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other half are vaguely guessable, I shall do my best, please bear with me. Where to begin... A week here is lot to write about. The adventure has begun with a delayed flight of Aerolineas Argentinas which meant four hours of running around between different terminals in Buenos Aires airport, looking for phantom hotel vouchers and bus connections. In the end I got onto the right bus with my backpack that I was supposed to pick up in Lima. I even got the right stamps in the hotel voucher to get my breakfast and lunch next morning. It wasn't easy to sleep and I left for a stroll just after 4 am. I have only gone a couple hundred meters from the front door when a couple of desperados demanded pity cash which I did not have and even if I did have I wouldn't want to part with on such terms. That was pretty much the end of my walk as I had to turn back and head to where I came from. Buenos Aires, from what I have seen later in the day, is not much to look at, unless it is shopping mall variety of life you are interested in. The city has taken over the land it was built on almost completely, save for one prehistoric tree giant spreading its branches far enough to dwarf a man standing under it. I sat on the bench under it, imagining what it was like to be here before the arrival of the machines. The traffic noise was too much to ignore and the spell I was under suddenly lapsed into all-beeping all-demanding immediate attention humdrum of a metropolis. Jose Martin would say, Babylon. Indulgence, oversaturation to the point of repugnance. I walk amongst simulacrum of life that is doomed to be erased like a plague and there's no remorse, no feelings whatsoever, just plain apprehension of what is bound to happen. The bus that was supposed to pick us up from the hotel never showed up. In small groups we loaded in taxis and this is how I met Wilma Alvarez, who paid my taxi fare for me as I had no local currency. Later on standing in the passport cue in Lima, I also befriended a fellow New Zealander named Murray who had no idea where to go and therefore he came with us to Wilma’s house. It was but a box of concrete slabs white-washed, as usual, in one of the ghetto districts which is pretty much what Lima is. Having spent a night in the room full of unwanted furniture while listening to my talks of most excellent Peruvian chaos and its inner workings, Murray decided to do a runner to Milaflores. It is the part of Lima designated to tourists, a safety bubble. Take care, friend, I wish you reach the end of your rabbit hole; as for me, I paid what I owed to Wilma Alvarez and she showed me to the bus station. There is nothing to do in Lima except to leave as soon as possible. At the bus station in Huaraz I was met by Wilma’s nephew, who apparently had an apartment for me to have a look at. It turned out to be completely empty, freshly painted cave of concrete slabs next to a catholic congregation that was getting loud only two times a week. There were puddles on the floor and no windows. I thanked my man kindly and left for James’s Casa, a hostel that doubled each inscription in the language of the Mother Land Israel, for it was most famous amongst young Israeli conscripts who have recently finished their service and needed to take a good hike in the wilderness. As far away from the army barracks and command posts as possible. They brought about atmosphere of
you have climbed 3.. having heated arguments at the communal meals they cooked together.. You bought a ticket. No blisters yet. the rolling carpet of tussock and yellow grass parted by cracks of rocky creek beds here and again. Here people dwell near in the valleys. It is the careless breeze and aroma of mountain flowers against digging inside a sleeping bag for an ounce of warmth. Olleros to San Martin.bp. by the looks of it. only slightly moist at this time of the year. Higher you climb. The sensations are cleaner. you end up taking it. There's pressure in the temples. Zapatos no dura. It is the simple awareness of movement of feet. He has accustomed to wearing these all year around. His feet are thick and scarred in his rubber-tire sandals. of struggling breath that leaves no room for idleness.. I take each and every one of you with me on this journey on one breath and think of sleepless oxygen depraved nights during the next. A boundless joy of having nothing else to do but stride towards undiscovered vistas and empty void in which all life has perished till dawn. even without circular badges of David pinned to their receding hair.com/-3ioQ7ZI7vEI/TjcNFEkKQ5I/AAAAAAAAADQ/BNVckW0yJbs/s1600 /DSCF2362.. of the weight of the pack. followed by Chi Gong and I still have an hour to drink coca tea and read maps. At 3 am I'm up and doing vipassana. Majestic snowcapped peaks glistening with brilliant white in the distance are impossible to resist. Time seem to pass at a different pace when one is straddling the edge of exertion.. it is an enjoyable strain to be under the pressure of the backpack. Jose Martin would say. perhaps his physical weakness made him sound profound in his lingering response. weak and choiceless in the determination to keep going.. he says. where the cold is not so bitter at night and harvests can be grown.blogspot. too many rocks. Too much rain.a war zone somehow.. Mind is gradually pacified and makes less and less attempts in running away into the realm of unfinished business and future possibilities as yet unrealized. each comprising a note as the body is being played on like any musical instrument.000 meters without making a single step and are experiencing first signs of altitude sickness. unable to take food. and fresher is the wind. Man of Israel are easily told apart. On the other side I come across a sheppard whose dogs raise enough noise to wake the dead. it needs fine-tuning. you gonna take a ride. One is high by default. shortness of breath. less heated becomes the sun.. That is what I thought the night I arrived. With each step one becomes further removed from the hospitable and the inhabitable. <http://4. He reminded me of Tom York for some reason. Shoes just don't last . My clothes and equipment make me look like a spaceman in comparison to weather-beaten looks of the young fellow I am saluting. two days on foot. Perhaps because no one is making you take the next step. In the morning I saw a most gentle guy with pale face who hiked a full week with stomach illness. And magic will happen all by itself. The smell of medicinal eucalyptus in the parched air. lack of appetite and no desire to sleep. But the body feels good. I cross the pass thinking of spending the rest of my days hiking between villages. A pendulum sways hard to one side only to pause ever so slightly before coming full swing to its opposite and I should know its limitations well ahead but there's nothing I can do. It is no longer licking you with a soft whiff now and again.JPG> When you arrive in Huaraz. its been too long and I know I only have to leave the village before I remember what I came here for. be in the flow. I am too eager to get going. it tugs and pushes and bites.
written into the plot situation looming in front of you to walk into. It was a single room once but now there's six separate compartments.com/-6WA9_cCNKdM/TjcNlaYbcYI/AAAAAAAAADY/fXql3dKGg-c/s1600 /DSCF2082.JPG> San Martin turned out to be the mining town. just give it a few descent rainfalls. He is 38. So it turns out this channel will carry water all the way to Lima. the way a three year old looks at the world. one can see how easy it would be to slide a side of the hill it is built against into the future waterway. absorbed through pores of my skin rather than just ears. standing head below me. Allotment of Angels. sitting on the bank.leave as soon as possible. A predestined. Puta! Every word is a shout. They got another three and a half years of digging to do. Look! Aren't they pretty? His eyes are sparkling. as if high frequencies could make me understand better. Huayanush is nothing but a name. Mario is showing me into one of the utility sheds. It goes for miles. I give away a few mandarins and finger-size bananas and way good-bye. wire fences containing wallowing in the dirt sow and her month-old litter. You must wonder about these encounters. while unsaddling horses an exchange follows which I do not understand a word of as they speak in Catchua.up here. Up ahead shovels are flicking scoops of dirt into wheelbarrows and men shuffle between piles of gravel ceaselessly. I will take you on the horse tomorrow! His whole being is flung open towards me and I am bathing in the exuberance of this grand little man.bp. He is dressed in impeccable white shirt and blue jeans.blogspot. keen unblinking eyes. patiently and without apparent concern. Methodically. collectively known as Allojamiento Angelico. the final outpost guarded by Mario. His shoes are neatly laced and have no trace of dust.blogspot. There's a bunch of fellows waiting for my approach. waiting since I first saw them. We drink tea of fresh alpine mansanillas which he promises to show me tomorrow. Pigs get a pot of boiled potatoes. amigo. where among piles of stuff is a table with a dozen jars containing bouquetes of delicate pink mountain flowers. Cracked skin on the knotted hands. Sun is high again and I am walking inside a trench with concrete walls that runs parallel to the dusty road from Huari to Huyanush. its too high. <http://4. Pigs get out to ransack my backpack and we chase them back where they came from. stoically. This is as far and technology made in into the valley. taking his boys along. Pah! Here goes his teeth. result of an assault when he got robbed of his earnings under a gunpoint. smiling from ear to ear. Then two boys turn up. I share my avocado and cancha. His wife left him for another man. we eat rice and slow-cooked meat. Got your fluffy wings on? Welcome! There's one thing to do in town . Mario stands against a backdrop of a rough shelters constructed out of refuse materials. in the meantime . A digger is parked nearby.bp. Here no vegetables grow. Here and there rocks have tumbled in.com/-MMn-OUbBLU8/TjcNpztLUcI/AAAAAAAAADc/2nuItXhjX28/s1600 /DSCF2132. Ant-like. and they been building it 13 years already. Mario tell me. close to the celestial realm. people have money to spend and the cheapest room is 15 soles for a cardboard box with a bed squeezed tight inside. So you want to go up the river? Stay here tonight. <http://1. gleaming row of silver teeth in the bottom jaw.JPG> I dry the tent from last night frost. one on top of another. And every word is felt with undiluted vibration. saving me from holding my breath every time a car goes past.
Friends. Half an hour later he finally lead out his horse out of the corral. watching Mario and thirteen-year-old Hesus chase after the previously ridden stallion that kept his distance just long enough to render throwing a loop futile. When you hike up high. I shared same bed with Mario in the shed with wild flowers that night. Hot roasted potatoes and soup out of the big aluminum pots. I got hold of the steering rope and was on the way before I had a chance to ask what I am supposed to do with my feet. having run our lungs out. gripping the rope with hands covered in blood to the elbows. Home made cheese. My thighs still remember the beat of a bigger heart and my fingers are yet to thaw out. And back in town. We shouted each other in jubilation as our paths parted. You feel each step the animal takes.blogspot. beat that! Ride in a combi or a bus. pollen and spirulina that I brought with me. Mmmm. five dollar a night bed in the hostel where you can cook and use internet. A police officer is your street directory and his uniform does not get in a way of a smile. avocado.JPG> Man. we are just four boys out on a mission and that's that. And hot mineral baths for fifty cents. half-running we head up the valley armed with a couple of ropes. I fell only once during the four-hour ascent that seemed twice as long as walking same distance on foot. Most of all.. don't you love hiking! Dry figs.bp. There I stood guarding the entrance. friendly faces that have nothing against your persona. It is getting cool. If it wasn't for my guide's warning to hold on at sudden plunges into the unseen chasms and riverbeds. sleeping under heavy woolen blankets. dollar an hour. screamed and shouted and waved our hands making ourselves as large as possible. I would have been thrown off more than once. You just jam the sides of the horse. All my concentration went into keeping myself on the back of my horse. When Mario finally got his rope around. Mountains are a real good cleanse for you. and hold on for your life. The dark-blue above the southern slopes gradually turned into tender pink and snow was yet to receive its blazing brilliance of the full sun. practically anywhere where a road goes. its struggling efforts to heave itself upwards and each failure to find support. Grandmas sell their home cooking in the streets. enchanted land in which life is but a dream. mango! Fifty cents. we got the horses channeled into the bottle neck of a stone corral. he took off with such a galloping jolt that the rope skinned Mario’s fingers. Maize mash with eggs and olives and spices wrapped in banana leaves. None of us is older than the other. Half-walking. but there is no time to waste if we are to go for a ride tomorrow. It wasn't as bad as it looked when we cleaned and dressed his abrasions upon our return. First day out of Catac and I am sitting under the brightest stars. your body knows that processing food takes extra energy and it is hard to eat more than what is essential.horses disappear out of sight. Horses were made ready in two minutes. I parted with Mario in the grey light. Two thirty in the morning three of us were up. All is silent and still. <http://1. life is good here! Just got to get out of town. freshly toasted peanuts and maize! I got a mix of macca. I made it to the top of the pass just in time to meet the dawn. . giving him little cash I had on me. four bucks a kilo. steaming. In the end I felt incredibly grateful to the wonderful animal and his masters who delivered me a short climb away from the pass.com/-tN5xIIzWSYA/TjcNg2oSGjI/AAAAAAAAADU/SIzXJs9P75w/s1600 /DSCF2024. Some two hours later. as all there is to it in the way of saddling up is throwing a blanket on the back of a horse and tying it down with a single strap under the belly and another one further behind..
his eyes are starting to swell with tears. taking pictures before and after rolling up joints.bp. we are taking cactus in the ruins of Chavin. san pedro cactus in pots on both sides of the door. We were supposed to be cooking our magic brew six hours ago. Not that is was much help with missing contour lines and have-erased inscriptions. no other animal could possibly wish to scramble up a steep shingle slope with nothing but rocks and snow to lure them up. seeing no other footprints but those of wild donkeys. My carbon copy of a map got torn when I tried to pull it out. As he explains that his Dutch princess is about to leave for the coast later this very night.blogspot. Anyway. I have by luck the hostel’s number where Serena is staying and all is resolved after a phone call: Jose will be leaving for Trujillo tomorrow. but this one is a real deal. streets are swept. There is no cover neither from sun nor from the wind. I am sitting on the plaza of Chavin de Huantar. purposefully taking shortcuts that ended up leading me to most perilous rocks which kept sliding from under my feet and falling down with a hollow sound as if they were made of cardboard. Jose has made acquaintance with a couple of Lima boys. He had been playing with other girls before. I join not in the puffing activities.JPG> Jose Martin’s smile appears before the rest of him. save for a murmur of a tiny creek nearby and now and again an animal moans in the distance. Sticks tied with shreds of plastic flapping in the wind and a hysterical staccato of a loose iron sheet going berserk in the wind. followed by his hand extended in greeting. We talk of our paths and taking detours to be together with the beloved. half eroded back into the earth they came out from. flowers arranged and stage is set for speeches and celebration. it’s been two hours. I made it over the pass in the end. A cab driver crosses his forehead driving past church entrance. Fiesta is in town. Jose has only one motto.Tonight the air is thin. about making sacrifices and waiting. Sounds are very intimate here. who are tagging along with us. Tonight. Following ridges was a bad option due to a strong wind that one had to lean against in order to withstand. Another cold gust of wind comes to send goose bumps parading up and down open skin and animate scorched landscape of yellow tussock sprinkled with boulders big and small. but doesn't have a chance to squeeze a drop of sweat. your hands start to resemble dry cow paddies that come up here and there like little volcanic eruptions. Then all of a sudden there's a silence.. let alone preparing cactus and looking for firewood to cook it.. Miguel and Jeremy. Give it a few days. Jose is by himself. Earlier on I have been loosing my path. Just about total silence. Four hours later the air is getting cooler and we are hanging around garbage-infested creek near the main entrance to the historical site where busses unload their cargo of tourist into the hands of market stall operators. my only concern is where to pitch my tent. where it laid in helpless testimony of present day technological inadequacy when it comes to living with mother nature in its bad mood. to remain . and now there’s hardly time left in the day to find a quiet spot to spend the night. a heat wave rises as sun starts to bear down. <http://4. On the way I came across some pioneer outposts where once someone made a stand against the elements and now all that was left were stone and mud skeletons of what were straw clad huts. I saw a hundred meter long shed later on with half of roofing iron torn away and tossed to the side.com/-Vrd5deXdH0I/TjcNumnR0pI/AAAAAAAAADg/IQo5TZvUkkk/s1600 /DSCF2316. in liking of Cheshire cat. There’s another friend of Jose who wanted to come but couldn’t get onto the same bus.
The young growth of eucalyptus trees provides just enough cover for us to hide under. If until the last moment one is not sure what will happen. I. I enter no no-fires plea tonight for the love of god and we settle down in front of a pot containing lengths of San Pedro. Jose lays out a square matrix pattern out of his peelings and places an offering of peanuts and sections of mandarin in the centre of it. so be it. he won’t have it that these are rock-climbing routes where one finds himself vertically suspended from a great height over a precipice of stone wall. where a growth of eucalyptus is seen just below the ruins. I have met once a Mexican crew doing hot-chilly tacos at the summer festival in south island who told me about their grandfathers going for long walks in the hills with nothing but a poncho and a bag of san-pedro. Miguel and Jeremy watch us work. there’s nothing one can do but let it take its course. it must be part of the deal. There’s a billboard right by the bridge over the river with a sketch of a mountain ridge and numbered lines ascending it to the top. that is just eat it raw. Unless we torch the place. n fact. then cuts the core out and chops the flesh into cubes. I make it to the other side and help my companions one by one. and ruins of Chavin comprising the base of the triangle in which we find ourselves. discarding both the core and the peels. on the other hand.´positivo´ and everything will take care of itself. I take out my knife and join in. I think they were Mexicans. There’s another way to take San Pedro. Route number five is called San Pedro. If I knew I was going to be trapped between the two rivers. As it is. the crumbling remains of a culture long gone guarded with ropes behind iron gates and a modern beer-drinking hispanicaly-tinged version of it playing techno by night. We descend a river bank covered with refuse and fifty meters further down there’s a reasonable place to cross. We end up with two different plates: Jose's one is full of chunky white cubes. And rich in vitamins.. and all around the ground are dry eucalyptus leaves that come aflame in a blink of an eye and burn as if soaked in diesel. discard the flesh and keep the peels from which I scoop out the outer layer with a spoon into a bowl. Miguel is keen to light the fire. . It takes me several tries to dissuade him from following that map and instead follow the river downstream. Jose is already peeling the first part. my one is a bowl of dark-green jelly. If it takes sneaking around the back and fording garbage-infested rivers. no one will come looking. Jose has a vision that this is the path for us to take. for them it must be even more of a novelty to be involved with a rogue Peruvian artesano wearing camouflage jacket who have recently cut off his dreadlocks and otherwise would be taken for a Jamaican and a dust-covered gringo with cracked lips that insists he is russian and won’t smoke a free pipe. Until the moment I taste the plant. I am sitting there with an improvised spoon made of a dry eucalyptus leaf and digging into dark-green bowl of jelly that tastes sour and bitter but not altogether unpalatable. one can wait till dawn for a place to sleep to manifest itself. When both of us done peeling cactus.. instead of bothering to put the tent up. One can either buy a ticket and visit the birthplace of a grand plant ritual known to man or one can make their own medicine and experience in the flesh what the temples were about. Todo va a fluir. It tastes healthy. I’d never come here in the first place. however. The flow. There is another river joining the one we crossed already nearby. In any case. all nourishment they needed came from the plant and nothing else was required. I am not sure if I will be eating it.
I reckon if aliens ever come. I wish we had a few lemons. after which I could get hold of a descent grip for the right arm. too. but only the base notes could be heard. now I can plainly see it is but a light in the house further up on the hill than any other. Somewhere music was playing. until I come across a breech that allows easy access. The background sounds came closer: the flow of river. Chavin of Huantar is on the move. listening to mumbling of our friends putting up their tent in the dark. I am over the bridge . barking dogs across the other side. they will laugh uproariously at the images we fashioned out of coloured rubber and plastic for them. knowing that I will have to encounter restless vibes. The rocks are not as secure as they seem. a noise of a distant engine. Somehow meant leaning backwards to the river and swaying my weight between the left arm on the inside of a two-feet thick wall and the right foot on the outer side of the wall. It's been a long time and now Chavin is back.In the end we all have had our share. sand starts oozing from the cracks and for the fear of ruining the ruins any more than they are already ruined I step back aside. there's a disco in town. encircled by neatly swept gravel paths illuminated with tiny little blue lights. I am tempted to go take a look. alternating heat waves travelling outwards from inside and sending pleasant shivers running along the skin. we all giggled and approved of the cleansing process at work. The medicine was working in body. Dark angular shapes are stone walls that are still standing. now a crumbled pile of rocks held together by grass roots growing in its cracks. I am looking for the way in. has the place changed! No more is there a glory of true accomplishment. From the tent came gurgling noises of intestinal nature. each eating as much as was good for us. they feel smooth and warm under my fingertips.Chavin of Huantar is back home and oh boy. imagining it is not me walking briskly on this . I am over the wall and into the inside courts where grass is short and soft. Me and Jose stretched out on the ground to rest. Ground felt warm and comfortable. back home. there's a creeping around high river bank through garbage and prickles to get to the stone wall that must be negotiated somehow. they will wear shiny armor of light and we will be too dazzled and too perplexed to form any images of them at all. Earlier on Jose poked his finger at the bright yellow star outshining all others. too. only a dim electric afterglow hardly warming its residents. And firstly. asking permission and a blessing for the journey into the surrounding darkness and giving gratitude for the gift of the body. A dog sniffs me out and jumps on the opportunity to bark its head off. I can only lie still for so long. army guards on night patrol and many a drunkard will offer their booze as generous gesture that I will have to politely but firmly refuse. swaying from one side to another to keep the balance at first few steps and then sinking down to the ground. his old. If they had eaten all what was offered. my sleeping bag unzipped covering both us. I left my boots off and I am hugging the ground. If aliens ever turn up. Ladies stop chatting and I keep observing my respiration. talking. Nothing impossible but a little awkward and ultimately rewarding with a dry passage over the river. Thumping base beats are closer and harder to ignore. landing strips for alien spacecraft from 70's sci-fi flicks. they wouldn’t need to bother. I sneak past the doors with booming music and pass a couple of ladies crouched on a sidewalk. now that the internal battery has been recharged and I feel like trying out this beautiful suit of flesh I have been given. Domestic warmth is locked with bolted gates and more prosperous owners have reinforced iron guarding every possible entry way into their assault-proof dwellings. resolving to crawling rather than walking. millennia-old home.
On the way I get a nod from a stranger who turns out to be a rather nice westerner girl. Chavin is back in town and he likes to boogie and what is best of all. perhaps it felt so nice because we do not know each other better and such benevolence of a greeting can only last a moment and the moment is not meant to last. manifesting sound frequencies in the . Inside it is smoky and dark. Most of all. if I meant to be with her we will meet again and again and secondly. It feels so nice to let the feet stomp. Soon I reach an open door of bar and an agile friendly fellow whose origin is both Peruvian and Argentinean (he keeps changing his story every time I ask) offers me his remedy for the night. there is no cheating the mountain. It takes a while for the realization to sink in that all there is a passing moment. I go for the flowers first. I cannot walk past the disco twice. trying my best to explain what alcohol generally does to the body. he got a suit of flesh to wear tonight! Having come all this way. In the end. I wave and I head in the direction of street lights becoming smaller in the distance. let arms sway and inscribe circles in the air. that is my theory. that there is no effort and no gain but only a shift in awareness. In practice it is hard to ignore a pair of loud jaws that instinctively knows you are there in that shell. One comes here to be seen. Or the dog. they ask me about my bare feet. and all flowers can safely pass on their aroma without a fear of being plucked. I am walking away with a tail between my legs and the only thing saving me is that I am not trying to be tough and bark back or laugh or talk. it would be even harder to explain that I prefer fresh air and stars to sleep under tonight to any other roof ever fashioned by men. How beautiful and serene! The sacred garden is well guarded. there's cheating yourself. Dancers are going through their steps. I speak to the men in uniform about their night shift. I apologize and beg to leave for my quarters. every time starting from scratch and there is no reward to be had but a momentary joy of knowing the truth of impermanence. In the following awkward moment. And I will forget all of this and wake up believing what I want to believe. I can hear it in her voice and think that perhaps I was meant to met her here tonight but I already kept on walking and now I think that for one thing. pass by the fountain. I went off the track not once before and Chavin knows. so I let the go-go dancer out of the box.cobbled street but a nobody. You got to ignore it genuinely. setting myself a limit of reaching the furtherest one I can see and then turning back around. I take side streets and head back where I started. en empty unaffected shell. which somewhat startles everyone present. I hit the ground portraying loss of balance that looks more like being hit by a stray bullet or a truck. The advantage of being born in cold Russia now comes handy as I can safely proclaim being used to cold and thus I feel warm here in the Peruvian Andes even without shoes. but there will be a thinner and thinner veil separating me from seeing the simple obvious truth. every time new. hiding. bottled inside brown glass. In the plaza there's flowers and guards in military gear. arising again and again and passing away again and again. All dogs loose interest having been ignored for so long. can't cheat the mountain. Lucky I am not asked where I am staying. Cant cheat the dog. catching and tossing invisible currents. Have I not tried? The mountain pass is called a pass for the reason that it affords a safe passage rather than a good chance of getting yourself thoroughly tenderized by the slipping and sliding rocks elsewhere. drinkers are gathered in groups and mix their drinks with laughter. having gotten up and dusted myself off. preserved in the solidity of my life story like a rare insect inside a jar of formaldehyde. Observe my breath and keep walking empty streets to the new trouble ahead.
front and back. How do you think your life begun? The fundamental thing you want to grasp is a very natural movement one need not be afraid of. There's plenty of mandarins to peel afterwards and I am going to Trujillo with Jose in search of his run-away Dutch Princess. shy young men and hysterically laughing fools. addressed as Nota para Deportivo de Pilota. I put my hands onto my chest.movement of the body. Not wishing to be rude.co. the first and foremost. And I tell you nothing you already don't know. Heart. I leave a note early next day in the crack of the pub door.. only to be followed by a local football team insisting I teach them dance moves. Don't thank me.html> . Well. I wave my arms to summon their attention one last time and declare void all I just said. I am just a crazy tourist with no shoes on that you have hallucinated tonight out of thin air. Yes.nz/2011/08/chavin-de-huantar_01. I say.blogspot. that is the life energy right there! You get this. it costs 10 bucks for all of us to get a private bath each. me and Jose hardly having slept. But that is another story. dancer boy had splashed in the beer puddles. move with joy and play with it. Having warmed up. He is the real deal. Forget about the thrust. No. I pay for everyone at the door. took off the slippery runway of a dance floor into the confines of surrounding walls and convinced the audience one is meant to survive a fatal fall in decency again and again if one doesn't care and is just glad to be back in flesh again after each small death. thank Chavin of Huantar. fellows. There's a sketch of a mountain range on the bottom with a rising sun and my many thanks. I gathered my layers into a heap and took leave.. there's a pelvic thrust.everything will follow. you got it all . no looking away. my friends. everybody likes to play. in fact there is just this . take heart and move with it. Exhausted. We are off to soak into the hot medicine pools on the way to Huaraz. Down there is nothing. You want to dance? Then enjoy life! I talked my audience into a of bunch of stiff corpses. Yes. front and back. <http://chavin-de-huantar.
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