Homeless By Choice

What do you mean what do I do? I travel around. I go to visit friends in places I’ve never been, friends I’ve never met before. Then I move. Too much world to see.

“As your attorney, I recommend you wipe the SD card on your camera, overwrite it several times. Overwrite all images on your hard drive. Deny everything always, today, tomorrow and forever. It never happened.”

Hunter Thompson’s three hundred pound Samoan from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” gives me a visit, reincarnated as a Columbian.

We kept running into the same two girls. One was kind of cute, with full breasts and tight hind quarters but a bit of a roll over the gut. The other was of an unpleasant countenance hair from a Steven King novel and smelled of cigarettes. Rodney had something for the cute one. I figured it was $20 and I had little use for the other. Around 11:00 last night a band played down the street. On my seventh sojourn I was waved over and informed that my friend was inside. Sure enough there was Rodney holding court. The undesirable girl kept putting her had under my clothing and trying to shove her ashtray flavored tongue into my mouth.

Rodney has a way with women. One night he had his iphone stolen from his pants while he was engaged in unknown activities. The next night, while availing himself of a $10 service in an alley in Panama he had $10 extracted from his shorts which were down around his ankles. He was sure that this girl had succumbed to his charms. I was sure she wanted $20. After many sets he had to settle his bar tab, but he had kept no accounting and had no idea what the cost of drinks were. Even with all the cash I had on me he had to go back to the room to get more. The bartender was willing to take USD at 1,600 pesos per, a really bad exchange rate. The girls wanted to come back to the room but I figured all of my possessions would be gone upon awakening and nixed that idea.

When it was time to part company the toad wanted $20 for cab fare. That would get her from here to another state. I told Rodney he had yet another personal problem to solve and went back to the hotel. I wonder if he is really going to see his true love at 11 when he recovers from his stupor.

I have some laundry to do.

“Americano, this is my Amigo.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She like to fucky fucky.”

“She’s not 18”.

Then the woman grabs my dick, “maybe she is”.

35,000 pesos, that’s what $20? No, that’s 10 years in jail.

The wifi was down at the Jungle in Panama City yesterday. Thought we’d just wing it. I get held up leaving the airport as I had been in Panama 93 days. It took about 1/2 hour to pay the 60 dollar fine. The flight was uneventful. I exchanged 100 dollars for 175,000 pesos not a great deal, parity rate would be about 195,0000 but I had just cashed out $500 from the ATM in Panama in preparation for a little more anal probing at migration.

The taxi fair to Casco Viejo was $8 so I gave the driver a tenner and got 5,000 pesos back. This was a bit simpler in Panama. First hostel we went to was full, the called another, a woman came down the street to “pick us up” we walked the two blocks to stay at San Roque. 3 Bedroom airconiditioned dorm is 20,000 pesos. Good internet access. I’m off to take some photos. It is really frigging hot here.

I was in Panama for about an hour and ran into Rodney.

Is every woman in Columbia stunningly beautiful? I am about to find out.

Flight leaves tomorrow. Wonder what my fine will be for staying here over 90 days.

Is there actually a cocaine plantation tour available in Cartagena?

I’m down to a small backpack. I need a new set of boots, maybe I’ll buy them in Bogata.

Wish me luck.

Why can’t google maps play nicely with google’s blog?

No that is not the end of the post body.

I was very disappointed in my real estate representative. He reneged on yet another commitment and then showed up at 11:00 for a 7:30 meeting. On my way in I ran into somebody else and discovered that he had been working on setting up a bar-b-q with somebody else. I had been discussing developing some land with him for three days and discussed the economics of smoking brisket and ham and he decided to do this with somebody else without discussing it with me. My 90 days are just about up so I thought I would just hit Columbia as I had advised him I would do a couple of weeks ago. The man has no sense of urgency or priority, I guess he has too many balls in the air. On the bus to Santiago I ran into a woman I met at the hostel last night and decided oh what the hell, why not see Santa Catalina before I blow out of here? Who knows when I’ll be back. The ride to Santiago was eventless, with a very short layover. We missed our bus in Sona by minutes. I took advantage of the layover to run around town, sweat and take a few pictures. My travelling companion, Irma a Manhattan corporate tax attorney spent the time on skype in the internet cafe, checking up on her ill sister. They wouldn’t let her install skype or use the wireless. I took out here laptop, disconnected the cat 5 cable, plugged into her lap top and said “Here you go. I’m from Detroit.”

Irma got off the bus at some place she booked on line. She thought it was in Santa Catalina, in fact it is about 10 miles out. I took the bus to the terminal and walked around town before deciding where I was going to stay.

In town I would guess that 80% of the people walk, 18% ride horses and 2% drive cars to get around town. I would also venture to guess that 98% of the people use the bus as their primary means of transportation to Santiago. The village of Guabal is a $4.00 ride in a chiva (covered pickup truck and 75% of people get a ride while the balance walks the 19km to save money. I have a hard time believing that it is only 14km from Guabal to Rio Luis.

I am made of flesh and bones. A horse reminded me of this yesterday.

Yesterday was the third day of surveying a 40 hectare land suitable, with some rehabilitation, for an organic farm. This morning I will be in discussions, not negotiations with a local prospective partner.

The quarter horse I was ride was pokey and reluctant to ascend or descend anything steep or rugged. As I was exerting more energy kicking this reluctant ride than I would hiking up and down the face of these hills I dismounted and lead the horse by the reins. After returning to the flat land at the base of the hill the owner of the horses suggested that I ride the grey gelding as it had more spirit. Several times Carlos took off at a reasonable pace and the grey quickly caught up.

On one occasion I lingered for a while, examining the topography, trying to figure out the best places to put in Tilapia ponds on the seasonal creeks. I moved the reins gently to the right, the reigns touched the left side of the horse’s neck, I gave a little nudge with my feet to the ribs, no need to kick, just to let him know that the time for standing was done. He took off a rapid trot and then broke into a full gallop up the hill. Eight strides later we crested and started down, I passed Carlos; it was time to stop. I pulled up hard on the reins. Too hard I guess the horse skidded to a stop. My momentum was carrying me and I grabbed the horn which proceeded to take the saddle with me in the only way possible, by torquing the chest of this big boy. I had no desire to injure this horse and even less desire to roll down the hill with the horse on top of me so I threw my left leg back over the horse and down onto the scrub and sand, tucked and rolled. No contusions, but I bruised up a couple of ribs pretty well. I walked the rest of the day.