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Brazil Pt 3: Geografía

Maps of continents, with their assortment of colors, scales and dotted lines, can’t express what far really feels like. Dang Brazil is big! Claudio and I drove almost non-stop for four days. We drove 18 hours of every 24. What seemed close on the map, potholes and unannounced speed bumps managed to stretch into eternities. We changed as many tires in as many days as a testament to the roads temper. The road we had driven was the equivalent of traversing all of Central America combined. On the other hand, we had driven through just four states of lesser-known Brazil (Pará, Maranhão, Piauí, and Bahia). Temperatures ranged from uncomfortable to unbearable while precipitation ranged from humid to soaking wet. No political, topographical or shaded relief map could do justice to these distances. Even the high tech illustrations of the mighty and modern Google Earth would seem nothing more than a betrayal of the truth in comparison to this marathon.

Day four was a record-breaking day. We drove more than 500 miles in nearly 20 hours, from inland Piauí to the Atlantic coast of Bahia. With little more than an address and no map of the city of Salvador, we somehow managed to find Majo and our friends Gabriela and Eduardo in the midst of its 3 million inhabitants. Majo and I were reunited and Claudio was finally going to visit Salvador, which I had talked so much about. They were waiting for us with clean towels, a comfy mattress and most importantly, a wonderful home-cooked meal. Who could ask for anything more?

There is so much to tell that I am forced to summarize. With Gaby and Eduardo we ate muceca de peixe, swam in the crystal clear waters of Porto da Barra and joined mestre Lua Rasta’s roda de capoeira in the Praça Terreiro de Jesus. We wandered the streets of Barra and asked every restaurant for their used oleo da cozinha and refilled El Chaski’s insatiable appetite for waste vegetable oil (WVO).

We met Claudio and Saraiva who inspired us with their work on environmental initiatives in their non-profit Germen. They insisted that we were their inspiration and invited us to present the Biodiesel Diaries at a national conference. But then, Claudio, Majo and I, all fell victims to a 24-hour stomach flu and were so debilitated that, sadly, we were unable to attend. After 5 days in Salvador, Claudio boarded a plane to Chile and Majo and I continued on with el Chaski.

We joined the small town life of Andaraí, hiked in the Chapadas Diamantinas and Camped on the deserted southern Coast of Bahia. On a dirt road with no signs, a starry night with no moon, a cacao farm with no end, we stopped to fix another flat tire. And then we drove until we couldn’t drive any further. Truck stops became our home between homes, shower between showers and meal between meals and yet life was good. And so we made our way south across the state of Espírito Santo to Rio de Janeiro.

We met Faber and Marina who took us in like friends of many life times. Faber handed us over his Geography class in Copacabana and we redesigned space ship earth (what a fun activity!) and developed all kinds of sustainable solutions for our unsustainable lifestyles. We explored the city by bus and metro. We wandered the length of Ipanema and sat at the foot of rock formations called Pão de Açucar. We even went to the stadium to witness fútbol in all its splendor.

The Maracanã stadium dressed in red and black for a quarterfinal match of the Copa Libertadores. The sold out stadium of 80,000 fans sang and danced but after 90 minutes, the home favorites, Flamingo, fell to a strong side. The team in blue, La Universidad de Chile, left with three points after a 3-2 upset on foreign soil. Our hearts cheered, but we bit our tongues. The adrenaline of cheering for Chile as infiltrated Brazilians was too much to bear. ¡Foi um dia pra não esquecer!
And then we were back on the road. In three weeks, the temperatures dropped 40 degrees. We went from the upper nineties in north of the country to the low fifties in the southern state of Paraná. We went from shorts and flip-flops to boots, jeans and fleeces and never looked back. After Curitiba, we pointed our car towards the Western horizon and made way for Foz, a small city on the tri-frontera, intersection of Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina.

There was one last adventure to be had before crossing into Argentina. We had to visit the largest waterfall on the planet, the Cataratas de Iguaçu. We were not disappointed. Every view was amazing.calculate tax refund 2011

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We looked at it from above, from below, from one side and then the other. Then we walked out into the middle of it. The water never ended. It roared and covered us in mist. It carved islands, canyons and gorges and is a natural wonder of the earth. It was so simple, so great and so beautiful. We were struck by awe and felt so tiny and humble on this giant planet.

View our route!

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Miles traveled: 10,524 (16,937 km)

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Brazil Pt 1: Remember… Don’t talk to strangers.

Claudio and I were looking forward to our Brazilian adventures. We had 1,000 km to cross before reaching the Amazon River. There we would take a ferry down river 1,500 km to the city of Belem. Then there was an unimaginable amount of road from Belem to Salvador da Bahia, where we would meet Maria Jose and stay with some friends.

We had barely entered Brazil when I decided to pick up two Russian hitchhikers hanging out at the border. They could have been, drug smugglers, KGB, Russian mafia or harmless hippies. I consulted with Claudio and he said it was fine. I figured that with all the help we had received on our journey thus far, helping out some fellow travelers seemed appropriate. They gladly jumped into our “Chaski” and we pushed on south to Boa Vista.

Igor was a Buddhist traveler, living life simply. With a total budget of $100 per month and a rice and porridge diet, he had been hitchhiking for more than a year around the world. He had no more than the clothes on his back and a small backpack to his name and simply told us he felt free. He had no attachments to the past or future and said he had never been happier in his life.

Dennis on the other hand, had just spent $13,000 purchasing Ecuadorian citizenship to make traveling easier. As we drove, he would occasionally pass us his headphones to share California dreaming by the Mamas and the Papas or a Russian tune from his MP3 player. His dream was to buy a large beachfront property in S. America and build a hotel or resort that would function as his refuge from the icy-cold Russian winters.

In Boa Vista we said “Dasvidanya” to our Russian friends. And within minutes, another complete stranger presented himself. It was around 9pm and we were trying to withdraw money from an ATM. Diego was curious about our car, but given the circumstances I was wary. He could have been conning us, making small talk while friends arrived to rob us, or suckering us into some other trap. On the other hand, there was the possibility that he was truly interested in meeting two travelers from California.

As it turned out, it was his birthday, and he was on his way home with his 10 month-old twin daughters when he couldn’t help but be intrigued by our colorful car. He was inspired to talk to us and learn more. When the ATM failed us, he took us to another bank (I know…how could we follow a stranger to a bank at night…but his babies were too cute) and then he took us to an awesome restaurant to stave our hunger. As if this wasn’t enough, he offered us room to camp in his yard since his home was too small for us to sleep in. We couldn’t believe what was going on. We met his wonderful wife and became a part of their family for the next two days. They gave us food, shelter and family; and in return, only accepted a piece of our hearts. Diego helped us fix el “Chaski” which had been acting strangely and on the morning of the third day it wasn’t enough to tell us how to find the freeway towards Manaus; he kindly escorted us all the way to the edge of town.

Claudio and I drove from Boa Vista with our hearts just a little bigger than before (and we are no Grinches), humbled by the beautiful friendship we now shared with Diego and his family. I wondered if this was pure luck. Was it our energy that attracted these amazing interactions? Was it el “Chaski” and our waste vegetable oil journey that inspired others? Was it good kharma or was it just the way Brazilians were?

Brazil Pt 2: The Amazon

At first the Amazon was a wall of forest in the distance, one kilometer from either side of the road. Large cattle pastures separated us from it or it from us (depending on your point of view) for nearly 300km. My desire to hear the jungle buzzing remained unfulfilled. Even though we were already surrounded by it in its enormity, it didn’t feel like a rainforest. It felt more like a big farm with tame crickets.

At 10pm we reached the edge of the indigenous reservation. Diego had forewarned us that the road would be closed at night and had instructed us to make camp here. The Waimiri Reservation is only open from 6am to 6pm and visitors are asked not to stop when passing through. We turned off the engine in the parking lot outside the reservation. We stepped outside the car to stretch our legs after more than 12 hours on the road and were greeted by the deafening roar of millions of insects, birds, monkeys, bats and other creatures of the wild. We finally found ourselves face to face with largest rainforest in the world. The Amazon! Too tired to eat, we climbed inside our mesh insect shield and were lulled to sleep by the humming forest.

It was 5:59 am when I opened my eyes. Claudio was already awake. It was barely past daybreak and Claudio pointed at the dark clouds approaching rapidly. We jumped into action, threw all of our belongings into el “Chaski” and rolled up the windows. The fastest we had packed yet. Less than two minutes. I started the engine and pointed the steering wheel into the dense jungle as it began to pour in true rainforest fashion, and from one moment to the next, we were immersed in lush foliage, lunar-size road-craters and swamps. The jungle’s canopy hung 200 hundred feet overhead and water fell from the sky as if the ocean were upon us. The jungle was thick, impenetrable, beautiful, green, magical and thriving.

The only signs of the native Amazonians were the road signs they had erected asking drivers not to stop inside their reservation or run over their animals. I wondered how the indigenous Waimiri lived with their environment. What animals did they hunt? What fruits, herbs and roots were edible? How did they build their shelters? How was their relationship with outside world? While the landscape was visually enthralling, I couldn’t imagine living here. If the truck broke down, how long would Claudio and I last? I wanted to get out and walk and yet knew better. It was pouring and I wanted to respect the wishes of the Waimiri. It was inviting but inhospitable at the same time and let our imaginations run with the road.

200km and 6 hours later, there were no signs marking the end of the reservation, just clues. First, the craters in the road became smaller, less frequent and then almost nonexistent. Slowly, the forest returned to its place on the horizon as groups of cattle appeared in the countryside. What was trees and vines, birds and frogs, epiphytes and ferns, ocelots, monkeys, sloths and snakes, was reduced to grass and cows. Occasional houses and farms transformed into gas stations and towns; the two-lane road became an eight-lane highway, packed with cars and trucks. The asphaltization or ‘civilization’ of that green power was taking place much faster than I had anticipated. Everything began to move so quickly around us it seemed as if we moved in slow motion. Cars now raced in every which direction. Advertisements and factories crowded the horizon as we finally found ourselves in Manaus. Then, before we knew it, we were completely lost in the industrial, ‘zona franca’, port-city metropolis sitting at the intersection of the mighty Rio Negro and Rio Amazonas.
Geographically, Manaus is completely isolated; it’s like an island of cement in the heart of wilderness. We were 1,000 kilometers south of Boa Vista, via the virtually untraveled road we had driven. We were 1,500 km from Belém, our next destination, only reachable by riverboat. It seemed like a strange place for a city of nearly 3,000,000 inhabitants.

While less than halfway into our Amazonian travels, the clash between modern civilization and indigenous reservation raged in my head. If one could imagine the inverse force of our weight on the earth, I could feel the weight of the earth on the soles of my shoes. We measure weight in pounds and kilos. We know how much we can carry, the maximum load of an elevator, the breaking point of rope, but do we know how much of our burden the jungle, river or planet can carry. What seemed like a harmless road brought the cows and farms further into the jungle. It was the same road that took the trees out. It was the same road that had brought me here, to see for myself what was taking place in this magnificent Amazonian place. I tried to imagine the whole of the Amazon left alone. Would it have been better that we didn’t meet? But it was too late. I had already felt its weight on the souls of my feet and would never be the same, its lasting impression already making its impact on me.

View our route!

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Miles traveled: 9,832 (15,823 km)

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Majo and I crossed the border into a new country for the 10th time in 5 months. It’s a special sensation crossing into the unknown. You learn to confront life’s necessities, or in our case, the necessities of international travel. Venezuela was a case study with interesting variables that could throw a monkey wrench in your equation at any time. There are basically three main areas you must cover; who, what and where? You never know whom you will encounter along the road, what you are going to eat or where you will end up sleeping.

The first “Who” you must deal with in a new country are the authorities. This can be very intimidating at times, but with 9 previous immigration and border encounters, we felt adequately prepared to face off with Venezuela’s officials. As it turned out, their customs offices were some of the easiest to navigate of the whole journey. Their offices were clean, organized, efficient and most importantly air-conditioned. All of their officials wore uniforms and attended us fairly. There was no cost for the timely processing of our paperwork and an hour later we were handed our 30-day permit to transit the country with our oversized “veggie” suburban. Little did we know that once in the country, our encounters with Venezuela’s many authorities would not be so simple. We had at least 40 police and military encounters in Venezuela between the borders of Paraguachón (Colombia) and Santa Elena (Brazil). This was preposterous in comparison to Colombia, where we had only one such encounter. A regular day of driving was prolonged by 1-2 hours of checkpoints along the way (8 checkpoints x 15 minutes). They randomly checked some and always stopped us! As could be expected this usually involved a bribe attempt. At almost every stop we were told we had committed some new made up infraction. The one exception to these sad demonstrations of the Chavez socialist government was Sargento Garcia. He held us for almost 30 minutes, but not to harass us; he wanted to know if we were revolutionaries. He spoke highly of Hugo Chavez, the universal health care in Venezuela and was well versed in socialist movements throughout Latin America. He was firmly against “Neoliberalismo” and he had plenty of statistics to support his arguments. While serving his country in the military, he proudly mentioned that he was in his sixth year of Law School and would graduate this year. He welcomed us to Venezuela and wished us a wonderful experience in his country and that we take a wonderful impression with us – a successful line we quoted at other harassment checkpoints. We had answers for every question and readily presented our letters of support from the Chilean consulate and the S.F. United Nations Association chapter. We didn’t pay any bribes and weren’t given any tickets! We were triumphant! Of course, being native Spanish speakers helped tremendously.

“Who” also included an important transition in the trip. Majo and I made a tough decision, given new circumstances and variables. Majo is pregnant! We are now three! And as the trip moves into the Amazon we had to face the big three, or tiny three depending on your point of view; three different mosquitoes that carry malaria, yellow fever and dengue; all severe infections that cause severe illnesses. Being pregnant, Majo could no longer get the yellow fever vaccine and we didn’t want to risk anything happening to Majo or our newest family member. Majo would fly to Santiago to be with her mother for month 3 of pregnancy and then later return to meet me in Salvador, Brazil one month later. But not to worry, I wouldn’t be alone; I would continue on with my brother Claudio, who was flying in to Caracas for the second leg of the trip. The transition was complete. Majo was eating well and resting in Chile and Claudio and I were off to face the unknown once again.

The question “What to eat?” was always an issue in Venezuela. Their food, although I’m sure we didn’t have the best, left much to be desired. On the road, the most common options were deep fried arepas (round, palm sized, corn meal biscuits) filled with mystery meat, rice and beans. We usually opted for just rice and beans. In Colombia, arepas were appetizing; here we were unsure how many days the meat had been out, and if flies weren’t buzzing over the food spread, we guessed it was because they were already full.

Whenever we could camp, we happily cooked our own meals. Since options are slim in Venezuela’s supermarkets, we had a steady diet of oatmeal for breakfast and pasta for lunch and dinner, either with a fried egg or tuna fish. Hey don’t be grossed out, it was delicious every time!

The last question “Where to sleep” was always interesting and full of surprises. We stayed at a revolutionary hostel in Caracas, great people but horribly infested with mosquitoes buzzing in our ears. We had a terrible nights sleep and lots of bumps in the morning. Our hosts helped us find a good place to eat – “Look there are panaderias on these two corners, but don’t go there. They are terrible fascists,” they told us. “Walk another block and you’ll find a decent panaderia where they are a little more politically correct.” We followed their instructions and walked by two beautiful panaderias and entered the less attractive third store, where we were well attended and found some great bread and deli meats.

We didn’t last more than one night in Caracas, but it wasn’t just the sleeping conditions that repelled us. What we saw in Caracas helped us understand that while Sargento Garcia was proud of the Cuban doctors in the countries ghettoes, the gap between rich and poor was as great as the canyon in which Caracas is built. Never had we seen such an impoverished population piled on top of one another in the cities vast shantytowns. This was the Tokyo of ghettoes. The streets smelled and were piled with trash. We witnessed the sad faces of drug addicts, extreme poverty, elite shopping malls and overpriced fast food within a city block. It was polluted, congested, grim and too busy. With no friends to visit, there was no reason to stay. We weren’t ready for Caracas and departed towards the coast, fully aware that being able to leave this city was a luxury that not all could afford. We were only left with lasting impressions of some deeper troubles and the beginning of questions we couldn’t finish. Where did all of the oil money go? Wouldn’t it be better to train your own doctors than to import them? How did? Why do? Who…What… We were at a loss of words.

Not knowing where you will sleep also implies visiting some unexpected places. After one really long drive along Venezuela’s Litoral Central (central coast), we got lucky when we turned into a private beach community near Machurucuto. The guards felt sorry for us and decided against better judgment to let us camp for free on the beach, after we promised not to get them into trouble. Claudio and I set up our tent and were too tired to cook; so we each had a piece of bread before crashing. At 5 AM, we woke up to one of the most beautiful sunrises of the whole trip. It was a totally awesome spot, a palm-lined, white sand beach, sitting on the North Atlantic/Caribbean coast, with not a person in sight. The beach seemed almost endless in each direction. What was surprising was that during our drive the day before, there wasn’t a single sign pointing to beach access, even though our map indicated we couldn’t be far away. Sadly, we came to the realization that so much of the coastline and the nicest beaches were inaccessible because they were privatized. Even sadder was that these ‘perfect’ beach communities for the wealthiest of Venezuela were empty. We were surrounded by empty beach homes hoarding the coastline for 10 months of the year, so that it could be exclusively for the pleasure of a few during 2 months of vacationing. This is the contrast of Venezuela socialist ideals – while very popular with many, there are still those who are defiantly against sharing and at every instance you can observe the famous saying – Entre el dicho y el hecho hay mucho trecho. The government is saying one thing to the rest of the world. But what is or isn’t happening in Venezuela, only Venezuelans know.

We said good-bye to the Caribbean and made our way inland to Ciudad Bolivar. All of Venezuela up to this point was unbearably hot with temperatures in the upper 90’s, but Ciudad Bolivar took the cake; it had to be in the 100’s! After looking into some tours, we found out we were too poor to visit the tallest waterfall in the world, Angel Falls. Since you must fly to this exclusive destination and we were $700 short of the asking price, we invested in some much-needed repairs for “El Chaski” and afforded ourselves a different luxury, an air-conditioned hotel room for $30.

The weather here was overwhelming in general. We had never imagined how dry Venezuela was. Hills, mountains and coastlines were all brown and apparently the country was suffering from 3 years of drought. I had imagined a greener, tropical; you know…uhmmm, Caribbean country. To the contrary, this dry, arid country that reminded me of the Middle East, was on fire from border to border. There wasn’t a single day of driving where we didn’t encounter some wildfire, out of control-controlled fire or garbage fire, not to mention the fire blazing from oil refineries throughout the country. Venezuela was on fire! The constant inhalation of smoke and fumes was exhausting. Everyone we asked said that poor culture and education were to blame. Between cigarettes being tossed out of windows and uncontrolled agricultural burns, most people seemed to just accept it as a lost cause and fact of life. The brown, burning and deforested landscapes of Venezuela were sad.

In summary, everything seemed too challenging in Venezuela, especially “who.” Meeting people was tough. Our contacts never worked out and our emails went unresponded. This was bound to happen somewhere; but there was something else we couldn’t explain. It was the first country where no one said “thank you” or “your welcome”. To be attended we had to pester storekeepers or waiters. People didn’t make eye contact and generally people were rude. At first, every encounter was like a stand off in the old west, then after some initial gruffness and hard stares, the ice would be broken and conversation occasionally continued smoothly. We assured ourselves that it was cultural and tried our best not to be offended.

Finally, there was light at the end of the tunnel. La Gran Sabana was Venezuela’s savior. We found some friends, peace, and good food in the oldest mountains on earth. We were in the vast grasslands and Tepuis near the Brazilian border. The Tepuis are amazing rock formations that date back to Gondwana, the time when all the continents were one, and it was marvelous. Claudio and I explored waterfalls and rivers. We also met several friendly families in different Pemón indigenous villages we visited.

When we were ready to cross into Brazil, Venezuela had one more surprise for us. Claudio needed a visa to enter Brazil and the Brazilian consulate was closed for Semana Santa (Easter). We woud have to stay another week in Venezuela. That was the same day we met Manuel, an alternative living architect who had left Caracas decades ago to live closer to the earth, in El Pauji, possibly the most remote area of Venezuela and the last place on the map. Intrigued by our car, he struck up conversation with us and invited us to visit this remote little town. It sounded good and we decided to take him up on his offer.

The dirt road to El Paují, winding along the Brazilian border was long, slow and rough, and we arrived just before sundown. We had barely noticed the small mini market and a couple of scattered houses when Gabriel, pulled up next to us on his bike.

“Where are you staying?” he asked. His big smile and easy attitude caught us off guard. He sported a scraggily faux-hawk and one lone dread hanging out the back of his head and had a good vibe.

“We don’t know yet, but we’ve mostly been sleeping out in the Gran Sabana.” I responded.

We spoke for another few minutes and by the end of our conversation he had convinced us to camp out at “Brisas del Paují,” outside the youth friendly, laid back, cabins he and his friends ran. We met Eliakim, ‘El Nacho’ and Gerardo who along with Gabriel would be our hosts and friends for life. Since we were low on money, we arranged an exchange with our hosts. Claudio and I agreed to help garden, and they agreed to let us camp and show us around.

We had an amazing week in El Paují. We swam in hidden pools, sat on the cliffs of the “Abismo,” an amazing spot overlooking the Amazon jungle from the edge of the Gran Sabana. We laughed, cooked, gardened, ate, and shared stories. We had time to visit Manuel’s eco-village and tour his eco-houses and amazing gravity water pump. Before we knew it, the week had flown by and it was time to head back to Santa Elena for Claudio’s visa. Our new friends left me wanting to return to the one country of the trip I thought I would never visit again. Now I know, there is plenty more to Venezuela than just the surface.

The next chapter in our trans-continental journey – Brazil.

View our route!

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Miles traveled: 7,820 (12,585 km)

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On February 20th we arrived safely in Cartagena, Colombia after a short flight over the Caribbean Sea. Our good friend Antonio Cediel, from Colombia, put us in touch with some friends of his, who generously offered to pick us up at the airport. We were greeted by Ruth and her two daughters, Eva Luz and Maya, 6 years old and 4 months respectively. We took a taxi to her house where we met her husband Diego, a one of a kind Parcero aka homie! Their house was simple, warm, and welcoming. We were in the heart of a barrio costeño on a Saturday afternoon. The sounds of Vallenato and salsa music came from within all the houses and brought the streets to life.

Hungry as usual, we walked to a corner store to try some typical Colombian food. Kids ran every which way, men played dominoes on the corner while drinking beers with a small crowd. Women walked hand in hand with sun-brellas to withstand the afternoon heat. Every three blocks deserved a cold soda or ice cream. It had to be in the upper nineties, we had barely spent 10 minutes outside and were sweating profusely. At the food stand, we had some arepas – fried corn meal patties stuffed with almost anything you wanted – but meat is clearly the preference here. We had ours with egg, a typical variety, topped with hot sauce or garlic sauce or in my case both. We couldn’t have been happier with our first day in Colombia.

With such a wonderful welcoming family of our same age, our friendship grew quickly. Ruth was on maternity leave from the University of Cartagena. A major hip-hop lover, she break-dances, raps and even produced her own music video. Diego, an artisan, designs and creates some of the most beautiful lamps I have ever seen and lives from his art. Diego’s time is his own. He works his own hours, usually when his girls go to bed; he stays up, focused on his craft, each piece original and unique. Having traveled for some time now, I was used to seeing the same necklaces and trinkets over and over. His art was one of kind. They both had an easy going, open and sharing vibe and made us feel very comfortable. They made sure to let us know, we could stay as long as we wanted. Little did they know that this would prove true, as our stay extended much further than planned. The ship with the container holding our beloved veggie car “El Chaski” was supposed to arrive in Cartagena just two days after us. The story couldn’t have been more radically different.

Sunday, the day before the supposed arrival, we made some phone calls to prepare ourselves. Dealing with ports in foreign countries is no easy task. We quickly found out that the ship had never left the port and that it was a week behind schedule; it would depart on Friday and arrive the following Sunday. We were outraged. Anticipating this, the company, reimbursed us $100 via Western Union, but it only calmed our nerves.

Trying to remain positive, we decided that things could be worse. We were in a beautiful city and with great people. Sure, we were behind schedule, but everything would be fine. We decided to explore the centro colonial, the fortified city of Cartagena de Indias. Divided into two parts by canals, we started with San Diego and later found our way to Getsemani. I didn’t realize until walking through this city, centuries old, that it was actually an island connected to the mainland by small bridges in various directions. Majo and I were impressed with the amazing colonial architecture, beautiful churches and colorful houses. Often times, these beautiful places are reserved especially for tourists, but Cartagena broke the mould; this touristy center was packed with locals, walking, shopping, eating and enjoying the ambience the city exudes.

We were surprised when we discovered we had arrived during Cartagena’s International Film Festival. I guess everything does happen for a reason. Our car, running behind schedule, gave us an opportunity to explore Cartagena in depth and relax since we hadn’t planned any projects here. We saw a great Argentinean film “El ultimo viaje de Boyita” and invited our hosts to the red carpet premier of a Colombian film that didn’t impress any of us. The best part was just sitting in the beautiful Teatro Heredia, with its painted dome ceiling and 5 floors of balcony seating.

The following weekend we began to make more calls. The emails they said they would send us never came. We had no information on our car. After hours of furious discussions, someone was honest with us. The ship had left port but had broken down just kilometers at sea. They assured us that there was nothing to worry about and it would only be one or two more days at the most.
Two days passed and we began the fastidious process of tracking down shipping representatives. Truth be told, the ship was in bad shape. This was no simple malfunction. They had blown a turbine! They couldn’t get the parts in Panama, so they were being ordered in from Greece! AHhhhh! It sounded like a 3rd grader’s far-fetched fantastical story. To top it off, when the part arrived, they were further delayed because no one on board could make the repair. A special engineer had to be flown in from Miami! It was ridiculous.

To add insult to injury, the Colombian company, owners of the ship, began to make up charges we were not privy to. That after removing our car from the container for a fee, we were responsible for the container, which could not remain in the port. They insisted we had to hire a trucking company to move the container to a storage facility where it would be stored at our expense! This didn’t even include the costs of customs, unloading, transit permits and other details. I flipped out and Majo was exasperated. I was livid with the agent and had to remove myself from the building. In Panama, our shipping agent assured us that our port expenses in Cartagena would not exceed $100. I was hearing, our expenses would be well over $500 dollars of bullshit! I simply refused to pay any of it. I was going to raise a storm with the company in Panama, but first we had to visit the actual port for some other paperwork. As it would turn out, the Colombian representative didn’t know how to read our paperwork. When the port authorities read it, he simply stated that all of those costs inferred had been taken care of with our original contract and that the process would actually be fairly straight forward, that is, when the car eventually arrives.

At long last, we drove the car from the port into the streets of Cartagena. We were free from the nightmare and ready to begin our journey through South America. After discussions with others, we knew this didn’t happen to everyone transporting their car past the Darien Gap. Maybe it was just bad luck. We tried to find a lesson in the madness. Majo and I like to believe everything has a purpose, a meaning, that nothing is superfluous, pure chance or whimsical. Our lesson teaches us that we must accept the things beyond our control. Life has a course of its own even when we are piloting the ship. We give it direction with our intentions, our dreams and aspirations. We haven’t lost faith in ours. Patience is the difference between a dream fulfilled and a dream deferred. If we fight time, we will always lose, as time stops for no one. We will continue to seek vegetable oil to fill the tank and persist in reaching our families in Chile. The trip ahead will be long. Although it seems like a halfway point, in terms of distance, almost two thirds of the road lies ahead. We are confident there will be many more challenges and that together, with patience, we will endure and overcome. Venceremos!

We said good-bye to our Parceros. Diego, Ruth, Eva Luz and Maya (If you are reading, we will miss you). The beauty of the trip, like at other times, is that we have been introduced to strangers who through the course of short periods of time have become friends for life. We drove east to the Parque Nacional Tayrona and beyond towards Venezuela and whatever else awaits us. We smiled and put on some tunes, happy to be on the road once again.

Carlos y Majo

View our route!

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Miles traveled: 7,148 (11,503 km)

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We rested with friends in the mountains of Guanacaste, Costa Rica and recuperated after a long, hard drive, passage through the lost worlds of customs and some serious hunger. We visited with the wonderful people of San Rafael and life lived close to the earth.  A special thank you to Cia, Mau, the Bergman’s, Miguel, Marino, Daisy and many more friends who fed us with love and let us rest.  It was too short but a much needed rest.

Rejuvenated and reinvigorated, we continued to the region of Los Santos, Costa Rica and the small coffee town of Santa Maria de Dota.  The coffee farm “Sol Cobliri” of small-scale farmer Arturo Segura became our new home and the location of our next video.  We were invited along with Art Donnely of Seattle to support a local effort.  The idea was to teach local farmers how to create and use gasifying “Biochar” stoves (check out this video coming soon, truly incredible work).  Arturo and his beautiful family (Carolina y Benjamín) took wonderful care of us.  We ate delicious food and drank the best coffee in the world (produced responsibly, protecting the environment and striving to improve the quality of living of the hands producing it).  We filmed, worked, played music, laughed and ate while our friendship grew in the day-to-day living.  We visited great friends in the neighboring town of Providencia and after Carlos’ Chilean passport arrived by mail, it was time to say farewell and hit the road again.

Our next stop was Heredia, where a good friend Marcos and his family would host us.  We got to meet his mom, cousins, brothers, nephews, the twins and more.  We also met up with the youth from PeaceJam who had participated in the last Education Without Borders trip to Costa Rica and they showed us around the city.  They helped us find waste vegetable oil and when the time came for good byes, they sent us on our way with a full tank, full bellies, and contacts for our next stop back on the Caribbean coast, Puerto Viejo and the border with Panama.

The afternoons on the black sand beaches Puerto Viejo were unforgettable.  The turquoise waters cooled off the hot days and we spent hours in and out of the water taking breaks to rehydrate with cool water from low hanging coconuts we’d picked with ease.  Then we met Arturo again with another friend Tato.  We had planned to visit friends of Arturo’s in the indigenous town of Bri Bri, where we were planning to bring the gasifying stove workshop in the next Education Without Borders summer program in July 2010.

The majority of the native community cooks with on open wood fires for their daily needs and they suffer like many worldwide from the respiratory illnesses caused by daily inhalation of the smoke (near 50% of the world cooks on wood fires and these respiratory illnesses kill more people annually than malaria).  The simple technology used in these gasifying stoves could greatly benefit the health and well being of these communities while also greatly reducing the impact the harvest and consumption of this fuel (wood, i.e. forests) has on the environment.

We met leaders from APPTA, a cooperative of organic cocoa and banana farmers from Bri Bri.  We learned about the great work they are doing for community members, farmers and to find better and more just access to markets.  It was truly inspiring to see their organization and dedication.  After this visit with Doña Juanita and Don Walter, we felt that the doors had been left open to future solidarity work with their community.

In contrast, it was shocking to see the stretch of road on either side of the Costa Rican border with Panama in Sixaola.  What was once a sea of rainforest was now an ocean of banana plantations.  The land around the Sixaola River was owned by multinational corporations like Chiquita, Del Monte and Dole, who all abuse their workers and the fertility of the land and river with their excessive use of chemical herbicides and pesticides.  It’s these transnational corporations that close opportunities towards small family farmers who long to sell an organic product in the world market and take care of their own environment.  I guess its something to think about before you eat your next banana.

The border crossing was actually easier than we had imagined.   Less than two hours from the border we had left el “Chaski” on dry ground as we would water-taxi to Bocas del Toro, an archipelago of paradise islands, jungle and tourists amuck.  We spent four days there, visited beautiful beaches on the islands of Colón and in the National Park Island, Cayo Zapatilla.  It was amazing and at the same time sad, as this also sensitive habitat is plagued by careless, unrestricted tourism that does not consider native inhabitants or the conservation of the very same natural beauty that attracts so many.  Yet another natural treasure that future generations may not get to enjoy with all its natural splendor.

Many shades darker and many beats slower from the heat, we drove 9 hours to Panama City.  After crossing the world famous Panama Canal via the Bridge of the Americas, we were surprised to see a modern city, full of skyscrapers and new cars.  Completely different from anything we had seen so far.  We stayed with Pamela, the sister of good friend in Chile.  The Hurtado-Conejeros family accepted as two more of their own while we struggled against the oppressive bureaucratic regime of shipping our car in a container from Panama to Colombia.  We wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through this process but it was our only option since there is no safe way to cross the Darien Gap, a swampy jungle, drug trafficking corridor separating Panama and Colombia. We would like to thank Kattia for helping us navigate the city, without her it wouldn’t have been easy.

We finally accomplished the almost impossible.  It’s our last night in Panama and el “Chaski” is sleeping in a container bound for Cartagena, Colombia, where we will be reunited with our trusty ride. The second half of this saga continues…the crossing of our beloved continent – South America…

Sí se puede!

Carlos y Majo

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Miles traveled: 6,071 (9,770 km)

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The New Year began 17 days ago and it wasn’t long before we would face new challenges.  Now accompanied by Education Without Border’s co-director Alfredo Mathew, we left the beautiful island town of Flores in the jungle region of Petén in eastern Guatemala on January 2nd. Our mission, reach Xela (Quetzaltenango) and Alfredo’s long time friends who would host us.  The trip started smooth, but a ½ hour into our drive we were in an aguacero, a powerful Caribbean rainstorm, reducing visibility and slicking the already sorrowful asphalt.

Driving conditions went steadily from bad to worse as we approached curvy mountain terrain.  I was driving slowly, pumping the breaks and using lower gears around a downhill right hand bend when the tires locked and we began to slide across the highway into the lane for oncoming traffic and off the road completely.  Everything began to move in slow motion.  Time stopped and reached the pace of a snail and so did our ‘Chaski’.  We gently caromed off the highways perfectly placed security rail which successfully defended us from the deep mossy green of the tropical jungle.

Luck or higher forces would have it that no cars were coming in the opposite direction, as we slowly returned to our lane, regained control and finally came to a complete stop to assess the damage. As you can guess by now, no one was hurt and even el Chaski was fairly unscathed.  It was some kind of miracle.  I would share more details, but then you wouldn’t read the Biodiesel Diaries book…ha, ha, ha…

We were, literally in the middle of nowhere, under all the rain of the whole universe and we managed to find a mechanic, Don Joel,.  He was more than fair with us.  His wife brought us coffee and after hours of work on el ‘Chaski’, he was able to repair and reconnect the driver’s side steering bar to the wheel, using a spare part from a 60’s Land Rover and then decided not to charge us.  At times, the universe conspires to leave you in the hands of fate, no one can control everything but there is always a plan for each of us.  He wished us luck and we continued…many lessons learned.

The following day we reached Xela in the highlands of Guatemala.  We arrived late and met our hosts, Doñas Consuelo, Antonieta, Francisca and some 20 more members of the family and a great new friend, Miriam.  They hosted Alfredo 14 years ago and that strong connection they built over the years was extended to us 14 years later.  Aside from blessing us with a bed, wonderful meals, stories and the most wonderful laughter in the world today, their home was our port of departure to the surrounding areas of Xela and Totonicapan…

In the morning we went to the Uleu Tinimit Spanish school to meet Ingrid, Miriam and Minor – administrator, artists and city planner respectively.  They introduced us to our next video project about the indigenous youth of Paxtoca, who are actively redeveloping their town to be as sustainable as it once was.  Their Paxtoca Green Village Project is an ambitious and visionary movement they believe is their true path.  They are an example rarely seen today, but our growing feeling, is that in days soon come, they will be a part of the majority, who understand the interconnectedness of people, land and wildlife.  In just one day, they shared their town and its surrounding natural environments.  They exposed the issues, a river full of soapy, bubbly detergent and clear-cut hilltops among them.  Then we saw their nursery full of hundreds of native pine saplings, their plans and the conviction of their ideas.  In the passing of a day, we discovered a great friendship; we ate well and laughed as though we had been friends of years and years.

Next on our itinerary was Lake Atitlán.  We drove down the main road, briefly stopped at the market in Sololá and reached our destination, Panajachel, the tourist town on the edge of the lake.  We spent a night there and then hopped in a boat and crossed the lake to San Marcos La Laguna.  This community was once as indigenous as the rest of the region, but like many of the most beautiful places in America, and the rest of the world for that matter, it has been overrun by Europeans and Americans, who have built hotels and developed tourist attractions, that if given the benefit of the doubt, were improving the economy and the lives of the native communities, those effects were not visible.

We were keenly aware of how difficult it was to find lodging owned by locals.  After backpacking to and fro, we found the only locally owned hostel in all of San Marcos.  Lake Atitlán has suffered dramatic changes since the arrival of tourism.  The lakes pollution is a sore topic.  This is the consequence of tourist development without environmental considerations in a particularly sensitive ecosystem.  The lake doesn’t have any outlets and in the last seven years, the municipality of Panajachel has let it’s black water flow freely into the lake.  It’s literally is full of tourist shit.  A sad truth with a longer story, but there is too much to share.

After San Marcos, the journey continued towards El Salvador, but not without a short break in the historic city of Antigua.  We took some great pictures in the colonial town below the volcano, ate some great food and hurried on to Jutiapa, a brief border town stop before crossing the border in the morning.

We got up early and began a five-country marathon of two days.  We started in Guatemala, crossed El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua to reach Costa Rica.  We wish that time and our budget would have let us spend more meaningful time in these countries but time demanded a move and we had to make our meeting date for our next video.  We can say that this stretch of road was tough, beat down, and low on smiles.  Police interactions were no fun and set us back a few bucks but we can proudly say we beat more than half of their two bit scams and fake tickets.  Borders ate up hours of daylight, tried our patience and pushed the limits of inefficiency.  We were tired when we crossed into Costa Rica but we pushed on into the night to find our friends and some smiles.

The journey continues…

Carlos and Majo

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Miles traveled: 4,759 (7,658 km)

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First of all we wanted to send our warmest greeting to you all, and wish you a wonderful New Year.  Our New Years wish is that each and every one of you, where ever you may be and whatever you may be doing, take the time to do your part in transforming our planet and home into a cleaner one, a more just one and that we work in solidarity with those who have less and the environment that provides for us all.

Today we have reached 45 days on the road and although Majo and I have been writing, filming, editing and exploring, we can’t share it all because the website isn’t quite ready.  Regardless, we wanted to give you a brief update of some of our adventures thus far.

The last time we shared, we had just been to the mountains of Michoacan in a region called the Meseta Purhépecha.  We met Fernando and Rocio, friends of our new friends in Guadalajara. They had founded a cooperative that was implementing organic composting methods to produce organic fertilizers for the indigenous Purhépecha farmers in the community.  The organization is called Marku Anchekoren, which means “Working Together”.  We filmed this beautiful group of grass roots, indigenous farmers and learned all about their work over 3 days (coming soon on the website).  In that short time, we met families in surrounding communities, ate wonderful food and built beautiful friendships.

Then we visited the beautiful colonial city of Morelia.  Lola was our host and she invited us to the culinary school she worked at and before we knew it, we were giving a conference for 75 students about our trip and sustainability.  We were even interviewed for “La Voz de Michoacán”, their local newspaper (Also being saved for release on the website).

We spent a week in Mexico City, mostly editing and writing for our website, the rest of the time we shot some footage at the Hipódromo de las Américas (horse race track) for a documentary that Majo has been working on for a couple of years.

Besides that, we didn’t get to explore the city but we did get to go out at night with old friends and the Davalos’ family (our hosts) treated us like guests of honor.  Saludos a todos los Chilangos (Tocayaxo, Feli, Mau, Maru, Andy) y Landy de Chile.

Our next stop was Oaxaca City, there we met with Erik, Osbe, Nate and Christian (members of C.A.S.I.T.A, Centro Autónomo para la Creación e Innovación de Tecnologías Alternativas), who took us with them on a three day Bicimaquinas workshop they led, hosted by a Mixteco community in Tlacotepec, Oaxaca (Northwest mountains of Oaxaca). It was an amazing experience for the both of us. (the video about these energy sufficient technologies is coming soon).

From Oaxaca we drove non-stop to the Selva Lacandona to meet with members of the education committee of the EZLN. We stayed only for 24 hours but it was well worth the drive. After that we drove to Toniná to visit the less frequented Mayan Ruins and get some much-needed exercise climbing pyramids.  The Mayans of Toniná were fierce warriors and rivals of those in Palenque, where we eventually rested for the night.  We didn’t visit the ruins, but showered up, ate well, enjoyed live music and hit the road early in the morning.  We had to cover more territory to arrive at the beach for Christmas in Chetumal, Quintana Roo.  We had covered more than 1,200 miles of difficult mountain roads, treacherous topes in constant rain and all in only four days.  We were exhausted and decided to stop and relax with the ocean after so much driving.

We left Chetumal and crossed the border to Belize, where we spent only three days in total but got to visit Ocean Academy high school in Caye Caulker and meet a young Belizian girl, Mercedes, who’s the president of the Caye Caulker Environmental Club.

We left Belize and crossed our third border of the trip into Guatemala.  Right now we are on the island city of Flores on Lake Petén, where we hooked up with Alfredo to bring in the New Year.  We spent the last day of 2009 with the great Jaguar – Tikal.  The three of us climbed ancient pyramids; saw howler monkeys, parrots and toucans.  We were the last ones to leave as we waited to watch the full moon rise over Tikal from atop one of the great pyramids.

Paz,

Carlos and Majo

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Miles traveled: 2,909 (4,681 km)

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We have reached the grand city of Mexico, El Distrito Federal, El De Efe, El Defectuoso, among other names.  It’s one of the largest cities in the world, inhabited by more than 20 million people.  And we have happily parked our veggie car for a needed break from the road.  We now have a moment to stretch our legs and reflect on our first three weeks.

We departed on this journey on November 17^th -my brother’s birthday- from Oakland, California to the southernmost country of the Americas, Chile.  Our car, el Chaski, had been thoroughly inspected, repaired, and conditioned by “el Negro Carlos” and the Herrera Bro’s while Majo had carefully planned vegetable oil pick-ups and called ahead to friends of friends who would receive us.  Beyond that, the road ahead would be a mystery.

I won’t bore you with details leaving California, but we drove the southern length of the state and successfully crossed the border in Tijuana.  Step one, check.  Step two, ohh $h!t.  It was suddenly, really happening.  All the plans, all the support, the goodbyes, good luck and so on, were coming into fruition.

Baja was gorgeous. Landscapes seemed like those of distant planets (not that we’ve ever been to one, but my imagination says so).  We quickly discovered that collecting used vegetable oil in Baja is tough but didn’t lose faith and found some luck in San Quintin – 8 gallons – more or less.  We quickly got over the nervousness of approaching restaurant owners and got used to friendly and curious rejections.  The most common and frustrating response was, “We just dumped it yesterday”.

We camped in the desert and at Bahia Concepción.  In Bahia Concepción we dove for clams and had an amazing garlic, butter, clam dinner with quinoa.  In La Paz, a Chilean and Mexican couple, both chefs, more than made up for their lack of used vegetable oil, by inviting us to an exceptional dinner.  Prepared from local fish harvested using the Monterey Bay Aquarium standards for responsible ocean harvest and Mexican ingredients we made wonderful new friends and shared stories late into the night.

Before leaving the US, everyone warned us of substantial corruption and violence in Mexico.  Our drive by day strategy was proving very effective.  So far, so good.  We had crossed about 8 military checkpoints in Baja without problems and even the police seemed to like our colorful car.

We boarded the Chihuahua Star Ferry on our overnight passage to Mazatlan, Sinaloa. Here we noticed the heaviest military presence so far.  The humvees, 12 car armed convoy and trucks full of soldiers made us feel like we had entered a country at war. While we have experienced this presence less and less, the war with the Narcos (Drug Cartels), especially in Sinaloa, Jalisco and Michoacán is front-page news every day.

We continued driving down the coast to another great meal in San Blas, Nayarit.  We ate good and so did the mosquitoes and to say the least, it was a long night.  We survived and took off for Guadalajara in the state of Jalisco to begin our project.

We met Chio, who introduced us to Paty and Abelardo.  We were introduced to the Psychology of Liberation and a group of young people committed to supporting the indigenous Zapatista movement.  We also met Chio’s parents, two wonderful educators and activists, in the town of Sayula, Jalisco.  We got to know the student group Pachamama (video soon to be released) and were inspired by their passion to protect the earth and make their town a more environmentally friendly place. Their comments in Spanish can be seen at www.educationintl2009.wordpress.com (it takes a while to load all the videos – soon to be fixed).

We were interviewed for Guadalajara’s channel 7, for a piece in an environmental series to be released next year and it seemed as if we were supposed to stay in Guadalajara forever.  Motivated by the road ahead we said sad good byes and after successes with restaurants and filling up on veggie oil, we continued down the road towards Morelia, Michoacán.  But first we had to stop in Paracho, an indigenous town in the mountainous region known as the Meseta Purhépecha. We visited an interesting worm composting project (video 2, soon to be released).  More to come later but all I can say is very, very cool.

Even more exciting stuff has happened since.  We are safe, warm and well (very well) fed. Stay tuned for more stories from The Biodiesel Diaries.

Paz,

Carlos and Majo.

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