Igor The Troll

Gold Nuggets

After finishing with my smuggler’s operation in Mazatlan, I decided to take a vacation in Mexico by traveling around in different states. I headed across to Mexico City and from there to a quintessential state of Oaxaca.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca is a colonial city located in southern Mexico. It is full of Eucalyptus trees, singing birds, and a huge Zocalo – plaza full of cafes. The city itself and the surrounding villages are full of Mayan Indians. This is where the Mayan trail begins.

I started my adventure by visiting a huge market by the bus depot. There I saw all kinds of hand knit rugs and sweaters, pottery, and chirping birds in small wooden cages. I inquired where the rugs are made and was given the name of the village near by.  When I asked where is a gold shop here, so I can sell some dollars, one merchant told me there is gold in the near by mountains and that I should go to Rozarita village to buy it cheap.

I rented a Volkswagen Beetle and went to Pueblo Tera Pedro to buy a bunch of hand made rugs. After getting a few rugs and hand made sweaters I came back to the Zocalo for afternoon coffee and a siesta.  After enjoying coffee in an outdoor café and watching birds with rainbow feathers fly in and out of the trees, I turned in for the day at my hotel.

The next day I got up early on my voyage to Rozarita. I was going to get rich! After getting gas and asking for directions I took my Volkswagen Beetle into the sprawling mountains of Oaxaca. The road at first was paved but after getting closer to the mountains it turned into gravel and later into dirt. The Beatle did not have much trouble navigating the dirt road. It purred like a cat navigating the curving road slowly in first and second gears. I arrived at Rozarita and headed to Bodega – a store, to conduct my gold transaction.

The jefe – owner of Bodega greeted me with a smile. I asked him, “Do you have any gold?”  With a grinning smile he replied, “I have not seen gold here in ages! You should go to San Pedro. There, when the John Paul the Second came the residents gave him a bar of gold.” And as a proud Christian he took out a picture and showed me the Papal with his parishioners. I enquired to the directions to San Pedro and went on my way.

After driving for about 10 kilometers I heard a thump. It was one of my rear tires that blew. I changed the tire and after half an hour was on my way. The mountain road was getting really bad. There were stones strewn all over the places and at times really huge boulders that were hard to navigate. After about a half an hour, I heard another thump. This time it was my front tire. I had no more spares, so I had to decide, do I walk the rest of the way or do I turn back?

The gold in front of me guided my decision! I dumped the car in the middle of the mountain and started to walk. It was getting late and the road seemed to disappear in the evening dim. My adrenaline was pumping and I saw nothing but gold in front of me. After a while, a half moon guided the path and the chirping fireflies served as a beacon. After a few hours, I was really exhausted and upon seeing lights in the woods I veered off the path into the woods. It must have been two a.m. but I was galvanized like an eagle and knocked on the stranger’s house door. El Pancho – a gentlemen came out with his shotgun cocked. “Que Paso Hombre. Esta Tarde? - It is late, what is going on?” he said. I replied, “Soy perdido! – I am lost.” I explained that my car broke down and I was tired and hungry. He gave me some beef jerky and let me sleep in his straw shed.

Next day, feeling rested I got up and continued on my way to San Pedro. I walked hard sweating like a pig. The road seemed to have no end. I decided to take a shortcut and go through the valley. On a mountain slope I found an old Indian woman who lived in a straw thatched tent. I asked her for some food, but she said she has none. I saw her eating some pumpkin seeds, so I beckoned her for some. She shared them with me. I did not want to overstay my welcome, so I left after a few minutes. I found it sad that an old lady at the end of her life was abandoned on a side of a mountain to die. After half an hour walk, I was at San Pedro.

At San Pedro I started asking about gold. A few locals told me there is no gold. They have not seen gold in ages. When I referred to the Papal visit they all said, “We use to have gold, but no more!” Finally I met someone who recommended I go to Scala de Oro – Mountain of Gold. It was a small village down the mountain slope, through the cactus shrub. After a 3 hours walk I was there.

Again it was evening, the place looked desolated in the dim. There was nothing there but a few aluminum sheds. I asked the owner of one of the sheds if I could spend a night with him and if he could help me find gold. He said, “Stay with me tonight and tomorrow we would go find your gold!”  His Senora was really nice and brought me some food. It was cactus soup, which tasted so bad, but I was starving and could have eaten wood. The night was freezing with the wind blowing off the side of the mountain. I could hardly sleep.

The next day we woke up, and he took me to a neighbor’s shed. There was some gold. They brought out an ounce of gold. I said, “That is it?” They said, “This is all we have. It took us two years to mine it.” I enquired about the price. It turned out that they were selling it more expensive than in town. I said to them, “How is it possible that you are selling it more expensive than the market price?” They replied, “Because this is where we find it!” The logic did not make sense, but I was not going to argue with a bunch of Mexican Indians on a bare mountain. I thanked them and said goodbye.

I walked for a while and crossed a small river. I was really starving and tired. I met a man with a mule, and I asked him if he could give me a ride to San Pedro. I offered to pay him. He asked me what I was doing here. I explained to him that I was looking for gold but found none. Well, I said to him that some Mexicans offered me a bit of gold, but that it is more expensive than the market price. He said that is how they are. They are not interested in selling their gold. First, he said that I am too heavy for his mule, but after a bit of talking he agreed to give me a ride. He did not want any money for it.

As I was riding on the mule he continued talking while leading the beast. He said there is gold here. When he was young he saw it as he dived in the small river. But it is really deep down and it is a big pillar. He said that I would need special equipment to get it out. I agreed to pay for the equipment if he would show me the place. He said, “You are young and you do not need the gold, and I am old and I do not want it anymore!”  I was not happy with the answer but I understood what he meant.

Back at San Pedro I was able to find a trees hauling truck that gave me a ride back to Oaxaca. As we passed my car we hooked it up with a chain and towed it up top the asphalt road. I dropped the car there and continued to town with the truck driver. I arrived at the car rental place and explained to them what happened to the car. They went to pick up the car and asked me to pay them lots of money to fix it. Luckily I gave them my debit card as insurance. I had no credit card. At the end, I bargained the repairs down to 100 dollars. I came back to the hotel tired like crazy.

At the hotel I met a beautiful Senorita. She had black hair and green eyes. I was very dirty and smelled bad. I asked her if she wanted to go dancing with me tonight. She said yes! I took a shower and we went to a disco. After a few drink we started kissing. We were both very hot and horny. We went outside, and I placed her on the wall of the disco and started making crazy love to her.

I did not find my gold in Oaxaca, but I found a beautiful Senorita!

Mariachi Band Guadalajara

In the 80s, when I was around 22 tears of age I was living in New York City and had nothing going for me. I just dropped out of NYU, with a year left to graduate for a business degree. I did not want to work on Wall Street and saw no reason to finish the university program. So, I dropped out of school.

With nothing to do and not interested in finding a job, one day, I decided to hit the road. I bought a Greyhound bus ticket from NYC to Los Angeles. It was really cheap, like 69 usd, and the trip would take 5 days. I took the Northern route to the West coast, via Chicago not Southern route via Carolinas. I boarded the bus at Port Authority at 42nd street and we headed South West to Pennsylvania. I think around New Jersey a cute black chick boarded the bus and set next to me. We talked a lot and she let me play with her tities but would not let me go further than that. She got off the bus at Cleveland Ohio. I love minority ladies Black, Latinos, and Asian. They have lots of zest for life.

At Chicago Illinois two young hipsters got on the bus, a white dude and a black kid. They set at the back of the bus, with the black kid sitting down next to a sweet red head girl. I was bored sitting at the front of the bus by myself, so I went to join them. The guys were really funny and made a lot of jokes. We smoked some reefer. The bus driver did not seem to care, but a few passengers switched their seats. Then the black kid took the red head girl to the toilet, and they fucked there. You just knew they were getting it on, with all the moaning and groaning going on. The kids got off at Lincoln Nebraska. I was stuck by myself left watching the vast Nebraska corn and potato barren fields. Misery at its worst!

We passed Colorado, which was pleasant, winding around mountains and hills; we arrived in Salt Lake City Utah. I lit up a cigarette before getting off the bus. The bus driver told me to put it out! I said, “What the fuck?” Remember it was still the 80s and you were allowed to smoke on public buses. The bus driver replied, “You know, I can get you arrested for cursing in public? In Utah you are not allowed to smoke on public busses, least of all curse in public!” I knew I was in molasses, so I apologized to the guy for cursing and put out my cigarette. I knew, I never wanted to visit Utah again!

From Utah we passed through Nevada via Lake Tahoe, down to California. It was a very scenic route with pine trees, rivers, and hilltops. Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge was really the apex of the trip. There was the whole Pacific Ocean right in front of you. I knew there were many places I wanted to revisit and spend some time in; but I still was not sure where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to do. Right before arriving in Los Angeles I met a couple of dudes on the bus who told me I should buy some electronic stuff and bring it to Mazatlan, Mexico. They told me that I could sell it there for profit. They also said that Mexicans love American made stuff. Now, armed with a plan, I knew I was going to Mexico.

East L.A. was kind of shabby, with drunks and drug addicts wondering the streets in a half dazed manner! They looked like they were ready to fall down and hit the pavement, just supported by a few strings as if slumbering puppets at the end of their performance. I did not spend much time in Los Angeles. I found an electronics shop and bought me 130 usd jukebox! We use to call them Ghetto Blasters! It had a radio, two speakers, and two cassette tape players. Good deal at that time. I figured I could sell it for about 200 usd in Mexico. Buying one was a test run, to see how things go. I got back on the bus and headed to San Diego.

In San Diego I almost got me a tattoo, but I got scared at the last moment. Glad I did not.  I was thinking, “MOTHER”. In San Diego I got on a tramp that took me to San Ysidro, which is right on USA and Mexican border – USA side. I crossed the border by foot over a bridge to Tijuana. Once in Mexico, I decided I needed a bit of rest. I checked into a 10 usd hotel and crashed for a few hours. That evening I checked out the nightlife. I went to a few bars and drank Cerveza. I also visited a few whorehouses and did my thing!

Next day I felt fresh and rejuvenated and was ready to tackle the world. I found out that I could get to Mazatlan by train from Mexicali. I figured taking a train is better than 48 hours by bus. Was I wrong, but you learn from your experience. I took a 4 hours bus ride from Tijuana to Mexicali. There I got on a train and relaxed. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep. When I awoke, I realized my stereo box was gone. I fell asleep holding it in my hands, but when I woke up it was nowhere to be found. As I looked around, I saw a Mexican guy running away with my stereo box. I ran after him, but I could not catch him. I spoke to police, but there was nothing they could do.

I was really in disarray and very upset. I decided to spend a night at this town called Hermosillo. The town was very pleasant with small parks and chirping birds that flew in and out of the tall Maple and Eucalyptus trees. I hung out in one of these parks and watched the sunset. Later, I had a few Beef Tacos from a peddler and walked around the small city window-shopping. I noticed that Levi’s 501 jeans here are sold for 60 usd, while in USA I could buy them for 20 usd.  I spoke to a drug store clerk, who spoke English well. I told her my story of having my stereo box stolen. She told me that Mexicans are crazy for American goods. I asked her, “If I would bring Levi’s jeans and try to sell them for 40 usd, would Mexicans buy them from me?” She said, “Seguro!” – for sure! I knew I had to go back to L.A. and buy more American goods.

The next day I was back to Mexicali on a train. From Mexicali I went by bus to Tijuana. In Tijuana at the border crossing the US official asked me if I am American. I just showed him my NYC driver license and he let me pass. I was an American legal resident with a green card, not American citizen, but at that time the border rules were not as strict as now. Anyway, pass through immigration, nothing to declare to customs I was in San Ysidro. I figured to check out a few local beaches from San Diego to Los Angeles. I hitched along the way on the highway. I did not have much money left, so I slept on a beach and hung out with bums and drank MD 20/20 wine! We call it Mad Dog!

Once in East L.A., I picked up a new stereo box and bought 30 pairs of Levi’s jeans. No problems with the locals, just a few drug dealers tried to intimidate me by staring me down. I just kept walking, paying them no mind.  That evening I took a Greyhound bus to San Diego and crossed the border to Tijuana. I realized that taking a Mexican train is dangerous and did not want my stuff stolen once again. I decided to do the 48 hours air-conditioned bus ride to Mazatlan. I got on a bus in Tijuana, and rested until 3 hours later we came to a border check point. The actual Mexican customs is not at Tijuana but 3 hours inland. I did not know about this. I thought I cleared customs already. I had my 30 jeans stuffed in my army duffle bag, and my stereo box in my hands. I was a bit worried that I might be forced to pay duty fee. Shaking inside of me, fortified on fear of being caught, I came over to the examiner’s table. The customs officer pointed to my bag and said, “Ropa?” – clothes! I said, “See!” – Yes. With a grinning smile he said, “Vale, Salir!” – You can pass! I was really happy! Later I found out that the reason American goods were much more expensive in Mexico compared to USA was because of high import tax

44 hours later I arrived in Mazatlan, exhausted from a long bus ride, but very Feliz – Happy! I checked into an old dilapidated hotel in the old part of Mazatlan Riviera!  It was by the beach, but you could not swim there and had to walk about 10 minutes up the beach to find smooth sand for getting into the water. Otherwise there were no complaints, and the price was really cheap – 15 usd a day! There was a swimming pool at the hotel, the building was colonial type, and the furniture a bit old but was very comfortable. So overall, great deal for the bucks paid! After checking in, I asked a reception worker as to where I can sell my Levi’s jeans. Not only he bought two pairs from me, but also he recommended that I go to El Mercado and peddle them there. Later I went to the market and sold out of most of them in an hour or so.

The rest of a few pairs that I had left I offered to friends and people around where I hung out. The most popular size was 28 inches, so I had a few big sizes left. When people bought the jeans, they did not try them on, but measured the fit by sticking their elbow into the jeans’ waste to get a perfect fit! There was this one guy who sold Mariscos – Ceviche. He was a pain in the ass because he wanted a discount, and I did not give it to him. He told me if I do not give him a discount, he would complain to Mexian immigration about me that I am working illegally in Mexico. The first few days I would not give in, but just kept going to his stall to eat Mariscos, which were very good. Finally I relented and give him a big discount. After that he gave me a discount on my Mariscos. So I probably got back from him more than I gave to him, in discount. But one day, when I tried to extend my Mexican visa in Mazatlan the immigration officer said that someone complained that I was working there illegally, and he told me that he would not be able to extend my visa. He said I could go to a different city to do it, which I did. I wonder if the Fat Mariscos Man squealed on me?  Well, that is life!

There were other shifty and shady characters that I got friendly with in Mazatlan. There was this restaurant owner, a sort of Mafioso type. He ordered Nike sneakers – Air Jordan’s and American made Parliament cigarettes. He was really eccentric. Kind of looked like Lary Flint, but a bit fatter! He and his family bought a lot of stuff from me. Every time I went back to USA for a new load, after I came back, he was the first guy I went to see.  He never bargained with me or asked for a discount. Every time I delivered the goods, he treated me to a dish of Mariscos pasta. Another interesting friend that I made was a Mexican law student who was completing his law studies. He worked as a Legal aid for Fisherman’s cooperative. He use to do all kind of weird stuff, like fish for lobsters illegally – out of allowed season. We use to eat Mariscos together and drink Corona beers!  One day he took me up to a Marijuana plantation, up in the Selva – Jungle. Towards the end of my stay in Mexico, he passed his law exam and became a full-fledged lawyer. He bragged to me that he was doing law work for Colombian drug cartel boss Pablo Escobar. I do not know if it was true or not, but you never know with these Mexicans.

I must have gone to USA and back to Mazatlan more than a dozen times. But one of these times I had a problem. When I went through the Mexican customs via bus route they caught me and would not let me pass into Mexico. I tried to do a smart move and hitched a ride with a Mexican who was crossing through a checkpoint by private pick up truck. But it did not work out well. They asked me to show them all my merchandize, and upon examining it they levied a hefty duty fine. The fine was larger than the value of the merchandize so I decided not to cross to Mexico proper. I just turned around and walked into a small Mexican town, right next to the customs check point. I was really angry and hungry. A peddler was cooking bull steak, and it looked and smelled really good. In fury I grabbed the steak off the grill and devoured it. It was delicious! A few hours later, I went for the train crossing. This time, I held my stuff very tight. 24 hours later I arrived to Mazatlan without a wink of sleep. I was relived that all went well.

I must have done this for about 8 months. It was really fun and I learned how to speak Spanish really well. I did my runs, and then I hung out on the beach bullshiting with tourists and exchanging Mexican Pesos for US dollars. The exchange rate at the bank was very lousy so they were happy to make a better deal! One day I even met a beautiful Japanese girl. When I was exchanging money in a Zocalo – Main plaza I came over to her offering to exchange her dollars for pesos, but she was interested in making an international phone call to Japan. I brought her to my hotel room and let her use my phone. She even gave me money for the phone call. After the phone call we wound up making crazy love. When we finished making love, we went to take a shower together. I placed my wallet under the mattress. She brought her wallet into the shower. We did not trust each other when it came to money, but love was ok! At the end, when I asked her to stay with me, she said that she has a boyfriend waiting for her at the beach! Life is Strange!

Acapulco Cliff Diver

I was in Acapulco for a few days already, and I was getting itchy. I just broke up with my new, Mexican girlfriend, and I had nothing to do.

I met the girl in Oaxaca, Mexico and we traveled together to Acapulco. She treated me really nice while we were on the road, going from one small town to another. But once in Acapulco, she turned cold on me because I interacted with other Americans. One day I wanted to order pizza to eat. She really got upset and went ballistic on me. She screamed out she wants to eat Mexican food not Greengo food and went to slap me. I caught her hand and slapped her. That was a bad move.

She called the police on me and I got arrested. They brought me, together with her to a local police station. They put me in a small cell with other guys. Luckily I spoke some Spanish, so I was able to converse with them. They were telling me, I would be locked up for years for hitting a woman. I knew they were just trying to extort money from me. I said she is my girlfriend and we just had a fight. They tried to play hard nose, but I did not cave in. Eventually they said give them dinero – money. I said I do not have any. They relented, “Just give us money to put your girlfriend on a bus back home to Oaxaca.” I agreed. I gave them 20 usd and they let me out of the cell.

I was happy to get away clean from the cops. I was a bit of a bad boy then. I use to smuggle American goods over the border from San Diego to Mazatlan. I also traded currency, buying dollars from tourists and selling pesos to Mexican gold shops. I figured I would try trading money in Acapulco as well. There were many tourists hanging around the beech. I first tried in hotel lobbies. I approached the tourists and asked them if they wanted to change their dollars into pesos. They thought I wanted to buy pesos and sent me to an exchange house. I tried telling them, I will give them better rate than an exchange house, but it was a hard sell. After a few attempts hotel security guards came by and asked me to leave.

Changing money for tourists worked fine in Mazatlan, but it was a bit more difficult in Acapulco. In Mazatlan there were not many exchange houses, and security was a bit lax, so I had no problem approaching the tourists. I was honest, and offered better rates than exchange house, but it was hard to get people to trust you with their money. Thrown out of a few hotels I went to hustle the beach. There were not many tourists laying around on the beach, and the ones who were there, were not interested in changing money.

Still, I did not give up and continued to walk the beach. I was a bit tired from walking under the hot sun, and there was a really good-looking Senorita hanging out. I decided to take a break and say hello to her. I just said, “Acapulco is really nice!” She agreed and our conversation started. She told me her name is Maria and she was staying with her aunt up on the hill. We talked about funny things and got to know each other. I proposed to rent a car and drive around. She agreed. We got off the beach and rented a car.

We rented a Volkswagen convertible. My new friend Maria had long red hair, and as we drove the hair danced in the wind. We went up the cliffs and visited a villa for lunch. The villa grounds where sparsely laid out, and the house were white. We went to the pool restaurant to have lunch. The pool overlooked the bay, and waves were rolling and rippling onto the surrounding rocks. It was a magnificent look of the water.

We set down on the soft cabana chairs and ordered a dozen of huge oysters and a bottle of Champagne. I wanted to impress the girl. The oysters were delicious. They slid down your throat. It felt better than sex. The waiter came around and asked us for our room number. We were not staying there, but I figured why not try to be smart. I said my room is 405 and signed it as Frank. The waiter went away but I felt he was watching us. I said to Maria, let’s go. She quickly got up and followed me. We quickly got into the car and drove pass the security gate. We were out of the place and laughing like two children. She knew I skipped the bill, but she did not care. She kind of, like me, enjoyed the frill and excitement. We got away clean.

Our next stop was the Acapulco cliff divers. We pulled up to the rocks and got out of the car. There was a slim tan good-looking guy ready to jump off 100 feet cliff into the churning green waters bellow. One, Two Three, he ran back a few meters and catapulted forward into the abyss with his hands extended forward. It was a beautiful somersault and he disappeared into the waters bellow. Oh, what a spectacle. I would not even dream of trying something like that. It is so easy to hit the rocks bellow and crash to your death.

Back in the car, we drove down the cliffs road to the beach. At the beach, we saw a small island not too far away. We tried to hire a fisherman with a wooden boat to take us to the island for a few hours. He would need to wait for us and bring us back. He would not agree to wait for us. We gave up. I do not know why, maybe it was the oysters but I was horny as hell. I took Maria behind the rocks, on the side of the beach. We started kissing like crazy. We were both wearing shorts, and I found it no problem penetrating her. We went down on the sand and made passionate love. At on point a few Mexican Federales came around and started watching us. They were giggling and pointing fingers at us. I did not pay attention to the Mexican police and kept making love to Maria.

After we finished making love I drove Maria to el Bario. She hung out with me for a while but would not invite me to her aunt’s house. I guess the Mexicans are ashamed if they have a relationship with an American or another westerner. I said goodbye to her and returned the car back to the car rental shop. With nothing to do I strolled around the beach. I helped the local fisherman pull in a net of fish. It was really hard work. A boat went out and dropped the net into deep, and people on the beach had to pull it in. The life of a Marinero!

After a few days lingering on the beach, I decided to try the money exchange thing one more time. I got an idea, why not got to the airport and see if I can buy Mexican Pesos from tourists leaving Mexico. I took a bus to the airport and went over into the gate area. There were no exchange houses there, and I had no problems buying Mexican Pesos from the departing tourists. I had a big wad of Dollars in my hands and was buying lots of money at a good exchange rate. Shit, all of a sudden a few policemen came to me. They grabbed my money from me and dragged me to a room.

They kept screaming at me, and saying where did I get the money and why am I at the airport. All together I had a few thousand dollars on me. I told them that I needed Mexican money and was buying it from the leaving tourists. I said, I did not know that I could not do it. Right away I requested to call my Israeli Embassy. They would not let me make a phone call but kept intimidating me. They said I must go with them to a central police station. They put me in the car and drove around the airport a few times. Then they stopped and said get out. I cried, “Give me my money or let me call my embassy!” After a few minutes of negotiation they gave me back my money. They asked me for a few dollars for cerveza – beer. I said no and left the car.

Hustling in Acapulco was adventures and fun. I put my ass on the line and got away with a lot of shit. Looking back at it, my nerves begin to shake. It was dangerous and dumb!

Emerald Lakes San Cristobal

When we were in our twenties, my wife and I went traveling to San Cristobal de las Casas in Mexico. We went trekking in the Jungle around Lagos Esmeraldas, not far from San Cristobal de las Casas. I being hot headed and adventures decided to fling it with a tent and a small bag of provisions of fruit, cheese, rice, and bread. I figured there would be some small villages there where we could easily buy some food. Was I wrong!

We got on the local bus and took it out of town, got off in the middle of nowhere, and crossed into the field. The field was a vast expense of grass, which slowly turned into a hill. We climbed up the hill, sweating profusely, panting like wounded animals.The sun was right above us, and it was very hot. It was about 2 pm in the afternoon. About 5 pm we got down the hill. We arrived at a side of a small lake.

We set up our tent and lied down on the ground to relax. All of a sudden I noticed a small boat approach us. There was a boy about 16 years old in the boat. I said hello to him and found out that he was fishing around the lake. Being that we did not have much food, I asked him if he had some fish to sell us. He gladly pulled out a few trout, for which I gave him a few dollars. We light a fire and barbequed the trout on skewered sticks. They were delicious. We ate and went to sleep.

The next morning we got up to some noise outside. I looked out of the tent and saw a bunch of guys sitting in their boats. They were waiting to talk with us. I asked what is up. They replied, asking us if we saw a young boy fishing on the lake last night. I told them, we bought some fish from the boy and then he left. Not really satisfied with the answer, they slowly maneuvered out of the shallow area looking between the reads.

We wanted to leave, but I knew something was wrong, so it was better to stick around for a while. They came back in the afternoon and told me the boy had drowned. They found his body in the mud. At first the local Indians were suspicious, thinking that we murdered the boy. But I explained we only bought fish from him. Finally they put their minds to rest and believed me that I only bought fish from the boy. The boy must have continued fishing after he sold us the fish and his boat capsized in the dark. I felt really bad, I felt we were to blame for the accident, because we bought fish from the boy.

We slowly packed our stuff and said goodbye to bereaving people. We climbed up a hill and kept walking away from the accident. We were really scared that the Indians might kill us. As I was climbing up the hill, my heart was pumping really hard. My wife asked me to slowdown, but I said to her, “Kayo we must move!” Frantically moving up the hill via a small footpath, after a few hours, we felt that everything was okay.

We got to the top of the hill, and the footpath became flat. There was some open dirt road, but it was getting dark. We walked for a while on a flat road, and within 30 minutes or so, we came upon a small aluminum shack. I asked the owner to sell me some food and if I can sleep on his grounds. He gave us some beef jerky and told us to sleep inside because it was really cold and windy at night. I gave him a few dollars for his hospitality. There was some hay in the corner that we lied down on. They gave us some horse blankets to cover ourselves.

In the morning we got up fresh and rested. I asked which way is it to Lagos Esmeraldas. They told me that I would need to go down the Mayan trail to Tiera Blanka village. We thanked our hosts and said goodbyes. We walked a bit down the dirt road and the road turned into a path trail that passed through the woods. I found a huge white mushroom and some berries. We saw some local girls picking the barriers, so I figured they were safe to eat. The mushroom I held onto, but the berries we ate while walking down the trail. We came down the hill into a small village.

In the village we came to a small house. I asked the lady if she could sell us some food. She said she has pork and she can fry it for us. I asked her to fry my mushroom also. Pork and sliced mushroom were delicious. After eating our lunch we were back on a small path trail. The dirt path trail turned to cobblestone trail. It was like a ravine filled with huge slabs of stones for the floor. The sides of the ravine had moss, fungus, and other green growing on it. It was very misty, but pleasant to walk. This trail must have been a thousand years old.

After walking the Mayan Trail for about four hours we made it out into the open. We saw little girls walking out from the fields. They were smiling and laughing at us. It was all very innocent. I do not think they have seen westerners before. We walked into the village and were greeted by a few men. They showed us an area to sit down. There was a huge wooden organ with steal pipes protruding out of it. A young boy was playing the organ. We set down and relaxed.

We said we were hungry and wanted to buy some food. They said that we must wait till the evening and that we can join them for dinner. It was around four o’clock. We set down on the wooden chairs and relaxed. The boy was playing the organ, and the music was soothing. It turned dark and they started bringing out the food. They came to ask for money. I was ready to pay for the food, but they said just pay for soda drinks. There was not much food, but it was enough. There were corn tortillas, corn on the cob, and fried chicken. The native Indians put on some sort of performance. It was a church inspired gospel music and dance. These were Christian Indians, and they shared their hospitality with us.

We slept in our tent that we set up in their straw shack. The next morning we were back on the Mayan trail. The trail turned into a path. At one point we had to cross a shallow river. Just before we came to the river I saw a huge python snake. It was about 3 meters long and as fat as my bicep, maybe 15 centimeters in diameter. The snake just quietly weaved across the dirt road. The python was light green, with beige and brown spots. It was scary and beautiful at the same time. The snake crossed the road and went into the river. After the snake crossed, we waded into the river and slowly crossed while keeping an eye on the snake. Our hearts were thumbing from fear.

After crossing the small river, we walked for a couple of hours down the jungle path. The air was warm and moldy. We finally arrived at the first lake of Lagos Esmeraldas. The lake was beautiful. It was not really big but the color of the water was emerald green. I came over to swim in it, but there was no beach, just all of the sudden the water got deep. I could not see the bottom of the lake. I took off my clothes and jumped into the lake. It was freezing cold. After a few minutes in the water I climbed out back on shore. My wife decided not to swim. She was scared that she could not reach the bottom.

After the swim, I was really hungry. We had nothing left to eat except a bag of rice that needed to be cooked. We also brought a pot with us, but we forgot the lid. My wife put the rice inside the pot and I light a fire. I tried to make a lid for the pot out of aluminum foil, but it did not work. The rice was so bad, that we could not eat it. For some reason we were very horny, and we just made passionate love to each other. After making love and smoking a cigarette, I said to my wife, “Kayo, lets go back home. I am hungry!” She agreed.

We walked for about 30 minutes on a dirt road, and we were on paved road. After one hour walking the paved road we hitched a ride off some Mexicans who came to see the lakes and were going back to town. We took the jungle trek to get to the lakes, but there was a convenient way to come in by taxi.

Off Road Motorbking

I like going to Cambodia because it is very rustic and the people are very friendly. The most interesting time I had there was when I rented an off road motorbike and drove through the back roads of Cambodia.

I rented the motorbike in Phnom Penh and planned to ride to Sihanoukville via Kampong Speu province back roads. Buying a local map at the market I set out to challenge the dirt roads of Cambodia. I laid out my trajectory, filled the motorbike with gas, picked up some bottled water, and set out for an adventure.

At first the roads where not too bad it was gravel and dry dirt, which I navigated with no problems. But the dirt was blowing in my face, so I picked up some Terminator sunglasses at a local store. The reason I refer to them as Terminator sunglasses because they were huge, sort of like the ones Arnold Schwarzenegger wore in the movie Terminator. They prevented the dirt from coming into my eyes, but at the same time made the desolated dirt roads look surreal, because of lack of light.

I tried to keep my speed around 60 kilometers at times going 80, when the surface was smooth. There were a few isolated houses between one small village and another. I kept the momentum going because I did not know how long it will take me to get to a major town, and did not want to get stuck in some isolated village. A village may not have a hotel. So, where would I sleep? At some points I had to cross small rives and streams. The best way to do it was to pick up speed so you do not get caught in the muddy bottom and slip.

After 5 or 6 hours on the back roads I came to a small village where I tried to ask directions. My reason for asking directions was that the road seemed to end all of a sudden. It became like a small walking path. I stopped by one house and asked a local man if I can go forward. I pointed to the direction that I wanted to go. He waved his hands signifying I cannot ride that way. He pointed in the direction that I just came from and in his limited English advised me to turn back. I was very tired, and it was turning late. I asked him if I could sleep at his wooden shack house. He vehemently objected. I was too exhausted and just plummeted to the ground next to my motorbike. I put my head on the grass and laid down quietly

After a few minutes on the ground a bunch of kids gathered around me. They were saying hello to me, trying to practice their English. I was a bit tired to talk but squeezed out a few friendly words. The kids were wearing school uniforms and looked really cute. In no time, the lady of the house came out of the wooden structure and started waving me to go away. I really did not have power to drive and took out a few dollars from my wallet showing that I am willing to pay for a bed. After a bit of comprehension and discussion with her husband, she invited me into her wooden shack. I was relived.

I moved my motorbike onto the property and walked into the wooden structure. I was surprised that there was no furniture and only a couple of hammocks. I set down on the floor and begin to communicate with my new friends. I learned that they are Khmer Rouge people. You know the ones that caused a revolution in Cambodia with Pol Pot. They did not speak any English and we were talking with our hands. I made a sign to my mouth and then to my stomach saying food. They brought out some dry fish and beef jerky. It was very little but I was grateful to get something to eat. There was one guy there with half a leg blown off by a land mind. He brought some rice wine. I drank some and felt like I was drinking diesel fuel. The stuff was crazy strong.

After my one legged friend had a few drinks of the homemade whisky, he started pointing to my bike and to the directions I wanted to go. He signified that there is a huge hill there with no road and all grass slope, but he can ride it. I knew it was the whiskey talking not the man, even though he did know a few English words. After talking for a few hours the family turned off the lights to get ready for sleep. They gave me a bamboo met to lie on.

In the morning I got up and decided to challenge the big hill. I gave a few dollars to my hosts, got my motorbike back onto the small path, and I was gone. The road was really a walking path, so I had to weave and zigzag in and out from one side to another trying to avoid rain puddles. Bang, the bike hit a puddle and I started sinking in the mud. I tried to maneuver it out. I tried to press the accelerator, but I felt the bike was stalling. I tried switching gears from second to first, but it was too late. The bike stalled. I came plummeting into the mud on my side.

I worked hard to pick up the bike, because the engine and the manifold were kind of hot and the bike was heavy. After managing it to upright position I restarted the beast. I got on top of it, gave it gas, but the wheels just kept spinning. I put some leaves and wood sticks under the back tire; but when I tried to go forward the debris was just kicked out and I was back sinking in the mud. After a few attempts I was loosing strength. The bike fell back on its side. I tried to pick it up and start it again. The starter made some clicking noise, but the engine would not start. I tried pushing the bike, but it was too heavy and had no traction. The bike slipped and fell into the mud again. I knew the battery was dead, frustrated I gave up.

I decided it would be best to walk back to the tiny village and get help. I left the bike behind and ventured back on foot to the village. After a few kilometers, I found an Ox carriage carrying timber to give me a ride back to the village. In the village, I found a guy with a motorbike. He spoke some English. I bagged him to come with me to my motorbike and help me start it up. After a bit of imploring I convinced him to help me. He borrowed a car battery that they used for electricity for lamps, and he and his friend took me on their motorbikes back to my bike. I set with one of them, while the other carried the big battery.

When we arrived at my bike, it was still there. I picked up the bike and pressed the start button. It worked, and the engine started. Apparently the starter contacts where wet, and after drying up for a few hours, the starter worked with no problems. I tried to move the bike out of the mud but failed again. That is when one of the local guys got on my bike. The other guy and me pushed the bike from behind, while he maneuvered the bike out of the mud. I was very grateful for their help. They asked me for a few dollars for gas, which I gladly gave them. I thanked them. I decided not to attempt crossing the big hill through mud and grass and turned back to where I came from.

I rode my motorbike back to a big village, got some gasoline, and had lunch there. I did not want to go back all the way to the highway, so still looked for a way to head south on the dirt roads. I asked the local people at the restaurant if I could go straight down from where I was to Kampong Speu city. They said yes. I got back on my bike and drove to something that looked like a bridge. The bridge was bombed out and only had the beginning parts protruding into the river. I saw some locals on the other side. I screamed out to them if I can cross through the river. They motioned to go ahead. I rode down from the levy to the river beach and accelerated into the water.

The surface was sand, so I head traction. But I knew if I would slow down I would be swept by the current and would fall. As I was crossing the river, the water got really deep. At one point the water got up to my chest, but I kept going. The locals on the other side were standing there looking at me with amazement. I think they knew that it is very deep and did not think I would attempt to cross. For them it was more of a challenge to the dumb tourist. With a little luck I passed the deep section of the river and started coming closer to shore. All the locals started to applaud me as if I was some sort of a hero. I made it to dry land!

I drove all the way through the night. It was a bit scary with only headlamps gleaming the dirt road. Had a few raccoons cross my path at times. In the morning I came onto a paved road, had breakfast, and headed toward Sihanoukville. On the highway I realized my gas tank was leaking. It had a small crack and gas was sipping out at the rim, where the cap is. Worried about having a spark ignite the fuel, I applied a temporary solution. I bought some adhesive glue and patched it up. It did not last too long. Every 20 or so kilometers I had to redo the treatment.

In Sihanoukville, I took a bit of a break. I got my gas tank welded and replaced the back breaks. I ate good food and took a walk on the beach. I only stayed there one night and headed out to Kampot. I was told there is an abandoned casino at Bokor Hill Station, on the way to Kampot. I decided to visit it. It was located in the national park. I had to pay 30 usd entrance fee, but I was too cheap. As I was driving to the entrance gate, I picked up speed and winged it. No problem, the gatekeeper did not bother going after me.

I drove up the 3,000 meters mountain to the top. At first the road was asphalt, but it quickly turned it to gravel and small boulders with mud. Towards the end it started to rain. The raindrops were a bit painful beating my skin. I arrived at the top of the mountain. The place was desolate and engulfed in fog. There was a few abandoned buildings:. An old radio station still had its antenna protruding into the air, looking ominous. There was an empty skeleton building that used to be a casino. I walked into it to dry myself a bit. Inside I found a guard who advised me that there is a guest house where I could sleep. It was getting late, and I could not see myself riding back down the mountain today.

It felt creepy! The rain kept falling, at times very hard at times light. The wind would raise its ugly head making it almost intolerable. I do not know, I was just going in circles or something. I had to drive for about a half an hour or so until I came onto the guest house. Once inside the guest house, I got out of my wet clothes and put on some damp clothes that I had in my backpack. I set down by a stove and wormed myself up. The place had very little food. The people who stayed there brought their own or reserved food to be prepared. Being that I did not have a reservation, but showed up all of a sudden, I can only buy some instant noodle soup. It was better than nothing; I also scavenged some chicken from the other guests. I was dead, and I went to sleep.

The next day, after getting up I headed off the mountain. There was no food to eat at the guesthouse, but it was a great sunny day. I was energized. I slowly weaved down the path trying to avoid jagged rocks. I was on the asphalt road. I picked up speed. I figured being that I got in without paying, I might as well go fast through the exit. I did not want trouble. I was going very fast, I pressed the front break to slowdown. I hit the ground. Ouch, it hurt badly. The front wheel got locked, because I applied the front brake when I was going down hill. I only tapped it a bit, but because I was using it a lot on the way down, it overheated and locked.

My shoulder was dislocated and the bike was damaged. The front fender was crooked and the mirror was broken. Persevered I got up. I was full of resilience. A park ranger saw me fall and came to check if I was alright. I told him, I am fine as, I got on the bike and slowly limped away from the accident scene. My shoulder was in excruciating pain, but I knew I had to keep going. I rode the motorbike past the park’s gate. I was free.

In pain, I slowly drove to the nearest town. I checked into a small hotel. It felt a bit better. I took the bike to the repair shop and for about 20 usd got it fixed really well. They fixed the fender, replaced the mirror, and put new front brakes. I felt relieved. I decided to slow down for the rest of the journey. I visited Kampot beaches and ate delicious barbequed seafood on one of the beaches. The trip was coming to the end, and it was time to return back to Phnom Penh. The next day I drove about 200 kilometers back to the capital.

Off road motorbiking in Cambodia was one of the best adventures I have ever had. I was wild. I was free. I was innocent. I knew I did a bad thing by trying not to pay the park fee, but I did it as an act of civil disobedience. The price that they were charging was very exuberant compared to the Cambodian economic living standards.