Mr. Kokopelli, Máncora

Mr. Kokopelli, Máncora
30th July, 2012

I've finally been snapped back from one phat haze of hell raising uncertainty. Today the breakfast actually tastes like taste, and my gut doesn't feel like it's being displaced over the brim of these funky Vegas shorts; rolling off down my sides like a melting choco-muffin. The past week has been an epic to say the least - I couldn't tell you if shit feels like it's flown on by, or whether or not (for everyone else anyway) our sessions merely chugged along casually locomotive style. For me it's kind of all blended seamlessly into some giant messed-up hoedown. Peruvian Independence. It has come & been for another year. What better a way to welcome in my unexpected arrival here to Mancora, the countries finest northern party point. I never actually planned on heading back to the coast just yet, not until after I made it up into the Cordilla Blanca anyhow. But as you will see, some things are just meant to be. I'm starting to stop asking too many questions. Life is seeming the better for it. Maybe that shaman really did free from all that "bad energy" after all. Crazy thoughts in these crazy times. I say just let some legends live...and why not?? Spread the love, music & mischief, then go paint these fine legs of mine - I like this Mr. Kokopelli.

Kicking back @ Kokopelli

Ahhh...now where to begin?? Rewind a week and a half ago & I was powering on back across Ecuador, retracing my earlier wanderings over the equator, and making for some big ol' mountains. I'd made contact with a guy I'd met earlier from the Gold Coast, and we set a plan to hook up in Baños and make for some hiking throughout Cajas National Park, not too far from Cuenca. I must attract freaks. Minding my own business, waiting around for our bus; there was this homeless local guy spitting & spluttering, breathing his nasty breath of bad English lingo all over me. He laid claim to being brought up in The States, and tried to swindle me into trading off a few spare dollars for all his useless information on places I'd already visited. Brushing him off was proving difficult - Goldilocks saved the day. I sprung into action the moment he arrived & we jumped on the first departing bus pulling out of the station. About half way through the ride we stopped in some small roadside town for lunch. I was pretty starved & thought I'd munch down a bit of bread. I've had some pretty tasty empañadas in my time, so I decided to stick to what I knew. In my flawlessly fluent español, I asked if that empañada over there was packed full of cheese?? Hehehehehehehe!!! She lost her shit! She just laughed in my face! I asked again, taking another shot with a 'clearer' accent...Hehehehehe!! This chick was nuts. I grabbed a couple of jelly fruit breads instead & called it quits. Goldilocks took a punt & wound up with the wrong side of the coin. Shitty cheese puff. I've seen more dairy squeezed out of a field mouse.

We made it into Cuenca safe & sound. The hostel Goldilocks had booked nearly sent me away for not having a free bed, even though later on that night most of the rooms were half empty. We became acquainted with this hungover chum from Brisso, got our shit together and went downtown for a grocery run. I don't know how Brisso in his fine state handled it. The most stressful & chaotic shopping trip ever. Our posse pushed through six separate basket loads before we chanced our escape. We soothed our sorrows with stir-fry & TV shows which made a whole lot of unwitting bozo's look like idiots.

Burning calories in the early morning. What a way to start a new day...We took off quick smart; loading our bulging packs into a crammed pre-work bus, as we made our way to the main terminal. We left Brisso to his own means at one of the visitor centres before hopping off ourselves at the high point of the thoroughfare; the start of our proposed three day hike, marked by a creepy tres cruces monument. The temperature plummeted the moment we stepped off the bus, and the wind tore through my normally hardy chicken legs like a frozen pick axe. I blame this for our mighty shameful mishap, but really there is no excuse. We searched about for the trail head, finding a sign post for our intended route which appeared to point its way into nothingness. What now?? This other path should do...we could scope it out from up top. We climbed the small hill with a good track directly in front of us, immediately beginning to feel the effects of the altitude. My short stint out in the lowland jungle had become a curse. At the top there was some kind of radio tower surrounded by a fence. I just assumed these fences were there for some other reason...for all those 'unexperenced' children out there who couldn't navigate off a map...a faint track continued over the other side so we simply jumped it. That's when the fun began. Following that ridge soon wound us bedazzled through empty fields of space - wind blown country decorated only by angry looking outcrops & countless confusions of intertwined animal pads. We were being blown over constantly, and that, on top of our cluelessness only led to utter "south-bound" confusion. At one time a large lake came into view, and Goldilocks made a point to say it looked a lot like the one not far from the visitor centre. Impossible, I though; we couldn't be that far off course. We pressed on. The weather began to clear. Things were looking positive. Then we stumbled upon a house?? What the fuck?! That sent the mind into a spin. If we were where I thought we were, what the hell was this?? The trusty map only left us with further wonder, before a few more steps in the house bound direction revealed our house was in fact our visitors centre!! We were back on the dambed road! Brisso was going to love this. I felt guttered...but more to the point - utterly useless. What sort of bushwhacker was I?! We trotted on down to the highway, bathing in our disgrace.

Start of the 'Tres Cruces' Track

Unsure what to do we weighed up our options. There was no way I actually wanted to head back to Cuenca, especially since we'd paid for all this scrumptious carb-loaded food we were carrying, and I'd already told these chicks we'd be out for days...how would I impress them now with my heroic tales!! Our minds were made, it wasn't too late in the day after all - we headed on back for the initial trail head. In no time we'd scammed a ride in the back of a passing Ute; making quick time of our whole journey of redemption, and found ourselves staring back across at the three crosses in a slight daze of deja vu. How we missed this track I have no idea. It was plain to see...I guess we were a little too excited to get gung-ho. This was much easier walking, and for a while our lives were at ease. There were moments when I felt like I was back at home, trekking towards the slopes of the Western Arthurs. Glacial lakes painted a pretty foreground for the imposing crags, shrouded in low cloud behind. However, our bliss lived a short life; the madness soon returned. After lunch the slight drizzle turned to sleety crap, and the winds picked up again hounding strongly across a large lake, against the grain of our onward movements. We were soaked, then the sleet morphed into tiny hail stones. There was a last minute chance to take a quick exit route out of the park, and Goldilocks & I only had to look at each other, faces draped with a grim gloom, to make our final painstaking decision. We were out of there! A warm bed & a cold beer awaited us back in town - maybe a bit of wildness with a few pretty ladies?? Delish cappuccinos with two Nigerian catholic/gangsters?? The mind was playing a wondrous toying game with the hopes of this young boy. Where was this fun sun of ours...

Cajas National Park

Well, I sure found it here in Mancora. What a reckless place. It felt like I was back in South-East Asia the moment I stepped off that bus. Tuk-tuks ruled the streets; and prospectors grappled at Smokie & I as we bounded away from the terminal in pursuit of some kind of money changer. Golden beach clashed with barren desert. Squeezed in between was a single strip of highway, dotted with an endless array of markets, restaurants, hotels & bars. The sky was crystal clear. This could be my calling. The good life is never bad.

The Mancoran Skyline

I guess I got myself a little too revved up a little too early; it wasn't long before the lines began to blur. I took Smokie on an overly romantic date in the towns grandest four dollar restaurant, before sharing some love with local kingpin Charlie Brown, and his pocket grabbing Aussie sidekick Damien, who was having a hard time making a living selling off his tiny hamburgers. "An honest day's work for an honest day's pay"...isn't that what they say?? Poor ol' Damien wasn't copping much luck. When all else fails...juicing up the town normally does the trick. There is so much cocaine kicking around this place that people don't know what to do with it all!! Easy friends. Easy money. I wouldn't have been surprised if Damien found himself an early demise that weekend either.

Back at the hostel we ran back into Smokies other Irish pal & another pack of Aussies we'd met in Cuenca, guzzling their way through a game of Evil. Chino chugged a long-neck & fell backwards off his seat, while ThePostman sweet talked his way into a mid-game gobbie from this German chick with one of the worst Class II occlusions I'd ever seen. At some point we ended up down at the beach with a bunch of Argentinians, busting out all the sing-songs I could muster in this appalling state of un-coordination. I can't imagine it was very impressive. The last thing I remember was coming late into my room, searching for a bed; poking everyone along the way so as I wouldn't squash down upon them, and never get back up.

The bathroom was a total write-off the next morning. I hardly ever chuck but that sent me close to the brink. There was brown vomit all over the walls & floor; actually it seemed to be everywhere except in the toilet bowl itself. This young German girl obviously shouldn't be mixing three-day bus trips with binge boozing & joint smoking. She cleared out pretty early...so then everyone thought it was me!! Fark off...defending myself as an introduction. Great way to kick off the week long bender. I jumped in the pool & fell asleep on a blow up tube, praying that some of that water might infiltrate these pores & hydrate the shit of me. Sitting around proved more popular. That became our routine. Party, sleep, eggs, pool, sit, beach, sit, risotto, party, sleep. You really get to know people. It's also a good way to kill yourself. We waited a bit long to break our way into Loki later that night, but on the way down to some beach fiesta I thought I'd try my luck anyway. Giant wooden doors guarded our way. I held down the buzzer like a spoilt brat, screaming for a $2 Chickenfeed play toy. The eye-hatch opened. I bent down to say hello...WHAM!! The prick punched me in the nose!! I guess we weren't getting in tonight. The beach-front kept the party going instead, but I'm not sure what really happened. I recall walking barefoot through the rankest bathroom I'd ever seen. Juggling glass bottles?? As far as I know I went for a run?! Why?? Mango Dog probably walked me home like he does all the sexy ladies. Steeze magee. That pooch-lord has the biggest kahunas going around. He is my hero.

Mancora Beach

Turns out the Olympics are on!! Well I'd be...After some beach bumming, the Irish lasses & I checked out the opening ceremony in Loki Hostel. That place is fucking mental!! A multi-storied Greek templed resort. I was more impressed by Loki than I was with the Olympics. A mid-day siesta got me geared up for the start of the weekend proper. Friday fever! It was back to Loki!! I met up with ElSalvadorianPeaceCorpsChick for a bit of a jive & a game of giant connect four. My roommate Macca was in fine form going nuts shirtless on top of the bar, juiced out of his mind!! Someone handed me all this popcorn so we just started throwing it all over the place! Woohoo!! There were drunken games of musical chairs & some bitchin' dance floor dance-offs. My moves mustn't have been fly enough for this cool chica. I was having a blast with ElSalvadorianPeaceCorpsChick until she ran off hand in hand with some Peruvian guy with my wallet down her tits...spewzin. Ahhh shucks. Once again broke & broken...ching ching!!

Another day...& apparently the BIG one. I was a little nervous. The last few nights had been HUGE!! There was a bit more hanging about at the beach to be had - some of the lads went surfing. Red & white Peruvian flags were everywhere to be seen; in every shop, on every passing arm...the trance tracks were already blaring by two o'clock in the arvo!! I was feeling the bite but knew this was it. One more night and I could call it quits; bring this body back from the dead. We sat around like always, bumming out on the couches, before some of us went down to Surf&Turf for some seafood. When we got back there didn't really seem like there was too much going on...I was assuming everyone would be making for MancoraFest, but no one seemed phased. Was this it?? One big anti-climax?? This hyperactive English Ginge didn't think so anyway...I bullshitted my way into his conversation by telling him I was in my 30's...I mean seriously?? Do I look that haggard after a few hard days on the piss?? Shit, he believed it and found a friend in my "maturity." Long way to go yet pops. The night was young! By some good fortune, jo-blow paid us a free visit & soon Ginge, Hollandia and I were ablaze with posse in tow, "soundtrack of lifeing" our way on down to the beach for some fun fun happy fun! Ahhh...what a night. An epic end to the wild ride. We ended up with three or four tuk-tuk loads of us, at some local kids parents mansion; a twenty minute jaunt from town, somewhere out in the sticks!! I'm sure that pool was changing colour...Later on the way home, clinging off the back of a tuk-tuk; the sun began to rise up over the dusty hills. We found one of our friends where we'd last seen her five hours before - still down at the beach; & took an early morning dip to welcome in the new day.

There was nothing else to do but melt. We didn't really make it to bed until nine or ten that morning. Macca went missing for two whole days, and I was sure he was dead. After a huuuugggggeeee day of sleep...we spent the night watching this girl get a new tattoo much like we'd watch a movie in the cinema. There wasn't much being said. A shade of spontaneity seemed like a good idea. Captain K.Rool wasn't going to happen, so I scanned my surrounds for inspiration & fixated on our little hostel mascot up on the wall. Plenty of love, plenty of music & too much mischief. I guess I'll remember these past few days for a few more years to come after all...Booyah!!!

Kokopelli Tatt

Time for some gut-crunching exercise!! 
Bye, bye & so long to all those at Kokopelli...
It has been a please-ure.
You shall all live on my fucking leg forever...

Too much ever lasting lovin'
Da one & only SpazTazmaniac...xxxxx