Post Dated #ECP

This morning around 5, my lady and I had a booboo. The kind where you have to find an emergency contraceptive pill within three days. 72 hours, they all say. I don’t know about your country, but I live in India where this is legally available across the pharmacy counter, and yet the population is 1.5 billion.

This morning was her peak potential for pregnancy given menstrual cycles and all that. So finding that pill within the first few hours of waking up was utmost priority. I wasn’t going to debate it, cos winning the debate might have been easy, but her calling me 9 months later would have been a tough one to digest.

This morning was also a Sunday, when everything in Goa is shut, apart from wine stores. The only open chemist, is a staunch catholic. And the next guy too. They’d kill you but they wouldn’t sell you contraceptives.

So a long ride ensued from Anjuna to the surrounding towns and villages. The hunt for the pill. In my hurry, and in the panic of the situation, and my still half-sleepy brain, I forgot to carry my license and documents. I did expect the rest of the day to be thrilling, but even i wasn’t prepared really…

There were two bunches of cops that halted us. I was hoping they would all just laze in bed on a Sunday. But no, ‘many tourists, no!’. And this was after i put on the helmet and confidently stated ‘now no cops will stop us’. But six cops saw right through my face. Cops, they just know when the fucker doesn’t have his license on him, just by looking at his eyes.

I’m proud to say I got off with paying just 200 rupees, from their initial 3000 rupee quote. ‘Here, do it in the corner so the Russians don’t see it’, the cop said. The Russians in line behind me, were paying 6-10 times the amount. But I was still pissed off with myself for forgetting my documents. Mindlessness. I’m grateful to my dad for teaching me life’s biggest lessons can be in bargaining your arse off. ‘Look, I have 500 rupees, but i need 300 to buy some verrrrry important medicines’, i told the cop. He asked me what medicines, i said gastro. He gave back 300 to me.

Both chemists we visited looked at us like we were Satan’s little babies. ‘We don’t keep anything like that’, they proclaimed. I could almost hear the curses in their heads. ‘WE DON’T KEEP ANYTHING LIKE THAT YOU BABY KILLING BASTARD BURN IN HELL YOU *#&!)*&$)(!#^&#!^…

Those were the only chemists open this part of the world, so we hit the highway.

Somewhere along the course of our treasure hunt, the front number plate falls off the bike. Great, a dead giveaway for the cops now. But I didn’t bother to fix it ‘cos hey, i got my helmet on!’

Thirty kilometers, two hours, a dozen U-turns and even more hitches later, we finally found an open, non-catcholic pharmacy that was open. On the day of the lord, i was seeing strange signs. We may have even planned, at a destitue moment, what we might call him/her. She even resorted to meditation by the side of the road to stay calm. I was busy haggling with cops. And more cops.

When it rains, it pours a shitstorm.

Finally, on our way back home with the necessitaaahs, we were stopped by four RTO cops. The big daddies. Where i just got off the bike, handed them the keys, and said ‘I have no money, no license, no papers. The bike is rented so you taking it won’t help.’ One cop said ‘this fucker’s drunk’, and they let us move on.

Tonight i’m going to dance my ass off.

Arkana 2015

I was lucky enough to be at Arkana this year. A music festival at 3000m, safely nestled in the sacred valley. Trekked an hour to get there. No rules, no bullshit, just good music, good food, hippies, tents and lovers.

Chia magica.

Anticuchos: Cow’s heart kababs.

Parrillas: Steak

Desi Baba.

This dude, big in the chicago scene, was kind enough to let me jam along for a while.

Israeli boys prepping lunch.

If you need hi-res of any of these, hit me up.

Cheers.

Jaywalker

The day after my Machu Picchu trek, instead of a $70 train ticket, I decided to walk the forty kilometres from Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo. All i had to do was stick to the rail tracks and step off them when the trains passed by. Which was easy, except for one occasion where i found myself halfway through a tunnel and a train coming at me from the opposite side.

I started the day with a massive breakfast of yogurt and fruit from the local market, got back to my hotel and packed. The queues for Machu Picchu tickets and the trains were already bustling. Any place with a huge number of tourists gets me edgy so i was no mood to stay longer. Twenty four hours ago i had experienced one of the greatest trips of my life and was not going to kill that with selfie addicts around me.

Without any further delay, i started my walk towards Ollanta at 10 am, deciding to stop only every 3 hours for a bite. I had walked quite a bit this entire trip and was sure my legs would work the forty odd kilometres with no trouble. The weather was gorgeous too. The clouds were still weaving in and out at great speeds like waves mixed with clear white smoke. Either that or the LSD i took the previous day at Machu Picchu was still kicking*.

About three hours in, i faced my first bunch of assholes on the path. Now Peruvian dogs are usually nice, but the ones that are not too used to people are a bit rough. Add to that a person with long hair and a backpack, the dogs think you’re out to harm their sweet old owners. Usually i hear these dogs from a distance and i’m prepared to scare them away. But this one time, it was Nine Inch Nails playing on the headphones. Hence, i didn’t hear the pack of dogs coming for me. By the time i realized, two of them had sunk their teeth into my right calf and ankle. The pain, intense. I have loved dogs all my life, and these bastards probably just gave me rabies. I kicked one in the face with my free leg, and then picked up two rocks and hurled with all my rage. Of course i missed completely. That’s usually what happens when you take a swing and you’re full of rage. I shouted a few abuses in English, Spanish, and Hindi, just to make sure they got the point, and hobbled away. I could feel the blood trickle down my leg. But at this point, there was nothing else to do but tie a knot, and keep walking. There were no docs for the next 6 hours. No train was going to stop for me here. And going back to town was out of question. So i shoved the headphones back into my ears, and kept walking. A few more packs of dogs did show interest in me during the rest of this trip, but i barked back even louder.

Tunnels are funny. There’s no alternate path to bypass a tunnel, yet they always have boards saying ‘DO NOT WALK THROUGH THE TUNNEL’. I always wondered what the worst could be, every time i walked through a tunnel. This was the day i would see for myself. The longest tunnel i came across was around 100 m. And again, the headphones were on. Funny thing in a tunnel is, with the headphones on, if you have Rage Against The Machine playing, you don’t notice the rumbling under your feet ‘coz hey that’s how Morello kills it’, and you can barely hear anything else. Even the horn of the train coming from up ahead. I saw the headlights hit the walls at the curve about twenty metres ahead. I froze, and pulled my headphones out. I don’t want to call it fear but the kinda feeling that tightens your asshole, stomach, heart and jaws all at once hit me. Yup, this one was coming fast. I looked at the walls on either side, there was not enough space to tuck myself into, to let the train pass. I turned on my heels, and ran for my life. The honks got frantic cos now the train driver could see a maniac running on the tracks.

‘Look at this idiota. Came to commit suicide and now he’s changed his mind and I’ll be the one writing a report of why there’s blood under the train.’

I didn’t turn around to look how close it got, i just ran. Which is not easy when you have 15 kilos on your back. I could see a little spot to jump into, right where the tunnel started, and i knew that was the escape. By now the ground beneath my feet was shaking hard. And i just kept telling myself ‘PLEEEASE, don’t trip, PLEEEASE‘. The dog bite pain seemed so irrelevant at this point.

A last breath lunge got me off the tracks and i stuck myself to the wall, hands spread out like Jesus on the cross. Ten inches from my face, the train rushed by. Train driver gesticulating with his hand and probably shouting ‘PUTA MAAADRE’. Tourists looking out at me, sweaty and panting and wide eyed and thanking my stars and posing like the Saviour.

I managed to take a pic while still stuck out on the wall. You can tell my hands are not very steady.

You can also see how fancy these trains are. I’d have hated to be responsible for blood stains on that gold and blue upholstery.

Enough of adrenaline rushes, I packed the headphones into my bag, munched on a banana to renew the energy I’d spent on that life-saving sprint, and got on with the walk. This time just singing to myself.

Between ten to fifteen more trains passed. Sometimes i got off the tracks and walked through the hills and the valley and the river bank, where i would keep re-filling my bottle of water. Barely met a soul the entire time except for an old lady tending to her cornfields. And the loco dogs.

By 5 pm I was walking like a zombie. My granola bars were over. Bananas were finito. My legs hurt like hell, but i still had a further 15 km to cover. I gave myself two hours for this. Knowing only later that the last 8 km was uphill. It was 7:30 pm when i finally got into Ollantaytambo, hobbling into town like an escaped convict. I finished my excursion just like i had started it 3 days earlier, with an amazing veggie Pizza and the Peruanisimo (a MUST) from Quinoa Pizzeria. Content with my own fitness levels that day, I hit a local town party and then slept through the next twenty four hours. When I woke up, my legs were screaming ‘bitchface you should’ve just taken the train’.

In my next post I’ll tell you about Kinsakocha, a series of pristine isolated lakes at 4000m, where i eventually threw my phone into the water.

*I’m writing a book about that story, out soon.

If you like my posts, you can show some love over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com – pay what you want and pick up my remixes/tunes.

Gracias

I’m finally home. And while I sit and figure out what to do with life next, i thought i’d first send across my love and gratitude to the people who’ve come my way during the last one year. People who made me feel at home at every step of the way. Sisters and Brothers across South America, i love you and i can’t thank you enough for the food, the homes, the music, the love, the warmth, the humility, the magical ceremonies, the new tattoos… Whenever you come to my country, you will always have a home, a tour guide, and a funky new chef.

So starting with Rio de Janeiro, Ilha Grande, Paraty, Sao Paolo in Brazil, to Santa Cruz & La Paz in Bolivia, to Puno, The Sacred Valley, Cuzco, Ica, San Jose, Lima, Huaraz, Mancora, Tarapoto, San Antonio, Piura, Arequipa, Iquitos and San Roque in Peru, to Monta in Ecuador, and finally Medellin and Bogota in Colombia, I’d like to thank every soul i met and spent time with.

I’d take names but that would be way too long and unfair on the people whose names have slipped my mind at this particular moment. You already know about my memory blanks.

This is what my bro Rajat made to commemorate this entire chapter of my life. There’ll probably be some stickers out soon.

#johnnybinsouthamerica   

Gracias South America. Gracias para todo.

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Yungay Ruins

In the heart of the Cordillera Blanca (White Range) and the Cordillera Negra (Black Range) in the Andes is the quaint little town of Yungay (yoongaai), peaceful and quietly sat at around 2500 m above sea level, in Ancash province. It never used to be so quiet, till 3:23 pm on Sunday, 31 May 1970.

That was the day an undersea earthquake with it’s epicenter in the Pacific Ocean triggered a landslide in Yungay. Now the Peruvians take their Sundays very seriously. The whole town is out, singing, dancing, drinking chicha (corn toddy), playing in the parks, barbecuing their meats to share with everybody. But on this certain Sunday, Mother Nature decided to play partypooper. Or maybe she just wanted to have her own big blast.

The landslide from the towering Huascaran mountain (6800 m), hit them at speeds ranging from 300 km/h to 800 km/h. That’s as fast as a boeing jet does. There were around sixty-five to seventy thousand people in town that day. And they were subjected to 80 million cubic meters of freezing water, mud, and rocks bigger than homes, hurtling at them at speeds faster than you can blink.

Above: Many massive boulders still remain where they eventually came to rest after the devastation.

Anything in sight was demolished by the landslide. Below is an aerial view of the aftermath. That glacier is about four thousand feet wide at the widest, and this pic is still when it was only halfway through it’s ride.

The only survivors that day were a bunch of kids who’d gone to a fair the same Sunday, and another bunch of kids who were at the stadium, which happened to be at an elevation this landslide could not touch. Of course, when they got back home, some of them died of shock and heartache, or the resulting starvation killed them.

Here are some of the images of the five storey cemetery that now holds the remains of the 70000 that perished.

^pic courtesy Parchis

Above: This lucky baby beat the earthquake by almost two months.

Below: One of the survivors, 45 years later.

Below: This used to be a bus, and two cars, until boulders coming in as fast as comets changed them.

^pic courtesy Parchis

Mount Huascaran, where the landslide originated, despite being 15 km east of Yungay, managed to wipe out the whole town in 45 seconds.

You know what i did after? I went to the next town and had four ice creams – wine, beer, passionfruit and lemon flavours.

Our man Heysoos just hung around when all that was going down, by the way. 

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Peddla

I was just sitting there minding my own business, pooped from an afternoon of dune-boarding, and there was this model shooting for her music video by the oasis in Huacachina. So i kept busy at this spot.

That was when this couple walked my way…

‘Hi’, the guy said.

‘Hi…’

‘We’re looking for a friend of ours… thought it was you.’

‘Your friend looks exactly like me, then.’, i responded.

‘Our friend has drugs to sell.’

‘Oh…’

‘It’s not you, right?’

‘I’m certainly not the friend you’re talking about, but i think he’s two blocks down and on the right.’

‘So, you’re saying you don’t have any drugs?’

Now if i said no, that would have been a lie. It was true that i did not have any drugs TO SELL. But I couldn’t lie.

‘Look man’, I said, ‘the guy you’re looking for is behind that pub. If you don’t find him, come back here and maybe i’ll give you something. Just a little bit. But I’m not the friend you’re looking for.’

That’s a common occurence this whole trip.

That, and ‘hey amigooo/Bob Marley… you want to buy paintings? jewellery? cannabis? cocaine…?’

They really progress quick.

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Huaraz, Heaven

We were at Huaraz, a town located between two ranges of mountains along the Andes (Cordillera Blanca & Cordillera Negra), and everyone’s hiking was being tested. I had already survived Llanganuco and Pastoruri, where i faced the first ever snowstorm of my life. The third and final one was Lake Churup, at nearly 5000m above sea level.

Here’s a few images from the Llanganuco valley, a place that’s breathtakingly gorgeous, even for a cynic like me.

And here’s a few more from the glacier Pastoruri, where i was fortunate (?) enough to brave a snowstorm for a few minutes. I loved it.

Our destination in the distance.

Glorious, glorious valleys.

Shaggadelic in my way. Check out the dreadlocks on the guy, thick as my wrist.

That way to the glacier.

Those were the easy treks. Now back to Lake Churup.

Now this is around the time my final wisdom tooth is popping out of my lower jaw, on the right side. As much as i’m used to the pain, it still hurts like a bitch every time. There’s five of us that undertake this trek, and we don’t need the help of any guide or expert. Parchis was in tears not even halfway up the climb, and only Bob Marley tunes could encourage her to keep walking. Now why they all say you need an expert for this trek, is because halfway up the 4800m peak, there’s a 40m straight face of the cliff, that you have to climb at 90 degrees. A straight face of a mountain. Imagine scaling up an apartment like spiderman. There are vines that you can hang on to, to help hike yourself up. And there are trees and shrubs you can use too. But if your hand slips, your bouncing down a rock face. Dead.

There was a point i almost said ‘fuck this, I’m going home’. But i was guiding two women, cos the other two guys had gone way up ahead. So i couldn’t chicken out. No way. So yeah, i climbed that rock face with my balls in my mouth, along with the brutal motherfucker wisdom tooth. Looking down was NOT an option because i recently discovered i have vertigo.

But eventually we made it, got to the top, and enjoyed the view that was Lake Churup. A mesmerizing water body so high up in the world from the rest of civilization. Once the necessary pics were taken, we climbed the way back down. And for all those who think the way up is hard, the way down is a ball-buster.

Overlooking the rest of the town by now, but we’re only halfway up. Not even halfway up, actually.

I’d bottle that water for all of you to taste. I would.

2nd from left is Andrew. There’s a reason i’m introducing him to you. Also on the extreme left is an Israeli man who learned yoga in my hometown Poona.

A good look of our summit.

It’s raining all over town but up here we’re dry.

Now here’s what happened after we finally got back home, some 6 hours after we undertook this adventure. We noticed Andrew, the 24 year old Swiss boy limp a little bit. Asked him if he was ok, and that’s when he said he was born paralysed on the left side.

Just in case you were looking for inspiration in life…

There was a point during this climb, when i took a mis-step. Suddenly I’m lying on my back on a a 45 degree rock face, slipping inch-by-inch downwards. On my immediate left is a drop, about 800 meters. About five feet to my right, is a vine i can grab, but i must jump. If my hand slips the hold on the vine, free fall. I spent about 7 minutes on that surface, and almost called out to mom.

Eventually i made it out, to do what?

To update this blog, that’s what.

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Road Trip: Punta Hermosa

In stark contrast to the first four months in Peru, this last month in Lima has been quite leisurely. I mean breakfast-in-bed leisurely. I could get used to this but no. After getting a hang of getting back in a city, i was soon bored though. I had to get out. Lima might be the sweetest, most gorgeous city i’ve ever been in, but it’s still a city.

Sometimes the daily routine was as follows:

Then my partner in crime X, and I decided to hit the road, but on a strictly veg diet.

Now if you’ve read my earlier blogs, i’ve mentioned time and again how much i love the Peruvian terrain. It’s like a layered desert-rainforests-mountains-rainforests-mountains sandwich from the west to the east, lining the whole country. One good way to see this is to drive down the Panamericana, which is one massive expressway running down the length of the continent. Another way is to watch The Motorcycle Diaries. Since I’d already done the latter, i opted for the drive. So X hired a car, and we were off.

‘No fixed plan, just drive.’

We packed our gear and hit the road at 3 pm on a Thursday, now this was more than a month ago. Less than two hundred kilometers and two hours down, we could smell the Pacific. We decided to take in a little sea breeze at Punta Hermosa. And within minutes, we’d decided this was the first stop to this trip. Mainly cos some of the stray dogs here look like lions. And then of course, the waves and the sunset.

Here’s a few images from Punta Hermosa, which is pretty much Instagramer’s haven. See for yourself. If you want to see the full sizes, I’d recommend right click image and ‘open in new tab’.

Nobody’s watching. Punta Hermosa is literally a dead town. Maybe 50-80 people living in a 500 house colony.

Cos every ‘photographer’ needs to have a pic like this else he’s a fake photographer.

This man can whoop all your asses riding waves 8 meters high.

All these strays here sell as exotic pets back home.

Like I said, instagramer’s haven.

Just random photographers at a surf contest.

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Estranged

Got a call to play another festival in San Roque. So i headed out as usual to the cab stand from where the ‘colectivos’ or shared cabs head from Tarapoto to San Roque. Normally i’d find one in ten minutes. Today there was more than the usual number of people heading the same way, so cabs were unavailable for the next two hours. I decided to take a cab to San Antonio instead which is halfway to the destination, maybe swim in the river Cumbaza a bit, and walk the remaining seven km.

I got to San Antonio, stripped off and jumped into the river. Got out, dried off and started my walk towards San Roque, hoping for a pickup truck or colectivos with space to maybe stop for me. Three colectivos raced past, and were already packed beyond the seven people capacity. Of course it’s a five seater car. But seven’s the norm. And sometimes there’s upto nine in a car. Like packing balls into tight jeans. 

After about 2 kilometers of hiking, i heard the blaring of a stereo behind me. The music got louder, till a familiar guitar solo caught my attention. A 1986 toyota corona fishtailed, skid, drifted and screeched to a halt a few meters ahead of me, with Estranged by GnR full blast out the equally old stereo speakers. Three heads popped out the windows. Bloodshot eyes wide open, sweaty faces.

Junkies.

They motioned for me to get in. And i did, without hesitation. 

‘San Roque?’, they asked. They’d heard about the party. About some indian dj playing there. ‘Fuck indian dj man. We play music from car, louder. Muchos louder.’

Yeah, I said.. fuck the indian dj, fucking immigrants i tell ya.

Dude driving was shaped like a potato, white bulging sleeveless vest on. Facial hair yet to break out. Next to him was a muscle-dude, constantly turning back to hand me a bottle of pre-mixed rum and cola. I kept resisting. Next to me at the back was a guy that looked like he just got out of prison for battery. Scars on his face and forearms. Eyes wandering all over the place like he was lost in a strange big city. The driver was speeding way more than anybody should’ve on slippery rainforest roads. One glitch, and you’re hurtling down a cliff 1500m high. Into oblivion. And just as i pictured in my head, the car skid, lost control, fishtailed again and went hurtling towards an edge, but came screeching to a halt a few feet within safety.

‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH PUUTA MAADRE (son of a whore)‘, they laughed. My balls were halfway up my intestines.

‘You have twenty soles? We want for gas.’

‘No have’, i said, still sweating off my brow. I could have waited two hours and paid six soles for a colectivo. Fucker was beyond stupid to think i’d give him twenty soles.

‘Aaaah. Mierda (shit).’

The engine was still running, when suddenly a bright spark came across the dude’s face in front of me, next to the driver.

He opened the dashboard, pulled out a bag of fine white powder, smashed the rocks in it with the back of his phone. And pulled out a spoon from the same dashboard. He dug into the bag, scooped up a spoonful, and sent it straight up his nostrils in one quick move. This is the same amount i’d pay between four to five grand back home for. One scoop. And half that scoop he dropped all over his pants and on the seat. And all over his ugly nose and chin. He didn’t care. The bag had maybe fifteen grams. He passed it on to the driver, who followed the same scoop-motion, and the dude at the back. And then the bag finally came to me. I held it for a few seconds. Took a pinch to my gums, and gave it back to the dude in front. I didn’t want to do it. I just needed to know how it tasted. Honest to God. And it tasted real good. Like, REAL good. Pablo-Escobar-good.  

He was offended i hadn’t stuffed my nostrils with it. ‘POR QUE NO (why not)?!?’

‘I no want.’

‘QUE PASA parcero (wtf is up dude)??’, he scowled. 

‘I no need, hermano. Can we go to San Roque now? I have work.’

Estranged moved to You Could be Mine. And the rest of Use Your Illusion 2, till half that bag was done, a few more halts later. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy that album in stereo sound off those old speakers. I was taken back to the days of my my old aiwa cassette player at home. And Sandy blasting the same beats in the bedroom off his kit. The whole skidding and screeching to a halt was well rehearsed and controlled, as i soon realized. I didn’t taste any more of it. That pinch had done enough to my face. Dude in the front kept air-drumming, and the guy next to me was air-guitaring the solos to every track on the album, though it was all a little fail, and out of sync. But i didn’t tell them.  

We finally reached San Roque, and i got off and said thanks and bye to them. I don’t think i’ve ever been that desperate to say bye to a bunch of coke fiends. They stopped to eat at one of the local joints, and i was off to the venue, hoping they wouldn’t come by. But they did, soon as they got their hands on more cola for their rum.

While i was soundchecking, they drove down to the open shed which was the venue, Estranged blasting again. Soon as they appeared, i looked over to my crew, the sober bunch. I could see it in their faces, these dudes weren’t welcome here. I walked out to them, told them straight up cut the loud shit and leave their drugs and alcohol in the car, or get the fuck outta here. They were too shocked to respond. Or they didn’t understand a word i said. Either way, the red toyota disappeared over the horizon within a few minutes, midway through Slash’s solo.

Fucking partypooper indian dj.

If you’ve liked my posts, show me love with hugs and/or donations over at johnnybizzle.bandcamp.com; also pick up free tunes while you’re there.

Mucking It

I’ll take the back of a pickup truck, over air-conditioned luxury, any day.

Time to hop over to luxury mode.

La Familia. La Ceremonia.

Cosmic. Love.

If Mother Nature had a face…

Brother Dan.

Still trying to comprehend last night.

Breaking fast.

Gotta go home, my lovers wait.

‘Come together’.

Until next time, ciao.

Love & Peace.