Intrepid Trails

Deforestation Blues...

2008-03-12T13:47:00.001-04:00

Why to Not Buy that Mahogany Desk

As many of you may know I am working for an environmental NGO here in Gambia called the Stay Green Foundation. As the name suggests we are doing our best with our staff of 6 and miniscule funding to prevent a dirt poor, overpopulated country from rapidly and irreversibly turning itself into desert. It's not easy. Gambia has been free from colonial rule for about 40 years now but the real, and sometimes uncomfortable, truth is that most of the developing world is under another (maybe more destructive) form of economic colonialism. The gaping maw of America/Europe/Japan/China/India is simply consuming the world--its forests, its fish, even its people thru people trafficking. Add to this the fact that extreme overpopulation and a dangerous mishmash of powerful new technology (pesticides, chainsaws, and yes, even vaccinations, food aid, and roads) are seriously taxing beneficial cultural traditions and the resource base...and basically the developing world is teetering on the brink.

It's very hard to realize this sitting at home, living a "normal" life, "just buying stuff". Think about it for a minute. Possibly not a single person that will receive this email can regularly and definitely identify where the resources they consume daily come from. That is insane! We are all willing yet blind participants in the devastation of much of the world. How is it that America, with its population of 300 million and the highest resource consumption the world has ever known can have national parks the size of entire states, hmm? It's because we (the developed world) siphon up the world's resources with our endless materialistic hunger, while people here experience real hunger. Where does the wood that your house/desk is made from come from? Could it be Vietnam which lost 51% of its forest from 2000-2005, Indonesia (2nd largest rainforests on earth), which is estimated to have no virgin forest left by 2020, or maybe even in Gambia...1 km from my house.

African Mahogany, Kahya Senegalensis, Kahe in my native tongue here, is truly a King of Trees. A massive gorgeous behemoth more than 150 feet tall, maybe 9 feet in diameter, and with a crown as wide as it is tall. They are simply confirmation that the universe is an incredible place to live. So, you can imagine my shock when two days ago I saw 2 of these legally protected trees crumpled and broken on the ground less than a mile from where I live.

Then next day the director of Stay Green told me he had a run in with the loggers. He had asked to see their permit, which happened to be for 1 mahogany only. Furthermore, it is illegal to fell protected trees here if there is not at least 3 of the same species within 200 meters. These two trees were standing in the middle of a vast barren field of sand...not quite a forest. He brought the police, documented everything with photos, and alerted the divisional forestery officer, and even the National Minister for the Environment. The next day when we returned to the police station to see what had happened, the police chief, the logger's boss, and the forestry officers had "negotiated to reach an understand"--he paid a bribe and got off. Curiously, the National Minister for the Environment wouldn't answer my boss' calls as well. The logger's boss had offered the village that owned the land a small amount of mahogany to help them build doors on their mosque in exchange for their permission--yet one tree could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars once brought to the US, China, Russia, etc.

Please think about this next time you buy wood of any sort and only buy it if it is Forest Stewardship Council Certified. Or better yet, don't buy it at all. Our seemingly annonymous actions threaten life in many countries.

The other shock I had recently was to realize the scorching speed of deforestation in my area thru a conversation with a friend. My village currently has 18 family compounds and sits in a vast area of parched fields with about 1 tree per acre. Ten years ago we had 3 compounds and you could hunt gazzelle on the edge of the village. I barely see a squirrel these days. Our "forest" is a line about 200 feet wide and is used by several villages of which mine is smallest. We eat fruits from the forest, we cook all of our food with its wood, and all of our animals (which represent nearly all of our wealth most of our minimal protein) rely on leaves in the bush to survive thru the 8 month dry season. When all the trees are gone, people will have to move...but where? This country cannot survive if its trees are sold off for the world's rich to adorn their houses with, because it cannot even survive its own internal pressures.

Think about it--a village increasing 6 fold in 10 years! But that is what happens when every woman has 8 children. It's easy to say its their fault for overpopulating, but intil we decided to vaccinate their children to every disease known to man, they had to have 8 so that 4 would survive. The other source of all the new people is environmental refugees. I have only met a small handful of people in my area who originally come from Gambia. Everyone else is from Mauritania, Senegal, Mali and Burkina Faso--areas that once looked like the Gambia does today, until all the trees were cut, the rains stopped coming, and the thin topsoil blew away into the ocean.

Where I live is naturally a near rainforest of soaring Mahogany, Teak, Rosewood, Ebony, Baobab and about 20 other varieties of trees. In a generation it has been transformed into a near desert. Trees are cleared for fields. Immense downpours come in the rainy season and their force is not broken by tree canopies but instead washes away the soil. The dry season comes and great fires come and burn all the fields killing baby trees and leaving something very similar to the sand of a volleyball quart behind.

I don't know where the family I live with here will go in 15 years when there is no rain, topsoil or trees. Probably they head south, and probably the story of modern Africa will repeat itself and there will be deforestation, drought, and now that there is nowhere left to migrate, ethnic conflict and war.

They have enough problems on their hands right now. Do you really need that desk?...

Gambia Greetings

2008-01-04T07:56:00.001-05:00

Greetings Friends and Family,

It has been a long long time since I have updated on my life here in The Gambia--that's right, Africa's only country with a President who can alledgedely magically cure AIDS-- so I figured I would do just as much. It's now January--the cold season--which means my homestay family cuddles up to the campfire every night wearing near-arctic gear and shivering, trying in vain to escape the harsh 65 degree cold. The rainy season ended a couple months ago and the world is slowly submerging itself into the dry stillness that will rule this country until it is shattered by the first thunderstorm of the monsoon next June. The harvest is in, and although it is not very good (it never is, what with climate change induced drought and over-farmed soils), for now food is relatively abundant and people are selling their peanuts to buy provisions for the year.

The biggest news in my life is that I have transferred sites, about a month ago, to work with a really cool local Gambian environmental NGO called the Stay Green Foundation. I am now getting to work on almost exactly the projects that I want to work on here, and that I think are very important. For the next 11 months I will essentially function as an extension worker representing the NGO in somewhere between 5 and 8 villages. I will be educating people on the dire problem of deforestation and then (hopefully) mobilizing them to take action to save their livelihoods by planting woodlots and agroforestry trees to provide for the fuel and building needs, as well as to improve their soil fertility in their fields. About 80% of the Gambias energy comes from fuelwood, driving what is really a crisis of deforestation. About 50 years ago 80% of this country was covered in a closed canopy forest of massive trees. That number has dropped to between 8 and 18% presently (reliable stats are hard to come by). It's so miniscule that I have never once seen an example of what the Gambia naturally looked like. With the population expected to double in the next 25 years, while rainfall decreases, its hard not to predict disaster as people further outpace the natural regeneration rate of the 2 things they rely on to live here--forests and soil. Hence my job. I am psyched about it. It is really difficult to get people to understand the threat of deforestation (the trees have always always been there, why would they be gone later?), but around my new site, people are acutely feeling the shortage already. Talk and action are not the same thing, but the way people talk they are ready to do something about it.

Aside from training villages to establish woodlots I will be working to help set up a large agriculture and forestry training center that the NGO will use as their training base from now on. It's a very large project, and I will really only get to help lay the foundations this year. But, I have a lot of freedom to set up demonstration projects (on proper tree species and spacing for woodlots, new fruit tree varieties, etc.). All in all its exciting. In my new site I actually live with a family that speaks the language I speak (not the case in last village) which makes things more comfortable. But, the dialect is so different that for the first week or two I had no idea what they were saying. My new site is also close to the ocean (only about 4 miles in a straight line) so the weather is a lot better with a constant cool sea breeze. The food situation is a lot better too. Out of a sense of white guy guilt, I didn't supplement my diet in village last year. I didn't realize how much this was affecting me until I went to Morocco for vacation and got healthy again. Malnourishment is a horrible and insidious problem. Not that I was nearly as bad off as my family. Every couple weeks I would leave village and eat a hamburger. But, it was actually a mind opening experience. When you are living on only simple carbohydrates and no vitamins, you dont want to improve your life. It's often baffling to us development workers, why locals dont work harder to improve their lives. But, the truth is when you are hungry or have malaria you just want to sleep.

I am working on another reforestation project as well. The idea is to pay people a small amount for each healthily outplanted seedling that they raise and plant around their farms. This year it is just a pilot project. But, hopefully if it is sucessful, next year we will sell the idea to local tourism operators so that tourists can offset the carbon from their flights through tree planting in Gambia. It's an awesome project and I really really encourage any of you out there to donate if you can. Even if it is a very small amount. To do so, go to www.peacecorps.gov

. Click on "donate now". Then "help fund volunteer projects". Then "Africa". Then scroll down to Gambia and click on Stephanie Rayburn's "reforestation" project. Like I said, any amount helps. Thanks!

Alright folks I have to go. Hope this finds you all well. West Africa says hello.

Cam

ps-in about 11 months I will have 7grand to blow on checking off things on my lifetime "to do" list...so if anybody has any ideas....

pps-

Fwd: Steph's Trees for Fuel project

2007-11-22T06:53:00.000-05:00

Hello friends and family. Below is a email from my special lady over here talking about her reforestation pilot project that she will be working on for the duration of her time here in the Gambia. I am just now switching sites, moving 300 km across the country to work with a really cool environmental NGO called the Stay Green Foundation and will be working on the pilot project with Steph. Any donations you guys can give to fund the project will definitely be put to good use. As for the concept of paying people to plant trees, if "Why should we pay people to help themselves?" pops in your head, please consider the fact that we all the time pay people to do things that are in the public interest in US. It's called government services, but over here with a non functioning goverment they don't have that luxury. The project model is based off of Kenya's Greenbelt movement, the founder of which won the Nobel Peace Prize a few years ago. I hope this finds you all well and happy.

Cam

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Stephanie Rayburn <stephrayburn@gmail.com>
Date: Nov 10, 2007 11:38 AM
Subject: Steph's Trees for Fuel project

Hellooo friends and family! Salam malekum, peace to you

I'm excited to announce my "Trees for Fuel" reforestation pilot project, to be carried out in several villages in my district! I have signed it up as a Peace Corps Partnerships project, which means everyone can go to the link and glance at the proposal and if you want, contribute ANY amount right then and there. It got accepted as a project right before I left on vacation a few weeks ago and I'm so happy to see now that I got back, that random people already contributed $200.00- people are amazingly generous when it comes down to it!
Most of you are my friends, "poor" college kids and the like, with a few professors and family members in the mix and I KNOW you don't have much money to spare. No worries. But please, if you know others with charitable tendencies or interests in rescuing this planet's forests, please pass this link on.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/donors/contribute/projdetail.cfm?projdesc=635-042&region=africa

This is why I'm so excited about this project:

Driving a few hundred kilometers through northern Senegal to the airport a few weeks ago I saw the shocking picture of desertification in full for the first time. The parkland of The Gambia, sparse but still treed, unfolded mile by mile into a devastated washed-out waste land. It's not fair to call it a desert, conjuring up pictures of lizards and cactus, red sand dunes and canyons, wolves howling at the moon from atop mesas. This was a man-made expanse, stripped of its layers of life down to a nutrient-void greyness, dotted only occasionally with an angry little shrub inevidably snagging some shred of plastic trash. Yikes. Senegal has electricity; power lined cut through the desert scene in all directions. Yes they are "developing," but at what cost?

The Gambia in in trouble, but it's not a desert yet. And the institutions are in place to inform people that desertification is a real scenario, that planting trees will keep their wells wet and the rainy season long. The time is right to make it "cool" to plant you own trees for firewood- the concept of planting mangoes and cashews caught on beautifully and it's just a small hop to making fuel wood tree propagation a practice.

So- thanks guys for listening! Pass on the link to all who might be interested and help us if you can. Feel free to email me with any questions. Take care- peace only to you and your home people! (:

-Stephanie

Rainy wonderworld

2007-09-04T12:06:00.001-04:00

So...no emails for a few months there. Sorry bout that.

Everytime I have had the opportunity to sit down in front of a computer to send an update out there into your cyber realm, the words have just not come. The simple truth is that words are too small to contain any experience, much less one as conflicting as being a Peace Corps volunteer in the Gambia.

The rainy season has come and is slowly tapering off, leaving us here to dry out for a few months before slow-roasting this strip of land under the African sun for many months. The rains came with a bang. Specifically a bang of lightning as I sat in a bar late night with a few friends during the first big rains. As our bellies filled with 3rd world quality alcohol, the streets flooded and washed a 9 month dry season worth of trash, donkey crap, and dust into the bar, filling it up above ankle level. The music never stopped. As we walked back to the peace corps house to sleep, the streets were torrents of the sweet chocolate milk of the developing world. Lightning exploded everywhere and rain drops the size of marbles lobbed into our eyesballs. We shouted and whooped our drunken thanks to the clouds It was lovely beyond description. I cannot describe the thrill of the first rain in 9 months. That was 2 months ago.

Since then, the desolate sun-burnt landscape has truly transformed itself into a sparkling green wonderworld of chirping birds and grasses that grow 2 inches a day with clouds swooping playfully above us all as we come out of hibernation. Humans aren't the only ones out of hibernation either. I hear hyenas more frequently. My very hard core deaf uncle beat to death a 9 foot python with a sitck, and I had to chop the head off a deadly pit viper because my (also very hard core) surrogate grandmother was chasing it around the women's garden with a log trying to whomp it into submission.

It's work work work time. Rural Gambians have difficult lives in many ways, but they do have the increasingly rare pleasure of being some of the very few people left in the world that just work 3 months of the year and spend the rest of the time relaxing with family and friends. There are more than enough calories to go around for almost the entire year, even in the poorest communities. The problem is the near total absence of protein and vitamins, especially this time of year--the Hungry Season. As unpleasant as it is to live almost solely on white rice (malnourishment is exhausting and crushing to your inspiration), it is a really liberating experience actually to see how unhealthy of a diet you can live on. I could of course do more to supplement my diet here, but I struggle with so many ethical dilemmas in my work here that I have yet to broach the issue of how I could lock myself in my hut and eat something while my family would be sitting outside hungry.

But, it's not all exciting snakes and lovely green grass here. I have had a lot of challenges for the last several months. I have emailed a few of you about this. But, basically, the long history of well-meaning (but completely completely misinformed) white people coming to the Gambia as tourists or NGO workers (which are not much different from tourists) makes this an extremely difficult place to be a white person. I should add that the situation in my particular region, as one of the very poorest and least developed of the country, is a lot worse in this respect than anywhere else I have been in country. 50 years of radio, tourists, and NGO workers telling people they are poor has really affected the way they percieve themselves and this country. It is very difficult to explain or understand even for myself. But, the end result is that in a large proportion of my interactions I am transformed in their eyes into an object to either get US visas, money, my bike, whatever I happen to be holding that instant, from, or as an object for people to take out some of their frustration about their lives on. The longer I am here, the more I understand why things are this way, but, honestly, the more hurt I am by this also. On the other hand, the more developed the area is, the less I experience this. It all comes down to people's lack of cultural self-esteem. Sadly, in my village they do not view themselves as the last proud hold outs of a world where we all had rich cultural traditions, where we worked the soil with our hands and earned our keep. They view themselves as the only people in the world locked out of the party that the rest of the world is having (it is commonly assumed that anywhere outside Africa is fantastically rich and people never work). The more developed villages have a much better sense of self-appreciation, feel less helpless, and finally, I think, come to value (but not practice) their cultural traditions more. So, hurray for small scale development. The sense of hopelessness in my village is a much greater problem than all others and is best addressed by this. And, thank god for Peace Corps as well. I have changed from a serious skeptic to a devout believer since I have been here. The idea that any change can be effected in these villages by people who know neither the language nor culture, and do not even live there (NGO workers) is absurd. All in all, it is an enormous challenge to be here, but one very worthwhile.

My projects have gone quite well this year. We transformed a bare stretch of ground into a well-fenced hectare garden with 2 wells, a live fence of spiky plants (cause termites will eat the posts on the barbed wire fence) around it, and rows of food-producing, soil-enriching trees to provide shade in the hot season. I worked with about 15 different people to plant cashew trees, ranging from as few as 10, to as many as 350. These should supplement the meagre income they earn from environmentally destructive peanut farming, for some people (hopefully, but nothing is for certain in this world) eventually quintupling their income. And I work as a facilitator in a NGO sponsored Skills Center, providing ideas, tech support (ie. being able to write), motivation, and whatever else I can come up with. I have a lot of other small projects as well. My favorite is trying to increase the deliciousness index in my family compound by planting 12 different kinds of fruit trees with my host this year. As I said, the work is difficult, frustrating and often misunderstood. Most people do not understand that helping them to learn a skill or grow a new food source is better than me just handing out money or visas (as white folks are percieved to do). But a few people really get it. They work hard and sacrifice to make their's and other's lives better. They inspire me immensely, and every so often when the difficulty of the job is turning me into someone I do not want to be, they will do or say something that floods me with relief and patience, and I am led by example, right back on track.

I hope this email finds you all well.

Peace,

Cam

Photos

2007-08-15T07:50:00.001-04:00

hello folks,

Still here in The Gambia living life. I want to try and write a longer email soon to let you all know what I have been doing, but...I am lazy and sometimes things are great here and sometimes quite frustrating. It's difficult to write an email that could sum it all up. But, in the meantime you can take a look at my girlfriend's blog which has a link to some photos we took in my village to get a better idea of what things look like over here. Hope you are all doing well.

Cam

http://in-the-direction-of-my-day-dreams.blogspot.com/

Donkeys and Development

2007-05-22T09:28:00.001-04:00

I thread my way through the cracks and potholes of the driveway to the International Trypansomiasis Center to the ("run down" by US standards, but highly developed by local standards) building at the back where 20 people from my village and surrounding villages are gathered for a 28 day "development" (still don't know what that means) crash course. I walk in and loudly interrupt the proceedings to exchange several greetings that serve to totally disrupt the flow of their work but more importantly cement interpersonal relationships. It's the polite way to do things. The women giggle into their veils and murmur "Bakary, welcome" while the men clasp their hands in the air and my friend Musa shouts "Bakary we are study!" We are all surprised by the situation. These people who I am used to lounging with under the shade of mango trees or working in the fields with are sitting at desks grasping pens awkwardly with notebooks strewn about. Seeing as how 80% of them are illiterate I am a little baffled by the notebooks.
I have come to greet my people--some of whom I know very well and some of whom I can't remember the name of. Two days ago they began this course, funded by a swedish NGO to teach them the very very basics of development work and concepts. They want to teach them basic numeracy, people management, and needs assessment skills. The idea is to take some of the actual development responsibilities away from NGO's and institutions like Peace Corps and give it to the locals who will benefit. Help people help themselves basically--an idea I heartily applaud. I sit and watch as the facilitators go over the rules of the class that day: no smoking inside, only one person talks at a time, do not insult others ideas, no spitting on the floor, etc. They are all rules that would be familiar, even obvious to a US High School student, but that are not the way meetings take place here. Village meetings, in the shade of an old tree, are more focused on everyone getting their say in (sometimes simultaneously, sometimes without everyone listening) and everyone feeling satisfied at the end, more than resolving any particular situation. I feel a quick pang of guilt seeing them fitting themselves into a more western model, wondering if this is just another step in a long sucession of cultural colonialism. Then again...their traditional way of life is no longer remotely sustainable, economically or environmentally, so maybe the way forward is dangle their feet into that stream of (western dominated) globalization--a stream that often moves too fast for traditional peoples and leaves them awkwardly floundering between their origins and wherever it is they thought it would take them.
I push these thoughts to the back of my mind and ask the facilitator if I can have a word with my friend Musa.

We step outside and exchange some more of the never-ending greetings. I can see concern on his face so I quickly allay his fears with a handshake, a grin, and the words "You will have a donkey this year."
Musa supports two wives, 5 children, and an old mother. He is a poor man and has no livestock with which to plow or plant. As a result he could only plant last year when donkeys were available to borrow. As a result he only had enough food to last for about 4 months of the year. Since then he has been selling his few meager possessions to keep his family alive on an all rice diet--the perfect recipe for malnutrition. Even months after his food has run out he spends nearly all of his free time working, unpaid, on community projects. I have never bothered to ask him why, as I realize he is one of those rare people with an impeccable, ingrained sense of the value of sacrifice. About 1 month ago we wrote an application to the Horse and Donkey Project NGO, which provides donkeys, and sometimes plows to poor farmers who cannot afford their own. Somehow the application was lost in the mail. I went to their headquarter and talked Musa up enough that they agreed to give him a donkey and a plow on the spot.
The whole experience has left me pondering global inequities---their drawbacks, their immense power to good, but generally the lack of greater justice inherent therein.
Here is how Musa got his donkey: A man in the UK saw a poster at a horse show offering the opportunity to sponsor a donkey in the Gambia. His small act of generosity--a gift to a man he had never met in a country he would never visit in his wife's name that cost him the equivalent of maybe 5 hours of work (he stipulated that the donkey must be named "Poppy")-- was sent thousands of miles south. The UK volunteer who runs Horse and Donkey put in some of her time to do the necessary paperwork, in exchange for a feeling of time well spent and intercultural experience. And I showed up, fluent in the language and the customs of the powerful, using a small part of my time and influence on Musa's behalf to lobby, successfully, for him to have a donkey and a plow. Three rather small acts of generosity from a class of people in the top 5% of the worlds powerful and wealthy that will mean a world of difference and possibly the first step out of abject poverty for a good friend and a great person. It would take Musa at least 2 months labor to earn enough money to get a donkey, in the unlikely event that he could find work.
So...do not be afraid to donate. It can end up making a drastic impact on someone's life who you will never meet, and mildly assuage inequitable world we live in. On the other hand, handouts given by uninformed people, and even NGO's and the UN (how many millions of people does the World Food Program keep dependent on food aid each year without addressing the underlying problems?) create a destructive and pathetic cycle of dependency, crushing locals self-esteem, and ensuring people will not work to help themselves. Approach aid and donations with caution.

So...what else have I been doing?
Mostly working toward starting cashew orchards. I am working with 20+ individuals on a scale ranging from each person in my woman's association owning 2 cashew trees to a man that is starting an orchard of 1500 trees. It's a new idea and a new technology in this region of the country (just now taking off in the capital) and in my area, far from the road, markets, jobs, NGO assistance, etc., one of the only alternatives to farming peanuts for almost no money on ever more degraded soils. There is the added benefit that cashew are at least better for the environment than peanuts. They obviously provide no habitat, but their benefits in soil conservation far surpass farming. And in a country that is only 7% covered in forests (compared to 50% thirty years ago), any vegetation to stave off desertification is better than none.
I have worked as an intermediary between the villages and that NGO doing the basic development worker training I referenced earlier. I started a tree nursery at my local school yesterday. I've worked some with mango propagation. And finally, I am working with my woman's association to hopefully get this garden off the ground before the rainy season starts in just a couple weeks. It is very difficult to mobilize any group of 45 people to do communal work. Especially in an unfamiliar language and culture, and when the work is a new idea to begin with (gardening).
But, things are coming along, slowly slowly. The rains are coming and I am excited about that. Saw some lightning and rain drops a few nights ago.
Hope all is well.
Cam

Under the Mahogany

2007-03-27T09:51:00.000-04:00

Our shadows slide forty or fifty feet stretching out to the foot of the giant mahogany tree we have been sitting under all day, chatting, arguing, clapping, laughing, and drinking cup after cup after cup of thick sweet attaya (green tea). A government representative has come to my village and seems to actually be planning on doing something positive to help out this area, which may be the poorest in the country. Representatives from about 9 villages have come to have come to this meeting to figure out where to put the new health clinic and the two new solar powered wells in the region. All of this "development" may prove illusory--every election cycle reps come and promise things that will never ever happen. I'll believe it when I drink from that well and walk into that clinic. The meeting lasts about 6 hours. Six hours of old grizzled men with eyes clouded by cataracts standing and shouting for their village to have all the new developments. Six hours of dignified women wrapped in crimson head scarves making the comprimises (in 3 different languages) that allow everyone to leave happily at the end of the day. One must stand up for one's tribe and one's village, but one must also compromise.
My patience has grown. In the past I could never have sat under a tree for 6 hours understanding only 40% of what was said. But, I want to be there. I want to stay because it increases my presence in the whole area and gives me the credibility I need to get stuff done. As a payoff when the meeting ends, the government rep and I exchange numbers, project ideas and make vague plans to work together later. In a more tangible development a villager from 10 miles away, and I make plans to start a cashew and mango orchard. Once again, when I am eating a juicy mango by the river, I'll believe it. I try to hedge all my bets here by agreeing to work with pretty much anyone that has an idea, or any one that will listen to and accept this strange white man's rants about the desert dropping south, the invisible particles in the soil that make your food grow washing away, or the fact that the next generation's farms will be half the size they are now because of overpopulation. If 5% of projects get going it will have been a huge success.
When the 104 degree heat dissipates slightly, I hop on my bike and head over to the closest village. My shadow has stretched out to 80 feet as the sun hangs petulantly over the edge of the land. A dust cloud of topsoil swirls above like a brown daytime Northern lights headed off toward the ocean. I had delivered some seeds to the women in the village a week ago and was anxious to see if they had been planted. Success! I arrive to a scene that is every development workers dream. 10 women and children are hand tilling the soil with the same trustworthy hoes they have been using for 2000 years. Dust kicks up from their work, refracts the burnt red of the evening sun and encircles the women in a spiral. We talk and laugh. We make tenuous plans to plant massive amounts of fruit trees in a village that for the 50 years of its existence has only planted one. My friend in the village explains how villages of only 5 households are best because the people are all "One". They all had the same grandparents. I contemplate trying to explain basic genetics and that it is good to toss some new genes into the pool. But, a little girl grins, crumbles a clod of wet earth between her hands and explains that to me that she likes to garden. I grin back, shake hands and ride back to my village watching our 100 foot shadows glide across the earth.

The work begins

2007-02-22T23:53:00.000-05:00

It's kind of funny being a peace corps volunteer in the Gambia. Because you work for the Dept of State, and sadly, simply because you are white, you end up with way more credibility than you deserve.

My favorite, and least important example of this is when I am riding on a gele gele (bush taxi) and we are stopped at a military checkpoint. Everyone must present ID. I flash my peace corps ID with "United States of America" emblazoned in big letters on the top. The baffled soldier often, widens his eyes a bit, nods, and moves on to the others. I do my best to give meaningful nods to the hardest meanest looking people in the gele--they all think I'm CIA.

In two days, I will be overseeing the installation of 2 wells for a womens garden in my village. This should improve food security, and add a lot of income for the women during the crucial 9 month dry season. I've been left with a $2500 grant from the previous PCV at my site to put these wells in. I know nothing about well-digging, have yet to get tons of gardening experience, and am still figuring out language and culture. On the local economy, a $2500 project is about the equivalent of a $250,000 project back in the US. But, as it always seems to turn out, whenever you have no idea what you are doing, just pretend you do and it will work out.

I also went to a NGO training manual development workshop this last week. Stay Green, The Gambia's only environmental NGO was trying to develop training manuals for alternative farming and woodlot practices to address deforestation and desertification in the country. They wanted a few peace corps agroforestry volunteers to sign up, so me and a friend came basically to hang out together and eat good free food. Much to my surprise, the other members on the panel were all top members of various government ministries...and then there was us--brand new Peace Corps volunteers yet to even really start any projects. Fortunately, they didn't know how unqualified we were (they also thought I was 40-men here can't grown beards until they are about 25) until the last day. But, we ended up being pretty crucial to the development of good manuals. The head of Stay Green is the Gambian representative to several UN conventions that they have signed onto (Desertification, Climate Change, etc.), and was impressed with us and wants to collaborate on future work.

Its all good developments. I was feeling pretty disillusioned with my prospects here. The basic fact that there is a 9 month dry season really rules out any agroforestry work for all but 3 months out of the year, but I think there is a fair chance that I'll find some other good work to do as well.

Hope all is well.

Cam

Change your life...

2007-02-12T23:10:00.000-05:00

Howdy Folks,

Change your life, change your wife, change your self into a nine year old Hindu boy.

For those of you who have kept in toach and followed my recent travels some of this may sound familure. Never the less, if it pleases you, read it on a major on-line publication. Today's Slate.com headlines read, "Three knuckleheaded guys cycle the silk road." This will run as a five day series, collect them all.

Check out the slide show for some good looks at what life on the road in Central Asia is like.

http://www.slate.com/id/2159564/entry/2159565/

Put alittle fun between your legs...ride a bike.

Mikey

Everyone is raving about the all-new Yahoo! Mail beta.

slightly unusal food

2007-01-16T06:39:00.000-05:00

1 minute for an email.

I ate a rat. It tasted exactly like turkey. It was huge--bigger than a racoon. While I ate it there was a 4 foot headless lizard next to me for dinner.

Life is funny.

Where are you phil ?

Eating razor blades

2007-01-09T05:21:00.000-05:00

Hello friends and family,

Things are going well over here in the Gambia and I figured I would update you on a few things:

First and foremost...last week I ate about 1/4 of a sheep in one day. I consider it one of my life's greatest accomplishments. Tobasky, the biggest holiday of the muslim year happened to fall on New Years Eve. So, rather than ring in 2007 with copious quantities of champagne, I dined on ram stomach, lungs, intestines and an entire leg. I also introduced my family to the rather novel, Thai coconut goat leg curry. Tobasky celebrates the bibilical story of when God decided that rather than sacrificing his son, Abraham's ram would be sufficient. This works out well for me because I have been protein starved for most of the time I've been here. In fact I had a dream last night about a 6 inch long cashew covered in peanut butter.

There has been incredible traditional music in my village everynight for the last 3 days. Some traveling musicians with a violin-like instrument called a nanero and a few drummers have been visiting different parts of the village every night and partying until about midnight--which is impressive when you wake up with the sun. The music is for the women--they pay for it and they dance to it. The men usually stand in the background and grin foolishly at the most massive booty-shaking spectacle I've ever seen in my life. As honorary weird white guy in the village I get to stand in the circle with the booty shaking women. This is definitely some pre-Islamic culture coming through. Women from 12 to 80 get in the middle of a circle and break it down while chanting "Tonight I will sleep in someone else's bed!". The first time I saw it we were in the middle of a vast field, the sun had just set, and the throbbing circle of dancers was pulsating in and out, screaming, dancing, jumping, and sending a dust cloud skywards.

As I was walking back to my house from the local primary school yesterday evening a man dressed as a lion with his face painted like a lizard and a 6 inch snakes tongue hanging out of his mouth ran up to me and shoved a 5 inch nail up his nostril...that was fairly unusual.

Animist traditions poke their "uncivilized" heads up through the fabric of muslims society pretty frequently. The lion-man proceeded to freak out the entire town (to their delight) as he chewed up razor blades (and a coin that I gave him), blew fire, ate fire, went into a trance, and danced faster than anyone I've ever seen.

I have also been asked to be the manager of the village soccer team. They take this very seriously, and have already designated a coach, assistant coach, captains, and made jerseys. Apparently my white guy skills will be best used in the capacity of manager. Now we just need a soccer ball.

This morning I saw no less than 100-130 baboons (some like linebackers with fangs) crossing the "road" in front of me on their way back from the river.

Things are pretty good here. I hope they are the same with you.

Also...it looks fairly likely that I will be in Morocco meeting my family next November for about 2 weeks. I'm gonna stay an extra 2 after they leave so if anyone wants to meet up and hang out.......

Cam

baboons

It's official

2006-12-09T13:20:00.000-05:00

I am officially an employee of the US State Department. Funny, huh?

What's even stranger is that yesterday I gave a speech on national TV in the Gambia in a language that I had never even heard of a few monhts ago. I was asked to give the speech in a local language for the new group of Peace Corps trainees.

Yesterday I swore in as a Peace Corps volunteer. I am no longer the mere trainee that I have been for the last few months. Tomorrow morning I will leave the capital (Banjul) and head up country to the tiny village of about 200 people, a school, a bunch of mudhuts and millet fields and more donkeys that you can shake a stick at (fortunately my village is in a relatively undeforested area of the Gambia, so there are actually sticks to shake). It will be pretty much the same lifestyle that I have had for the last 2 and 1/2 months. A lifestyle and routine marked by the rising and setting of the sun over Baobab studded savanna and the rhythms of the call to prayer rising into the air from the mosque.

Training has been good. I deep fried 2 turkeys for thanksgiving and started a massive grease fire. One time me and some friends were trailed by a troop of about 35 huge (up to 200 pound) baboons who were certainly unhappy about our presence, and made it known through shaking trees, beating there chests, and barking. One of the coolest wildlife interactions I've had. But mostly I just studied language, relaxed under trees and played with little Gambian kids.

The Gambia is a good place. It doesn't inspire awe with huge mountains or teeming cities. But, it is peaceful and the rural areas hearken back to a subsistence lifestyle that is in all of our pasts. I'm very happy that I am in Peace Corps here. It has the highest density of volunteers of and PC country, there are tons and tons of NGOs to work with and lastly, there is lots and lots of work to do. The Gambia lies in the Sahelian region, one of the worlds largest agricultural zones, stretching across Africa in a belt under the Sahara. The land and livelihoods of millions are threatened here and agricultural, if not ecological collapse seems just over the horizon.

Our profligate resource consumption in America, Europe and East Asia is directly and profoundly threatening survival over here as the are dries out from global warming. 50 years ago the Gambia got about 20% more rain and had a 5 and 1/2 month rainy season. I've talked to friends who remember the rains starting the first week of June even in the late 80's, now they come in mid-July. This small fragile country is also experiencing a population explosion (surprise surprise) with about 50% of the people under the age of 15. Most familes have about 8-10 kids (but it should be noted that it is a polygamous society, so often there are 2 or 3 wives in a family). 80% of the country was forest 60 years ago, now it is about 8-18%. And on top of all that peanuts which have accounted for probably 95% of rural families cashincome historically, and now worth nothing or close to it because the country kicked out the company that processed and exported them. Good times. Oh... and I forgot to mention that most of the agricultural land is severely degraded.

Then there is malnutrition. In some areas, all people eat is white bread, white rice, and white sugar. Starvation isn't much of an issue over here. Diabetes (from all the sugar) and malnutrition from the 9 months of the dry season with almost no fruit are serious serious health concerns.

What to do?

I have a lot of project ideas and will spend a few months in my village learning more language and building relationships before I try to do anything huge. But the major projects I will work on are all going to focus on improving farming methods by intercropping nitrogen fixing trees, introducing new crops, and also just a lot of awareness raising. People have little idea that they can grow their food in a different way, or grow new foods, or grow certain crops together, and hugely increase their yields and their income.

There is a tree called Moringa Olifera that I'm gonna try to promote a lot as well. It grows ridiculously fast (like 20 feet a year), is drought tolerant, nitrogen fixing, and the leaves are basically the equivalent of a vitamin supplement with tons of protein thrown in. You can plant it close together to make a live fence, you can feed it to your goats, its seeds act as a water purifying agent, it can grow from cuttings, you can make a super effective plant growth gormone out of its leaves. It is almost absurd how useful it is. My village already grows it but they dont know about making powder from the leaves (which is a much more effective means of getting vitamins). There is a hospital about 6 miles away and I want to look into producing the powder to sell to the hospital. Lots of other ideas as well. Women's gardens, school gardens, permaculture, ad infinitum. They gave me a site where the previous volunteer had done tons of work (in fact I just got $2500 from a grant he had submitted to put in a well for the womens garden) which is great because the people are psyched about Peace Corps.

As we all know, I am by no means a farming or forestry expert...at all. But, I have truly learned the value of a good education, organization skills, and literacty here. I can get on the internet and order seeds from south America for some new crop which could drastically improve their nutrition, then I can record info on different trials to see which worked best. As a PCV in a rural illiterate village, by far the most applicable skill is networking and literacy. And simply coming from a culture rooted in innovation. Even the concept of a new idea is a new idea in the timelessness of rural Africa.

I'm tired of writing and you all are probably tired of reading. Much thanks to everybody for the letters and the support before I left. This was a tough decision, but it was definitely the right decision. I look forward to 2 years of hard work, personal growth, and above all trying to do something positive in the world.

peace

Cam

Happy (upcoming) Holidays Everyone

2006-11-14T17:44:00.000-05:00

and to celebrate, an alernate rendition of the "Twelve Days of Christmas"...on YouTube of course.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrXduG6hUms

Fwd: My Address

2006-10-04T12:08:00.000-04:00

Hello everybody,

I thought I had already mailed out my address a while ago, but maybe I didn't so here it is. I hope everything is good back home.

Here is my address over in The Gambia in case you wanna write

Campbell Moore

US Peace Corps

PO Box 582

Banjul, The Gambia

West Africa

Jam Tan

Cam

Gambia Jambia baby

2006-10-02T16:58:00.000-04:00

Hey everybody,

I'm alive, and I'm also in Africa. Both of which are very cool things. I only have a minute, but...so far things are very very good. The Gambia if full of awesome laid back interesting people. Despite being tiny and having no mountains, it is lovely, and has incredible cultural diversity (about 9 languages in a place the size of New Jersey). I'm learning a language called Pulaar which is spoken by people all over west Africa and even as far away as places like Ethiopia. It should be very useful to learn. My ethnic group (the Fulas) are stereotypically stinky, thieving herders that dont know how to cook, so I should fit right in.

The training is intense. It last about 10 hours a day, and then I go sit in a hot humid stuffy room and try to sleep. Then I wake up and get pumped full of all sorts of vaccinations and spend all day learning languages again.

In a few day's I'll be going out to live in a rural village for the next 2 months or so for training. Then, after that I actually get my assignment.

Things happen sllllooooooowwwwwwwllllllllyyyyyy over here. It should be a good adjustment for me. I'm gonna have a pet goat....

yeah, it is hard to know what to say.
Well....this will probably be the last email for quite a while. I'll send letters, but only if you send them to me first so I can get addresses.

I hope all is well. It was great hanging out with everyone right before I left. Come visit. It will be fun.

Jam Tan (peace only),

Cam

Letters

2006-09-24T23:03:00.000-04:00

I was thinking about it and I realized that it would probably be easier to write letters to people if I knew anybody's address. So...what are your addresses?

Cam

Goodbye

2006-09-21T20:10:00.000-04:00

Hello friends,

As most of you probably already know, I'm leaving in a few days for 27 months of living in The Gambia (Africa) with the Peace Corps. I'm there ostensibly to be doing environmental work, focusing on forestry/reforestation stuff, but in reality, God knows what I'll be doing. Either way, I get to live in Africa for a couple of years, learn a new language or two, and hopefully contribute something positive to the world. Strange as it seems, I think it will provide an opportunity for me to just relax and reflect for a while. The past two years of my life have been incredible--biking across continents with my best friends, living in a yurt on top of a mountain in W Virginia, and freezing my ass off in Massachusetts doing Wilderness Therapy trying to convince juvenile delinquents to stop stabbing people and selling crack. But, I'm also exhausted. Being around people only long enough to remember why you love them, spending 24 hours everyday with one or 2 people for a year at a time and then not seeing them for months, and falling in and out of love with girls based on proximity gets a bit old. Not that its not worth it. It is the shit actually. It is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. But, now it is time for something else.

So, this email has 2 purposes.

One, to give you all my address over there. I'll probably only have email access after the first few months. But, I would really really love to get letters, and I can promise you that I will write back to you.

Campbell Moore, PCV

US Peace Corps

PO Box 582

Banjul, The Gambia

West Africa

And second, to say goodbye and that I love you all (even the people whoose email addresses I dont recognize on this list). Some of you I have know from the second of my birth, and others I've only become friends with in the last year or so. All of you are awesome wonderful people that have enriched my life beyond measure. All the road trips (Big Baby Jesus), St. Mary's bonfires, miles pedalled across the best continent on earth, mountains climbed, protests attended, wastedness on tropical islands, drunken motorbike riding, Rubble Heaps, 40's parties, Kegs 4 Kids, Outdoors club trips, busting through the ice in the St. Mary's river to jump in, and every other awesome moment wih you people has left an indelible imprint on who I am. The best parts of myself have come from all of you. And the best moments of my life have been with you.

Thank you all for being teachers and friends.

Now that I've got the sentimental stuff out of the way...

I'd love to hang out with you all this weekend. I assume everybody already knows about the massive throwdown in DC Friday night, and then the drunken sailing Saturday at St. Mary's and the consequent partying Saturday night. If not, call me--443 404 6066.

If anybody ever wants to come hang out in Africa. I'm down. As far as Africa goes, The Gambia isn't super expensive to fly to. You can actually get really cheap charter flights to Senegal or The Gambia from Britain or Germany. And Morroco isn't all that far (in a relative sense), I could meet there. Lastly...Tanzania anyone? I get 24 days off a year that I would like to spend wrestling lions in the Serengeti...or climbing Kilimanjaro--I could use some backup. And finally, who knows what will have happened by then, but for now, I'm planning on spending all my "Readjusment allowance" on India, Pakistan, and Tibet in 2009, so if anybody is interested...

and remember...if you are ever feeling down, somebody in Africa loves you.

You people are fanstastic. I can't wait to see all the great things you will do with your lives.

Now for some shout-outs:

Jesse Moore- You are my best friend. You are also a tough motherfucker and I believe in you and know you can get through this.

Phillipe- You are my other best friend. I will now admit that I love Holland. Go study Arabic so we can be mujahideen.

Danny Miller- You are so wise. You're like a miniature Buddha all covered in fur (or back hair). I'll see you in enlightenmentville 10,000 years after you are there.

Alec Muller- Let me know when you find out which idyllic tropical island you are from. I'll come live with you there.

Yen- PHYSICS! You are the shit Yen. Go to Indonesia.

Kenny Fletcher- You have been my friend for 10 years, and my appreciation of how great a person you are only grows every year. Tell NPR I said hi.

Ken Bogel- Maybe we should have our ecovillage on Ko Chang.

Kenna Hernly- You are great and you will do great at whatever you do in life.

Matoska- I can't even count the years of our friendship. Hopefully there will be many more.

J-bob- Where in God's name is your crazy ass? Come to Africa.

Tweek- You are one of my favorite people on Earth, and not just because of your beautiful blond locks.

Greg Grim- You are a great person, and I am often an idiot. I'm sorry. You are also one of the only people on Earth I would get wasted with at a tribal village in Laos 40 miles up a river from the nearest road at, and then insult the nice and well-meaning villagers, steal a sinking bamboo raft from them, and then float down a river at night in the jungle filled with tigers while getting our raft smashed apart on rapids, and then pass out on a sandbar, and feel totally cool and comfortable with the situation.

Mikey Church- You are the other person I would feel alright with doing that with. Hell, I'd feel downright psyched about it. Thanks for the years of friendship, the thousands of miles, the hundreds of stupid and dangerous future expeditions dreamed up, and for teaching me a lot about myself and what friendship is.

Re: Good Morning Teacher!!!

2006-09-11T01:04:00.000-04:00

Howdy,

I'd like to make a couple of corrections/addendums to
Mikey's note here:
1. That's horse milk, not horde milk.
2. Mikey killed his pet trilobites within 24 hours. I
wouldn't trust him with the small hellions he's now in
charge of 20 hours a week.
3. the Navajo/Yabba Pima Indian is our wonderful
roommate, Tahlia, the literature teacher at the
school.
4. In addition to vodka class, there were also beer
and wine classes. I think I've got my work cut out
for me here. Actually, I just got an email from a
Frenchman who's working with an NGO on the alcohol and
TB problem in the ger districts of the city; we'll
meet in the next couple of weeks. Hope I can start
out doing some volunteering for them.

More later,
Katie

--- Michael Church <mikeylikesbikes@yahoo.com> wrote:

> Howdy Folks,
> It's kinda cool when you can write your sibling an
> email saying something like, "I'm getting on a train
> to Ulan Bataar in 12hrs, I don't know how long the
> train trip is or when it arrives. Hope to see you
> at the train station and if not I'll find you in the
> city some how." And then a day and a half later you
> arrive in the backwater capital of a Central Asian
> country and your sister steps out of a crowd and
> gives you a hug.
> Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a
> schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia.
> UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets
> are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head
> phones mixing with old weather beaten herders
> wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated
> leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet
> high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional
> Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik,
> fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country
> bumpkins alike.
> Kate and I are sharing a 7th story apartment,
> about two blocks from the national wrestling palace
> and two blocks from the school, with a Navaho
> Indian. I sleep in the hallway and have three pet
> trilobites that live on the porch.
> There is a convenient store attached to the side
> of our building and an old man sells fresh yogurt
> and milk outside every morning. We are one block
> from a pretty sweet, and by sweet I mean trashy,
> Mongolian nightclub and Karaoke bar.
> I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2nd
> and 3rd graders conversational English on Monday.
> It is fun when my schedual changes and no one tells
> me.
> The kids here are wild children of the steppe. The
> classes I'm teaching have a wide mixture of English
> levels. Some children are fluent, native
> speakers--one of their parents is western or they
> have lived in England or the US--and other students
> have no English language--their parents drop them
> off the horse in the morning. I have been giving
> kids English names if they don't already have them;
> there is a Chip and Dale, and a Daisy. One kid who
> already had an English name calls himself Robokop,
> pronounced Robo Cop-- he's pretty cool. Other good
> names are Rex, Rocky and Ke Ke.
> As an introduction to the class I allowed the
> children to ask me any questions they wanted. I
> answered how old I am, where Im from, whats my
> girlfriends name, etc And then one kid asked me,
> All dinosaurs have tails, to which I didnt know
> how to respond.
> The children are generally horrible and Im I'm
> not the greatest disciplinarian. I've got too much
> sympathy with the wild ones, since I used to be one.
> But as I grow into this role things are generally
> getting better.
> This weekend all the teachers of the school,
> Mongolian and foreign, went to the county side for a
> teacher development day. Still in the parking lot
> the gym teacher was already measuring out shots of
> Chinggis Khan vodka for everybody on board.
> Hurtling through the rolling autumnal steppe, three
> bottles, and a lot of singing latter we arrived at
> the retreat, a beautiful ger camp, set amid huge
> glaciated granite formations.
> After a special mutton lunch which involved lots
> of toasting we were allowed free time to hike in the
> mountains but were told to be back by four for a
> teacher meeting. At the appointed hour we all piled
> into a ger for what the Mongolian teachers referred
> to as vodka class.
> All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant
> professional development day. Thats the news from
> this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up
> to.
> Mikey

Confucius says, "Butcher who back into meatgrinder get a little behind in business."

__________________________________________________
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Re: Vacation

2006-09-10T23:21:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

It's kinda cool when you can write your sibling an email saying something like, "I'm getting on a train to Ulan Bataar in 12hrs, I don't know how long the train trip is or when it arrives. Hope to see you at the train station and if not I'll find you in the city some how." And then a day and a half later you arrive in the backwater capital of a Central Asian country and your sister steps out of a crowd and gives you a hug.

Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia. UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head phones mixing with old weather beaten herders wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik, fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country bumpkins alike.

Kate and I are sharing a 7^th story apartment, about two blocks from the national wrestling palace and two blocks from the school, with a Navaho Indian. I sleep in the hallway and have three pet trilobites that live on the porch.

There is a convenient store attached to the side of our building and an old man sells fresh yogurt and milk outside every morning. We are one block from a pretty sweet, and by sweet I mean trashy, Mongolian nightclub and Karaoke bar.

I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2^nd and 3^rd graders conversational English on Monday.

The kids here are wild children of the steppe. The classes I'm teaching have a wide mixture of English levels. Some children are fluent, native speakers--one of their parents is western or they have lived in England or the US--and other students have no English language--their parents drop them off the horse in the morning. I have been giving kids English names if they don't already have them; there is a Chip and Dale, and a Daisy. One kid who already had an English name calls himself Robokop, pronounced Robo Cop-- he's pretty cool. Other good names are Rex, Rocky and Ke Ke.

As an introduction to the class I allowed the children to ask me any questions they wanted. I answered how old I am, where Im from, whats my girlfriends name, etc And then one kid asked me, All dinosaurs have tails, to which I didnt know how to respond. And then I was asked to name all the planets in out solar system. I considered it a trick question for a moment, since Pluto has recently been demoted to a planetoid and a new planet-ish body has been discovered on the outer reaches of our system, but it turns out I was over estimating the second grader.

The children are generally horrible and Im I'm not the greatest disciplinarian. I've got too much sympathy with the wild ones, since I used to be one. But as I grow into this role things are generally getting better.

This weekend all the teachers of the school, Mongolian and foreign, went to the county side for a teacher development day. Still in the parking lot the gym teacher was already measuring out shots of Chinggis Khan vodka for everybody on board. Hurtling through the rolling autumnal steppe, three bottles, and a lot of singing latter we arrived at the retreat, a beautiful ger camp, set amid huge glaciated granite formations.

After a special mutton lunch which involved lots of toasting we were allowed free time to hike in the mountains but were told to be back by four for a teacher meeting. At the appointed hour we all piled into a ger for what the Mongolian teachers referred to as vodka class.

All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant professional development day. Thats the news from this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up to.

Mikey

All-new Yahoo! Mail - Fire up a more powerful email and get things done faster.

Good Morning Teacher!!!

2006-09-10T23:19:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia.

UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head phones mixing with old weather beaten herders wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik, fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country bumpkins alike.

I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2^nd and 3^rd graders conversational English on Monday. It is fun when my schedual changes and no one tells me.

All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant professional development day. Thats the news from this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up to.

Mikey

Want to be your own boss? Learn how on Yahoo! Small Business.

Vacation

2006-08-22T10:56:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

I'm currently in Chang Mai, Thailand, taking a vacation from riding my bike. Big daily activities include reaching for my fruit shake from my hammock, reading Walden agein, and getting massaged.

Just finished a quick junt through Cambodia with my best closest friend, Ali Sharp. The tourist activities around Poneng Phen are quite morbid. Learned alot about land mines and genocide at ther Killing Fields and SR 1 the Khmer Rouge's most notorious prioson. There are more amputies there then any other place I have traveled. Eye opening.

There are other activities for those less into history. Over the years I have heard stories abotu how it is possible to shoot cows with RPGs when in Cambodia. One day a tuk tuk, three wheeled motorcyle cab, driver asked Ali if she wanted to shoot an AK 47. Ali responded no she didn't, she has already fired automatic weapons in America, but what about a cow? The tuk tuk driver looked suprised for a second and said, "Oh, you want to shoot cow, very expensive. Used to be every tourist come to Cambodia shoot cow for fun. Now cow very expensive.

Spent four days climbing about the largest temple complex in the world, Ankor Wat, the capital of the Khmer empire. It is perhaps the greatest arcitecual relic in the world. The only place I know of which rivials it for granduer complimented by natural scenery is the Nepitian capital at Petra in Jordan.

The funniest thing I herd in Cambodia was when a motorcycle taxi driver asked me if I had ever met George Bush. When I answered 'No', he sighed and looking at the ground commented "I never met my king either.

That's my life in a nut shell. I'll be home sooner then later, let me know where you at.

Mikey

Talk is cheap. Use Yahoo! Messenger to make PC-to-Phone calls. Great rates starting at 1¢/min.

Vacation

2006-08-22T10:37:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

I'm currently in Chang Mai, Thailand, taking a vacation from riding my bike. Big daily activities include reaching for my fruit shake from my hammock, reading Walden agein, and getting massaged.

Just finished a quick junt through Cambodia with my best closest friend, Ali Sharp. The tourist activities around Poneng Phen are quite morbid. Learned alot about land mines and genocide at ther Killing Fields and SR 1 the Khmer Rouge's most notorious prioson. There are more amputies there then any other place I have traveled. Eye opening.

There are other activities for those less into history. Over the years I have heard stories abotu how it is possible to shoot cows with RPGs when in Cambodia. One day a tuk tuk, three wheeled motorcyle cab, driver asked Ali if she wanted to shoot an AK 47. Ali responded no she didn't, she has already fired automatic weapons in America, but what about a cow? The tuk tuk driver looked suprised for a second and said, "Oh, you want to shoot cow, very expensive. Used to be every tourist come to Cambodia shoot cow for fun. Now cow very expensive.

Spent four days climbing about the largest temple complex in the world, Ankor Wat, the capital of the Khmer empire. It is perhaps the greatest arcitecual relic in the world. The only place I know of which rivials it for granduer complimented by natural scenery is the Nepitian capital at Petra in Jordan.

The funniest thing I herd in Cambodia was when a motorcycle taxi driver asked me if I had ever met George Bush. When I answered 'No' he sighed that he had never met his king either.

That's my life in a nut shell. I'll be home sooner then later, let me know where you at.

Mikey

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I'm home

2006-08-10T15:39:00.000-04:00

Hey everybody,

For those that don't already know, I'm back in these here United States from Asia. All is well, the trip finished well, and Asia is still there and doing quite well in case you were wondering. I'll be in the Maryland area until Sept 20, when I leave to go to The Gambia with the Peace Corps, to spend a couple years planting trees. In the meantime, hit me up.

Cam

410 535 2030

Alive

2006-07-21T09:16:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

Just arrived in Kashgar, China, after a marathon push across Tajikistan's desert Pamir Plateau. Since I have last written we have been on the move non-stop, peddling, pushing, and portaging our bikes for two weeks straight.

From Khorog, Cam and I set off down the Wakhan corridor, continuing to follow the Oxus river a further 300km along the Afghan boarder. The river shrinks to a racing mountain brook which one can hop across on exposed rocks. Looking to the south as we rode we could often view the staggering 7000m white monsters of the Hindu Kush which make up the boarder between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The name Hindu Kush literally translates into "Killer of Hindus."  The name comes from a legend which tells of a Muslim and a Hindu going into the mountains together in the winter. As the weather became more extreme the Muslim asked to buy the Hindu's coat. The Hindu quotes an outrageous price which the Muslim paid. The Hindu gloated that he had made such a profit. In the end, the Hindu freezes to death and the Muslim gets the money and the coat.

The people of the Wakhan follow a form of Islam, Islami, which boarders on shamanism. Along the way we frequently passed shrines and mausoleums to Sufi mystic teachers and other revered men, decorated profusely with the antlers of Ibex and Marco Polo Sheep.  We were often invited into beautiful Pamiri houses for tea, and if we were lucky an impromptu concert of old folk songs accompanied by the Du tar, an erei sounding two stringed instrument.

Crossing the pass which separates the Wahkan from the rest of the Pamir, the road degenerates into a sandy track.  Not a single vehicle passed us that day. Pausing to catch my breath I looked around me and realized that other then the wind swept track, there was no evidence of humans. Slowly I came to the realization that we were really alone crept over me making the hairs on the back of my head raise up.  The emotion which accompanies such a realization is difficult to impart, except to say that it is terrifying and totally exhilarating at the same moment.

Back on the Pamir Highway we took a two day side trip following a faint jeep track down a river valley.  Along the way we were forced to ford rivers belly button deep and carry our bikes over big rock slides. We were rewarded by a most spectacular camp sites on the bank of a huge alpine lake whose damn had been created by a earthquake. The white caps rose vertical out of the quicksilver lake as dark storm clouds raced overhead.

From the only town in the Pamirs, Murgab, we tried for a newly opened boarder crossing with China at the 4300m Kulma pass. Biking 100km out of the way through waterless alpine plateau we were denied entrance by prudent Chinese authorities. I only know one Chinese curse word so I yelled it, "Tamada Bong!" Our detour was not entirely in vain, we where rewarded with a spectacular view of China's 7500m Mustagata.

Our forced retreat compelled us to travel 300km over three days, including a 4600m pass in order to get out to Tajik before our visas ran up. Along the way we took many meals with yurt dwelling herders eaking out a living in this inhospitable environment. Entering Kyrgyzstan, the the landscape became lush rolling hills and one could feel that it is a bountiful land compared to it's poor southern neighbor. I sat up all night with a couple of drunk herders to catch the World Cup on a scratchy black and white TV. The herders were more into getting drunk then watching the game, although they supported opposing sides in order to entertain me.

Tired of two weeks consecutive riding we decided to make one final all-out push to the Uyghur bazaar town of Kashgar.  Riding into the night, the road was eerily dark as low heavy cloud cover and intermittent rain obscured the otherwise bright moon. 13hrs and 272km later we limped into a still asleep Kashgar.  All and all the ride was fairly uneventful as we raced through sleepy little mud brick, Uyghur towns. The closest call came when I nearly ran into a camel lumbering across the road in the pitch dark.

We are now relaxing in Kashgar, enjoying the bounty of food. We cleared a super market out of their entire stock of Oreo's.

Got to run, late for a dinner engagement,

Alive,

Mikey

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Alive

2006-07-15T07:44:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

Just arrived in Kashgar, China, after a marathon push across Tajikistan's desert Pamir Platue. Since I have last written we have been on the move non-stop, peddling, pushing, and portaging our bikes for two weeks straight.

From Khorog, Cam and I set off down the Wakhan corridor, continuing to follow the Oxus river a further 300km along the Afgan boarder. The river shrinks to a racing mountian brook which one could hop across on the exposed rocks. Looking to the right as we rode along we could often view the staggering 7000m white monsters of the Hindu Kush which make up the boarder between Afganistan and Pakistan. The name Hindu Kush litteraly translates into "Killer of Hindus." It comes from a legend which tells of a Muslim and a Hindu going into the mountians together in the winter. As the weather became more extreme the Muslim asked to buy the Hindu's coat. The Hindu asked an outragous price which the Muslim paid. The Hindu gloated that he had made such a profit. In the end, the Hindu freezes to death and the Muslim gets the money and the coat.

The people of the Wakhan follow a form of Islam, Islami, which boardes on shaminism. Along the way we frequently passed shrines and mosuleums to Sufi mystic teachers and other reveared men, decorated profusly with the antlers of Ibyx and Marco Polo Sheep. We were often invited into beutiful Pamiri houses for tea, and if we were lucky an impromptue consert of old folk songs accopinied by the Dutar, an eire sounding two stringed insterment.

Crossing the pass which seperates the Wahkan from the rest of the Pamir, the road degenerates into a sandy track. Pausing for a moment to catch my breath I looked arund me and realised, as we had not seen another human for nearly a day and a half, that other then the wind swept track, there was no other evidence of humans within sight. Slowly I came to the realzation that we were really alone crept over me making the hairs on the bakc of my head raise up. It is a feeling difficult feeling to describe, except to say that it is terrrifying and totally exilerating at the same moment.

Back on the Pamir Highway we took a two day sidetrip following a faint jeep track down a river valley. Along the way we were forced to ford rivers belly botton deep and carry our bikes over big rock slides. We were rewarded be one of the most spectacular camp sites on the banks of a huge alpine lake whose damn had been created by a earthquake. The white caps rose vertical out of the quicksilver lake as dark storm clouds raced overhead.

From the only town in the Pamirs, Murgab, we tried for a newly opened boarder crossing with China at the 4300m Kulma pass. Biking 100km out of the way through waterless alpine platue we were denied entrance by prudent Chinese athorities. I only know one Chinese cuse word so I yelled it, "Tamada Bong!" Our deture was not entirely in vain, we where rewarded with a spectacular view of China's 7500m Mustagata.

Our forced retreat compelled us to travel 300km over three days, including a 4600m pass in order to get out ot Tajik before our visas ran up. Along the way we took many meals with yurt dwelling herders eaking out a living in this inhospitable enviroment. Entering Kyrgystan, the the landscape became lush roliing hills and one could feel that this is a bountiful land compaired to it's poor southern neibor.

Tierd of riding we decided to make one final push to the Uyghur bazaar town of Kashgar, riding untill we got there. 13hrs and 272km later we limped into a still asleep Kashgar. The night eerily dark due to the heavy cloud cover and intermitant rain. The closest call came when I nearly ran into a camel lumbering across the road in the pitch dark.

We are now relaxing in Kashgar, enjoying the bountiy of food. We cleared a super market out of their entire stock of Oreo's.

Got to run, late for a dinner engagment,

Alive,

Mikey

Michael Church <mikeylikesbikes@yahoo.com> wrote:

Howdy Folks,

In two days I've been invited to as many weddings. Seems the Tajik summer of love is upon us.

We have spent the past week cycling over mountians and along the river Oxsus of antiquity. I can literaly hit Afganistan with rocks.

One would think it would be ackward to be pulled off the street and ushered into a traditional wedding celebration among complete strangers, but in reality nothing is more natural, particularly after a couple of shots of vodka with the gooms older brother. Hitting the dance floor with Afgan men and flirtatious central asian women, I was told repeatedly that I was an excelent dancer. I was asked to say a toast to the newly weds which was translated by a charming eleven year old girl who spoke english very well. I'm not exactly sure what she said, but everybody laughed at the end.

We head in to the Wakhan Corridor tomarrow, another 300km along the Afgan boarder with 7000meter peaks on either side. Ought to be a hoot..if our bikes hold up.

The rough roads here have been very tough on out steeds. My drive side chain stay, one of the main points which connects the rear wheel to the bike, broke clean through last week. I walked it to the next town where the local greese monkey welded it back together. We've just finished building Greg wheels with Chinese rims and his old hubs, since his rims cracked under the strain of horrible road conditions.

Will be out of communication for acouple of weeks, headed into the wilds...

Mikey

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The END

2006-07-13T13:46:00.000-04:00

And so another bicycling trip ends....

I wonder how many times in my life I will send home emails starting with that sentence. Hopefully many more.

As of about 3:30 AM on July 12 those wheels stopped rolling, those spokes stopped cutting the ether, and my body quit converting glucose into forward momentum. Not that I'm coming home yet. I'll spend the next month or so hanging out in China and Thailand getting the least amount of exercise possible and eating as much food as is possible--the exact opposite of what the last month has been. Then, if all goes well I should be going into the Peace Corps sometime in September to cut my teeth on a new continent--Africa.

As I love facts and statistics, I'll do a little Best of/Fact Sheet on this trip, and then a few words on the last month of cycling.

The Nitty Gritty:

The Route: Turkey, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, China. The entire span of Central Asia

Distance: No idea...we dont have odometers....probably about 3,000 miles or 5,000 km. maybe more.

Time: 3 and 1/2 months

Longest Cycling day: 271 km (162 miles)

Shortest Cycling day: 1 km (to find a campsite that was not inhabited by 6 inch long death spiders from hell)

Best Food: Georgia. Undoubtedly. To my tastebuds, Georgian cuisine is the second best on earth after Thai. Imagine eggplants stuffed with garlic walnut paste...oh my god.

Worst Food: Badachshan Pamirs. Mikey and I subsisted on mushy noodles with synthetic chicken flavor for endless days. Sometimes absolutely no vitamins in our overtaxed bodies for 3 or 4 days at a time.

Best Hospitality:

1. Georgia. Georgians will stuff you with mountains of food and endless endless (did I say endless) gallons of delicious homemade wine, until, before you know it you and Greg are dancing with a bride at a wedding and giving slurred speeches to 800 cheering men, and then running across the border with Azerbaijan yelling at the top of your lungs while being trailed by the police....hmmm maybe I shouldnt tell that story. Georgian hospitality is truly out of this world. But, under it's exuberant joy, there is a subtly felt element of exciting instabilty. It's like "You will drink 7 liters of wine with me right now! And I will feed you the best food you've had in your life and then invite you to live with me! But, if you refuse, my clan will declare a blood feud on you and your friends for the next thousand years!" Fanstastic. It's that kind of hospitality.

2. Tajikistan. Tajiks, particularly Pamiri Tajiks, will kill their last goat to feed you even though the whole family may not eat that day. Then they will put their hand over their heart and with dignity and respect refuse the smallest compensation for their kindness. Truly wonderful and joyful people.

Hottest Day: 105 degrees....somewhere in Uzbekistan.

Coldest Day: below freezing, Kackar mountains of Turkey.

Deepest snow on side of road: over 20 feet, first pass in Georgia.

Cutest Alpine mammal: Golden Marmots, all over Tajikistan. They are like golden, fat prairie dogs.

Highest elevation: 15,550 feet, Akbaijtal Pass Tajikistan

Lowest elevation: -66 feet, Caspian Sea.

Weirdest foods: Gnawing goat skin off the head--Kashgar, China. Or...fermented horse milk, Kyrgyzstan

Most beautiful sight: Anzob Pass, Tajikistan. Mountains as jagged as broken glass. Glaciers like frozen coiled snakes. Grasslands like foam washed upon the slopes. Almost a spiritual experience.

Nearest potentially hilarious crash: During our overnight marathon ride to China, Mikey almost hit an 8 foot tall, two humped Bactrian camel and I almost hit Mikey.

Best Architecture: Tamerlane's numerous 800 year old madrassas, mosques and bazaars in Bukhara, Uzbekistan.

Other means of transportation: boat, horse, train, and donkey

Longest time without a shower: From Samarkand, Uzbekistan until yesterday morning in Kashgar. Across 4 countries and about 1 and 1/2 months. But, there were some alpine streams and a hot spring waterfall (mmm....) in there.

Least cars in one day: One. Hargush Pass, Tajikistan.

Most overpriced hotel: Vaksh hotel, Dushanbe. It cost $25 for a room and the few times that there was running water it was the color and smell of sewage.

Worst roads: Georgia

Best roads: China

Most beautiful country I've never been to: Afghanistan. We road along the Afghan border for no less than 400 miles through Tajikistan. Sometimes you could hope across the river seperating the 2 countries. The absolutely beautiful and peaceful mud brick villages, connected to the outside world only by 200 mile long donkey trails were a wonderful sight.

Great Moments:

-Eating watermelon on the Fourth of July as snow fell.

-Countless moments of waking up under the best stars of my life in Tajikistan.

-Moments when the reality of how truly lucky you are hits you. Your breath comes short and gasping and you yell and whoop at the top of your lungs in an empty valley under an azure sky.

-Biking across flat, hard packed desert sand 25 miles from the nearest road on the way to an alpine lake in the Pamirs.

-Standing in the Wakhan Valley in Tajikistan and looking over Afghanistan and up to the 26,000 foot peaks of Pakistan's Hindu Kush.

-A baby horse racing us down the road in Azerbaijan.

-Contemplating carrying our bikes over a 10,000 foot pass covered in 40 foot deep snow to find some alleged mule trail on the other side in late winter in Turkey.

Bad Moments: Not worth remembering.

Best overall country: Tajikistan, without a doubt. Kyrgyzstan looked amazing as well from the 48 hours I spent there.

Final thoughts: Life is a truly wonderful gift. Use it. I'm not sure what these bike trips are really about. People fairly frequently ask what I'm searching for. I don't exactly know, but I do know that with every impractical decision or risk undertaken in the quest of living life to the fullest, the clouds part a little more. On a practical note, many have asked over the years how on earth I pay for this. I've funded nearly 2 years of life changing experiences for the price of a used car--about $8500. I could have made different decisions after college. I could have been responsible, practical, or smart. But, I chose to be inspired by absurd dreams above all else. And I can never regret where it has taken me. I hope that over the last 2 years (even though I have slacked a lot on the emails on this bike trip) I've managed to bring a little of the world back to your homes. But...I hope much more that I've managed to whet your appetite. There is a big beautiful world out there waiting with open arms.

Be inspired.

As Thoreau said:

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Find your woods.

For those of you that haven't tuned in recently, we spent the last month cycling through Tajikistan on the Pamir highway--one of the highest, and least accessible roads on earth traversing close to a thousand miles of high altitude mountains, glaciers, deserts and salt lakes. From what I've seen of this little planet, Tajikistan is truly one of the most amazing parts. There were uncountable moments of breathtaking beauty. The silent desolation of vast empty desert valleys surrounded by snow peaks that can be seen from 80 or 100 miles away, with nothing but the sound of the wind and your own breath, is a feeling I will not forget. We did the most hard core biking I've ever done. We took bikes over 25 miles from the nearest road, lugging and pushing them over desert, alpine bog, scree slopes, and pastureland. We cycled out to the Kulma pass with China (where the Chinese denied us entry, necessitating a 350 mile detour) through a landscape that few non-Tajiks and non-Chinese have witnessed. In short...it may have been the best cycling ever.

After leaving Tajikistan Mikey and I (Greg had decided to do a bit of cycling on his own and was a few days ahead of us) crossed into Kyrgyzstan to spend 2 days cycling with the glaciers of the 20,000-24,000 tall Pamir Alay mountains reaching all the way down to the broad verdant valley of waving grass that the road traced a line through. Nomads in yurts, with their herds of yaks, goats, sheep, and beautiful horses, constantly invited us in to stuff us with the bounty of the green steppe--pounds and pounds of fresh butter, cream and kumys (fermented horse milk). We spent a whole afternoon testing our virility against the ever so manly Kyrgyz. America fared well in the wrestling, pushups, volleyball and soccer competitions. But, when it came to leaning off a galloping horse to snatch your jacket from the ground, I admit we were a disgrace. It's alright though, I made up for it with some sort of obscure dance move called the "Kid n' Play" where you jump through the loop created by grabbing your foot with one hand--the Kyrgyz were duly impressed.

We rolled towards the Kyrgyz-Chinese border on our 14th consecutive day of hard cycling quite ready for a rest. A little ways into China as the sun set under light rain in the western desert I decided I would like to wake up the next day in Kashgar, still about 190 km away. With the gleam of insanity in my eyes I proposed the idea to Mikey and we decided to see just exactly what we were made of. About 8 hours later in the early morning hours, after 271 km (162 miles), about 14 hours on the bike, from Kyrgyz grassland, through Chinese high mountain desert, we arrived in Kashgar only to find that all the hotels were closed and we had to sleep in the drizzle with mosquitoes in a garden. So it goes. It's great.

I love you all and will hopefully see you all again.

News from Ecuador

2006-07-02T11:02:00.000-04:00

Hello all,

I stole this list from Cam, but I think that I know most of you.

Cam, Mikey and Greg I wish you good and safe travels over the mountains into China, nice tailwinds, tasty food and fun times with friendly people.

Yaron, good luck with the campaign and kayaking.

For those of you that I haven´t spoken to in a while, I arrived in the Ecuador with my girlfriend Agnes the night of June 21. So far I have had an awesome time. Agnes is heading back home July 12, where I´ll be starting a volunteer program on the coast until mid August. I´ll be back in Maryland August 16th and will start a masters in journalism program at the University of Maryland August 30 and I´ll be moving to College park.

If any of you have some time to kill and are interested in tis amazing South American country, below are some excerpts of emails I´ve been sending to my family about Ecuador.

I have a few pictures online at the address below, there should be some better ones up later in the week.

http://www.kwicfinder.com/gallery/?dir=Kenny/Ecuador/Ecuador&mode=2&limit=24&name=Ecuador

Hope that everyone is well, let me know how you are doing!

-Kenny

__________________________________________________________

We had a great stay with my distant cousin Andrew and his wife Estela in Cotacachi. Estela is very nice, she is Quichua (indigenous) and grew up in Cotacachi with her 8 brothers and sisters. Her family still lives down the road where they have a little farm and they raise chickens and guinea pigs for food. She told us a lot about life in that area and both know a lot about the indigenous communities as they work closely with them in helping to organize and govern.

Cotacachi is a small, mainly indigenous city with two big volcanoes on either side, both about 5000 meters tall and a gentle valley in between where there is a lot of corn and potato farming (big staples in the Andean food). One day we took a taxi up the mountainside to a deep clear lake formed in a volcanic crater. It is surrounded by steep cliffs several hundred feet high that formed the rim of the volcano. We took a boat ride around the lake where we stopped by the two islands in the middle and saw bubbles rising to the surface from volcanic activity. I was lucky enough to catch sight of an Andean condor soaring high in the clouds by the volcano peak.

The next day Andrew packed up his burro, Judy, with our luggage and we walked about 45 minutes up the mountain to an indigenous community, Chilcapamba. While not exactly towns, the hillsides are dotted with these communities of local farmers. Usually they have no more than a main dirt road, a primary school, a small store and about 50'-100 families living off agriculture.

We stayed in a cabin managed by Segundo Morales and family, a leader in the community. He built the cabin as a way to bring tourists and income to the area and also for others to learn about traditional life up in the Andes. After a big lunch of spinach and potato soup followed by rice and chicken, Segundo returned to the fields to irrigate his peas while his 6 sons and daughters (ages 3-14) led us on a hike up the valley to see the source of water for the community.

We followed a clear, fast flowing canal up a deep green valley where cows wandered and women washed their clothes in the stream (and yes, the kids drank out of the canal downstream from the clothes and cows). The source ended up being a few spurts of water coming out of a rock in the mountainside (enough to nourish 100 families), but the hike and views of the valley and mountains were amazing.

After returning we had a big dinner with some good squash soup and heard stories about the fights over water in the area and the evangelical missionaries that arrived in the 70´s. Their youngest, Rusty Andres Morales was named after missionary Rusty from Texas and my distant relative Andrew. We ended up taking out the Quichua-Spanish dictionary and learned some Quichua words (Quichua is the main language of most of the indigenous people in the area.

Anyway, a lot more has happened since... To sum it up we descended westward from 3000 meters to 1200 and into verdant cloud forest and the town of Mindo (surrounded by jungle covered steep hills). It is a sleepy ecotourist place where the many hotels and restaraunts seem empty and the guides seem bored. We took guided walks up to waterfalls and spent time swimming and relaxing in the clean, clear waters of the many rivers. So far we´ve seen Quetzales, neon yellow toucans, a nesting Andean cock of the rock, a basilisk lizard and tons of other neat animals. It has been great and very relaxing here. Tomorrow morning we board a bus back up into the Andes to the city of Latacunga, among the highest peaks of Ecuador. It should be exciting.

__________________________________________________

We are still in Latacunga at 2800 meters but getting ready to head to the tourist city of Baños on the western slopes of the Andes about 1000 meters lower. Yesterday was an amazing day. We booked an excursion up the slopes of volcan Cotopaxi, at 5800 meters it is the highest active volcano in the world. In 1867 the volcano erupted, burying the city we are in now in 15 meters of ash and lava. I guess people must have like the location a lot, as they rebuilt and now there are all sorts of seismic warning devices to predict future eruptions and the city has grown from 20,000 to close to 70,000.

Ruben, our friendly, funny 30ish mestizo guide met us at the hotel at 8 am and together with two German tourists we started up the foothills in his jeep. Ruben is an aspiring photographer and we stopped often to take pictures of the clouds flitting around the snow covered cone of the volcano and sheep, burros and indigenous people in the green fields on the slopes. After an hour we reached paramo at around 3500 meters. In this environment where it is too cold and windy for trees to grow. Instead we drove up the dirt track amond high silvery grasses, gnarled bushes and low growing yellow and pink wildflowers. In this habitat llamas, vicuña, wolves, rabbits and birds thrive. We continued another half hour to the mountain climbers refuge at close to 4000 meters. Ruben explained that while our bodies had become acclimized to the thin air at 2800 meters we needed to take it very easy here as our bodies adjusted to the higher altitude (like walking on the moon he said). The five of us started at a very slow pace up a cañon formed by an eruption and strewn with ash. Because we moved carefully and stopped often to rest, none of us had any problems with altitude. As we continued all plants petered out and the wind almost knocked me down a few times. Clouds were blown across us and we were buffeted with water droplets, then before we knew it we´d be out in the sun again. Ruben explained that it was windier than usual. Nevertheless, we were excited to continue, catching glimpses of the glaciers and snow a few hundred meters higher up the mountain.

We reached about 4300 meters on our hike and the edge of a cañon at least 100 meters deep where we could see a waterfall down below and all of the layers created by the lava flows during past eruptions. We had a nice lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches in the wind and the rain, saw a rainbow down below and passed by a few llamas as we descended. It was a unique experience, we both were really glad to have done it. We´ll get some pictures up as soon as we can find a card reader (hopefully soon) and I´ll put some up with both of us in them.

For the next few days we´ll be relaxing by the hot springs that gave Baños its name and hiking in the forest watching for animals. Later on in the week we are booking a trip deeper into the Amazon to Cuyabeno reserve where we should see lots of cool stuff.

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Tajik Matrimony

2006-06-27T10:33:00.000-04:00

Dinner is in about 5 minutes so its gonna have to be a quick one.

In the last 10 days...

I went to two Tajik weddings.

I drank vodka and danced around in a circle with 100 Tajiks for about 5 straight hours.

An 11 year old girl translated a toast we gave to the wedding party and then asked us to sing a song in English for the whole wedding.

I spent 7 days cycling within a literal stone's throw of Afghanistan through some of the world's most beautiful scenery.

In the next 15 days...

I will ride my bike over passes as high as 16,000 feet.

I will cycle past 2,500 year old ruins of Zoroastrian and Buddhist hermitages perched on cliffs above the headwaters of the Amu Darya (known to Alexander the Great as the Oxus). I will follow Marco Polo's route across a land so high that he said "flames burn a clear white and no bird can fly this high" (he was exaggerating a bit).

I may be among the first foreigners to cross from Tajikistan to China in about 75 years.

I will be among the very handful of people to have ever cycled through the 200 mile "Wakhan Corridor". This is the grand valley shared by Tajikistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan shadowed by some of the word's greatest peaks. It was the homeland of Ahmed Shah Masoud, the leader of the Northern Alliance that fought against the Taliban for years, and who was killed in a suicide bombing on September 10, 2001.

I will climb on glaciers and relax in hot springs.

I will further explore the ethnic mishmash and linguistic diversity that is Central Asia, where borders have nothing to do with language or ethnicity. There are more Tajiks over the border in Afghanistan than there are here in Tajikistan. One day in Uzbekistan I bought some milk--I said hello in Arabic, asked the price in Russian, confirmed the price in Uzbek, and said thank you in Tajik.

I will read a lot, meditate a lot, and eat the vast reserves of snickers bars that we have stocked up with for the journey.

I will feel pain, hunger, fatigue, thirst and above all joy.

peace

Cam

Tajik Summer of Love

2006-06-27T10:23:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

In two days I've been invited to as many weddings. Seems the Tajik summer of love is upon us.

We have spent the past week cycling over mountians and along the river Oxsus of antiquity. I can literaly hit Afganistan with rocks.

One would think it would be ackward to be pulled off the street and ushered into a traditional wedding celebration among complete strangers, but in reality nothing is more natural, particularly after a couple of shots of vodka with the gooms older brother. Hitting the dance floor with Afgan men and flirtatious central asian women, I was told repeatedly that I was an excelent dancer. I was asked to say a toast to the newly weds which was translated by a charming eleven year old girl who spoke english very well. I'm not exactly sure what she said, but everybody laughed at the end.

We head in to the Wakhan Corridor tomarrow, another 300km along the Afgan boarder with 7000meter peaks on either side. Ought to be a hoot..if our bikes hold up.

The rough roads here have been very tough on out steeds. My drive side chain stay, one of the main points which connects the rear wheel to the bike, broke clean through last week. I walked it to the next town where the local greese monkey welded it back together. We've just finished building Greg wheels with Chinese rims and his old hubs, since his rims cracked under the strain of horrible road conditions.

Will be out of communication for acouple of weeks, headed into the wilds...

Mikey

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Tajik Summer of Love

2006-06-27T10:22:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

In two days I've been invited to as many weddings. Seems the Tajik summer of love is upon us.

We have spent the past week cycling over mountians and along the river Oxsus of antiquity. I can literaly hit Afganistan with rocks.

We head in to the Wakhan Corridor tomarrow, another 300km along the Afgan boarder with 7000meter peaks on either side. Ought to be a hoot..if our bikes hold up.

Will be out of communication for acouple of weeks, headed into the wilds...

Mikey

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Tajikistan, A Land Untouched by Modern Dentistry

2006-06-16T17:49:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

As our time here in the east lengthens we are slipping further and further into the Oriental way of doing things.

When my false tooth fell out about a weak ago a new friend introduced me to a friend of a friend. I was told this grizzled man, with a row of shinny gold teeth, was a dentist and would help me. I pulled my tooth out of my pocket and handed it over. As he turned it over in his fingers he nodded he could do the work, gave me a gold toothy grin and a thumbs up. "Great, that was easy. What time tomorrow?" I said aloud as I hand singled the time on a wristwatch. He wrote his name, dental office address and 9:00 on a piece of paper, handed it over. Things were going too well so I had to ask, "Skoalka stoy?" (How much?) Again the gold teeth flashed, "Vodka." A couple of shots later we where shaking hands, slapping each other on the back and promising to see each other tomorrow.

I arrived at the dental clinic promptly at 9:24. The waiting room was already packed with folks who just rode in from the country. Women in a flurry of multi-colored long dresses and floral head scarves, dudes with mended slacks tucked into tall leather boots, a sash and traditional black and white pill box hats, guys in white coats running too and fro through the may lay.

Eventually I found my friend. I was rushed into a room, a guy was kicked out of the chair and the dentists hands were in my mouth. In the next chair was a young woman. An old doctor, in traditional pillbox hat, was going at her teeth full on with what looked like a Dremal. As I saw her wince in pain I was beginning second-guess whether it was such a great idea to trust my teeth to Central Asian tribesmen.

In a matter of moments a past had been mixed with powder and one dentist was pushing hard up into my mouth while another was holding my head steady. After some quick instructions in Russian, which I simply nodded to, I was shown out through the waiting room still packed with assorted herders waiting to get their teeth gilded, as is the aesthetic here, or perhaps in the mouth is the safest place to keep the family wealth.

The past few days of riding over the Fan Mountains which separate the Fargana valley from the rest of Tajikistan have been very tough, yet uber satisfying; hard riding deserves some kind of reward. In two consecutive days we hit two 11thousand foot passes with a total elevation gain of something like 15,000ft between them!!!

Glancing up from the stone strewn trail, which serves as one of the countries main highways, holding my breath through the choking dust clouds sent up by slow climbing Kamaza trucks, I was never disappointed. Green slopes giving way to rocky walls, patched by snowfields and everywhere threaded by white glacial streams. Above everything a myriad of jagged and scarily beautiful snowy peaks punctures the sky everywhere. These two passes are only open four months a year due to the continual presence of substantial snow, even at this time of year. Ive climbed harder passes, I think, but I cant remember when. Yet, there was a special emotion of freedom and satisfaction as we pushed up these formidable slopes.

We've biked now since Samarkand without much of a break and camping almost every night. It is a great feeling to be so free, to travel where we want and be at home where ever we find ourselves. Our camp routine is down pat, at nigh we hang around talking, cooking, playing chess, reading and writing. In the morning I'm usually up first, I wake the others with roar of the stove as I boil water for tea or coffee. Last night we slept on a terrace with a bunch of fruit trees. I picked a pot full of cherries to feast on with breakfast. People here are super excited about our trip and often gift us a loaf of bread or invite us in for tea, which really means a meal.

It is fortunate that this is the life I love as we are about to enter one of the most remote and wild places on earth, where we will have no other option but to rough it, be self reliant and free from the cumbersome trappings of the civilized world. In the next day or so we will enter the Pamir via the Wakhan Corridor along Afgans boarder and then on to one of the great feathers of cycling routes, the Pamir Highway!!! This will take us across the Pamir Platue, the roof of the world, where the greatest mountain ranges of the world converge: the Tian Shane of Xinjiang and Kyrgystan, the Karakorum into Pakistan, the Hindu Kush along the Afghan boarder, and the mother load the Himalayas across Tibet.

The Pamirs are and have been home to some pretty wild and doggy characters. Bear, wolf, ibex, huge Marco Polo sheep, and snow leopards populate the region. A few nights back we camped near the ruins of a fortress where Alex G. whooped up on the Sogdians! This is also the route from which Buddhism arrived in Central Asia from India on its way to China. This no mans land was the focal point of the Great Game, which consumed the energies of the two greatest empires of the world a hundred years ago. In these high passes young political officers, such as Younghusband, carried out clandestine mapping expeditions among the untamed and hostile local tribes. Today it is one of the major drug smuggling routes out of Afghan while a shady Russian military presence guards the frontier.

"A Fool Lies Here..."

Now it is not good
For the Christians health
To hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles
And the Aryan smiles
And he wearth the Christian down;
And the end of the fight
Is tombstone white
With the name of the late deceased,
And the epitaph drear,
A fool lies here
Who tried to hustle the East."

Rudyard Kipling

Dont expect to hear much form us for the next couple weeks as we will be beyond reach, there is one regular truck delivery a week along this route, but dont worry about us, well fit in just fine. Im smiling from ear to ear, all my pearly whites showing my excitement.

Dont do anything I wouldnt do,

Mikey

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Riding with the Afghans...

2006-06-16T13:15:00.000-04:00

Well...

We won't exactly be riding with through Afghanistan, but we will be a literal stones through away from it for about 500 miles of cycling through the wildest country on Earth--the Pamir Plateau of Tajikistan.

But, more on that in a minute. First an overview of the last week.

I've been blessed with the amazing experiences of cycling and hiking through countless areas of incredible scenery on 5 continents over the past few years. After being so lucky, and seeing so much, it is hard to make comparisons on beauty. But...I must say, yesterday's ride through the Fan Mountains of northern Tajikistan was truly the most amazing scenery I have every witnessed. I love mountains (I've even got the bumper sticker to prove it) and I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about them, looking at photos of them, or riding my bike through them. But, never ever have I seen, heard of, or experienced anything like this place. Heaven on earth my friends.

The amazing thing is that almost nobody has even heard of this incredible region (or even Tajikistan for that matter) with peaks higher than the Alps. There's no way to describe it. Just imagine green valleys with streams braided through glacial silt. 10,000 foot high vertical red walls of rock rising above and the most impossibly jagged snow peaks lurking over the horizon in every direction. Every mountain top was crowned with spikes, walls, cliffs, spires, and pyramids, nearly stacked on top of each other and graced with countless snowfields and endless waterfalls below. When we crested the last pass before our sweet 10,000 foot descent I was so overwhelmed by the sight that I shouted nonsense and danced around like a buffoon, much to the bewilderment of the other vehicles.

After weeks of securing permits and $130 poorer, we have managed to get all of our central asian paperwork for cycling the true holy grail of the world.

I'm so excited I'm about to do a backflip.

The Pamir, known to the locals as the Bam i Dunya (Roof of the World) is the epicenter of the world's greatest mountain ranges. The 4 tallest and most stunning ranges on this fine planet radiate outward from it--the Tien Shan up into Kyrgyzstan and China, the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan and Pakistan, the Karakorum of Pakistan, and the King of them all, the Himalaya. There is one road that winds for about 600 miles through this complete wilderness of gorges, high altitude deserts and salt lakes, and some of the world's highest peaks, in an area about half the size of Wisconsin. There are substantial populations of wolves, bears, ibex, huge Marco Polo mountain sheep that have 6 foot long horns, and that most mysterious of the world's large predators--snow leopards.

Almost no one lives out there, but the people that do have evolved very interesting cultures to deal with life in one of the world's most inhospitable places (in winter the temperature can drop to negative 78 F!). Pamiri Tajiks have lived in isolated mountain valleys for so long that, whereas they once spoke the same language, their languages have now morphed to be nearly unintelligible from one valley to the next--as different as German is from English. They follow a rather unusual brand of Islam, Ismailism, that reveres a Swiss born businessman, known as the Aga Khan, as the 49th Imam in the line of descendents from Muhammed. This works out well for them since the Aga Khan is a fantastically wealthy man and is one of the primary sources of food for the 212,000 Pamiri Tajiks. His name in Pamiri means "Our lord that brings us food."

We will head east from Dushanbe for a few hundres miles before heading through the Wakhan Valley crammed between 20,000 foot peaks in Tajikistan and the 25,000 foot peaks of the Afghan Hindu Kush. This remote valley now forgotten by the rest of the world was one of the most important routes of the Silk Roads. Historically, all manner of exotic spices and ideas traced their way across the world's greatest landmass through this forgotten backwater. These passes were the routes that Buddhism followed from its origins in Nepal/India up into Tibet, China, and eventually Japan. In fact, prior to the Arab Conquests of Central Asia in the 700's, this was a land of Buddhist Kingdoms (we've all heard about the giant Buddhas that the Taliban blew up in northern Afghanistan). As a result the Wakhan Valley is peppered with remains of temples, forts, Zoroastrian temples, and ancient ruins from the last 2500 years.

Sadly, Afghanistan is no longer exporting such benign things as Buddhism. With the explosion in opium production since the US invasion and the crackdown of transport through Iran and Pakistan, Central Asia is now the world's major drug smuggling conduit. 80% of Europes heroin travels through Tajikistan. $30 worth of pure opium in Afghanistan is worth $1200 by the time it makes it over the Pamirs into Kyrgyzstan, and $6000 when it reaches Moscow. It's big bucks and everybody wants a piece. As a result there are over 30,000 Russian troops stationed in the Pamirs, ostensibly to control the drug smuggling. While they are here supposedly to stem the flow of drugs, there is a lot of speculation that they are actually heavily involved. Not to mention the other atrocities listed against the troops, including wholesale slaughter of endangered species, and soldiers taking potshots at, and killing, Pamir Tajiks for fun. But, when you are remote ethnic group in a remote country, what can you really do? And the truth is, despite the possibly unsavory actions of the Russians, their presence is to a large degree responsible for the ceasefire that has held up since the civil war ended here a few years ago. And, if I were to be completely honest, their presence makes it safe for us to travel so near to Afghanistan along a largely porous border. That's as long as we aren't thought to be CIA--which a few Americans hiking out in the Wakhan recently were thought to be. The embassy fellow that told us the story said that in the end it was a great experience as they were interogated during the day and then wined and dined at nightby their interrogators. Tajiks are fantastically hospitable. They even got to sleep in the interrogator's beds.

Well...it's getting late and I want to go watch the World Cup. I'm sure all your eyes are tired after this history and geography lesson.

More updates sometime around July 14th. After tomorrow we will be completely out of contact until we arrive in China then after having traversed what may the wildest road on Earth.

Wish us luck.

Love you all.

Cam

Photo Show

2006-06-12T02:13:00.000-04:00

What: Photos from my travels around the globe
Where: Love Point Cafe, historic Stevensville, MD (just across the Bay Bridge)
When: Meet the photographer day: 4-5pm (and after), 25 June 2006; photos displayed from 1 June to 15 July.
Why: Just 'cause

Howdy Folks,

These days find me in Khojan, Tajikistan about to enter the REALLY big mountians.

Closer to the home front, there is currently a photo show going on featuring mine, my father and brother's photos from our travels throughout the world. The gallery is cozy little restarant, the Love Point Cafe, in historic Stevensville, MD, first exit over the bridge.

June 25 my father and brother will be featured in a "Meet the Artist" throw down at the cafe. There will be some refreashments served but the owner also appreciates it if you buy a couple of drinks or a crab cake. This is my first bonified photo show, so I hope some of you come out and show some support. Bring friends and family.

What: Photos from my travels around the globe
Where: Love Point Cafe, historic Stevensville, MD (just across the Bay Bridge)
When: Meet the photographer day: 4-5pm (and after), 25 June 2006; photos displayed from 1 June to 15 July.
Why: Just 'cause

Hey...what's that...Oh, the mountians are calling, I gotta go. Thank you all and enjoy the gathering. Peace,

Mikey

Re: Fud Turkmenbashi

2006-06-09T05:23:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

Out of the hanging dust great blue green domes appeared on the horizon. As we rode into that holist of ancient Central Asian cities the beating of my heart quickened. The last of the independent khanties to fall, the city of scholarly learning, the great silk road, Bokhora!

After sleepless nights in Turkmenistan, Bokhora was a welcoming oaisis. It is one of those towns discovered, but not yet ruined by loads of tourists. The childeren remain cordual and playfull with foriengers, the carpet sellers are as concerned with showing hospitality and sharing tea as selling floor coverings, and the restrant owners don't mind if you bring your own beverages.

As it has been for millenia, the city is an ethnic mix. The people claim to be Tajiks, of Persian decent, although there have mixed in Uzbeks, Indians, Arabs and Russians. The people speak a unique mixture of Uzbek and Tajik. Buying appercots in the market one day Cam said hello in Arabic, asked how much? in Russian, confirmed the amount in Tajik, and said thank you in Uzbek.

The city itself is built of mud bricks. People bost that their houses were built in the 14th century, nevermind that the buildings have been knocked down and rebuilt over and over agien. This city was one the great scholarly centers of the world. Great astronomers, Sufi poets and mathmaticens taught puples from all over the Islamic world here in the myriad of Madrassas which seem to dot every corner. In fact, trigonomitry was invented here!

We took a train out to Khiva for a few days. Although the Soviets converted the city into a giant museum, we were still able to find some charm here in our delightful, chess mongur host, Rasheid and the dodge ball playing girls in the street.

We travel not for trafficking alone;
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
-- James Elroy Flecker

Using used tickets given us by a fellow traveler, we were able to visit all the great mosques and madrassa of Samarkand with out being hasseled at the entrance. These tickets had been given to him the day before and we passed them on agien. Among the greatist architectual monuments of the world the Juma Mosque and Madrassa's tile work captures the imagination, never mind that these halls of leaning have been desecrated into common tourist shops. Greg and I stealthily climbed to the mineret of the Bibi Mosque to take in the sunset. Lookinf southwest we could see the deserts of Turkmenistan, to the south Afganistan, to the east the mountians of Tajikistan and to the north the Khazak steppe.

We are now in the Fargana valley, enjoying the fruits of this irrigated garden; peach, appercot, apple, watermellon, strawberry, rasberry,

I'mn kicked off teh computer,'

Mikey

"I confess that [the countries] are pieces on a chessboard," said Lord Curzon, viceroy of India in 1898, "upon which is being played out a great game for the domination of the world." He was being honest. One hundred years later, the geopolitical sentiment have changed little. This is the site of the New Great Game being waged over Central Asia's vast oil and gas. In the old days, the Great Game players where creative and daring men of the British and Russian empires. Spending months, or more often years, living native beyond the frontiers, they surveyed blank mountain areas of the frontier for passes and tracked their enemy's movements by the most reliable intelligence of the East, bazaar gossip. The stakes were high, no less then world domination. And for the players themselves, being found out almost certainly meant death.

Today's Great Gamers are cut throat oil execs representing Chevron Mobil, BP, Exxon Texaco, the US and Communist China. These men spend their time wheeling and dealing the corrupt oligarchies of the former Soviet Union in the Marriott of Baku, who's new money and wide boulevards little conceal Baku for what it truly is, "an up market shithole."

We sailed out of Baku's oil rig littered harbor, aboard a rusting Soviet era cargo ferry, 14 hours behind schedule. Well, since there is no schedule, I guess it is hard to be behind schedule...and if there are no posted rates, I guess it is hard to be ripped off. Never mind the little things, we were moving, on our way to Turkmenistan, always a difficult trophy. In the Great Game days the fiercely independent nomad Turkomen never fell to the Russian encroachment over the rest of Turkistan. In fact, in spite of the Tsar him self, they thrived on a rich trade in Russian slaves. The Turkmen were the last of people of Central Asia to be conquered by the Soviets. Today again, Turkmenistan enjoys its aloofness, being among the most isolated countries on earth.

We sailed through the night and as morning broke we eagerly climbed out on deck to watch as the port city of Turkmenbashi, named after the president, came into focus. And then we stopped, the anchor was dropped, and there we stayed...for another 48 hours. Although we will never know the exact reason for our delay, the best explanation is that Turkmenbashi, the president, is angry with Azerbaijan over oil drilling rights so he deliberately makes it a hassle for Azeri vessels to go to port. This is Turkmenbashi's style of government, rule by whim.

Already two days taken off our already difficult to obtain 5 day transit visa, we had to book it down to Ashgabat, the modern Turkmen capital. Unfortunately the two dollar state subsidized flight for that afternoon was booked so we had to fall back on the 50 cent state subsidized overnight hard bench train.

Today, in the center of Ashgabat there stands an enormous earthquake memorial. A tremendous bull crouches with a broken and shattered Earth balanced on his horns. Out of a crack in the Earth a woman kneels, holding up a golden child above the destroyed world. That golden child is Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan's present egomaniacal dictator.

Turkmenbashi (Father of the Turkmen) was elected to president of the newly independent Turkmenistan in 1992 with an amazing 99.5% of the vote. Never mind the fact that he was the only one on the ballot. A few years later the puppet parliament decided he no longer needed to stand elections. Then 2 years ago they decided to streamline the whole process by declaring him president for life. A model of a Central Asian government's idea of efficiency.
Mikey, Greg and I decided to travel across Turkmenistan to get a taste for what it is like to live in a Stalinesque, cult of personality based Central Asia dictatorship.

We came to Turkmenistan because it is mysterious, closed off to the rest of the world, and to experience the wild and wacky antics of Turkmenbashi. In the capital, there is a couple hundred foot tall statue of him, rotating, following the sun throughout the day. The entire city is covered in his plush new palaces. His face is everywhere...always watching. We were wandering through some barren hills in the desert in the middle of nowhere one day and his favorite slogan, "One Nation, One Man, Turkmenbashi!" was etched into the hillside with huge rocks. There are few street signs, but many signs advertising his new book. In order to go to college in Turkmenistan you have to excel at a test on his book. It is as if there is no past or present in the country--only Turkmenbashi.

On the other hand, he is certainly not the worst of the world's dictators. People can live relatively unaffected as long as they agree to worship him, not step out of line, and follow his sometimes unusual decrees (he once declared beards illegal). And he has passed on some of the natural gas revenues that gird Turkmenistan's economy to the people: petrol costs approximately 12 cents a gallon. Turkmenistan only has one political prisoner and has abolished the death sentence. Of course...there is the matter of all those other political dissidents that mysteriously vanish. To show that he is a people's man, not above the rest, he insist on driving his own car, a black Mercedes given to him as gift from the auto-maker. Never mind that he has the roads shut down twice a day when he drives to and from his new palace in the middle of the city. Rumor has it he has recently built a shopping mall made out of ice.

Taking a page from Peter the Great, Turkmenbashi once donned a fake beard so that he could ask people on the street what they thought of him. Emerging from his presidential vehicle he was not surprised what he heard--everybody loves him. Outside the sterile capital things are not so clear. Just before we left, as we rested in a small town close to the Uzbek boarder, an old beat up Lade pulled up. Two guys jumped out, ran to a shop window, chugged beers and raced back to their car. Then they spotted us. A very drunk, grizzled man gave me a vice like hand shake, smiling toothlessly. He promptly pulled out a Manat bill with Turkmenbashi's face on it and slurred, "Fud Turkmenbashi." Noticing our puzzled face he repeated louder, "Fud Turkmenbashi," this time with his middle finger prominently raised. We laughed, "Oh, Fuck Turkmenbashi." Now he shouted, "Fuck Turkmenbashi" and acted like he was wiping his ass with Turkmenbashi's face.

I guess even in Turkmenistan, among the most isolated countries on earth, things aren't all that different then in America.

Good luck and good night,

Mikey

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Into the Wild

2006-06-09T04:53:00.000-04:00

First,
There are now some photos on our website that we have done a good job
of neglecting. It's only about 20 for now and there will be more
soon:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/bikebums

This bike trip is about to get pretty exciting. Tomorrow we will
cross into Tajikistan, the most remote and forgotten part of the
former Soviet Union. Given its long history as an isolated Soviet
backwater, its remote location crammed between Uzbekistan,
Afghanistan, China, and Kyrgyzstan, and the fact that civil war and
instability was raging there since the fall of the Soviet Union until
just a few years ago, it is truly one of the most forgotten parts of
the globe. The Pamir mountains in eastern Tajikistan are the least
explored mountain range outside of Antarctica.
We'll head south for the next 8 or 10 days to reach its capital,
Dushanbe. The route will first take us through the Tajik part of the
Ferghana valley, an agricultural wonderland of fruit. We ate 18
pounds of strawberries, watermelons, raspberries, apricots, peaches,
and cherries the other day. No joke.
Then, we have to pay the price that it takes to enter a forgotten
mountain region of the world. In this case that will involve two
consecutive 10,000 foot climbs over the Fan mountains, which at
heights that dwarf the Alps and the Rockies, are only one of the baby
ranges in Tajikistan.
After Dushanbe is when the adventure really begins. We will set off
on the Pamir highway--about 750 miles of valleys cut through some of
the world's highest peaks, and crossing a plateau higher than Tibet.
It is the holy grail of cycle touring.
more updates in Dushanbe.
Peace,
Cam

Salam Shalamie

2006-06-05T10:21:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

I'm still moving into my new abowed, so I thought I'd drop you on last quick message on this account.

Alive and well. Uzbek people have been a delight, but the heat has been oppressive. To battle the sun's gamma rays we typically awake about 5 oclock in the am, make a quick pot of tea and then hit the road while the morning cool is still on. Around noon or one we pull into one of the ubiquitous tea houses along the road to hole up in the shade of a mullberry tree through the afternoon. Agein around 6 we mount up to get a couple more km under our belts before finding a good camping spot or a nice family to bunk with.

Just imagen the cities of Bukhora, Khiva and Samarkand...They are more beutiful then that. For now I can not elaborate, the sun is getting low and I have miles before I sleep, but I'll get back to you.

Just picked up our Chinese and Tajik visas today! Pamirs here I come, Yay Baby!

Peace I'm ghost,

Mikey

Sweaty Uzbeks

2006-05-30T06:12:00.000-04:00

Last night Mikey, myself and a British fella that we met decided to go out and have a beer. We experienced the 5 stages of Uzbek drunkeness in about 5 minutes with an Uzbek guy sitting at an adjancent table.

Step 1--The invitation-the sloshed Uzbek man starts shouting and waving at the top of his lungs until you come sit with him.

Step 2-Bonding over language- it is quicly established that we do not know Russian and that the Uzbek men don't know English as we all stare at each other in bafflement when the other speaks. So as a group we all count 1,2,3 in English, Uzbek, Tajik and Russian amid much toasting, clapping and vigorous pats on the back. Naturally everybody is pretty psyched about this breakthrough so we're all feeling pretty positive.

Step 3-Pure Love-A huge, fat, sweaty Uzbek man begins to feel really positive about us and gives Mikey a 5 minute bear hug. Simultaneously the other Uzbek man starts giving me and the British fellow disturbing winks, and inching his chair closer and closer.

Step 4-Things fall apart-In the fourth minute of our interaction the incredibly wasted fat Uzbek man proceeds to list off all of the cities in Afghanistan and Iraq that American has blown up in the last few years. For our benefit he counts the destroyed cities in Uzbek, Tajik, Russian, and English. Then miraculously and inexplicably the conversation turns to internationally tennis stars. We bond again over the realization that Anna Kournikova is hot and then all shout "Pete Sampres! Pete Sampres!!" over and over again at the top of our lungs.

Step 5-The shouting attracts the police. This actually may have been a good thing as our giant sweaty Uzbek friend was again maliciously counting off the cities that American has blown up. Simultaneously his bear hug has turned into an angry vice grip, and the other sketchy guy is now rubbing the uncomfortable British guy's leg. Needless to say, we chug our beers and make a quick getaway.

Uzbekistan has been good to us so far.

It took only about 5 minutes in the country to realize that it is not the best place for cycling (flat empty sand and a searing sun stretching to the horizon), so we have dropped the bikes for about a week of exploring the old Silk Road cities of Khiva and Samarkand. Both cities are mazes of ancient mud brick houses with nice shady courtyards, grape vines and apricot trees. We stroll the streets in the evenings and play dodge ball with little kids in the sunset shadows of mosques, medressas and palaces dating from over 1000 years ago. Their domes are a a beautiful turqoise and the walls are decked out in intricate tilework. Some pretty important advances in medicine, math and the sciences were made in the medressas hundreds of years ago. They were admired centers of learning from all over the Islamic world. The Algorithm is named after someone (Al Horezmi) who studied just down the street, and the word medicine derives from another islamic scholar's name that wrote what was at the time the most complete and accurate description of illnesses and cures. It is a very atmospheric place.

We renting a taxi to drive the 400 miles across the desert from Khiva to Bukhara. About halfway through the clutch broke. It was fixed within minutes as a mechanic picked up a nail from the ground, bent it into a curly cue shape with pliers and then jammed it somewhere in the engine with a crowbar.

Pretty resourcefull folks.

I hope you are all well.

Cam

Fud Turkmenbashi

2006-05-25T17:34:00.000-04:00

"I confess that [the countries] are pieces on a chessboard," said Lord Curzon, viceroy of India in 1898, "upon which is being played out a great game for the domination of the world." He was being honest. One hundred years later, the geopolitical sentiment have changed little. This is the site of the New Great Game being waged over Central Asia's vast oil and gas. In the old days, the Great Game players where creative and daring men of the British and Russian empires. Spending months, or more often years, living native beyond the frontiers, they surveyed blank mountain areas of the frontier for passes and tracked their enemy's movements by the most reliable intelligence of the East, bazaar gossip. The stakes were high, no less then world domination. And for the players themselves, being found out almost certainly meant death.

Today's Great Gamers are cut throat oil execs representing Chevron Mobil, BP, Exxon Texaco, the US and Communist China. These men spend their time wheeling and dealing the corrupt oligarchies of the former Soviet Union in the Marriott of Baku, who's new money and wide boulevards little conceal Baku for what it truly is, "an up market shithole."

We sailed out of Baku's oil rig littered harbor, aboard a rusting Soviet era cargo ferry, 14 hours behind schedule. Well, since there is no schedule, I guess it is hard to be behind schedule...and if there are no posted rates, I guess it is hard to be ripped off. Never mind the little things, we were moving, on our way to Turkmenistan, always a difficult trophy. In the Great Game days the fiercely independent nomad Turkomen never fell to the Russian encroachment over the rest of Turkistan. In fact, in spite of the Tsar him self, they thrived on a rich trade in Russian slaves. The Turkmen were the last of people of Central Asia to be conquered by the Soviets. Today again, Turkmenistan enjoys its aloofness, being among the most isolated countries on earth.

We sailed through the night and as morning broke we eagerly climbed out on deck to watch as the port city of Turkmenbashi, named after the president, came into focus. And then we stopped, the anchor was dropped, and there we stayed...for another 48 hours. Although we will never know the exact reason for our delay, the best explanation is that Turkmenbashi, the president, is angry with Azerbaijan over oil drilling rights so he deliberately makes it a hassle for Azeri vessels to go to port. This is Turkmenbashi's style of government, rule by whim.

Already two days taken off our already difficult to obtain 5 day transit visa, we had to book it down to Ashgabat, the modern Turkmen capital. Unfortunately the two dollar state subsidized flight for that afternoon was booked so we had to fall back on the 50 cent state subsidized overnight hard bench train.

Today, in the center of Ashgabat there stands an enormous earthquake memorial. A tremendous bull crouches with a broken and shattered Earth balanced on his horns. Out of a crack in the Earth a woman kneels, holding up a golden child above the destroyed world. That golden child is Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan's present egomaniacal dictator.

Turkmenbashi (Father of the Turkmen) was elected to president of the newly independent Turkmenistan in 1992 with an amazing 99.5% of the vote. Never mind the fact that he was the only one on the ballot. A few years later the puppet parliament decided he no longer needed to stand elections. Then 2 years ago they decided to streamline the whole process by declaring him president for life. A model of a Central Asian government's idea of efficiency.
Mikey, Greg and I decided to travel across Turkmenistan to get a taste for what it is like to live in a Stalinesque, cult of personality based Central Asia dictatorship.

We came to Turkmenistan because it is mysterious, closed off to the rest of the world, and to experience the wild and wacky antics of Turkmenbashi. In the capital, there is a couple hundred foot tall statue of him, rotating, following the sun throughout the day. The entire city is covered in his plush new palaces. His face is everywhere...always watching. We were wandering through some barren hills in the desert in the middle of nowhere one day and his favorite slogan, "One Nation, One Man, Turkmenbashi!" was etched into the hillside with huge rocks. There are few street signs, but many signs advertising his new book. In order to go to college in Turkmenistan you have to excel at a test on his book. It is as if there is no past or present in the country--only Turkmenbashi.

On the other hand, he is certainly not the worst of the world's dictators. People can live relatively unaffected as long as they agree to worship him, not step out of line, and follow his sometimes unusual decrees (he once declared beards illegal). And he has passed on some of the natural gas revenues that gird Turkmenistan's economy to the people: petrol costs approximately 12 cents a gallon. Turkmenistan only has one political prisoner and has abolished the death sentence. Of course...there is the matter of all those other political dissidents that mysteriously vanish. To show that he is a people's man, not above the rest, he insist on driving his own car, a black Mercedes given to him as gift from the auto-maker. Never mind that he has the roads shut down twice a day when he drives to and from his new palace in the middle of the city. Rumor has it he has recently built a shopping mall made out of ice.

Taking a page from Peter the Great, Turkmenbashi once donned a fake beard so that he could ask people on the street what they thought of him. Emerging from his presidential vehicle he was not surprised what he heard--everybody loves him. Outside the sterile capital things are not so clear. Just before we left, as we rested in a small town close to the Uzbek boarder, an old beat up Lade pulled up. Two guys jumped out, ran to a shop window, chugged beers and raced back to their car. Then they spotted us. A very drunk, grizzled man gave me a vice like hand shake, smiling toothlessly. He promptly pulled out a Manat bill with Turkmenbashi's face on it and slurred, "Fud Turkmenbashi." Noticing our puzzled face he repeated louder, "Fud Turkmenbashi," this time with his middle finger prominently raised. We laughed, "Oh, Fuck Turkmenbashi." Now he shouted, "Fuck Turkmenbashi" and acted like he was wiping his ass with Turkmenbashi's face.

I guess even in Turkmenistan, among the most isolated countries on earth, things aren't all that different then in America.

Good luck and good night,

Mikey

*This email is heavely plagerized from Cam's. UHHHH Sleep nowwwwww.

Please Take Note

2006-05-25T16:03:00.000-04:00

Kind friends won't you listen to my pitiful tale,

We have entered that great stretch of land beyond the Caspian Sea and before ancient Cathay: Central Asia. As we rode on toward that ancient city, Bukhora--the name alone evokes memories of spicy fragrance and Oriental romance-- great blue domes on the horizon rose out of the hanging dust. How ever before the tail continues, I must do a little house keeping.

Unfortinetly I am finding it increasingly difficult to use my St. Mary's e-mail account. I don't know, maybe I'm weird but I'm satisfied with my penis size, I'm not interested in stocks and I don't need replica watches at the moment; although someone out there really thinks I need all these things...twice a day. There comes a time in every man's life when they must let go of the past and embrace yahoo. My new identity is mikeylikesbikes@yahoo.com. Please write me a quick email, so that I can easily include you in my address life.

While I'm at it I am further streamlining my e-life. There are allot of names on this email list because at one time or another you have expressed interest in my wanderings, but some may have lost interest. Although I'm not entirely sure what a blog is, my travelogue can now be viewed at the website, www.bikebum.blogspot.com, thanks to Kenna. If in fact you are still interested in receiving emails let me know.

In the word of Bob Dylan, "I'm like a rolling stone, no direction home, write me email at my new email address." Thank you for your cooperation. And so, let the tail continue......

Put some fun between your legs, ride a bike!

Mike

Fwd:

2006-05-22T08:29:00.000-04:00

In 1948 a tremendous earthquake shook Ashgabat, Turkmenistan, killing about 110,000 people and destroying the entire capital city. The Soviets tried to hide the disaster from the rest of the world. They shut down the city for several years as the cleared the rubble and rebuilt a new city. Disasters officially did not happen in Stalin's Soviet Union.

Turkmenbashi (Father of the Turkmen) was elected to president of the newly independent Turkmenistan in 1992 with an amazing 99.5% of the vote. Nevermind the fact that he was the only one on the ballot. A few years later the puppet parliament decided he no longer needed to stand elections. Then 2 years ago they decided to streamline the whole process by declaring him president for life. A model of a Central Asian government's idea of efficiency.

Mikey, Greg and I decided to travel across Turkmenistan to get a taste for what it is like to live in a Stalinesque, cult of personality based Central Asia dictatorship (sounds fun, doesn't it?), albeit only for 5 days.

It's not all it's cracked up to be.

The Turkmen people have a proud and fiercely independent history. They were the last people of any of the Soviet Republics to submit to Soviet rule. Traditionally they were the most feared people of Central Asia, notorious for their banditry and slave-trading on their swift horses. To see them today, firmly under the grip of an insecure dictator is just plain sad.

We entered Turkmenistan by sea, coming from Azerbaijan over the Caspian. Our "12" hour ferry ride, quite frustratingly turned into 48 hours.

We came to Turkmenistan because it is mysterious, closed off to the rest of the world, and to experience the wild and wacky antics of Turkmenbashi. In the capital, there is a couple hundred foot tall statue of him, rotating, following the sun throughout the day. The entire city is covered in his plush new palaces. His face is everywhere...always watching. We were wandering through some barren hills in the desert in the middle of nowhere one day and his favorite slogan, "One Nation, One Man, Turkmenbashi!" was etched into the hillside with huge rocks. There are few streetsigns, but many signs advertising his new book. In order to go to college in Turkmenistan you have to excell at a test on his book. It is as if there is no past or present in the country--only Turkmenbashi.

On the other hand, he is certainly not the worst of the world's dictators. People can live relatively unaffected as long as they agree to worship him, not step out of line, and follow his sometimes unusual decrees (he once declared beards illegal). And he has passed on some of the natural gas revenues that gird Turkmenistan's economy to the people. A flight across the country costs $1.50. Turkmenistan only has one political prisoner. Of course...there is the matter of all those other political dissidents that mysteriously vanish.

Outside of Ashgabat we visited the Tolkucha bazaar, easily the most fascinating market I have ever seen. It sprawls across acres of desert, alive with the cry of hawkers selling camels, carpets, car parts, candles and cd's (and that is just the C's). Turkmenbashi's face stared out from the bills being exchanged. His slogans adorned the walls. But, the market was vibrant with millenia of cultural exchange. We looked at Uzbek silk and Persian scarves, cheap Chinese bicycle parts and bootleg American cds. Old men in huge sheep wool hats, and horse hair robes asked us if we were Afghani as we strolled by (we all have substantial beards these days). I sat down and shared some dried apricots with an elder with a weathered face the color of coffee. We sat in the shade of a mud brick wall, his wares of handmade knives and shovels spread on a blanket, watching the world go by. He gave me a big grin.

There are some things that dictators can't touch. This man has lived through Stalin and Turkmenbashi. Empires rise and fall. Political ideologies wash away. The majority of the world's poor continue with life as usual--trying to carve out a bit of space in an often hostile world to raise children, uphold some traditions, and find some shade to share with a friend.

There is more dignity in that than all of Turkmenbashi's self-aggrandizing monuments combined.

Maybe next time Turkenbashi wants to spend millions on a palace he should just hire a therapist.

In other news we are now in Bukhara, Uzbekistan--an old silk road trading center. More on that later.

Cam

HA: Jail Break

2006-05-14T19:41:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

Although allot less alcohol then Georgia, Azerbaijan sports no less hospitality.

We've spent the past week traversing Azerbijian's arid, rolling green hills. A couple of quick highlights:

Taking a wrong turn as we climbed high into the mountians we ended up in a strangly beutiful abandon mountian village, who's soul inhabitants, a shepard and his three sons, shared a meal with us and treated us to the most vile alcohal I have ever encounted. I've drunk many horrible concotions poured from all manner of container, including gas cans, and this takes the ticket as the worst ever. We spent the day exploring the surrounding steep slopes, discovering a majestic waterfall hidden in a long narrow canyon. Camped out on the porch of an abandon house we weathered out vicious rains and monumental lighting all night. The morning brought a dense fog engolfing everything. Visability was limited to 10meters as we creeped down the mountian trail to the vally below.

In the town of Saxi we stayed in a 400 year old caravansari, excellently restored into a hotel. I imagened my self in flickering fire light squating with the rogue characters of Rudger Kipling's 'Kim.'

We spent a night with a family of refugees from Karubach, a horrably bloody war zone in southern Azerbijian. Backed by the Russians, the Arminan army has taken control of this enclave entirely within Azerbijian. Thousands have been killed and forced to flee as the conflict continues. One of the stranger homestays I've ever been a part of. I consider my self to be quite good at interperating hand and body communication but with this guy I was at a loss, we where like trains in the dark. Freash hot milk served in the morning made it all worth while though.

Yet another night, camping out on the windswept aried grassland under a majestic full moon, we knew the serenity of the desert.

I am currently in Baku, the oil boom town capital of Azerbijian. The Porche SUVs and designer boutiques here are worlds away from the donkey carts and productless dens which pass for stores in the rest of the country.

Tomarrow, en shalla, I will be aboard a frieght ferry bound for Turkmenistan and a world of weird. One of the most isolated countries in the world, Turkmenistan is led by a man who maybe the most ecentric head of state alive today. Ought to be an eye opener.

Hope all is good in your neck of the woods, let me know. One Love,

Mikey

Things are about to get interesting

2006-05-14T11:33:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow morning Mikey, Greg and I (In sha'Allah) will be aboard a cargo ferry heading across the world's largest lake--the Caspian Sea--to the distant shores of Turkmenistan. Not many people get in. 20 days of waiting managed to get us a 5 day visa. Turkmenistan's exaltedly insane leader has built an enormous golden statue of himself in the capital city, guarding over his people, revolving to follow the sun. In his infinite wisdom he has also renamed all of the months after himself and his mother. To top it off he has recently built a pyramid, rivaling those of Egypt, complete with waterfalls of all of the city's drinking water pouring down it's exalted stones, pointlessly evaporating into Karakum desert.

Yay for egomanical dictators!

In other news...

We rode bikes across Georgia and Azerbaijan. Both countries have been incredible. Georgia is one of my all time favorites. We are currently in Baku, Azerbaijan. Sorry about the lack of updates. As you can see, we are still alive and well.

It's impossible to sum it all up, but I'll write 2 quick stories.

1. "Why it is important to read the news when you are traveling."

Having drawn the short straw, Greg found himself on a bus for a 24 hour trip back through Georgia, into Turkey, with all of our passports, going to pick up our Turkmenistan visa stamps. The cycling gods smiled upon Mikey and I, and having chosen the correct straws, we had a few days to bike through Racha, a lovely, heavily forested part of Georgia's Caucusus mountains. What we didnt pay enough attention to was that the road also went through a region called South Ossetia. Had we checked up on the news we would have found out some interesting things about South Ossetia. We did not check the news.

We followed a winding road up through Racha. Above the river, small villages, speckled with orchards and vineyard, nestled in the soft curves of the mountains. Standing over the calm villages were great behemoths of rock, sheathed in forest. With the river undercutting the bedrock, the mountains were god-sized dominoes, uncomfortably close to toppling over. Clouds shaped like manta rays glided up the valley nosing their way blindly off the peaks. The type of landscape that makes you feel comfortably small. It was nice.

We traced that valley up all day to the last, and only, sizeable village in the region. The clouds were thick and ominous.

Mikey and I ate a good meal and stocked up on food for what promised to be 2 days of hard riding on bad roads through unpopulated areas.

All was well, and we were just about to leave town to camp when a police jeep speeding down the road skidded to a stop next to us. A big burly man in combat fatigues opened the passenger door.

"Where are you going?"

"Uhh...Tschinvalli." I mumbled, massacring the pronounciation of the capital of South Ossetia.

"Do you know?"

"Uhh...Do I know? I dont know if I know? What?"

He proceeded to explain to us in no uncertain terms that Tschinvalli was not a safe place to be, as South Ossetia was now effectively seceded from Georgia, and no one there could ensure our safety. We've heard a lot of people over the months of bike touring, claiming that places are "unsafe", "filled with bad people", etc. Every single time it has simply been a case of cops not wanting to be responsible for a bunch of dumb Americans on bikes getting in trouble in their district, or xenophobia of the neighboring ethnic group. Our outdated guidebook claimed that South Ossetia was safe and we assumed we would have heard if things had fallen apart there. Mikey and I refused to take his advice when he started asking for out passports. It's a different world out here folks, and it is not uncommon for police to ask for passports and hold them until you agree to pay a "fee" (bribe) to do what is otherwise legal and acceptable. Standing our ground, we assured him for 30 minutes that we had our passports but did not wish to show them to him. Eventually determining that he was a nice fellow, we relented. That was when we remembered that we, in fact, did not have passports. Ha ha... Greg had them in Turkey with him.

Hmm...

"Look at this boys!" The policeman exclaimed. "You are about to head off on bicycles into a dangerous and remote region of a foreign country where you dont speak the language! South Ossetia is occupied by Ossetian, Russian, and Georgian troops. All of them are going to be very suspicious of some random Americans snooping around, claiming to be tourists in a region that no one in their right mind would visit! At the very least, you will not be let back into Georgia without passports!"

That sealed it. He had a point. He persuaded us to sleep at his house and head back the way we came the next day. We followed sheepishly, simultaneously feeling like idiots for not going to Ossetia, and like fools for even considering going.

We made the right choice.

In the words of a journalist we met in Tbilisi a few days later, "You might have escaped from Ossetia, but you would have no possessions."

I'm not going to write the second story.

Georgia is an amazing and fascinating place. Visit it. There is a legend that when God was parceling out the world's lands to different ethnic groups, the ever joyous and wine-loving Georgians were happily toasting his every move, so he gave them the best land of all. It just might be true. Rarely have I seen a more fertile and lovely land. And wonderful people. Their hospitality reflects the abundance of the land. We were constantly and unconditionally wined and dined and toasted and treated the way that people should treat each other. Thank you Georgia. I will never forget it.

Unfortunately, there is trouble in paradise. The economy is in tatters. Georgians claim that they gave the world the gift of wine (the wine is superb), but they may be drinking a bit too much of it to forget about the other problems. Sadly, alcoholism is ever-present.

Additionally, the Russians seem hell-bent on destabilising their lovely southern neighbor. Since independence from the Soviet Union, Georgia has been plagued by bloody violence in a number of seperatist movements. Abkhazia province functions more or less as an independent state. This came at the cost of thousands of lives. The current troubles in South Ossetia are another example. These problems would be there whether the Russians were or not, but they certainly have exacerbated them. Russia has supported the seperatist movements with weapons and troops. They recently banned imports of Georgian wine and mineral water (70% of Georgia's total exports).

It is infuriating. How much blood? How many nations destroyed? How many displaced people? How many nascent economies wrecked? All for the strategic interests of the empire building nations of the world. Where is our conscience?

But, if there is one thing you can say about Georgians, it is that they are resilient, joyful, and gifted with big hearts. If that doesn't count for something in this world, I don't know what does.

Gagvimarjos (Cheers) to you all. May you have the equivalent of tailwinds and smooth roads in whatever you pursue.

Cam

Jail Break

2006-05-02T05:30:00.000-04:00

Howdy Folks,

When I let it be known that I was in police custody, some of you jumped to conclusions. Rather then serving jail time, Cam and I were guests of the Oni police chief. A friendly bachelor who bought us beers for breakfast.

Leaving Kutaisi, Cam and I climbed into the mountains of Racha region. Up through beautifully forested slopes. The bright spring hardwood foliage mixed with the dark spruce enticed us onward. As we climbed huge snowy cliffs we occasionally visible up long side valleys. Raising our eyes from the badly pot-holed road we would occasionally see crumbling medieval fortresses perched on precarious spurs, or dramatic 10th century churches poking out of the valley floor.

Our plan was to quickly buy some supplies in Oni and then get out of town to find a camping spot before dark. By chance a police officer came upon us and asked us to come with him. We reluctantly complied, but when he was taking too long in some conversation over a fence, light fading, we gave him the slip and proceeded out of town.

Stopping at a Russian style dacha cottage for water, the police jeep came roaring down the road, nearly passing us with out notice. As the wheels ground to a halt, an cat-burgler/repo-man looking character opened the door and announced that he was the chief and asked us for our documents. Being weary of rendering our passports to unknowns we delayed and pretended to not understand. Eventually Cam and I handed over photo-copies of our passports. "Would this be possible in America? the Chief asked, "When the police ask for your documents you give them photocopy?"

Eventually after some parlay, during with the Chief tried to explain that it was dangerous for us to continue, we determined that this guy was legit and decided to hand over our passports. Reaching into his bag Cam alarmingly blurted out, "Wait a minute dude, we don't even have our passports." In a terror filled moment I clutched my chest where I normally keep my passport, and then it dawned on me. At that moment Cam and my passports where on Greg's body, somewhere in Turkey, making their way to Ankara to be filled with our long awaited Turkmen visas.

Cam and I giggled at the absurdity of the moment. Here Cam and I were about to cross from Georgia into the separatist state of South Ossetia, where Georgian authority does not reach, with out even realizing we didn't have our documents. A flip of a coin decide that we would take the Chief up on his offer to lodge us for the evening. A satisfying conclusion for both parties, as the Chief could keep a close eye on these troublesome foreigners and it snowed that night.

In the morning, recognizing the lunacy of continuing on ward we took a side trip up the valley towards the Russian boarded. Stopping in a pleasant meadow, viewing huge mountains like a big screen, home entertainment theater, the temperature suddenly dropped. As we began to shiver the snow began and continued to gain intensity. Our decision was made for us, we rode back down the way we had come, but not before stopping by the Chief's office to let him know we where leaving. Thirty km down the road another police escort was waiting for us, just to make sure we didn't try anything stupid.

Since then we have been enjoying our time in Tbilisi, Georgia's charming capital. Our time has been made particularly meaningful by our acquaintance with Jonnie and Lori-Saab, an incorrigible American/Georgian duo studding Georgian sacred music, particularly the hauntingly beautiful poly-phonic religious chants. Both speak Georgian and English fluently, and our presence has given them a good excuse to visit some special sites, even an invitation to view the alter naive in the Georgian National Cathedral, a privilege strictly reserved for the clergy.

The pinnacle of our short friendship came in an absolutely perfect sequence of events Sunday. After a satisfyingly vigorous Ultimate game with the local ex-pat community we where off to the sulpher baths, built by the Persians 400 years ago. Here we partook in purging sauna, invigorating cold bath, relaxing hot bath, mountain Cha-cha (the home made moonshine) and finally cleansing scrub down.

Feeling pleasantly lucid, Lori-saab invited us to a supra, the Georgian style feast characterized but plentiful, good-spirited wine toasts. The supra is led by the tamada, the man in charge of directing the sentiment of the party. The tamada feels out the emotions of the party, deciding where the conversation will turn with artfully spoken toasts. In our case, Lori-saab being the Georgian host, was the tamada while Jonnie supported him with elaborations to the toast. Toasts where dedicated to: our meeting, friendship and shared adventures, peace, family and tradition, love. Interminably throughout the supra Lori-saab, Jonnie and a Georgian bass, broke into enchanting poly-phonic chants from all the regions of Georgia. When it became time to end the feast we were all pleasantly drunk and warm with mutual friendship. The final toast was dedicated to perfect endings.

Last night we linked up with Fabrice, a French friend who I cycled with for two months in western China and Kyrgyzstan last year. Everything is going better then can be planned. The next few days will find us climbing back into the mountains for a little skiing before again heading east for Azerbaijan.

Put some fun between your legs, ride a bike.

Mikey

A river runs through it...

2006-04-25T08:14:00.000-04:00

The road in Georgia that is...

I have heard it said before that Native Alaskans have 30 odd words to describe snow...As my bike touring experience increases I find a similar expansion in my own vernacular for describing roads. As I bounce and jounce over boulder strewn mud paths, descriptions like "chunky", "erratic", and "like a frozen raging river" enter my mind. Similarly as we glide along, almost frictionless on a winding smooth road high above a frothing river, we cut the road like a hot knife through butter, like a greased-up body on a slip and slide, riding that gravity like a vulture on an updraft. Unfortunately, most of the roads in Georgia seem to fall in the former category, with one 35 mile-long stretch up and over a steep 7,000 foot mountain pass qualifying as undoubtedly the worst thing I have ever ridden on. We struggled to go 5 mph downhill. Nevertheless, the scenery was pretty inspiring up on that alpine pass with the Lesser Caucusus mountains stretching into the distance and a great white bowl shaped snow peak to the left. At one point the snow literally formed 20 foot walls on either side of the "road" we travelled on. As we headed down the back side of the pass initially there was a bit of water on the road, then a couple little streams running down over the rocks and ditches we were riding on. Then these streams became a pretty good sized creek...then we rounded the bend, and a bona fide 100% river came crashing down in a 20 foot tall and 30 foot wide waterfall onto, over and down the road. We slogged our bikes over the river stones in water deep and strong enough and with more than enough flow to support an entire river ecosystem. I expected to see migrating salmon leaping up the road past me. A fishing rod would have made a lot more sense than a bicycle.

It is a little too reminiscent of tourist pamphlet propaganda for me to be comfortable saying that Georgia is a "beautiful land of contrasts, untouched by time". But, Georgia is truly a land of stunning beauty, the degree of contrasts is pretty stunning, and isolated parts of it are so untouched by anything remotely "modern" that it is probably the only place left in Europe where pre-Christian pagan religions survive (with beer as a sacred beverage, and blood fueds and familial protection the only thing that can be called rule of law).

In this tiny nation south of Russia and north of Turkey, Armenia and Iran exists a diversity of flora and fauna that far surpasses anything else on the European continent. Some of this fauna can be a bit of concern for us as locals tell us very seriously to watch out for wolves and Persian Leopards while camping out in the mountains. On the Black Sea Coast you can sit under palm trees and drink tea grown in the mountains behind you. 70 miles away the Caucusus mountains thrust up, clad in forest and glacier to the foot of the highest mountain in Europe. The history here is nothing to scoff at either. There are churches that date back to the 2nd century. In fact, one of the apostles is buried at the town of Sarpi.

This place is not without its problems either. It would be a definite understatement to say that Georgian men spend over 60% of their conscious lives drunk. Every single day we see people staggering down the street at 9:00 AM so tanked that they cannot stand. And there is evidence of the everpresent domestic abuse that seems to come with alcoholism. That being said, in this country where wine was invented, people are pretty excited to share lots and lots and lots of their wine with us...which is just fine with us. Hospitality reaches a high in Georgia that I have never before experienced. It is not uncommon to have every meal of the day for free. And these are no simple meals. I am talking about elaborate feasts complete with 5 or 6 main courses, several several bottles of delicious wine and literally endless toats. You dont drink without toasting...and you dont do anything without drinking wine, so you can pretty much calculate how many toasts I am talking about. One family invited us in for tea as we rode past--we stayed 24 hours, ate about 10 pounds of food each and then were sent away with several pounds of homemade cheese, wine and fig jams. A year ago they invited 2 Americans riding their bikes by for tea--those folks ended up staying for 15 days! They extended the same invitation to us. Later on the same day, we cycled by a bunch of Georgian men standing by the side of the road honoring some friends who had driven their vehicle off a cliff a few years before (probably while drunk). They chose to honor them by drinking a ton and then driving home. After explaining, to their bafflement, that we didnt want to chug several glasses of wine with them because we were still recovering from the previous day's hospitality, they sent us away with literally their entire feast of huge hunks of cheese, fresh vegetables, mountains of bread, and a full jar of the richest cream.

As I said--nice folks over here.

At the present moment Greg is heading back to Turkey to pick up our visas for Turkmenistan. Mikey and I will be heading off into the wilds tomorrow to maybe hang out with some blood feuding, beer drinking, bull-worshipping Pagans. But, at the moment we have to go hang out with Chimera--a member of Georgia's premier underground hip-hop group. They've invited us to their studio to lay some fat tracks. If we happen to make an album, I'll see if I can hook everybody up with a copy.

Happy Spring everybody,

Cam

2006-04-06T19:28:00.000-04:00

We Are...

MIkey, Greg, and Cam and are currently in Turkey somewhere.