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Webisodio #16

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Flat waves in Tamarindo, Costa Rica and my new Argentinean and Costa Rican friends' floodlights inspire a humid summer night…

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Season 2

Webisode 17 Coming Soon!

Webisodio #16 is live! Check it out in the Season #2 thumbnail. Webisodio #17 is right around the corner!

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Surf Lessons

Surf Lessons

Learn how to surf in Venice, California with an experienced Hawaiian instructor.

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Language Exploration

Tutoring for travel

Learn to speak another language fluently, it never ceases to enhance my travel experiences

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Travel Log #3 - Day 2

We woke up early and filled up on gas next door to the Baja Cactus for the first time in Mexico. The truck was still there. Everything seemed cool. The truck was running a little hot, so we pulled over and put some more coolant in the engine. We filled up again at a remote gasolinera shortly before arriving in San Ignacio , a picturesque oasis town located roughly 700 miles south of the border. We had covered a decent amount of ground in 2 days.

Upon arriving in San Ignacio we pulled over and went for a brief dip to cool off. It felt amazing to wash away the day's dust. There were literally thousands of Mexicans there for a pueblo wide celebration. I found out later that the majority of the people happened to be in town for the annual fiesta from towns up and down the vast Baja coast.

Anxious to surf, we didn't swim long. We reckoned if we got out of town quick enough we might be able to drive the roughly 50 miles before sundown to Scorpion Bay. We didn't take into account how rough the road was. In retrospect we most certainly should have deflated our tires significantly. Once we had left town we unplugged the ipod so it wouldn't rattle loose and started reverberating along. About 10 miles out of town in the middle of nowhere shit hit the fan. I suddenly felt the front right tire get squirrely on me. I stopped the truck and had Sam inspect the damage. At first he said "it looks fine, you're imagining things." Oh how I wished he was correct, but I felt the loss of control from the steering wheel and knew all to well that something major had just occurred. A couple feet later I could tell from Sam's shocked facial expression that something terrible had indeed occurred. The bolt connecting the tire to the axle had snapped in half. An outside inspection quickly revealed my truck attempting what appeared to be a fruity curtsy. Somehow the lone house as far as the eye could see was located a mere football field from where we broke down.

When we arrived at the house we found the occupants (an elderly couple) entertaining a visitor from San Ignacio. They were surprised as hell to see us. I guess they weren't accustomed to receiving many visitors. Their guest luckily was on his way back to town, the couple had no telephone to call for help. Sam went with him, being the fearless captain I stayed with ship. I was alone for about an hour and a half, until Sam returned with help in the form of drunk man named Jose whose nickname was "El Coreano" due to his squinty eyes. He was accompanied by a young boy named Juan. El Coreano was clearly wasted. After rigging up my truck and doing a gnarly 3 point turn in a giant tow truck on a tight rocky road this fact became unequivocally clear. El Coreano had been taking part in La Fiesta all day. The connection failed miserably and my truck tilted precariously to one side. I subtly had a borderline anxiety attack. Juan, who was obviously amused and sober (thank god) hopped out to reconnect the loosened hook. Finally we were off for real this time back to San Ignacio, where every single motel was booked due to the enormous celebration.

No matter, El Coreano took us to the car cemetery where he lived and told us we could sleep in any totaled car our little hearts desired... All in Spanish of course. Seriously He recommended "La Lancha" or the little boat, but it was open air and crawling with mosquitos. Taking all this in I noticed the large glowing pacifico can on top of the liquor store conveniently located a stone's throw away from his air-conditioned mobile home. I promptly offered to buy us all some beer. He graciously, or perhaps more aptly, excitedly accepted the offer. I grabbed the first of several 12 packs and proceeded to hydrate "El Coreano" to the best of my ability. Shortly thereafter he introduced us to "El Patron" or the owner of the junkyard/cemetery who he periodically lived next to (depending on where he parked) and worked for, thus destroying my ploy to mitigate the eventual cost via broing out with beer. Damn!

Whatever though, we ended up talking story and devouring beer for an hour or so before "El Patron" went to sleep. "El Coreano" took it upon himself to show us all the gruesome auto wrecks, making a point to share every morbid detail. He also showed us a semi-truck that looked like it got attacked by the jaws of life on crack. The metal side walls of the truck were skinned up and down and left hanging there like an orange peel that wasn't unraveled all the way. He explained that the military found cocaine in the 30 or so compartments and left the trashed semi with Raul (aka "El Patron"). There were 3 other semis sitting on blocks right next to it corroding away. "Las llantas" or the tires, all 28 of them to be exact had been filled with Marijuana. I asked him what the military did with all the marijuana, with a wry smile he replied, they smoked it.

Shortly thereafter "El Coreano" informed us that the car cemetery conveniently doubled as a real cemetery and that more than once he had tools inexplicably yanked from his hands while nobody was around. Needless to say when he suggested a moment later we head into town to check out the festivities we leaped at the opportunity. I decided the most prudent thing for me to do to get a good nights rest was to get as drunk as possible (considering how comfortable sleeping in the fetal position inside the El Camino turned out to be, I would say I achieved my objective with flying colors).

In town we made a bunch of buddies and wound up getting our feet vomited on by one of our new friends named Geronimo. He actually only lightly misted my feet, but he nailed poor Sam. After an hour or so "El Coreano" wanted to leave but nobody wanted us to go. There were literally guys grabbing onto my shoulders refusing to let me go. "El Coreano" decided it was time to bounce right as a group of cute girls came over to talk to us. Chuchaaaaa!!! as they say in Chile. We were "El Camino" bound moments later. The last thing I remember was laughing to myself at our funny new friends favorite word they kept calling one another, punol (with a ~ over the "n") which means homosexual.

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