week 3

Here's a quality about myself that I am not sure whether or not I like. When I am with people who I love, my life has significantly less productivity. I am happy to mess around with friends, joking all day, and making absolutely no forward progress. If there are ever laughs to be had, I try to be the one having them, which is a quality that has high costs. This is the reason my grades in college are so mediocre. I can't sit down and work consciously knowing that somewhere in my dorm somebody is doing something idiotic and awesome. This attitude, however, is also what has probably led me to some of my life's greatest experiences, such as comedy, college crashing, and Africa. Anyway, the reason I am bringing this quality up is because on Monday a lot of the life of the Cherokee group left (Victoria, Page, Bethany, and Martha), leaving me with significantly fewer buddies in my idiotically awesome exploits (even though Mary Chambers, Matt, and "The Edge" have totally picked up the slack). This newfound free time began as something depressing because I had made some awesome memories with them, and they constantly kept fun levels "to the max"; however, the solitude has given me a great opportunity to completely reform my curriculum.The problem with all my students is that their English is awful. I've got a hundred rational minds, each expressing its thoughts in a language that the world doesn't care about (and why should we?). If I can cure the problem of English, every Ethiopian can get straight A's. Here's another issue I have encountered: the parents play almost no role in the educational upbringing of most of the children. I guess so much focus is put upon survival that parents aren't really interested in teaching times tables to their kids. What my students need is a way to learn English outside of school, so on Monday night as my thirst for idiotic awesomeness remained unquenched, a great idea popped into the void of laughter, an idea that would integrate the need for English with the need for education within the family unit! A new, daily, homework assignment... Write all of today's notes in Amharic.The best way to retain new information is to link the desired information with information that you already know; in the same way, I believe the best method for a resident of Addis Ababa to learn English is to build his understanding upon his primary foundation of Amharic. This new method will lead to understanding rather than memorization of meaningless Englilsh words. Unfortunately, this new assignment is very difficult for my students because they invariably have to ask their parents or older friends for help daily, and the homework has become a very hard sell. After I gave a speech to my classes, however, about the importance of my assignments to their understanding of English, they all began to turn in their homework with sincere effort. The last vestiges of opposition to my methods exists in the realm of the parents. Some parents are a little perturbed by the idea that a randar foreigner who doesn't understand Amharic has the arrogance to assign homework which requires fluency in two languages for completion. This disdain showed itself in two instances. 1) Nardos' dad helped her with her homework, but her Amharic translations were total nonsense. "Television, carpet, trees, car, basket"... her dad was justifiably skeptical of my ability to check the homework I had assigned (Benjamin checks it). 2) Abanezer's father wrote me a message that said "This homework too heavy. Do not assign it. I can not work." I responded "This homework is essential for understanding English." I then corrected the English in his message. Here's the awesome part: over the past week my students really have become more confident in their English, and my dream is that this knowledge will bleed into their tests.Yesterday was one of those ridiculously fulfillilng days. Here is why... two days ago I told a begging kid that he needs to feed himself, after he asked me for food, but after my rebuke he still helped me find the stop for Mexico in Tor Highloche. As an offer of my gratitude, I said "Inglisinya lamamarl efelligalla?" (Do you want to learn English). He said "Yes" and I quickly wrote down a bunch of useful phrases that came to mind, then hopped into the taxi to drive away. Inspired by this incident, Hareg helped me make a guidesheet after school which had about 40 useful phrases and translations in Amharic (the Elvish looking language), and we printed off 25 copies. The next day, as I walked back from a really stressful day of school with Jessica, some kid tapped me on the shoulder and said "Hello". I said "How are you?" He said, "I am fine thankyou, and you?" Surprised by the English response, I turned around to see the beggar from yesterday, holding the paper I had given him. His desire to learn really touched me, and I spent a good portion of the day meeting people and handing out the English guidesheets. When somebody asks for food I always say "This will give you food" and give them a sheet. I guess today I will find out if anyone learned from the sheets I had given them. I am about to leave for school, and I can't wait.On top of the inspiration and confirmation that my presence here is appreciated by the street kids, I had a very heartwarming visit to Tedros' house, where his father repeatedly thanked me for helping Tedros as a teacher. He told me that ever since I started teaching, Tedros has used nothing but English inside the house. Nothing could get me down yesterday. I really felt a sense of purpose, a lack of which is generally my only obstacle to being happy. Yes... I am really happy right now.

Langano

I'm going to skip my description of the rest of the week, jumping straight to what was definitely my best weekend here, the weekend at Lake Langano. The Cherokee group, along with Reid and Jeremy, two randar awesome dudes we met in Addis Ababa, chartered a minibus for 2000 birr to take us to Wenney Lodge for a weekend of care free relaxation; however, the idea of a restful weekend in Africa is similar to Communism: it works in theory but not in practice. Before we got to Lake Langano, our dreams of a perfect vacation blew up in our faces, literally, when a front tire popped on our bus, sending us careening across the two lane highway before coming to a stop next to a field of grazing cows and pantsless kids. I mean, I knew in Africa that people walk around naked, but I thought that Donald Duck was the only entity in the world that was both shirted and pantsless. Either these pantsless kids were about to see a doctor or they had just discovered Donald Duck's sense of style. The latter theory makes more sense because one of them was wearing an old school Mickey Mouse shirt. You know what I mean by old school Mickey Mouse... the Mickey Mouse model that looks like he was drawn by a six year old coloring contest certificate winner. Three circles... one for the face, two for the ears. The only thing more idiotic than the attire of these disciples of Donald was the way we all sprinted into the field like a bunch of hippies. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by about forty tribal farmers who clearly didn't speak a bit of English or Amharic, a fact which was proven by a few terribly arduous minutes of awkwardness as we all stumbled for their word for "hello" (which, with incredible irony, turned out to be "nigga"... yes... nigga... the Omhoric word for hello is nigga). Anyway, we tried to break the ice with our idiotic dance, which went over about as well as using the Omhoric word for hello as a greeting in the US; the people just stood there looking at us with an expression that screamed "Why the hell would any human being do what you just did?"... which was probably a valid concern. Thank God, Jeremy and Reid cut the tension by turning back-flips. Before you could say "How do you learn to do a back-flip without paralyzing yourself?" we were sharing cookies, culture, and friendship with pictures, foot-races, videos, hut tours, spear-throwing, and, of course, marriage proposals by every Ethiopian group's "token sleezebag". Anyway, we walked back to the bus as I pulled Victoria and Rachel away from a creeper with the claim that they were my wives. Within a few minutes we were trucking towards Langano once more.Oh no... the obstacles are not over. The next obstacle took the form of a 45 minute section of Agro Krag that is called an Ethiopian road, the bumpiest road I have ever experienced, seriously, a nine year old bus-rider's dream. It felt like a rotting, wooden roller coaster during an earthquake. A bumpy road can be conquered through perseverance; however, no amount of determination or Vaseline will make a bus fit through a boxcar, which is what was used as a bridge, 4km away from our lodge. Just in case the bus would have fit through, there was the extra security measure of 2 guys with AK 47s, along with 2 guys with spears. We got out of the car and ambled towards them. I quickly seized the opportunity to say hello to them, figuring it would be the only opportunity of my life to say "Nigga" to a black guy with a big gun and live to tell about it. The mercenaries(?) offered to escort us to the lodge for 100 birr, but we declined to embark on the 4 km trek by ourselves. I don't know how other people feel around guns, but even when I know they are on my side, I don't feel protected in the slightest degree. I always just want to be away from them (however I personally value our second amendment rights). I mean, I also am for gay marriage, but that doesn't mean I have to start painting my nails and saying "fabulous". Anyway, the events of our hike were pretty awesome in the sense that it was now nighttime, and we had a 4 kilometer hike through villages, wilderness, and (the scariest part) the unknown. Our method for dealing with forks in the road was guessing, which paid off, because within an hour we had reached Wenney Lodge, a surprisingly nice (albeit hidden) touristy enclave in which we were the ONLY guests. The guest to employee ratio was about 1.5 to 1... pretty awesome.I was going to explain the next day with great detail and attempts at great hilarity, but my mood right now does not match my desire. Either I am too lazy to write the paragraphs it would take to explain the awesomeness, or I am subconsciously aware of my inability to do so. The whole next day we had the kind of fun that doesn't make sense, stealing a boat (to return it later... kind of like Page's attitude toward restaurant materials), swinging vine to vine, seeing ancient graves, trying to communicate with a tour guide who had the vocabulary of a three year old, throwing more spears, seeing hippos, horseback riding, Martha teaching me to post, staring at wild monkeys and baboons, bringing justice upon men who didn't respect the girls, bathing in the red lake, stomping on nettles, overusing the phrase "one by one", mud fighting, chicken fighting, bone collecting, beehive watching, freaking out our horse-guides, being overtaken by mob mentality during a rainstorm (BOAT), guitar playing, getting hammered with a self proclaimed "bird expert-man", chewing White-out flavored gum from the inside of a tree, Matt's saddle breaking, becoming a human winged-anthill, learning to never trust the phrase "no problem", seeing some of the most beautiful views I have ever seen, and, of course, thriving. Each one of these experiences could be a blog post in itself, but instead they will be random memories that I always carry, perhaps popping up in the occasional humorous dinner story. If my description of the day is full of holes, just fill the blank areas with awesomeness, and you will have a clear conceptualization of our experience. Although our day was flawed in many ways, all the terrible and totally sweet experiences melted together to form a strange perfection, in the same way that low and high notes are necessary for beautiful music, crescendoing in this moment:Everyone was left behind as Matt, Martha, and I trotted up a mountain path as the sun set behind a couple gorgeous mountains. As I appreciated a breath of country air, Martha, who was probably feeling very introspective since her days in Africa were almost at an end, asked me "Hey, Watt, what has been your favorite part of your time here?" I answered as honestly as I could: "I guess... this is". We trotted forward, and I felt the kind of happiness that is so present that you get a little scared.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Yesterday I checked a major goal off of my checklist. I raced a group of Ethiopians! First of all, let me explain running in Addis Ababa. Simply to be a farranj attracts more attention than you know what to do with, but to do something unusual, such as running, (which is something you rarely see here) makes absolutely everybody stop what they are doing. Everyone stops to cheer for you, yelling things like "Michael Johnson", "Olympics", and of course, "You, you, you, you, you!" I have never been so encouraged to run in my entire life, nor have I ever felt so welcome anywhere. Imagine one hundred strangers vying for your attention, simply so that they can be the ones from whom you hear some random English word yelled... "Running!", "Good job!", "You want face wash?" and, my favorite, "Sweet Jeans!" A bunch of the younger Ethiopians followed us (I was running with Martha, an awesome friend I have made in the house) and it was very hard not to feel like Forest Gump with a trail of followers in my wake. Everyone here is so positive. Imagine how big of an idiot you would look like spontaneously asking Americans to race... here they are totally down with it. "Wanna race?" "OK". That simple, right? Wrong. It isn't that simple for me because when I race Ethiopians, I stack the odds in my favor. At a full sprint, I overtook a group of three Habeshas who were standing still. When I was ten yards ahead with 60 yards to go until the steps where I depart, I yelled "Na! We race!" (Come on. We race). As if they were waiting for a gunshot, the three Habeshas ripped across the sidewalk, overtaking me within thirty yards. By the time I had reached my finish line/the steps, they were 20 yards ahead, turning around to see if I was still within sight. I yelled "Ahun bet hidallo" (Now I go home). Before they were out of sight I yelled "Ante Olympic champions" as one of them broke the sound barrier.Here's a little side note about the people with whom I live: All the girls here are so classy and cool that I can't even complete this sentence. Seriously for five minutes I have been erasing various endings to "All the girls here are so classy and cool that...". I mean, I absolutely love these people, and I wish I could take them all, and Matt Finnerman, with me to Mary Washington and form the awesomest group of random ass friends in ever created. Classy and cool... I really believe in that combination as part of the recipe for awesomeness. They all have the self respect to form their own opinions and love themselves and others, while at the same time, they are able to forget all that stuff and be total laughing idiots, which is often equally rewarding. (Example: the idiotic dance which I will show anyone who asks.) End of tangent.Well, today I went to the markado, and got a little lost from my group because my taxi stopped for 20 minutes making me 20 minutes late. I talked to tons of people, who were all very kind and helpful, and I ended up following the trail of faranji by asking "Guadenochi sost wayum erat leyla farranji tamas assay enhe nacho. Markado ust nacho, niegargin yet alloukem". (My friends are 3 or 4 other foreigners the same as me. They are in the market, but where they are, I do not know.) Everyone pointed me in their direction, but meeting somewhere in the market is like meeting somewhere in Texas... it's big. I ended up calling Mastaol from a payphone, and waiting for him for 45 minutes. During this waiting period, I decided to do something I have been talking about doing for a few days: street teach. Across all of Addis Ababa the streets are lined with kids who are either jobless or shoeshining and selling trinkets, but definitely none of them are in school. So, I just asked one of them "Ante Inglisinya lemowk falligallo." (You want to learn English?) He said "No" to which I responded "Llemen aidellum? Inglisinya betam assfeligee no. Ante teroo sera falligallo?" (Why not? English is very important. Don't you want a good career?) At this point, one boy came up to me and asked "Binglisinya kit minalik" (How do you say ass in English?) I said "Ass". Ten kids laughed and walked over, and before a minute was over, I was absolutely surrounded by 40 to 50 kids, all learning "Hi... how are you". Rich people would walk up, asking me if I was being robbed by these street kids, to which I responded "Ai. Tamarioche nacho enha betam gobez nacho." (No, these are my students and they are very smart.) A bank manager walked out and asked me to leave because the crowd was bad for business, so I said to the kids that class was over, and I walked 50 yards away... and they all followed me. A woman came up to me, saying in Amharic, "If you are a teacher, take my child to school with you". I told her I would try to find a place, but I had no power to promise anything. Anyway, I had no idea that street teaching would be such a success. People want knowledge here so badly, but they are all forgotten by the intellligencia of the first world, only receiving the refuse of American and British textbooks. The crowd got even bigger at the new street location, and the police came to break it up, telling me not to do this in the Markado. I left at their request, but I am incredibly excited. Their thirst for knowledge was large enough to get the attention of the police. Street teaching is just beginning! Seriously... I feel so awesome about this. Do you know how valuable it is to learn English? REALLY VALUABLE! This is the best idea I have ever had!Gosh... I am leaving so much out. Seriously, if I didn't have so much to do each day, and I had time, I could write ten pages a day. Catch 22... because I can only have ten pages to write a day if my days remain busy. Who cares... I don't want anything to change. I live with great people. I have a very fulfilling job. Talk about fulfilling... Teodros, that really bright second grader, has been getting IMPOSSIBLE extra assignments from me after class and completing them flawlessly. His questions for tonight (among five others) were "What is the chemical equation for photosynthesis?" and "What is the theory of relativity, and who invented it?" He told me to ask him questions about space travel, so I am trying to get him thinking about quantum physics. His English is better than anyone else's in the whole school, and wouldn't it be crazy if the next Hawking were from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia? Seriously, this guy's brain is awesomer than a TI 83 Plus with every program on it (including Druglord and Space Invaders). I keep trying to add adjectives because his homework keeps getting better, but my encouraging vocabulary is already stretched, and I've only been here for nine days. Today I wrote on his paper, "Very good, Gold medal, Olympic Champion of Intelligence!" with an "AWESOME" sticker on top of it all. What else can I say? DABE LA JHONNY!

My first wekend in Addis Ababa

The past two days have comprised the first period of time where I have been able to just chill out, drop my responsibilities, and take a minute to look around me as a tourist rather than an unqualified teacher, but, in doing so, I continued to play the role of student. It is really amazing to be around people that have absolutely no possessions beyond what is necessary for survival. The difference between Ethiopians and Americans is similar to the difference between a bike and a freight train in the sense that Americans are constantly pulling a huge train of possessions behind them, so much that we all have a lot of diffuculty stopping to relate to and help each other, whereas Ethiopians have nothing weighing them down, making it easy for them to stop and listen to each other. Possessions really are a trade off. Where my life has been blessed in economic areas, it has been depraved in the sense that my upbringing has not really made me cognizant of man's humanity, which is so present here. People will instantly stop and talk to or help total strangers for hours on end. There is a kind of comradery here that just isn't around in America. For example, during the basketball game to which I went with Mastaol, I was curious why people weren't cheering for specific teams, and Mastaol told me "Ethiopians don't cheer for one team. They cheer for good plays. If a person makes a good play, even coach from other team will cheer." The highlight of cheering was when somebody missed a shot, and the crowd erupted into a unanimous applause. I asked Mastaol why and he said "because that pass that she made was so amazing." Again, inadvertant Daoism... nobody cared about the result (scoring points); they all just cared about the action itself (the game).After the game, I met up with the rest of the people from Cherokee because the water is off in many parts of Addis Ababa for the next few days (including our house), and we all desperately needed showers. We met at a beauty salon to get massages, into which we all smuggled in shampoo and shaving cream to use in our pre-massage shower. OK- so massages are awesome in third world countries. An expert massage followed by coffee and food outside, two hours of total awesomeness for $6.50. I guess the additional $73.50 in the average American massage goes to the protection of your ass. The Ethiopian massage conquered virgin territory in the massage world, probably even virgin territory in the real world. This lady massaged my ass as if it were my shoulder. I had five straight minutes of various ass-rubbing tactics. Anyway, during lunch Mastaol told me that I had shaving cream under my ear, following this statement with my first Habesha terrat (Ethiopian Proverb):Teroo guadenya mestaut no. (A good friend is a mirror.)This has sparked an unquenchable interest in Habesha terrat, which has only been slightly satiated by the five that I have been able to write down, which I will share with anyone who asks. Something about the Ethiopian/African accent seems so wise, so I think I am going to get video footage of some Habesha explaining these proverbs.We ate dinner that night in a resaurant called Paradise where we all had wine, appetizers, an excellent piano player, and top class food for about the price of a Chipotle meal (without a college drink discount). I had Nile Perch in some kind of mango sauce, which was by far the best meal I have had this summer when it comes to service and qualilty. Since Matt was not at the dinner, it was basically me with all the girls, and seeing so many American women always excites the Ethiopians. In one situation a man said to one of them "Hey sexy lady." To this I responded "Yih misteh no." (This is my wife). Then I said "Mistehochi" (They're all my wives) pointing to all the girls. He responded "And setine" (Give me one). To this I said, "Sintino" (How much will you pay?). Although it was obvious that this was all said with a joking manner, the girls here were shocked when I confessed that I had tried to sell one of them, but hey... dinner was expensive... I gotta get paid... and that's the way it is... that's just the way it is... things will never be the same... Funny thing, all the Ethiopians that are from 10 to 17 love Tupac, but all the Ethiopians my age love Celine Dion. Seriously, they are obsessed. If you ask any of them to sing the Titanic song, they will gladly butcher it for you.I'll go over sunday quickly so that I can get to bed. I went to the Emperor's Palace in Northern Addis Ababa with Abanezer and Benjamin. Benji and I ate for under a 88 cents (2 cakes and 2 macchiatos... probably would be 15 bucks in USA). The signs at the musuems here say "Habesha and birr; Farrenji acer birr" (Ethiopians, 1 birr; foreigners 10 birr). Feeling like a victim of one dollar's worth of racism, I said to the ticket man "Enhe tomas assay waga enda Habisha faligillo." (I wan't the same price as the Ethiopians). He responded, "Americana misteh faligillo" (I want an American wife). Then I said "Enhe Habisha machiatum Amharimya alloukum" which I thought meant "I am Ethiopian because I speak Amharic," but it actually means "I am Ethiopian because I don't speak Amharic." Benji laughed at me as I handed over the ten birr.The museum was interesting. It showed some of the idiotic and admirable qualities of Ethiopia's tribes, from ritualistic whipping of women before marriage to the protection of personal freedoms. Then I left and went to Abanezer's house for chat and tea. Chat is a chief export of Ethiopia which provides the country with about 100 million dollars a year. It is basically chewable pot. I chewed half of the typical dose and felt nothing but slightly dizzy, but I definitely intend to try the full thing, just once because Mrs. Stalk says "Try new things" (that's how my parents get my little sister to eat her vegetables... so I guess it will help me eat my greens as well)!During this "chill session" an 11 year old kid named Daniel popped in to Abanezer's house/room. People here are so funny in that they can be friends with everyone. Abanezer, a 23 year old, high fived the kid and said "This is my best friend. He knows everything about soccer." Since I was wearing my La U jersey from Peru, he thought I was a Manchester United fan. In fact, it is tough to wear a jersey here without everyone expressing their opinion of the team they think you are advocating with your clothes. Still, it started many conversations, and by the end of the day, 4 people had given me their phone numbers and invited me over for a coffee ceremony, which includes three very strong shots of coffee that supposedly leave first timers shaking by the end. I'll probably call a couple of them because I really can't get enough of the people here, and I wish there was something I could give them, but they seem lightyears ahead of me. Maybe, when I have learned enough from them, I will be mentally equipped enough to start repaying this debt of knowledge that I have incurred.

Day 4 in Ethiopia

Today was definitely the most eye opening day of the trip. School went well. So well, in fact that I ended up teaching all my second grade students at a fourth grade level, and I gave two of them an essay question on nutrients for the human body, in English. One of them was so excited by the challenge that he kissed me. (Let me restate this: In Ethiopia, you can act very gay, and still be straight). The other one asked "If I do this right? May I get sticker?" I said "I have no stickers, but I will draw you a smiley face." He jumped up and said "YES!" This felt very good, but this wasn't the eye opening part... that is on its way. I left school right after classes. My early departure meant no learning Amharic from Benjamin as we take three hours working on lesson plans that take me five minutes. We took a bus back to Tor Harloche and then walked straight to a hospital.Here is the eye opening part. The hospital was a fistula hospital for pregnant women, which is funded by various charitable donators, including Oprah Winfrey. The women at this hospital, which was very well equipped by Ethiopian standards, all had suffered damage to their vaginas from ignorance to the methods of proper childbirth, female circumcision, or rape. They needed to be stitched together because their reproductive organs were torn, often all the way to the rectum. It was heartwrenching to see the stoic women limping forward in blatant but concealed pain. The younger kids were obviously more traumatized because they seemed to be in a constant daze. The nurses told us that some kids had been raped as young as the age of two. Seeing the five year olds sitting and knitting, nervous and detached, brought about feelings that I have never felt. There just seemed to be a void of meaning in the room that I could only fill with sympathy, which is just such a useless emotion. I really can't explain how I feel about all of this... I just have no idea. I feel like I have misunderstood the entire world for my whole life. I thought I would be going to the hospital to cheer people up and wish them well; however, all I could do was pretend to smile, so that I couldn't cry. I mean, these are people... people who have been treated like slaves and animals, some of whom, after being inpregnated before their first period, have been given no reason to think they are different. My conceptualization of pain has been absolutely outlandish. The pain I had thought I had experienced in my life has actually only been a slight irritation, like an itch on my head compared to being scalped. I can't articulate what I feel from these people, but here is my most sensible attempt. I now have a desire to touch the physical deformities of all the beggars I see. Whether it be feet that are backwards, a burnt off face, or hands that are flat like pancakes, I want to rub my hands and face into them as if they were the most beautiful and wise things in the world because nothing seems more wise or beautiful to me.

Day 3 in Ethiopia

Today was probably my favorite day here, but I am so tired that I won't do it justice with this post. The day started with classes, and for the first time, I tried to teach a topic with very little success. The curriculum required that I teach third graders about the parts of a seed: the cotyledon, dicots, monocots, etc... this was stuff that I got a D on in biology. Anyway, at the beginning of the class these kids didn't even know that plants came from seeds. The feeling sucked. It feels awful to just see a concept bounce off a kid's head, over and over. Seriously, I had no idea how disappointing it can be to be a teacher. I was in a terrible mood until a second grader, named Jeratuan, absolutely dominated the distinction between man-mad and natural/living and non-living things. I passed out homework; to him first... when I was finished passing it out, he had completed his assignment, and he said "This is easy". I asked him if he would like to have extra assignments, and he said yes. Three other students asked if they could be included in the harder curriculum, so I am now going to try and educate four second graders at a fourth grade level, which I think may still be too easy for Jeratuan, but the other three students will find it challenging.We ate lunch today at Hareg's house, and her DVD player had been broken so we fixed it using tape. Not to brag, but I was VERY proud of myself for completing a couple of sentences during the meal (injara... of course). Her daughters, Ruth and Abigail, are very smart, and somebody said they can teach me Amharic, which led me to my first full sentence in their language. "Ehne yante tamarine". (I am your student). Then, somebody told me I was a good teacher, and I responded: "Ehne teroo astamarine machienatum tamarioche betam gobez nacho." (I am a good teacher because my students are very clever). I totally felt like a badass, even though each sentence took me 20 awkward seconds to say.Since the girls had a mouse in their room, I promised to buy a mousetrap; however, the only mousetrap (yite wutmeg) that they sold at the stores in Gofa and Kara were big enough to catch a monkey. Seriously... Paris Hilton's dog wouldn't set this trap off. If a person got caught in one, he would gnaw his foot off. So Benjamin took me to the markato, a 24 hour a day market that claims to be the biggest market in Africa... and I have absolutely no reason to doubt that claim. It was a total jungle. Benjamin held my wrist the whole time because straight friends here just do that kind of thing... either that or Ethiopia is the San Francisco of Africa. Everyone is touching and hugging up on everyone here. I bought a shirt for 3 bucks that says "Legend of the huge ocean: Pirate Crem" (Yes, Crem). I couldn't find a smaller mousetrap. Apparently one cattrap factory makes all the cattraps for the whole country. I ended up buying that glue that the mouse will get stuck in when he approaches the food. I said dehnahun to Benjamin and took a taxi (minibus/Toyota toaster) to Tor Harloche, feeling pretty confident about my Amharic... dare I say, cocky. I asked a man next to me, "Yih Tor Harloche no?" (This is Tor Harloche?). He said "I don't speak English". I responded "Ai Inglisya. Baraminya. Yih Tor Harloche no?" (Not English, in Amharic, is this Tor Harloche?) This time the guy next to him said "He no speak English." So... apparently I have the pronounciation skills of Helen Keller.To make a long story short, I got lost in Tor Harloche for 2 hours, without Jessica's fearless leadership. I also made conversations with a ton of kids, one of whom showed me some expert karate. At one point I got swarmed by the karate kid and his friends as they shoved their hands at me begging for money. I absolutely NEVER give to people I don't know personally (plus most of my money is my dad's so that is like embezzlement (sp?)). Anyway, I yelled "HIT! ZOORBELL!" (Go away! Turn back!) and they went scattering. The karate kid followed me for another half mile, and showed me more moves, after each move saying "money?" I said "Igzabier yistallen" (God will provide for you". He then did a Japanese karate bow and walked away. I bowed back and said "Amiseganallo sensei" (thank you sensei). The fun stopped when night time rolled around and I started to get very scared, even though almost everyone here is very nice. Suddenly a solution hit me: since I had facebooked a guy from UNC to give him Cherokee House's number, I could look it up online. All I needed was to find a place with internet! Easy, right?... not in this country. First of all, all the internet is dial up... a connection that gives you information only slilghtly faster than driving to the library and finding books with the Dewey Decimal system. In fact, the only reason I post on facebook is because the internet here does not let me connect to my blog sights. Secondly, nobody has a computer. I ended up having to ask tons of local shops if they had the internet, and if I could pay them to use it. Finally, I was able to look up the number then call somebody from the house to come get me. After my rescue party so graciously walked me back, we tricked the rest of the house by sending the four who had found me to tell the other people in the house (who were all in the common room) that I was nowhere to be found. During this time I snuck around to the kitchen behind the common room, and at the high point of worry and tension I opened the fridge and said "Where the heck is the banana bread?" As Borat, or almost any Ethiopian who is good at English would say "We make joke!"

Day 2 in AA

Day two in AA Class was a totally new experience after working on my lesson plans with Benjamin. Even though yesterday was a throwaway class that basically consisted of me making up facts as I went along in a book, I asked, just for fun, what the students had learned. They answered correctly, even though I had forgotten that I had taught. Period one, "The space shuttle, and how astronauts go to the moon." Period 2 "Dinosaur. Herbivore, carnivore, omnivore." Period 3 "Cold air has high pressure. Wind goes from low pressure to high pressure... I mean high pressure to low pressure". Period four... you get the idea. Seriously, every student listens intently and fights to answer each question. They act like Americans do when a magician needs a volunteer at a middle school magic show. There isn't just the handraise... there is the hand having a seizure a yard over each head. Some students stand up and yell "Meester, meester. I know it!". It is too bad that all the kids who want to learn have idiotic teachers like me, while idiot students like me have some of the world's best teachers. I met a couple of Americans, from UNC, randomly at the school this morning, and I think they are coming with us this weekend to this little lake next to a dormant volcano 45 minutes south. If I had enough light to read the name of it, I would tell you, but I don't. Anyway- these dudes will definitely be a couple of rafts in the pool of estrogen that is Cherokee House. Not to say that the girls aren't the kindest people in the world... because they are great, but I just need somebody with whom I can talk about America reclaiming the hot-dog eating title belt.After school I worked on lesson plans with Benjamin, and the differing values of time became very apparent. First Benjamin said, "You stay. I come soon." "Come where?" "I come back soon". 1 hour later... he returned to the room and said "I can not find the worksheets". (Aye cannough fine zee woarkshees). After studying Amharic for 59 minutes I responded in his language eloquently with "yes... I sorry... Ok... fine". Then, an hour and a half past before I asked him to retrace his steps for the fourth time. He finally said "Oh yeah... hahaha. Is in my bag". He walked away laughing, saying "I forget! haha". I guess time doesn't mean much to a country when hours are worth a birr, 11.12 cents. Not to insult Benjamin either because he is the cornerstone to the classroom, translating all the gray areas, which have significantly reduced as the classes get used to my accent and vice versa. During my hour wait, Hareg offered me a Coke but apologized for not having a bottle opener. I joked "It's ok, I will just pop it off with my teeth." Her response was an utterly serious "You can do it." So I did it. The whole time I worked at it, I was thinking about Dad giving me the 5000 dollar smile speech, but I persevered, and now I feel a little more Ethiopian (and a little less enamel-protected). Also, during the lesson plans Hareg's daughter, Abigail (who speaks better English than my 3rd graders) came up to me and showed me her plastic jewel that she had found. I told her that if she found string, I would make her a necklace. She found some, and I made the necklace, adding that if she found anything else she wanted on the necklace, I would put it on for her. She ran off into the gravel play area and came back with a mini-deflated basketball. Surprised, but true to my word I put another hole in the broken basketball and strung it on. She then made the necklace into a bracelet and asked me to string on one more item. I never would have imagined this happening to me, but I am now proud to say that I have made a jewelry, basketball, pencil, bracelet. It looked great (and kind of dangerous) so I made her take the pencil out, and she replaced it with a crayon.One more thing, I gave Benjamin, who wants to be a biology teacher, my old biology textbook (which is state of the art... it has 800 pages, a cd, and a ton of excercises). Anyway... his response was laughing every 5 seconds for the next hour saying "Oh... I so excited!" He then proceeded to read to me every word of the table of contents, saying "I learn about all these things." When he began to read chapter 1 to me, I decided I had to go. I had no intention of rehashing C- memories. That's about it. A couple of Ethiopians came to dinner tonight, which was Ethiopia's only dish, Injari (what I called Jaraar last night). lt was awesome because I got to learn all about Ethiopia's MILLENIUM, new year celebration (since they are 8 years and 3 months different from us). Meg, which I bet is short for something I can't spell, told me the best drinks to buy are dudge (alcohol, honey, and spices) or tellah (alcohol, spices, and pieces of bread). I predict that I will try both, and go straight back to Bud Light... or probation.Deuhnahun!
draft
by Watt Smith

Ethiopia Day 1 Addis Ababa

I stepped out of the airport to receive a high five from Matt Finnerman, the manager of the Cherokee House, who had gotten a private cab driver, named Habtamu, to take me from the airport. We rode across Bole road as Matt explained to me some of the details of what I can expect in Addis Ababa, inclulding the fact that he and I are not only roommates, but also the only two guys in the house, living with 12 girls. The girls in the house were more than accomodating, and I instantly felt like I had 12 Moms... not the kind of Moms who nag, but the kind that bake you banana bread and chicken pot pie (both of which were given to me upon entry). The house is nice, and I was surprised but pleased to find out that a mere nine hours after my arrival, I would begin teaching at a primary school called Destiny. The school was run by a couple who left very high paying jobs in Northern Ethiopia to start a school which, despite its very high standard for curriculum, is barely surviving its high city rent with its low tuition rate. After meeting my new housemates, and having a few laughs, I went to bed, only to wake up at 3 AM until 5 AM. I used the weird jet-lagged awake time to study Amharic so that I could surprise everyone with horribly mispronounced "Good morning. How are you?"s and "goodbye"s. I went back asleep at five and was awakened at 6:20.I was awakened again at 6:30 and was packed up and eating cereal by 6:35. Jessica, a 24 year old campaign manager for some Republican party guy and an English teacher (and my teacher) at Destiny walked with me to a street called Tor Harloche where we caught a taxi (what I would call a combi) to Mexico. Here are a couple of side notes. First, the taxis here are the same model car as the combis in South America, some Toyota made, toaster shaped, cross between a hummer and a minivan that any Westerner would find repulsive, but a denizen of the "third world" would find very useful. 12 people pack into these things and are driven around the city for .65-1.2 birr (8-14 cents). Second, there are actually no street names in Addis Ababa. You might find one sign labeling the street every 10 blocks. Instead, everyone knows of the general areas as certain seemingly random names... which is why I can say that I went to Mexico. From Mexico we caught a taxi/combi through Karas and into Gofa, where Destiny is located. The school has about 7 rooms, and a library the size of my dorm room with about as many books. Flies buzz around in the classrooms, and you barely feel inside when the doors and windows are shut. There is a tiny play area between the classrooms and even a little swing and slide that looks like it could have been purchased at your local Wal-Mart. Around the school are concrete walls with the broken glass of coke bottles lined across the top, providing a McGuiveresque barbed wire barrier to keep out any criminal who would want to steal the 150 outdated books and 2 PCs that don't have enough speed to run The Oregon Trail. Despite the economic depravity of the school, the helper sweeps every speck of dust from the floors, the two teachers file every book away in its exact place, and the children listen with a raptured awe and politeness that might just give Kitty a run for her money in a good behavior contest. Such pride is taken in this glimmer of hope, existing in the capital of the world's third poorest country because, quite frankly, this school is a huge step up from a lot of the city.Since no curriculum had been made up I just had to pick up books about science (which I will be teaching to the kids) and start reading to them with an assistant, and aspiring teacher, Benjamin, to translate the areas of text that the children weren't able to pick up, which ended up being about 80 percent of what I said in the first period. I nervously read/explained to my first class about space shuttles and landing on the moon, and my second class heard me yammer on about dinosaurs. Despite the fact that I could see tons of fallacies in the books, I really feel like they children learned everything that Benjamin translated. They listened without ever saying a word or taking their eyes off of the speaker. The kids in Ethiopia seem to crave knowledge as much as the kids in America crave all 150 poke'mon. Finally, in my last two classes I really started feeling like a teacher, when I asked Benjamin to pick out a book for the class. He chose weather and we taught the kids things I had forgotten that I had known, Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, Thermosphere, the sun's absorption into the Earth and it's reflecting off the stratosphere's ozone... and at the end we asked them questions until half the class could answer them perfectly (minus pronounciation... it is never going to sound normal to hear an Ethiopian say space shuttle, molecule, and ozone layer). The highlight of class was teaching the fourth graders, who are only a class of 4, but they are the brightest students I had the opportunity to meet. They not only could remember the things Benji and I told them about wind, responding in English, but they could also deduce the flow of wind from areas of high to low pressure just by knowing the flow of wind from cold to hot areas after the heat rises.After my four classes, Benjamin, with the same diligence of the students, wrote lesson plans with me for tomorrow's classes, taking a break to meet Hareg, Matt, Jessica, Diane, and Jessica for lunch. We ate at a restaurant whose name I can't remember (Amharic is hard to remember because the sounds are so foreign, plus it uses an alphabet that looks more like Elvish). Anyway, we were served jaraar, which is bread on one big plate put in the middle of the table alongside beef, cheese, and bean sauces which is mixed onto the middle of the bread. Along the outside are also pieces of Kocho, bread made with banana-ish leaves roasted onto the sides. All the people at the table rip off pieces of the bread and dip it into the middle, then take it straight to the face. No plates, just one big pile of food. Ridonk. Hareg warned me not to eat the spicy beef because the oil could make me feel sick, but Benjamin teased me for "being afraid of a little spices" so I ate a few huge mouthfuls, then I felt sick. Benjamin and I stayed until 5 PM working on our lesson plans, then Jessica and I went shopping for supplies with Hareg, and I returned to Cherokee House, with Jessica, around 5:45 and sat down for my favorite Ethiopian dish, pizza... made by our incredible cook, Asni. Dinner's conversation was fantastic, and I really feel blessed to be with such a selfless and interesting group of people. Over dinner we discussed weekend plans, and laughed over a love letter, heartfully written, that our housemate, Molly, had received from an Ethiopian.The people here are some of the strongest people I have ever met, and in just a couple seconds you can feel true love for any one of them, and you know they feel the same way about you. All the nine year olds I met seemed to have more wisdom than my grandparents, and the men carry the aura of Buddhist monks, who have somehow achieved Nirvana. There is some ancient anomoly in this cradle of the human race where a society of Muslims and Christians are inadvertently practicing Daoism, or something that I read about in passages of the Baghavadgita. Their actions never seem to exist for the end result, but simply for the action. Nobody sweeps for subsistence, but for perfection. It's as if everyone here knows the elusive truth that all philosophers, starting with DeCartes, have seached for: the first principle of our humanity. I really hope to help my students as much as they are helping me.Zewbitu, the woman sitting next to me on the plane, who tirelessly answered my idiotic questions for hours, seemed to embody the spirit I have encountered in Ethiopia. There is a timeless quality here, where everybody is struggling, but self-reliant, and each person will stop in his tracks to solve the problems of another. Wow... I've been here for 24 hours, and there is so much that I still want to write. However, I assume at this point there is little more that you want to read, so... deuhna seunbetu.

Otovala and the Best Place in the Universe

After Quito, Scott and I went to the equator, which was awesome, then we went to Otavalo (spelling?) where they hold, on Saturdays, the biggest market in Ecuador. Here is where I learned to bargain. I knocked a mere 20 percent off of my first price (bargaining from ten to eight dollars), but by the end of the day I was a seasoned master of bargaining, buying an awesome Ecuadorian flag for 9 bucks when it initially cost 25. That´s right... 64 percent off! Scott and I loved to get the slimy market dealers to lie (I don´t mean anything bad when I say slimy, they will just tell you anything to get you to buy their products). Scott went up to a jewelry salesman and asked, in Spanish, ¨Is this pure silver?¨ The guy holding the rusty aluminum chain said ¨Si, pura! Para solo 95 dollars!¨ Scott took a few minutes to gaze, pretending, it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw, then said ¨No gracias¨. ¨Porque?¨ ¨Me gusta solo falsa plata¨. (I only like the fake stuff). The market vendor laughed that he had been caught in such an obvious lie. Most of the stuff they were selling was absolute shit. I saw a bunch of plastic axes on one side and on the other side a pipe for smoking (a real mix of a child and adult toys)... I asked in my dyslkexik Spanish ¨Es iste originale armas de Incas?¨ (is this an original weapon of the Incas) ¨Claro¨ (Of course). ¨Como Incas usar?¨ (How do Incas to use it?¨ The vendor then demonstrated how the Incas would smoke from the pipe, then use the axe side to kill their enemies with the blunt plastic of destruction. I responded with ¨No thanks, iste mirar muy peligrisso para mi¨ (No thanks, this looks too dangerous for me.)We then went on this thing that took us two miles above Quito, and I felt really objective, looking over the whole city, trying to imagine the point of view of each person down there. It was interesting to see the way the mountains shaped the town and how the human dwellings filled the valleys as far as I could see. Afterwards, we grabbed a bus from Quito to the border, and while we were waiting at the bus station, I bought one of those neck pillows. After sitting around for ten minutes, I decided that the neck pillow looked just like a horseshoe, so I gave Scott the opportunity to settle an old score with me (since I had just beaten him in air hockey, two out of three, with scores of 6-7, 7-6, 7-6... the game of our lives). We played horseshoes with a stopsign and a neck pillow. Very soon, all the little boys selling candy were watching and cheering on our game around the station. While a worthy opponent in air hockey, Scott was the worst horseshoe player in the whole world. I mopped the disgusting, bus station floor with him. We then let the little kids play horseshoes with eachother, and Scott bought a Gatorade for the one who actually managed to land it around the ring. He was really happy. In retrospect, I wish we had given him a neck pillow, to see if pillow horseshoes could catch on among the bus station kids.Anyway we took the bus to Quito, and it was awful, then we got to the border, and got screwed over by a couple of guys on the price to cross, since we had entered the car without bargaining for the fare. He charged us 12 bucks for only a few kilometers (which is absolutely insane!). Although we were each at fault, Scott, being an obsessed market maven, constantly searching for a deal, said he strongly wanted to pay for it all himself as a sort of penance. I allowed him to absolve himself from his sins (since he had snuck 15 dollars from me the night before on a poker hand). I had never seen Scott so mad with himself... haha... it was funny.Back in Tumbes, Peru, we hopped a combie to Mancora, the best place in the universe. After the two hour van ride with 20 other people, I couldn´t feel my legs, and, for the first time since puberty, my balls were asleep... a weird feeling that I would gladly buy an extra seat to never feel again. Finally, we got into Mancora and checked into Sol y Mar. Scott redeemed himself for his perceived failure in negotiations at the border by flirting with the overweight, desperate, attendant (the daughter that the parents would never marry off). She gave us 5 soles off per night for our room... 15 soles instead of 20. That is ten dollar savings over three nights. Go Scott!I can´t even tell you how great Mancora is. We made friends with literally everybody we saw, and I had some of the best days of my life there. On the last day, I literally didn´t sleep for 40 hours because I didn´t want to miss a single second there. All of the locals called me ¨Tranquillo¨ and they called Scott ¨Atreve¨... which mean ¨Chilled out¨ and ¨DARE¨. I will never forget the nights of freestyling with Peruvians about breakfast food (Cafe con leche y insalada de fruta, me gusta comidas). We met some great people. I really liked this 31 year old fashion designer from London who we called cogney and always made her say ¨Chim chimminy chim chimminy chim chim charoo!¨ We also loved talking to Alexis who was by far the most genuine person in the world whose job is to write poetry for local radio stations. We bought a shirt in Otavalo for Jhonny (the town slag and self proclaimed, most famous man in Mancora, whose catch phrase was con toto os huegetes... which means, with all the toys), and the shirt said ¨I LOVE BOOBIES¨ He wore it for 3 straight days. Staying up all night talking to Israeli army veterans. Riding horses every morning. Learning impromtu salsa from the local girls. Trash talking on the volleyball court. Seriously, though, nothing I say can even convey how great I felt in Mancora... it is the happiest place I have ever been. Here is one funny story that might work on paper: I was trying to tell my a pudgy, overweight, sandwich saleswoman on the beach (whose father makes sandwiches at night, and she spends the day selling them) to stay because I needed to go to my room and get money. I tried to say ¨I have money. I will go to my room and get it.¨ What I ended up saying was ¨I have money. Let´s go to my bed. Come on¨. The whole beach erupted in laughter, and I felt very embarassed. Luckily, I was able to explain it to Alexis who translated for me.After a few awesome days in Mancora, Scott and I took a buscama back to Lima with our new French friend, Silvain. I slept all night, since I hadn´t slept the night before, and then the three of us ate at a Chifa in Lima. We then said bye to Silvain and wished him luck in his new job in September at Shanghai. Scott and I slept for four hours, then headed out to the casino. I almost immediately lost almost all of my money due to feeling so awesome (after Mancora) and thus overconfident. I had the high pair, but I bet the river even though there was a flush draw on the board, not expecting the check raise. He took me all in, except for 12 dollars, and I lost. I had 140 dollars left in my poker fund, and in just a couple hands, I had lost 128 of it. I stuck it out with my 12 dollars, and made a big production of betting ¨All in¨with the four remaining dollars I had when 8 were already committed to the pot. They all laughed at the pathetic bet... saying ¨Wow!¨... I responded with one of my first Spanish jokes... ¨Si! Yo soy LOCO¨ YES! I am crazy! I was lucky enough to turn my 12 buck into 55 that hand. Then I flopped a straight, and I dominated that hand to have 150 dollars. I doubled that soonafter, but in a very sad manner. I was playing Scott, who had a great hand, pocket tens with one ten on the board. A great hand. I, however, had pocket aces with one Ace on the board... it was like the end of Casino Royale. We each put all our money behind hands that would win 9 out of 10 times... mine was just luckier. Scott looked deflated and so did I, but Scott´s spirits lifted when he won a drawing of 100 dollars, total randomness, but he deserved the luck as he had previously lost the river (and 150 bucks) when the guy he had put all in had a one in 23 chance of drawing the card he needed. Scott´s luck turned up, and mine turned down as I got tired... having learned the hard way not to play while tired, I cashed out my chips and went to bed around 1:30. Scott stayed, and I still haven´t found out how he did. I am just happy to have cashed out $220 dollars after being at $12 a few hours previously. I am now ready to be awesome again at poker. I have learned a lot of expensive lessons, and I am sure I will learn more, but I think I am now able to win more as well. I can´t wait to hit the casino tonight. The poker fund will will always have an uncomromised wall, but my fund is bigger than it was last night, and I can´t wait to see if I am given an opportunity to turn it into some profits for the trip.Scott is the smartest and best friend a guy can ever have, and I feel so lucky to be travelling with him... Just being around him is making me more logical. Even if I lose ever hand until I leave, I feel really lucky to know him.

QUITO

Quito is off the chain, neigh, off the richter! After a slow start (and some gigantic casino losses, which I keep in one of the forbidden rooms of my mind), Quito took a sharp turn in the direction of awesomeness. We spent all morning walking through Old Town, which is the historical district preserved from colonial times. Aside from a few amazing sites, namely a beautiful statue of Mary on a hill overlooking a stone place between three churches, the experience paralleled one that you could get by walking through Old Town, Alexandria. As we walked passed the President´s house; however, something totally sweet happened. The President came out to speak to a group of people in front of his house who were praising him with signs that say ¨Gracias Sr. President¨. He talked about adding a new province, which he did for the people even though he was against it. It was amazing; Scott and I were 40 feet from him.
Scott and I ate at a terrible resaurant, where we came up with a term that we call ¨Peru Scraps¨. This term refers to the pieces of food in every plate you get that you refuse to eat. After half of the meals here, we have a tiny bile of bony chicken, weird colored fish, and... lets just not talk about it (this is a continent where they put chicken feet and fish heads in the soup for flavoring). Anyway, after this particular lunch, our ¨Peru Scraps¨ were bigger than our original plates. There were only five bites between our appetizer, entree, and dessert, and our lemonade tasted so bland that I wanted to throw a chicken foot into it.
We then went to Equador´s museum, which was pretty awesome, but nowhere near as cool as the CHAPEL OF MAN, which was a chapel filled with Guayasamin´s art after he took a trip to Europe, America, and Asia. He captures human suffering in all his paintings, and it was very powerful to experience them. Our guide was very informative, and he spoke decent English. I ended up buying a copy of one of his paintings which is an adaptation a previous painting of Jesus´ body with Mary and two other women praying over it. He adapted this painting in a very interesting way by taking away all religious symbols from the first painting and making Jesus naked, without a halo, and the women aren´t praying; they are crying. This painting really expressed a Jesus who I wish the world tried to know better, without religion cluttering up his actual holiness. All the religious relics of the first painting look cheap and stupid next to the power of the simple human form of Jesus, laying there, cut up and suffering.
Scott´s roommate for law school happened to be in Quito, so they met there for the first time (I know... ridiculously small world). His name was Chris, and we met up with him and his friend, Eric, for drinks and dinner at this awesome, dollar cocktail, Mongolian restaurant, which was full of HBs. (Hot babes or head bands depending on context). What started as dinner quickly became a pregame for what ended up being the greatest party ever. We went around the bars meeting some very interesting people, and we ended the night at a dance club called NO BAR (even though it did have a bar... an awesome bar). Eric and Chris stayed back at the bar for an hour hitting on some girls (who both had boyfriends), so Scott and I spent our first hour there as the dynamic duo. We didn´t know how to approach the girls there, so we decided to just get up on an elevated, stage-like portion of the dance floor and start dancing, hoping to Tom Sawyer everyone into joining in. We busted out some of our greatest moves, the Sprinkler, the Charleston, the Surfer, the Shark, even my patented hands in the air spin move which I adapted from nSync´s video for Bye Bye Bye... we gave it everything we had. The minutes rolled by and all hope seemed to fade. Nobody was joining. During our greatest hour of despair; however, a volcano of hope erupted as about 20 people suddenly jumped up onto the floor, making fun of us for being such goofy gringoes. Soonafter, Chris and Eric arrived to join in with the dancing. Scott left a little bit after that, but the three of us danced until 3 AM, and I made out with a super hot 28 year old Equadorian girl. (My mom reads this blog but I can´t let that compromise my honesty). It was a great night, and I even learned a bunch of salsa moves. Seriously... it was a ton of fun. I was always apprehensive about going out to a club in a big foreign city, but, to be honest, it was way better than any club in America. I am also glad that Chris is so cool. I can tell that he and Scott are going to get along very well next year in law school. That is about it. PEACE

Mancora and Ecuador

Quite a lot has happened since our 16 hour set of busrides from Cajamarca to Mancora. Our stay in Mancora was so great that we extended it an extra day. Everybody who could speak English told me that I should go there, and now I truly understand why. The waves were perfect for learning to surf; horses were constantly available for riding; the food was excellent; the hostal we stayed in was perfect for meeting people; in fact, I cant imagine a more awesome place. I seriously have never had so much fun. It was a total paradise, and we met a great group of British people who are, by far, the most fun loving people we have met all trip. We left, however, and it turned out to be a huge mistake. Upon crossing the border to Equador a couple teenagers tried to steal my passport, our bus tried to leave without us, and we had to stop at a ton a checkpoints. Once we arrived in Guayquil, Scott and I decided to be as American as possible in the nice part of town by eating at their state-of-the-art Pizza Hut, where I drank 2 Pepsis with ICE (big mistake). Then we saw the worst movie of our lives... EPIC MOVIE. If you ever see this movie, dont. It is terrible. The next morning I woke up VERY sick. I puked four times in the shower because the ice in my Pepsi was made from Equadorian water. I had just finished my book, Gates of Fire, by Steven Pressfield, and in the book the Spartans would put all their negative thoughts into a room of their mind and lock the door, never to enter the room again. I tried that tactic with my sickness, and it worked. Scott and I spent the day touring the city, checking out the monuments in Guayaquil, and they were pretty awesome. We then went to this park that is full of Iguanas and turtles. HUGE IGUANAS... they dont even have cages. They just walk right next to you. I didnt eat all day, and we caught a bus to Montanita (BIG MISTAKE). If you ever go to Montanita, DONT! Watch epic movie instead. Montanita is a shitty town full of jackass, fuckups who cant get on with their real lives. Most of the town is run by travelers who quit traveling to braid hair and sell useless trinkets. The place house no spirit, and it has a very out to screw you vibe. The waves were smaller than the amount of fun we had. We tried going into the water, but we saw thousand (yes, thousands) of Portugese Man-o-Wars being washed up on the shore. Our hostal was relatively expensive (9 bucks each) and it was terrible... I woke up in the morning completely covered, head to toe (even under the covers) in mosquito bites. I got revenge on about 20 mosquitoes the next morning, who all were so fat with my blood when I popped them that I felt like I had just donated a pint. SCREW MONTANITA... it is a crappy tourist trap run by tourists. Scott and I left Montanita a day early, even though we had payed for 2 days in the hostal. We caught a 1 hour bus from Montanita to Puerto Lopez. On the 15 hour busride from Puerto Lopez to Quito, not only did they play 4 of the most terrible movies imaginable until 1 AM (including Epic Movie!), Scott also caught whatever terrible sickness I had, on a full stomach. He puked in the bus bathroom a billion times, and since the bus didnt let us bring our effects onto the bus, SCOTT SMELLED AWFUL! FOR 8 HOURS! I think he is better now... he showered and cleaned himself and is now fast asleep in our new hostal in Quito, which is pretty nice. Things are about to turn around and become more like Mancora again... I know it. Perhaps it is good that we have expended all our bad luck before we hit the casino in Quito tonight. Anyway, I am glad that in the past week my trip has definitely developed a high and low. If all of Equador continues to suck, we can always go back to Mancora. BUT IT WONT! Quito looks pretty awesome so far.

Cajamarca

This morning Scott and I got off of a 15 hour busride from Lima to Cajamarca, an ancient Incan city that has been sacked by everybody with an army because of its gold production. There are less Spanish genes in this city, and for this reason, the girls are much less hot; however, the landscape is beautiful. The land is much greener, and the mountains are all covered with beautiful trees. The Peruvian houses have a way of seeming very innocent in their desruction of nature, as if their beige coloring makes them seem like parts ofnature themselves. We took a bath in the Banos del Inca, for 5 soles, then I got a 30 minute massage for 20 soles. She told me I was muy tenso... but I thnk that mesuses justsay you were tense so you feel the need to come back to them, thus giving them more money.
After ourbaths we metwith a guia (guide) who is going to take us on a 19 kilometer hike across the Incan highway, where we are going to see the ruins of many Incan temples. He told us that he would come over with his fresh blend of coca leavs (which all the locals chew the same way Americans drink Starbucks). Yes... cocaine is made out of these leaves, but the leaves, when chewed, are barely different than a cup of coffee, except for the fact that they relieve the headache brought about by the high altitude.
Since this city has so much history, having been conquered by the Incans, Spanish, Chileans, and various tribes, Scott and I visited an ancient ruin of a room that was once filled with gold. After Pizarro took the Incan king, Atahualpa, hostage, the king offered to fill a room with goal up to the line made by how high Pizaro´s tallest man could reach, in exchange for his life. It took the Spanish months to take out all the gold, and once it was in Spanish possession, Atahualpa was hung.
FInally, Scott and I went to the highest point in Cajamarca to look at the city. Once there, I decided (since fortune tellers are so cheap) to get my fortune told by everyone I see to find out if there is any continuity throughout all their readings or if fortune telling is just a bunch of crock. For 10 soles, he read my palm with some degree of accuracy (although much of the information he told me could have come from logical conclusions based on how I was travelling in Peru at the age of 20). Anyway- when he got to the card portion, everything he said seemed like total bullshit. He just kept repeatign the same generic answers over and over again. Basically, I haven´t lost faith in palm reading, because I see how genes that regulate determination, success, and intelligence, could also regulate lines on the hand. Plus, my palm readig was AWESOME. He told me that I take after my father, both of my parents have great hearts (and so do I), I will hook up with tons of caliente senoritas until I get marriedafter visiting tons of countries, I will be very rich, I have no fear of danger, I will be very wealthy, and I will be very successful in mycareer. Oh yeah- very long life. That too. He said there is a sadnes at my house, but overall we are happy. He also, surprising, told me about a neck soreness that I have had for many weeks. I´m not sure if palm reading is fake or not... time will tell.
OK TIMES UP BYE

The Desert of ICA

I spent about 50 dollars (cost of souveneirs included) all last weekend, eating, drinking, sandboarding, riding dune buggies, swimming, and laying in hammocks next to a desert oasis called Laga Huacachina. It was incredible. In USA, any comparable weekend would have cost at least 800 dollars. The beauty of the desert was mind-blowing, and it is great to lay in the middle of it at night as it slowly gets freezing cold. During our dune buggy tour, the company was shooting a promotional video, so Scott and I are on it, close up, yelling ¨DESERT ADVENTURES: 101% ADRENALINE EXPERIENCE!¨ Hilarious. The place we stayed at, which cost 15 soles per night, ( 3.23 soles equals 1 dollar) was covered in hammocks, trees, flowers, a pool, and a restaurant that seemed both inside and outside, where all the food was priced fairly high (10-20 soles per plate) because they gave away free weed. That is right... the place payed the police so that it could always serve free weed, and the waitresses brought it right to the table without anyone asking and laid down a very large amount on a napkin. We had no idea! The place is very popular among Israeli travelers, which comprised about three fourths of th visitors there. All Israelis are required to serve 3 years in the army (because all their neighbors are attacking them) and after their term 30000 of the 50000 ¨graduates¨ travel the world. South America is very popular because of its low costs. The little town we stayed in, which had a star of David, made from stained glass, on the top windows of its main building, was obviously a haven for Israelis, who after years of shooting people, just want to sit in a beanbag chair, play Playstation, smoke weed, and look at the desert´s stars. Given that they have risked their lives to protect US interests, I would say that they deserve it more than anyone.
After the weekend, Scott and I went to a U soccer game. It was crazy to see all the Peruvian fans jumping and cheering at the top of their lungs for literally 2 hours. (20 minutes before the game started until the end of the game). I tried to join in with what little Spanish I knew, but the Peruvians just laughed it me and called me a GRINGO. (Humorous term for white guy... slightly derrogative).
One more thing, while I was laying under the stars, after dinner, on top of a gigantic sand dune in the desert, I decided that I want to major in International Affairs. My life seems to have a lot more meaning now that college makes more sense because it is now a step on the path towards something I want to do... see more things I could never conceive of. That´s about it.
SEE YA...
CONGRATULATIONS TO GRADY ON GRADUATING...

PERU

Peru has been an experience like none other. Everyone is trying to sell you something. There are absolutely no driving laws, just roads with tons of crazy, uninsured people on them. Left turns commonly come from the right lane, sometimes during a red light. Driving is like playing a lethal version of bumper cars.I have spent the days exploring the city, riding combes, eating empinadas, and trying to learn Spanish. Being an American makes everything easy, because it is so cheap to be completely comfortable in this city; however, you are always on your toes for fear of being robbed or mugged. There are two rectangular imprints on my back from sleeping on my wallet and passport.Scott and I have spent all our nights in the casino, and I soon realized that I was not good at poker. I had allotted 500 dollars for five nights of poker. Unfortunately, I lost 100 dollars the first four nights, and I went to the ATM to take out my final bit of money, if I lost this, the trip would be ruined. On my back, I pushed myself all in to call the Peruvian across from me. My heart was pounding, the last drop of money I had to my name... on the line... all resting on my pair of 7s. I called... and he had jack shit! After that double up I played like a demon, reading the odds with impecible accuracy and foresight. I folded three of a kind twice (when it would have lost) then agressively played a pair of 10s for the win. Quickly, I was up to 700 dollars. I cashed out 600 of it, converted 40 into soles, and went back in with 60 dollars. Through a couple wins I grew the 60 dollars into 140 dollars. Then I went all in with a paired jack and an ace kicker after the turn. The guy I went against, who was from Israel, had only a flush draw with the ace high. My his only outs were the 9 hearts in the deck of 45 remaining cards. I had an 80 percent chance of winning a pot of about 300 dollars. Here´s the reason idiots play poker... because sometimes they get lucky. On the river he got the heart. I lost. I didn´t feel at all bad about my loss because I made the right call, and the guy from Israel looked guilty as the dealer counted his money. I´m not mad, though. I have funded the entire trip off of poker, with profits, and I´m glad a guy who spent three years protecting US interests with his life in Israel is the one who got my money. Anyone who has put his life on the line deserves to get lucky, if there is any justice in the world. Scott has taught me that poker is an EXACT science, and there is no way to lose consistently, if you play the hand odds, implied odds, and the pot odds with accuracy. We are now working into reading the players better to predict what they have.Random fact: I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time a few days ago.Today we are going to a place called ICA to ride dune buggies for the weekend. YEAH!

EL COMEDIAN

Here is an update on what has happened with comedy in the weeks before leaving for Peru. The day I finished my final exam, I was offered the opening spot for Ralphie May and Lahna Turner for a week at the Richmond Funnybone. It was a real treat to work with such kind people. Ralphie gave me some great advice... he told me to give myself five points for every new joke, two points for every new tag line, and one point for rearranging my material. Then he said to never get onstage without achieving at least ten points. I spent the next for shows getting between twelve and fifteen points each time. This tactic served me very well, and by the end of the week I had worked out about 3 new bits, and resurrected two old ones until they were funny. I had written ten funny minutes in just a few shows. Not only was Ralphie a great guy, who got me to perform my best, his audience was also amazing. They were all smart and willing to laugh at unique ideas. Ralphie would then stay on stage and riff for two and a half hours! It was crazy! That week was the best week of comedy I have ever experienced!
The next weekend I worked at Cozzy´s Comedy Club in Newport News, Virginia. It went very well, but the audience really fell hard for my old material and less so for my new ideas; however, during my first show on Saturday, I scored a killer 24 points! New record! I worked with Ray Penetti and Davin who are both comics from New York. They were very nice, friendly, and funny.
Finally, I spent the following five days at W&L, being sketchy. It was fun, but being there just made me more eager to get my head on straight while I´m in Peru.
That´s what has been going on for the past month.
PEACE OUT

DC IMPROV

Two days ago I performed at the finals for the District's Funniest comedian, and I came in second place. It really broke my heart because I had completely gotten my hopes up that I would win, but I understand the reason that I didn't get what I wanted. The reason I didn't win was because I wanted to win so badly. I wanted it so much that it stifled me, and I came to the stage nervous and feeble, compared to my usual attitude. I did exactly what the Improv's manager advised us not to do: I treated it like a competition, and (as she predicted) it hurt my set. I still did well, but I wasn't being ME. I was being my act. Anyway- I know I am funny... so next time I hit the stage, I will take it easy. Plus, after the show Ryan Conner told me that there were about 160 contestants in the entire contest. Given those numbers, second doesn't seem all that bad.
Funny side-note... I am in my friend's room at my birthday celebration which just got busted by the police. 300 Mary Washington students just evacuated the house, and I am up here trying to be as quiet as I can, while 3 police officers are searching downstairs for drugs. I hope they don't search up here because I am completely HAMMERED!
PEACE

My Life of Crime

Here is a funny story:
I just finished reading The Art of War, by Sun-Tzu, and I brought the book in my backpack to the Colonial Tavern, a comedy spot just over a mile away from Mary Washington's campus. Henry Brown saw the book and seemed interested, so I gave it to him because I don't like to keep books after I finish them. Anyway, I tried out about ten minutes of new material, and it worked out well. Happy with my new jokes, I packed my books into my backpack, and my friend drove me home (since my license is restricted). As I walked back to my dorm room, I realized something terrible... I had put The Art of War into my backpack after the show. It was 12:53, and the show would end in seven minutes. Something had to be done fast, or I would be forever branded by fellow comedians as an Indian Giver.
In International Affairs, we have been learning Bismark's philosophy of realpolitik... the idea that the ends justify the means. It was time to adopt this strategy. I grabbed the only unlocked bike from in front of Jefferson, and pedalled as fast as I could to the Colonial Tavern, resorting to thievery to prove I wasn't a thief. I got there as Henry was walking out the door and gave him the book- just in time. As I walked back to the bike, ready to return it, I noticed it looked a little too official to be a normal bike. It had a mirror on the side, a light on the front, a pack of tools in the back... it was colored blue and silver... a license plate... then it hit me... I had copped a cop's bike.
Scared out of my mind, I had to face the moral dillemna of whether I should leave the bike at the Tavern and get off scott free or return the bike and risk being arrested. I decided to return the bike because I remember my DARE officer collecting my fingerprints in second grade, and I was afraid a forensics team would trace the crime back to Jefferson 103.
I sped off towards campus, using the darkest areas as my path of travel. At one point, I saw a police car and literally pedalled into a bush to hide. Finally, I returned to Jefferson, parked the bike where I had found it, ran into my room, and locked the door. SAFE!
Here's the best part. The bike cop on our campus is a total jackass. He has written everyone I know up for countless noise violations and parking tickets. He obviously saw his bike was gone, and reported it stolen from in front of Jefferson. Ten minutes after I got back to my dorm, a police car showed up with its sirens on, two cops got out, looked at the bikerack, and saw his bike. Case closed. I can just imagine what they said into their radio...
"Hey, dumbass. Thanks for calling in the search party, but your bike is right here... where you left it, in front of Jefferson."
I bet that bike cop felt like an idiot. Serves him right... I felt like an idiot when I had to explain to my dad the $150 dollars of parking tickets he had given me.
Revenge is a dish best served cold... or by accident.
Justice is served.

MC WEEK

As I was leaving my friend's birthday party, to drive to New York and audition for Last Comic Standing, my friend Sarah Elizabeth yelled out to me "Remember Tobias Wolff." This comment was an inside joke that I have with a couple of my friends, but it means something deeper to me. I was lucky enough to meet Tobias Wolff during my senior year of high school after he gave a lecture on how life's experiences add up to something greater. I asked him if our experiences are a collection of random events from which we find patterns of order (as one could with any random set of data) or is the experience of our lives there for a reason? Basically, is there a such thing as destiny? Are our actions divinely ordained? Tobias' response was "That is the question I have spent my entire life trying to figure out."When I heard Sarah Elizabeth yell "Remember Tobias Wolff", I interpretted her comment as a sign that I was destined to do well in Last Comic Standing. You can imagine my distress, when, due to car trouble, I was unable to make it more than a mile away from Mary Washington. I had felt betrayed by what I thought was my destiny. I sat down in my car and cried. It was terrible. Then, a few hours later, Kevin, the manager of the Funnybone, called me, saying that he desperately needed an MC for the week at the Funnybone. Had I been in New York, I never would have been able to take this opportunity. The whole week went very well, and it became the foot in the door that I had been waiting for in order to get work at the Funnybone. I know I will work there again soon, and I can now see a concrete path forming for the achievement of my goal: acquiring the ability to live completely off of comedy by the time I graduate college.Here's the trippy part: after I stopped trying to go to New York, my car started working fine. Part of me wants to believe that there is a higher force that was keeping me away from New York because I was meant to capitalize on my opportunity in Richmond. 2 points for destiny.Anyway- the week went very well. I went to UVA last weekend and a couple random people approached me and complimented me on my act. It felt good to be recognized by strangers. After one of the shows, Guy Torry (who was completely hammered) started passing the microphone back and forth with me onstage. He made fun of me for being the whitest white guy in the world, and I responded by doing my best thugged out ghetto impression. The audience erupted in laughter, and Guy Torry laughed so hard that he punched me in the face. Pretty hard. My head hurt for the whole next day. The funny part is: I felt really proud of myself for being so funny that I got punched in the face. It really says something about how desperate the average comic is for approval that a punch to the face was the highlight of my week. I felt like a real part of the comic team. Punched in the face by Guy Torry... what an honor. It is the equivalent of Heidi Klum kneeing me in the crotch and me spending the rest of my life bragging about how a super model once touched my balls.Bad analogy.Long blog.Here's the moral of the story:Guy Torry taught me that in order to be completely funny you need to temper red hot arrogance with ice cold humility. Come to the stage knowing that you are the funniest mothafucka on the planet, but be humble enough to relate to the audience. I was only able to learn this lesson because my car was mysteriously out of commission. It almost seems like the "universe" wanted me to learn this lesson... unbridled confidence with humility. As my religion professor would say: humble dogmatic.Remember Tobias Wolff.