organicstardust
researching ego
researching fear
Such as this quote illustrates :
mexico : we’re all going to die
costa rica : weed
guatemala : tikal
We were driving the little Mazda GLC (stands for 'Good Little Car') that we had bought from some Texans near Tulum, Mexico.
A few people had told us that we wouldn't be able to drive to Tikal unless we had a 4 wheel drive truck. The Mazda had front wheel drive and I was twenty-two and I thought we probably could make it through so I started asking people about it.
"Why do we need 4 wheel drive?"
"Because your car will get stuck in the mud."
"But it hasn't been raining for a while..."
"It doesn't matter - you need 4WD."
"But why...?"
"The roads are all red mud and the logging trucks create deep ruts - you need really good clearance - it's bad mud - a car will get stuck."
I discussed it for a while with Siri and finally convinced her that we should go for it.
The promise I made that tipped the scales was that a) I wouldn't get us stuck b) I would be very careful, but mainly c) if we came across a tough patch that she didn't think we could make it through then we would turn around.
So we headed North from El Cruce towards the jungle and Tikal.
It was a dirt road right away, but the going was pretty smooth for quite a while.
It had been dry for about a week, but you could definitely see how the road would be very muddy if there was rain.
Then we came across the ruts. The road had no shoulder on the left or the right - just jungle growing right up to the road. I was carefully looking ahead as we drove at about 35-40 MPH tops. Looking ahead I saw something that didn't quite make sense at first.
The road had a big ridge of mud right down the center. About 3 feet wide and 2.5-3 feet tall. Really the 'ridge' was at the same level as the other ground around - really there were two huge deep ruts gouged out of the road by logging trucks.
When the road had been wet and muddy the logging trucks had slogged through - sometimes a bit to the left and sometimes a bit to the right, but always dragging their axle in the middle and digging the ruts deeper as they passed.
Right now there was no muddy mud, there was perfectly dry and packed mud, but with this huge ridge that the car would never be able to straddle - at least not with its tires on the ground.
belize : fucking whitey
My college girlfriend Siri and I were travelling through Central America. We had been forewarned by travel books and personal testament that Belize City is to be avoided as it is a dangerous place for travellers. If you have to go through it, common wisdom held, then get through it quickly and do not linger.
A little on the history. Belize used to be known as British Honduras and was considered by Europeans to be a British Colony. The British had made treaties with Spain for lumber rights and were specifically after Mahogany lumber. English and Scottish loggers enslaved Black Africans and brought them to [then] British Honduras as labor to log the Mahogany. It was a British colony from 1749 to 1964. While slavery was officially abolished in all 'British Dominions' on August 1st 1834 we know from history that the transition away from slavery is not fast or smooth. British Honduras became a self-governing colony and was renamed Belize in 1964 and then in 1981 Belize gained 'full independence' (quoted because the British have a way of keeping their finger in the pie(s)).
So fast forward to 1989 and Siri (a black woman) and Keldon (a white man) show up in Belize and specifically Belize City. We were headed out to Caye Caulker on the second day. We found gated and guarded parking for our Mazda GLC, found a hotel, and had dinner a block from the hotel and then went straight back to our room for the night just to be safe.
We had breakfast at our hotel, put our colorful packs on our backs and started walking down the street which led directly to the docks where the boat waited to take us to the small island.
A couple other things to bear in mind. I was (foolishly in retrospect) wearing a black and white bundeswehr tank top and carrying my 5'6" birch staff / walking stick. I had learned in previous Central American countries that it was best for me to walk behind Siri who drew a LOT of attention for being black. Black people without American, Canadian, or European passports were not allowed into any of the countries surrounding Belize. When Siri walked behind me there was an amazing amount of cat calls and 'negra! negra!' directed at Siri. When I brought up the rear and kind of looked stern there was only about a quarter as much bullshit that Siri (and I) had to deal with. Some weird intersection(s) of sexism and racism that was not enjoyable for us.
Belize City's population is predominantly black. Belize itself has a greater diversity, but you could walk down most streets in Belize City (at least in 1989) and only see black people. This was a first for me. I had never been so clearly a minority before. So, I am walking down this dirt street with raised wooden sidewalks like in the old west. I am wearing a german army tank top and carrying a big stick. My black girlfriend is walking in front of me. We only need to make it down to the docks at then end of this street. Our ability to do that came into question right from the start.
I was doing my best to look affable and relaxed - despite the fact that nearly everyone is turning to glare at me as I walk by. Because I didn't want to look like I was scared or hurrying I was walking at a relaxed pace while Siri was walking at our normal pace and so slowly pulling away. The the first person says, not too loud, but loud enough that nearly everyone heard, "Fucking whitey" in a sort of tense through-gritted-teeth sort of growl. I see that everyone hears it and I just keep walking, but I start to be actually scared. The thought that I might get beat up, roughed up, or even possibly killed starts to grow in my mind. After I walk about five more paces someone further away from me and louder says "FUCKing whitey!" with real anger and everyone starts to slow down, stop what they are doing and watch the situation which is clearly escalating. My head is on a bit of a swivel and so I was looking a bit to the side and back when a very large man steps right in front of me so that I have to lurch to a stop not to run into him. He was probably 6'5" (to my 5'9"), his shoulders are nearly twice as broad as mine, his hair is a big bunch of dreadlocks and he is also wearing a tank top. He folds his arms such that his thigh sized biceps bulge and he fairly bellows accusingly in my face, "FUCKING WHITEY!!"
Now by this point in my life I had been to 22 different schools including college. In fifth grade I went to five different schools. When you change schools that often and are the new kid that much you learn some coping mechanisms. I had learned how to fight, but even more (and certainly more importantly) I had learned how to be funny. Humor can solve a lot of problems and diffuse a lot of situations. So as I lurched to a stop in the dirt road and my new friend was proclaiming his challenge of "FUCKING WHITEY!!" into my white, blonde face and while every single person stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us in the middle of the road my brain had leapt into hyperspeed and very quickly I thought to myself, "humor is your only chance".
I yelled at the top of my lungs "WOW!!!" and then shaking my head in exaggerated mock disbelief (and taking a half step back) I yelled even a little louder, "WOW!! You are BIG!"
There was a tense second or two and then the dreadlocked giant smiled, tipped his head back, and laughed with genuine deep belly laughter. Without wasting any time I said, "You are REALLY really big..." as I side stepped around him. And he let me go. And the tension in the moment was gone. And they let us walk down to the docks and get in our boat without any other incident.
It all happened so quickly and well behind Siri's back that she wasn't exactly sure what had happened. She said, "What's going on?" I said, "Let's just get to the boat quickly" and there must have been something in my voice because she didn't hesitate to ask any more questions.
Once in the boat my legs and hands were shaking - and not mildly. I had the biggest dose of adrenalin my body could serve up coursing through me. We were halfway to the Caye Caulker before my hand mainly steadied. I had honestly feared for my life and my humorous gambit had been my only chance. Every time I tell that story I get a little worked up to this day. I will never forget being the fucking whitey in Belize City.
alaska : staff fight
Pete would stomp through the crowded camp of closely arranged tents with a dour look on his face. He would be stage muttering things like “Mother FUCKER” and “Son Of a BITCH” and “Fucking [heavy exhalation]”. He offended my .