Jesus was a Dromomaniac!

Dromomania, the obsessive urge to travel, is a recognized psychological affliction listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Sufferers of what's also called "the vagabond neurosis" will "spend beyond their means, sacrifice jobs, lovers and security in their lust for new experiences."
- John Flinn SF Chronicle


Some might say I suffer from dromomania. If I do, I am in good company. A group of French psychologists diagnosed Jesus, yes that Jesus, with the disorder.

I like to travel, for sure, but I am not a dromomaniac. I'm not sure how many countries I have visited. I guess around 25 or 30. Do I count Germany where I spent one night in a train station? What about India where I stared out the plane at the terminal for a few minutes thinking, "India, huh? I thought there would be more people."?

I don't count countries, but Charles Veley does. He's been to 518. There are only about 193 recognized nations, but Charles along with his brethern country counters count provinces.

Charles like Jesus is a Dromomaniac. Read the San Francisco Chronicle's article about him:

I've been everywhere, Man

Words to live by...

"We are here on earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different."

-Kurt Vonnegut

F--ing Hilarious

(My brother, Kyle, turned 30 on Sunday. In honor of the milestone, I have pasted the flattering picture of him above.)

Kyle sent me one of the funniest news reports I may have ever read the other day. Click the link below to read it:

F--ING Town

Modesty

Found a nice travel quote the other day:

"Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world."
-Gustave Flaubert

All I have to say is, How awesome am I for finding this quote! I'm the MAN!

Guilt in developing nations

(Wycliffe and family)

Sometimes a fella just can't help but feel guilty when traveling in a developing nation. This happened to me in Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, walking back from the beach past the local university with my friend Wycliffe.

KT: Is university expensive?

Wyciffe: Yes, $15 a month.

I said no more. I was paying $9 a night at my hotel. Hell, most CD's cost more than $15.

Smiley

I think half of my photos from my recent trip are of little kids. They loved getting their picture taken and then seeing themselves on my camera. It was funny watching them pose with random objects: a frisbee, "Here I am playing frisbee," a water bottle, "Look how cool I am drinking this water."

This photo is my favorite kid photo. Smiley here lives in Mocoron, Honduras, he put on my glasses and flashed one of the best smiles I have ever seen.

Back to reality

(Sunrise. Leaving Key West, bound for Dayton)

The decision to go to Key West was a quick one, but one I am glad I made. 24 hrs after I made it, I was somewhere between Miami and Key West in a shiny red rental car, the shiniest thing I had seen in months.

For some reason I hate the word surreal, but there is no better word to describe my 3 hr drive to Key West for a funeral. It was a sort of reverse culture shock. At the dock in Puerto Cabezas the previous day, amid the sailors and hookers, I was concerned with nothing more than getting on a boat. On US 1 in the Keys I joined the pilgrammage of speeding tourists, zipping along through waves of sunshine and showers. Where, trying to locate and regulate the wipers on my rental car, deciding to stop at Arby's or McDonald's, recalling the words to "Old Black Water," and trying to come to terms with the "real" world, were my concerns.

I decided on McDonald's. I nearly thanked the smiling face behind the counter with a "gracias." In the restroom I hovered nervously before throwing toilet paper in the toilet (In Central America the plumbling can't handle paper and must be discarded in the trash).

In Key West the surreality (I hope that is not actually a word because I really hate it) continued. KW is a place where I am used to riding my bike around looking for hidden restaurants and giving dive briefings. On this trip I searched for funeral homes and gave a eulogy.

Despite the strangeness and the shock of it all, I had a pleasant time in Key West. I spent the week sharing stories about Ralph, whose ashes we scattered at sea as the sun set, catching up with old friends, spearfishing, and eating loads of food that were not beans and rice.

I flew into Dayton, Ohio on Wednesday and am currently visiting my brother in Lafayette, Indiana. I still have a flight going from Panama City to Dayton Ohio. I checked into getting a one way ticket back down to Central America to finish out my trip, but the prices are a bit outrageous so it looks like the return ticket will go unused. I plan on spending the next few months contacting syndicates with proposals for my column, working on a book proposal, writing, and throwing whatever other hooks I can think of into the publishing waters. I fear a part time job looms in my near future.

I will continue to update Touron Talk with my writing progress, hopefully there is progess, and I also plan on posting photos from my recent trip every few days.

Keep visiting. Don't be shy, posts some messages.

Manaña

A good friend of mine in Key West, Capt. Ralph Chiaro, was killed in a boating accident at the end of last week and I have decided to cut the trip short and attend his funeral and party. Manana, I am heading to Miami and Thursday I am catching a ride with some friends down to Key West.

It will be good to see some of my friends from the Keys and swap stories about Ralph. There´s a lot of stories too. The Key West Citizen said it best, ¨Ralph Chiaro (is) known locally for his diminutive size (and) huge personality¨

So for now the remainder of the trip is on hold. I may finish it sometime this fall.

If you were wondering about the boat sitution...

I had been waiting on a different boat to leave, the Spanish Lady. It was supposed to leave Saturday, it is now Monday. I was told it was a sure thing that it would leave today at 5. As my plane flew out of Puerto Cabezas and headed for Managua at around 4:30, there wasn´t a soul around it. The sailors always talk about movement to predict the boats departure, ¨I don´t know man. I see no movement...maybe manana.

Sometimes manana never comes.

In a village of starving people, never trust the fattest man

If it wasn´t for Puerto Cabezas´s fattest man I would be at sea right now. He´s the owner of the boat I was to go on and he had led me to believe for the last week that when the boat leaves I would be on it. It turns out, he told the captain the day of departure, ¨I don´t want the gringo going.¨

Still trying to get on another boat...

The Great White Lobster Diver

I have been hanging out at the dock here in Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, for about a week trying to get on a lobster boat. I´ve gotten to be pals with the crew of ¨The Lady Dee III¨ and will be heading out with them today. They actually don´t call me ¨The Great White Lobster Diver,¨ it´s really more of a self-appointed title. Like calling a fat guy tiny, they call me, affectionately, ¨Negro.¨ It should be a really interesting experience. The divers make up to 20 dives in a single day and they don´t have all of the fancy equipment that many recreational divers are used to. All that they have are mask and fins, tanks and regulators. I do not trust the equipment that they use or the air they put in the tanks so I will not be SCUBA diving, only free diving. If we manage to fight off all of the pirates, out run all of the drug runners, and escape all of the sea monsters, I should be back in two weeks or less. Actually I don´t think it will be quite that dangerous or exciting, considering 25 boats come and go from Puerto Cabezas on a regular basis. But it sure would be cool to see a sea monster.

Hit and Run

I was on my way to the airport in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, the other day and I was involved in an accident. My cab driver, by Central America standards, was quite a good driver- he wasn´t speeding, he maintained the same lane, and he didn´t smell of alcohol. Despite all of this the accident was unavoidable.

There we were minding our own business in the right lane, trying to communicate through my broken spanish and his broken english, when a vehicle merged into us from the left lane- CRUNCH. The cab driver maintained control of the car and pulled over the first chance he got. The other vehicle did not. It was a hit and run. The vehicle that hit us...an AMBULANCE!!! didn´t even pull over to make sure we were ok.

Every bus, every taxi, every restaurant in Central America, is its own little adventure.

Follow me to my tropical paradise...

Why Honduras? Why Central America? The reason is simple and it´s stupid...

My favorite T-shirt was assembled there, of course.

My fave T-shirt has a scary headshot of Tattoo from Fantasy Island surrounded with the text, ¨Follow me to my tropical paradise.¨ So I followed him all the way to the factory where it was hand sewn. The guards thought I was crazy, the factory workers thought I had a few loose stitches, and the mangament was just suspicious. They thought I was some kind of real journalist looking for an expose on the garment industry. Little do they know that I have written indepth articles on important issues such as nude beach etiquette and farting on planes- not quite heavy hitting journalism.

It didn´t matter, I got no farther than talking with Michelle in Human Resources, who sat as tight-lipped as Michael Jackson in his recent trial, responding to each question in 5 words or less. I did find out that it took 8 people less than 5 minutes to throw my shirt together.

My main goal was to find someone who works for the company who made my shirt and give it to them. I was largely ignored and laughed at by several thousand employees as they headed home for the day. My translator, a 17 year old recent high school grad, at one low moment of desperation turned and said, ¨Now I know what it feels like to be a Touron.¨

Finally I found one smiling but shy 24 year old man named Amilcar. When I asked him what he thought of my being there because of my T-shirt, he responded, ¨I think someday you will be a legend.¨ Amilcar may only have seven years of schooling, but I think he is cut out for a position in politics where he can put his enhanced ability of International BS to good use.

Anyhow, the search begins again for a new favorite T-shirt.

I´m Batman

San Pedro Sula is one of Central America´s most crime riddled cities. After watching the new Batman last night, I felt inspired to do something about it. The above picture is how I look the day after.

Crime fighting, in reality, is quite hard. Never is this more true than when you are armed with a rubber frisbee, dull swiss army knife, and the closest thing you have for a colorful costume is a pair of Spiderman boxers.

Batman uses fear of the unknown; I use laughter and body hair.

Copan Ruins

Today I visited the ruins of Copan in western Honduras. I arrived in the morning and had them nearly all to myself. The grass was damp, a fog was lifting, the trees were dripping dew, and everything was completely silent except for the mosquitos.

I walked around and took photos before getting a guide to tell me what exactly I was looking at.

The thing I found most interesting was the Ball court. The Maya played a game with an 8 pound rubber ball. The goal was to have the ball roll up a sloping stone wall and hit a figure at the top. To do this they could use everything but their feet and hands. In Mexico they played a similiar game in which the losers would be sacrificed. In Honduras the losers were shamed with living. The only player who would be sacrificed would be the games MVP. Of course he was promised loads of virgins and the highest place in heaven. Players trained for years. Every kid wanted to be the best so they could be sacrificed.

Here is a website with some photos of Copan:
http://www.questconnect.org/ca_photo_copan.htm

You might be a Touron if...

...nothing makes your day brighter than a nice solid BM.

Casa Guatemala

After a flat tire, multiple mini-buses (seating capacity 15) crammed full, at times with approximately 27 people and ten chickens, I made it to Guatemala.

Norma Love from Mocoron told me to come here and visit her sister who is the head of an orphanage with over 250 kids in it. Over the next few days I will be helping out where I can, mostly taking care of a 23 year old man whose body has been ravaged with Polio. It´s sad, but his personality is very positive. My short time here pales in comparison to the other volunteers who dedicate from a few months to nearly a year to the orphange.

The orphange is its own village reached only by boat. Its self-sufficiency is quite impressive. To learn more about Casa Guatemala visit: http://www.casa-guatemala.org/

This is a great place for tourists wanting to do something a little different. Each visitor can make a difference.

R&R in Roatan

Our parents Ken and Lynne met us in Roatan. We worked out a good arrangement- Kyle and I would make sure they survived each dive, and they would pay for them. Hey, Everyone wins.

The island is rustic in some places and an island-resort-paradise in others. The coral was great but there was a surprising lack of fish. We managed to squeeze in four or five days during our time on the island between meals, naps, swatting sand flies, and 4wding in our pimped out Isuzu.

Ken, Lynne, and Kyle are on there way back to Dayton, Ohio as I write this. I am staying on the North coast of Honduras in the town of Omoa. Tomorrow I plan on crossing over to Guatemala to visit Norma Love´s sister in the Rio Dulce area. Don´t feel bad if you do not know where this is at, neither do I.

To put my current budget accomodation in perspective, I am paying less for a night in a drab dorm room near the beach than we paid for a round of Cokes on Roatan yesterday during lunch.

Mocoron

Mocoron was much more than chasing snakes. It was...

...teaching children to play ultimate frisbee and baseball.
...showing people their photo on my camera. Many have never seen a photo of themselves. There are also no mirrors in the village, so seeing yourself is rather novel.
...floating down river for 20 minutes with a posse of smiling kids.
...learning the inspiring story of Norma Love and her big heart. She is a living saint. (You should definitely google: "Norma Love" Mocoron).

Mocoron was definitely one of the places in my travels that I will truly never forget.

Back to the snake story...

So there we were poling our way through the unmapped Honduran Jungle, when crazy Carl starts to yell, "Muerte, Muerte (Kill it, kill it). It was about two in the morning and Kyle and I both were admittedly exhausted, our butts incredibly fatigued and a tad bit itchy (this may seem stange, but please consider we had spent hours wading through creeks and even more hours sitting on seats fashioned with a machete).

Wap. Wap. Up floats one of the world´s most deadly snakes

Kyle and I are now wide awake.

Carl tells us all that we are to be very careful. He then grabs the snake, which is still alive, with his critter-grabbers and proceeds to bring it towards the boat as if he were going to sit it on my lap. I don´t recall a whole lot after this, I may have passed out. Kyle later told me that I sat stone stiff.

Kyle sat behind me in the canoe and managed to sqeak out a simple three words that may have saved my life, "Kels. Scoot back." I came to my senses and soon I was sitting on Kyle´s lap, Kyle was sitting on one of our guides lap, and together we dared not too breathe or blink.

Carl tied the snake to a stick, took it back to the village, and later killed it.

The next day Kyle was brave enough to pose for a picture with it and I was brave enought to take his photo.

Just a day in the life of courageous jungle explorers.

Back from the jungle

Alas no crocs, but how about a 4-foot long fur-de-lance, one of the world´s most deadly snakes. Before you go thinking we are all macho, let me inform you that Kyle and I did everything within our power to put as much dug-out canoe between us and its business end. I´ll post a more indepth version, and possibly a picture, of the encounter later. Until then, we are off to the tropical island of Roatan for some much needed R&R far away from the jungle.