Travelburro

Inside Guatemala's Schools

2011-05-24T19:19:00.000-07:00

Guatemala has the lowest literacy rate in all of Latin America. Public schools are neglected, teachers lack access to training, libraries are rare, and books are practically nonexistent. Over the last 2 years, I traveled to Guatemala four times to photograph community libraries, schools, teachers, parents and students for the US-based literacy nonprofit, Child Aid. The following pictures -- all shot within schools and libraries supported by Child Aid -- are a result of my last trip. Although the situation in Guatemala is sad beyond words, the kids exude a joy that seems boundless. (Stay tuned for more...)

Sew Blue

2010-10-03T12:39:00.001-07:00

Moms

2010-09-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

Two mothers, members of the parents committee for the library we helped create in Las Canoas, Guatemala.

The Basement Place

2010-02-15T21:35:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Marimba, Beautiful 'Stache

2010-02-13T06:02:00.000-08:00

Switch to Amoregain

2009-06-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

... and now for something completely different (go)

2008-12-10T20:08:00.000-08:00

2008-12-09T21:59:00.001-08:00

2008-12-02T07:32:00.000-08:00

Andrew Hetherington's A Room with a View

2008-11-30T19:52:00.000-08:00

Photographer Andrew Hetherington took photos of - and from - every hotel room he's stayed in for the last four years and created this extremely cool piece of travel photography. It's called A Room with a View. It's incredible how the insides of the hotels rooms reflect, in some way or another, the world outside. He says that "Each room is photographed using the same process, in as much as is allowed; keeping the lighting and framing consistent in order to let the individual personalities of the spaces present themselves equally. No special requests are made and I always take the room I am assigned."

Run Don't Walk & Stencil Buenos Aires

2008-11-25T07:40:00.001-08:00

And since we're on the topic of stencils, here's a group that does some amazing stencils. And there's a load of great stencils in this Argentina street art pool on Flickr.

Stencil Art in Buenos Aires

2008-11-22T14:21:00.001-08:00

When you're in Buenos Aires and you want to check out the art, you can either go to the museum or you can walk the streets of Palermo and San Telmo and check out the stencils. Stencil art has been huge in BA for years now. Here's a great little documentary on YouTube by Amelie Lambert. Even if you don't understand Spanish, check out the art!

Glacier Surfing in Alaska

2008-11-21T19:58:00.001-08:00

I get cold surfing in Santa Cruz sometimes, so I figured Oregon? Pass - maybe when I get an H Bomb. (Right.) Then I started reading about surfing up in BC, places like Tofino, which actually doesn't look so bad in the summer at all. The views are probably a bit like Sand Dollar in Big Sur, only it's colder and rainier. Then there are places like Yakutat, Alaska. Ouch! But this has gotta take the cake:

Argentina's Finest Soccer Fans (Go River)

2008-11-17T19:56:00.000-08:00

The Canadian Press reported today that "sixty supporters of Argentina's River Plate football team were being held by police Monday after hijacking a bus and bullying its driver to speed up in a vain effort to make the start of a match, the second football related hijacking in less than a week." (Read the rest of the story here.)

I suppose you could argue that people in the US get passionate about football (I mean, is there anything more exhilarating than a tailgate party in a parking lot?) and baseball (the jumping, stamping, cheering crowd was just out of control during the last baseball game I went to) and maybe even golf. But they'll never touch the soccer fans in Argentina. Or Mexico. Or Italy. Or Spain. Or....

Office Covered Bridge, Westfir, Oregon

2008-11-10T06:51:00.000-08:00

Oregon's longest covered bridge spans 180 ft over the North Middle Fork Willamette River, in Westfir. It was built in 1944 by the Westfir Lumber Company.

Silver Falls State Park, Oregon

2008-11-07T05:00:00.000-08:00

Best Point & Shoot Camera for Travel?

2008-11-06T12:19:00.001-08:00

I'm always on the lookout for the best point-and-shoot camera for travel. One of the fun things I get to do is review cameras for PC World, so I use a lot of point-and-shoots. Canon just released two new cameras in its Elph line, and the 10-megapixel SD880 IS is one of the best P&S I've used. It's particularly good for travel because it has a true wide angle lens (28mm on the wide end). Most P&S cameras start somewhere between 35mm and 38mm on the wide end. Like nearly all P&S cameras, however, it lacks RAW. Read the full review here. The other new Elph that Canon released is the flagship 14 megapixel SD990 IS, which I was unimpressed with.

Mystery Falls

2008-11-06T05:00:00.000-08:00

Silver Falls State Park, Oregon

2008-11-05T07:39:00.000-08:00

South Falls, Oregon

2008-11-02T05:00:00.000-08:00

Koosah Falls, Oregon

2008-11-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

Paulina Falls, Oregon

2008-10-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

Salt Creek Falls, Oregon

2008-10-30T08:38:00.000-07:00

Watson Falls, Oregon

2008-10-29T07:42:00.000-07:00

Another one from Shaniko, Oregon

2008-10-23T10:09:00.000-07:00

There's really something (what?) about this ghost town (that's not a ghost town), especially in the evening, when the sun hangs low, way off behind the shimmering endless fields and the silhouette of Mt Hood, which is out there, somewhere west. Maybe I can't even see it. The sun keeps getting in my eyes. And up here in this nothingness, off the highway, the trucks roll by and the wind blows and the cold air feels so opposite the light. Everything looks so warm, but goddamn that wind is cold on my bones.

The Painted Hills

2008-10-22T07:25:00.000-07:00

This is looking over part of the Painted Hills sector of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, in Eastern Oregon. You can guess how they got their name.

Big Skies in Eastern Oregon

2008-10-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

Best Use of a Burro So Far?

2008-10-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

Check out this story in the NY Times about a guy in Colombia who transports books to villages on his two burros, Alfa and Beto. (Story here)

One for the Road

2008-10-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

A series of small buildings #3: Whole in the Wall, Mitchell

2008-10-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

A series of small buildings #2: Shaniko Post Office

2008-10-13T06:41:00.000-07:00

Shaniko is a ghost town, but people live there - about 26 of them. It's odd that a place can be a ghost town but still have living inhabitants. I guess at some point a town goes from being a "historic town" to a "ghost town". The post office is certainly well kept. Letters to the dead. There's a beautiful old hotel here, too, but it shut down. Not enough business, I suppose.

A series of small buildings #1: Dayville City Hall

2008-10-10T08:34:00.000-07:00

For some reason I get the feeling bureaucracy is kept to a minimum in Dayville. I stopped here on my way east from the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, and attempted to go inside and take a peak. It was closed. I think it was a Tuesday.

Sandra Bao on Buenos Aires, Guidebook Writing & Travel

2008-10-02T07:08:00.000-07:00

Here's a great interview with Sandra Bao in South American Explorers Magazine.

SAE: You recently finished working on the latest Lonely Planet for Buenos Aires, as well as part of the latest edition of Lonely Planet Argentina. Did you notice many changes since you were last in Argentina in 2005?

Sandra Bao: Buenos Aires (BA) has changed dramatically every time I’ve been there since the peso collapse in 2001 but especially since 2005. Tourism has rocketed sky-high - it took a few years for things to settle down enough after the crash to attract travellers, and then the good word got around. I think this stellar rise caught many porteños [locals of Buenos Aires] by surprise, but it was a pleasant one since so many have benefited from it.

Read the rest of it here.

Sailing on the Columbia River

2008-09-30T07:34:00.001-07:00

Dippin' Down the Cascades

2008-09-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

I took a great trip through the Oregon Cascades recently, hitting as many hot springs as I could. I gotta say - these were by far the best. There are seven pools total, all of them at the edge of a cliff overlooking the North Umpqua River. Doug Firs and Western hemlock all around. I went twice, once in the evening, around dusk, and once the following morning at 7am or so. The pools are a half-mile hike in from a dirt parking lot off a dirt road in Southern Oregon. The second time I went, I was the only one there for nearly an hour, until a guy walked up, slipped into another pool and fired up a joint. A woman showed up ten minutes later and got into another pool. Total silence except for the river down below us. For a moment I found myself struggling to believe that this place could exist. I don't why. It was right there in front of me. It was this feeling of wow, no one bought the land and closed it off, built some expensive resort, developed it into a park with an entry fee and regulations and closing times. No caution signs, no handrails. It was bliss.

Yachats & Cape Perpetua

2008-09-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

(09-21) 04:00 PDT Yachats, Ore. -- Tidepooling along Oregon's Cape Perpetua is mesmerizing enough, but looking up from the starfish and sea anemones to see a bald eagle circling overhead is pretty much unforgettable. It's the sort of thing that happens regularly on this rugged chunk of forested basalt that punches like a rocky fist into the sea. For the full story, see the San Francisco Chronicle.

The Grotto

2008-08-29T07:52:00.001-07:00

Candles at the Grotto, NE Portland

Shoe Trees

2008-08-28T15:20:00.000-07:00

What's with shoe trees? How do they happen? I didn't even know they existed until this summer, when I saw shoe trees on three separate occasions while driving around Oregon. Roadside America defines them as perhaps "the greatest embodiment of the American Spirit you can find on the highway." I like it. This shoe tree is just outside the town of Shaniko, Ore. If Roadside America is right, the tree began, like all shoe trees begin, "with one dreamer" tossing his shoes into the sky.

Gene and His Funny Farm

2008-08-26T07:59:00.000-07:00

I met Gene Carsey, owner of the Fun Farm (aka, The Funny Farm), while working on a piece about wacky places in Oregon. He's the sort of guy that makes my job worth while. The traveling is great, don't get me wrong, but it's always so rushed. Until I meet someone like Gene, who slows me down, cracks me up and puts everything into perspective. I mean, the guy built a giant cow-jumping-over-the-moon. He has a bowling ball garden and a bowling ball tree. He's got a holy cow, an electric kaleidescope and a giant love pond, complete with 9 ft cupid arrows. He used to keep fainting goats, but chose not to replace them after they died because he felt a little odd about folks laughing at their seizures - no matter how funny they were (and supposedly they were funny). He's a member of the Wizard of Oz Club. And he tries not to take life too seriously. I suppose all the crazy things he's built on his land north of Bend are worth seeing. But meeting Gene is an even better reason to stop.

Speeding

2008-06-18T06:56:00.001-07:00

We don't get too many speeders here in Oregon thanks to our hands-on approach to deterrence.

Hugh & Henry

2008-06-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hugh is the owner of the Little Pine Truck Stop and Public Pump in Mitchell, Ore. Henry is his 800-pound black bear. I met them both this weekend. Eight years ago, when the sheriff told Hugh he had to shoot someone's abandoned pet bear unless someone took him, Hugh thought about it and said, "I'll take him." Henry only weighed about 150 pounds back then. Today he eats 150 pounds of food a week. "I think this is about as big as he'll get," Hugh told me. (In the wild, black bears rarely exceed 600 pounds.) Hugh pulled out two apples, handed me one of them, opened up his Buck knife, unlocked about three locks to open the cage door, stepped inside and said, "OK, when I say when, come inside."

A long way from home

2008-05-30T07:15:00.001-07:00

You know, you can travel to the remotest corners of the United States and you'll find Mexicans working there. I met this guy at Oregon Oyster Farms, six miles up the Yaquina River from the town of Newport. In other words, the middle of nowhere. He claims he can shuck 4000 oysters in an hour. I did the math: That's 66 oysters per minute; or just under one second per oyster. I think it was a rough estimate, but to stand there and watch him plow through a hog-sized pile of oysters, there's no reason you'd question it. The guy was fast. He's from Puebla - he and the four or five other guys and one woman that work there.

I always find it amazing that Mexicans travel so far from home, find work in the most unlikely places and stay. I can imagine the letters home: "Hi mom, I'm living outside a town called Newport way up on the Oregon coast. Got a job with the Ayalas at that Oyster farm. Pay's OK, but there's nothing up here to spend money on so I'm saving plenty. Haven't had good mole in months..."

Maybe it's because I'm from California, but every time I run into Mexicans somewhere remote, I immediately feel at home. No matter how weird the people look around me. And when I'm somewhere like Oregon, it's all I can do to keep myself from leaning in close and asking, "Jesus Christ, but where the hell can I get a good taco around here?"

The Oregon Coast

2008-05-21T21:10:00.001-07:00

I just took a trip down the Oregon coast for an LP project I'm working on. I lucked into some amazing weather and was out picking through tidepools at 7am in shorts and a T-shirt. At one point I looked up from the tidepools to see a bald eagle soaring over my head. Forest and sea. They really do come together here. (Complete gallery here.)

The lighthouse at Yaquina Head

Neptune, Cape Perpetua

Another big rock

One of so many beautiful bridges along the Oregon coast

Sunset from Cape Perpetua

El Obelisco, Buenos Aires

2008-04-28T07:41:00.001-07:00

Taking a picture of the Obelisco in Buenos Aires is practically impossible, whether you have a wide angle lens or not. You simply can't get everything in there. One day I was standing there thinking, how can I capture this place? Because it's not just the Obelisco - it's everything around it. And then it clicked.

Time Travel

2008-04-18T07:14:00.000-07:00

I was reading about time travel this morning and came across a line on Wikipedia about how "Stephen Hawking once suggested that the absence of tourists from the future constitutes an argument against the existence of time travel."

And that got me wondering about time tourism. Of course, we'd have the gawkers and the other usual suspects coming to visit, but then wouldn't we also have the volunteers?

They'd have to come. I just can't imagine that philanthropical urge disappearing in people. I mean, if they still want to travel, why wouldn't there still be those who want to travel "with a purpose"?

And so they'd visit and sign on to help at our schools and out on the farm. Somewhere like California's Central Valley, maybe, where they could get the feel of authentic industrial mono-cultural agri-business.

But wait, wouldn't complete non-engagement be the only way time toursim could work? Otherwise, the time tourist might make changes in the past that could render them nonexistent. (Or whatever).

So all time tourists would have to remain completely out of sight. They couldn't even leave footprints. And no photos, of course. No interacting with the locals. No showing the kids their 24th century technology and turning them green with envy. No packs of futurists tromping through town with their weightless future packs exposing us to their future culture (which would irreperably alter ours). No futurists coming to live with the family.

I wonder how they'd enforce all that.

No Post Wednesday

2008-04-16T08:08:00.000-07:00

No post today. I gotta run around town and visit as many hotels as possible. Speaking of hotels, the Ace Hotel has to be one of the coolest hotels I've ever come across. Wait for the flash player to load - trust me.

2008-04-15T08:17:00.001-07:00

Hypnotic Chaos (Driving in India)

2008-04-14T07:32:00.001-07:00

I don't know why, but I can watch this video over and over again. There's something so perfect about what's going on down there. It's baffling that it works, like watching ants.

2008-04-11T08:21:00.000-07:00

Wormholes are one of the most exciting means of travel.

Travel Writing

2008-04-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

Check this out. Between April 7 and today, New York Times Travel editor Stuart Emmrich answered readers questions about travel writing and travel. There's some great stuff in here, from the ethics of writers taking freebies to the dilemmas of whether or not to expose "undiscovered" destinations.

Mentors for Everyone

2008-04-10T07:45:00.007-07:00

The other day a religious studies student approached me in the park and asked if he could interview me for a class assignment. One of his questions was, "If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?" Tough one. End starvation? End war? Rid the world of the internal combustion engine? Why not?

Then, this morning, I thought of a far simpler request, and within a half hour it was a bumper sticker in my mind: Mentors for everyone.

I reckon David Mamet would make a good mentor. Here he is, putting it straight to writer Alex Pappademas in the current issue of GQ magazine:

"Y’know, I grew up in a different generation. I grew up after World War II, and boys did different things in those days. You went camping. You went hunting. You boxed. And the image of a writer, to someone starting off in those days was not some schmuck who went to graduate school. It was Jack London, Nelson Algren, Ernest Hemingway. Especially coming from Chicago–a writer was a knock-around guy. Someone who got a job as a reporter or drove a cab. I think the reason there are a lot of novels about How Mean My Mother Was to Me and all that shit is because the writers may have learned something called ‘technique,’ but they’ve neglected to have a life. What the fuck are they gonna write about?"

-- David Mamet

2008-04-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

Bus Plunge

2008-04-08T09:04:00.002-07:00

The eleven-year-old kid who jumped behind the wheel and stopped his runaway schoolbus from careening out of control (here) got me thinking about bad bus stories. And that, of course, got me thinking about ... BUS PLUNGE.

As a pat on the back for the cool-headed kid (nice work buddy!), and in memory of all those who have died in bus accidents, here's a little tribute to bus plunge, the media's favorite story:

The clearing house for Bus Plunge stories is, of course, Bus Plunge!, complete with a bus plunge archive, near-plunge experiences and it's headlining "Plunge of the Month".

According to Wikipedia, "Bus plunge stories are a journalism phenomenon of reporting passenger bus mishaps in short articles that invariably describe the bus as "plunging" from a bridge or hillside road." Read more here.

Find out "what killed the former New York Times staple" in this piece on Slate: The Rise and Fall of the 'Bus Plunge' Story.

Although it's possible you'd rather plunge off a Guatemalan cliff in a school bus before listening to the entire two minutes and 38 seconds of The Bob's Bus Plunge, you can get a free taste of it here.

This is interesting: Punch "bus plunge" into Google Maps (USA) and you get several Greyhound bus stations and a couple of travel agencies, all west of Dallas. OK. Another good reason to live on the West Coast.

The Perfect Food

2008-04-07T07:24:00.003-07:00

I like to consider myself a foodie, but if you think I'd let my daughter move in next door to Barry Goldwater -- wait, that's not how it goes. This one's something about me being a food lover but refusing, on principal, to eat somewhere like the French Laundry. I just couldn't do it. I believe in the power of a great meal, but I simply couldn't bring myself to spend $240 on one (unless Jim Harrison were joining me).

The thing is, I'm sort of cursed by the perfect food. I've eaten too many good tacos. What do you get at the French Laundry? A very special combination of select ingredients prepared by a master chef. Same thing at the right taco stand in Tijuana or Oaxaca or DF. But wait, eating at the French Laundry, bite after bite, is a transcendental experience. So is the right taqueria -- and more people will vouch for that than will vouch for the experience had at the French Laundry.

OK, OK, OK. How can you compare the two? It's a ridiculous juxtaposition. But, like so many people, I've had the experience of hearing about a taqueria somewhere in Mexico, run by so-and-so, who does the steak in this special way, or who cooks the corn tortillas inside the coals to unheard-of perfection, or who makes the most insane birria you can possibly imagine, or who uses some family recipe that no one in a city of 8.7 million people has ever been able to duplicate or top, and I've sought it out and eaten there and had my mind totally blown. For a buck.

I'd enjoy every bite at the French Laundry. Who wouldn't? But with every bite, back in my subconscious, I'd know that I'd been there already. And I'd miss the atmosphere.

Multnomah Falls

2008-04-04T08:04:00.003-07:00

So here it is, Multnomah Falls "the second highest year-round waterfall in the United States" after Yosemite Falls. That's according to the United States Forestry Service website, Wikipedia and various other sources.

Am I the only one who sees the problem here? No, obviously not. Everyone knows that Yosemite Falls is not a year-round fall. Just ask all those heartbroken tourists that drove through the scorching Central Valley August heat all the way to Yosemite, only to find the world's second highest waterfall - dry.

So, if Yosemite Falls is not the United States' highest year-round fall, doesn't that make Multnomah Falls title holder?

That's more like it

2008-04-03T07:55:00.002-07:00

The Answer to the Universe

2008-04-02T08:06:00.003-07:00

I think his full name was John Lee, but we just called him Mad John. Not to his face though, only when we were talking about him, which was often because he was fun to talk about.

Mad John was an inventor. He didn't get paid for his work, but collected a monthly government check which allowed him to keep inventing things like magnet-water games and star pens.

One of the things I remember about Mad John was his apartment (he lived in Inverness, Scotland), specifically the cigarette butts along the top of the shower door in his bathroom. John smoked a lot, even in the shower.

I met John at the hostel where I worked in Inverness. He was an old friend of the owner and used to come around to hang out. Often, he'd just sit there and smoke without saying anything. And when you'd talk to him, he'd get nervous and smoke faster and smile and answer whatever questions you asked. He was extremely polite and very gentle.

Mad John taught me how to play chess, and even though he could have pummeled me in three moves, he always took it easy on me. He was a formidable partner to have in 500, a card game that all the Australians played at the hostel. When he was on my side, we'd always take the Aussies for run.

I would never have gotten to know Mad John if it weren't for two actualities: he hung around the hostel every day and I worked there every day. One of the great things about the service industry, especially when you throw travel into the mix, is that you get to know people (or, rather, you're forced to get to know people) that would otherwise never fit into the often pigeon-holed definitions we create to define the very specific type-of-person-we-can-imagine-being-friends-with. I got to know Mad John by accident.

Not long before I met him, John got busted out on the runway at the Inverness airport, carrying a bicycle wheel and claiming it was the answer to the universe. I don't think the rest of the bike had anything to do with the answer. It was all right there.

A Trip Along the Chocolate Trail

2008-04-01T09:46:00.003-07:00

Get a group of travelers sitting around telling stories in a hostel and sooner or later it turns to illnesses on the road, the next story beating the previous one in terms of discomfort and disgust. One guy does the liquid laugh into a plastic bag on the bus to Ri\'o Negro, and the next guy is squirming in pain on a two-hour skiff ride silently begging his sphincter ani externus to please, please, please just hold out a little longer.

Knowing I can't compete, I usually bust out my Bariloche story, and everyone looks at me with blank eyes before letting out a couple of courtesy laughs and moving on to the next story.

But, c'mon, how often does traveler sickness involve too much chocolate?

Bariloche is a hiker/skier/tourist town in the Argentine Lake District in northern Patagonia. Thanks to all the Austrian and German settlers who shipped over and set up shop here in the late 1800s, the place is part Alpine village and part mismatched, unplanned Latin American tourist trap. It's a pretty cool place, despite the tourists. And it's famous for its chocolate.

The first time I covered the town for Lonely Planet, the book I was updating listed two chocolate shops: Del Turista and Fenoglio. Maybe they've been around the longest, but their chocolate, which they churn out on a national level, pretty much sucks.

Since this was my second gig for Lonely Planet, and I'd been assigned way more terrain than any single human could possibly cover in the time allotted, I had no time to slip into other shops and taste chocolate. I made sure coverage was up to date and I moved on.

The next time I updated the book, however, I vowed I'd provide complete coverage of Argentina's chocolate capital. After arriving Bariloche this time around, I asked everyone I met what their favorite chocolate was, I interviewed shop owners and chocolate makers, and (this should illustrate just how confident I'd become with my time) I even took a tour of the Fenoglio chocolate factory. And I sampled chocolate* in every shop on the main drag.

The next day I was sick. Dizzy, nauseous, weak, diarrhea – basically a classic case of traveler's diarrhea (or, if you will, an authentic case of the Hershey Squirts). It was so bad, I finally had to take a taxi to the health clinic**, where, after looking at my tongue, taking my temperature, checking my blood pressure and making a few other examinations, the doctor finally told me I'd probably eaten too much chocolate. He wrote me a prescription for a high-powered antidiarrheal. "We've seen it before."

You've got to be kidding.

It took me nearly four days to fully recover and get my strength back. Losing all that liquid made me weak, and weakness is your worst enemy when updating a guidebook. I still walked and I still worked, but it was pretty hellish. Chocolate. Are you serious?

*For the record, my scientific approach here was simple: I sampled (1) a small bar of the darkest chocolate available at each shop and (2) a piece of the shop's specialty, whatever it was.

**It's worth noting here that my visit to the clinic, which was recommended to me as one of the town's best, cost only about US$15, and I was seen within ten minutes of my arrival.

Breakin' Down the Wall(s)

2008-03-31T08:03:00.005-07:00

Maybe Tijuana's a long way away, San Diego even further. But it seems a lot of the world could use a little of the mojo the Border Meetup it trying to spread down on the US-Mexico border. I just found this group, which holds events smack on la linea in Tijuana/San Diego, attended by folks from both sides of the border. The goal? "To bring people together by finding a theme that has no borders, often has a direct effect on improving the region, and always results in friendships across cultural boundaries." Word.

The Perfect Hat

2008-03-28T08:48:00.002-07:00

I own eighteen hats, maybe more. Three no-name stingy-brims; two Panamas (Panamas are from Ecuador, by the way, not Panama); a mink ushanka from Russia; a beautiful 7X Beaver Stetson Gun Club (which no doubt wins title of Hat with the Coolest Name); a finely woven Peruvian farmer's hat; two Mexican cowboy hats; a camouflage bucket hat from Iraq with my name in Arabic embroidered on the front (courtesy of a reporter friend); a Stetson Open Road (which I love but never wear because, being a skinny white dude with glasses, I look like a total idiot under it rather than a wandering stud), two Kangols, three or four baseball caps and several others that I can't think of at the moment.

Despite owning all these hats, and although I hunt for a new hat nearly every time I travel, I've never found the perfect hat. In the end, the hat that I travel with the most, I have to admit, is the baseball cap. I wish I could say my tried and true travel hat were my Stetson Gun Club or the Open Road, but function beats form every time*. I can't shove one of the Stetsons in my pack without ruining it. The brim on the Gun Club (not to mention the stingy brims) isn't wide enough to block the sun from my eyes. I could wear one of my cowboy hats, but, not only do they make me look like a complete dork, they're impossible to deal with on planes and buses and, once again, I can't crumple them up and shove them in my pack when I need to.

My wool Kangol is great for traveling in cold places, but, for obvious reasons, tropical weather renders it useless. I have a summer Kangol which I long ago took to Argentina, only to realize it made me look like I was trying to don traditional Argentine garb and, rather than making me feel like the pretty-groovy dude that I am, made me feel, uh, like a poser. I'd love to take my giant paja toquilla (aka, Panama) hat along with me, but it's too cumbersome to be useful anywhere but on the banks of a river or in the garden.

So I'm back to the baseball cap.

Although it's entirely unstylish, I simply haven't found a hat that beats it in terms of function. It blocks the sun from my eyes. In a headwind, I can flip it around so it doesn't blow off my head**. When I'm taking photos, I can flip it around and the brim doesn't smash against my camera. It never loses its form when I toss it my pack. I can swim with it on. It works when it's wet. And it's still not as dorky as one of those REI/North Face-style synthetic, foldable adventure hats (oh yeah, I own one of these, too) that scream "Yankee Tourist" anywhere outside the United States. It's just as good as any other hat at doubling as a sack when doing things like picking fruit, gathering nuts or whatever. It's washable. Cotton is breathable.

It's almost perfect. It's only downfall, besides its utterly un-Hunter S Thompson ubiquitousnous, is that it doesn't shield my ears from the sun (although adding a bandana underneath solves that problem). But that's OK. When it comes to travel, I'm still a far greater fan of function than I am of form. And, although I fantasize, I'm no Hunter S.

*If I were truly beholden to function over form, I'd probably suck it up and wear one of those synthetic travel hats, but I just can bring myself to do it, although I have tried, albeit when backpacking in the middle of nowhere rather than when traipsing round populated areas.

**I've lost at least three caps to headwinds when I've forgotten to do this, once from a skiff in Argentina, once from a panga in Mexico and once from the back of a truck in Ecuador. This actually proves another value of the baseball cap: it's easy to replace.

Will online, user-generated content replace the traditional guidebook?

2008-03-27T09:11:00.004-07:00

Worldhum just ran an excellent interview with Lonely Planet author/online publisher Robert Reid (here) about the future of guidebooks (and guidebook writers) in the world of internet and handhelds. This is one of the most intersting pieces I've read on the subject. Robert's a great guy, sports a smashing mustache (except when he has a beard) and publishes a very cool online guide to Vietnam.

Burrobag Item No. 2 (with variations)

2008-03-26T08:40:00.006-07:00

The Bic Lighter Duct Tape Roll

This is hands down one of the handiest items to have when traveling. I've included it on every Don't-Forget checklist in every guidebook I've written (so if you've seen it elsewhere, now you know its origin!).

Basically, you want to create a mini roll of duct tap - never travel without it - by wrapping it around a Bic lighter, which gives you two tools in one: lighter and tape. The lighter is the perfect holder for the tape and, with the tape wrapped around the lighter, you'll never put the lighter in your pocket only to have someone pilfer it after asking you for a light (a threat when visiting stoner-friendly places like Zipolite or Moñtanita). So you'll never lose the lighter - or the tape. It's always in the the gear bag when you need it.

Gaff Tape Variation - this one comes courtesy of photographer/videographer Steele Douglas, who chooses black gaffers tape (available at any photo/vid supply site) over duct tape. Gaffers tape is pricier, but the stuff is extremely adhesive, even stickier than duct tape. Plus the black looks cool!

Pencil Variation - If you just can't see yourself needing a lighter that much (I have to admit, I use the lighter less now that I don't smoke), wrap it around a pencil that you've shortened to about three inches. Then you'll always have something to write with in case of emergency (you know, like when you have to write down the vitals of your buddy when he's spinning out after crashing that dirt bike or falling out of a tree). That said, having fire in the bag is always reassuring, so I'm not sure if this beats the Bic variation.

Maglite Soltaire Variation - This is another good one, arguably even handier than the Bic variation. But you have to use the Maglite Soltaire, not the Mini Mag, which is too big. Besides, you've already got your headlamp in the bag, so there's no point in having another big flashlight (when you're backpacking, even the Mini Mag is big). The Soltaire is in there in case of emergency. Problem: you still gotta throw some sort of fire source into the bag. Solution: matches.

Get Drunk, Write a Letter

2008-03-25T08:47:00.005-07:00

I don't regularly get drunk alone, but one of my favorite things to do while traveling solo is going to a bar, getting looped and writing a letter. It's the best of both worlds: I'm alone but in good company, by myself, but having a conversation with my best friend. I don't know, maybe it's the sort of thing that becomes appealing only after long stretches alone on the road. But even after I'm home, I find myself craving, every now and then, the feeling of sitting alone with a drink and a pen and pouring out my thoughts to a friend on paper.

Maybe it's because there's nothing like ranting when you're on a good buzz. And with pen and paper, there's no one to interrupt. I get to do all the talking. No one breaks in when I lose my train of thought or if I pause and stare off in silence to hone in on something brilliant thought that's taking shape in my brain. And when I'm alone in bars, brilliant thoughts do take shape in my brain.

Where the Hell's My Money

2008-03-24T07:27:00.004-07:00

If time is money (and during work hours it undoubtedly is), then the money I lose to time spent looking for stuff is off the charts. Organization is one of the keys to running a successful business, but it's one of the things I've continually botched during ten years of freelancing. Unless it's in my computer, odds are I have no idea where it is.

An editor can throw a simple query at me, like: "Your text says this is two blocks east of the cultural center, but on the map it's only one block – which is correct?" and I'll spend half a fucking hour digging through boxes of maps and brochures, through spiral notebooks, through manila envelopes labeled (I thought) precisely to allow me to find what I was looking for when queries just like this arose. No such luck.

During tax time, all my receipts are exactly where I filed them, except for that goddamn $800 flight to Buenos Aires. I need a quote that I know I wrote down, and I'll spend ten minutes flipping through six spiral notebooks trying to find it, despite the fact that I've labeled the cover of ever notebook with the dates and towns covered within. My printer won't print – there goes twenty minutes just trying to locate the manual.

But I guess that's the price I pay for spending at least half of the last ten years on the road. Home, wherever it's been, has rarely amounted to more than a rented room and a storage space stacked with file boxes. Nothing was ever in the same place for long. Until now. Now I have a place to call home, and I can travel. How did it take so long? I'm setting my file cabinet right here and leaving it here. And one by one I'll go through the boxes. My profit margin is gonna skyrocket!

Flights to South America

2008-03-20T08:31:00.003-07:00

"Cheap flights" websites are everywhere. But when it comes to flights to South America, I've never done better than I do through eXito Travel (based in the USA), using a good old fashioned travel agent. I admit, I haven't spent hours online looking for better deals than the ones Ken (travel agent extraordinaire) quotes me, but I usually punch my destination into the biggies (Orbitz, Travelocity, etc), and haven't found a better price yet.

If you're flying to Central or South America, I highly recommend these guys. Every time I tell someone about eXito, they end up using the company for all their flights south. eXito is a consolidator (specializing in Central and South America), so it gets the cheapest flights you'll find. And in my experience, they do their darndest to hook you up with the right people/companies/tour operators/whatever once you're down there. More than anything, I love calling up and talking to a human being!

More on Rain

2008-03-18T09:09:00.003-07:00

Years ago, two friends and I spent a month in a small trailer on a bog in Ireland. The deal, made in a Galway pub, was that we'd help the owner with his farm in exchange for a place to stay - in the middle of nowhere. But it turned out that the owner, Paul, liked to smoke pot as much as we did and liked sleeping late even more.

So we worked, on average, about an hour a day. The rest of the time we spent smoking pen-sized joints (those long three-paper tobacco-and-hash jobs which, unlike California pot, relax me rather than liquify my brain) and playing cards.

It was also the wettest June on record. In Ireland.

I remember hearing on the radio, toward the end of the month, that June had received a grand total of about four hours of sunshine. Everything in the trailer was damp. The cards, the tobacco, the sugar, the tea, the salt, the bread - all of it semi soggy and semi-useable.

We listened to the radio a lot, music and voices coming from somewhere through the rain. But more than anything we listened to the rain itself, amplified in all its forms by the thin roof and walls of the trailer. Downpours were deafening. Wind-blown drizzles brushed againsts the side of the trailer in gentle waves. Heavy mists were like whispers, with the random big drops thrown in to break things up. We sat there stoned, listening, dozing, playing cards, reading, talking.

We talked about going to Spain, to Andalucia, where we'd sit on the beach in the sun. But we never went. We just sat around, and Paul would come down every day sometime before noon, and we'd ask him what work we should do and he'd say, "Ah, lets make a pot of tea." Then we'd smoke another joint and play cards. Friends from Galway would come and visit, and we'd stand out on the bog in the drizzle and look at the hills. It was perfect. I eventually did make it to Andalucia, but I don't remember much about it.

In Defense of Rain (I guess)

2008-03-17T09:05:00.002-07:00

My family and I just moved from sunny California to a place that gets a lot of rain. For months we flip-flopped on the decision and every time we told someone where we wanted to move, the response was the same, "Yeah, but the rain. How could you live with that much rain?"

We decided we could. We told ourselves: "We did it before, right?" referring to our year in Buenos Aires, which actually gets about 1.5 inches more rain annually than we get here in our new city. We analyzed this statistic like freaks before moving: OK, so it rains more in Buenos Aires, but maybe that just means BA gets sudden downpours with regular daily sun, while our new home will just drizzle and dump and stay perpetually gray. BA gets summer downpours, which are different (thanks to the unrelenting summer heat that renders downpours harmless).

That sort of stuff. We doubted ourselves. With the doubts came more support from friends, from the humorous: "Are you and Aimee attempting to turn your child into an amphibious creature?" to the untrue: "That town gets more rain and more people hooked on mood enhancers than any other city in the US other than Seattle".

So here we are, two weeks into a decision that took over a year to make. And we're loving it. True enough, we're moving into spring and we haven't been through a winter. But it has rained nearly every day. The sun has also burst through the clouds every day, in a far more dramatic presentation than the average sunny day in Cali. The smell of the air is so fresh and thick with life my breaths feel deeper than ever. The cherry and plum trees are exploding with blossoms, and the leaf buds are all slowly poking through on the maples and the elms and the beeches and hawthorns. Moss is everywhere. It's unbelievably beautiful.

I know, I know, we haven't been through winter. We're still in the honeymoon phase. But our spirits are high.

And, from now on, to anyone who asks me about the rain I have a pat response:

"Yeah, but it's a dry rain."

You Suck at Photoshop

2008-03-14T09:46:00.004-07:00

If you haven't already seen Donnie Hoyle's "You Suck at Photoshop" tutorials, you gotta check them out. Even if you don't use Photoshop, you'll laugh your ass off. The great thing is that they're actually extremely helpful. Like this one on the clone stamp tool and manual cloning - perfect stuff for removing those goddamn telephone lines from your otherwise award-winning travel photos:

Slummin' Around

2008-03-12T11:50:00.002-07:00

The Times ran a great article by Eric Weiner the other day on slum tourism (Thanks GR!). Crazy stuff. Or is it? I can't help but agree with David Fennell, that it's straight-up voyeurism. I'd love to get into the minds of the people who are taking the tours, just to see what they want to get out of the experience: photos and stories, I bet. Or am I being too cynical?

Anyway, for me it brings up the issue how people travel today. Particularly, how fast they travel. Twenty years ago, if you wanted to tour a favela in Rio, you'd probably have to hang out and get to know someone. That could take weeks! Good god, where the hell is all that time gonna come from? You'd have to gain someone's respect and trust (and you'd have to trust them), and then maybe they'd take you into a favela (and maybe you'd be comfortable going). He might even introduce you to people. Maybe you'd even hang out for a while. More weeks! You might even get to know some folks. And then the photos - it seems - would be honest. Not stolen.

But tours are fast. Convenient. They can be arranged on the spot. No confidence necessary (just sign here). No need for hanging around to really get to know the people and the place.

It's kind of like traveling to the Amazon in Ecuador. Fifteen, maybe twenty years ago, if you wanted to head into the rain forest, you could go to a little town at the edge of the jungle - somewhere like Misahualli, say - and you'd start asking around and people would point you to Jaime's house and then you'd go knock on the door. But Jaime wouldn't be there, so you'd have to wait a day or two for him to get back from wherever it was he went. When he finally did make it back, you'd set up a price and a day and finally off you'd go. (Thirty years ago - who knows how long you'd have to hang out to make it work. Weeks!!)

Starting ten or so years ago, more and more people started doing this, and then tour companies sprouted up (and later proliferated), and all the local guides got snatched up by the companies. Today if you head to the same town, you won't find a guide that knows a liana from a lemon ant. The guides are either with a group in the forest or they're in Quito. Now, you have to go through a tour group.

A few diehards still do it the old fashioned way, but they wait. And wait. And wait.

For most people, its' in and out. Four days in the rain forest. Five days in the rain forest. A weekend in the rain forest. On a tour that they set up from home or from Quito. There's no lingering around some frontier town waiting for some guy to turn up, waiting to meet someone that can guide you into woods. That takes too long. So people just sign up and head in with the group. And the tour leader wants to keep things safe (liability is an issue, of course), so they go to specific lodges, perhaps their own (which has the added benefit of keeping the money in the business), and they bring their own food from outside the jungle (which means food isn't purchased on site), and the tourist ends up being a little bubble roaming through the forest in a protective skin, neither really getting into the forest nor letting the forest inside. In this scenario, there's little or no contribution.

OK, there are some great outfitters out there. There really are. But something's been lost. Or has it? I don't know, I'm ranting . Tourism is weird. And often so fucked up.

The Bolivian iPhone

2008-03-10T13:41:00.007-07:00

I'll still take the cheap, transister pocket radio over the iPod for a travel companion on the grounds that leaving the iPod means leaving "home" at home. But here's another reason:

Going to La Paz, Bolivia? The radio will work just fine. The iPod? Nope. Not over 10,000 feet it wont. And neither will the iPhone.

According to the technical specs at Apple, the max operating altitude for both is 10,000ft. Bummer. Time to pay that guy running the sidewalk phone for a call.

Wonder if you can get Google maps on this thing?

Parsailing, the Dumbest Tourist Invention on Earth

2008-03-07T12:49:00.003-08:00

Man, I always wondered about those parasailing outfitters that hang around beaches in countries where you KNOW safety regulations don't exist.

Someone forgot to take out the slack...

Another useless travel fact

2008-03-07T12:35:00.003-08:00

According to the World Economic Forum's Travel and Tourism Competitive Report 2008, the United States ranks seventh in the world when it comes to "Balancing Economic Development and Environmental Sustainability". That's down two places since last year. Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Australia, Spain and Great Britain all beat the United States. Maybe it's the SUVs.

Perfection is easy when you pick the right medium

2008-02-27T15:41:00.001-08:00

2008-02-18T18:53:00.003-08:00

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk: every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness; I have walked myself into into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.

--Soren Kierkegaard

Ditchin' keys

2008-02-15T08:59:00.003-08:00

There's something so liberating about removing a key from my key ring. Everything about me feels lighter. I sold the 4Runner the other day. We won't need two cars now that we're moving to a city again.

When we moved to Buenos Aires (our last big move before this country life), we whittled the keys down to zero. I watched 'em go: first the keys to the random padlocks that protected my crap. Then the cars, then the apartment, then the spare to my parents' house. Until I was left with just the key ring -- and no locks to lock. We took a shuttle to the airport and left.

Everyone should do it at some point. Ditch every key on the key ring, one by one, until all your left with is that little steel circle in your hand.

2008-02-08T07:26:00.000-08:00

2008-01-24T20:22:00.000-08:00

2008-01-09T19:04:00.000-08:00

2008-01-07T18:45:00.000-08:00

2008-01-06T09:47:00.000-08:00

dog chases duck

2008-01-05T11:14:00.000-08:00

Tijuana

2007-12-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

We let MT drive once and he got in several accidents.

El Impenetrable

2007-11-19T21:52:00.000-08:00

In northern Argentina, there's over 15,000 sq miles of cactus-filled, spine-riddled forest known as El Impenetrable. It's hot as hell up here, and when people talk about the place or about the indigenous Toba who live here, the one word that inevitably comes up is "forgotten".

We hired a guide to take us into the forest (there's no way someone unfamiliar with the area could navigate the labyrinth of dirt roads on their own), and found an Argentina entirely different than the one most visitors see.

No tango, no Patagonia, no Iguazu Falls, no swanky shopping centers. Just trees, cacti, gauchos and a lot of people living really hard lives, despite Argentina's economic gains.

For more photos of the Impenetrable, visit travelburro.com.

How to Open a New Book

2007-10-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

The other day, Aimee and I found a stack of five Encyclopedia Americana at the Salvation Army. They were published in 1904, and each was stamped "B.F. THOMAS, Attorney at Law, Feb 1, 1905, SANTA BARBARA, CAL" inside the front cover. They smelled good, like old books, and were full of detailed color plates, scientific drawings, and black-and-white photos. We bought all five of them for $2.50. They weighed a ton. Last night we sat on the living room floor, drinking wine and cutting out the pictures with X-acto knives: "Medusa-like Animals," "Development of Spinning Machinery," "Indians of the Mexican Foothills," "Helen Keller".

Tucked inside two of the books' front covers were small pieces of paper titled "How to Open a New Book". The papers had decorative borders and were printed with movable type (you could feel the texture of the letters on the backside of the paper). They explained How to Open a New Book:

"If a book be a large one, take it gently in both hands, and hold it with the back on a smooth or covered table. Allow the front cover to open and then the other, holding the leaves in one hand, while you open a few leaves at the back. Then open a few leaves in the front, and so on, alternately opening front and back, gently pressing open the sections until you reach the centre of the volume. Do this two or three times and you will obtain the best results.
If you open the book carelessly or violently in any one place you will quite likely injure the volume, break the back binding and loosen the leaves."

Saturday Loaves

2007-10-20T09:26:00.000-07:00

Aaaah, fresh cinnamon bread. These are slight variations on the Honey-oatmeal sandwich bread recipe (with a cinammon-vanilla mixture swirled up inside) from the King Arthur Flour Whole Grain Baking book.

Lee's Barber Shop

2007-09-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

I went to the barber today. Lee's Barber Shop. Been there for 39 years. Lee's gotta be over 80. Hunches over from all those years of cutting hair. His ex-wife was named Holly Wood, before she married Lee. Anyway, Lee's got a single maroon, vinyl barber chair in the shop and an old twirly barber pole out front that doesn't twirl anymore. Inside, dozens of dusty model airplanes hang from the ceiling and old, metal miniature cars line the shelves. There's a black-and-white sign on the wall with illustrations of all the hair cuts of the day: flat top, butch cut, crew cut, fade ...

"That sign's from the 40s," Lee says, "All these wetbacks come in here, can't speak English, so I put that up there so all they have to do is point."

Over in an unlit sort of alcove, bills from around the world are tacked up on the wall.

"There's two Hussein bills up there," Lee says. "You know, Hussein. He's a dictator from Iraq. Guys like you started givin' me those things 29 years ago. These boys come back from the war over there and gave the Hussein bills to me. This redneck comes in one day and says, 'Why don't you sell me those Hussein bills' and I say 'Hell No.' They're worth a hundred bucks each. I don't care if the guy offered my a thousand bucks, I'd have to be the biggest asshole in town to sell those things."

Lee gave me a crooked haircut.

"How much do I owe you, Lee?"
"Thirteen bucks, guy. How's that sound?"
"Sounds good. Here. Just gimme five back."

The Road to Twin Lakes

2007-09-20T07:13:00.001-07:00

I took this one from the side of the road on the way out to Twin Lakes, off Hwy 395 in the Eastern Sierra. I felt like I was in Montana or Idaho or something. That's Sawmill Ridge (not the Sawtooth Range) off in the distance.

Super Dave and Cyril Mazibuko

2007-09-19T08:02:00.000-07:00

Alright, until now, I've always thought that Super Dave was the master of invention, king of the big blue, world's greatest undercover agent of adrenaline. I imagine him taking on the anti-fun think tank (you know, the ones who put bumps on the public stair railings so you can't slide down them) all by his heroic self. But it looks like he might have a compadre in Cyril Mazibuko, the South African who built his first paraglider out of ... garbage bags!

20 Lakes Basin

2007-09-17T22:15:00.001-07:00

The Eastern Sierra

2007-09-10T20:16:00.001-07:00

Bread on the Barbeque

2007-09-01T15:21:00.000-07:00

This is what happened when I tried to cook my bread on the barbeque. The pizza stone got so hot it burnt the bottoms to a crisp. But it's so damn hot down here, there was no way I was going to fire up the oven today.

The tops turned out ok, but I didn't mist the inside of the grill so they didn't get done enough.

Buckeye, Burners & the Eastern Sierra

2007-09-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

On my final research trip for the Yosemite book, I drove through part of the Eastern Sierra and, after 10 hours behind the wheel and visits to nearly a dozen campgrounds, I still had time to get a little writing done. Actually, I pretty much was only able to stare at the computer screen for about a half-hour, feeling too tired and distracted by the wine and scenery. Near sundown, I soaked in murky hotsprings with a bunch of naked burners who were on their way to the Black Rock Desert. The water was better than the conversation. Sitting around with a bunch of Burning Man freaks while they rehash last year's party reminds me of getting stuck in one of those group conversations about the Brady Bunch. I never watched it. Anyway, the Eastern Sierra was mind-blowing. I've never been over to that side, and it felt like I'd left California altogether.

Diggin' it

2007-08-30T21:01:00.001-07:00

Aimee and I finally took Nadine to Yosemite last week. She loved it. Or at least it seemed like she did. She was so relaxed - she didn't even wake up when they chased the bears through the campground in the middle of the night. Her favorite thing was staring up at the trees in the evening as they swayed in the wind.

For my niece,

2007-08-29T20:01:00.001-07:00

Buffalo Soldiers

2007-08-23T08:36:00.001-07:00

Can't say I envy the Buffalo Soldiers. First they had to fight the Native Americans, then the Spaniards, then the Filipinos and finally the great Pancho Villa himself. At least they had one stint that was envious. Nine of them were stationed in Yosemite in 1899, where they served as the park's first rangers. Dig this litte webite project dedicated to them.

Stroke My Erect Ear Tufts

2007-08-17T13:54:00.000-07:00

I've been spending quite a bit of time in Yosemite lately and man, you just gotta love that climbers' sense of humor. Here's an utterly incomplete list of route names in Yosemite: Dressed to Kill, Color Me Gone, 666, Short but Thick, Bachar's Ring Job, Health Insurance, Pussy Whipped, Satanic Mechanic, Sherrie's Crack, A Boy and His Knob, Pink Banana, The Gerbil Launcher, Sloppy Seconds, Mongolian Clusterfuck, Shit on a Shingle, Champagne on Ice, Renus Wrinkle, The Buttocks, The Girl Next Door, Aqua Vulva, Bulging Puke, Jesus Built My Hotrod, Realm of the Flying Monkeys and - my favorite so far - Stroke My Erect Ear Tufts.

Chinquapin Shakedown

2007-08-16T07:58:00.000-07:00

Man, I knew big trees grew in Yosemite, but I had no idea big cannabis plants did too. I thought that was just in Sequoia & Kings Canyon . But they do -- or did. At least until all 7,428 of them got yanked out by park rangers on Tuesday. I wonder what they'll do with them. They should sell it all to the tourists to pad the coffers of an underfunded park system. In fact, if they did this at both parks, they could undercut the the illegal growers and fix the funding problems at the same time. And it would surely stop the decline in visitor numbers (not that we really want that).

On the Stan

2007-07-17T06:08:00.000-07:00

2007-06-23T08:22:00.000-07:00

New Traveler Makes First Footprints

2007-06-11T13:36:00.000-07:00

Heeeey, hey, check out Nadine taking her first midwife assisted steps .... across the birth certificate!!