Now What?

In the winter of 2007 I graduated with an unmarketable degree in Political Science. Now what? What road shall I take now? I looked down at the restless feet of a newly minted graduate then raised my head to the horizon scanning the roads before me. The sun was bright, as it can only be for one who spent that last four years in an academic Neverland. I raised a hand above brow and soon my eyes adjusted. Expecting a few well paved roads, clearly marked, a few well worn foot paths and one or two overgrown trailheads, I saw something very different and very horrifying. Starting at my feet and extending to the all horizons ahead, left and right, an explosion of infinite overlapping roads creating a vast unmarked, directionless ocean of tarmac. Seamless, signless, without even a faded tire mark.

Now what?

Self-satisfied enough with my newly earned degree and scared out of my head of the tar and gravel ocean before me, I turned around. I got the same well paying job I’d had all through college and moved into my own tiny apartment. I was stalling.

A phone call from North Carolina changed everything. Fourth months in Charlotte, a staffer for the Obama campaign, two months jobless wandering the cold streets and coffee shops of Minneapolis, then a month in Bolivia and Chile and another camping and treking through Arizona.

Now, out of money and missing family and friends, the question presents itself once again: Now what?

For now I am headed home.

Settle Down, She is Not Really Naked.

Here is a video slide show of my trip to Bolivia. It's a bit long at 15 minutes.

Brandon Goes To Bolivia

But, whatever.

Life On Mars

Beautiful surreal and very lonely. So much has been experienced and seen in the past week to write about in a short intelligible post. So the barest of sketches via bullets point will have to do. This internet cafe sucks, this town is boring and I am anxious to head the Pacific.

- Carnival in Oruro: as mentioned before an apocolypic waterfight and a 23 hour long parade of the most beautiful costums, dances music and people.

- The Silver Mines of Potosi: Paid a guide to shove me down a deep dark hole with dynamite going off around us only tell me that, while I may be tall, my penis is short. After escaping the mines the miners fed me rubbing alcohol mixed with soda. I was passed out by 4pm, not waking up until 10am the next day.

- Stuck in Potosi: No buses leaving Potosi due to Carnival celebrations. Spent two precious days dodging wandering the streets getting nailed with water ballons by little pissant children with a bright future in Major Leauge Baseball.

- Salar De Uyni to Chile: Visited Mars via Landrover. The world largest salt flat, geysers, active volcanos, acid lakes as green as the grass, massive lakes the color of blood and the driest deserts in the world.

Whew, so much in so little detail. I have a thousand picture with a thousands words but not even a thousand minutes to write them all.

I am now stuck in the most boring town in the world, Calama Chile. It looks exactly like a lame southwestern suburb except the tans here a only a bit darker. From here on to Arica a town off the coast of the pacific.

Carnival in Oruro Part 1: The Palestine of Water Fights

Super Soakers the size of howitzers, endless of supplies of water ballons and cans of high velocity, eye stinging foam.

This is what awaited us as entered the city around 9:00am, squinty eyed from a long ride bus from Laz Paz. We were unarmed and defenseless, naive to the army of battled hardend bolvian children armed to the teeth awaiting us unsuspecting gingros.

As we made our way from the edge of the city to the center where the Carnival celebrations were taking place I noticed an increasing amount of street vendors hocking ponchos. A couple here and there, then more and more. I´m no econmist but I know a little something about supply and demand.

I was seeing an increasing amoung of supply, which, if one is to have any faith in the invisable hand, gave me a Carnival sized clue that there was a high demand to correspond this huge supply. Considering the amount of ponchos being sold and bought, this led me to think there is going to be a shit ton of water being sprayed on all those ponchos.

I couldn´t pull my 5 bolivianos fast enough to purchase one of this fine peices of product. Placed in my reserved for when i need we contine our march into the urban battle field of Oruro Central.

Blocks down I began to spot the young H20 armed guerillas at every street corner.

I turn to my small platoon of gingos, sencing danger blocks ahead "Guys, we need to get armed, we are about to get fucked".

[Tune in next internet cafe session to Carnival Part 2]

Dude, Trees Can Walk.

And no I am not stoned.

I just spent the night in the topical river town of Rurrenabaque. Starting in La Paz we chartered a boat and guide to takes on the Rio Beni into the deep rain forest and on to Rurrenabaque. We had three days on the river with stops for lunch and treks into the deep forest. There we so many increably plants, insects and animals it will take a much bigger and boring post to put it all down. The most mind blowing representive of the stunning diverity of the rainforest was this one.



Just looking at this tree we were all amazed by the uniqueness of the tree. It looks as if the roots emerge from the ground then join to form a trunk and then rise above the dense canopy to sprout ferns and gather light. It´s biological insanity at first glance. Much later our indigenous guide explained the amazing story of this plant.

Those roots? The tree´s legs. Yep, It fucking walks! I dont know about the rest of my fellow gingos but my mind was very much blown. Predicatbly enough it walks very slow by human standards. By tree standards its the Michael Johnson of plants that, up until this point in my life, I was firmly convinced DO NOT WALK.

The world, for a moment, felt less stable under my feet and much more exciting.

How fast does it walk? About 20cm a year. It move in search of a hole in the canopy looking for the best place to soak up some sun. It moves by following the strongest root while the weaker trailing roots die off. New roots sprout from 6 feet above the ground from the elevated trunk. They grow down, like a branch in reverse, into the ground and get a firm grip and pull the tree along. Trees just strolling through the forest looking for a good spot in the sun.

Mind = Blown.

I Survived the Road of Death

And I didnt even get a lousy tee shirt.

But after the bike chain snaping, falling off the cogs, brakes quickly burning up shreiking under the friction, and several sphinxter tighting and bike frame denting collesions with bowling ball sized rocks, simply surving to remember the amazing ride was souvenir enough. I dont need a lousy tee shirt.



I started 2 miles above the rainforest on a slippery asphalt road snaking in between snow capped peaks and finished in Corico on narrow loose stone roads in a steaming tropical rain forest. Hundred foot water walls, quater mile strait drop offs the roads edge, dodging buses and gas trucks nearly as wide as the road, nearly crashing into fellow bikers, biking under waterfalls, through shallow rocky creeks and trying desperatly to understand our guides english that was as good as my spanish.

Thankfully, with no serious crashes and my brain´s memory systems fully intact, if a bit jumbled from the steep bumby road, the memory of this ride will be as vibrant as the green of impostably steep jungle mountain of Bolivia. The ride was beautiful beyond my ability to put in words, and as much fun as I have ever had.

UPDATE: I just found out we have tee-shirts waiting for us at the guide´s office in La Paz.

UPDATE: I just picked up the shirt. Its increadbly cheesy. Like I said, who needs a lousy souvenir.

El Camino de la Muerte

Thats spanish for "the road of muerte", whatever that means.



The locals say around 300 people die a year traveling on this road. With an average width of a small car it plunges 12000 ft from the heights of La Paz to Coroico 40 miles away. Do the math. Thats a very step decent. One false move going down equals "muerte".

Sounds like fun right? Well I thought so too. So Michelle, Beth and I are renting mountain bikes and riding the trail all the way to the tropical paradise at the end, Coroico.

And If we surrive that? Next up is a three day boat trip into the rain forest and a another three days treking in said forest. Malaria, Typhoid, Pumas ect ect.