We Made It!

It was early morning and I was sitting with Betty in Praia do Forte when the Captain and his Brother Cayo walked past on their way to the surf. I joined them and immediately it was like we were old friends, and with all that had happened over the past year and a half, I didn´t doubt it to be so.

We are all made up of the same energy. This matter that makes me is the same matter that makes you. It is the earth and the trees, the animals and the stars. It is all around us, all the time. It has no beginning and no end. We are all here right now with our own unique constitution of this energy. But all that energy has been here long before this time and so it is possible for an existing being to possess the previous energy of another existing being, or vice versa, and that´s how we sometimes have special connections with people we don´t know - we share or have shared the same energy in the past.  

Antonio ‘the captain’ and I met in another lifetime, not as myself or as himself specifically, but as small parts of our own current energy, as atoms. 

And so we became friends once again.

We welcomed in the new year with open hearts and travelled together with Betty to the magical island of Morro Sao Paulo, where we met Lieutenant Gustavo from Bello Horizonte, a city 5 hours north of Rio in the state of Minas Gerais. Together we three spent the week in Morro and began a very special new friendship, planting seeds for the future and making the most of this incredibly beautiful little island paradise south of Salvador.

Antonio and Gustavo continued south to the surf town of Itacare.

I returned to Salvador for the long awaited arrival of my oldest friend from back home, Mr. Jack Macartney. Jack had retired from his job selling sailing boats in Sydney and had come to join Harley and I for the last chapter of our journey together - the road to Rio for Carnival.

From New York only a few special friends have joined to share with us the life philosophy that has been formed since - a need to rediscover lost knowledge about ourselves and our place here in this universe, to reconnect with the energy of earth. To realise that happiness is simplicity. That everything we need right now is everything we have ever needed and everything we will ever need. The basic necessities of life - food, water, warmth and shelter. If we can all begin to be more aware of this then we can start to bring back some balance and harmony between ourselves, each other and our environment.

Not to live abundantly. To tread lightly on the earth. To be conscious of our actions. To realize that how we all live day to day as individuals has a huge effect on the future of our existence as humanity.

We need to become more sustainable. Produce a little more, consume a little less.

Be conscious.

It was an amazing gift to have Jack join us at this time.

We spent the week with Harls in Salvador and then made our way south for Rio, where Harls would join us 1 month later for Carnival.

When we arrived in Itacare we discovered the Lieutenant sunning himself in his budgie smugglers on the golden sandy beach of Tirricia. He had been waiting for us. The Captain had gone back home to Rio to prepare the ship for Carnival and Jack, Gustavo, myself and Betty enjoyed the incredible beauty of Itacare for nearly two weeks before making our way south together.

Along the coast through Olivencia, Trancoso and Regencia, Lieutenant Gustavo proved himself a very worthy crew member, in actual fact, the man is a living legend, an inspiration, and he was just warming up for Carnival…

Surely this party could not be that good?

Gustavo then returned to his work in Bello Horizonte and we would all rendezvous 10 days later in Rio.

It was a surreal time. 17 months ago we had left New York City. Now we were on the doorstep of Rio.

How could you say ´17 months´? What did that mean exactly? 68 weeks? 416 Days? How could you define this moment of our lives with a number? A measurement? For us it transcends time. We have re-discovered things about ourselves and our universe that have always been with us - before the creation of time - before the evolution of man, things we as a community have slowly forgotten, things that we all need to start to remember again. 

We are all one and the same. The same energy flows through all of us; through the mountains and through the seas, through the sky and through the earth - we have only forgotten how to see it, how to feel it, how to let it heal us. It is the most ancient common sense of our universe that no longer makes any sense, for we have created another world that functions on a different kind of energy - an artificial one, one that now all but controls us. Every part of nature flows together as one, except for us. Somewhere along the way we strayed from that path and contsructed our own reality that now exists at parrallels with our primary reality. We walked so far in the wrong direction that soon we lost our way and forgot from where we had come.

We need to reconnect with the primordial energy of the universe if we are to maintain our existence.

Not to condemn technology or development, as this is an inevitable part of our modern world and to a large extent the vehicle for our solution. We just need to steer it in the right direction. In the direction of harmony instead of destruction. Technology is a critical tool, used wisely it can help us to achieve balance - used continually as it is today, it will be our end.

This is the end of a journey in a life time - one travelled through experience, one lived with the elements. It is the beginning of something new, where everything we have learnt can be applied to our normal lives, our other reality. It has taught us so much about ourselves and our universe - but the greatest piece of knowledge we can have is the knowledge of our own ignorance - all the knowledge in the world is worth nothing without humility.

On Friday the 13th February, 2009, Betty arrived in Rio De Janeiro.

Across wide open farm lands, through deserts and tiny towns, over snowy mountains and by the big blue ocean; past cities and deep forest, raging rivers and waterfalls, hot springs, volcanoes and jungle, Betty has seen a lot.

She has seen what it is to be poor. She has seen what it is to have wealth. She has seen happiness and she has seen sadness - sunny days and rain. She has seen the light of the earth fill the sky and then fade slowly away into darkness, when the tiny stars always come out to shine. She has seen hope and she has seen death staring up at her from the gutter. She has met the wise and the beautiful, the crazy and the sane, the honest and the desperate, she has learned that we are all one and the same.

Heaven is right here, right now in this very moment.

I am God.

You are God.

God is the mountains and the seas.

God is the sky and the earth.

God is the sun and the moon.

God is love.

Be happy with who you are, where you are and what you are doing - that is the way it is supposed to be.

Find your heart and follow it, it beats to the sound of the universe.

LOVE.

“We made it!”

It’s time to party…

14 months after leaving New York City, 3 months away from our destination in Rio for Carnival, Harley and I parted ways.

Even with your best freind, 14 months is a long time to live with someone in a Kombi van - even one as loving as the beautiful Betty.

It wasn´t an easy decision to make, but right or wrong, at the time it was the only one. Things had just come to a point and I needed some time to myself - I think we both did.

We were in Santa Cruz de la Sierra on the eastern lowlands of Bolivia, 3 days from the border with Brazil.

Harley took the first flight to Sao Paulo, the most populated city in the southern hemisphere - 11,105,249 crazy Brazilians.

Betty and I kept on driving.

It was the first time in 14 months without Harley by my side. It was a strange feeling to be alone again after such a long time. This journey had long since become much more than just a road trip. It had become a test of character. A test of patience. A test of loyalty. A test of friendship. We had come so far together - had I failed myself and my friend so close to the end?

Part of me was in horrible doubt.

Another part of me was free.

At nightfall, after three days solid driving, 10km from the border town of San Mateos, Betty blew her CV joint again and we came to a sorry stop on the side of the dusty dirt road.

I sat beside Betty on the gravel and stared up at the great open sky full of stars.

Why this? Why now?

Had I made the wrong choice?

It was 2 hours before a truck came along and gave us a tow into town.

The next day it was hot.

The nearest parts were 3 days away back in Santa Cruz, or 6 hrs over the border in Brazil, where I would have to cross the border back and forth for one, where I would pay twice the price for two and where I spoke no Portuguese for three.

I took a walk into town to think things over.

That was when I saw her, sleeping in the long grass in front of an old run down shack.

She reminded me so much of Betty. She looked old, tired, rusted out. She´d had a hard life.

As I got closer I could see she had been sleeping for some time - she was gutted, the life ripped out from her; she was another mans’ dream. Through the hard grass I crawled in under her and saw the aged part I was searching for, still barely in tact.

And then I saw him. He was old, moving slowly out from around the back of the timber shack. I crawled back out from under his van and made a few steps toward him - he smiled and we shook hands.

He didn´t want to sell me the part. One day he would bring her back to life. They would drive together again across open plains like they used to. They would be happy. They would be free. Every part of her lost now would be another he would need to find again later on. He loved her.

He also knew that I needed his help and that to help others live their dreams is just as important as living your own.

He didn´t sell me the part.

He gave it to me.

If only we could all be so kind and loving to each other, so free of fear and doubt.

So Betty and I crossed the border full of thanks and flew across far western Brazil. In a week we would be with the ocean once again for the first time in over 3 months and then it was all down hill to Rio. Maybe I had made the right choice - this had been just another test - for me - alone.

2 hours flying down the highway, Betty lost power.

As if struck down by a higher force, she coughed and spluttered to an tired end. And then there was nothing. She would not start.

I waited a while and tried again. She started. We drove along for while, and then she stopped.

Start.

Stop.

Start.

Stop.

For the next two days that was the story of my life - start, stop.

Only 3500km east to the coast of Brazil and only 4000km west to the coast of Peru, in the middle of a continent I was stranded once again. This time I was alone. I had started this journey almost 2 years before in New York City and all I really wanted now was to stop. To be at home with my family and friends. To be in one place. To sleep in a bed. To have a bathroom and a kitchen bench and a fridge. All these little things that every day we take so much for granted. We only need so little - why then do we ask for so much? And more than just ask but search, tirelessly, for some thing that will make us happy, when all the while that thing is right there inside of us, we only need open our eyes to see it, open our hearts to feel it. Happiness is simplicity. Everything that will make us happy has been with us since the day we were born - since that day we´ve just been taught something different - that complicated is desireable, that consumption and accumulation of material wealth is our goal. Amongst all these things that have been created around us, these products and institutions, we have lost our identity. Who are we? It seems more and more that we are no longer human beings living on planet earth, but some other evolved species whose sole purpose is to destroy it, and ourselves.

Why do we always want to destroy ourselves?

Is it to hide from who we really are?

Why are we so afraid of that?

I didn´t want to start and stop anymore - I couldn´t - I just wanted to finish.

What was I going to do? I couldn´t just leave Betty there on the side of that foriegn road.  Is that what you do to the people you love? Is that what I had done to Harley?

I had a spare fuel filter.

I had nothing to lose.

Betty started up as normal. She drove for 20 mins. Then for half an hour. Then for a few miles more.

5 days later we were in Fortaleza on the far north eastern coast of Brazil.

Apparently, we were back in business - it had been the bloody fuel filter all along..

We celebrated Christmas early - Betty bought me a surf board and I surprised her with a cute little Brazilian bikini and an oil change.

South through Canoa Quebrada to Natal, Praia da Pipa and Bahia Formosa, to Recife and Porto de Galinhas, Maceio and Praia do Frances, Betty was basking in the sun of the beautiful tropical coast of north eastern Brazil.

The greatest year of my life was coming to an end.

Where did I want to be? Did it really matter so much where, but more who?

Who did I want to be?

We kept moving.

2 months after leaving Harley in Bolivia, 3 days before the new year, we arrived in Praia do Forte, 50km north of Salvador. I parked Betty in the sun as close as I could to the ocean, put on a clean t-shirt and locked up. It was mid morning, the beginning of a hot and dreamy day - palm trees and coconuts - it was paradise. I hadn´t walked 100m before I saw him walking toward me - black sunglasses, board shorts, skateboard and bare feet. I thought I was dreaming. Everything we had shared together, every lesson learnt, every place we had been together, connected right there at that point.

The universe had bought us back together. No phones, no emails. Just divided energy finding itself once again. All that doubt and uncertainty was worth nothing, I had done exactly what I was supposed to have done and now this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Never blame yourself for something that comes from your heart. Have trust in the order of the universe - it will take you to where you need to be - always.

Seeing Harley right there and then was the culmination of everything.

Now we are no longer friends.

We are brothers.

Forever.

To Rio we go…

14 months after leaving New York City, 3 months away from our destination in Rio for Carnival, Steve and I parted ways.

I made the decision in my mind that this is what we must do. Then I made the decision that I should suggest the exact opposite. Then we made the decision.

We had just crossed the Andes and sat in the sunny green pastures that led us to the warm and pristine waters of the Brazilian coastline.

We had so little to go.

We had been told of paved highways that would red carpet Betty to our destination.

It was time.

I headed straight to a booking office and sure enough there was a flight to Sao Paolo the morning of the next day.

I booked it, this was really going to happen.

Then I remembered two Brazilian surfers that I had met 8 months ago in Popoyo, Nicaragua. We got along instantly sharing my most memorable surf of the trip together. When the sky opens up, the wind dies off, and the waves roll in perfection. Mother Magic at her kindest.

I emailed both of them and received one back from Betao. It was early Friday morning, I was about to depart for the airport. He wrote in his email that he would be in Sao Paolo on Saturday visiting his girlfriend Ana.

Arriving in Sao Paolo my world was turned upside down. Spanish was now little more than a baby’s murmur. Language was again a barrier, like starting to walk, but still we have the language of the human body that is all so recognisable, doesn’t matter where you come from. Words are similar in the English, Spanish and Portuguese language so you get by with just a little more concentration and a little more patience. Its amazing how you must listen when trying to communicate in a foreign tongue. We must listen not only with our ears, but our eyes become more attentive to facial movements and hand gestures. You start to read the human body, something we take for granted talking in our native dialect.

So I found myself arriving at a dodgy sex hotel in a downtown city street of Sao Paolo. A reflection of my character or bodily gestures I’m not sure, I think it was really the use of the word ‘barato’, which means ‘cheap’ to the taxi driver.

After check in I set out in search of food. The guy at the front desk warned me to be careful and to not wander the streets after dusk.

Stepping outside the comfort of the hotel doors, the energy of the city flooded into my veins. I felt like I had been stung by a huge spider caught in its web. I was stunned, my heart began to pound, I wanted to turn around and catch my breath within the hotel doors. My legs they wanted more.

Traffic wizzed by, noise, so much noise, yelling, screaming, tooting, screaching. Mayhem. A far cry from the world that I had just been living in, high up in the mountains, fresh air, where you can hear the cry of a bird circling above.

Graffiti lined the walls, the colour and emotion of artistic minds spreading a message from the street.

My heart continued to race. The energy of the city vibrating my calm and collectedness gained from the mountains of trees and green. All I had to do was breathe. Find my rythym and breathe in sync with it.

It was after work on Friday. I walked past lines of bars, where the noise pumped out onto the street. Looking in, people drank and smoked and lesbians kissed. This was wild. Where was I?

I circled the block and headed towards home, stopping for a coffee to ease the stomach ache of not eating and settle the nerves. I was happy to see those hotel doors again, the comfort and safety all so pleasing. But I walked past and sat at a bar and ordered some food and a beer. The bar raged, people looked at me with curiosity but really didn’t give a shit. I was an alien in another world, but this was my local, this was my home for the night. I was in Brasil.

Interesting noises bounced off the hotel walls all night, but I got my rest and met with Betao in the morning.

Its amazing how you can become good friends with someone straight away even though you don’t know each other, well… this life anyway.

Upon our meeting he suggested I check out of the hotel, he wondered how I found myself in this part of town, and we drove to his girlfriends´ house just outside the city. The reason for his being in Sao Paolo for the weekend was to attend a wedding this night.

Soon enough I shaped up in another borrowed suit, was walking into a grand ballroom and began sampling the five different flavours of Caipirinha that was available at the bar.

Then the music began - this is Samba country. I lost my feet a few times and continued to do so. So I watched in awe at the way the 6 foot tall dancing girls in one foot heels, making them seven foot tall elegantly wiggled to the beat of the drums in nothing more than a colourful shiny top, Brazilian bottoms and of course, that Brazilian bottom.

Waking in the morning I took a look in the mirror and smiled. Even through the hazy reflection I saw a look of content. I was naked not only physically, but soulfully. My river of life was flowing and I was conscious of its direction and my being here. All I had to do was breath. Steve and I had made the decision. It was always the right decision, it just depends on which way you want to look at it in your own mind. He was there constantly in thought. I wandered of his journey, I thought of his safety, then a comforting thought arose. I knew we would meet again. He was there and I was here and we were both living, breathing.

After some discussion at the breakfast table, Betao was returning back to Salvador on Monday where he and Pedro both lived. He invited me there, so this is where I must go.

People and circumstances arise in our lives for a particular reason. We may never realise this reason at the time, but there is a reason. This is why we must be here at that particular time, be present and positive in its giving. Whatever the situation we can learn from it in some way or another. We must be truthful and raw in our intent to give and receive. The energy of the world works in a magical and spiritual way, we are all connected. So no matter how alien you feel at particluar times, how lonely life can be, we can find comfort in the smallest of things, a bird whistling as it flys above, the stability of a tree, a true connection to the earths interior.

Why we continue to cut the trees that produce the oxygen that enables us to breathe amazes me.

 I flew into Salvador on a hot summers day, the city seemed to have really welcomed me. Straight away I knew that this is where I would stay for a few months, get an apartment (space of my own) and slowly drift back into city life.

I lived with the bare necessities of human life, a bed on the floor, cold running water, and candles that lit the space at night. At the end of one month my electricity bill was R3.71, thats about AU$1.70.  Having no job meant that I had time to do all that I pleased. Wake when the sun rose, walk to the beach, swim, outdoor gym, yoga, acai and fresh fruit with granola. When the washing needed to be done I would do it by hand. The family next door ran a small restaurent so that was lunch sorted. I also helped Pedro with his photography during the week. Other than that, I didn’t need much else, I was just happy being there with nothing to do.

On the weekends we (Betao, Beto, Pedro, Mauro and occasionally Shangy and Bali - only on Sundays) would head up north and go surfing followed by carangeujo, lambreta and Skol’s, many a frosty Skol’s,  which would sometimes continue into the night at a bar called Sauza Bar in Praia do Forte. This part of the world is otherwise known as ‘Paraiso.’

On one particular night at Sauza’s, between learning to dance ‘Samba’, ‘Forro’, or ’Axe,’ I met a ‘gatinha’ called Maggie in which we would soon see each other when I visited on the weekends. One morning I woke and headed out early from her apartment to check the surf. Sunglasses on, skateboard in hand, I could be no happier man…

As Bono was strapping himself with some succulent Argentinian eye fillets in the bathroom at Buenos Aires Airport, Betty was undergoing the final stages of her surgery with Dr. Ernesto and we ventured off to the magnificent lake Titicaca, where the water glistens in between beautiful mountains as if from some magical fairy tale.

Mr. Bean had been with us now for over a week, but he had still yet to be aquainted with Betty´s prowess on the open road.

The destination was Santa Cruz de la Sierra in the far east of Bolivia - the first stop - Uyuni - 500km south of La Paz and gateway to the largest salt flats in the world.

It was all smooth sailing on good roads till we reached the perimeter of salt, where the tar turned to soft golden sand.

Trucks and taxis lay bogged all around, but Betty was in no mood to play games and she roared her way over the sand hills and deep water crossings till we had reached the edge of the flats.

Past giant cacti, across 200km of rock hard salt highway and away into the surrounding mountains, Betty was on top of the world, and Mr. Bean was very impressed.

Only one thing could stop us now - fuel.

We had a rough idea of where we were but as the desert roads forked in all directions that rough idea became a faint one.

Betty´s compass was our only guide and surely if we just keep heading south we would eventually come to the main road heading east.. right?

As the sun hit the mountain crest, the guiding light of day quickly faded away as we finally found some sign of civilisation - the lonely train track that wound its way up throught the barren desert hills.

But civilisation often leads to trouble..

As Betty climbed the steep bank up over the tracks, she stalled, and you would never believe it, but it is true - Betty was stuck on the train tracks.

And then in the distance the faint light and sound of the roaring locomotive came screaming towards us.

Thankfully, this last part is not true, but we were indeed stuck on the tracks and Beano and Steve pushed with all their might as Harls had his foot to the floor to get her across.

In the dark of night and with our last drop of spare fuel in the tank, we reached what resembled something of a main road.

Now it was only a question of time.

In over 14 months we hadn´t yet once run out of fuel.

It was time.

On the side of that lonely, cold dirt road, Betty´s heart turned dry with thirst and for this moment would beat no more.

There was not a cloud in the sky and looking up we had never before seen so many stars shining down upon us.

But this was no time for star gazing - the cold sting of the night was brutal and we were forced into layers of warm clothes and blankets, before long wandering off into dreams.

Spare tank in hand, Steve was off in the morning to the nearest small town 30 mins away.Betty thirstily guzzlled down her breakfast and we were off.

Passing through the mountain city of Potosi, we arrived in the south eastern town of Tarija within a few days.

On the road north from Tarija to Santa Cruz, distaster struck poor Betty once again.

But how great a disaster can be for an experience.

Betty´s rear axel joint had blown, again, and again, we needed a tow.

On the back of a large truck there was a large tractor, and trailing happily along behind that large tractor, was brave little Betty.

After 2 hours we reached the cool truck stop town of Palmas and in the morning we met Mr. Onions and arranged another tow with his truck to the nearest town of Villa Montes, 4 hrs away.

This was proving to be a record breaking expedition..

First, we had set the record for longest distance travelled without refuelling.

Now, a modest 4 hr tow to Villa Montes would soon become a record breaking tow from Palmas to Villa Montes and from Villa Montes direct to Santa Cruz, 10 hrs away.

Tommorrow would be Saturday and on Saturday´s Mr. Onions takes 40 large sacks of his finest onions to sell at the market in Santa Cruz.

On this particular Saturday, Mr. Onions would be carrying some very special cargo in addition to his usual load - Hotel Betty and her three royal in house residents.

For this tow, Betty would ride first class, mounted directly on the back of the truck - no ropes, no chains.

So the first challenge was to help her up..

We towed her around and up on a steep embankment on the side of the road, backed the truck up to the edge of the bank and over some wooden planks pushed Betty up and onto the back of the truck.

We strapped her in nice and tight, but up the first steep hill she slipped and nearly fell off the back of the truck.

Thanks to the steel rear guard of the truck, Betty is still with us today.

It was around 2 o´clock pm when we arrived in Villa Montes, where we stopped for some lunch.

The plan was to head out to the farm, load the onions, be off around 6pm that night, drive till midnight or so, when Mr. Onions would have a quick snooze, and then proceed in the early hours of the morning to Santa Cruz, where Mr. Onions would unload Betty and his onions at the central market place and be home in time for tea.

By 630, the onions were packed, Betty was strapped in, a case of beer was on ice and we were off into the night, comfortably finding our moulds into the onion sacks below.

Life really is great.

Riding on the back of a fully loaded onion truck in the dark of night across the plains of Eastern Bolivia, eating some of the most tasty tomato, capsicum, chilli and fresh onion sauce over a bowl of perfect dry white rice, accompanied by a little chilled white wine, we lay back staring up at the full moon, around which glowed two magical rings of light, the likes of which we had never seen before.

Wrapped in blankets we drifted away into sleep as Mr. Onions silently steered his cargo safely through the lonely night.

We woke at times to screaming lorrys´racing past our ears and then at last to the beautiful face of the smiling sun rising up over the outskirts of Santa Cruz.

Mr. Onions backed his truck up to another steep bank, we rolled Betty off and we were done.

Within a few hours, Betty had a brand new joint and we were in Santa Cruz town - only three days drive from the Brazilian border.

It had been a fitting excursion for Mr. Bean, who would soon be leaving us to continue his own adventures working as a river guide deep in the La Mosquitia region of Honduras.

Betty never fails to dissapoint..

It was great to see Beano again after such a long time.

Many adventures we have had since the last, but still good friends never change - Myles is as good as ever.

We spent the morning cruising around La Paz - sampling tasty snacks from the street side stalls, feeling the energy of this crazy mountain metropolis.

La Paz is the highest major city in world and when you come around the mountain pass for the first time and look down in to the valley city, it is an awesome sight.

Myles had a little trouble adjusting to the altitude.

And soon we found ourselves in jail.

Luckily for us, San Pedro Prison in La Paz is I think the only prison in the world that offers a full tour of the facilities, a tour which is interesting to say the least.

Drug Traffickers, murderers, rapists and theives all live in what seems to be quite a normal little community - when you consider that it is surrounded by thick stone walls and iron bars.

Mothers, wives and children all live behind the walls - you can buy a plate of food, a beer, or if you happen to be Myles, a bottle of scotch.  

Even the cells have to be paid for - if you don’t have the money for rent - you don’t get the luxury of a cell.

And so most inmates are running some kind of little business to make a living inside. 

Some wash clothes, some sell drugs, others run tours - it’s all part and parcel at San Pedro.

Games of soccer and basketball are going on while prisoners chat away happily away on the sideline stands.

For sure things probably go on that you don’t see on the tour..

Hanging out in the cell of a foriegn drug smuggler was quite entertaining - even more so when Myles had had a little too much altitude and a little too much scotch and had to run to the ensuite bathroom - some of the finest facilities in La Paz.. 

With Betty checked in with Dr. Ernesto, we hit the road for a few days - north along the ‘most dangerous road in the world’ to Coroico, where beautiful cascades run down between the thick green surrounding hills.

We camped out for three days at the falls and Myles, who works as a river guide, took us on some awesome walks up river, jumping into beautiful clear pools, climbing up rock faces and basking in the hot sun.

Would have been perfect if wasn’t for the the biggest, baddest, most painful flies in the world - and lots of ‘em..

Chicken stew on the fire, beer and rum - this place was a little paradise.

And then it was time to leave.

Bono’s time at Hotel Betty had come to an end.

It had been two of the most adventurous, hard-core months of the journey yet, and it was such a great honour to be able to share them with such a great friend.

We’ll miss you Bono…

But we will meet again soon..

What adventures will Mr. Bean bring?

It’s amazing how this journey has altered our impression of time.

For over one year now we haven’t had to deal with time in the same way we have for the rest of our lives.

There has been no time to be here; no time to be there.

No getting up at the crack of dawn but to see the sun rise;

No getting to bed early but when we feel tired.

Time has become just that - time.. 

Time to sit.

Time to think.

Time to be.

The way we live our lives is so constant, our time so precious, yet often we spend so little of it doing what we really want.

Or maybe it is that we don’t know what we want.. that we need the time to figure it out, but that time forever eludes us?

Having stumbled across a sea of open time, it is clear to be one of the best gifts you can ever give yourself - the gift of time.

There are many great things we have achieved in our progress.

And many great things we have forgotten and lost.

It is important for us to live for this time right now, but not to forget from where we have come and to where we are going.

Plan for the future.

Remember the past.

Live in this moment.

Take your time…..

¨He, I know - for the question had been discussed among us long before the time machine was made - thought but cheerlessly of the advancement of mankind, and saw in the growing pile of civilisation only a foolish heaping that must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end.If that is so, it remains for us to live as though it were not so..¨

H.G. Wells, The Time Machine, 1895

We had just heard the news that our good friend Mr. Bean would be joining us in La Paz.

After 2 weeks, this is just what Betty had needed all along and finally she had gained back enough strength to leave Cusco.

First stop - the deepest Canyons in the world at Cotahachi and Colca, where huge condors fly between the cliffs decending 3400m to the river below.

Next stop - Arequipa, where we picked up a Yank and an Irish who deceided to join us on the road to Bolivia.

Last Stop - La Paz - where we would arrive at the airport the night of the 17th of October - ready for Beano’s arrival at 530am the next morning.

But of course it would never ever ever be so easy..

About an hour or so from Puno, on the beautiful Lake Titicaca, Betty started to think maybe she wanted to stay in Peru forever. 

First we lost 4th gear.

Then third.

Then 1st.

Second was now our only hope and in 4 hours we had made it to Puno.

We had missed Beano’s early arrival but we would make it all in good time.

Or so we hoped..

Getting away early the next morning we pushed Betty round the corner and down the hill to get her moving and locked into 2nd gear.

It’s 2 hours to the border at Deaguadero.

We made it in 5.

Apart from Bono overstaying his visa by like a month, everything at the border went smoothly.

We had made it - at least across the border - now to get to La Paz where we had the address of a mechanic who we knew could heal all Betty’s woes.

Now just after midday, even in 2nd we would make the 100km distance to La Paz at least by nightfall, check Betty in to Dr. Ernesto’s and all would be fine.

At dusk as we rolled into La Paz, we lost 2nd..

We were only 20 mins away.

We organised a tow truck, Betty got hitched, and we were off again.

Then the tow truck ran out of fuel.

Then the discovery that there was no fuel in town - apparently a common problem in La Paz.

So we tried to cyphon Bettys fuel, but because she was hitched up at 45 degrees managed only to get high off the fumes - which wasn’t all that bad… 

So then we took her fuel straight from the fuel pump and after being covered with gasoline, Harls finally plugged the pump once again, we trasferred the fuel into the tow truck and once again, we were off.

This time we made it - through very possibly the worst traffic jam in the history of motor veichles, but by now it was past 10 o’clock, way past Ernestos’ bed time, so we parked Betty up down the side alley, paid a security guard a few bucks to keep an eye on her, and hit the town - direct for the Palacio Del Inca, where Mr. Bean waited patiently in good old room number 9..

When Bono arrived at Hotel Betty, things rose to as new level.

With a Bono, and a Bean, who knows where things might lead..

After two weeks in bed suffering from her unidentified illness, Betty was at last on her feet and ready to visit the much anticipated lost Incan city of Machu Picchu.

We rewired her fuel pump so that it runs directly to the ignition fuse, which for the moment seems to work - this would prove the perfect test drive.

The most popular way to make the journey to Machu Picchu is by train to Aguas Caliente, from where it’s a 20 min bus ride or an hour and a half walk up the steep mountain to the site entry.

There is also another way.  

A road leads from Ollytaytambo up through the mountain pass and down into Santa Teresa, where a 4o min taxi brings you to the Hydro - Electric plant, from where you make the three hour walk along the train tracks to Aguas Caliente.

Betty arrived in Santa Teresa at dusk.

Here we relaxed in the 24hr thermal springs and prepared for the mission ahead.

We had acquired some San Pedro Cactus during our time in Cuzco and it was time to start the preparation of the sacred spiritual plant.

Skinned, carefully sliced and well chopped, all we needed now was a pot big enough to handle the rather large amount of slimy green cactus piled up before us.

In the morning we made our way into town where we hunted down a kitchen with a gas stove and of course - an extra large pot.

After 6 hrs, Pedro was ready to travel.

We arrived at the start of the tracks via taxi at around 430pm and began the slow walk into Aguas Caliente.

About 30 mins later the rain started to fall.

With no raincoats, we trudged along the tracks one foot after the other and as night fell the fire flies quickly lit up the mountain valley ahead to show us the way.

Soon we were confronted by a long dark tunnel of which the end none could possibly tell.

Of course, none of us had bought a torch.

With hands clenched tight on jackets in front, we carefully prodded our way through the pitch blackness, wary of the large holes in the track that had been our nemesis from the start, even when we could see 2ft ahead.

Soon the dim light was ahead of us, and we were clear.

Then came the second tunnel.

With the darkness seemingly behind us we at last stepped foot on the platform at Aguas Caliente.

The plan was to buy our tickets to Machu Picchu, find some tasty chicken feast and then camp for the night at the foot of trail up to the site entry so we could get there nice and early for the sunrise.

As we finished off the last chicken bones, the rain really started to come down and suddenly our plan wasn’t looking too good..

Standing outside the restaurant as the rain crashed down into the street, a young boy offered us a room with a couple of single beds and with not a lot of options, we took it.

With a hot shower and the thermarest laid down in between the two beds, this room was fit for three kings.

As the rain hammered down on top of us, we made the decision.

Rain, hail or shine - tomorrow we would take Machu Picchu..

At the tienda across the street we gathered our last vital provisions - 3 of their finest ponchos - Blue, Red and Green respectively - 6 small white plastic bags to ‘waterproof’ our shoes and socks, a 2 litre bottle of water and a pack of Oreos.

The alarm was set for 3′Clock.

We woke to the rain thundering down on the tin roof harder than ever before.

All packed and with Pedro in Bono’s trusty left hand, we leapt out into the stormy dark - the first, and last, flight of the Condors’…

Under cover of darkness we made stealthily to the first tunnel.

Quickly we passed the second and soon we were at the bridge which marked the start of the small steep trail that cuts straight up the mountain side.

Then tragedy struck.

Pedro fell.

Thick green slime spilled out from where the fall had pierced a needles hole in Pedro’s side.

Quick to act, Bono applied pressure to the wound and soon after, the bleeding had stopped.

Pedro would make it, but we had to move fast.

In the panic we had lost our bearings and now, in the cold hard rain, we stood lost in the darkness, waiting there in that moment of doubt and hope.

And then, out of the darkness, all our doubts and fears relieved.

Two dogs jumped out before us from the bushes and led the way ahead into the dark scrub.

Doubt was no more.

Our trusty guides leading the way up the mountain path, we reached the summit within the hour.

Only to find that the guards would not allow us to enter until 6 O’clock, even with the offer of a couple of bucks as planned.

It was 530am and soon the trickle of early birds started to appear from the trail we had just climbed.

It was time.

We administered the slimy thick goo of Pedro into the three silver cups and after several quick, unpleasant gulps, the ritual was done.

Pedro is not known for his taste.

Soon, we three sat high upon the ruins of Machu Picchu as the birds performed their morning dance just for us, as the sun rose up out of the clouds above the mysterious ancient Incan mountain.

Hundreds of tiny sparrows flew in and around us as we sat silent, in awe of the unequalled beauty before us.

The rain had passed for now, but the low clouds and mist held in the wind between the giant mountains, wafting and waving as the unreal terraced valley would be slowly covered up and then revealed once again.

From the Sun Gate to the peak of Wayna Picchu and miles in between, we were in constant wonder at the unbelievable beauty, scale and wisdom of this ancient place.

Machu Picchu is one of the truly amazing sites to see on this earth.

With only a couple of tasty tangerines donated to us by some freindly folk from New Mexico, we were hungry, wet and exhausted when making the steep journey back down the trail we had climbed 12 hrs before.

Along the tracks, through the tunnels, at dusk we arrived back in Aguas Caliente.  

Mission complete.

Who needs television when you can have this…

People travel to Cuzco from all over the world to visit the ancient lost Incan city of Machu Picchu.

We’ve been here for 11 days now and not managed to breach the cities stone walls.

Betty is horribly ill.

15 mechanics have spoken intimately with her, but none seem to have the touch that she needs.

Each day we start her up bright and early, splutter and stall our way across town to mechanic centro, where countless theories have been tried, tested and failed.

Is it the fuel pump?

The Ignition Coil?

The Distributor?

No.

No.

No.

Is it the Injectors?

The Air Intake System?

The Computer Module?

No..

Surely it must be electrical..

maybe.. No.. WHO KNOWS!

Maybe Betty just needs a little time to herself.

Anyway, Cuzco isn’t such a bad place to be stuck.

In fact it’s a really nice place.

The entire city is built on earth and stone, solid adobe walls, beautiful exposed timber and terracotta tiles - little cobbled lane ways running throughout.

These buildings have lasted hundreds of years and are made from the earth - the way all buildings should be made.

Why did we start to use artificial buildings materials when everything we need is right here on the land?

Although certainly well touristed, Cuzco maintains a special charm and it has been nice to spend some real time here.

We are however ready to get the hell out of here - Machu Picchu calls us and the road is long ahead.

But for now we wait..

Stranded in Cuzco.

It’s a 12 hour drive from Ayacucho to the ancient city of Cuzco - home to the legendary Inkan ruins at Machu Picchu.

After spending the night between the steaming hot sauna, the jacuzzi and the thundering hot showers - Betty was feeling pretty good about making Cuzco by nightfall.

We seemed to miss the highway out of Ayacucho, but not to worry - the scenic route would be just fine - no rush..

4 hours later we had gone about 80km to the little village of Ocros, where we hosted a little cooking show for the entire town who had assembled around the kitchen at Hotel Betty.

We wrapped things up and rolled on down the road into cactus country, where by the babbling brook we lay around the fire and stared up at the Southern Cross, which had finally shown itself - we were on the right path..

Betty wasn’t feeling too well in the morning and as we drove on she seemed to be getting worse.

She felt like she was coming down with the flu - coughing and spluttering all over the place - saying she was short of breath.

According to our calculations, the next town of Andahuaylas was roughly 3 hours away, but when we passed a very clearly marked sign, doubt clamped in tight around us - Andahuaylas - 435km.

Then things got real bad and eventually the hills were too much - Betty had to lie down for a minute to catch her breath.

After her 10 min power nap, she was up and surging forward once again.

But something had a real hold of her and not long after, she needed to rest once more.

Before too long, it was just the way it was.

Drive, rest; Drive, rest.

Slowly and very unsurely, we hobbled across the mountain plains, eventually arriving at something resembling civilisation.

We literally rolled into the park square, Betty’s engine had clocked off for the day, and to our delight we were in Talavera - 5 mins west of Andahuaylas, half-way to Cuzco.

The sign must have read 43.5km.

In the morning Betty was feeling a little better and so making the most of it, we made quickly east, but soon the fever set in again and covered from rim to rim with sweat, she gave in.

Again with the rest.

Again with the short feverish drive.

Stopping and starting, the long, hard dirt road would soon turned to auto pista, just past the river leading into Abancay - 3 hrs west of Cuzco.

Running her heart out down the mountain, Betty hit a sharp, jagged rock that took her breath away.

One brand new tyre, down.

On with the spare and on down the mountain.

5 mins later, 5 mins from the pista, the unthinkinable happened.

Two brand new tyres, down.

Steve went with the tyre to Abancay only 30 mins away, as Betty, Harls and Bono waited on the side of the mountain as the sun went down.

In the early night, with the fixed tyre on, Betty collapsed into Abancay into deep dreams of fresh oil, soapy power hoses and high octane gasoline.

Repairing the second tyre the next morning, it just so happenned that a Good Year tyre representative was right there and after Harls told him that Good Year tyres were shit and that he would take Bridgestone any day of the week, we were on our way to some brand new, super tyres.

Within an hour Betty was no longer the wearer of ordinary shoes.

All suped up with her new all terrain wheels, Betty charged out of the valley, parading before the astonished crowds.

There are two main climbs on the road between Abancay and Cuzco. 

About 5 mins up the first hill, Betty fainted.

This time the power nap wasn’t enough.

Back down the hill we rolled into the gas station - it was time to figure out what was wrong.

Over the next two days we made 7 attempts at that hill.

7 times we failed.

None of the mechanics in Abancay had a clue - Cuzco was our only hope.

The next morning the decision was made - a decision that until now had not even been considered.

It was time to hitchhike.

Betty threw out her hand and before long we had our first ride.

This was quite nice we thought.

Quite relaxing.

Maybe we could hitch all the way to Rio?

With gasoline prices the way they are..

Turning off at a work site, the friendly truck dropped us off on the side of the highway by a beautiful rushing river and soon we were hitched up again and bound for Cuzco direct.

Direct, but definately not express.

At 2okm p/hr, ‘WO’, as we called him, (his number plate being WO 6969), liked to take things nice and slow - the 2hr trip was suddenly 6hrs on the back of the slowest truck in Peru.

At the top of the hill Betty let herself free and coasted down into Cusco.   

That’s when Rodriguez showed his filthy little face, and once again, Harley’s little friend that lives inside his stomach came to say hello.

Then Rodriguez turned on Betty and the fever returned.

10 mins out of Cuzco, there we were yet again - Harls off somewhere in some dirty bushes and Betty, sufferring her own pain on the side of the road - so close…

Holding Rodriguez at Bay, we rolled down the hill, having to stop 4 times over 5km to relieve the valves, we finally made it - Cuzco.

A 12 hr drive.

In 5 days.

Off to the Doctor we go..

We wobbled into the Good Year service centre exhausted - partly from the cross Andean expedition we had just endured; partly from the bottle of Pisco we had consumed the night before.

Betty looked stunning with her new wheels.

And the air gun was handy to blow half of Peru out of her engine compartment. 

Betty strutted out of that station a new woman - well half a new woman - there was still plenty of work to be done - and following some directions we picked up from a fellow VW traveller, we made our way to Uncle Alex’s place.

Hidden at the back of a small deserted market place in Chorrillos, Uncle Alex runs his little operation.

Dealing mostly in the restoration of classic vehicles - Mustangs, Firebirds, Chevrolets - Alex is a New Yorker - born in Peru - so for once language wasn’t a problem and with a comprehensive knowledge of older female cars- he was the perfect man for the job - cuz’ Betty needed some work..    

The main problem was the steering.

For a while now Betty has been all over the road - it’s been kinda fun spinning her wheel around full stick before the wheels kick in, but seriously - it really wasn’t that safe.

Then there was the everlasting shock absorber dilemma, the stabiliser bar, the rear right wheel bearings, the timing, the brakes, the fuel filter, the horn, the rear door lock, the sliding door rail and most importantly - the stereo.

As dusk fell that night, Betty was in pieces and as the workers slowly left for the day it seemed like this was our new home.

And what a home it would be.

With our own private en-suite bathroom and shower, ’Tottus’ ( Peru’s finest super mercado) right across the street, 24hr access thanks to the beautiful in house resident Aunty Juanita and all the boys at the yard to have a good laugh - this was undoubtedly the best Hostal in Lima.

So we were all set - it was Friday night - next Tuesday would be our 1 year anniversary.

It was time to celebrate.

With Betty safe and sound behind locked gates in the centre of the restoration yard, Ron Medellin was waiting for us across the street at Tottus and with the usual bag of fresh limes we unleashed on the neighbouring suburb of Barranco - Lima’s fiesta central.

A few hours later in a packed bar on the corner down from the main park square, Ron was gone and so were we.. Steve can’t remember past 9 o’clock, Bono was glowing bright red and Harley was lost somewhere in Lima - trying to explain to anyone who would stand to understand where his home was.

A great start.

Not feeling too good the next morning, Tottus took care of everything.

Fresh Peruvian Coffee, Chocolate Croissants, Hot Baguettes, Cheese, Tomato, Avocado and a fine array of tasty Tottus samples - we were back and ready for more.

Ron waited patiently for us across the street and before long, it was time..

This time we took Ron to Barranco Central Park and showed him the beautiful landscape design.

Then we found ourselves at another great little bar and the rest of the night is again unclear.

Flashing images of early morning cheese binges at the 24hr super market and waking to the laughter of the workers at the sight of girls’ knee high boots laying on the ground outside Hotel Betty - the top had been popped.

It was like one big happy family.

By Monday the work was done and Betty was ready.

With sad farewells and many waving hands, we made our way back down the narrow driveway that passes through the closed market shutters and before long Lima was behind us and the Andes lay ominous ahead once again.

This time Betty was ready - or so we thought..

Our mission was the highest drivable road in the world - at 5,100m - the Abra Chonta pass was a worthy foe.

East from Lima we crossed again the dry, dusty desert that runs along the coast of Peru and began our climb into the Andes.

The next day was perfect. 

Not a cloud in the most rich blue sky you can imagine - the sun shining down upon us - it seemed that this time luck was on our side. 

By 4 O’clock we had reached our target and making the left hand turn where the road forks to Pisco, we climbed up around the soaring mountain and passed down around the other side.

Betty: 1

Abra Chonta: 0

Cruising her way down the mountain, Betty would arrive in Santa Ines by night fall - mission complete.

As the road levelled out in the valley below, we arrived at a coal mining operation and at the security gates Betty heard the bad news - this was the end of the road.

Santa Ines was back up across the pass and on the road to Pisco.

No worries.

We still had a good hour and a half of light - back over the pass, right at the fork and down the hill to Santa Ines - piece of cake.

About half way up the pass Betty passed out.

No pushing, no rubbing, no loving would make her come to.

Then, during an attempted roll start backwards down the narrow mountain road, there was an explosion in the engine compartment and Betty was trapped in a cloud of thick smoke.

Her ignition coil had blown his top - without him - she can’t go on.

So with night approaching and the cold setting in, we put together a pot of hot soup with what we had and prepared to spend the night there on that pass.

Betty: 1

Abra Chonta:1

Sleeping in a metal box at 5000m is not really sleeping - it’s more like lying in a fridge whilst trying your best to catch a breath.

Saying that, we all watched the sun rise the next day, and before the light rose above the mountain, Harls was off.

Now the game was on.

Jumping a ride with a mining truck, Harley’s mission was the ignition coil.

Stranded on the side of the highest road in the world, Steve and Bono had to get Betty to Santa Ines where Harls would bring the new coil.

The truck dropped Harls off at the fork in the road and from there, with no sign of life let alone cars, he started to walk down the dirt road toward Santa Ines.

3 hrs later, his mouth dry and his legs weary, a small pick-up finally passed by and he made it into the small town.

Meanwhile on the side of the mountain, Steve and Bono waited and waited for a truck to come.

And then there was a convoy.

With the help of a dozen miners, we spinned Betty around, hooked on a dodgy rubber tow strap, and lead the convoy to Santa Ines.

We passed Abra Chonta one way; and got a tow the other.

We’ll just call that one all..

Towing behind a huge truck on a really dusty road is quite dusty.

Luckily we had a couple of bandannas at hand, which made breathing a little easier and looking like smokey and the bandit, we towed behind the huge truck for 2 hrs in a cloud of dust - a real drive of faith.

And then the cable snapped.

We rigged up something else and were back in the dust cloud.

Incredibly, at the fork in the road a bus passed by and out jumped Harley.

Synchronicity continues to astound us.

He hadn’t found the coil and had to go to another town a few hours away and so would meet us in Santa Ines the next morning.

We eventually pulled up in Santa Ines - or so we were told.. 

For some reason beyond us the truck driver let us off at the first town we came to - only fifteen minutes from Santa Ines - and told us that it was the town of Santa Ines.

Strange.

Maybe we were holding up the convoy.

Anyway we fried up some veggies and noodles and got then got another tow with Mad Max, who drove like a maniac to finally arrive in Santa Ines.

Taking the tow cable off we looked down at Betty and could only laugh - we had a flat.

Playing chess and drinking tea we waited for Harley to arrive.

At dawn Harls jumped off the Bus with the coil.

We whacked it in, but of course, Betty was still sleeping - and at this hour, in this cold, she is very difficult to stir.

After two tows around the dirt road of Santa Ines, Betty finally woke up and agreed to get out of bed.

Not far past Santa Ines the road turned to glorious tar - after days on rough, windy, narrow dirt roads - this is one of the greatest feelings on earth.

We made it to Ayacucho - in desperate need of some rest - in desperate need of a shower.

Finally, we found the dream that had evaded us so coldly in Chavin.

Sauna.

Jacuzzi.

Hot Showers.

We melted into the walls and let the heat soothe our aching bones.

We were alive.

We were clean.

We were ready.

The road goes on..

It all started on a Tuesday night at around 9:30pm when the Cruz Del Sur passenger bus travelling from Lima pulled into the Trujillo station over 1 hour after its’ scheduled time of arrival.

We waited against the wall across the street from the station as people began to file out of the station foyer. Soon a bright red light blinded us both with its’ power and it was clear - the Red Baron had arrived.

Bono had journeyed for over 30 hours from Australia to join Hotel Betty for a prospected 2 month stay - one which would be a new Hotel Record.

Within seconds we were feasting on Pollo & drinking frosty Cervezas - over two years since seeing Bono nothing has changed - Chicken and Beer is still king.

Then it was time to sought out Bono’s sleeping arrangements.

He had two options: check into a hotel; or check into Hotel Betty.

Without hesitation Bono made the call - and Bono’s Alley was born.

Nestled in between the Driver and Passenger seats, Bono made History as the first person to make a three-man slum at Hotel Betty and from that first humble night in the Centro Trujillo parking lot, Bono has really made his alley home.

The next day at Puerto Chicama we watched the longest left hand wave in the world roll from the far horizon into the shore. From high up on the cliffs you can see the heart beat of the ocean as the long rolling rows of water gently breathe in and out the energy of the earth.

Night had fallen as Betty returned on the highway back to Trujillo - it was time for Bono’s initiation - Betty’s clutch cable had snapped in two.

In the cold pitch darkness on the side of the highway, Bono was sent under to attach the new cable. Betty seemed to have a liking for her new red freind and before long the new cable was on and we were off.

That was only the beginning…

Harls had spent the night in the bathroom battling with his friend Rodriguez and in the morning, despite the ongoing argument, it was time to get high and from Trujillo Betty started her climb up into the Andes.

Across the desert, the paved highway soon turned to dirt and things started to get interesting.

First, the rear shock absober went again and on these roads it was only a matter of time before the axle went again too and we would be stuck somewhere in the mountains of Peru.

Then came the first flat tyre.

Then came the second.

Then the accelerator cable came loose and Betty refused to move.

14 hours after leaving Trujillo we had made the 8 hr journey from the dry coastal desert to the mountaineering mecca of Huaraz, base station for adventures high into the Cordillera Blanca - the largest concentration of glaciers in the tropical world.

In the morning Betty again refused to move, pleading with us not to take her higher up into the mountains, where she knew the brutal cold and altitude would not be easy on her ageing bones.

Putting aside Betty’s whining and other ominous signs of doom, we warmed her up and set forth on our first real high altitude expedition.

With only one shock and knowing that at least two of our tyres were spares at best, we began the steep climb into the Parque Nacional Huascaran, where Mount Huascaran towers at 6,768m - the highest point in Peru.

Within an hour the third tyre went.

In the Andes there are no mechanics. No one to repair a flat tyre.

With the spare on we reached first Laguna Chinancocha at 3,850m and then Laguna Orconcocha at 3, 863m - their crystal clear turquoise waters set at the foot of snow capped peaks was like nothing we have ever seen.

Then Betty didn’t want to move.

With a little rub she got us to the nearby plain by the lake where we would spent our first frosty night.

Around the fire we ate lentils and rice and gazed up at the sky of stars above.

We searched for the Southern Cross - that small set of stars that would show us the way home - but this night the sky would leave us alone together on that cold foreign ground.

We did our best to get some sleep - at this temperature Betty is like an ice box.

In the morning she would not wake up.

Her poor old bones had been frozen stiff and not even with the help of a bus load of passers by could we give her the push she needed to get out of bed.

That’s when we discovered the art of High Altitude Timing.

By advancing Betty’s timing she would be able to handle the lack of oxygen in the mountain air.

With a grumble and a splutter we were off.

Covered from head to toe with every bit of clothing we had, climbing the steep dirt road that wraps around snow filled mountains above two majestic turquoise lagoons was a breathtaking experience - literally - at 4950m, breathing doesn’t come that easy.

Then came the rain.

Then the snow.

Then the stabilisation bar that makes Betty drive straight snapped again.

Then the forth flat tyre.

Switching now between one shit tyre and the next, Betty clawed her way up the mountain and at dusk we had made the pass and arrived at San Luis.

We now needed to repair two flat tyres and it was then that we met the monkey.

Hacking away with his hoe the monkey made hard work of a simple job and after 2 hours or so he had completed the 20 min task.

10 mins down the road to Chacas the monkeys’  first feat had failed.

Werily we continued on the monkeys’ second effort and within 20 mins we were flat.

Bloody monkey.

So Harls went on a little journey to Chacas and soon returned with a tyre that wasn’t flat.

Arriving in Chacas we found the other tyre was beyond repair.

The rain started to fall as Betty fought on without a tyre to spare.

2 hours later around dusk, 1 and a half hours from the next town of Huari, we got a flat.

The setting was spectacular.

It’s times like these when Betty makes you stop, look around, and appreciate life for what it is.

We were stuck at the most beautiful place on earth.

By the lagoon in the Andean valley, Bono cooked up a tasty tomato pasta sauce followed by some hot ginger lime tea to warm our frozen bones.

Soon it was too cold to be outside and layering up once again we tried our best to sleep in the sub degree temperature.

The sun rose and Steve was off to Huari with the flat.

6 hrs later the tyre was on and it was time to go.

Betty didn’t want to know about it.

Desperate pushing and pleading was no use - Betty’s poor heart was frozen.

A truck finally came and we towed a lift across the mountains.

At speed around the windy dirt road Betty’s tow anchor snapped and once again we were motionless in a cloud of earth.

Rigged up to our second and last anchor point, Betty flew again and with the speed of the truck she at last found the energy to start - after a while she was warm enough to carry herself once again.

So we laboured on to find ourselves at sun down in the ancient pre-Inca town of Chavin de Huantar, where the natural hot sulphur springs would make everything ok. 

We arrived at the pools filthy, worn in body and mind from 4 days of hard battle.

The springs were closed temporarily for renovations.

Falling back down into town we feasted on Chaufa and fell into deep sleep.

At the crack of dawn Betty was racing toward the coast - she had had enough cold.

It was 14 hrs to Lima and around 2 o’clock Betty had her 8th flat tyre.

Again having to leap frog the tyre to the next town we were on the road again and by around 4 o’clock that afternoon we had reached the ocean about 3 hours south of the Capital.

We didn’t feel much like heading into the swarm of 7.8 million people, so we hunted somewhere to camp for the night - unsuccessfully.. and then the Devil’s glare took us and it was on - to Lima by nightfall. 

Bono had spoken for days about the chicken he had feasted on when he first arrived in Lima - ‘the finest chicken in Peru’ - and now, Pardo’s Chicken was our destination.

Entering Lima at night was intense - the bright lights and screaming horns of crazy flying cars didn’t make finding our way to the chicken any easier.

But we trusted Bono’s nose and after an hour navigating the city we made the hopeful exit onto Ave. Benevides and suddenly there it was in all its’ glory - ‘Pardo’s Chicken’ - the fluro sign shining before us as if from some beautiful dream.

The chickens’ didn’t know what hit them - let alone the very dignified clientele - Pardo’s is a very fine establishment you must know.

Representing our home land in style, we three - unshowered and unkept, devoured 2 whole chickens, a plate of fries, a fine Prados salad and three rounds of crisp cold Cervezas in under 10 mins.

The waiting staff were very impressed.

And so, we had finally arrived in Lima. 

With a bottle of Pisco and the usual bag of limes, we sat in the the circle of Miraflores and laughed back on what we had just done.

1 Clutch Cable

1 Accelerator Cable

1 Shock Absorber

1 Stabiliser Bar

8 flat tyres.

Across the Andes.

We had made it.

But the Andes run far and the road ahead is very steep.

Time for some new tyres…

In the capital Quito, we visited the home and gallery of Ecuadors most famous artist, Oswaldo Guaysamin, and witnessed one of the worlds’ most powerful, confronting collections of modern art.

Guayasamin dealt with the heartache and struggle of the indiginous people of Latin America. His work - dark, horrifying and filled with sadness, screams of the atrocities and oppression that surrounds the life of indiginous cultures to this day.

Sticking around in Quito for the celebrations of Ecaudors’ independence, we were soon on the Pacific once again at the small surfing town of Mompiche, where there was absolutely NO SURF!

Turns out it’s the wrong time of year for the swell, so the plan of spending a few weeks jumping down the coast from wave to wave went flying out Betty’s front window.

We were however at the crazy, gypsy, surf village of Montanita just in time for full moon celebrations, but more importantly, just in time to celebrate our 11 month anniversary on the road.

2 shot glasses.

3 Bottles of rum.

A bag of fresh limes.

And a little raw brown sugar.

Come Monday it was time to leave…

With the coast at her back, Betty cruised back on up through the Central Eastern marshlands toward the Vulcan Cotopaxi, which at 5,897m, is one of highest active volcanoes in the world.

The awesome snow capped volcano is one of the few equatorial glaciers in the world and we spent the chilly night in the flatlands at her foot.

On our way up the mountain road to Cotopaxi, Betty stood high above the clouds and looked out over the valley at the most spectacular sunset of the journey yet. Across the horizon the sky lit bright yellow and orange, deep purple, pink and red, and in the dusks to come, Ecuador would prove itself to be the land of the setting sun.

Night had fallen and it was time to test out our new Jack, not yet having the honour to prove its’ worth on the road.

Passing around the windy road, Betty was to be fallen upon the wrath of several large stones that had been left carelessly about by the roadworkers.

Not one, but two flat tyres..

The problem lay in the fact that Betty only ever carries with her one spare.

We were forced to stay the night at the nearby ‘Lovers Inn’, where the room was mirrored wall to wall, and the good people there were kind enough to offer complimentary water and condoms..

A real treat..

From Cotopaxi we made our way across and down into Baños, where we would say our goodbyes to the beautiful Mama, after 3 weeks - a new Hotel record, the stench had finally proven too much..

It was great to have Mama join us for the Ecuadorian leg of the journey.

And then there were two..

But not for long - the Red Baron lurks close in the shadows..

South to Peru, Betty rolls on..

What do I really want to say?

All this time spent talking about this and that, going through the motions day to day, never stopping for a moment to step back and have a look at what we’re really doing.

It is so nice to be by the ocean once again - the waves wander in endlessly toward the shore where after such a long journey they finally lay down to rest with the sand.

The mountains share with us their way of being still; the ocean reminds us how life continues to roll on.

Into Ecuador, the only point in the world where you can stand directly on the equator, Betty walked on down the mountain road into Otavalo - a town where the indigenous people are the majority - a rarity in a world where most indigenous cultures have been squeezed out to the sides.

These people have such a strength in them that I feel we have lost.

We are so spoilt by the world we have created - this world where wants have been mistaken for needs, where many of us spend most of our time just keeping the wheel turning round.

I reckon it’s time to start turning the wheel the other way.

Watching the indigenous people of Otavalo, seeing how they live, it’s interesting to think of how our lives are so structured, divided up into stages - we are born, we are educated, we work, we retire, then we die.

Seeing a 90 year old woman carrying a 50kg sack on her back up a mountain on her way to market, you realise that for these people, none of the stages we have constructed our lives around exist.

She will carry that sack up and down the mountain until one day she will take a rest at the side of the path and fall into an eternal sleep.

For us, death seems so much more expected. As if when the time comes we just sit around and wait for it, because it is the last stage of our lives.

It’s a nice idea to think more about living life as one continuous journey, up and down the mountain, not constricted by the next stage we are supposed to step into, but free just to keep walking until the time comes when we will walk no more - not to sit on the side of that path and wait like we often do.

From the volcanic mountains of Otavalo, Betty crossed into the Southern Hemisphere for the first time, something she had always dreamed of as a little girl growing up in West Germany.

It feels special to bring her with us back into the half of the world we call home.

Bettys´airport express shuttle´service headed direct to the Capital Quito, for the long awaited arrival of Mama - a beautiful friend from back home who made her way up from her travels in Argentina to share with us a part of the journey.

It’s been over two years since I’ve seen Mama - over two years since I left home.. But it feels like i´m just picking her up after work for a drink - I guess that’s what good friends are like - it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been apart - it feels just like yesterday…

Bienvenidos Mama! Es un placer tenerte junto a nosotros y compartir este momento de la vida..

Vamos!

They said the most beautiful girls in Colombia are in Medellin.

We can not begin to argue that for a second.

Medellin is the party capital of Colombia - countless restaurants, bars and clubs line the area around El Poblado, where hundreds of people fill the streets drinking cocktails and cervezas till the early morn.

We had fun.

One weekend was enough and on Sunday Betty drove north, arriving in Santa fe de Antioquia for lunch, afterwhich making her departure down the mountain road south at around 2`Oclock that afternoon.

At around dusk that evening, Betty, according to our trusty map, was to take a small unpaved road that would connect us to the main highway, which would then take us a short way to Santa Barbara where we would spend the night.

Five hours later on that small unpaved road we began to doubt the reliability of our trusty map.

We eventually arrived in Santa Barbara a little later than we had planned, having once again lost another shock absober to the road and snapped the steel stabilizing rod that used to run between the two front wheels - probably has something to do with Betty driving in a straight line or something.. nothing serious..

So we rattled our way down to Cali - the Salsa capital of Colombia - where we would do no salsa but instead be welcomed by Vivi and Maria del Mar, who once again showed us the amazing kindness and genorosity of the Colombian people.

We four, stood high atop the hills surrounding Cali, arms streched out to the sky as the wind blew against us with all its’ strength.

I’m sure if she wanted to the wind would have blown us all away.

But she was happy just to let us be.

From Cali, the road leads through Popoyan and down across another rough dirt road to San Augustin, where the surrounding mountains are home to the largest group of religious monuments and megalithic sculptures in South America.

We would never see any grand megalithic sculptures.

Apparently Betty doesn’t care for the northern Andean culture that flourished from the 1st to the 8th century and about 45 mins out of San Augustin she let us know all about it.

Why she didn’t tell us earlier we’ll never know..

Why are women so hard to understand? Why can’t they just say how they really feel?

Anyway, now we were all stuck in the middle of nowhere with plenty of time to talk about it.

Betty’s CV joint, which connects her rear wheel axel to her transmission, had had enough and without it, Betty don’t budge..

Stubborn she is too..

A tow with a local farmer truck back to San Augustin was the easy part - it being late Friday afternoon, we would have to wait until Tuesday for the new parts to arrive from Bogota.

So, on a small neighbourhood road in San Augustin, we became the local family pets.

Mama #1 would make us lunch and after we would shower at the house of Mama #2.

Mama #3 would serve us dinner and we would watch the kids for Mama #4.

The Colombian people really are amazing - so welcoming and unassuming - so happy to give without ever thinking of anything in return.

It’s funny how of all the countries we have travelled, Colombia is the safest, freindliest, most beautiful and most feared country of them all.

Why are people so afraid of things they know nothing about?

The world is such a beautiful and inspiring place to travel - it’s a shame what the media does to create a fear that doesn’t exist.

Best just to go and see things for yourself.

We got the parts on Tuesday and on our way to the frontier at Ecuador, Colombia would give us one more special departing gift - Betty’s last drive down the mountains was unbelievable.

I’ve never seen so many waterfalls in all my life - fresh, crystal clear water pouring out of the earth, high above the clouds Betty walked across water where one fall would end and another would pour down into the misty valley below.

Sitting quietly together we rolled down the steep mountain pass, all wondering what had just happened.

Six weeks in Colombia, gone, just like that.

How can you measure time?

Six weeks.

It could have been a lifetime or a day.

We have lost track of time.

All we have now is life time.

We cross the border into Ecaudor..

The magic of photography can only happen when you are taking a photograph.

The magic of surfing can only happen when you are riding a wave.

The magic of writing can only happen when you are writing.

The magic of love can only happen when you are loving.

The magic of life can only happen when you are living.

In central Columbia, the red dirt roads wind high through simply the most beautiful land we have yet seen.

Looking out across vast green mountains and crystal clear flowing rivers, the endless blue sky is filled with perfect white clouds, breathing in the pure fresh air just tops it all off.

It’s like we’ve fallen into some magical dream and forgotten it was time to wake up.

Steering her way around the mountain pass, Betty would arrive at immaculate colonial towns, pristine white earth houses with terracotta tiled roofs lining cobbled stone avenidas that surround the central plazas - the stage for impressive grand old churches.

We enjoy hot cups of sweet black coffee and tasty empanadas in a cozy mountain cafe, sitting silently amongst the locals - elderly men and women,  most of whom you’d find in a retirement village back home. Protected from the cold with heavy dark ponchos and wearing small dark hats, they sit very quietly, as if speaking only to say something very important, perhaps something very wise..

Soon a big bottle of Aquadente (a liquor very similar to Sambuca) and little plastic shot glasses get passed around. Within minutes there is four bottles going and it doesn’t take long to reach us - a nice way to warm up in the cold mountain morning.

From Giron to Piedecuesta, through San Gil and Barichara to Mongui, Betty landed in Villa de Leyva, where the people of this beautiful little town welcomed us like family.

The two Lilies, Margarita, Roxana, Carolina and Lord Juan warmed us with their amazing kindness and generosity.

Around the streets of Leyva we met the eccentric Pablo, otherwise known as Peter Pan for his crazy outfits and funny little hats. He invited us up into the mountains to enjoy the awesome surrounding nature and introduce us to the angelic Sofia, who welcomed us into her amazing adobe brick home. With Pablo and Sofia we shared a special time - their devotion to simplicity and harmony with nature is an inspiration.

We took a day trip to the mesmerising waterfalls at La Periquera, a small trail leads down a series of seven thundering waterfalls to a magical green field, filled with colourful flowers of yellow and red, where the clouds dance with the clear blue sky.

After a week it felt like years and we had to say goodbye and keep moving toward the Capital Bogota.

Stopping off at the kinda spooky underground salt mine cathedral at Zipaquira, we arrived in Bogota -  a big, rough city - a reminder of the reality - a country where 10% of the population holds the wealth and the rest are left to scrounge around for the scraps.

Put 8 million people together in a box and the result is not that pretty.

Life on the streets of Bogota is desperate and there is a fine line between life and death.

Three nights was a grounding shock to the system - a reminder that life is not all peaches and cream - everywhere there is suffering and pain, struggle beyond what most of us can imagine.

How lucky we are to be able to live freely with endless choice and opportunity to make what we want with our lives. We must every day live with great appreciation for what we have and do what we can to give back something as well.

From Bogota the highway leads north to Antioquia, gateway to the Zona de Cafetera, home to the most beautiful girls in Columbia, home to Medellin..

Sitting in a small church square on the edge of the old Colonial town, there is a new life and energy that we have not yet before seen. 

Groups of kids run around in cirlces making noise and playing hide and seek, freinds sit around lively card tables amidst the silent, focus, concentration of chess.

Small vendors are blending fresh fruit shakes, frying empanadas and plaintains, and walking around cold beer or thermoses of ‘tinto’ - the little shots of strong and sweet columbian coffee - served black.

The square is surrounded by small homes, doors and windows wide open, with families sitting out along the footpaths, enjoying the cool breeze that eases the sticky Cartagena heat.  

We have crossed continents and we definately know it.

There is a new excitement in the air, a renewed feeling of seeing and experiencing something again for the first time.

This is why we travel.

To see and to feel and to learn and to grow.

So far Columbia has given us the inspriation we needed to start on the second leg of the journey and with Central America now behind us a whole new continent lies ahead - it’s all down hill from here..

As we neared the border, a beautiful new road appeared directly parallel to the dodgy old dirt road we were driving. Betty couldn’t stand the temptation of freshly laid tar and shining yellow lines for long, and before we knew it we were rolling along down heavens highway. It took us a moment to realise exactly what that meant - we had just crossed the border into Panama. We jumped back across into Costa Rica to fix up Betty’s things and were soon on our way, legally, toward the mountain town of Boquete about two hours away.

The area surrounding Boquete is breathtaking.

A loop road winds its’ way up through rich green rainforests and clear flowing rapids - home to Panama’s finest coffee plantations.

Enjoying a good strong cup at a small little cafe by the mountain road, we felt like we were high in the Swiss alps or something; and then drove by ‘the Azimuts’ - the Beligian family we had met on the road in Mexico, 7 months before. They left Quebec around the same time we rolled out of New York and since then Asimut has travelled much the same route as Betty.

It was there in Mexico that we first mentioned the possibility of Betty and Azimut crossing together into Columbia, as sharing a 40ft shipping container would save us both a good deal of coin. We had seen them a couple of months later in Guatemala and then our paths had not crossed again, until now in Panama - so close to the mark, it felt like Betty and Azimut were meant to be together..

But with still a few weeks till Panama City it was difficult to say for sure - we would just have to wait and see.

Betty kissed Azimut on the cheek goodbye and that night we drove out to the nearby hot springs at Caldera, where it was pitch black and the road had turned to mud. Some horseman passed us by and guided us down the steep embankment and across the old suspension bridge to a road running alongside the river. We parked up for the night and in the morning enjoyed some of the best hot springs in Central America.

Set amidst a beautiful rainforest property on a flowing river, the four small natural hot pools were encased by high stone walls that let you drift off in the heat to another world. Cooling off with a thundering waterfall massage and then slipping back into the steaming hot bath is one of the great simple pleasures in life - things can get pretty stressful sometimes just roaming around from place to place, we really needed to relax a little bit more..

Down the mountain and across to the Pacific point at Santa Catalina, we spent 4 days waiting for a swell that never came, - but perched atop the cliffs overlooking the bay wasn’t a bad place to wait for a few days.

On our way to Panama City we spent another few days at Playa Venado, where Betty sat beneath a grand old tree watching the waves roll into the beach.

Arriving in the city we went straight to where we would organise Betty’s boat trip to Columbia. We hadn’t heard from the Belgians so it looked like Betty was on her own.

We got all the info and then went to check out flights for us into Cartagena, where we would meet Betty at the Port. Then I went back up to the office to confirm our booking for the shipment and of course who was there - the Azimuts, organising their own shipment for the same date.

After 8 months across Central America, with no planning whatsoever, we had met in the same office, at the same time, hoping to travel on the same date. That’s synchronicity for you..

And so, Betty and Azimut would be together the following week and we had some quality time to share with Betty before we would part ways for the first time. There was a lot of emotion flying around, but I think everyone knew things would work out just fine. Maybe some time apart would do us all a world of good…

After a few days spoiling ourselves in the city, we headed for the end of the road at the infamous Darien Gap - the impassable no mans land dividing Panama from Columbia - home to Guerrillas and Para Military, with a reputation as one of the most dangerous areas of land in the world.

The end of the road is Yaviza, a small town on the river, which was nice to spend a rainy afternoon. Once night fell, things changed. One of our surfboards had been stolen off the roof and parked out front of the local bar all of sudden we both got a bad feeling and decided it was time to get out of there.

Betty wouldn’t start.

A few people crowded around the bus and a monster moved toward my window. He was so big we couldn’t see his face - just a huge chunk of body blocking the window. He bent down and motioned me to wind down the window. I slowly let the window down, ready for whatever was to come, and he proceeded to ask me very politely if we needed some help push starting the van. In seconds we had ten monsters powering us down the narrow Yavisa street and we were off.

Things are never the way you think they are..

We spent a night at Isla Grande on the Caribbean coast, then marvelled at the amazing engineering spectacle that is the Panama Canal. At the Gatun Locks we watched in awe as ginormous ocean freight ships made their way through the canal. Huge amounts of fresh water are pumped through the locks everyday by an astounding hydrolic system that allows the boats to pass above sea level from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Seeing these vessels up close is a definitely a sight to see.

Then it was time.

Saying our farewells and holding back the tears wasn’t easy, but as we drove Betty up the metal ramp into the cold, dark container, we knew that with Azimut parked in nice and tight behind her, she wouldn’t be lonely on her ocean voyage; she might even have a little fun..

Just quietly, it was a real nice feeling to be free, with just a small pack on my back and all the open space of the world around me. If Betty found out she’d kill me, then again, i’m sure that whatever goes on in that container she will like to keep to herself as well. What goes on tour, stays on tour, and we were about to land in Columbia, where many say is home to the most beautiful girls in the world.

Surely none of them could ever come close to Betty.

I miss her already..

We spent over a week at Popoyo on the Southern Pacific coast of Nicaragua - surfing, making bread in the mud brick oven, cooking up whole Snapper on the open fire.

When it came time to say goodbye, a national transport strike had been declared in dispute of the ever increasing cost of gasoline - a matter of great international debate - and great for business at Hotel Betty.

We loaded up with stranded Backpackers and headed south once again.

Via the organic agricultural island of Ometepe to which Betty enjoyed a pleasant ferry ride, we made our way into Costa Rica within a few days.

Betty obviously didn’t care much for the over americanisation of small Latin American countries and at the frontier she deceided to hold an official protest.

Broken down at the border. Betty is always full of new tricks.

She would start but then stall at idle, so you needed to keep your foot on the gas to keep the revs up above 1000 rpms, or she would quit.

With all the formalities soughted we knew that if we kept the revs up we could make it to the next town about an hour away - hopefully we would get a clear run..

With Monica from Switzerland and Sam from Devon in England, who had both travelled with us frm Popoyo, we bee-lined it for Liberia.

The next day our guests headed south and we tended to Betty.

Suspecting the distributor plate again, we hunted around for a new one with no luck - the nearest parts store was in the capital San Jose over 4hrs away. As it is most of the time, we were looking too far into a simple problem and on closer inspection we found one of Betty´s air intake hoses had come loose. Betty is always teaching us new lessons in life - most often problems aren’t as bad as they might seem at first - we just need to take our time and learn how to deal with them..

That night in Liberia we enjoyed one of the worser chinese restaurants in town and after two huge plates of veggie chow mein and a couple of frosty ales we made our way back home to Betty.

As we got closer we felt that something was amiss - Betty seemed a little more bare than usual..

Our surf boards had been stolen off the roof.

The guy from the hotel next to where we were parked came out and told us the drama that had gone on while we were stuffing our faces with noodles and beer.

The police had noticed a man running down the street with two surf boards, one under each arm, and not looking like your typical surfer type, they concluded that they should probably question him as to where he was heading so fast, with two surf boards, in the middle of the night.

We drove Betty down to the Police Station and our two boards were standing together against the cold white wall of the reception/drug inspection/automatic weapons room.

Just a little reminder of how things over here are a little different from things back home.

We were lucky to have our boards back and we were keen to get back into the water.

In a few days we were meeting some freinds on the coast who we had met 8 months ago when passing through Austin, Texas. They were flying down to celebrate their graduation, and wth 4 litres of quality Nicaraguan Rum and a bag of limes, we were ready for them.

From what we remember of the following week, we had fun.. It was good to see our freinds again after such a long time on the road, it really started to put our journey into perspective. In 8 months we had crossed 6 countries - learning and experiencing so much and growing in ways that I think only travelling can allow.

Life is a great journey if we make it one and we are so lucky to have the opportunity to do with it whatever we dream.

We are truely blessed.

Waving the girls goodbye we hit the Costa Rican coast line south, which is loaded with good waves, lush countryside and abundant natural wildlife.

Playas Avellanas, Negro, Marbella y Guiones, down to Santa Teresa at Mal Pais, across the bay to Playa Hermosa y Dominical, we were at the Osa Peninsula within a week or so - and the rainy season had most definately arrived.

By now we had gotten used to living in a van - it’s easy - when it´s hot and sunny every day of the week.

Rain changes everything..

Within a couple of days we were like drowned rats and Betty was looking and smelling like an old basement. It doesn’t help that Betty isn’t exactly 100% water tight either.

Just another challenge to overcome.

There is good surf on the point of the Osa Peninsula so we drove for hours down dirt roads only to be stopped within about 5kms by an unpassable section of water. With a flat tire and the once again broken shock absorber, we rattled slowly back on up the muddy road from where we had come - in the pouring down rain.

Spent the night in Golfito where we would get some repairs done the next day before heading on to Pavones - the last surf spot in Costa Rica and the second longest left hand wave in the world.

Pavones is Paradise.

With Betty perched right on the break, we enjoyed one of the best waves in the world - surrounded by equally spectacular landscape and wildlife.

Finally, after more than a week of constant downpour, the rain passed and with the sun shining down upon us, we made our way to the final frontier - Panama.

To live each day with eyes wide open to the simple beauty of our existence; with eyes wide open to chaos and complexity that we ourselves have created.

We are all here as part of the infinite universe, no different from all other life on earth and we must work to ressurect a position of harmony with that life, striving each day to change the course of our development.

The society we have contructed has ignored our neccesity to remain at one with our environment, resulting in an ecological separation that has left us increasingly susceptable to the supreme power of nature.

As this detachment continues with the rapid expansion of unecological global practices, we continue to walk down our path toward extinction.

But as all life on earth passes away, new life is endlessly beginning.

We are not the first beings to inhabit this earth and we will not be the last.

We are only playing out our small role in the unfathomable evolution of the infinite universe, but our part will leave a lasting impression of whose character we are the creators.

We crossed into Nicaragua and straight to the charming colonial town of Leon, where we took a few days to touch back with civilisation after our outback excursion of Honduras - knowing very well that we would soon again be deep in northern Nicaragua. After many breakfasts of huevos, gallo pinto, frijoles & fried banana, lunches of killer yuca soup with cornmeal dumplings and these sweet little round fruit things and dinners con Pollo y gallo pinto y ensalada, with a few cervezas and cocoa beverages in the mix, we had had enough civilisation.

The plan was to drive up through central Nicaragua to the Carribean port town of Bilwi, have a look around, get a feel for the indiginous Miskito way of life and then head back down to the pacific to surf along the coast to Costa Rica - 5 or 6 days tops.

Two weeks later we arrived back in Leon.

As soon as we hit the ’start’ of the dirt road, about an hour out of Leon, the welded shock absorber gave way. This was just to get things going.

Betty got herself another weld job in the next town of Esteli - the guy did it for nothing, and we thought $20 in Honduras was cheap..

The road from Esteli to La Dalia was the worst. It was like driving on the moon - and as much as Betty always dreamed of such an adventure, she was not built for this purpose.

80kms in 5hrs.

In 2 days we’d made it about about 300km from Leon.

And then we got what we paid for.

Continuing down the worst road in Nicaragua, the weld gave way again and we had to head back to La Dalia for another hatchet job. This time we would make sure it would hold.

Fully reinforced and double welded, Betty rocked on across the crater and arrived at dusk in Sahsa, where we parked outside a house at the end of town before the river crossing we would make in morning. Of course the man living there was an Australian Citizen who had been living in Sydney for the past 10 years or so. Of all the places in all Nicaragua that Betty might have stopped.

We spoke about life in Australia and life in Nicaragua. About the brutal, US fueled, dictatorship imposed by President Anastasio Somoza for 43 years from 1936. About the civil war launched by the Sandanistas in the late 70’s against the Somoza regime and their triumph in 1979 with the Somozas’ resignation, only to lead into more civil war again powered by US forces who opposed the Sandanistas Soviet realtionship, at the height of the Cold War.

It was interesting to learn about the history of a country from someone who has lived it.

His father was killed by a ‘package bomb’ used to kill civilians said to have ties with the enemy.

The next day we moved on and arrived in Bilwi, finally after 4 days on unimaginable roads.

There are two roads heading north to Bilwi. When the locals asked which way we came, we would tell them, and they would laugh.

How were we to know that the road we took was the worst road in Nicaragua. The other apparently, is fine.

It was Friday night. It was my Birthday. We feasted on ‘Naca’ Tamales and Cervezas and went to very possibly the worst club in the world.

We woke drunk the next morning and as I opened the sliding door for some much needed fresh air, the door fell off, plummetting down a set of stairs and shatterring one of Betty’s classic venetian windows.

Then she wouldn’t start.

Then she was leaking fuel.

Then her gears suddenly became super stiff.

With Betty, it never ends.

We slotted a piece of aluminum sheeting where the window once was, fixed the leak, oiled the gear stick, checked the timing and push started away.

‘Betty’, we have become accustomed to say in a dry, cold tone as she makes sure we earn our keep.

Seeing as though we were this far north, we figured it made sense to head even further north to where the river separates Nicaragua from Honduras.

We saw the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Mitch, which for 10 days ripped its’ way across northern Nicaragua in September last year.

Giant, uprooted trees, piles of rusted sheet metal stripped from houses, and hundreds, if not thousands of skeleton homes, wrapped in heavy plastic donated by ‘USAID’. Funny how America can fuel a war in a country for more than half a century and then send some plastic patching to fix it up.

We spent a night with a family at Krukira - a small village hit hard by the hurricane and it was sad to see this already poor community be made to suffer. Many people would ask us for money and the father of the family we stayed with asked that if I were to be close by when it was time to return home, could I leave Betty with them. He asked if later when I returned home, if I could one day fly back to his home with things that would make his life better.

Things that would make his life better. Money? Why is money the answer to everyones’ unhappiness. If I gave him a hundred dollars, a thousand dollars, would it make him happy? He has shelter. He has food and water. He has Clothing. He has a family all in good health. What more could money give him that would lead to his happiness in life?

Happiness is all a state of mind. I believe that is true, but it’s very easy for me to say - I got the good end of the stick.

The next day, we swam in the Rio Coco at the border, the longest river in Central America, and spent the night in Waspam.

Two days push starting Betty back down the good road, we arrived in Granada, and when Betty went to sleep she wouldn’t wake up for three days.

No more more push starts.

It seemed time for us to discover the reason for Bettys’ constant mood swings over the past 7 months.

No water in the batteries.

We had run them completely dry and they had finally had enough.

Idiots.

Well now we know.

New battery in, it’s time to hit the coast down to Costa Rica..

It’s such a beautiful world.

The sun wakes over the pacific as the ocean breathes in the morning. Why did we ever start to think of needing anything more than just that, - to watch the sun rise and set in the sky, to watch the moon shine at one with the stars.

Every living thing on this earth knows its’ purpose and serves it day to day.

Except for us.

At some long forgotten time we started to question why we are here and at that same time began to forget the answer to that same question.

We began the search for meaning and purpose beyond that which was already there.

Our curiousity turned into obsession and slowly over time we created a reality for ourselves that would provide us with the meaning and purpose that we would now all seek.

We invented new materials.

We developed new behaviours.

We invented religion.

We started to progress.

We began to forget.

Now things are out of control.

But, it’s all just part of our evolution, as crazy as that evolution has become.

The sun still rises in the morning and will continue to do so long after we are gone.

We just need to remember again and appreciate the simplicity of why we are here as human beings on this earth and not as robots of the parrallel reality that we have constructed.

Watch the sun rise and know that is our purpose.

Watch the moon and the stars shine in the night sky.

Watch our children grow and teach them what is really important in this life, not just how to fulfil a role in the play.

Eat and sleep and know that is our purpose.

Wake up… Know that is our purpose.

Expecting the worst after our closest dance with distaster yet, things turned out just fine..

On inspection of the brake pads it was obvious why they had failed us coming down the mountain - there was no pad left to be seen. Who knows how long since Betty last changed her pads - a question we dare not ask a lady..

Luckily the mechanic who gave us the tow had half a set of pads lying around his garage, which he assured us would be enough to get across the Honduran border and into the next town where we could finish the job.

So we straightened the twisted front wheel rod, threw in half a set of brake pads, set to the mangled rim with a sledge-hammer and a blow torch and replaced the shredded front left tyre with our only mungrel spare, bald and slightly bigger than the rest of them, - and we were off…

A small word of experience if you ever deciede to drive a veichle to which the above procedures have been applied.

Your car will not drive straight.

Especially when you hit the brakes at 110 going down the highway. Makes sense in hindsight, but life often makes a lot more sense, in hindsight..

Of course once we’d crossed the border there were no Volkswagen parts to be found.

What else could we do but keep on moving north to the next big town of San Pedro Sula, about 150 miles away..

On the way we thought we might climb a mountain for a change and Mount Celaque - the highest point in Honduras - seemed the obvious choice. Half way up, with jelly legs and spinning heads we were wondering what the hell we were doing. But at the summit, deep in the cloud forest, wet with life older than our kind, we soaked in the cool air of one of the worlds most diverse natural ecosystems. Here the trees grow thick and tall into the clouds, which provide the abundance of moisture that allows life to flourish.

From Mount Celaque to the ancient Mayan city of Copan, east to the serene Lake Yojoa where we enjoyed the stunning sunset with a thousand hungry mosquitoes, Betty was all over the road coming into San Pedro Sula, where the only Volkswagen dealer in town had shut up shop about 6 weeks ago.

To make things worse, Betty had come down with one of those nasty 24hr bugs and was coughing and spluttering all over the place as we limped around in search of a brake shop, where we had no choice but to settle with a good old Honduran hatchet job. They take the worn pads, glue some dodgy new pads on where the old ones used to be, and there you have it - brake pads - Honuduras style..

But now we had an even bigger problem on our hands - we couldn’t even get Betty to start let alone to stop.

The Brasillian made distributor plate we installed in Palenque had already had its’ day and was not allowing the points to open and close sufficiently to deliver enough spark to the spark plugs. So we knew where the problem lay, but the nearest repuestos shop was 200 miles away in the Capital Tegucigalpa.

So we took out the worn plate, filed it back with sandpaper so the points would open and close without getting stuck, threw it back in and Betty was off once again.

Now with some confidence that Betty would start, and about half that confidence that she would stop again, we embarked on our cross country rally tour of Honduras. Rough, dusty roads, mountains, rivers, tumulos and giant pot holes were nothing against the wild, raging spirit of Betty as she flew out of control across the most remote ends of the land toward the capital.

A week later, with two brand new front tyres, a wheel alignment, a brand new, high performance, Spanish made distributor plate, a new fuel filter and finally the other half to our kind of important stopping system, Betty drove out of Tegucigalpa feeling like a new woman.

The next day was like taking your new pair of shoes for a walk.. And then you trip and fall and someone has to carry you home..

Mid afternoon, about an hour from Choluteca in southern Honduras, Betty wouldn’t go no more. Her engine was fine and purring but she wouldn’t engage into gear, so engine fine or not, she wasn’t going anywhere.

In the middle of a hot, dusty road we flagged down a truck and they happily hooked us up and towed us to a truck mechanic they knew in Choluteca.

Sitting quietly with Betty as we towed along behind that big truck we were all thinking this might just be the end. If the problem was the transmission, the only solution would be a complete rebuild, or a whole new transmission - both expensive and hard to come by - especially in Honduras, where Toyota and Nissan rule the roost.

Then we arrived at the truck depot, a hot, dry lot of heavy broken rigs, where the man with no name took Betty in.

For the rest of the afternoon till dusk and from early morning till noon the man did not stop.

By 1 O’clock we were on our way again.

The bolt holding the rear left shock had snapped causing the trans-axle to wear on its end, causing Bettys’ inability to engage in gear.

The man sorted everything out. We found a good used axle at an old wreckers, a nicely worn boot to fit, welded a new bolt in where the old one had snapped, packed the joints, secured the shock and that was that.

$20 and a handshake.. The way it oughta be..

So we approach the border at Nicaragua, tired and worn out from 2 weeks hard driving, wondering what this new frontier has in stall for Hotel Betty..

After three weeks of sun and surf on the coast of El Salvador, it was time to head north for the frontera of Hondurus.

We spent the night close to the border and in the morning continued north through the colorful little artesan town of Las Palma, deciding to take one last scenic Salvadorian Sunday drive to the summit at Mirra Mundo. 

Amidst green fields in the crisp mountain air, perfect white clouds lay still in the rich blue sky, the smell of freshly burning fire from rustic timber homes filled Bettys’ soul.  

The sun shined bright as we lay in the long green grass atop the mountain peak - enjoying sweet papaya and mangos to top it all off… What a beautiful morning.

Who was to know that disaster was only minutes away.

How many times have you driven to the top of the road, turned around and headed back down to the bottom.

Many, many times.

This time, Betty didn’t make it to the bottom.

We were heading back down the steep grade to Las Palma, Harls at the wheel and me happily enjoying the ride. We were talking about the future, talking about family and kids and how we have so much more to look forward to.

We were talking about home.

Then it happened.

¨No brakes¨, says Harley. As calm as that. No Brakes.

¨hm?¨, i replied.

¨No brakes¨, he repeated.

At a moment like this, heading at speed down a bendy mountain road, with no brakes, time suspends itself and things happen in a strange chaotic lucidity.

What seemed like an eternity may well have been a split second.

For the first moment of that eternity we both sat still, in silence, out of control flying down the hill.

The next moment involved two hands and all my might on the hand brake, the sound of screeching tyres, the smell of burning rubber.

The next moment was the moment of impact.  

Harls said later that he thought that it is was going to have be a wall. Head on.

The road grew steeper round the next bend so the eternity had to end.

Right before the grade dropped into the unknown, Betty’s brave wheels turned to the left and we made contact with the concrete wall and barbed wire fence of a small house.  

Time started herself back up again.

Panicked people crowded around Betty - we jumped out - not a scratch.

¨That was cool¨.

What else could we say?

It’s not every day (thank god) that you experience something like that and you can only be glad that we did have that experience and that nobody was hurt.

Unfortunately, this is no April Fools’… 

After a week spent in Guatemala City with the Galvez Clan, our newly adopted family, Betty hit the road around Guatemala todos.

Aside from buses driving off cliffs and the occasional avalanche, it was all smooth sailing..

From the huge swell at Sipacate in the south, to the majestic Lake Atitlan, from hot springs and the highlands of Huehuetenango and Todos los Santos, across the mountains to Coban and the gorgeous torqoiuse waters of Semuc Champey, Betty soaked in the breathtaking scenery of this beautiful country.

With the Mayan culture still very alive, we also learnt alot about their beliefs, about their struggle to maintain heritage and continue their traditions in a world that has all but forgotten the essence of why we are here. The essence of which is central to the Mayan way of life.

In the year 2012, the 26,000 year Mayan calendar draws to an end. This marks the beginning of a new cycle, a shift in the earths’ energy, a time for a long awaited global transformation.

For centuries the Mayans have inhabitated land in close proximity to vast underground cave systems, which when life above ground is no longer possible, will become the land of a new existence.

2012.

That is less than four years away.

A scary thought when you consider the threats that our current existence imposes on itself.

The threat of exhausted natural raw materials.

The threat of increasing world hunger and disease.

The threat of nuclear war.

Or is it a hopeful one?

Speaking with Mayan elders, there is a great calm that everything is unfolding as it should, that we are evolving toward a positive reality, that the earth will sought it all out.

So what can we do in our time to ensure that time exists for our children?

Become more aware of what is really important in life and live by it.

Live with respect for ourselves, with respect for each other and respect for the our earth.

Consume less.

Produce more.

Recognise the need for greater levels of self-sustainability.

Grow tomatoes in your backyard.

Catch rain water.

Turn off your T.V.

Live from your heart.

Whether the Mayan prophecy in 2012 will be or not, the world as we know is coming to an end. No great empire lasts forever and never has it rung so true than right now.

The pace at which we live today can not sustain itself.

Change is coming.

Be conscious.

Have fun.

Need we say more…

Cruising into Guatemala City mid morning on Friday 15th we drove straight past a VW parts store. I looked at Gut, he had seen it as well and we couldn´t believe our luck. Stocking up on clutch, brake and accelerator cables, finding the airport couldn´t have been easier than with the finest map in Guatemala drawn by the guy from the parts store.

Waiting for Kiersten and Alice get in,  we affixed the new shining clutch cable and were ready to move at their arrival.

We headed straight for Antigua 45mins away, a beautiful town surrounded by volcanoes (one active) and flooded with tourists studying spanish at the well known schools here.

Celebrating with a beer and a tequila at an Irish bar called O´Reilly´s, not only for the arrival of our friends but also for the 5 months on the road that we´ve had to endure with each other. I went to the bar to grab another tequila at this thought, bumping into Rachelle along the way, a friend of mine also from NYC, who happened to be there for the weekend visiting her Guatemalan friend Maria Ines. Who needs all the technology in the world when we are all connected anyway. This is what was meant to happen. Not at the false pretense that we should meet up just cause we have each others phone number and facebook contact.

Maria Ines then introduced us to her friends and the party was on. With the likes of Juan Carlos, Nacho Toriello and the Gonzalez brothers, Hanes and Moi,  bottles of Rum and Tequila flowed in the only direction it was made for.

With total memory loss, photos were the only proof of the idiotic behaviour that followed the mass consumption of alcohol. In the morning, Gut and the girls were nowhere to be seen as I slept at Juan Carlos´residence, whether invited or just passed out, a real bed is such a comfort that we sleep every night without. We toured the town in the back of a pick up and enjoyed fine Guatemalan cuisine. Beans, rice, guacamole, pork, chicken and beef stews.

I enjoyed a few more beverages with my long lost friends and was invited to their houses in Guatemala the following weekend after we dropped the girls back at the airport. There was mention of a wedding that was also taking place, but we will let the flow of life do its thing.

Leaving sunday morning as Betty often prefers, the four of us hiked up the active Volcano Pacaya. Standing metres away from flowing lava, the rocks were hot enough to melt our rubber souled shoes.

Why is everything so beautiful in this world created naturally, and everything that looks so horrible created by humans?

Venturing on we headed to Monterrico, a coastal town were I was once again connected to the Pacicfic Ocean that roured and tossed my body like a seal being played with by a killer whale. We stayed here for a week as the girls needed to unwind and get a tan from the rolling thunder that is NYC.

With no spare tyres, a soldered clutch cable that feels like its going to snap with every gear change, we cross the border with battle scars into Guatemala.

Into Santa Elena we roam to visit the bank and pick up some Quetzales (the Guatemalan currency) and some new tread for Betty - our two rear tyres have been running bald for far too long. We search for a new clutch cable with no luck, - seems like its going to have to carry us through to Guatemala City or snap and leave us stranded on the highway. What can you do but keep moving on.

A Decision to take the road less travelled by, an unpaved and bumpy road around the lake, stopped us dead in our tracks as a protruding tree stump covered by bush jabbed at Betty´s front right tyre, ripping it to shreds.

After a lengthy tyre change we reversed to the highway and continued round the lake, soon to be reduced to 10km p/h as torrential rain flooded the dirt road, nearly carrying Betty off her feet and into the lake.

At a snails pace we reached the nights destination, El Remate at the eastern side of the lake and were fortunate enough to catch the spectacular sunset.

Gut began preparing a liquor by stuffing all these ingredients, some water and a bit of yeast into a beautiful bottle that I had found washed up on the shore at Placencia. Putting the cap on tightly he left it on the chopping board. Half an hour later after a delectable dinner of our favourite dish - pasta and sauce, I excused myself from the dinner table to take a slash. Stepping no more than half a dozen footsteps I heard an explosion from inside Betty. There were no cries of pain but I returned with a deep breath to see poor Betty dripping from the inside with the contents of the bottle sprayed from her head to toe, chunks of glass sat motionless, none of which hit Gut who was sitting at her doorstep. Miraculously there were no injuries, just a big mess for the creator to clean up. Trying to understand how he had created a bomb, Gut remembered one minor detail in that he was supposed to leave the cap off to let the gases escape. Sort of reminded me how Einstein split the atom… sort of..

In the morning we visited the ancient Mayan city of Tikal, which until recently was covered by nature, now stripped back by the curiosity of man with his machines. A wonderful site to see and be touched by the spirituality of the land and the people who once inhabited it.

With less than 24hrs to reach Guatemala City Airport for the arrival of Kiersten and Alice, two friends from New York, Betty hit forth gear, held onto her clutch cable and flew..

After Betty’s operation, we arrived in Punta Gorda town at the end of the road south where Belize borders Guatemala. Betty pulled up at the main square where preparations for a memorial concert were underway and the local crowd was gathering to pay respects after the death of their local hero Andy Palacio, who had acheived international recognition for his politically driven, energentic style of ‘Punta Rock’.

20 years before, Charles Foreman, otherwise known in the Mississippi blues scene as´Conga Charlie´, stepped out of American society and bought with him a handful of instruments and the ambition to bring music to the youth of Belize.

Andy Palacio was one of Charlie´s first students.

When I met Charlie in a small cafe by the main square, the day after the memorial concert, it started to pour down with rain.

´That´s Andy cryin´ya dig´.

´Brother don´t wanna go, - he was havin’ too much fun´.

That afternoon, hundreds stood in the pouring rain as their hero was lowered into the ground.

Charlie did not attend the funeral.

‘I think it´s crazy how a man can die at the height of his life and a whole country can accept it without asking any questions as to why´.

‘I´m just saying that he was a 47 year old man in perfect health and now he is dead - that´s all i´m saying´.

In a country like Belize, it would be no suprise if Charlie was right. With a government that steals the wealth of its country and sells it to foreign investors, indviduals that rise to positions of power and influence, individals like Andy Palacio, pose a threat to the total control of that government and are therefore eliminated. Scary to think that it might well be true..

So we ended up spending the week with Charlie at his jungle home, jammin’ the blues, swimming at majestic blue cascades, cooking up feasts of rice and beans with fresh local fish, learning the ways of making bread, learning the ways of the earth, learning again how to live as human beings, - not just as human bodies stumbling around this artificial environment we have created for ourselves.

Why are we so obsessed with things that are not real?

Why did we seperate ourselves from nature and convince ourselves that we are superior to the rest of life on earth?

How can we change the course of our future?

How do you build a new world on a foundation that is so old, so established and so out of order with the universe?

Do we have to wait until that foundation destroys itself completely before we can grow again?

Will we get another chance?

We are staring our reality in the face and so few are doing anything about it. Even the educated world choose to ignore what they know; life is much easier that way.

What can I do to make a difference anyway?

If we all make a small effort now to bring our society back down to earth maybe we can start a new cycle of regressive progress, in place of the current trend of ‘progress’ that is slowly killing us all away.

About two hours north of Punta Gorda, a long narrow dirt road runs right out to the point at Placencia, with blue lagoons on one side and the Carribean sea on the other. Just so happens that Charlie´s Brother, George Foreman, runs the Serenade guest house in the heart of Placencia village and under the beautiful big old oak tree out the front of the house, Betty rested her legs.

For the next week we rehearsed under the palm tree, on the white sandy beach, a mix of old classics - Stand By Me, Hey Joe, Redemption Song; some of Charlie´s old Blues; some of our own originals; then we would play a couple of gigs each night - always finishing up at the good old Serenade..

So we´ve sought of become a travelling band… a plate of food here, a couple of beers there.. es muy chistoso..

19th November 2007

Dear friends and acquaintances,

The days fly by, but sometimes your life is standing still for a while. This, the case now for us. My boyfriend Jurriaan, that some of you have met, is standing for a crucial moment in his life. I hope that you can think about him/us during this time, because we believe that collective thinking might help for a good result.

A little history
Jurriaan has been carrying around a very rare tumor for the past 7 years of more. 7 Years ago he has been treated with chemotherapy, radiotherapy and surgery that actually failed. They were not able to take out the whole tumor and he nearly died because of the loss of 36 litres of blood during the surgery. It’s incredible that he survived the past 7 years without to much trouble, the doctors are amazed by this. He has been doing loads of meditating since the surgery at that time.
The past months his back has been very painful again. After a few checks, finally the MRI scan showed that the tumor had grown again and is about 15 to 17 cm now. The prognosis was very bad in the beginning, considering what they would able to take away the new part of the tumor again and to give him a few years more to live and quality of life (no dwarslaesie). Now there’s a surgeon who works with a new technique and thinks that he can take out the whole tumor what can lead to a cure, which will be amazing.
At the moment the tumor is compressing the lung and the spine and will cause a dwarslaesie if surgery won’t come soon. Thankfully that will be next thursday. It is planned very quick as there’s no time to loose.

As fit a he is now, in compared with then when he had chemo first, now there’s not time for that (chemo will be after a few months), he will be completely broken when he’s coming out of the surgery. After that many hours… We can expect that he has to stay in the IC for a while. But thinking about reaching the 2 goals: the tumor out and no dwarslaesie. Worst than this I don’t even want to think about…

Think about it for a minute or longer, especially on thursday this week the 22nd of november, light a candle, pray or do what you think will help to make him come out of the surgery a successful, alive (and kickin’ will be a few months later).
Just a little thought would be just fantastic.

I actually think it’s a very nice thought of my friends all around the world have a moment for him on this crucial day.
It all sounds a bit dramatic, but hmmm is it….

Hope you all around the world, are doing well!
Xlove,
Marleen

25th November 2007

Dear all,

The surgery after 19 hours finished with success at 5.30 in the morning. They took the tumor out! They were not able to take it out in one piece, but in a few pieces, but it’s out and that’s the most important. It has been a very heavy surgery, not without problems. Jurr lost an incredible amount of blood, 50L. They were talking about removing his lung, because the tumor was a little bit in there. But they were able to save most of his lung. The surgeons, our heroes, say that it has been very risky. Even though the surgery has been very hectic, Jurr has been incredibly stable during most of the time. I’m proud of him, he is super strong. Meditation has been very important in this process.

He is still in the IC now, where he’ll stay for at least another day. He is stable and he moved his legs already with a lot of strength. Yesterday I saw it with my own eyes, it was fantastic! He has opened his eyes a few times, and the very good nurses that takes care of him, told him that the surgery was successful, then he closed his eyes again. It’s very clear that he tries to break through the painkillers, sleep inducing drugs and everything he gets, he’s also breathing by himself mostly, with a little bit of help. They haven’t been waking him up yet, maybe today they will make him breath all by himself, then he will wake up a little bit. I can’t wait… till he knows that the surgery was successful and he can see his legs move.

I want to thank you all for the incredible sweet mails you send me, they are heartwarming and a great support. Thanks for all the candles, prayers and thoughts. I’m convinced that all the thoughts have had their effect. Fantastic! I’ll show him the messages when he’s ready for it.

I am very happy now I realise what has happened, it’s a miracle! In the beginning I didn’t dare to jump in the air from happiness because there are so many things that still can go wrong. His family has experienced that 7 years ago. But seeing that he’s making so much progress, it’s really bizarre after what he has been through, makes me very happy.

It will be a difficult time though, he’ll be in a lot of pain. Can’t have visits in the first 1 to 2 weeks, except from close family and me. After about a month he’ll be out of hospital and then it’s time for chemotherapy, it’s not over yet. But with the thought that the surgery was successful, he can handle everything! I’m sure!

thanks again for all the sweet thoughts,
muchlovemarleen

20th December 2007

Dear all,

Maybe you’re not all waiting for another long mail… I just try to do anything I can to help my man! Also I think and know that some of you want to have an update by now.

After my boyfriends surgery, a month ago, I emailed that the surgery was successful, although not without complications. One of the complications was the loss of 50 liters of blood. Because of this, his recovery didn’t go speedy at all, but is all very stressful. He’s still in the I.C., has not been awake and can’t breath by himself. He has a very bad kind of ARDS, meaning that his lungs became very old and weak because of all the blood-transfusions. Apart from the fact that the surgeons took away half his right lung because the tumor was growing through.

There seems to be something that stops the ARDS from recovery. The doctors think it’s a problem in his chest, the place where used to be his upper part of the right lung. It looks like that this problem feeds the ARDS. First they try to flush a medicine every 4 hours to see if it helps, if worst comes to worst surgery is needed. But not a good plan with his condition. But if it helps, the ARDS might heal quicker. ARDS sometimes has a long recovery process, it can be weeks but also months. That means as the situation is now, it will be till the ARDS is gone. So when will he wake up? Nobody knows. For sure not today or tomorrow, maybe a few weeks? 2008…?

Of course we know how super strong Jurriaan is, he proved that before. But anyways, it is a very tough time. By now it’s a month, many up’s and down’s. It’s really all but funny this roller coaster - hope - sad - hope - sad -.

Many people think and hope that Jur should be better by now, unfortunately this is not the case… I’m very sure that the collective thinking from the surgery had it’s positive influence and it would be more than wonderful if we can continue these positive vibes. I know many of you are still thinking about him, you cannot imagine how happy I’m with that, and so thankful. The thought is fantastic.

We also have to stay reminded of the successful surgery, it is and will be a bizarre story… Even more because Jurriaan just finished his medicine study (and Chinese medicine/accupunture) and started working 2 months before the surgery in the hospital where he is now (and was already 7 years ago). He experienced while he was sick 7 years ago how it is to be a patient. And I know how he was there for his patients when he was working in the hospital the last 2 years of his study. He took more than average time for them, that’s for sure. Thankfully he’s taken care of very well at the moment.

It would be an amazing christmas present it he’ll wake up.

I can’t wait for him to open his eyes… that’s for sure!

Thank you all so much for you positive thoughts en vibes. It also gives me a lot of strength and helps me to get thru it!

muchlovemarleen

8th January 2008

Dear all,

With a lot of sadness I have to let you know that my dear Jurriaan passed away last friday in the late afternoon, at 29 years old. He fought so hard and after hard times he was always climbing up. Jurriaan and everybody around him knew that the situation was serious.

Words from his twin-sister Lotte:
“We feel consolation because Jur is now enlightened, his highest goal. He went for it to get rid of his tumor and he succeeded in this. We think that Jur found his peace. The family is thankful that science and supernatural came together, like how Jur would like to see it. We had to let him go and will remember him as a very special person.”

We’re thankful for the fact that we’ve had time to say goodbye even though he hasn’t been awake since the surgery. We have peace because he reached his enlightening, this because of his preparation, win from the tumor and how he made others think about their own lives. During this period of time everybody did everything they could to make Jur better. Jur went to the max, the doctors did everything they were possibly able to and all the love from the whole world helped a lot.

This is not some spiritual talk, he definitely gave some signs beforehand that he was on his way to enlightenment and actually literally said it. It was just a matter of interpretation, at the time I thought his enlightenment would be complete healing and continue living in this world. Of course I feel more sad than ever and have to miss him so much, but I’m happy that we really found each-other and that he gave me so much and that we’ve experienced very strong love. I feel his power inside of me.

I’d like to thank you all so much, for the thoughts, candles, messages and e-mails you send me, it helped me a lot to! I’m you all so thankful for the incredible sweet and kind words…

Jur’s words in his last email to his friends: enjoy your beautiful life how you’ve got it all together, this sometimes will be forgotten.
muchlovemarleen

In the loving memory of Jurriaan Van Dam, we will continue to ‘live’ out our days, forever fighting and smiling.

Harley

So Moses, Rachel, Douggie, and for the first time, Jesus, boarded Betty outside the Kismet Inn around midday on Saturday, the 19 of January, en-route to the waterholes and wildlife of the nearby Cockscomb Basin.

Heading south on Cemetery Rd, the sun was high in the rich blue sky and everyone was looking forward to a refreshing swim.

Making a right turn west on Hopkins Rd, Betty approached the main intersection of town.

Also making a right hand turn, east on Hopkins Rd, was Anthony Adderly, an Internet service provider from Dangriga, a town about 20mins drive north of Hopkins.

As Paul Simon beat out the chorus of ‘Me & Hoolio Down by the School Yard’, Mr. Adderly, forgetting that he was supposed to be watching where he was going, careered his blue Ford pick-up truck straight into poor Betty’s left hand side, bringing both vehicles to a painful stop.

‘I can’t believe he just hit me’.

Her left door Jarred shut, i jumped out the window and approached Anthony in a calm rage.

‘Well i guess this one’s mine then ey mon’, was all he said.

Betty had been taken.

The damage was difficult to comprehend.

What had just happened?

What had Betty done to deserve this?

Was it something we had done?

Was Jesus performing some cruel trick as revenge for us leaving him behind in Tulum?

Whatever the reason, Betty will never be the same again.

But we still love her, bruises and all. Mum always said scars build character; Now Betty’s character is ready for the rough road south to Rio.

There is two ways to react when things go wrong in life.

One way is positive.

The other is negative.

Negativity gets you nowhere.

So Betty has a few new scars, but she still runs as good as ever.

Nobody was hurt.

We have another story to tell. Another experience from which to learn.

The day we arrived in Hopkins was the funeral of a 6 year-old boy and a 36 year old woman, killed in a collision between a pick-up truck and a semi-trailer. Riding in the back of the pick-up, the 5 passengers were thrown from the vehicle - 3 suffering broken bones, the other 2 not being so lucky.

The accident occurred at the same intersection where Betty was hit, only 4 days before.

Things really could have been a lot worse.

Today we say goodbye to Hopkins, in one piece and with a renewed sense of the fragility of life.

We are not invincible.

We all live and we all die.

It is how we choose to live and understand our universe that can make death not just the end of a life, but a reminder of how precious life really is.

The bumpy dirt road into the sleepy fishing village of Hopkins runs right through the 4-way intersection at the centre of town to a t-shaped pier over the Carribean Sea.

Starved with hunger we found Ruthies’ kitchen for some chicken stew, rice and beans, with some soft Belizean style bread  on the side, very similar to that of Indian Naan bread. As our meals arrived at the table, the rickety wooden door opened and a great light poured into the room - blinding us all with its’ great power. 

As the light passed, a figure stood tall and holy in the doorway - Jesus had come.

He spoke of his travels across the border and told of a special place in Hopkins known as ‘The Kismet Inn’, where the wonderful Trish Wipfler awaited our arrival.

We all jumped off the pier into the salty Carribean ocean, where we were attacked by local kids, using our shoulders as battleships for savage bouts to the death. Backs strained, the sun went down in the east and more locals came to join us at the foyer of Hotel Betty.

Zoo-Dog, Lickn’ Rich, Jerry Spark, Ras-Tomorrow (cuz he always pays you tomorrow) and Ras-Focus (cuz’ he’s focused), were all in attendance, rolling their natural tobacco cigars known locally as fonto.

We enjoyed spending time with the local crew and as the moon rose we crossed over town to make our introductions to Trish at the Kismet Inn.

Not in nearly two years spent on the other side of the world has anywhere felt so much like home.

Whether is Trishes’ unbelievably loving, generous and completely crazy character, her beautifully rustic, cozy home by the ocean, or the supremely chilled surroundings, a stay at the Kismet, (Turkish for ‘fate, destiny or just meant to be’), is a unique experience full of laughter, classic stories and Trishes’ fantastic culinary specialties - an experience like no other that we will never forget.

Trish is completely mad and so we all got along famously. 

She taught us how to make bread; We painted under her house.

She cooked us up some fresh Snapper; We fixed her wheel-barrow.

That’s the way it works at the Kismet Inn.

New York born and bred, Trish certainly has a story to tell. From Woodstock, to running Jazz Clubs in Uptown Manhattan, the stories are endless.

From kissing New York goodbye on her her way to Belize, driving one of those big yellow school buses, with a 10ft sailing boat strapped on top, through the financial district as the first plane hit the world trade center in 2001, to watching the first 5 years of her dream here in Belize burn down in front of her eyes at the hands of a crazed German lady named Elvira, who ended up opening a pizza joint right next door.

The pizza joint went bust; 10 years later, The Kismet is still here.

Throw in Elvis, Trishes’ resident Rastaman, Moses (previously known as Chris), Jesus (previously known as Joel), a Spanaird, a Texan, a drunken Scotsman, a bunch of Aussies and half the village of Hopkins, and you start to imagine what it’s like here at the Kismet Inn - and then times it by ten..

This ain’t no ordinary hotel.

The area surrounding Hopkins and the Kismet is full of beautiful Mayan mountains, waterfalls, Crocodiles and Pink Flamingos - ready for Betty to explore..  

If you wanna check out Trishes’ website its’ @ www.kismetinn.com

The smell of fresh Marijuana, rice and beans with chicken stew filled the air as we arrived in Belize City. Even the cops here are stoned. Never before has Betty been offered so much dope - and she’s been around..

Every Grandma and Grandpa, store clerk or passer by has a little for sale - in Belize it seems the people are always looking to make an extra dollar.

The country is very poor.

The average pay is $10 US per day, which is just enough to get by for one person, let alone those who have to support a family.

Seeings as though Hotel Betty is a non-smoking establishment, we spent our afternoon enjoying the radically diferent cultural experiece that is Belize City.

Rastas and cruisers hang around the main street and bridge that leads into the ‘tourist village’, playing loud reggae music and trying to sell you some weed, or perhaps a tour of the city if you were more inclined, or both if that’s what your into.

After 3 months in Mexico, the smallest country in Central America, the only with its’roots not in Spanish Latin America but in the old royal British colony, was a dramatic cultural transition for us, reminding us why we travel to begin with - to feel the different ways that different people live all over the world, helping us to learn the importance of where we come from and taking bits and pieces from all over the place, to build our own philosophies on life.

With a total population of 300,000, Belize is really just a big country town for us Aussies and the atmosphere and attitude of the locals really shows it. Everyone is super freindly aand smilin’ - probably cuz they’re all stoned - but still it seems the people here are naturally welcoming and hospitable. Sometimes they’re so freindly you think you’re about to get robbed - standard reaction of people raised in a white culture where it’s just not normal to say ‘hello’to a stranger. It’s a twisted world we live in.

All about the city are the delapitated remains of once glorious British houses, now slouching and unkept, they seem more suited to the laid back Carribean style.

The last British presence in Belize remained until 1995, at which point the threat of invasion from neighbouring Guatemala had reduced itself to where Britain felt that Belize could stand on it’s own two feet. Even though that threat still remains, the corruption and greed of the Belizean government itself is what poses the greatest challenge here.

A serious lack of infrastructure and opportunities for its’ people is obvious, with basic institutions such as hospitals, police and education, operating with a poor level of organisation and care.

So sad in a country with such beautiful landscapes and so many smiling faces.

Chris was on his way to drumming school in the small village of Hopkins about 2 hours south. Rachel had roped in a drunk Scotsman named Douggie for the ride and we rolled out of the city, where things reallystarted to slowwwwww down..

We kidnapped two of the Playa del Carmen hen’s party crew and made the short journey south to the coastal Mayan ruins of Tulum.

Lorenza and Maria were staying on the water at the lovely Casa Violeta, run by their equally lovely friend Carla, who welcomed Betty to stay on the sand outside the cabanas.  

The waters of Tulum are a spectacular tourqoise blue, with beautiful white sandy beaches - the perfect retreat from the last two weeks of festivities.

Ended up running into Anna-Marie and Chris who rode with Betty from Palenque and they made their seating reservations for the drive to the Belizean border the next day.  

Rachel, from Austin, Texas, overheard us talking about our travels and snagged Betty’s last seat south (there is a three person limit), - it was a full house to Belize.

That’s when we first met Jesus.

‘Hey man, thanks for the ride’.

Í’m sorry, i didn’t know you were coming with us’.

Joel is from Idaho and is hitchhiking across Central America during the cold winter in the states. Betty was full this time - but we would meet Jesus again - sooner rather than later..

Arriving in Chetumal on the Mexican side of the border, we picked up some salad and a chook and feasted by the water as the sun went down.

An hour or so later Jesus appeared out of the moonlight, with him the 3 beautiful hippie godesses, Amanda and Dee from England, and Romy from Melbourne back home, whos’ entire backpack and contents had been stolen off the beach in Tulum a few days before.

Romy was quickly learning what was really important in life.

With nothing but the clothes on her back, some water and a smile on her face, life reduces you to everything you really need and makes you understand that every ‘thing’ we have is not what makes us who we are and should not control who we are and what we do in life.

So they joined us for the night. In the morning, Jesus was gone.

Against all hotel regulations, Betty chaffeured 8 guests to the highway junction, where the 3 hippie godesses and Anna-marie jumped out to head north back into Mexico.

Chris, Rachel and team Betty crossed the border and arrived in Belize City within a few hours. We could all feel right away the complete cultural change - it’s amazing how such a short distance, just a line drawn across a map, can seperate two completely different worlds.

From what i remember we had a pretty good time…

Once Betty had recovered from her hang-over, her timing adjusted and batteries fully charged, we journeyed again north out of the Palenque Jungle for the ocean once more; this time for the carribean shore.

Picked up a hitchhiking trio heading out of Palenque, a couple of Americans, Anna-Maria and Chris, and Pedro from Mexico City. We made it to the port town of Campeche, which was suprisingly beautiful. Colonial Spanish architecture, pristine gardens and cobbled streets was a nice stop for the night.

Anna-Maria & Chris found themselves performing a duet in front of a big crowd of mexicans from all over the surrounding area - there to celebrate the ¨Day of the three kings¨, Mexico’s national celebration of christmas. A very funny sight, thought so too by the clapping, laughing crowd.

The performance of the night.

The trio jumped off the bus half way to Cancun and we arrived around sunset, discovering what we knew we would but just had to see for ourselves - gringo heaven..

Betty was out of there early the next morning, - giant hotels, tacky bars and drunken Americans not really her cup of tea.

Then we pulled up at a little place called Playa del Carmen…

It’s been a big 2 weeks..

Surfing Escondido and San Augustinillo was great until we snapped both our boards in the space of a few hours. One board was fixed right away, the other would be a four day wait. So we drove north to Roca Blanca and Chachaua, searching for waves and seeing a little more of the mexican coast before heading south again.

My sister Cathy had joined us for xmas, travelling herself down to Chile and spending a few days with us on her way.

And what a christmas it was.

Parked in prime position as always, Betty stood atop the sand hill overlooking the beautiful Playa Aragorn, the first, and probably last scene for the ‘Psychadelic Christmas Eve Party´ to end all Pschadelic Christmas Eve Parties.. Watching the sun rise over the sea, giving light to hundreds of ocean birds circling a small island just off the coast, was a sight to see.

Cathy left us for the ruins of Tulum on the Carribean shore; we picked up the second board and headed south for a little point break - Barra de la Cruz.

No swell led us back to Mazunte where the crowds had grown and the new year was upon us.

Betty wanted to drive.

The jungle was only 17hrs away and in convoy, Betty, the crew from Quebec - Christian, Zenobie, their 3 boys, Sophie from Montreal, and our crazy amigo from South Africa, Vigne, cruised away from the sea and the sand, into the state of Chiapas, - the heart of the Zapitista guerilla rebellion, the home of San Cristobal De Las Casas, the home of Palenque, ancient Myan ruins, and the jungle.

In 1994, the Zapatista guerillas stormed San Cristobal, taking control of the state capital and threatening to march on Mexico City unless they recieved the recognition from the government that they deserved.

Until then Chiapas had been ignored as a state in Mexico, it’s people not recognised to vote in elections, education and basic nessecities such as running water were not provided by the government.

The rebellion reached the international stage and initiated a change from the reign of the PRI party, which had been in   power for 60 years.

This was a very important time for Mexico as it gave the country a hope that it might break out of the chains of corruption that has plagued it’s government for years.

Of course the government here still has it’s problems, corruption is still rife and the election process is still dubious at best, however a highly educated and globally concious youth is definately present here, and hopefully in time this new generation will become influential in the trasformation of Mexico into a country that is able to utilise its´abundance of natural resources and attractions for the benefit of the population total, instead of for those few who sit atop the ladder, looking down.

Mexico´s relationship with the United States plays a vital role in this is process, but that is another, ugly story.

SO, Betty arrived in the Palenque jungle just in time for new years and no one knows what happened after that.

Betty partied too hard as well, broke her distributor and wouldn’t leave the jungle for a few days - part of why this message from us comes so late, but:

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT OVER THE LAST FOUR MONTHS - THE RESPONSE HAS BEEN INSPIRATIONAL TO US AND WE HOPE THAT YOU WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE THIS JOURNEY WITH US, ALL THE WAY TO RIO IN 2009..

Otra Vez,

Mucho Gracias.

Harls, Steve & Betty  

After a week doing it tough surfing, swimming, hammocking, drinking and feasting in the coastal paradises of Puerto Escondido and Mazunte, we thought it was time to get away into the mountains for a few days to relax.

The sleepy villa of San Jose del Pacifico, two hours north on the road to Oaxaca, known for its’ beautiful green valleys and breathtaking sunsets in the clouds, was the perfect place for a little day trip.

Worn out from walking the woods all day, we slept well in the cold mountain air and woke to join Paco and Carianne for the traditional Mayan ritual of ‘Temazcal’.

A small hut of mud brick, tree branches and straw, is built around a hole dug into the earth at the center. Smoldering rocks are transferred from an outside fire into the hole and aromatic water is sprayed over the rocks, creating a natural sauna for this ancient spiritual practice.

It is a ritual of music, singing, stretches and massage, along with the sharing of ideas about our place as individuals within our universe.

A collective consciousness is forming all over the world.

A realisation that the continuation of our current ways will not maintain itself for much longer.

A realisation that that we have to begin to make changes now if we are to preserve both ourselves and the earth on which we all live.

These changes must come from the individual. If we can all make the effort to become more aware of what is really important in this life, then we all join together to progress in a positive direction for all life on earth.

If we can re-educate ourselves about the basic necessities that are often overlooked in this crazy new material world we have created, and teach our children about the importance of our earth as a living thing; about the importance of each other; about the need to reduce life back to its’ needs, in turn eliminating at least some of our endless wants, then we can redirect the course of our progress.

We can’t stop progress, but maybe we can make sure that it has a conscience.

Oh, and we got a flat tyre too..

Feliz Navidad Todos - Harls, Steve & Betty

Try it as many times as you think necessary.

Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question.

This question is one that only a very old man asks. My benefactor told me about it once when i was young, and my blood was too vigourous for me to understand it. Now i do understand it. I will tell you what it is:

Does this path have a heart?

All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life i could say that i have traversed long, long paths, but i am not anywhere.

My benefactors question has meaning now.

Does this path have a heart?

If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.¨

Don Juan

Quoted in the teaching of Don Juan

by Carlos Castaneda

So Betty roared out of Mexico City.

We had enjoyed being immersed in the suprisingly laid back and comfortable nature of the ginourmous city we thought would be dirty, smelly and chaotic.

And with us rode our first recruits - Ace, an old mate from home and his girl Alexis. Betty was very nervous about meeting our good freinds and just as indroductions were made, her door fell off. Embarrassed and slightly bruised, Betty pulled herself together and we hit the road.

It was nice to have some new company to enjoy the journey, along with some fresh tunes for the road - amazing how even two full ipods, over 10,000 songs, can become tiring still.

These days we are so hard to please..

Quickly past the pyramids of Teotihuacan in the north we came across a small rodeo and dropped down to take a look.

Within minutes Alexis was off on a horse with a Mexican cowboy, with Ace sprinting behind to save her from her abductor.

Now alone, we took no time to sink into the tequilas with a group of country Mexicans - dancing and feasting on some tasty roast lamb.

Of course Alexis returned safely from her ride. Of course Ace was nowhere to be found.

So we continued the fiesta - Ace returning some time later to the relief that his girl had not been taken into the hills by a sleezy Mexican sanchez.

After 8 bottles of tequlia and a hundered tacos, the invitation was offered to return to their home to sleep. The invitation was graciously accepted.

In the morning, amidst the noise of cockfighting in the adjoining shed, began the real fiesta.

After breakfast of cafe’, huevos, pan y arros, we headed off for Mexican BBQ.

Cerveza, tequila, beef, tortillas and the regional beverage ‘pulque’, were bought in vast quantities and after making the tour of all the brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandpas, and grandmas in the area, we began the feast.

Flame grilled BBQ, cold beer and the thick, white, fermented slime that is pulque were devoured amidst a grand spanish lesson.

Drunk and fully clogged with BBQ we said adios to our new amigos and headed south for Puebla.

The genorosity of people continues to inspire us - the common thread of giving and enjoying the simple things in this life continues everywhere we go.

It´s great to see people get so much out of giving - if only we could all give a little more and take a little less.

It’s the end of Movember, our growth has been strong and we reckon that our mo’s are helping us blend in with the locals.

Thinking we might just keep em’ growing??…  

To sponsor our Mo’s please go to http://www.movember.com/ex/donate, enter our registration number which is 162218 and your credit card details. Or you can sponsor us by cheque made payable to the “Movember Foundation” clearly marking the donation as being for my Registration Number: 162218. Please mail cheques to: PO Box 292, Prahran VIC 3181. All donations over $2 are tax deductible.

For over three weeks now we have been parked motionless in one of the most prestigious streets in Mexico.

International politicians and high class executive types would meet on Betty’s doorstep as we dined by candlelight on our footpath patio.

We would rise in the morning, greet our private security guard and begin work on Betty’s fractured heart.

We would stroll across the park to by our groceries.

We would liase with the British emabassy to deliver parts from California. 

We would serenade our new neighbours with acoustic duets.

Life was comfortable in our new little mexican home.

After three weeks, our neighbours had had enough.

No more full dining.

No more strolls across the park.

No more serenade.

Betty was to be towed away.

Our home, our life, was to be impounded one hour out of the city.

We could not allow them to move us away - we had to act fast…

Under cover of darkness Betty rolled silently away into the night and settled again in her new home around the corner.

No meetings, no executives - just a quiet street with a grande advertisement for Cuervo tequila to remind us of the good times.

We were safe.

The enemy was persistant.

The next day our position was found and we again were to be towed in one hour.

Una hora. 

We argued valiently. The decision had been made.

We sat three, unsure of what to think let alone what to say. They were coming to take us away.

You will not believe what you are about to read but i swear it is the truth.

For three weeks we had turned Betty’s key too many times to count. We had taken her every part in our hands, cleaned her, checked her and put her back together. It was now, after all, that Betty asked us again to give her one last try.

Time has not been exaggerated. The tow truck was on it’s way.

Betty started.

We looked at each other with eyes beyond disbelief. We leant down and rested our ears on Betty’s purring heart. We felt the heat of her, strong against our tired hands. She was not to be touched by the hands of another man.

We were off.

Betty thought it only right for us to say one last goodbye to our freinds and foes on the street we had called home.

With Betty’s horn ablazing, cries of ‘Hola Amigos! Gracias! Adios!’, were heard above the muffle of world politics.

Betty had rested long enough - it was time to go.

How great the bad times are. They really make you appreciate when you’ve got it good.

Betty’s Back…

When we meet people, let us see them as brothers and sisters and remember that we have all come from the infinite universe through our parents and ancestors, and let us pray as one with all of humanity for universal love and peace on earth.

When we see the sun and moon, the sky and stars, mountains and rivers, seas and forests, fields and valleys, birds and animals, and all the wonders of nature, let us remember that we have come with them all from the infinite universe. Let us be thankful for our environment on earth, and live in harmony with all that surrounds us.

When we see farms and villages, towns and cities, arts and cultures, societies and civilizations, and all the works of man, let us recall that our creactivity has come from the infinite universe, and has passed from generation to generation and spread over the entire earth. Let us be grateful for our birth on this planet with intelligence and wisdom, and let us vow with all to realise endlessly our eternal dream of One Peaceful World through health, freedom, love and justice.

Having come from, being within, and going towards infinity,

May our endlessdream be eternally realised upon this earth,

May our unconditional dedication perpetually serve for the creation of love and peace,

May our heartfelt thankfulness be devoted universally upon everyone, everything and every being.

The Book of Macrobiotics ‘The Universal Way of Happiness’ by Michio Kushi 1977

The last two weeks we have tested every part of Betty’s aching body and still we sit, motionless in Mexico City.

Power, fuel, ignition & starter systems, valves & regulators, pumps & relays.

Nothing. Nada.

What does Betty need to keep her going to the end?

What is it that makes her rise in the morning, that makes her go till she’s out of gas, fill up and go again?

We have faith that Betty will ride the libre carreterra once again.

We have the time.

Today is the two month anniversary of our departure from New york, - makes you rethink the concept of time.

Two months.

Feels like two years; or two days?

When you leave behind the routine you stop living life on the hour and time takes on a different meaning. There is no time to have to be somewhere, no time to have to do something. No lunch time, no free time, only life time. 

The last two months feels like a lifetime. The days aren’t just passed over - crossing numbers off a piece of paper.

Betty turned 30 in October.

30 years i’m sure she lived for every moment, for every fresh quart of oil, for every sweet tank of gas.

But she ain’t done living yet, i know it..

To sponsor our Mo’s please go to http://www.movember.com/ex/donate, enter our registration number which is 162218 and your credit card details. Or you can sponsor us by cheque made payable to the “Movember Foundation” clearly marking the donation as being for my Registration Number: 162218. Please mail cheques to: PO Box 292, Prahran VIC 3181. All donations over $2 are tax deductible.

The money raised by Movember is donated to the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia and beyondblue - the national depression initiative, which will use the funds to create awareness, fund research and increase support networks for those men who suffer from prostate cancer and male depression.

Betty had enjoyed her stay in Guanajuato long enough and was ready to take us south to Patzcuaro for ‘dia de muertos’ - the day of the dead. Annually on November 2nd, Mexico remembers their lost loved ones by holding ceremonies all over the country.

The lakeside villages surrounding Patzcuaro are renowned for their day of the dead celebrations, with travellers from Mexico and beyond making their way to this tiny area to see the traditional rituals of fire, flowers and gloomy macarbe.

We arrived on the 1st and spent the day around Patzcuaro centro, taking in the pre-festive atmosphere. Next morning we headed north to the village of Santa Fe where celebrations were taking place. We would not be part of such celebrations.

It was the day of the dead Betty.

Seems Betty again enjoyed the lakeside very much and it would be four days spent tinkering around the engine compartment on the side of a dusty road before we would once again continue on our journey south.

We’re still not sure exactly what made Betty want to move, but it was a Sunday - and we do know that Betty likes driving on a Sunday, so we guess that’s just it.

So happily we all made our way toward Mexico City, picking up an international trio of hitchiking english teachers who invited us to a feast of pollo and huevos con hamon along the way.

Well fed and well rested we cruised down into the 100km long 30km wide valley of Mexico, home to 22 million loco mexicans… 

North-east of Guadalajara is the spectacular mountain village of Guanajuato. Historically a mining town, the valley now is home to a maze of underground tunnels, colour and steep winding cobble stoned roads and walkways.

We met a cool little mexican chick named Ilse from Baja California who was studying at the University here. She showed us around and took us for a trip in the woods of a neighbouring village. The surrounds were as beautiful as the town itself.

The beauty kept us here for 3 days or so; Betty kept us here for more.

Turns out Betty was enjoying her perch atop the mountain overlooking Guanajuato even more then we were - she refused to move.

Betty is a woman of great taste and so we were to spend some more time in this wonderful little town.

There seemed to be a problem with the fuel distribution system - she’d start up but no gas was reaching the engine with the accelorator pedal to the floor, and so she would grumble to a stall.

We spent the day monkeying around before deceiding to take the fuel pump out. Next morning we put the pump back in and Bob’s your uncle - Betty was alive again. 

We will never understand women.

From here we headed north for Guadalajara then further north to the picturesque mountain villa of Guanajuto - our first taste of the old colonial Mexico.

Leaving behind the mountain city of Monterrey, Betty was dancing west for the Pacific.

Language, theft and authorities had already proved a challenge and it was a nice relief to get out on the ¨libre carraterra¨ - the refreshing ocean only 10 hrs away.

Betty wasn´t going to let us get too carried away.

About 40 kms out of Monterrey we lost acceleration, drifting off the highway to a stop in the heated dirt. Her accelerator cable had snapped.

I hadn´t had breakfast so i fixed up a bowl of cereal whilst Harley had a look under the front panel that houses the clutch, brake and acceleration cables. All good. The cable had snapped from the back - where it connects to the engine.

We deceided to try and nurse Betty 30 kms to the to the nearest town by operating the accelerator manually through the engine hatch in the back.

As harls jumped in to begin the procedure he screams, grabbing at his back for the giant bug fixed to his shoulder.

Turns out the giant bug was a piece of wire just about the length of the piece missing from the accelerator cable.

We made a loop in the old wire, attached the killer bug and we were off to Torreon - where we stayed the night.

Early at the gas station the next morning i got chatting to a nice mexican guy and his daughter. Of course he turns out to be a VW mecahnic, so i tell him the story and he just happens to have a brand new accelerator cable in the side of his little VW hatchback - keep in mind that all cables for all cars are different lenghths. Why he had a cable for Betty in his little hatchback remains a mystery but we´re now about 700km south of there and Betty is loving her new cable that he gave her as a gift.

Everywhere you go people are beautiful. Travelling around it´s really inspiring to know that if you get stuck in the mud there´s people around who´ll pull you out - wherever you are.

Knowing those people are around you makes you want to be one of those people yourself.

Waking up before the break of dawn, we left San Antonio heading straight for the Tex-Mex border at Loredo.

Perhaps we were lucky, or left the right day (Sunday), or took the right entrance (gate 1) but we drove straight in through the border, no questions asked, no passports stamped, no english anymore - we were in Mexico.

Confused, excited and bewildered at the ease of crossing the border we kept driving through the streets of Nuevo Loredo. Colour, craziness and spanish words surround, we were in, theres´s no turning back. There were no checks of the van, no corrupt cops to bribe, what was all the fuss about?

Sailing on our way we knew we had to turn back, with no entry visa in our possession and no car permit for Betty we were already renegades in a country as foreign and far away from our own like a beach to the sahara.

Sure enough there were signs, and sure enough we had missed them all.  It was our responsibility to sort it out for ourselves. So we did. With stamps in our passports and a permit sticker for Betty, Monterrrey was only so far away…

The highway was now our only friend, the only we could trust in a land said to be over populated with Bandidos and corrupt police.

The land flattened and turned a light brown earth colour. Cactus and telegraph poles that resemble cactus replace the towering McDonalds and corporate America road signs that litter the highways in the US.

Entering Monterrey, the third largest city in Mexico, cars zoomed by, people travelling in the back of pick ups stared, the three lane highway turned abruptly into two on the bend, signs were everywhere, roads went everywhere, people, animals, more people, cars, trucks, buses, motorbikes, loudness… organised chaos reigned.

In the supermercado eyes turned on us, but little did we notice as there were so many free food sample stalls, hunger was our only attention.

After a feast of the biggest sandwich possible, we rested Betty in the middle of the city and perused the broken streets. Soon to fall into slumberland only to be rudely awoken by a thief in the night jumping on the back of the bus trying to dismantle the bikes. I awoke to the thought that we were being towed and saw a shadow through the curtain. Drawing it back our eyes caught, he turned and was swallowed by the dirty streets.

We moved to outside the tourist information centre and slummed till the morning city traffic awoke us. I went in search of a toilet, map and internet. Upon my successful return hours later, I met Steve who was walking the streets. He asked if I had been having fun, sure I had, why did he ask??

Parked not so legally once again, the police soon caught up - eventually accepting a bribe of US$20 to set Betty free. Driving around the corner from the scene of the crime Steve was stopped by yet another coppa who let him pass without another US$20.

It was time to move on. We´d been shown our lesson. Before we left we organised third party car insurance, its not required but when you see the way they drive its definately a must. Insurance in hand, less money in our wallet and a smile so deep upon our face we charged west out of town on the highway to be confronted with a life or death situation. With Betty´s wheels screeching and locking up we came to an abrupt hault inches away from the red rear end of a truck that pulled out in front then chose to stop.

This was not our time, this was not Betty´s time, with so many miles to drive.

Swallowing our hearts and a few hundred deep breaths to rid the shaken not stirred nerves… onward to Saltillo.

Follow your heart, THINK BIG

Cherish your family, know that all your children need love

Plant trees, listen for the Birds

Cherish the land, save praries, forests, wetlands, woods and streams

Stop sprawl, preserve farmland, preserve habitat for wildlife

think small. one small planet

Safeguard clean air and water, use alternative energy

Recycle, take positive action

Work for peace, love others

Teach by example, see beauty around you

Enjoy art, collect beautiful things

Make mistakes

Trust yourself

¨Wisdom¨ by Hillary Packard 1995

Crusing down the highway just out of Nashville, Betty came across this cool Anti-war school bus that was driving around the States protesting against the war in Iraq. After getting to know the crew on board they let us know about a hippie commune known as ‘the farm’, which was a couple of hours south in Summertown.

We arrived late at night and the next morning Betty wasn’t feeling to well and wouldn’t start - stranded in Summertown. We spent half the day making things worse when Gary and Liz from the farm happened to swing by, telling us about a guy on the farm who knew a bit about Volkswagens. And so we met ‘the Merlin’..

It’s amazing how things work out - especially when you’re on the right path. We could have broken down anywhere in America, but it just happened to be right there - at that time. Energy is a funny thing. Beyond fixing up Betty, the Merlin showed us how we can live without dependance on products. How we can all try to produce intstead of consume. How we can all try to give a little more and take a little less..

The farm community of Summertown is working toward a better future for everyone - check it out: http://www.thefarm.org/

Two years ago I didn’t have a thought of visiting New York City - now it’s my home away from home. Many people you meet here share the same story – coming to see what all the fuss is about and being left years later with countless memories of a life lived in this vibrant metropolis.

Divided into the five boroughs of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx and Staten Island, New York City is the multicultural center of the world. Never before have I heard so many languages whilst walking down the one street (175 spoken in Manhattan alone). People from every country live and work here, striving for a piece of the opportunity this city represents. It’s really fascinating how such a city can exist within a Country of which it shares so little in common. You’ll often hear the locals say New York City is a country unto itself.

There is an incredible energy that does not sleep giving rise to action and accomplishment everywhere you turn. There is great freedom to be who ever you are without prejudice, an ability to participate in the flow of things, or duck away into obscurity.

Manhattan Island is the core of the city, a seemingly endless surge of skyline home to 1.5 million people, making it the most densely populated county in the United States. At its heart, the spectacular Central Park provides refuge from the intensity of her surroundings. Beautiful meadows and lakes, grand castles, bridges and walkways offer both locals and tourists alike a chance to relax and reflect on the design of this magnificent city.

A unique fusion of the old and the new exists – leaders in technology, fashion and the arts live among horse and cart, rickshaws, buskers’ and street vendors; corporations trade the international market, whilst small business remains the core of the cities economy.

Every kind of small service industry imaginable exists in Manhattan – this being largely attributed to America’s interesting immigration policy, which provides an abundant source of cheap labor. It’s illegal to cross the border without a visa but if you’re going to help the economy once you’ve done so, they’ll ignore the fact you’re here and let you stay. They’ll even give you a Green Card if you work for long enough to afford one. So in every New York business you’ll find at least one illegal immigrant working for below minimum wage.

This is but one element of the City that has become accepted as part of reality. After living here for a while this reality becomes more apparent – the freedom, energy and opportunity is defied by poverty, stress and the loss of what is truly important in life – love and compassion for the earth and its people.

For all that it offers as a city, New York is a fantastic place to live, work, socialize and enjoy the values of a consumer society. As much as I do enjoy that lifestyle it quickly wears thin and I always find myself searching for something more. Something permanent. Something I can feel inside.

So our journey heads south into the unknown. I’ve come to crave that feeling of not knowing where I’m going – not needing to know – but knowing that whichever way it is is the right way and the new experiences, interactions and relationships along the way are what make you the person you aspire to be.

Let’s get on the road…