Google Reviews of Machu Picchu

Well, I finally got around to writing about Machu Picchu (forthcoming this week) and in doing so, I somehow found myself clicking on the Google Reviews of Machu Picchu. I noticed it only had an average of 4.7 stars. I thought that was odd, so I clicked on it.

Of course there were the folks that accidentally posted 1-star reviews but had glowing reviews. I am assuming that's the default selection (although it should prompt you or something).  But then you start to read further and see the dark side to humanity.

I warn you, go no further if you want to lose more faith in humanity.

This is YOUR FINAL WARNING.

Stupidity is AHEAD, it may make you very angry that people like this even exist.

Let's tackle Mamta first. "Not so good"?? Machu Picchu is "not so good?" What world is this guy living on?  What's more unlikely? This person actually saw Machu Picchu and thinks this or that someone trolls UNESCO World Heritage reviews on Google?

Maybe he's trolling and stupid.

Then there's Mike. Good ol' Mike McLarty. Good ol' JERK FACE MIKE McLARTY.

Is he kidding around with us? How is this even possible for a human being to think this way? "Seen one Incan ruin seem em all"? He CAN'T EVEN SPELL "seen" correctly. Normally, I look past spelling mistakes because I can't spell myself but if you're gonna trash one of the most amazing places on earth, I ain't gonna let that crap slip by without notice. Mike's a TROLL, he HAS to be.

I am too afraid to click on Mike McLarty's profile or whatever it is. So, I will just assume this is a troll job and just let it slide. But again, why troll Google reviews of Machu Picchu?  It's not like people respond to other reviewers. I just don't see the point in it all. And if is a troll job, the MASTERSTROKE is the misspelling of "seen". Tip of the hat to Mike, great trolling. You had me there for a second.

You're thinking they can't get much worse than that at this point, eh? Probably not, let's just scroll down the list and.....

What is this madness? Why is Dean posting reviews of places he couldn't go to? What happened, did his friends plan the trip and he wasn't invited?

"Well my friends went to Peru. I guess I'll just stay here. Stay home and cook some rice. Cook some rice and be all alone."

The passive aggressiveness of Dean is off-the-charts here.  One doesn't just "go" to Macchu Picchu, for an evening...so just how much rice did Dean cook while his friends were gone?

I put Amit and Owen together because they're a little similar. If Machu Picchu is three stars and "like heaven" are you saying that heaven is 3 stars??? That's it?? The Wildest Dream of Man, ETERNAL LIFE with GOD is ONLY 3 STARS???  All I gotta say is Amit, you're one tough cookie.

As for Owen, his other trips must have really sucked, eh?

"Too much water"? This is just stupid. This is just really, really stupid. This one strikes me as an unlikely troll job. It's not funny, so it's real, right??  Was there heavy rain when John visited? Well, John, it is on the edge of the rain forest. I've heard there is often morning fog but but ya know Machu Picchu is generally not know for it's rain or "having too much water". Stupid. Stupid and puzzling.

Okay. Well then.....moving on to one final review.

 Srivatsa starts off with telling us that it's expensive to fly across the world. Well, yes, Srivatsa, flights across the world tend to not be cheap. Then, he couldn't "stayin that hotel". Is this a reference to the hotel on site at the base of Machu Picchu, which, of course, happens to be very expensive. 

Then, my favorite part. He "thinks" he saw it. He "thinks" he saw it. Ya know, I've had enough of these people. The human race is WAY over-rated.

Been Awhile Fragments

A post of real fragments, cause it's been awhile.

You know who I'm tired of: complainers about the complainers. The world only gets better because people complain.  

Spurs keep truckin' - 18 years of contention. Unbelievable. I was going to quantify all that with charts and stuff from basketballreference.com but it got too demanding. I'm lazy.

Summary of my research: Most team's window for contention of a title (minimum 50+ wins) is about 5-6 years. That's it. There are few exceptions: Lakers & Celtics of 80's. Bulls (I'll give them 89-90 and that half season with Jordan) of the 90's and that's it. Some teams only get a 3-5 years. The Spurs have tripled a solid contending window. That's unheard of in sports history.

Just in case you're a stickler. No, I don't count the 1960's Celtics. The league had like 8 teams. Modern NBA history begins from 1980. 

Took a break from writing my book. I am around 17,000 words. First, I got lazy, then I got busy, and now it's playoff time. Plan on starting back up in May after we install our new flooring. 

H (my son, age 3) calls Parmesan cheese, "Parmish".  Cool, huh? 

I showed my kids some Tim & Eric clips (Totino Boy). They all loved it so much. Don't know what's crazier the fact that they love it, or that I even showed it to them. 

Planning a new study abroad to Ecuardor in summer of 2016. Should be awesome, man. All that reminds me I need to finish my Peru study abroad posts! (yikes) 

Other posts I want to get to in the next 6 months: 

Thoughts on Weezer's Everything Will Be Alright in the End 

Wonder Years: Part II

Spurs 90's Fragments: Part II

Weezer's Red Album Post 

Post on Islam's hadith tradition 

Confucius Didn't Say That! Part II 

Checked out the new Sufjan Stevens album. Wow. Some of the only new music that gets to me in any way. 

As I have gotten older, I experience music differently than I did when I was young.  When you're young you have all this drama about love and relationships,  so every love song becomes instantly relate-able. Your feelings are deep and the songs are ALL SO MEANINGFUL to you romantic little heart. 

Now, I'm settled and happy. Maybe a little wiser, too.  I miss "feeling" new music and yet, I don't. I don't want to scream to Nirvana anymore and I don't want to feel the emotional pain of romantic rejection again.  Music appreciation becomes just that, an aesthetic, appreciative experience.  

I'm not a robot, it just takes more for me to get "into" any new music. Sufjan Stevens is the only new artist that I can consistently "feel" or "get". 

Drew a picture for my 9 year-old before she took our state's standardized test and taped on a letter that her teacher encouraged us to write to her. Yes, that's the Dungeon Master from the 1980's cartoon, Dungeon & Dragons. She loves that show. 

That's it fine friends. In the meantime, eat a cookie from the kitchen when no one else is looking. I won't tell a soul. 

The Wonder Years: 1991-1992: Freshman Year

"Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house, like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of other yards. On a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back... with wonder." - Last episode of The Wonder Years

A few years back I wrote a series of posts on how I met my wife. It was written to and for my kids in mind. I was cute and titled the series "How I Met Your Mother".  I am aware lots of couples have pretty good stories, but in fairness and by any measure of objectivity it's pretty epic (ya know, if you're into that kinda thing).

A few days ago I find myself thinking of the The Wonder Years and how I was almost the same age (11) as Kevin when the series started. It got me thinking back to my own adolescence and teenage years. I figured it would be nice to revisit the past and write down my memories before they are all forgotten in my old age. On an interesting note,  I am writing this about my "wonder years" at around the age my dad was when The Wonder Years came out. So, without further adieu. Here are the fragments of my freshman year in high school. 

 I watched that first kiss between Kevin and Winnie with my parents on the couch and me sitting on the ground. I blushed but dare not turn around. I didn't want to break it to them I liked girls too. 

If I am going to follow The Wonder Years, then technically I should be starting with my middle school years but I don't feel like it and it's my blog. Is there really any other reason needed?  

Let's get it out of the way, the 60's were a much more dramatic and colorful backdrop than the 90's. In every conceivable way. Although I do remember watching CNN on the first night of the Gulf War and thinking if that war really was the next Vietnam, I could be drafted in five years!

My 8th grade year had been a success. We had a good group of about 7-10 guys that hung out at lunch and after school. Some of us had band together, some of us played on the same YMCA basketball team and a few of us had been friends for years from church. Although, we weren't popular by any measure, we were middle-of-the-road, good kids. High school would be different and this little group would splinter into pieces.

I began my freshman year in high spirits in the fall of 1991 (about a month before the release of Nevermind). Marshall was a large high school and I didn't have any of my friends in any of my classes. Furthermore, I never even saw my friends once school started. I could wander the hallways and never see any of my good friends.   As far as I was concerned, it was like I was attending a different school from my best friends.

This might be the tannest picture of me ever. Look at me - there's color there! I remember this because I had gotten sun burned at the beach the week before. That shirt was so dope in 1991.

Lonely at Lunch

My first day of school at lunch, I found myself in a near-panic, I looked around feverishly for anyone I knew. Any ONE. There were already cliques and it became readily apparent that I didn't fit into any of them.

There were the "kickers", the tall guys that looked like they were in college, the freaks (proto-goths), the jocks, the drama club nerds, the ROTC geeks, the snobby hot girls, the ethnic tables of various types, the tough maybe-possibly-gang members, the preppy cool kids that went to parties and drank, and of course, the nerds and outcasts. It was a nightmare for a 14-year-old.

I finally found Chris, sitting at the end of a table in the middle of the cafeteria. Good ol' Chris. What a sight for sore eyes, it was Chris!!

Chris was a quiet kid that I was "pals" with back at middle school. We weren't "friends" by any means but Chris would do. Chris had saved me from utter humiliation (at least that's how it felt at the time).  Chris was a good kid, a little boring and probably pretty nerdy but then again, so was I. He was a little taller than me, had braces and always wore dark polo shirts with dark jeans. At least that's how I always remember him. He sometimes mumbled when he spoke and we had little in common. Nonetheless,we forged a friendship under the banner of loneliness and we were both better off for it.

We ended up sitting together every day at this same table. Sometimes, we sat close to a group of guys further down the table and they would sorta talk with us. Man, that felt good. I don't ever remember him being absent. When he was absent, I likely scarfed down my food and walked around outside trying to look busy or at least like I wasn't alone.

My Sister, My Foil 

My sister was a senior at Marshall as well, and I served as her foil in almost every way:

She was popular and out-going,
I was not popular and a natural introvert.
She was well-liked by her teachers and an over-achiever,
I was the kid that teachers forgot and an under-achiever in every way.
She was involved with school and seemingly knew everyone
I didn't do anything and kept my head down low so that no one would notice me.

My sister drove us to school in 1986 Toyota pick-up (that would later be my first car). It had bucket seats and a stick shift. We almost always picked up another friend of hers on the way to school. I didn't mind because this usually meant I was stuffed next to cute senior girl. One morning, she decided we would have to pick up an extra friend, but I'll save that story for the end.

It looked almost exactly like this one. I remember it fondly

Typical Freshman Fare - Random Memories 

The quality of teachers I had in my freshman year were horrible.  I loved history but my history teacher was awful. He was confrontational and mean. He would challenge students and always say, "How about those apples, huh?" He constantly sent people to the office and threw temper tantrums. Somewhere between weeks 6-10, he quit. No one was sad to see him go. We had about 5-6 subs and a whole grading term before finally finding a full-time sub. It was altogether a terrible experience.

My other teachers were average to sub-par and since I wasn't in any honor classes or extra curricular activities, I was around some pretty crappy kids and classrooms.

I was absolutely terrified of speaking with girls. Specifically, girls that I liked. I was scared of rejection. I was scared that word of that possible rejection would grow and that suddenly my status among my peers would be even lower. This fear paralyzed me for three years of high school and it made me miserable.  Always a dreamer but never actually doing anything. Making things worse was the fact that I hated myself for feeling this way to begin with.

My self-confidence was a 1.5 out of 10 from 1991-1994. Luckily, I had enough friends to keep me laughing and busy and a little bit of hope that things would one day be better. Hey, I was right! 

Of course my lack of self confidence didn't stop me from day-dreaming of asking a girl out to go steady.  Ever the hopeful romantic, I was always on the look-out for love. Sometime in the late fall, I found myself in my first serious high school crush.

It was Stacey from church. We rarely spoke to each other at church but I figured this connection had to help me. She was a tiny little brunette with freckles and beautiful blue eyes (or were they green?).
We passed each other every day in the passing period between fourth and fifth period.

This was the moment I looked forward to every day, if somehow we missed each other, it felt like a bad day. I planned my hair grooming around the event and would try to round this specific corner everyday at the same exact time. It was actually a little stressful.

We would see each other, smile and say "Hi". To my recollection, the first 20 times or more this happened, I was too scared to say anything but, "Hi". But eventually, this would change....

High School football is a big deal down here in Texas and our school in 1991 was pretty darn good. In fact, we had future NFL star in Priest Holmes and another NFL Vet ND Kalu on our team. Holmes was known as Anthony back in the day and he was a pretty nice guy. One time I found myself walking right next to him on campus and to my surprise found him about as tall as me!  He was amazing to watch every Friday or Saturday night. How many times, we wished for instant reply but to no avail.

I had another crush on a girl in my English class. It's getting a bit hazy but I think her name was Crystal. Crystal or Jessica. Or maybe something else. I may have forgotten her name, but I haven't forgotten her face. Or her hair. She sat in front of me so I would sit there staring (and smelling) her long, straight, black hair. She had big brown eyes and looked a little like Princess Jasmine (ya know, but human). She was different from most girls that I had liked. Very stylish and less of the girl-next-door vibe than usual.

I thought she was hot and eventually we got to talking from time to time.  To my surprise, we got along pretty well and eventually for some crazy reason she asked me if I could buy her a Cosmopolitan magazine because her mom would never let her get one. I had no idea why she was asking me this or if it was just a game to see how much control she had over me, but it got my brain running. I would have to somehow procure some cash (of course, I had no money), and then walk to the grocery store and then (gulp) actually buy a Cosmo magazine. When would I have time for this? I usually walked to the neighbor basketball court, so that could be my cover-story. Could I bring myself to actually buy this magazine? I figured the checker would think I was buying it for myself for uh, well,  "entertainment purposes". I thought about it for weeks but never had enough gumption to actually do it. Even for love, I was too embarrassed.

Soda in the Time of Love

English was my last class of the day, so sometimes, our teacher let us go out and get sodas from the machine at the front of the school (which wasn't too far from our room).  I have no idea why she would do this and just imagining a world where the high schools have soda machines again is pretty crazy. As I bought my Dr. Pepper (my drink of choice from 1988-2002) and noticed that the machine strangely spit my fifty cents out again.  I put my two quarters back into the machine and once again, I got a Dr. Pepper and the two quarters came spitting back at me.  I did this about 10 times or so until I couldn't carry anymore sodas. When I returned back to class, I was the hero for the day. I went back after school, made sure no one else saw me and managed to get another 5 or 6 and put them in my backpack.

The Epic of Stacey (or "How To Screwed Up A Sure Thing) 

I really did like the girl in English, but I was "in love" with Stacey (yeah, I am pretty sure I thought that).  Eventually, the "hellos" would grow into small talk in the hall way or at church. I was young and stupid and I had no idea if she liked me or if she was just being nice.  In retrospect, it's pretty obvious she liked me but as they say, "hindsight is 20/20". Even with doubts, I decided I would call her.

I was paralyzed with fear but had a huge advantage. The church directory. Having the directory downstairs by the family phone in the kitchen allowed me to skip the whole awkwardness of asking for a number and just move on the the anxiousness of making a cold call. I thought rejection by phone would be easier to take than rejection face-to-face.

My sister usually hogged the phone most nights, so I had to time my call carefully. As far as I was concerned I was on a SECRET-OPS MISSION.  No one could know how this went down, not friends and definitely not family. My worst fear was that my sister would pick up the phone and start to dial or worse still, she would pick up the phone and (horrors of horrors) actually listen. Yeah, those were the days, when you heard a click and were like, "I know you're on the phone -- hang up!!" I think I waited until she was watching TV or doing something for school.

Yeah, this was actually my phone in 1992. Take careful note of the cord. I was so excited when I got this phone and then when you plugged it in the cord was like 8 inches long. 

I took a deep breath and called her phone number. Stacey picked up and after just a few seconds, I asked her on a date. My idea was to ask her to the movies and I suggested The Addams Family (this was in the winter of '92) on the following Saturday.  I was pretty surprised when she said.......yes. Wonders of wonders, miracles of miracles, it was actually happening! I was beyond thrilled. I don't think we talked much after that I figured the less I talked the less likely I could screw it up. Up until this point, I think we had spoken for maybe a total of 45 minutes, but I was sure we had a LOT in common. I mean, we went to the same church, the same school, oh, and she wanted to see The Addams Family with me, so, there was that.

Yes, I was indeed on cloud nine the next few days, but.....there was something still hanging over me. My secret mission now had to be disclosed to everyone else, and most especially, my parents. I thought about just telling my sister and somehow concocting a cover story to hide the fact I was on a date. But no matter how many times I tried coming up with something, nothing seemed to make sense.  Looking back, I have no idea why I was so scared to tell them this was happening. I mean, they would have been happy it was with a girl from church! In my crazy head, I figured I would be hounded by embarrassing questions, innuendo about how "cute" it was, I just felt totally uncomfortable with the whole idea. I was paralyzed by shyness and awkwardness.

Saturday kept getting closer and closer and I growing more and more terrified.  kept putting off telling my folks about the date and suddenly, it was Saturday afternoon. I couldn't do it. It started to rain outside and I had these crazy ideas to somehow trick my sister into driving us to the theater but I froze up. Unbelievably, I called Stacey and cancelled our date.  I have no idea what excuse I made up, but I was so ashamed of myself, I never even called her back.

This little episode was re-lived over and over in my head for the next few months (and years). I deconstructed it, made excuses for it and I probably even dreamed about it. Eventually, I got enough gumption to ask her out again in the summer of 1992. And then one Sunday, she brought a boy to church named Dorian. In that instant, I knew I had waited too long.

Oh, how I hated Dorian. I hated his cool hair, the fact that he was older than me. I especially hated his name. Dorian. Looking back it's easy to see I hated Dorian because I hated myself for what I hadn't done. That should have been me!

Stacey dated Dorian for a little over a year. I waited around thinking I could wait their relationship out. However, as soon as she broke up with Dorian, there was an immediate replacement, Chris (no, not my friend from lunch). He was even older than Dorian and was actually in college. I was stunned. The guy was 6"2 and looked like he was 30 to my 15 year-old eyes. There had been no gap, no chance for me to even know she had been single! I was so mad. I felt like life had kicked me when I was already down.  Stacey went on to marry Chris after my freshman year in college.

The good news is I never had to sit through The Addams Family. Never did see this crappy movie.   

I was heartbroken but I knew that was a part of life. I've always been blessed with a laid back, reality-based attitude. I knew these things happened and the rules of probability would eventually fall my way. After all, Kevin and Winnie had a rocky path as well.

My grades were pretty average. An occasional A, more B's, lots of C's and a sprinklings of D's.  I didn't really care about school all that much except to pass my classes. I forged a few progress reports because I would be failing at least one class per 6-week term and I didn't want my dad yelling at me. My grades would only get worse in the next two years.

My freshman year wasn't all bad.  I had a great group of friends. Philip, Adam and Steve at Marshall and Doug from church (who went to one of our rival schools, Taft).  I was busy with basketball after school (we had some epic games), hanging out at the mall on the weekends, talking about girls and sports forever, having sleep-overs and playing video games late into the night. I also stayed busy with youth group activities at church, Doug and I had a blast being goofy and hanging out. Without my friends I honestly don't know how I would have made it out of high school without the need of therapy.

The Story of the Bumpy Ride 

I am sure there are many more drama-filled stories to tell but they are forgotten in the mists of time. But there is one more story to tell and it goes back to that old Toyota truck.

As I said above, my sister would always give rides to her friends to and from school. One day, she told me she had to pick up two girls on the way to school. It was cold outside and I knew we would get in trouble if I rode in the bed of the truck, so this meant one thing: a girl was going to to have to sit in my lap in this tiny truck.

I  saw this picture and the memories came flooding back. Even the little imperfections of our particular truck came back to me. 

My sister's friend lived a few streets down from us and she was very pretty. Understand that this 1986 Toyota pickup did not have what I would call "good shocks". I was a 14 year-old young man, riding with a beautiful (did I say pretty? Because I meant beautiful) young lady in my lap in a pick-up truck bouncing around the road on the way to school.

To explain the challenge further would be to belittle it.

I fought so hard that morning. With ever fiber of my being I thought of every NBA statistic that I could muster. All-time leader in points? Blocks? Which top-ten statistical categories was David Robinson in?  I thought of school, even the music playing on the radio (that is, until I realized it was a sexually suggestive song). About half way to school, I was in in total check but somewhere along the ride, something happened.

It was half-mast.

I was sweating like never before all the while pretending nothing was amiss. Maybe she could feel it, maybe not. I couldn't be too sure. But half-mast it stayed. Somehow I had willed it.

Luckily, there were only a few minutes left. My torture was over. I quickly exited the car and got the heck out of dodge.

Next year would be worst of all high school years. If you're still reading this one, I have no idea why you wouldn't read the next one, as you must be easily entertained.

The Storyteller's Daughter

Tonight at story time, E told me she wanted to tell C and I a story as well. Of course, I obliged and I was actually delighted to hear what creative story she might come up with.

The following is a paraphrase of the story and it's missing some details, but I will give it my best.

I have entitled it: The Saddest Story Ever Told 

There was once a baby panda that "lost its mother to a tiger". The baby panda was very sad.

The baby panda climbed to the top of a hill that had one "lonely tree" at the top of the hill. "Actually, it was an ant hill" and a giant ant came out of the hill and killed the panda.

Yup, that's my little E!

Peru Fragments: Part IV: Climbing the Dream

In the summer of 2014 I taught a short-term study abroad program to Peru. Here is my fourth post of fragments on the trip. Here was Part III.

After the wonderful dinner and star-gazing from the night before, we were all a little slow to rise. Plans were hatching that would split our crew up into two groups. One group wanted to go back to Cuzco and attempt to attend the Inti Reyma.  We had planned on this being a possibility but had not been able to score tickets. This is the annual event that celebrates the sun and it would be a great opportunity for all of us.

We were told that tickets to the event were sold out and that the cheapest ticket would have to be bought from scalpers at over a hundred bucks! Plus, we would have to take the hour-plus trip back to Cuzco.  I was torn but I really didn't want to pay money for an unknown. Even if we got tickets,  I had no idea what the seats would be with. Plus,sitting in the sun all day in large crowd sounded unappealing. I just had a bad feeling about the whole endeavor. Besides, I had an plan for us back in Ollantanytambo. I loved the "small town" atmosphere and knew we were going back to Cuzco later in the trip anyway.

After a nice quiet breakfast at the hotel, the two groups parted ways. The group that went back to Cuzco was comprised of only students. I am sure this broke a rule or violated some ethical study abroad guidelines, but hear me out. The three students that went were well equipped for their adventure. One was an 34-year old US military vet and a well-worn world traveler (she was unafraid of just about any situation) and another was a Spanish speaker. It seemed a perfect match.

Our group rode one of the motos down to the bus stop and took a taxi to back to Ollantanytambo. We planned going up the trail El Camino a Pinkuylluna. This was a path up the mountain that was opposite of the Sun Temple that we had been at the day before.  On the mountain there were several granaries that stored food for the Inca community. Because it was higher elevation and kept at a cooler temperature, the food was sure to last longer. Most of the store-houses were about the size of a small apartment or home but we made our goal of the day to make it to the largest structure on the mountain.

Our first problem was finding the path! The trail-head was extremely difficult to find and was not well-marked at all. Maybe we were just oblivious, but if you're looking for the entrance, keep your eyes open!  The travel book I had with me was unclear and even asking a few locals, we still couldn't find it (although we got a good tour of the city). After an hour, we finally found that we had walked right past it earlier in our journey! Doh!

This was the street that Pinkuylluna is on. Cool little cobblestone road.



Even though there was a skull and cross bones, that just made the whole climb feel more fun. I can't recommend this hike enough. It's free and you are free explore as you wish. I heard online some folks paid a guide and that's completely not necessary. Just start climbing, and have fun! At least on the day we went, it was pretty empty as well. One of these days, someone will do something stupid and they won't allow people to roam free on and around the ruins. It almost felt like you were getting away with something. 

One of our members was a little out of shape, while the rest of us were moderately "in shape". The climb starts pretty steep, so we had to watch our step and our hands. My colleague managed to get a cactus needle in his hand while he was trying to take a picture. After about 40-60 minutes into our climb, our out- of-shape student said we could move forward without her. While we encouraged her to come with us, I think we were all relieved about her decision. She hung out in one of the old granaries all by her lonesome, but at least she had a heck of a view of the valley. 

Every few minutes we would climb to a new ridge and find another granary to explore. There were multiple paths as well that offered too many choices. I instantly regretted the time we wasted finding the trail and thought it would have been even better to leave earlier in the morning to have more time to explore.  Something got into me as we made our ascent. During our climb I started climbing ahead of the other two, just climbing crazy, like a mad man. We had the trails pretty much to ourselves, so it just felt like my own mountain. It was great. 

This was about as high as I would go.  We decided to veer to our left (the photo's right) to get to the largest granary, plus we needed to plan for climbing back down, eating lunch and catching a ride back to Urubamba. 

Look, I'm getting all 21st century on ya with the first selfie of the blog!

This had been our goal, the largest granary on the mountain. Years ago, I had seen pictures of these very store house online in my early research of our program. I had even forgotten about it, until the path turned around the bend and there it was. It was other-worldly. 

The afternoon sun made the rocks gleam as if they were made of gold. I waited for C and the other student to arrive. I took it all in and enjoyed the moment alone. On a group trip like this, alone time is at a premium.  Having an ancient Incan ruin to yourself is pretty darn sweet.  

 I took a few pictures and then I  did something that while inappropriate, it was completely necessary inside the granary. Don't judge me! It wasn't a holy site and the granary afforded me the privacy that was necessary. Besides, it would be another two hours before I could find a proper bathroom. 

I find doorways without doors are pretty cool. 

After a short rest and more photography at this granary, we headed back down the mountain. We had some solid sandwiches at Hearts Cafe. I had the hummus and tomato sandwich- thumbs up for me. There is good food to be had at this little place and a nice second story to people watch in the town below. They also had wifi, and that's always nice.  It was one of those late lunches that only means you'll skip dinner and later be starving at 10 o'clock.

We caught a taxi back to Urabamba but for some crazy reason we walked from the bus station back to our hotel. We stopped by a local park and riverside and the river was nice - if you didn't look down at the trash.  We continued our walk but we realized how silly it was given how tired we were. We discussed hailing a taxi or moto but never did and it made less and less sense the closer we got. We stopped at a convenience store for ice cream and finally, after an hour of walking from the bust station, we came upon our hotel, exhausted.  

One of the motos in Ollanta.  Baby Jesus and Mary above the tiger with wings, inside a Bat-Man symbol, surrounded by reversed Nike swooshes.  Could this get any cooler? Also, Ying-Yang symbol on the mud flaps. Sweet. 

There was a bit of drama as we hadn't heard from the other team. But after a strange text and a short phone call, we found out they were on their way back. They arrived at 9 or 10 and we had "class" by exchanging stories of our day. Apparently, they had a great adventure as well and their tickets and seats were great! Our class time got a little heated, as C had them talking about peace and conflict and well, conflict happened. It was our first sign of strain on the group but it all worked out in the end.  

I think I snacked a little on my snack reserve, knowing I could enjoy a big breakfast at the hotel in the morning.  I had packed crackers, dried banana chips, Cliff bars, peanuts, etc. for just this kinda thing. Also in my backpack: AAA batteries, tissue, hand sanitizer, band aides and of course pens and pencils. Just call me a boy scout. 

One last look at our hotel. 

The next morning we had a nice leisurely breakfast before we were moving up in elevation once again. This time we drove to our highest peak of the Sacred Valley, (12,100 ft.), Misminay. It was a nice drive up sloping mountains and our drives were always quiet and relaxing.  Usually on these bus trips I would occasionally look down below and wonder, "Wow, if the driver had a brain aneurysm, we would all die".  

Misminay is a village that embraces tourism as a way to make their lives better. It was great. I had seen this quick BBC video clip about the village before we left for the trip.

I had mixed feelings soon after we arrived. They did they a little welcome as they did in the video above. It felt slightly forced and it felt slightly exploitative.  On the other hand, it was tourists like me that helped keep their way of life and beliefs intact (I hope) and allowed them to make their lives easier. I mean, I felt exploited later when they started to hawk their stuff. I dunno, capitalism....this is what it does.

Although some of it felt like a show, it felt like there were some "real" moments as well (???).  We shucked some corn with the villagers and then shared a blessing ceremony to Pachamama with coca leaves and chicha. The chicha is traditionally fermented with spit and I wondered if this was the case with this batch.  We were offered each a sip and I felt as thought I couldn't refuse. It wasn't as sweet as I was expecting but hey, I've never tasted corn juice fermented by spit.

Blessing and prayer to Pachamama

The village was an amazing display of the strength of the indigenous faith and belief system. I was under the impression that the mestizo culture and the Catholic Church had over-run or incorporated indigenous belief into it's own system. However, what I was finding out was that for many indigenous peoples, the belief systems weren't mixed. The two systems existed as two concurrent systems that didn't contradict one another but complimented one other. Offer a prayer and blessing to Pachamama, then go to church later that day. What seemed like contradiction to us, seemed logical to the people.

After the blessing, we had a home-cooked meal, which was pretty good with some serious, kick-ass chili peppers (it looked like pico de gallo but much spicier). Then the women of the village showed us how the women clean the wool, dye the wool and spin the wool of alpacas. Of course, when showtime was over, they started selling items.

After it was over, it was time to head back down to Ollantanytambo on a long bus ride back. We had a train to catch to a little place called Machu Picchu!!

Part V coming soon.....

Art Post: Mike from "Monsters, Inc" Birthday Poster

Getting crazy on the blog - two art posts in a row!  I was called to duty last night to produce a birthday poster for my son's  H birthday party.

It will also double as a "Pin the Eyeball on Mike" game as well.  It was taken from a composite of two different models I selected of Mike that I found online. The perspective is a little screwy but it was already too late for me to change it. Anyway, I am pretty happy with it, considering all of it was done free hand and I spent all of ten minutes penciling it and then tracing it with a sharpie.  

As usual, it was painted with acrylic paint while the lettering was done with map pencils because I'm lazy. 

Self Portrait: Fall of 2014

I was flying back home from a conference in October of last year when I started drawing triangles. Lots and lots of  triangles. Triangles with different designs and shapes inside. Some designs were connected within larger triangles, others were contained.

It was fun and I was jamming out with some tunes, wasting time until I got home.

Then I started writing random numbers inside of them and I found myself lazily trying to create a code of some importance using math or combinations of numbers with letters, etc. We were starting to land, so I figured I would expand on this idea and create a proper self portrait.  After a week or so of drawing a few triangles a night, here was the result:

The page was too big for my scanner so the edges are little blurry. Oh well. 

Some triangles are homage to beloved pop culture items/people (you'll find Spider-Man, Kermit, references to Spurs, Weezer, etc.) Other triangles relate to religious iconography, verses, concepts, etc. including Christianity, Hinduism and Buddhism. There are also a few philosophical concepts and questions taking up space. Of course there are personal coded messages from my past, including initials of people or events, years of note, etc. This includes relationships, friends, jobs, trips and events. Finally, there are the symbols and pictographs, many of which are symbolic and obvious, some symbols are not-so-obvious and others are, well, just designs or silly pictures that have no meaning whatsoever. If you like you could label them "red herrings".

There are "quadrants" (ironic in a picture of triangles to use that term) that are roughly (very roughly) set up chronologically around my life. So for example, most of my early and middle childhood memories are at the top. The caveat to that is that there are many triangles out of order but I figured that's a lot like our brains anyway. Our lives often are narratives that are pieced together out of tangled synapses and wrinkles.

The main message is that triangles are cool, man. Real cool.