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Photos: India, 2006, some moooore people (india has a lot)
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Morocco, 2005, moon over chefchaouen – chapter 1
Also LISTEN to this episode on my podcast HERE chapter 1 july, 2005 ext. day the bright, harsh constant sun of southern spain/northern africa´s andalucia. the snake-like, necromancer’s sound of a solo arabic flute.... he’s the fourth man squeezed into the back seat of a ramshackle taxi that won’t go anywhere until it’s more than jam-packed with sweating human flesh. he’s just walked across the spanish-moroccan border, five kilometers south of ceuta, a dollop of spain still calling itself europe across the strait
Morocco, 2005, moon over chefchaouen – chapter 2
Also LISTEN to this episode on my podcast HERE july, 2005 tetouen, morocco ext. day. hot, dusty, tetouen. the crowded “metropolis” emerges from the desert mirage sheen of north africa. men in caftans, women in burkas. head coverings. arabic radio music shouts cacophonously-beautifully from the streets. he’s alone in the middle of a crowded arabic city. alone? well, all five of his fellow passengers have abandoned ship. taxi, that is. several along the dusty road south from ceuta, the rest right here in downtown tetouen. the cab dr
Spain, 2005 viridiana
sevilla, spain summer, 2005 he’s staring down from the rooftop of the vencione in the roughest area of the macarena. it’s not the trendy dance of a few years ago, “the macarena”, but the neighborhood where the name has come from. it’s charming but tough. home of the virgin de macarena, the maternal deity who the locals from this part of sevilla carry around once a year, parading her on their shoulders before the entire city, showing her off proudly, trying to outshine the other maternal deity of sevilla, the virgin de triana. it’s an annual competition, but he’s not int
Chiapas, Mexico, 2005: Palenque
june, 2005 it feels like southeast asia. crushingly hot and humid. like the rain forests of northeast borneo or central java. it’s wilting in the sun, and there are ravenous mosquitoes in the shade by what’s left of the river. it’s because we’re in the last rain forest in north america. a place so stifling and oppressive that even cortez, in his systematic conquest of meso america, skipped the place. he never even saw the pristine mayan temple ruins and pyramids at palenque. after a few comfortable days in tourist-friendly san cristobal de las casas in southeast chiap
Chiapas, Mexico, 2005, “soy zapatista”
san cristobal de las casas, chiapas mi fellow bobos, compadres, gringos, travelers, and etrangers, the thing i like best about travel is the education it offers. of course, it depends on what you're interested in learning. unfortunately, we can only see the world through the narrow frame through which we look. coincidentally and developmentally, that frame is usually focused on specific things at different times of our lives. things change, we change, and hence we are able to see, absorb, synthesize, and thus learn, about certain things at certain times in our lives. walking, playing ball/
South America, 2003: chapter 1, letting go/off we go……….
memorial day, 2003 peace, mi compadres, haven't been home on memorial day in many years. last year, no longer solo… kuala lumpur: the gleaming petronas towers, looming brilliantly in the nefarious night sky, islamic capitalistic icons, the year after osama bin ladin became the feared and worshipped international warrior/terrorist. the year before, 2001, had me somewhere chasing the midnight sun in lapland/finland or sweden, not too far from alfred nobel's peace prize, given to the hard-working but somehow-failed likes of jimmy carter, yasser arafat, kofi anan, and shimon
South America, 2003: chapter 2, hola de peru
june 13 , 2003 lima y cuzco, peru hola amigos, well, it’s taken over a week to get out of my insulated and fearful first world consciousness and into enough trouble and adventure to make it worth writing (and reading?) about. primero. first off. ay caramba! hay mucho, mucho frio aqui. it’s fucking collllld here. as in - winter. as in - summer, north america; winter, south. and sure, we came with turtle necks and down vests, but damn, we’re no peruvians. how do they live without central heating? in fact con nada heating? evolution? adaptation? must be. but it’s something young w
South America, 2003: chapter 3, los andes
(machu pichu -- titicaca) june 20 “arequipa! arequipa!" "cuzco! cuzco!" it's the sound from the bus terminals all over the cities of southern peru. announcing the incoming and outgoing metal beasts as they roll into and from the terminales. informing locals and gringos alike of which speeding or crawling bullet to board. it's also wati's playful mimicry of the animated and amplified cries. "arequipa! arequipa!" she croons. as i automatically reply in flat gringo harmony, "cuzco! cuzco!" as we wind our way from one infinite andean horizon to another. sometimes losing days or nights to the s