hostel, which like any good hostel is impossible to find and almost always down a long alley. It was nestled on a hillside among a sleepy network of alleys with hole in the wall bars and small shops hawking there various wares. After checking in, I found a quaint little bar with a good patio and proceeded to crush five or six beers while discussing travel with the only two other patrons in the place. I'm not gonna bore you with the rest of the night except to say that I highly recommend taking the free tapas tour that most hostels offer. To be honest I wish I could remember more of it, from my foggy memory it seems like I went to quite a few cool places. I think its safe to say I had an amazing time and the night like all good drinking nights ended with me sneaking onto the rooftop patio after it was closed and taking in the view. The view was absolutely spectacular and you could see all of Granada. I was thoroughly enjoying myself until I realized that if the view was amazing from this part of the patio it would be even better if I climbed up onto an even higher roof that bordered the hostel. It was a gamble and most likely a lot more dangerous than I realized. Once I got there I can tell you that it all paid off with me realizing that it was the exact same view that was to be seen from the patio. It felt better though, after my struggle to get on the roof, that view felt earned. I guess thats the thing about life, it's always better when you feel like you've earned it.

Ten hours of spain

For most people the flight over would have been an absolute nightmare. Cramped in a tiny spanish jet, no tv in the headrest, a little kid kicking your seat the entire time, not to mention the 12 hour journey I had just to get to Madrid. Yet none of that bothered me, come to think of it none of that ever bothered me, ever since I was a little kid it always blew my mind that you could be anywhere in the world in less than 24 hours. Such a small sacrifice to pay for what is unquestionably an infinite reward. After all is it not all about the journey?
Madrid was ugly in the most beautiful sense. I stumbled my way out of the metro almost tripping over a drunken teenager passed out in the middle of the sidewalk, his urine collecting in a small puddle at the end of the lane, walked past the midget selling lotto tickets only to realize I was lost in another maze of a european city. It felt good, Ive come to realize that all big European cities there is chaos and in that chaos there is a certain cruel beauty. Getting lost gave me a better tour of the city then I planned on, I would call it a fortunate surprise. Once I got my bearings I hopped on a bus to granada and a solid twenty or so hours after I left Boulder, I am in the south of spain. I was exhausted for a couple minutes but after crushing a bottle of wine I feel pretty fucking amazing. Nothing like a 99 cent bottle of wine to turn that frown upside down.

How about Last Kiss?

I was in Brugge for the weekend and a group of rugby players from New Zealand had invited me to sing a song with them. The entire night they had been singing oldies songs while getting as drunk as possible. When they asked me if I knew any good songs I naturally picked last kiss, everyone knows there is no better song to sing. I sang that song at the top of my lungs while chugging my Chimay and doing my best to avoid the lecherous gaze of the creepiest old man I had ever seen in my life. I used to be able to remember that night vividly and I could describe in depth the horror I felt in my very soul as that old man smiled at me with his oh so sensual toothless grin, yet today thats about all I can remember from that night.
Six weeks earlier I had been on a train and had been awestruck by the flower farms in Holland. Neat rows of bright red blue and purple shooting by my window as if someone had taken painstaking care in painting the very earth, gods mural I would call it if I ever believed in such a thing. The colors I just now made up, I couldn't tell you what they were, and I also couldn't tell you where that train was headed. The only thing that I really remember is that those flowers took my breath away.

I have hundreds of stories like these, stories that undoubtedly I alone find fascinating. Somehow the more I get the more I seem to lose. Bittersweet in a sense, memories and the stories behind them are all that we can truly call our own

To me nothing is more frustrating than when a memory starts to dull, be it good or bad. So when I think back on the things I saw and the things that moved me, its almost like seeing an ex girlfriend for the first time in ages, knowing that at one point this person was important to you but not really remembering why.