Craig Wilson, the best fan I never had!

Not only did I get a chance to meet Dave Barry this past weekend at the Erma Bombeck Writers' Conference, I also met Craig Wilson, a columnist for USA today.

Craig's column, The Final Word, appears on Wednesday in the Life section. It is one of my favorites. His humor is subtle and witty and he is a master at pulling on the ol' heart strings. At one session at the conference Craig read from his book, It's the Little Things...: An Appreciation of Life's Simple Pleasures, and a recent article about a trip he took to Ethiopia. During the Ethiopia article he had to fight hard to hold back the tears. It's a powerful piece.

I first met Craig at his book signing. All of his books had been sold so I had him sign one of my sample columns. I told him that he didn't have to read it, just write that it was the best thing he had ever read. Here is what he wrote:

Kelsey -

This is the best

thing I've NEVER read

- Craig Wilson

Wow, my first big-time endorsement. You heard it first here folks. My column, Travelin' Light, is so good that you don't even have to read it. Take Craig Wilson at his word.

I'm a swinger!

At 27, on occasion, I sneak out to the local park and pump away on the big 16-foot swings. I suggest you do the same; they won’t be around much longer.

In a recent USA today article Greg Toppo reported: “As safety standards trickled down over the past 25 years, schools, cities and day care centers have been quietly replacing swing sets with all-in-one climbing structures that child-development experts say promote both physical fitness and social skills.”

Toppo goes on to inform us that only 57% of schools have swings. Due to the requirement for spongy surfacing beneath the swings, costs have skyrocketed from about $800 to $4,000 for a simple swing set.

Also falling by the wayside are seesaws (on 13% of playgrounds) and merry-go-rounds (on 7% of playgrounds). Oh, yeah, and the monkey bars are now called “horizontal ladders.” Why the name change? Political Correctness? What next, are we going to rename monkeys?

Personally, I’m of the survival-of-the-fittest playground philosophy. Some of my most vivid memories from grade school are of good friends breaking limbs after high falls or freezing their tongues to the metal monkey bars. Now that all of the equipment is low to the cushioned-ground and made of plastic none of this will be possible.

We are destined to be a nation of weenies with good social skills.

I'm Dave Barry's Idol

(Dave has always been one of my favorite columnists and it was great to meet him. We shared a brief conversation about firecrackers in cats’ butts.)

I'm Dave Barry's Idol.

How do I know this? He wrote it on the inside of his book that I just bought at the Erma Bombeck writers’ conference:

For Kelsey – My idol
Dave Barry

I spend the better part of a passing thought thinking about what it is that Dave admires about me. Sure there are my unique sense of humor, biting wit, handsomely-rugged good looks, and my subtle social commentary, but Dave tends to be doing all right in these categories already.

As I put my newly signed book in my bag, I look up at the line – 350 people strong, arms filled with books for Dave to sign. Then it hits me, Dave idolizes me because I don’t have to sign one darn book.

Later, I hear another attendee talking about how Dave Barry had written that she was his idol on the inside of her book. She is thrilled. I say nothing.

After all, they are the "Magical Fruit"

Why shouldn't beans have their own museum?

The Baked Bean Museum of Excellence in Wales is kind of like "Field of Dreams" except instead of corn there's beans and instead of Kevin Costner there's Captain Beany.

Captain Beany built it and all of us Tourons will come. Without a doubt YOU are a MAJOR Touron if you've been to the Baked Bean Museum of Excellence.

Is it just me or does Captain Beany kind of look like Bono? By the way, Captain Beany is his legal name; it's on his passport.

Evolution and HDTV

Natural selection makes some weird choices? Take for example High-Definition Television. Without a doubt an affinity for high-def TV has been engrained in our DNA for about 100,000 years. I know this because my father and I will sit in front of any television that is excessively large, bright, and clear, regardless of the program. You haven’t seen purple until you’ve seen it in HD.

What purpose this serves in the evolutionary scheme of things no one yet knows. I suspect it has something to do with not being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger.

Lately we’ve stumbled upon the Discovery channel in HD. If only the real world were so beautiful. We watch anything that is on it whether it has to do with fashion, travel, bridges, cars, or bugs.

We are learning a lot. Did you know that spiders fly to Hawaii? Well, not so much as fly, but float on the Trade winds at high altitudes. Most of them die from the cold and radiation during the 3 day flight at over 30,000’, but some of ‘em don’t. Seeds and birds get to Hawaii the same way.

I know you are thinking that HDTV has nothing to do with natural selection, but you are failing to consider games shows. Let’s say that the two of us, me and you, are on a game show. The category is useless knowledge and the host asks us a question about spiders flying to Hawaii. You don’t know it. I do. I win. You lose and losers are fed to the ill-tempered saber-toothed tiger.

OCD travelers

You adjust your surgeons mask. It needs readjusting after the heated conversation with the airport security guard. Who hasn't heard of a portable bidet? You like to feel fresh, why should you have to explain yourself?

Around your neck buzzes your battery-operated air purifier. A concentration of unipoloar ions makes you feel all warm and germ-free.

When you find your seat you bust out the seat condom. A protective layer of plastic is between you and the legions of mites and fecal matter left behind by the seat's previous occupants.

You politely spray down your bewildered neighbors with a light dusting of Lysol - kills 99% of bacteria.

You are an OCD traveler that probably should stay home with your pet monkey Bubbles.

-----------------

Every traveler should read the article Making germs a no-go in today's USA Today. If you are an OCD traveler you should read it to learn of the latest in extreme germ avoidance; if you are a non-OCD traveler you should read it so you can spot travelers that may try to de-germ your eyeballs with Lysol.

Blimey!

The population of Ireland = 4 Million

# of US citizens that claim Irish heritage = 35 million

I found an interesting page of Irish-American factoids and for some reason included on the list is the amount of beer consumed per capita in the USA - 22 gallons.

Read here to find out who said: "Saint Patrick's Day is like green beer - something the Lord never intended." Also, if you want to "purchase products that will help your unsaved Catholic friends learn the truth about their Godless holiday" click HERE.

The Pen is Mightier than American B-ball Mediocrity

Few people appreciate the great influence I bare over world events. For example, I sent Duke University's Coach K an email (posted below) demanding that he take on the job as the USA basketball coach, and, guess what, he did. No surprise really. If a not so prominent freelance writer sent a weak little letter to one of your many assistants demanding something, you'd probably do it too.

Mr. Brown,

I am a freelance writer and I am embarrassed by the state of USA basketball. I have written an article for my syndicated column, “Travelin’ Light,” about my 1992 USA Olympic basketball team shorts and why I am ashamed to wear them. I have pasted the article below. Please pass it on to Coach K.

I would like to encourage Coach K to take the coaching job for the next Olympics. I know that he will bring integrity to the program, win back the respect we lost in Athens, and most importantly, allow me to wear my shorts with pride.

Thanks,

Kelsey Timmerman
------------------------------------

You can read the article I mentioned in the letter HERE.

Pentagon to use sharks as "spies"

News from the "Who are the monsters, sharks or humans?" front:

The Pentagon hopes to turn sharks into "stealth spies" by using, what I am sure are overpriced, neural implants. The implants have passed their lab tests and are ready for the field. "Blue sharks implanted with the gadget are to be released off the coast of Florida."

Spring Break in Florida anyone?

I've got one question: what happens when a shark fresh off a tour of duty in some Southeast-Asian port tries to assimilate back to normal life on the reef, but is unable to beacause he just can't shake the horrors he's seen and the atrocities he has committed?

RAMBO SHARK! That's what!

Missing Link in Turkey?

5 human siblings between the ages of 18-34 were found living together in an isolated village in Turkey. While it is odd that the siblings are still living together after all of these years, it isn't nearly as odd as the fact that they are all quadrupeds.

To quote the Yahoo News story: Researchers believe the five brothers and sisters, who can walk naturally only on all fours, may provide new information on how humans evolved from four-legged hominids to walk upright.

From the report it sounds like these scientists would sell their most loyal Erlenmeyer flask to study the siblings. But to me, learning about our humble evolutionary beginnings from present day humans is nothing new. If these scientists have a weakness for home made ice cream and a penchant for croquet, they can simply accompany me to one of my family reunions to witness various characteristics, appearances, and behaviors of pre-modern man.

I'm sick

I have the flu. As Jimmy Buffett once said, "My head, hearts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus." It sucks.

One thing that my travels have taught me is that there is no better place to be sick than at home. It's better than any cheap motel or overcrowded hostel in the world. Here is an excerpt from a column I wrote about being sick on the road:

Hovering or squatting over stained porcelain, you watch your life force pass into foreign plumbing of varying degrees of inefficiency. You wish for a quick painless death to end the suffering, and a cup of your mother’s homemade chicken noodle soup to wet your quivering lips, but neither come. Thoughts of your own porcelain throne, as well as a few good sheets of 2-ply toilet paper, drift just beyond hope, in the realm of the divine. You’re sick and you’re alone in a foreign land.

I am a world record holder!

Remember Mad Libs?

The word game that brought you phrases like "the rhino wore pink panties to Venus," that made you laugh so hard on the bus that you shot snot all over little Susie Schoolgirl seated in front of you?

Recently, I participated in the longest Mad Lib in history - 34 pages long with over 1,100 blanks filled in by attendees of the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop in Dayton, Ohio.

That's right I hold a world record, an unofficial world record, but honestly who would actually spend the time verifying such a thing.

Sharks are the monsters?

(I took this picture on a dive in the Bahamas)

Peter Benchley the author of Jaws recently passed away. He made his fortune by demonizing the shark and spent the rest of his life preaching conservation of the ocean's top predators. Benchley recognized what amazing creatures sharks are and that if man screws with the top of the food chain we're asking for trouble. Some others such as Vic Hislop, an Australian "Shark Hunter," never have come around.

Here are the facts:

Each year 100 million sharks are killed by humans. We hack off their fins, essential for swimming, and throw their wriggling, bloody torsos back into the water to die slowly, all for a nice bowl of shark fin soup. According to Julia Brown of Halifax University, worldwide shark populations are falling at an alarming rate. In the past 50 years there has been a 61% decrease in the population of large species. The population of white tip sharks, once thought to be the most abundant large animal on earth, has decreased by an alarming 99%.

And some still think that sharks are the monsters.

Happy 50th to a True Touron...

My Uncle Randy turned 50 yesterday. This picture was taken about 25 years ago when he had one of the best whafros (white guy afro) around.

He says he looks like Hyde from That 70's Show. I think he is giving himself too much credit.

You might be a Touron if...

...you travel to North Carolina and unconsciously (and badly) mimic the regional accent in conversations with the locals.

Thanks to J. Herman for admitting the above Touron If. I believe this is one that we all have been guilty of at some point in time. I lived in North Carolina for about two years, does that mean I am allowed to use English's laziest contraction- Y'all? How many days, weeks, months, or years have to go by before it is socially acceptable to butcher the local dialect?

What really cracks me up is when I am talking to someone that barely understands English and I unconsciously try to bridge the language gap by speaking rapid staccatoed English with some strange accent. It doesn't matter where I am at in the world my strange accent is always the same. One of these days I hope to find someone that understands it.

To read more touron confessions visit the Touron If section of my website. If you have any good ones yourself leave 'em in the comments.

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Proud to be American?

"You are pretty nice for an American."

I have actually had people say this to me before. I'm really not quite sure how to take it. Do I sell out my countrymen and say "thanks?"

They usually continue on to tell me things that paint "most" Americans as the brash, culturally insensitive, my way or the highway, cowboy, capitalist pig type.

Fueling this misconception is the fact that much of what they learn about us is through the TV or bigscreen. On one hand they think that we are the gun-toting models they see in the movies and on the other, thanks to the US's two most worldwide shows - Jerry Springer and COPS - they think we are toothless, obese strippers who are married to our cousins. I like to think we are somewhere in between.

This thought stream was brought on by a recent post on worldhum.com about two girls from Wisconsin that are selling ad space on their foreheads while they travel around the world. If there goal of $1 million in ad sales is met they will easily be able to fund their 80-day around the world trip. I know what you are thinking, "Capitalist piglettes." But wait. Some of the money will go to charity.

While I admire their desire to travel and their fearlessness in the face of humiliation, I can't decide what I would have them temporarily tattoo on their foreheads. I've narrowed it down to: I'm with stupid, Kick Me, Proud to be an American Entrepaneur, Bet you wish you'd thought of this, or simply a picture of the Canadian flag.

I'd like to buy the world a Coke...

...but the world already has it! Over the last week I've been researching Coca-Cola - very interesting and unbelievable. 1 billion Coke products are consumed each day. One friggin' billion.

Some of my encounters with the all-American company abroad:

• Nepal: Monks using it as offering to some Tibetan deity.
• Guatemala: Met a hippy from Spain (Do they call 'em hippies in Spain?) who blamed Coca-Cola for more than just rotting teeth. She said the company backs the killing of union leaders in Colombia. The materials I used to research didn't make any mention of this, but there is a web site dedicated to it - Killer Coke.

No matter how out of the way you are, if you are thirsty someone will probably hand you a Coke. Coke claims to be in 200 countries world-wide. This just in- there are currently 192 countries on Earth.

Now that is marketing!

Touron Tip -- Underwear and security

Some people may think that the most security that one can get from their clothing is a hidden pocket or two. They would be wrong.

Get rid of your hidden pockets, mace, munches, and stun guns, underwear is the new IT item in travel security. A wisely selected pair of undergarments just may be the difference between months of being held hostage or a day of hanging out with your new friends with guns.

Let me explain...

Let's say you are hiking in Colombia's Darien Province where people tend to get captured every mile or two. You are, in fact, captured, but you are prepared. As your captors tell you to strip off your clothing they marvel at how calm you are. They've never had a hostage act like this before. Your shirt and pants lie in a pile at your feet and you stand there in your wisely selected underwear - Scooby Doo underwear. Your captors grew up watching Scooby. They love Scooby Doo, their children love Scooby Doo. A bond is formed. You spend the rest of the day eating their rice, drinking their booze, playing cards, and recounting the adventures of Scooby. Crisis averted.

Be sure to check local listing to see what cartoons play in the region you will be visiting and shop accordingly. If you are going to a particularly dangerous area you may want to step up your level of undergarments security. Trust me, no one will hold you hostage if you are wearing adult underoos.

Oceanoholicism

I have fallen off the wagon. I'm drinking again. I can't seem to quench my thirst for salt water. Sometimes I poor a glass over my head and let it crust into a nice white layer on my skin. I miss the ocean that bad.

I miss sun-generated heat, colorful fish in the ocean, colorful fish on my plate served with mango, free diving, SCUBA diving, and, most of all, my flop-flipping flip-flops. I have had the good fortune to spend much of the previous three summers in and around the ocean working as a SCUBA instructor ('02- Key West, '03 Key West, '04- Baja), but in '05 I only had the opportunity a handful of times when I was traveling in Central America.

I'm one of those people that requires at least a month or so on and under the water each year. My name is Kelsey and I am an Oceanoholic.

With the help of my OAA sponsor, I have come a long way in the battle with this horrible disease, but today I broke one of the groups sacred rules: Do not read articles about sunny places, perfect beaches, and lazy days on the water. I get the NYT's travel section delivered by email each week and today I made the mistake of reading The Flip Side of the Bahamas by Danny Lee that featured the quiet island of Eleuthera.

So, I read the article and the drinking began again. Despite the fact that Eleuthera sounds like a part of the urinary tract, I gotta go!

Oh, and it's not true, drinking salt water doesn't make you crazy. If you don't believe me you can ask my imaginary pet sea turtle Bill.

Fast food horror

Cue the eerie music and The Voice that does all of the suspenseful movie trailers...

"Somewhere deep in the heart of middle America a little old lady is about to inform her fellow fast food diners of a horrible truth."

Stop the music. Zoom to the little old lady's face.

"The devil never sleeps." NOOOOOOOOOOO! We are all doomed.

I ran into a friend's grandma who randomly blurted this out today at McDonald's when I was mid-bite into my egg McMuffin. It really was kind of creepy coming from such a sweet crackily high-pitched voice.

My thoughts raced as my state of horror elevated: What if she's right? What if the devil never sleeps but spends all of his time trying to do evil? He could be among us right now?

Then I remembered that this is coming from a lady who I know for a fact eats potpourri.

I finished my value meal in peace.

Orwell on high-tech passports

There are some words that people use just to sound smart. One of these words is Orwellian. I know that it refers to George Orwell's novel 1984 that introduced us to BIG BROTHER. I never read the book, but I know enough about it to summarize: 1984 is about a group of farm animals that move into a house in LA and spy on each other. Each week the pig, who is the Head of Household, votes a donkey out of the house. Wait, maybe that isn't right. Let me google it... ... ... ...

Okay here is what I found: 1984 is a "dystopian novel setting forth his (Orwell's) fears of an intrusively bureaucratized state of the future."

Dystopian? This is another word that people use to sound smart. There was an Orwell, does this mean there is some guy out there running around with the last name of Dystop?

Back to 1984. As you can tell from my above research I was right about the pigs.

I read an article in a popular travel magazine in which the author was writing about memory chips being imbedded in our passports. Apparently, he felt as if he needed to boost his intellectual confidence and busted out the "O" word, calling the chips "downright Orwellian."

I have no idea what the chips would have to do with pigs, but to me they may not be a bad idea. They are supposed to speed up the process of passing through immigration. Those lines make me nervous. I don't like being in inter-country limbo. Plus, I always feel like I am hiding something.

There is also the safety issue. I once met a 22 year old American student in Eastern Europe who was fresh off a few months in Iran where he had gone native - wearing bed sheets, sporting an unkept fundamentalist beard, the whole works. It scares me to think that this fella could have handed his passport to a tired immigration worker who flipped past his Iranian stamps and allowed him to waltz into the country. This guy should have been detained and questioned.

That's just my opinion. I know that it's downright Timmermanian , and perhaps a little Kelseyian, so you'll have to forgive me.

You might be a Touron if...

...you were cured from a desire to vomit (due to dysentery, no less) by the revolting state of the toilets available to vomit into.

- Anonymous

Happy V-Day

What do the Headless Horseman and St. Valentine have in common?

Their heads...err...their lack of heads.

On this day in 269 a roman priest named Valentine was beheaded. How we went from a beheading to greeting cards and boxes of chocolates remains a mystery.

I hope your day is memorable too, but not quite as memorable as the holiday's namesake.

1st time in NYC

(2 players just hanging in NYC)

I don't mean to brag - because, trust me, there is nothing to brag about - but I guarantee my first time in NYC was different than anyone else's. That is unless you are Nepalese, a Tibetan monk, or both.

Yesterday I mentioned my time in Nepal in '01. In '04 my monk friend Khenpo Sange visited NYC and I went to meet him.

I had always hoped that my first time in the Big Apple would be the typical country-mouse-visits-the-big-city kind of experience: broadway show, nice hotel, Letterman, good food, museums, hooker-spotting (we don't have hookers in Ohio- that I know of). It wasn't

I spent the long weekend hanging out with illegal immigrants who spoke very little English. We ate about 8 meals a day of home-cooked Nepalese delicacies. I can't stand home-cooked Nepalese delicasies. I was excited when we finally decided to eat out, until we walked into a Nepalese restaurant.

I spent most of my time staring at the wall while Khenpo spoke with his friends in Nepalese. At one point they were kind enough to put on a movie, 3 hours of home video from a Nepalese New Year's party. It made the wall look exciting.

It was great to see my friend Khenpo, but I do believe that weekend was the longest of my life.

A war that never makes the news

In November of 2001 I arrived in Nepal with the intent to go trekking. No surprise. That's what we tourist are supposed to do in Nepal - hire a guide, maybe a yak or two, and head off into the mountains.

My trek lasted one day before an infection in my foot flared up and I limped back to Kathmandu. I spent the next 2 weeks hanging with a monk and his flock of monk underlings who I had met on the flight in from Thailand.

I attended ceremonies, ate sticky rice with my fingers, was blessed by reincarnated bulletproof monks, and helped rebuild a monastery. My time in Nepal was more memorable than any trek could have ever been; read more about it here.

When the Nepalese government had sent troops out to confront the growing Maoist threat, the country became a litte too dicey for my tastes. I left. Since the Maoist uprising, over 12,000 people have been killed, soldiers and civilians alike in conflicts and random bombings. The country as a whole seems to be nearing anarchy - people are calling for the King's execution and government officials have been thrown in jail.

It is a war that never makes the newspapers.

Today is the 10th anniversary of the maoist uprising. Read about it here.

What am I?

(Henry Rollins is a rock icon, philosopher, expert intospective poser for black and white photos. He is way cooler than you)

Just got my latest National Geographic Adventure in the mail - my favorite magazine. I am giving it the quick once over before I dig in and I come across an interview with punk rock legend turned film critic Henry Rollins. He imparts some I-am-cool-so-I-will-try-and-impart-some-great-truth about travel:

"There's tourism and there's travel. The traveler doesn't know where he's going, and the tourist doesn't know where he is."

But what if I don't know where I am going, and I don't know where I am? What does that make me?

Other than unsure of myself and my general location/direction, it makes me know that Henry Rollins is way cooler than me.

Will work for cabbage

I have never pulled out a calculator and worked up the numbers, but I have a strange suspicion that I lose a lot of money working as a freelance writer. This may be why my checking has a tendency to work its way to zero. Who would have thought that traveling months on end and coming back to write 800 word blurbs about the trip would not make ME heaps of money?

Last week in the Hub, a weekly paper in Champaign, Illinois, to which I contribute, one of the columnist used me as an example of the low end of an imaginary pay-scale:

...By the way, I am not so gauche as to quote an exact figure, but let us just say my stipend resides somewhere in the neighborhood below “Koplinski boodle,” but above “Kelsey Timmerman cabbage.”...

You mean people actually get paid in something other than fresh, green produce to write?

Oh well...

I'm not in it for the money. I'm in it for the cabbage. Well, the cabbage and the LADIES!

Malaria Strikes Back!

(Kyle, on right, with malaria again)

The memories and photos from our trip to Honduras this past summer have yet started to fade and, apparently, neither have the parasites living in Kyle's liver. I spent the weekend watching my older brother sleep and occasionally shiver with malaria again, partly because I am a caring brother, but mostly because I feel guilty.

As you can tell from the photo above he is (a little ugly) fine. The doctors say that the type of malaria he has could flare up several times before finally going away.

Oddly enough his flare-up occurred the week I published a column titled Have Malaria, Will Travel about his first bout with the illness. Here is an excerpt:

.. But remember that Kyle took drugs and look what happened to him. He’s walking around campus talking to anyone who will listen, “What, you’ve never had a tropical disease before? Oh, I have. It was no big deal. My brother dragged me out to the Honduran jungle. A mosquito carrying a very rare type of malaria was heading right for him. I pushed him out of the way and took the bite. Some would say I am a hero. I think I’m just a regular guy…”

Whether he is trying to place guilt or brag, I’m not sure, but Kyle is quick to remind me of the score:

Exotic Tropical Disease Scoreboard: Kyle- 1 Kelsey- 0

Aussie...Aussie...Aussie...Oy!Oy!Oy!

(In Australia participating in a very complex drinking game)

Happy Australia Day!

Today, Uncle John's bathroom reader desk calendar has a great entry:

***

Uncle John’s Almanac

Today is Australia Day

In 1954 an Australian college student named Bob Hawke became the “World’s Fastest Drinker” After downing 2 ½ pints of beer in 11 seconds.

In 1983 the same Bob Hawke was elected prime minister of Australia.

In his 1994 memoirs, Hawke lamented, “this feat (the drinking) was to endear me to some of my fellow Australians more than anything else I ever achieved.”

***

Australians love their drink. I was subjected to their passion for alcohol when I was there in 2001. Here is an excerpt from a column I wrote about a very complex Australian drinking game centered around an awards show:

"I drink a shot of Bailey’s and then everyone turns their attention back to the television where another game’s top players are being announced. When a name is given that we all recognize as belonging to one of our company, we give primeval grunts from the gut and erupt into laughter and euphoric goodwill. Everyone watches as a shot or a can of beer is thrown back. A few cheaters drink when their players are not called, but no one seems to care."

The Nature of Monkey is irrepresible!

THE LEGEND OF THE MONKEY KING LIVES (in my room)!!!!

In the pic in the previous post you'll find a wooden staff propped in the corner of my office. It is not just any wooden staff, but a Monkey King Staff!

I wish I had some great story about traveling to China and being given the staff by some small Kung Fu monk who can break a stack of bricks with his genitals, but alas I don't. I ordered the staff online- not quite an amazing cultural experience.

While in college I studied Kung Fu and I bought the staff when I began learning a staff form. The staffs I used in class were light-weight and capable of flexing. While practicing with them I had a tendency to hit myself in the head and shins- not quite a Kung Fu Expert. When I received the MKS it was heavier, harder, and capable of afflicting nasty bruises. It scared the bejesus out of me to whip it around so I propped it in the corner and it has remained there ever since looking cool.

The original legend of the Monkey King may date back to 600 AD. Make sure you follow the link to the history I found online. It is very entertaining full of passages like, "he was crowned the Monkey King after he proved to be the only monkey on the Mountain of Fruit and Flowers to dare go through the Water Curtain and set up a kingdom on Earth."

His staff, which expanded and contracted on demand, was his weapon of choice. He stored it in his earlobe.

I think mine looks just fine in the corner.

Livin' Large in PJ's

The best thing about writing is reliving past adventures and misadventures while sitting at your computer in PJ's and Scooby Doo slippers. As for the hat...it's more of a thinking cap.

I took this pic this morning while I was working on a story about introducing an isolated island-village to the game of baseball in Honduras.

Take note of the killer amount of desk space. I just rearranged my office and opted for an 8' fold-out table as opposed to the weenie little computer desk I previously used.

I expect a visit from MTV's Cribs anyday. Here's to livin' large...

What's a Hummel

In my last post I made a reference to Hummels, which confused one Mr. Don Sanchez:

"What the frick are Hummels? And why would I worry about trusting them with anyone?"

Well Mr. Sanchez, Hummels are 3-D works of art (figurines) that capture a very touching youthful innocence (they are ugly). And you should worry about who you trust with them because they are absolutely precious (worth boat loads of money to 75 yr old widower grandmas who on average have 75% of their childrens inheritance wrapped up in their collection).

If you want to start your own Hummel collection, bid on one of the over 6,000 figures listed today on e-Bay.

People you can trust

There are two things you need to know about ladies who use the word Daggummit:

1. They can be trusted with your most prized collection of Hummels

2. They make great chocolate chip-cookies

Link of the day

Manboobs

Imagine, someone actually sat down and made this site. And sometimes I think I waist my time on stupid things...

But seriously, check out the racks on some of these guys! Impressively disturbing.

24

In honor of the best show on television being back on the air, I have broken my own life down to 24. Since my life is somewhat less action-packed than Jack’s I will use years as opposed to hours.

24 years ago I was about 3.

The following takes place between the ages of 3-5: I stop pooping myself long enough to hold the UPS at bay with a simple garden hose and clown-head sprayer.

The following takes place between the ages of 6-8: While sitting on the bus I notice a girl a year older and twice my size. She is much too ugly and I am compelled to beat her up. Overcoming shots to the head by a very stiff trapper keeper, I am able to control the ugly hostile.

The following takes place between the ages of 9-11: I pick up a BB gun, pump it once, hold the barrel to my leg, and pull the trigger. It is the last time I ever fire a gun because they hurt.

The following takes place between the ages of 12-14: Chemical warfare ensues inside of my body. Some call this puberty. Hair grows from my arm pits.

The following takes place between the ages of 15-17: I am running from the law in my Trans Am at 56 MPH. Eventually, they pull me over and ask me if I had been drinking. After further interrogation the police office determines that the drifting over center was caused by excessive dancing to Billy Thorpe’s one, and only rock hit, Children of the Sun. The officer refuses to admit that this is the best rock song ever written. I’m let off with a warning.

The following takes place between the ages of 18-20: I’m shot by a skunk while running. I smell for days.

The following takes place between the ages of 21-23: Having vowed to never touch a gun again I begin the transformation into a lean mean terrorist butt kickin’ machine by studying Kung Fu. Terrorist’s butts kicked by me- 0; my own butt kicked by me: 67.

The following takes place between the ages of 24-26: I am held hostage by Tibetan monks and force-fed four meals a day.

Stay tuned next week.

I have never: been in a helicopter, shot at someone, been shot at, climbed through an air duct, punched anyone out, downloaded any schematics, or said something as cool as, “the only reason you are still conscious is because I don’t want to carry you,” Jack did all of this in the first 4 hours of his day.

Here’s rooting for an exciting 27th year!

Rewarding Stupidity

(Would someone please take me hostage!)

Sometimes I wish I had less sense than I do. I'm not saying I have been blessed with an overabundance of it, but with a little less, I think I could be a bit more successful.

Take for example Farris Hassan, the Florida Teenager who thought it would be cool to visit Baghdad after studying immersion journalism in a high school class. This kid is a complete idiot. Read CNN's report Florida's 'Ferris Bueller' stuck in Kuwait.

Man, am I jealous! His face is everywhere. I guarantee that in less than 6 months he'll have a book out and it will probably be a bestseller. I could use a platform. I would like a book deal. Maybe, I will summer in Bangladesh this year. They have loads of gangs, militants, and just the right amount of lawlessness to give my writing career a nice little jump start. If I got captured I could really have a bestseller on my hands.

Home

(Me and the precious pups Zoe and Scout)

"I should like to spend the whole of my life traveling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home."
- William Hazlett

After my mom got two new lab puppies for Christmas I would have to agree with ole' Billy Haz.

Where's your shirt from?

I inventoried my T-shirts last night by their country of origin - my life is exciting, you should be jealous. Here are the results from the 44 shirts.

• Mexico - 12
• USA -10
• Honduras - 7
• El Salvador- 5
• No tag -3
• Peru -3
• Macau -2
• India - 1
• Jamaica -1

I don't even know where Macau is?????

This past summer I went to Honduras because that is where my favorite T-shirt was made. I even went to the factory where it was sewn. So, actually, the T-shirt inventory was research for an article I am working on and I am not a big loser.

The most wonderful time of the year?

(A Motley Crew in Chicago)

I went Christmas shopping with my mom, aunt (Cathy), and two cousins (Brice and Brandt) this weekend in Chicago and I have come to a realization....

There are too many people in this world! And at Christmas time there are twice that many.

Brice and Cathy turned in a MVP powershopping performance and now many of the stores along Michigan Ave. are 'Sold Out.'

Friday night we ate at the best Italian restaurant I have ever been to- sorry Fazzoli's and Olive Garden. I almost made a scene at the restaurant when I laughed so hard I nearly passed out.

Becoming bloody lipped in a bar usually has a better story than Brandt's bloody lip. I wish I could tell you that we started a big blow out bar fight on Saturday night to defend our mothers' honor; that Brice's one year of Jr. High wrestling, Brandt's years of practicing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' moves, and my 2 year stint studying Kung Fu was put to good use, but I would be lying. Twinkle Toes tripped, kissed a chair, and soon his Fu Manchu was colored red.

Despite the crowds and the blood, we all had a great time.

My story in the Indy Star

(Elizabeth Crites with Manuela at Casa Guatemala)

When I was at Casa Guatemala, an orphanage and self-sustained village, I met a volunteer from Indianapolis. I interviewed her and, upon my return, pitched the piece to the Indy Star. They ran it in and a pair of my photos on the front page of yesterday's Travel section.

READ: Hoosier aids needy Guatemalan Kids

I was happy with the layout of the story, but I was a little diappointed that they took out the contact info for Casa Guatemala. The Sunday Indy Star goes out to about 300,000 readers and I was hoping the orphanage might receive some donations from my story.

If you want to learn more about Casa Guatemala visit my July 2005 archive or www.casa-guatemala.org .

Bruce Lee honored in Bosnia

What does Bruce Lee have to do with Bosnia? Did the Croats and muslims fight epic battles with Kung Fu?

A youth group in Mostar has erected a bronze statue of the Kung Fu master to promote ethnic understanding.

The city of Mostar was ravaged with war between Croats and muslims in the early 1990's. I visited the city a few years ago and took this picture of a man living amid rubble left from the war. It is a strange city full of contrasts: bullet holes in basketball goal backboards, children running into a school between bombed out buildings, and life where death was intended.

A shiny bronze statue of Bruce Lee will be a nice addition to things that leave visitors of Mostar scratching their heads.

Click here to read the article in USA today about the statue.

In my next life...

...I want to be a professional gamer. There is the money (upto 6 figures), the travel (tournaments in Belgium, South Korea, Sweden, South Africa, Singapore, and Chile), the ladies (yeah, right), and not to mention, the video games.

My name is Kelsey and I am a video game addict. I have been clean now for about 10 years.

From the first time I ate my first mushroom in Mario I knew I had a problem. Growing up my play was regulated by my father and his dreaded Nintendo Lock, which blocked anyone who did not know its combination from entering any games into the system.

I still play the occasional sports game, but know to avoid any role playing or first person action games if I ever want to do anything productive with my life. But still I wonder what it would be like to give-in and dedicate a good portion of my days to gaming.

Enter Jonathan Wendel, Professional gamer: He travels the world and earns upwards of $100,000 per year playing games. Each day he gets up, plugs-in, and plays 8 hrs of video games- practicing. This is where I should mention that I would probably grow tired of staring at a TV for 8 hours, but honestly, I'm not so sure.

Oh, to have the life of a traveling gamer/writer. Maybe if I pick up a lot of trash and help many old ladies across the street I can return as one in my next life.

Read more about Jonathan Wendel, aka Fatal1ty, in a recent ABC story.

You might be a Touron if...

A reader recently sent me his own "You might be a Touron if..." Here it is:

You might be a Touron if you...

"Accidently walked into an unmarked women's lockeroom in France and received nothing but friendly waves."
- M. Watkins

It sounds like Mr. Watkins enjoyed his trip to France. I will post this to my website. If you have your own "Touron if" visit www.travelin-light.com/touron_if to submit it.

The King of Crazy

You know 'em. They are everywhere. They often look like the rest of us at first glance, but after closer inspection you realize that you are sitting right next to one. The crazies are everywhere.

Today I met Lafayette's (IN) King of Crazy. His crown was a dirty hat that looked like it had been dragged behind a tractor except for the bill was flat as a table top. I was looking for a seat in a McDonald's crowded with seniors drinking excessive amounts of bargain decaf when I sat right beside him.

I sat down with my paper and he examined the headline. He tried to draw me in, "Glad to see no one died in Iraq."

I kept my response short trying to avoid a conversation of politics, "Yep."

He didn't get the hint and kept chatting away. It wasn't until he talked about how he worked security for George W at the Whitehouse and he once saw Laura banging one of GW's prostitutes up the side of the head with a frying pan that I started to really pay attention. It was after this revelation that I saw his outward telltale sign of looniness- plastic green Mardi Gras beads.

And the hits just kept on coming. Some other revelations from the King:

- The Chicago mafia were planning a hit at an upcoming Purdue basketball game. If you are going, don't worry, the King and his cronies will be working security.

- The King spent the summer of 1964 inventing conatgious diseases including the bird flu.

He is in his early 70's and says he suffers from Lou Gehrig's, diabetes, and several other diseases. The secret to his longevity despite being plagued with poor health: "Each day I tear a little piece off of my bible and eat it."

Did I mention he was a preacher too.

Craziness is the spice of life.

The Touron

I am teaming up with cartoonist, Geoff Hassing, to produce one of the funniest comic strips ever- THE TOURON.

At least we hope it's funny. We're still trying to figure out exactly who this Touron joker is and why his nose is so big and his eyes so googley.

Anyhow, we have a website. Check it out:

THE TOURON

Castle Dracula

(Castle Dracula, Romania)

I spent the night in Dracula's castle. Scary stuff. I recently contributed the story to the Arlington Heights Herald near Chicago. Check it out...

Castle Dracula

Where's the scariest place you've ever been?

Hostel

Hostels are awful, awful places filled with germs, drunk teenagers, and rats. I hope someday that I have enought money in the travel/writing pot that I can afford to stay somewhere else. Sure they're good places to meet people, but they're also good places to get a staff infection.

Quentin Tarantino is finally bringing the nightmare of Hostels to the silver screen with his aptly named movie, Hostel.

Watch the preview at Yahoo! movies. Keep in mind that most hostels aren't this bad.

Endless summer

Summer may have ended a month ago, but Kyle and I refuse to belive it. This past weekend we went down to Lake Cumberland in Kentucky for one last ski. The air was a tad bit cold, 50-60 degrees, but the water wasn't too bad, 70 degrees.

We skiied in beanies and rain jackets to combat the wind chill. Needless to say, we gave the drunk fishermen on the water something to talk about.

I made a page on my website for some of our friends who turned down the offer to accompany us on the adveture:

www.travelin-light.com/Cumberland

Welcome readers of The Hub Weekly

I am happy to report that the Hub Weekly of Champaign, Illinois, has picked up my column, "Travelin' Light." This is the column's second week in The Hub.

I would like to welcome the readers in Champaign to contact me with any questions, stories, hot tips, recipes, home remedies, story suggestions, business ventures, etc.

Milwaukee, a ghost town???

When I am walking by myself in big cities that may be a little sketchy (any Central American capital), I always make sure to stay in populated areas. If I find myself walking block after block and seeing no one I get nervous, "Is this a bad neighborhood? Should I not be here?" and then I turn around.

I feel much more comfortable on a crowded city street, filled with hustlers, pickpockets, and hookers, than vacant ones.

The entire time I was in Milwaukee with my father (see below post) we saw about four or five people on the street. This made me uneasy. I had never heard of Milwaukee being a dangerous place, but where was everyone? It kind of felt like an Armageddon, End of days, post-apocalyptic kind of thing. There were plenty of big buildings, Dunk 'n Donuts, offices, museums, etc., but no people to fill them.

Someone call Homeland Security, the people of Milwaukee have all been abducted!

Smart enough to keep my mouth shut

14 people, mostly strangers to one another, were sitting at a nice Italian restaurant in Milwaukee. My father, Ken, and I were among their number.

All of the men are in the truss or lumber business, as is Ken, and were being treated to a dinner by a lumber broker from Canada. One would expect the conversation to be filled with talk of wood mold, the influence of the recent hurricanes on lumber prices, pine vs. spruce, and other such riveting conversation...

I WISH!

Instead, the conversation, at the painfully slow restaurant, covered such don't-even-go-there topics like abortion, euthanasia, and the war in Iraq. On Dad's left side sat an ultra conservative church deacon, who when asked what he does when he's not designing trusses answered, "I pray." and on his right a liberal Canadian fed up with United States politcs.

I watched my faher squirm and deftly avoid being sucked in to the conversation. I sat across the table and often had trouble suppressing laughter. There were several attempts made to end the conversation by outsiders, putting forth off topic questions like, "So, what's the weather like in Canada? I hear it gets pretty cold up there. " None were successful. With each passing minute the meal became more uncomfotable. The ultimate moment of uncomfortability came when the church deacon, while talking against euthanasia, began talking about his brother who he watched suffer and die from a brain tumor.

How do people not know to avoid certain topics when in the company of strangers. I am young and stupid, but even I know to keep my mouth shut.

The magic of the Nacirema

Today is Columbus Day and in honor of his discovery, I have posted a link below to an ethnography written by Horace Miner about one of the New World's strangest cultures:

The Nacierma

Read carefully and you will find that the Nacierma are closely related to the Touron.

The article is kind of lengthy. If you are going to skim it, make sure you read the first and last couple of paragraphs.

Ahh...France

(Malaria Boy livin' large in France)

My brother Kyle recently tried to attend a conference in Monaco. Unfortunately he came down with malaria. Yep...MALARIA in FRANCE!!!????

It turns out that Kyle brought back more from our summer trip to Honduras than some local crafts. How about a liver full of parasites?

He had been back in the US for two months before he started to come down with any signs of the disease : low grade fevers and overall exhaustion. At the time he was studying for his preliminary exams for his doctorate and attributed his waning phyical condition to mental stress. He was wrong.

In France, instead of attending the conference in Exercise Immunology, he spent 1 day in the emergency room, and 2 in the center for tropical diseases. Kyle has yet to admit it, but I think he learned more and had a better time at the hospital than he would of at the conference.

I recently caught up with Kyle at his 5-room rental chateau in Lafayette, Indiana:

Touron Talk(TT): How was the fine, French cuisine?
Malaria Boy(MB): Uhh, not very good.

(TT NOTE: I think I speak for all of us when I say I am glad that infirmed Frenchmen suffer like the rest of us.)

TT: I hear that French women don't get fat...how about the nurses (wink...wink)?
MB: I guess they weren't.
TT: Were they good looking?
MB: Not really.
TT: Did they have moustaches.
MB: ???

(TT NOTE: From this point on the interviewee largely ignored my progressively low browish questions. The interview concluded with a ground breaking discovery.)

TT: How was the Jello?
MB: There was none?
TT: ????

The life expectancy in France is 1.6 years longer than ours in the United States. Obviously, the consumption of Jello in our hospitals is leading to our shorter lives.

Kyle is doing fine, but is still a little tired. Dr's expect him to make a full recovery, although the rare type of malaria that he contracted may flare up occasionally for the next few years. What better excuse is there to miss work? Sorry, boss. Malaria flaring up again.

Both of us took the anti-malarial medication Chloroquine before, during, and after our adventures in Honduras. This was the recommended medication for the region we visited, but apparenlty not 100% foolproof. Visit www.cdc.gov to learn what anti-malaria medication to take on your next trip.

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.

Anybody seen any crocs?? Kyle and I are off to Honduras. 

Croc Hunters??

I wanted to visit the la Mosquitia area of Honduras to get in an authentic jungle experience. It looks like we will be doing just that- primary objective...locate the American crocodile.

No, I'm not kidding.

When I began researching the trip I shared some e-mails with Norma Love from the village of Mocoron. Norma, an academic from Texas, orignally visited the area some years ago, but now has kind of become Mocoron's patron saint. She invited us to visit her and also told me that a friend from Texas would be visiting during our stay. It turns out her friend from Texas is Carl Franklin, a biologist from University of Texas at Arlington and lover of all things slimy and poisonous.

So I dropped Carl an e-mail and he called me. He was excited to here that Kyle and I are going to be there and wants us to accompany him into the jungle for a few days looking at critters. His primary objective is finding the elusive American Crocodile. How cool is that!

We will be hiking through the jungle, sleeping in the jungle, riding in dugout canoes through the jungle, eating freshwater prawns in the jungle, and best of all, searching for crocs in the jungle.

Here is a link to Norma's organization's website: La Mosquitia

I also found an Article on Carl from the University of Texas at Artlington's Newspaper:
http://www.theshorthorn.com/archive/2005/spring/05-mar-01/sc030105-01.html

THE PIC- My brother Kyle Water skiing at Lake Cumberland. Despite the punishment undertaken during step aerobics, I still went to Lake Cumberland with my brother and his girlfriend. It had been about 2 years since I had been skiing and it felt great...except for all the pain. Kyle will be heading to Honduras with me next Wednesday.  

There is a long list of manly ways to get in shape such as rock climbing, mountain biking, boxing, wrestling, rugby, log tossing, alligator wrestling, etc. Not found on this list is Step Aerobics.
So my mom suckered me into going to step aerobics with her...the things I'll do for a story. It's almost been a week now since the torture and my body has yet to fully recover. The Article "Real Men Take Step Aerobic" will appear in Endurance Magazine in August and may appear as a column in "Travelin' Light." THE PHOTO (Left to right): My mom twice my age and in twice as good shape, Me in need of of an IV, Xena: The Princess torturer. 

Twist of Thorn

One of the best travel resources on the internet is Lonely Planets Thorn Tree. Post a question and have it answered by travellers from around the globe. Not always will the responses be positive.

My favorite T-shirt sports Tattoo from Fantasy Island on it and was assembled in Honduras. So I thought I would try and track down the factory of its origin. After all, a guy has to have goals when he's traveling otherwise he's just a bum. Anyhow, so I turned to the Thorn Tree for some help to try and establish some contacts. I received constructive ideas, possible contact leads, and...well... some personal attacks. One poster even accused me of taking advantage of the poor.

Follow the link above to check it out.

I regret using "sweatshop" in my original post. You'll soon see why.