¡Well here I am in the great land of Argentina! I have finally crossed the equator. I can now add another continent to my list. I have been very lazy since I got here. There is something great about going on a trip for 6 weeks, and that great thing is that you don´t have to worry about cramming a million things into your day. Not only that, but it gives you more time to actually think about what you want to do. Not everyone likes going to old churches or seeing giant museums but they go there because they consider it a part of the unique experience one can have when in that specific location.
I have found that there are many things that you can consider ¨cultural¨ or ¨memorable¨ and many of them are much easier and cheaper than a lot of the more typical tourist things.
Yesterday was a good day because I was able to actually enjoy my first real full day in Argentina. The day of arrival can always be a little daunting because you are still awake after coming from the last place you were just enjoying. When I arrived here in South America I still had the smell on palm trees on my body and the sand of Venice Beach in my hair. Not only that, but I was still filled with the elation I had felt from hanging out with some of my good friends in my own country. Take that experience and then thrust yourself into a completely new environment and it can feel a little nerve-racking. Normally I would like to arrive and then just go to sleep in order to adjust to this new place, but instead I had a long and fun day.
I arrived at the airport after one of the most boring flights I have ever had in my life. I was fine being anti-social on my 6 hour flight to New York, but I was preparing myself to meet a very eccentric and interesting Argentine on my 11 hour flight down south.
To be honest I never actually found out where the guy sitting next to me was from because he did not say a single word the whole flight. Even the flight attendants were confused as to how to address him. The same woman kept coming by and asking ¨Would you like anything to drink?¨ only to receive a head nod or hand gesture. The next time she would stop by and say ¨Quieres algo para comer?¨ and she would still get a mute answer. The guy literally didn´t want to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was very carefully and methodically analyze the giant book he had brought along.
Now I´ll admit, I have some strange and sometimes uninteresting interests, but I usually divide my attention equally between them all. This guy sat in his chair for the full 11 hours reading a foot and a half wide coffee table book all about the history of modern furniture. We´re talking pages and pages of chairs and tables. Sure that is interesting for some, but 11 hours????¿¿¿¿ Not only that, but he was actually reading all the captions and descriptions page for page. I didn´t think anyone actually read the stuff in the coffee table books. Aren´t they just for guests to flip through while they wait for you to bring out their drink¿ (I forgot that my keyboard has some extra keys for me to enjoy¡)
He also kept rubbing each page and feeling them down as if he intended to measure each individual page with his eyes. It was all just very strange.
This guy seemed so incredibly consumed by his furniture book that even I was nervous to break his chair concentration. I didn´t even get up to pee until 9 and a half hours into the flight, and I always have to pee. Especially on airplanes¡¡¡
So he was obviously not a delightful seat mate and as soon as I got into the airport I was eager to speak to anyone who wasn´t passionately devoted to old furniture or taxidermy or any other thing you are supposed to think one thought and then forget about.
However, I was now in a foreign land and I had to switch to a brand new language. (A language I was hoping to have practiced for 11 hours pre-arriving. BUT NO¡ When I went through the customs I made my obvious mistakes by asking for a pencil when I wanted a pen, saying I was a woman to the customs official, and then asking where I could find my couch when I clearly was in search of my luggage. No problem though, because it got sorted out and after a quick bus ride I arrived in a city I have never quite seen before.
Buenos Aires is really beautiful and very big. It looks like a metropolitan city that you might see in Spain and yet the whole time you constantly remind yourself that you are actually in the southern part of South America. Somehow knowing that this city exists in the same part of the world as the Amazon and Machu Picchu is constantly mind blowing. I´ve seen a good amount so far and I´ve enjoyed some good steaks and some great wines and I even had dessert at a T.G.I. Fridays with a local of Buenos Aires. I´ve also done a lot of hanging out and a immense amount of Futbol watching.
So if I were to recommend how to be a good tourist when staying in a place for a long time I would say........ do whatever you want whenever you want to. Enjoy all the simple things and don´t forget the ¨insignificant¨ things. It is often hard to relate the experience of a great art museum to someone who has never been there or who has no interest, but many can relate to the boring and mysterious dork sitting next to him on the airplane. And that is important¡
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Hotel-de-Tramp
Well, another trip has begun and just as always I've found a room in a dumpy little hostel where I can get on a computer for 5 bucks an hour to inform my faithful readers of my grand adventures.
I've made it to my first destination: San Diego. This is my third trip here in my life and I've really enjoyed myself. This time I've been staying in the heart of the city where one is surrounded by classic buildings, a myriad of restaurants and bars and every kind of hobo/bum/street person he could hope to meet.
I've seen a lot of bums in my day. In fact, when I'm traveling I usually live the life similar to a vagabond. However, I've noticed a special bread of street person out here in San Diego. In this place the bums have a keen sense of how sidewalk life must be pursued. Unlike the bums of Chicago or the cities of the northeast, the SO-CAL bums already have an edge up by recognizing that street life is more effective and profitable whilst living in a warm city. Life is always better when the sun is out!
As I walk through the hustle and bustle of the San Diego streets I'm often fortunate to come across all sorts of colorful beggars. There are so many out here and most have thrown out the classic and creative excuses and simply go for a quick "You got any change?" or a slightly more enticing, "I need a quarter for the bus. Can you spare some?"
Since most bindle punks use the same excuses, they have to rely on other pans in order to win the jingling prize hidden deep within all of our pockets. Some have massize shopping carts with tassels and doo dads dangling from every side. Others sport bizarre clothing ensembles that somehow seem to match even though it's quite obvious that every item has a entirely different origin than the next. These are the boes that appear to be the most successful. They aren't tied down to a cart and they don't need to search endless trash cans in the hopes of snatching a plastic bottle or two. These ones use their tact and spunk to win the dimes and quarters of their loyal supporters. These freeloaders are true masters in the art of flim flamery. They are the bread winners of the street community and for that they are certainly a proud breed.
The grease balls are a type of hobo often confused for the true tramps of these great streets. Grease balls steal from other hard working loafers and are often known to toot the ringer if you can believe that. These guys are tricksters who may look like regular hard working hobos, but are actually thieves within their own community. These grease balls are too smart to actually be on the streets and are clearly driven by sheer laziness. For if one is smart enough to outsmart other hobos, that hobo is thus intelligent enough to find a better means of contributing to society. However, the greasers are more inclined to trick and thieve than to really embrace the Happy Hooligan lifestyle. It can sometimes be hard to spot the difference between a Grease ball and a Boe, but when you do you'll feel glad you didn't make the grave error of supporting this shameful lifestyle. The world simply cannot benefit from these tomato-can stiffs.
So while I've obviously been doing a lot more things in this great city, I feel it necessary to give some credit to those "hard-working" men...and a few women, who make their homes throughout the streets, alley ways, and beaches of this fair city. Would the world be better without the hobo? I doubt it. Sometimes life for others can become so monotonous that they forget the path they took from point A to point B. Spotting a tramp, hobo or streety helps us stay awake. They add a bit more color to an already colorful world.
A Monika will often attempt to run the line, but if that scalawag ever wants to find a scenery cruiser he had better get some thin ones by throwing his feet and avoiding the yahoos. Right?
I've made it to my first destination: San Diego. This is my third trip here in my life and I've really enjoyed myself. This time I've been staying in the heart of the city where one is surrounded by classic buildings, a myriad of restaurants and bars and every kind of hobo/bum/street person he could hope to meet.
I've seen a lot of bums in my day. In fact, when I'm traveling I usually live the life similar to a vagabond. However, I've noticed a special bread of street person out here in San Diego. In this place the bums have a keen sense of how sidewalk life must be pursued. Unlike the bums of Chicago or the cities of the northeast, the SO-CAL bums already have an edge up by recognizing that street life is more effective and profitable whilst living in a warm city. Life is always better when the sun is out!
As I walk through the hustle and bustle of the San Diego streets I'm often fortunate to come across all sorts of colorful beggars. There are so many out here and most have thrown out the classic and creative excuses and simply go for a quick "You got any change?" or a slightly more enticing, "I need a quarter for the bus. Can you spare some?"
Since most bindle punks use the same excuses, they have to rely on other pans in order to win the jingling prize hidden deep within all of our pockets. Some have massize shopping carts with tassels and doo dads dangling from every side. Others sport bizarre clothing ensembles that somehow seem to match even though it's quite obvious that every item has a entirely different origin than the next. These are the boes that appear to be the most successful. They aren't tied down to a cart and they don't need to search endless trash cans in the hopes of snatching a plastic bottle or two. These ones use their tact and spunk to win the dimes and quarters of their loyal supporters. These freeloaders are true masters in the art of flim flamery. They are the bread winners of the street community and for that they are certainly a proud breed.
The grease balls are a type of hobo often confused for the true tramps of these great streets. Grease balls steal from other hard working loafers and are often known to toot the ringer if you can believe that. These guys are tricksters who may look like regular hard working hobos, but are actually thieves within their own community. These grease balls are too smart to actually be on the streets and are clearly driven by sheer laziness. For if one is smart enough to outsmart other hobos, that hobo is thus intelligent enough to find a better means of contributing to society. However, the greasers are more inclined to trick and thieve than to really embrace the Happy Hooligan lifestyle. It can sometimes be hard to spot the difference between a Grease ball and a Boe, but when you do you'll feel glad you didn't make the grave error of supporting this shameful lifestyle. The world simply cannot benefit from these tomato-can stiffs.
So while I've obviously been doing a lot more things in this great city, I feel it necessary to give some credit to those "hard-working" men...and a few women, who make their homes throughout the streets, alley ways, and beaches of this fair city. Would the world be better without the hobo? I doubt it. Sometimes life for others can become so monotonous that they forget the path they took from point A to point B. Spotting a tramp, hobo or streety helps us stay awake. They add a bit more color to an already colorful world.
A Monika will often attempt to run the line, but if that scalawag ever wants to find a scenery cruiser he had better get some thin ones by throwing his feet and avoiding the yahoos. Right?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Getting Domesticated
Well here I am. I have managed to survive a bit more than a month in the US of A. For a while I really thought that I wasn't going to make it. After months of exotic travel and years of bizarre living conditions, becoming a full blooded "American" seemed a bit too terrifying to truly accept. Now, however, as the stomach is once again calming to the food, my job search is (hopefully) nearing a result, and my life in Denver shall soon be realized; I feel like I'm going to make it.
But before I decided to devote my bloggues to the wonders of suburban-all-American-style-livin', allow me to tell you about some of the things that really scared the shit outta me upon entering this immensely strange place.
FOOD- Whooooooooaaaaaaa now that was quite the adjustment. It could be that I was drinking too much tap and river water in Central America or (which I think is more likely) I could have just been too overwhelmed by the crazy diet they have here.
The first day back in the States I was visiting friends in Chicago. My friend JP took me to a famous heavy metal style hamburger joint where you eat 30 pound burgers while Pantera rages from the speakers and kung fu movies play endlessly on the omnipresent flat screens. Only in America. After we dined on the half-heifer heart attack cakes we left to go for a bit of tux shopping for my friend's upcoming wedding. Along the way, I felt like my stomach was bursting and that I literally had no vacancy for all the toxins boiling away in my belly. I asked my friend for a fruit shake as I was accustomed to drinking light mango shakes on the beaches of all my little hot spots. He of course brought me a cornucopia of 8 fruits crammed into a brick of a smoothie. I drank it to what I thought was delight until about ten minutes after.
Driving along the streets of Chi-Town, as the locals secretly call it, I started to feel a bit of both queasy and nauseous. I ask my friend, "are we close to your house?"
"About fifteen minutes. Are you al.."
"Dude I just want to....uh...maybe lay down or drink some water or take a nap I think." I interrupted awkwardly.
We continued along the street until my friend spoke, "I'm just waiting for you to POP!"
Well that did it. I burst. I yelled for him to pull over and chucked the car's weight in vomit out of his slightly open door. The puke went about 80% all over the bus stop and 20% on the passenger side door of my friends 2 week old Volvo. It was amazing. I could feel, first, the cold, mildly refreshing smoothie followed by the warm Heavy metal burger, all the way up to the oven roasted pear shooting out my nose like a spit wad. Quite a relief in all.
I puked like this about once a day after eating for the first two weeks. I even puked up the filet mignon and sea bass at the aforementioned wedding. OOPS!
DOG PARKS- Another thing that really scared the shit out of me at first was going to the dog park or DP as my parents called it. I was frightened by the realization that people's pets could actually have better personalities than themselves.
You enter into the park on any random day and it is full of people watching their dogs fight, sniff, and hump with utter delight. The dogs go and have fun and while a bunch of random people walk around waiting for you to make eye contact or yell at your dog that is playing with their dog.
"Oh they play so well together, don't they?" The random old lady will ask.
"Yep, sure do," says me, the guy who doesn't really know why he is here and just wants his dog to crap so he can leave.
"I've seen these two playing a lot. The other dogs tend to be so dominate and aggressive, don't you think?" She smiles.
"Yep, sure do," I really don't know why we are talking about this.
"Your dog's name is Sophie isn't it? That's my dog's name too." I neglect to tell this woman that, like all of our family dogs, this dog has been named after a famous Hooker. It's just something we do. However, we spare the knowledge for some.
Eventually after we talk about how many tennis balls there are in the park and how small some other dog is and how much "yucky slobber" another one has, I say "nice to meet you" and walk over to another quadrant of the park. I say nice to meet you and yet we never actually met. We are actually socializing servants for our pets. We talk about our pet's personalities, names and funny quirks without ever actually talking to each other. It would be like if you just started talking about a tree to someone just because you were both standing next to it. It makes me feel uncomfortable.
You also have those buttholes who go the to "pick up chicks." I would too, but this park is filled with regular North Face wearing Colorado family people. One old fart once showed up while I was with my mother and thought he might try a little cougar hunting. He looked right at her and said "Excuse me, what do we we do here? I never been to one of these before. You see my girlfriend left me with the dog and moved off to New York and now I don't know what to do." After he said that I knew that there was something that pissed me off more about this man other than the fact that he had his sweatpants tucked into his socks.
I immediately wanted to yell, "Oh you don't know the complex science of a dog park sir? Well let me inform you. You see we all bring our dogs here, have sex with them and then let them run around in circles for about 30 minutes. Everyone else has been here a while so that's why all the sexin' is all over. Go ahead, I mean your girlie left you anyways so this will be refreshing."
Come on man. Your opening line is going to be how you don't know how to take your dog's leash off and then the closer is that, despite your impeccable style, you have just failed in your relationship and got stuck with the chick's pet while she went off to make millions in NYC? I just don't understand people. My mom of course enjoyed his pathetic effort and he did figure out how to take his dog's leash off. Good boy!
COLD WEATHER- I don't really have much to say about this except that sometimes it gets cold as nuts out here. Last week it snowed almost 12 inches in two days. That is a lot of snow for October. It's much colder than a tropical island. Much colder.
So while there are many other things like these that could be classified as "culture shock," I have gained the confidence to move on and become a part of this community. I think the days will be good and as long as I admit that there are pants in socks morons everywhere in life, I think I'll survive. I will be domesticated.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Guatemalan HULK!
It is true. My enthusiasm for the bloggueing did diminish with the commencement of my journeys. This entire time i thought taking some more trips would reinvigorate me to take a seat in yet another crappy back breaking "internet cafe" chair to throw out some new and exciting stories for all those concerned in what it is i do.
I guess, on this particular trip, i became so involved in the moment that i hardly had enough time to react to the day to day happenings, which made it even more difficult to actually sit down and record some jaded and "humor" injected reimagination of them. But the trip has been very good and I can say that the only reason why I haven't been bloggueing is because I have been filling every moment with real life bloggueing or...living. So now, on the day before my final departure to a very confusing existence in the US, I will tell you of some of my adventures only in the hopes that the stories will further peak your interests and thus make you more inclined to find a way in which to visit me and hear them from my mouth in their purest form.
Guatemala - Advice for going to Antigua, Guatemal: If you want to go with some friends that is fine. If your two friends happen to be best friends who are themselves El Salvadorians and thus free to roam and "create any type of rukus they please" in neighboring Guatemala, remember that they have their own nationalities and your's does not permit you to go and act the same way as they do.
Antigua is a drinking man's place. Well technically all of central america is like that. The whole world is. Ok let's start over. Antigua is the clostest place to San salvador where you can find an ancient city thus "culture" and hordes of excitable gringa girls who have come to guatemala on their parents credit card to do a three week spanish course which they forget each night as the get plastered off tequilla shots and cheap beer poured into old styrofoam cups making it possible to booze in the streets.
We went there because the dudes were ready to shock all the girls, as they always do, by looking super latin (we're talking a kilo each of hair gell per cabeza) and yet speaking English like a mother toungue. It's wonderful to watch the girls as they stutter through their basic HOLA, Como estas? to then recieve the eloquent reply "I'm quite well thank you."
We were having some luck here and there, but no one was really "feelin' it." We continued to peruse the bars in the hopes that some girls might find our well pressed polo shirts a bit more appealing than those of the other 300 horndogs walking the cobblestone streets of this old central American capital, but we had no luck.
Finally, I have managed to allow my bad luck to simply be bad luck and not an excuse to get outrageously intoxicated...or maybe I just got lucky with this night. Our good friend, however, was not able to separate his emotion from the bottle and this is where the plot thickens.
This young man who we shall call....Juan Carlos, to both protect his identity and be slightly offensive, is no small dude. Imagine if a VW Beetle came to life and sprouted limbs and this would be an accurate discription of the ex-body builder who can crush litre beers faster than you can take a pee. In the beginning of the night Juan Carlos informed us that he usually put away around 30 beers in the period of one drinking night and he was getting very close to our believing every word to which he had earlier spoken.
After drinking what seemed like a child sized pool worth of beer JC was doing pretty well for himself and was showing that extra umf of confidence only realized through the use of the old "social lubricant." But then we got the time honored after party invite and there was simply no hope. (You see, in Guatemala all the bars close at 1am making it hard to do much late night partying. In recent years it has become a bit of a cult phenomenon to throw "after parties" to continue the bar feeling after hours. However, these after parties are usually someone's effort to open their own bar and illegally sell liquor to the select few bar folk that they choose to invite. The police do not like this practice.)
So we went to this after party and someone bought us a bottle of vodka and we started mixing it with orange juice. I know, brilliant! Alberto and I got the idea, that after parties are for mingling and not creating bad vibes in an already tense environment of law breaking partiers. Our friend JC however, got haaaaaaaammmmmered. Finished the bottle. Fell around. Made mean faces. Now looked like a drunk VW Beetle swirving around a small poorly lit bar. Oh yeah, disastrous.
The night ended without problems until big man JC saw us collect the girls emails (oh yeah, we are like so gonna email long distance syle until marriage get's into the convo) and he went off his rocker. Walking around the streets just screaming in any language that popped into his head first. 265 pounds of El Salvadorian raised meat rolling around the streets on a full on sexually frustrated rampage. He was yelling and pulling his hair, and banging on people's closed doors and even came up to me and bit me saying "i want flesh." It...was...fucking...crazy!!!
We tried our best to console him and figure out what to do, but before we could even get our footing right to brace the giant walking T-bone steak, I saw the blue sparking caps of the Guatemalan police force. Oh yes, Guatemala, one of the most currupt governments in all the lands, where the police do whatever they feel needs to be done in order that they recieve dinero. (Don't worry this isn't another I pooped my pants story, but it was close.)
I began to freak and wonder how I had even ended up with these two 19 year old bozos who were doing exactly the same things i was doing for four more years after the age of 19. I paniked and tried one last efort to stop JC when I was blinded by the two police jeeps that followed from both ends of the street to then reveal 8 more soldiers brandishing real live machine guns. HOLY SHIIIIITTTT!!!! (Don't worry, if I was shot i wouldn't be able to write this...or would I?)
So with guns drawn and police everywhere, who do they turn to for responsibility? El Gringo..ME!
Thank god I speak spanish
Officer- what is going on here?
Me- too much to drink sir. we were just trying to get our friend home
officer- do you know how late it is?
me- muy late
Officer- yeah, so why is your friend walking around banging on doors?
(JC is now walking around shaking hands and taking pictures with the police officers and asking to hold one of their machine guns.)
me- he has had way too much to drink sir and we have just been trying to get him back to our hotel.
Officer- what are you scared of you friend?
At this very moment we both look at JC and he lets out a giant scream before ripping his shirt off to expose a bigger chest than any two cops combined.
Me- sir, he is the fucking HULK!
At this both myself and the officers had one of those moments that only happen in outrageous movies; we slowly rose together in a giant eruption of group laughter.
We somehow made great pals of the cops and they even elected to throw us all into the back of the police pickup truck and drive us back to the hotel.
4am 4star hotel
Our three car police escort arrrived to a bit of fanfare as you might imagine. All the late night auditors came out to see us rolling a giant half-passed whale out of a police car and I'm sure at least one had a hernea. As we rolled down the halls waking every resident with the moans of old sexually frustrated JC, the manager was asking us our names and nationalities and many other questions.
He did that to ban us from ever staying in that hotel. We left the next day, sad at having had no luck with the girls, but happy nonetheless to have made a good story.
I guess, on this particular trip, i became so involved in the moment that i hardly had enough time to react to the day to day happenings, which made it even more difficult to actually sit down and record some jaded and "humor" injected reimagination of them. But the trip has been very good and I can say that the only reason why I haven't been bloggueing is because I have been filling every moment with real life bloggueing or...living. So now, on the day before my final departure to a very confusing existence in the US, I will tell you of some of my adventures only in the hopes that the stories will further peak your interests and thus make you more inclined to find a way in which to visit me and hear them from my mouth in their purest form.
Guatemala - Advice for going to Antigua, Guatemal: If you want to go with some friends that is fine. If your two friends happen to be best friends who are themselves El Salvadorians and thus free to roam and "create any type of rukus they please" in neighboring Guatemala, remember that they have their own nationalities and your's does not permit you to go and act the same way as they do.
Antigua is a drinking man's place. Well technically all of central america is like that. The whole world is. Ok let's start over. Antigua is the clostest place to San salvador where you can find an ancient city thus "culture" and hordes of excitable gringa girls who have come to guatemala on their parents credit card to do a three week spanish course which they forget each night as the get plastered off tequilla shots and cheap beer poured into old styrofoam cups making it possible to booze in the streets.
We went there because the dudes were ready to shock all the girls, as they always do, by looking super latin (we're talking a kilo each of hair gell per cabeza) and yet speaking English like a mother toungue. It's wonderful to watch the girls as they stutter through their basic HOLA, Como estas? to then recieve the eloquent reply "I'm quite well thank you."
We were having some luck here and there, but no one was really "feelin' it." We continued to peruse the bars in the hopes that some girls might find our well pressed polo shirts a bit more appealing than those of the other 300 horndogs walking the cobblestone streets of this old central American capital, but we had no luck.
Finally, I have managed to allow my bad luck to simply be bad luck and not an excuse to get outrageously intoxicated...or maybe I just got lucky with this night. Our good friend, however, was not able to separate his emotion from the bottle and this is where the plot thickens.
This young man who we shall call....Juan Carlos, to both protect his identity and be slightly offensive, is no small dude. Imagine if a VW Beetle came to life and sprouted limbs and this would be an accurate discription of the ex-body builder who can crush litre beers faster than you can take a pee. In the beginning of the night Juan Carlos informed us that he usually put away around 30 beers in the period of one drinking night and he was getting very close to our believing every word to which he had earlier spoken.
After drinking what seemed like a child sized pool worth of beer JC was doing pretty well for himself and was showing that extra umf of confidence only realized through the use of the old "social lubricant." But then we got the time honored after party invite and there was simply no hope. (You see, in Guatemala all the bars close at 1am making it hard to do much late night partying. In recent years it has become a bit of a cult phenomenon to throw "after parties" to continue the bar feeling after hours. However, these after parties are usually someone's effort to open their own bar and illegally sell liquor to the select few bar folk that they choose to invite. The police do not like this practice.)
So we went to this after party and someone bought us a bottle of vodka and we started mixing it with orange juice. I know, brilliant! Alberto and I got the idea, that after parties are for mingling and not creating bad vibes in an already tense environment of law breaking partiers. Our friend JC however, got haaaaaaaammmmmered. Finished the bottle. Fell around. Made mean faces. Now looked like a drunk VW Beetle swirving around a small poorly lit bar. Oh yeah, disastrous.
The night ended without problems until big man JC saw us collect the girls emails (oh yeah, we are like so gonna email long distance syle until marriage get's into the convo) and he went off his rocker. Walking around the streets just screaming in any language that popped into his head first. 265 pounds of El Salvadorian raised meat rolling around the streets on a full on sexually frustrated rampage. He was yelling and pulling his hair, and banging on people's closed doors and even came up to me and bit me saying "i want flesh." It...was...fucking...crazy!!!
We tried our best to console him and figure out what to do, but before we could even get our footing right to brace the giant walking T-bone steak, I saw the blue sparking caps of the Guatemalan police force. Oh yes, Guatemala, one of the most currupt governments in all the lands, where the police do whatever they feel needs to be done in order that they recieve dinero. (Don't worry this isn't another I pooped my pants story, but it was close.)
I began to freak and wonder how I had even ended up with these two 19 year old bozos who were doing exactly the same things i was doing for four more years after the age of 19. I paniked and tried one last efort to stop JC when I was blinded by the two police jeeps that followed from both ends of the street to then reveal 8 more soldiers brandishing real live machine guns. HOLY SHIIIIITTTT!!!! (Don't worry, if I was shot i wouldn't be able to write this...or would I?)
So with guns drawn and police everywhere, who do they turn to for responsibility? El Gringo..ME!
Thank god I speak spanish
Officer- what is going on here?
Me- too much to drink sir. we were just trying to get our friend home
officer- do you know how late it is?
me- muy late
Officer- yeah, so why is your friend walking around banging on doors?
(JC is now walking around shaking hands and taking pictures with the police officers and asking to hold one of their machine guns.)
me- he has had way too much to drink sir and we have just been trying to get him back to our hotel.
Officer- what are you scared of you friend?
At this very moment we both look at JC and he lets out a giant scream before ripping his shirt off to expose a bigger chest than any two cops combined.
Me- sir, he is the fucking HULK!
At this both myself and the officers had one of those moments that only happen in outrageous movies; we slowly rose together in a giant eruption of group laughter.
We somehow made great pals of the cops and they even elected to throw us all into the back of the police pickup truck and drive us back to the hotel.
4am 4star hotel
Our three car police escort arrrived to a bit of fanfare as you might imagine. All the late night auditors came out to see us rolling a giant half-passed whale out of a police car and I'm sure at least one had a hernea. As we rolled down the halls waking every resident with the moans of old sexually frustrated JC, the manager was asking us our names and nationalities and many other questions.
He did that to ban us from ever staying in that hotel. We left the next day, sad at having had no luck with the girls, but happy nonetheless to have made a good story.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
A Day in Honduras
I know, it´s true, I´ve let you all down by not keeping up with my blogguing since I´ve been traveling these past 2 months. But I´m ready to stop all that and write you all something, but since i have to use this mexican key pad, ill be refraining from using capital letters because the button is in a different place that my pinky simply cannot reach. i hope you can understand
So here i sit in a small smelly orangish brown cubible in a place called choluteca, honduras. But let me tell you first about how i got here in the internet cafe owned by the brother who´s sister is currently housing me.
FRONTERA FRONTERA FRONTERA. these were the words of the young man hanging out of the old yellow school bus as we raced down the two lane highway on the eastern edge of el salvador. we were moving to the frontera, or border, and there was no turning back. every 30 seconds the bus would halt to a rolling stop to pick up new border jumpers or to drop off others who were simply tired of the blaring reggaeton music that blasted through the fuzzy creaking speakers of the long retired school bus.
the landscape was incredible and every new turn of the bus would reveal some new type of geographical layout. on the right side one could glare at the cows grazzing through long green hills sprinkled with healthy sprouting trees. then you could look on the other side of the bus past the sleeping locals to see giant mountainous valleys with a orange sky painted by the descending sun.
just as the sun was at its hottest the bus stopped and the last sign for el salvador was duly greeting as it read ¨bienvenidos a honduras.¨ I jumped off the bus and was the first to greet my fellow immigration officers. as I sat in the interview chair i felt like a true explorer crossing from one ancient land to another. after a good conversation with one officer about the educational standards in the US the checks were made and a door was opened to reveal a long solitary bridge in front of me.
I put my best foot forward and made the great walk from one country to another. it was amazing walking across that bridge and glancing down at the people bathing in the river. from one side el salvadorians were washing their clothes while conversing with their bathing honduran amigos on the other side. even the look of the country seemed to change as i walked across the bridge. it only took me one minute to walk to the land i once visited only 5 years ago.
And now the story gets interesting as i step into honduras.
questions and more questions. I ask so many questions in these places because 1. i want to use my spanish 2 i have no idea where im going and 3 everyone else seems to be just as lost and therefore i have to weed out the doofs who simply point in the direction away from them when i ask how to get to another city.
after asking three people i finally found yet another rickety school bus with a hand made sign flowing accross the windshield that indicated it would take me to choluteca.
now, you might ask, why the hell was i going to choluteca? well i can´t really tell you why. I´ve done a fair amount of traveling in my life and it always seemed to have a purpose whether it was to see some museum or visit some old town or something else.
before this tip i was able to save up more money than i have ever had for a trip. and yet my objective here has been to spend hardly any money and to get around with the locals. and in the past week ive done that. ive stayed way below my 20 dollar a day budget and i´ve been floating wherever people i meet take me. why for instance i was in antigua guatemala just two days ago and now i´m two countries over.
So back to the hottest bus i´ve ever been in ever. the sweat was literaly pouring down my face as i sat waiting for either the driver to get some air flowing through the cab or for the sun to cook the skin off everyone´s bodies. i would have waited outside of the bus if i hadn´t been afraid of having all my belongings stolen.
the bus finally left and we rolled away peacefully until a very fat man came aboard. he was slow to find the seat next to me and could hardly fit in the child sized bus.
for the next fifteen minutes i was mesmerized to watch this landwhale jam out to the music while eating some sort of meat and potato goolash that he produced out of a thin plastic bag with his grit covered hands. i was half mesmerized by his nasty eating habits and half dying for a bite since i hadn´t eaten anything all day.
After the man finished, he did what all people in these situations seem to end up doing...he offered his finger lickin´ hand in the clasic gesture of ¨let´s be friends and get to know each other.¨ so i then met walter and we talked only for a little while about our lives until he got onto, what seemed like his favorite subject, sex. so, at 8 pm, with an empty stomach and a sore ass from 8 hours riding on 4 busses, i talked to an old fat honduran man about his different sexual exploits. most entertaining!
i was set to stay with a recent aquaintence i had met in san jose, el salvador and the man was most interested in helping me to get in contact with her. when we arrived we walked around the dirty dark streets of choluteca asking random people for their cell phones. we finally got a hold of my ¨friend¨ but the woman´s phone was messed up and my friend couldn´t hear my voice.
so when after all this trouble what did i do in this foreign town in this foreign city? i piled into a the shittiest cab in the world with all these new people and we drove off. well actually the driver first had to plug in a battery for the car and we were all instructed to hold the doors tight since they no longer closed. and then we were off.
we drove around everywhere with simply a piece of paper with my friend´s name and phone number. we went to a gas station and asked if anyone had heard of her and what would you know, the man was sort of friends with her and told us where her neighborhood was. at this point i felt like this little ¨adventure¨ was bridging from an invite to me and two fat dudes stalking a poor girl down. I didn´t really know what to do.
We went into the neighborhood despite my many offers to simply go to a hotel and then the men started walking around asking people on the street where this girl lived. we did this for about an hour, always rejumping the car and holding the car doors closed. it was very uncomfortable.
when we finally arrived at this girls house and her mother opened the door i realized that i probably now knew the two fat guys in the taxi better than the people who´s house we had stalked down. now the tables were turned and everyone started to ask me questions like are these your friends? is this the girl? and from the other side, what are you doing here? can i....help you? of course i was doing a bang up job of shittily explaining in my broken spanish that i had no idea what i was doing and that i really just wanted to go to a hotel where i could stick my head under a pillow and die of confusion and embarrassment.
but instead i went into these people´s house where i then tried to explain myself and how stupid i felt for hunting down some people whom i simply met in passing and was probably never supposed to see again.
so what happened after all that? ....well.....the dudes just wanted to rip me off for the cab, which they did, and the family wanted to forgive my ignorance, which they did. i was served a big late dinner, my first meal of the day, and given a room in their house. so how about that, i survived my day in honduras.
So here i sit in a small smelly orangish brown cubible in a place called choluteca, honduras. But let me tell you first about how i got here in the internet cafe owned by the brother who´s sister is currently housing me.
FRONTERA FRONTERA FRONTERA. these were the words of the young man hanging out of the old yellow school bus as we raced down the two lane highway on the eastern edge of el salvador. we were moving to the frontera, or border, and there was no turning back. every 30 seconds the bus would halt to a rolling stop to pick up new border jumpers or to drop off others who were simply tired of the blaring reggaeton music that blasted through the fuzzy creaking speakers of the long retired school bus.
the landscape was incredible and every new turn of the bus would reveal some new type of geographical layout. on the right side one could glare at the cows grazzing through long green hills sprinkled with healthy sprouting trees. then you could look on the other side of the bus past the sleeping locals to see giant mountainous valleys with a orange sky painted by the descending sun.
just as the sun was at its hottest the bus stopped and the last sign for el salvador was duly greeting as it read ¨bienvenidos a honduras.¨ I jumped off the bus and was the first to greet my fellow immigration officers. as I sat in the interview chair i felt like a true explorer crossing from one ancient land to another. after a good conversation with one officer about the educational standards in the US the checks were made and a door was opened to reveal a long solitary bridge in front of me.
I put my best foot forward and made the great walk from one country to another. it was amazing walking across that bridge and glancing down at the people bathing in the river. from one side el salvadorians were washing their clothes while conversing with their bathing honduran amigos on the other side. even the look of the country seemed to change as i walked across the bridge. it only took me one minute to walk to the land i once visited only 5 years ago.
And now the story gets interesting as i step into honduras.
questions and more questions. I ask so many questions in these places because 1. i want to use my spanish 2 i have no idea where im going and 3 everyone else seems to be just as lost and therefore i have to weed out the doofs who simply point in the direction away from them when i ask how to get to another city.
after asking three people i finally found yet another rickety school bus with a hand made sign flowing accross the windshield that indicated it would take me to choluteca.
now, you might ask, why the hell was i going to choluteca? well i can´t really tell you why. I´ve done a fair amount of traveling in my life and it always seemed to have a purpose whether it was to see some museum or visit some old town or something else.
before this tip i was able to save up more money than i have ever had for a trip. and yet my objective here has been to spend hardly any money and to get around with the locals. and in the past week ive done that. ive stayed way below my 20 dollar a day budget and i´ve been floating wherever people i meet take me. why for instance i was in antigua guatemala just two days ago and now i´m two countries over.
So back to the hottest bus i´ve ever been in ever. the sweat was literaly pouring down my face as i sat waiting for either the driver to get some air flowing through the cab or for the sun to cook the skin off everyone´s bodies. i would have waited outside of the bus if i hadn´t been afraid of having all my belongings stolen.
the bus finally left and we rolled away peacefully until a very fat man came aboard. he was slow to find the seat next to me and could hardly fit in the child sized bus.
for the next fifteen minutes i was mesmerized to watch this landwhale jam out to the music while eating some sort of meat and potato goolash that he produced out of a thin plastic bag with his grit covered hands. i was half mesmerized by his nasty eating habits and half dying for a bite since i hadn´t eaten anything all day.
After the man finished, he did what all people in these situations seem to end up doing...he offered his finger lickin´ hand in the clasic gesture of ¨let´s be friends and get to know each other.¨ so i then met walter and we talked only for a little while about our lives until he got onto, what seemed like his favorite subject, sex. so, at 8 pm, with an empty stomach and a sore ass from 8 hours riding on 4 busses, i talked to an old fat honduran man about his different sexual exploits. most entertaining!
i was set to stay with a recent aquaintence i had met in san jose, el salvador and the man was most interested in helping me to get in contact with her. when we arrived we walked around the dirty dark streets of choluteca asking random people for their cell phones. we finally got a hold of my ¨friend¨ but the woman´s phone was messed up and my friend couldn´t hear my voice.
so when after all this trouble what did i do in this foreign town in this foreign city? i piled into a the shittiest cab in the world with all these new people and we drove off. well actually the driver first had to plug in a battery for the car and we were all instructed to hold the doors tight since they no longer closed. and then we were off.
we drove around everywhere with simply a piece of paper with my friend´s name and phone number. we went to a gas station and asked if anyone had heard of her and what would you know, the man was sort of friends with her and told us where her neighborhood was. at this point i felt like this little ¨adventure¨ was bridging from an invite to me and two fat dudes stalking a poor girl down. I didn´t really know what to do.
We went into the neighborhood despite my many offers to simply go to a hotel and then the men started walking around asking people on the street where this girl lived. we did this for about an hour, always rejumping the car and holding the car doors closed. it was very uncomfortable.
when we finally arrived at this girls house and her mother opened the door i realized that i probably now knew the two fat guys in the taxi better than the people who´s house we had stalked down. now the tables were turned and everyone started to ask me questions like are these your friends? is this the girl? and from the other side, what are you doing here? can i....help you? of course i was doing a bang up job of shittily explaining in my broken spanish that i had no idea what i was doing and that i really just wanted to go to a hotel where i could stick my head under a pillow and die of confusion and embarrassment.
but instead i went into these people´s house where i then tried to explain myself and how stupid i felt for hunting down some people whom i simply met in passing and was probably never supposed to see again.
so what happened after all that? ....well.....the dudes just wanted to rip me off for the cab, which they did, and the family wanted to forgive my ignorance, which they did. i was served a big late dinner, my first meal of the day, and given a room in their house. so how about that, i survived my day in honduras.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Oh the Philippines!!!!
I started recording this blog almost exactly a year ago when I was leaving France and heading to Thailand. I had a great time for a month bouncing around different islands on Thailand and in Malaysia. After that it was a very interesting year spent in Taiwan where I learned only basic words in Chinese and thus had very limited conversations with all of the adoring non-English Chinese speaking girls I met. In all it has been a pretty interesting and fun year.
And now after all those adventures I decided take a quick, easy and cheap flight to the Philippines. I'll admit that when I was mentally preparing myself for this trip I just figured that it would be kind of the same experience as Thailand. However, after several days of the most intense traveling imaginable surrounding one of the coolest island destinations you could dream of, I think that this is a pretty uniquely special place.
The best part is that the trip isn't even over. I don't think I am ever going to be able to go back to short little 5 day vacations after I've had so many long and exciting ones like these.
I guess the things that make this country so great are that everyone treats you like a local. There aren't many gawky eyed glances as you walk through crowed street side markets with your giant backpack and blond hair. Even when visiting such small local spots like the closet sized shoe repairman you can easily explain to him in English what you need and how much you'd like to pay for it. The food here is cheap and they give you smaller portions so that you leave feeling satisfied but never stuffed. The beaches are white and the sand feels like flour from an unmade cake. The culture is mixed with it's previous rulers, the Spanish, so there are many similarities in the language and in the way of life. And then there are the girls. Any girl you see on the street, on the bus, walking in the mall, or laying on the beach will smile at you, wave, and even talk or dance. It is awesome. It is to the point that when you glance back at a girl you pass on the street, chances are that she is already checking you out herself. Where else on Earth can you find a place like that?
On that gushing note let me do what I do best and fill you in on some shitty and miserable experiences that I have had so far on this trip that will basically run fluent until the middle of October. While almost everything has been great on the trip the main shittiness has been centralized around our days of travel. And actually I can't even even explain to you yet what has happened because I still haven't slept after a 20 hour trip that only covered 350 KMs. Do the math. Maybe I'll fill you in tomorrow.
The important thing is that this place is cool and I sort of want to live here.
And now after all those adventures I decided take a quick, easy and cheap flight to the Philippines. I'll admit that when I was mentally preparing myself for this trip I just figured that it would be kind of the same experience as Thailand. However, after several days of the most intense traveling imaginable surrounding one of the coolest island destinations you could dream of, I think that this is a pretty uniquely special place.
The best part is that the trip isn't even over. I don't think I am ever going to be able to go back to short little 5 day vacations after I've had so many long and exciting ones like these.
I guess the things that make this country so great are that everyone treats you like a local. There aren't many gawky eyed glances as you walk through crowed street side markets with your giant backpack and blond hair. Even when visiting such small local spots like the closet sized shoe repairman you can easily explain to him in English what you need and how much you'd like to pay for it. The food here is cheap and they give you smaller portions so that you leave feeling satisfied but never stuffed. The beaches are white and the sand feels like flour from an unmade cake. The culture is mixed with it's previous rulers, the Spanish, so there are many similarities in the language and in the way of life. And then there are the girls. Any girl you see on the street, on the bus, walking in the mall, or laying on the beach will smile at you, wave, and even talk or dance. It is awesome. It is to the point that when you glance back at a girl you pass on the street, chances are that she is already checking you out herself. Where else on Earth can you find a place like that?
On that gushing note let me do what I do best and fill you in on some shitty and miserable experiences that I have had so far on this trip that will basically run fluent until the middle of October. While almost everything has been great on the trip the main shittiness has been centralized around our days of travel. And actually I can't even even explain to you yet what has happened because I still haven't slept after a 20 hour trip that only covered 350 KMs. Do the math. Maybe I'll fill you in tomorrow.
The important thing is that this place is cool and I sort of want to live here.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Ayyy yaaaa!
Ay ya. Ay yo. These are two of the most powerful and potent words in the Chinese language. Do I know what they mean? Vaguely. I mean not really exactly, but I do know how and when to use them. There are all sorts of times throughout one's Taiwanese days and nights that the words Ay ya and Ay yo can be blurted out. Let's start with some brief but necessary definitions.
Ay ya/yo - this is a word based on two different Chinese characters and while it is only one actual word, the accent can change giving it two different connotations.
The ay ya form is something that you yell and elongate (ex. Ayyyyy yaaaaa) when you see something gross or disturbing. An example would be if you were sitting on a bus bench waiting for.......that's right, the bus, and you saw an old man sitting next to you. Let's say this man is ancient and has on a large jacket and gloves even though it is going to be around 95 degrees outside today. The man slips off one of his gloves revealing a sweaty hand and before you know what he is going to do, he crams his wrinkled dew covered index finger into his hairy cavernous nostril and begins to pick away. AYYYYYY YAAAAAA! Yelling this would indicate you displeasure and disgust at this raw and animalistic action.
Now the ay yo form is a bit different. You say ay yo quickly and without pause. It is used to indicate irritation and is a general verbal representation of your growing anger and frustration at a situation or person. An example when you might use this would be if you were a seven year old girl and the little pain in the ass sitting next to you, who is always hyper and never pays attention, grabbed your favorite Hello Kitty eraser that you don't want to get smudged and started erasing his shit homework until his paper ripped. Ay yo! you could proclaim!
This word is so incredible and it can be used in all sorts of other situations:
You are already late for school and you step in a heaping pile of dog shit. Not only is it fresh and warm but you just wasted your best smile of the day on the dude walking his freshly lightened pooch who just passed you. Ayyy yaaaa, for the poop, and then Ayyy yo for the fact that it is poop and it is on your shoe.
You're swimming in the ocean and you do one of the best underwater handstands you've ever accomplished and when you come up no one is looking. Just as your about to scream Ay yo a giant phantom wave crashes into your face injecting your nose with enough saline solution to kill a horse. As you come back up finally you scream...Ay yo!
You're sitting on a small and uncomfortable chair grading papers for a bunch of 4 year olds who have formed a psychotic and hectic "line" behind you. You're about to compliment the boy who finally figured out to make that curve on his lower case g when he sneezes snot all over your face from about 6 inches away. Whichever comes first will work. Oh oh ay yo, or Jesus Christ! Ay yaaaa!
You wake up early to get ready for a long and hard (those words don't sound good together) day of work and all you want to do is make it a silent morning. As you walk into the shower you look down at your naked legs and BAM! There's a giant hand print sized spider creeping up the shower wall heading straight towards you, no doubt hoping to devour your face. You scream like a girl and don't have time to say ay ya and simply grab the spurting shower head. The spider is climbing even as the water hits it and you don't know what to do because your only defense is the lukewarm water and your weak, frightened and naked body. After a minute of thrashing and screaming the spider falls to the drain where you crush it with your roommates shampoo bottle. Once its smashed carcass is kerplunking down the drain you can exhale and say Ay yo!
Perhaps the best time to use ay ya and ay yo can occur when you are in a bar. A crowed bar on a free beer night at that. You are having a good time even though there is a line for everything including a seat. You dance to your favorite song and then chug your free beer with your pals and it hits: OUCH MY STOMACH!!! You rush for the bathroom and wait for what seems like forever for a stall to open up. Ay yo! The guy who has just vomited 8 shots of homemade rice wine (Ay yaaaaa!) stumbles out and the shitshack is all yours. You take a look and sadly realize that it's a squatter. Ay yo! This squatter is a hole in the ground and your objective is to crouch so low that your quads will often feel the effects of the workout the next morning when you wake up. Ay yo! You take the first plunge and oh no, you got the angle wrong on the squatter. You have relieved yourself and none of it made it into the twinky shaped hole. Ay ya you whisper so that no one knows its you. You clean up and scram out yelling as you walk out the door, "some asshole shit on the floor... Ay yaaaaa!"
Ay yaaa and Ay yo are a time honored form of Chinese language. From Taiwan's great illustrious founders to its new and modern inhabitants, the term ay ya/yo has helped many to put a branded name on an otherwise regrettable situation. It is in the great Chinese tradition that I hand this down to you, oh faithful reader. May you go forth and relish in your right to yell Ay yaaaa or Ay yo when the situation merits it. For without Ay ya and Ay yo, our lives are truly meaningless.
Ay ya/yo - this is a word based on two different Chinese characters and while it is only one actual word, the accent can change giving it two different connotations.
The ay ya form is something that you yell and elongate (ex. Ayyyyy yaaaaa) when you see something gross or disturbing. An example would be if you were sitting on a bus bench waiting for.......that's right, the bus, and you saw an old man sitting next to you. Let's say this man is ancient and has on a large jacket and gloves even though it is going to be around 95 degrees outside today. The man slips off one of his gloves revealing a sweaty hand and before you know what he is going to do, he crams his wrinkled dew covered index finger into his hairy cavernous nostril and begins to pick away. AYYYYYY YAAAAAA! Yelling this would indicate you displeasure and disgust at this raw and animalistic action.
Now the ay yo form is a bit different. You say ay yo quickly and without pause. It is used to indicate irritation and is a general verbal representation of your growing anger and frustration at a situation or person. An example when you might use this would be if you were a seven year old girl and the little pain in the ass sitting next to you, who is always hyper and never pays attention, grabbed your favorite Hello Kitty eraser that you don't want to get smudged and started erasing his shit homework until his paper ripped. Ay yo! you could proclaim!
This word is so incredible and it can be used in all sorts of other situations:
You are already late for school and you step in a heaping pile of dog shit. Not only is it fresh and warm but you just wasted your best smile of the day on the dude walking his freshly lightened pooch who just passed you. Ayyy yaaaa, for the poop, and then Ayyy yo for the fact that it is poop and it is on your shoe.
You're swimming in the ocean and you do one of the best underwater handstands you've ever accomplished and when you come up no one is looking. Just as your about to scream Ay yo a giant phantom wave crashes into your face injecting your nose with enough saline solution to kill a horse. As you come back up finally you scream...Ay yo!
You're sitting on a small and uncomfortable chair grading papers for a bunch of 4 year olds who have formed a psychotic and hectic "line" behind you. You're about to compliment the boy who finally figured out to make that curve on his lower case g when he sneezes snot all over your face from about 6 inches away. Whichever comes first will work. Oh oh ay yo, or Jesus Christ! Ay yaaaa!
You wake up early to get ready for a long and hard (those words don't sound good together) day of work and all you want to do is make it a silent morning. As you walk into the shower you look down at your naked legs and BAM! There's a giant hand print sized spider creeping up the shower wall heading straight towards you, no doubt hoping to devour your face. You scream like a girl and don't have time to say ay ya and simply grab the spurting shower head. The spider is climbing even as the water hits it and you don't know what to do because your only defense is the lukewarm water and your weak, frightened and naked body. After a minute of thrashing and screaming the spider falls to the drain where you crush it with your roommates shampoo bottle. Once its smashed carcass is kerplunking down the drain you can exhale and say Ay yo!
Perhaps the best time to use ay ya and ay yo can occur when you are in a bar. A crowed bar on a free beer night at that. You are having a good time even though there is a line for everything including a seat. You dance to your favorite song and then chug your free beer with your pals and it hits: OUCH MY STOMACH!!! You rush for the bathroom and wait for what seems like forever for a stall to open up. Ay yo! The guy who has just vomited 8 shots of homemade rice wine (Ay yaaaaa!) stumbles out and the shitshack is all yours. You take a look and sadly realize that it's a squatter. Ay yo! This squatter is a hole in the ground and your objective is to crouch so low that your quads will often feel the effects of the workout the next morning when you wake up. Ay yo! You take the first plunge and oh no, you got the angle wrong on the squatter. You have relieved yourself and none of it made it into the twinky shaped hole. Ay ya you whisper so that no one knows its you. You clean up and scram out yelling as you walk out the door, "some asshole shit on the floor... Ay yaaaaa!"
Ay yaaa and Ay yo are a time honored form of Chinese language. From Taiwan's great illustrious founders to its new and modern inhabitants, the term ay ya/yo has helped many to put a branded name on an otherwise regrettable situation. It is in the great Chinese tradition that I hand this down to you, oh faithful reader. May you go forth and relish in your right to yell Ay yaaaa or Ay yo when the situation merits it. For without Ay ya and Ay yo, our lives are truly meaningless.
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