Tag Archives: thoughts

For years now I have been thinking about the world, its history and future as I travel alone across the planet, roaming these past 20 years in over 100 countries.

I hope these visions are just fantasy; or at least mostly wrong about the bad stuff and that our species will rise above the environmental and social challenges to improve the planet as a better, more equal, peaceful place for all peoples - (art on this subject in my DIGITAL PAINTING gallery here).

atlantis

atlantis

Firstly let’s note that while my personal travel experiences are 95% fun and positive – like meeting nice people, eating new food, seeing great sights, relaxing, etc; however MRP as artist and philosopher watching the brutal TV news, reading reports, and seeing some of this reality makes for a very different perspective to that of MRP the happy, hedonistic traveller.

It’s an unfair world of rich and poor and this is unlikely to change in the near future as we in the West and and the rich of the 3rd world continue to grow and consume. And unfortunately as we all know: we are out-consuming the finite resources of the planet.

What happens when much of India & China reach our developed level? The human impact triples to an unsustainable level which will mean the average westerner will see a reduction in living standards and while the elite of each country will be insulated the very poor will die … UNLESS there is better food and resource management, otherwise expect forests to disappear, ocean fish to be rare, famine to be commonplace.

today the weather will be fine

Today, the weather will be fine ...

Of course, NGOs & the United Nations hold carrots out to undeveloped countries to modernize like the west – but this is a false and an unsustainable dream - and although it should be every body’s right to live in modern 21st century comfort our global economic system needs some to be poor, needs the constant raw resources and cheap labor, etc, to keep the elitist status quo and so simply today there’s not enough to go around and those with too much, don’t want to share.

Yet we need to move to a fairer, more peaceful, more equal world - but how do humans evolve this way within generations when we are all trapped in our cavemen, more-important-own-existence which is that survival of the fittest outlook?

A sudden revolution of change and thought via the internet? Cultural exchanges – arts & sports? Educated travel? Or does anyone really care … as we ponder grim images on TV and then return to our personal- bubble? If it doesn’t effect you, rarely do people think about it.

BUT what if “IF” comes crashing closer to our home? Floods. Cyclones. Pollution. Toxic food. Famine. Lack of fresh water. Religious & ethnic hatreds. War. These problems because of changes in the global environment caused by our collective rabid consumption and now coming home to roost?

What if Africa suffers huge floods and droughts? There is death, famine, unrest, war, millions of refugees streaming towards Europe?

What if a virus – biological weapon, natural: SARS, bird flu, plague – breaks across Asia?

What if the poor of Latin America swarm towards the USA?

What if the glaciers of the Himalayas lessened to reduce fresh water to India’s billion? Or China’s? And what if underground supplies fall in the middle East?

What if the oceans rise faster than predicted and take out pacific islands and coastal cities?

What if pesticides and other agricultural poisons run into the rivers and into the sea to kill off much of the ocean life?

What if the forests of many countries are cut without being replaced? What of our natural fresh air filters, potential scientific discoveries and the existing animal species?

What if we could kick the gasoline addiction and give the West less of a reason to interfere in the Middle East, create a Palestinian state and make Jerusalem an international twin-capital, all this cutting off the rush of some towards Jihad?

coughing clouds

Coughing clouds

OFF COURSE … technology will solve many issues: desalinate the ocean to drink and irrigate; reforestation of land; recycle everything; manage farming and food production with GM crops and skyscraper farms; forgo oil – for deep geothermal, wind and solar - to lessen climate change pace; energy-efficient houses and buildings and infrastructure; discover new minerals and planets to exploit; construct dikes around vulnerable coastal cities; give real power to a united world body to act decisively in times of violence, famine, disaster (and to eliminate brutal, hopeless dictators)?

One world government? A global dictatorship? But who could possibly govern the world? Surely this won’t work yet, not until there’s been so much grief, a new dark ages and then a global renaissance after major catastrophes and huge population loss, will the survivors see sense?

Are China and America poised to fight within 30 years? Sooner? To act like other rival power blocs in history? After all there’s global domination – which starts with plundering raw materials in Africa, or mining rights in the Arctic or Antarctica or even another planet or a sci-fi space wars? Or will China collapse into ethnic divisions like Yugoslavia? Or will both countries – all countries – be hit by too many natural disasters? Or will the US-of-Europe one day be enemies of the USA in 100 years? Russia & Europe united? Or Russia fighting off China for its vast Siberian resources? Meantime: much of Africa stagnates as she’s raped of her resources? Brazil struggles under its own class divisions? An Islamic bloc clashes with Christianity? With Hinduism? With everyone? Is the end of humanity possible – is the Bible true? Or is the Koran the final word? But first – like soon, like now, China with Asia dominate the world stage, sharing with their Western friends until they all fall out? Or will the rich world become high-tech fortresses ignoring miserable, broken, failed states? When will borders and national identity dissolve and we become one?

Wars are often the history of our humanity. And there will be more wars? Why? Because mass-human conciousness has not evolved fast enough; are are still fresh from the cave; we are still animals that fight for our turf, our food, an obedient pack that blindly follows the leader.

And so as the planet suffers, as people suffer, the world’s losers and winners get more and more desperate in their struggle for fewer and fewer resources.

BUT it’s not the end of the world … Just the beginning of a dark age of hardship and lives lost as we continue to overpopulate, consume and consume, devastate the environment without thinking of the long-term picture in our rush for individual wealth and power and chasing the want-all luxury life as endorsed by the corporate mass-media and enthroned by societies’ worship of the hollow, extragant celebrity culture.

So Revolution OR Evolution?

Will those of us living well, or too well, downsize our lifestyles to save the planet while also helping the poor who struggle to eat? Maybe? Doubtful. Not without fundamental societal change across the world, starting in the West and sharing that change, knowledge, wealth and technology with the developing world for a greater, more equitable, sustainable good.

Problem: human nature is too absorbed by self or tribe and always hysterical of strangers on mass – the masses always willing to fight when manipulated by presidents or mullahs. Yes, we need better leaders. Now. We need less personal egos and more serving the common good of not just nations - but the whole of humanity.

We, the people of the world, need to know strangers from other cultures and to interact positively to even start the hope of a better world for all by destroying prejudice and stereotypes and to narrow the distance of ignorance between societies and individuals.

History shows this as an impossible task but maybe … one day.

illusive peace - Jerusalem

Illusive peace - Jerusalem, Palestine-Israel

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I had just passed a Laotian wedding party – held in the cordoned part of a side-street that evening: tarpaulin, tables of food and drink and smiling, seated guests, others dancing merrily to the band beside a stack of huge speakers, been offered a glass of beer-lao by a guest and then 100 meters later a young girl running; her agonized shrieking alarming.

mekong view - laos

Mekong River – my room with view, Savannakhet

Next second I knew why she was so hysterical. Accident; just happened. Shit. Us first on the scene – more people running towards the carnage now. Two bloody bodies collapsed on motorbike; the front of this small truck massively punched in and windscreen scattered – fallen out in a collective web. Front passenger sitting, staring into space – not moving like attempting to flush out this bad dream, blood streaming down his serious, statue face. On the road below neither men wear helmets; one is fucked and the other is dead.

Reality is suspended in movie surrealism; a frantic, tortured hush of blood and impending death. In these seconds I am helpless – I don’t want to move the injured; surely his back’s broken; I can’t speak Lao; wish I was a doctor – as others  arrive. More people gather shocked, stunned, others frantic in action as Lao men lift the bloody bodies onto the back of the truck and then someone gets into the passenger seat and proceeds to drive towards hospital … as I wander away into the quieter, calmer night, stunned, as thoughts on the philosophy of life and death tease me.  

Just months ago during my hazardous journeys across West Africa on the back of taxi-motorbikes for hours traveling terrible rural or jungle trails – across Togo, Guinea and Sierra Leone – I had wondered when this would happen to me? There’d been so much great accident potential: the near-miss trucks; skidding on steep rocky paths; sliding into mud bogs; nearly-hitting livestock and people; and the constant danger of being humped-off the back of the bouncing bike …

So the sombre walk back to my Mekong River-view guesthouse got me thinking … Where is the luck to avoiding death? What is the logic that determines when one is to be consumed by death? And God tell me, when is it my turn, to die? 

NOTE: this rant is only one brief moment of the journey and doesn’t reflect my feelings towards Senegal, Africa, etc, but rather to show that not everyday on the road is great – sometimes things go wrong and also to show my own personal madness and being the honest egg that I am I have included it here …

Here I am enjoying yet again the ambience of another grotty, overpriced hotel room bombarded by traffic from the front and bleeping goats from the back. Non-stop is the noise. Scooters, trucks, taxi, all battered and some really banged up and most bleeching smoke and horns. The clip clop of donkey carts the only soothing sound amid this miracle of noise and smoke.

On a main road; and if I was not here then it’s just mud and puddle, trash and stench and broken sewers, swarms of demented flies and street junk amid people that claims to be the route typical of this town. The place is a fuckin’ mess – like so much of the modern urban world. My guidebook says it’s worth a couple to days to soak up the urban charm – like fuck, more like inhale the hell of filth and hopelessness; having seen a huge chunk of the world I can said that is just another shit-hole equal in elegance to any fucked mess in India or Africa or elsewhere.

Unlike other towns in Senegal - like the mega-friendly holy city of Touba - here the people barely notice you: the lone white face; they seem happy to sleep or sit by the side of the road bored as fuck, watching another day pass.

I mean, as I entered the town I saw a completely naked black man standing in the street with a large limp penis and nobody even looked at him !!! – so what chance do I stand? I swear: I felt black, anonymous. I wonder would nakedness have worked for me? Maybe if I was juggling an elephant – maybe 7 elephants, then all eyes would’ve said - Hi white man. 

I chose this cheap hotel cos there was little choice … and at $17 you could do worse – like last night – but here the prices are largely for doubles and thus as I travel solo I could travel cheaper as two: anyone care to join me in a tour of West Africa’s worse hotels? I didn’t think so; so long, MRP, ya sucker.

The bottom line is this: French West Africa is overpriced, uses a currency called the CFA, supported by France, that makes the country for a backpacker often close to European prices at mucher lower standards …

This $20 room here will cost you $5 – 7 in SE Asia; and it will have a fan – it’s hot and humid, a very simple bathroom attached, maybe … or usually a shared squat bog where the other guests are so lazy as not to flush it but leave turds for the next to disperse. Off course, constant noise is included in the price. And for sure – mosquitoes and flies past as the local wildlife (but one look out the window at the traffic will verify much more wild-life as scooters zip and weave endlessly and if your wondering why I’m not describing the scenes outside it’s cos I’ve chained and padlocked the balcony doors close as they don’t lock and the “closed” door now offers a little noise reduction; otherwise you could swear I’m sleeping on the street). Often the water stops when you most want a shower – luckily a bucket of water can be found by the management. So far in Senegal there have been no power outages …

Coming from orderly and clean (sometimes dirty-air) Seoul – Korea recently, it had taken a while to get used to urban Africa again, and I’d forgotten how smelly, wretched and filthy African urban centers can be – mostly the sprawling chaotic suburbs but Mauritania takes all the awards including highest rubbish mounds in streets and more wrecked cars than street lamps awards … But don’t get me wrong: I love Africa.

This is my third time here, and remember I come from New Zealand and so the crap that I spew here now about the state around me is the truth of this small moment: the price I pay to travel, to get local, to see and experience urban Africa as it really is; besides I can’t afford $50 – 100 rooms to lock myself away. This is it; take it, inhale deeply, glad to be here! Will you join me?

Hours later, after a siesta & a meal in a fly-blown bar – fuckers on my face, in my beer – with kitsch painted pics of hip boys and hot chicks, of tribal bare-breasts in jungle and a true African hunting his dinner, I ate chicken shwarma that has now forced itself out prematurely … another rush to the loo and hell, this one tasted so good, well, obviously not that great, that I ate another for dinner at the same place, and had a few of beers.

I get home to this room along the dusty, dirty, hectic streets and a few people finally notice that I’m juggling elephants and say, Hi white man. Bonjour, Cava?

Inside my festering suite I undress before the sweats hit in and enter the bathroom to slip savagely on the floor coming cracking down on elbow and ribs and think fuck, I’m okay, what a fall, ouch; lucky I’ve had a few beers to ease the fall. The fall in a puddle without drain; the room a humid, relentless squeal and shit I think maybe it would been best to stay longer at the bar … the hooker in the wheelchair was cute - and she waved to me: will you join me?

                                                                          *

PS: One week later: Have to say that Senegal has been really great but that my ribs still hurt from the fall to the floor and yes, the electricity went down that night I wrote, with a massive thunderstorm – but anyway I’m now staying in a nice hotel – very nice for $30, to use their in-room internet to upload this story, to have A/C, a real bathroom with hot water and towels!, a good bed and much needed sleep. But mostly I’ve waited out the weekend here in Ziguinchor cos the fuckin’ ATM ate my Visa card yesterday morning and I have to wait til Monday to see if I can retrieve it …

The ups and downs of travel are endless fun … the perfect honeymoon: will you join me?

 essaouira

old fortress town of Essaouira  

Am sitting here with aspirations to be a (more) complete bum, waking up late towards midday, having an omelette, orange juice and coffee and then a beer and then lying on upon my bed, staring at the ceiling, daydreaming, drinking red wine and sucking hashish cigarettes across the afternoon and evening and wondering about everything and nothing … Been 5 days of this now – on the desert Atlantic coast in Sidi Ifni, and  really the past 3+ weeks have been this haze since arriving in Morocco; only the location has changed, as the blur has been constant.

Has taken a bit of software-reprogramming jumping straight into Morocco since leaving my comfortable, easy, dull existence as an English teacher in Korea, and the only continuum is large consumption of alcohol … mostly to enhance the enjoyment of my new life situation and recently partly cos I’m having writer’s block, or simply I can’t be fucked writing. I start a paragraph, a story with good intentions to blog and within 10 minutes it’s like: Why bother? You really wanna read this shit … ?

Anyway, if you’re still reading coming to the mess, bustle, heat, madness that is Morocco couldn’t be different from the calm, orderly, cyber-tech city of Seoul but I knew what I was in for as I was here in 1991 and experienced much beauty and chaos. Now the experience is quieter, away from the north, the tourist centers, the touts, the carpet sellers, the-Hey-mister, friend-need-something?

What I really needed when I arrived was to fuck … but before that happened I spend a week alone, smoking hash in a traditional room of a family town house in Essaouira, my window overlooking the main market thoroughfare across the old walled, coastal fortress town. All I did was eat grilled meat with salad taken back to my room, and stared out the window, drinking beer & red, and smoking up the whole week wondering where I was? Where I’d been? Where am I going next? I was the prefect zombie – mute, relaxed and not attacking anyone – but I’m sure the locals thought me insane: sitting at his window for 7 days, staring at the world.

Okay, I did get out for a few hours – walked around to take some photos, used the internet, talked alittle, bought food, water, alcohol, hash. 

Yet the single craziest – they were a few – thing that happened that week from the view from my window, a few meters above the street was this that I wrote at the time:

An old veiled woman is shrieking outside on the street below, screaming at a smiling young man working within a small-scale building site. He can’t stop smirking; meantime she’s throwing stones from the pile of gravel at him, now in the direction of all the young men. It’s crazy, then over. But within minutes she has returned and now grabs a large rock and heaves it as the boys are laughing but yelling a cautious tone – maybe:  careful, careful, no, easy lady – as she spits venom and continues the stone throwing assault as others watch as and walk by. I begin to video this scene. I saw the initial clash and it seems that something stones, sand shoveled, a loose beam narrowly missed the old woman and she I assume, said watch out, or be careful, ya trying to kill me? Off which the youth cheekily replied, what’s it matter – you’re nearly dead! Or as I imagined something to this effect as she went crazy.

And crazy she went further – she returned minutes later below my room where it stands above the covered, narrow alley, with a wine bottle and smashed it against the curb. She began throwing shards of glass at the young men; one perpetually smirking – he couldn’t keep back his grin if his life demanded it. She was eventually coaxed away by a middle-aged male … But later returned again, to throw more stones and shout.

>>> VIDEO: watch this crazy incident here

And now back in Sidi Ifni, I feel that’s enough writing … More wine and hash please, waiter.

> photos of Morocco

How far must one travel to know where the world truely is …? To understand it beyond the learning of TV and second-hand views and feel if as you know. You know? Maybe not. ME: I’m not sure if I’m making sense but then sense isn’t necessary in understanding this world and I figure I should be qualified to know this, having wandered the world now most of my adult life as I approach 40 – solo & nomadic, without much possessions, no social circle, no permanent job, etc - and am wondering what next and where and what sense does anything ever make. And I answer: there is no sense except to say: this is how it is. An unpredictable and senseless and strange world and in fact, life itself, is much the same.  Existing because we do and mostly because we don’t. Don’t know what it’s about. But if it’s going okay or it’s alotta fun – let’s have more and if it’s not, get it better or can’t wait to end it, but still, there is no sense as in why we’re here. Some say religion gives answers but I think not. Not if you ask too many questions. But if you believe, well, good, but for me the answers have never been enough … and so I ask where is the world? What is life? I continue on the trail, knowing that I’ll never know …

 

unconcerned by society - MRP ART

Unconcerned by society – MRP ART

>>> ENTER art exhibition here  (or click image)

mrp-art-ex.jpg

Lack of sun, the wind, the grey skies are confusing my logic & lowering my libido – this not the Cambodia I know as a cold – if true-cold is possible – snap here has hovered over Phnom Penh this past week and while I know it’s the ‘coldest’ month of the year and that there’s no possibility of sweating I wish I was hot.

phnom pehn sunset

Room with a view, living on the Lakeside for 5 months, making art, Phnom Pehn, 2005

But not that I’m cold – except sleeping now, with the fan off and I’m actually under a sheet to cover my otherwise nakedness here in a city where – taxi-girls – working women are by far the best blankets, where the pizzas are HAPPY – laced with marijuana, where bar cocktails include viagra and red bull, where westerners get cheap heroin & nazi-speed addictions, where increasingly old western men lust on young local babes, where secret bars offer blow-jobs as you drink, where people get shot in nightclubs by local kids of the rich elite, where motorcycles and the quiet chaos whizz around everywhere – here, where rampant corruption and poverty and real smiles are the everyday: Welcome to Phnom Penh – CAMBODIA.

I could live here – for reasons well beyond those listed above but those factors are certainly a deep-consideration to stay here longer – forever – and get completely fucked-up … but then again I tend to get bored – of everything – and restless easily and so I suppose more travel is awaiting me next year …

Was wanting to sleep but had a hot arse too close to my face  … she sleeps as the traffic rakes the street downstairs as I lust over this bottle-blond’s varnished nails, her lightly tanned neck and wrists chained in gold – maybe I’m not her first customer … maybe it’s not love, afterall.

mrp-giving-the-finger-to.jpg

I can remember – bits, anyway, of last night; she sucks so well – but not her name. Half a dozen beers, a bottle of red and half a litre of whisky and not even a headache now – yeah, age has blessed me with a tolerance to alcohol: getting old’s fun.

I’m 36 soon. An old cunt (or maybe, just a cunt). In a recent e-mail Mum asked me how I intended to celebrate my birthday and I had to reply nothing different: Drunk and in bed with a babe (it’s not my birthday for 2 weeks but I thought I get in shape for the event …).

Been doing a lot of soul searching these last few days. You know, age and getting old and what’s my life about shit. 

Thought it time for a change … Surprise. I’ve found Jesus – thought I read the bible this evening – yeah right; or maybe I’ll marry this bleeding blond – intense fucking bought her period on prematurely – beside me. Wrong again TV game-show losers, not you, my friends, but the glamour-hungry wankers on TV which I have with the sound down; yeah, I’ve finally found the meaning to life: to CONTINUE.

With that insight clarified I drink another beer on this fine non-stop afternoon… and solemnly swear, to continue to be a toxic prick addicted to sex, stimulants and wandering. MUM: a thought: maybe you should censor this for the grandparents: I feel it may get …

Check the flesh. Today -  “I shot the sun … “  yeah, right. Actually I’m hallucinating. BUT I believe I’ve been in Buenos Aires a month and have been a total slut (Do sluts pay for sex? Cos I’ve been cashing in the pesos rapidly in hope of getting automatic entry to heaven, you know, my charitable, selfless work supporting women internationally … )

Ahh, yeah … Actually all the chicks I’ve been with here have been pros. And all of them have been very loving … I remember her name now, cos she’s just left at 4.13 pm. Shayla, a some-what Arabic name. She wants to ring me … PLEASE, yeah, habitacion viente-ocho (Room 28). Before she left, like the other ladies, she cleaned my room: ashtray emptied, condoms disposed from the floor, even, folding my clothes. A very inclusive service – indeed (house keeper and lover). 

I met the last lady in the same club as Shayla, she’s an exotic dancer for it’s an Arabic / Greek-theme night – sex, not disco – club. The other woman, Angelina, has left yesterday for her native Brazil and wanted to take me with her … tempted but probably would’ve been disasterous (reading my past serious relationships with loving but crazy pros: RE: Erica, Indonesia.). Both ladies are bottle-blondes with dark eyes (and shaven pubes) as was the one before these two.

I’m seeing a trend here … I usually adore dark skin and dark hair … but all the woman here are white and of Spanish or largely Italian origin. In fact BsAs is the whitest place on earth: I’ve counted four blacks, 2 dozen indigenous brown Andeans and a million whites in a month in this city of 11 million. Surely, the least colored city in the world (in the large downtown districts, anyway). 

Last week I tried to get it together by leaping from a small plane. SKY-DIVING. Tumbling, falling -and freaking, yeah, floating fast at 210km/hour for 5000 feet … parachuting the last 5000 to land fuckin’ ecstatic. Wonderful hit, but it didn’t last long. I believe I’ll take the slow, emphasis slow, ferry across the River Plate to Montevideo, Uruguay – soon, another country to kick my latest mind-less addiction.

Must leave Buenos Aires, where the prettiest – white – woman in the world reside (forget my raving about Santiago de Chile some months ago; BsAs is it. Immaculate bodies and supermodel looks – pity I land all the fat chicks – not really, anyway, Latino women are the true goddesses). Heaven help me in Rio; God save me in Colombia … (where life’s, and the powder’s too cheap and the girls too easy). Ahh, fuck it: life’s to be explored …

Went to a football – soccer – match in a huge stadium of manic supporters: I have the Latino fever; the passion.

At 36 I’ve resolved to go all out … Breasts or bust … Having not slept for days (or is that, daze) you can dismiss this ramble as shit; maybe, one day, I’ll grow up.

My 36th birthday resolution: NEVER SURRENDER (or not for another year, at least).

Love flowers & &&, &, something real sexy – MRP

PS: Maybe I should write a book titled: ‘How to Impress Whores, DESPITE Having a Beer Gut’  

FUCKIN’ TOURISTS – I wish Bin Laden was here to lessen the pollution …!

Thought I’d start on a different note – cos not everyday am I feeling in love with the world and I don’t want to mislead you about the nature of 2lst century travel, nor of the moods of this traveller.

Often these past weeks I’ve really had to try hard to stay enthusiastic about being on the road. The nausea started in northern Bolivia and has heightened dramatically here in Cusco, Peru.

THE PROBLEM, my problem, is the masses of stupid fucks here.

I can understand the attraction of Cusco but the people it attracts are generally dull … those middle-aged package sheep who go to pretentious plaza cafes accompanied by their aloof attitudes. Or the classic American campus geek on a summer school outing, shrieking loudly and bitching about her friends.

At a series of Inca ruins yesterday I encountered some examples. There were these harmless chicks who just sat upon a mountain vista of a almighty ruin and reading novels (nothing related to S America; one was by Nick Hornby and I wondered why bother being there? After all you tend to read to be transported elsewhere).

Another harmless, gormless couple had stripped off to undies, and were sunbathing (and not a swimming pool or beach in sight).

One group of 4 English toffs passed me without acknowledging me or my greeting but later when they were fumbling about for 10 minutes trying to find the other way down from the Inca rock, a little panicked, and ‘not wanting to damage their cameras’, I pointed out the route and they suddenly turned ever so pleasant.

But what really set me on-fire was when some old American guy started screaming and waving me away with his hands: Outa my photo! I didn’t even see him – so crowded was the site: each person sharing a turn to interrupt another’s shots. Anyway, I gave him a loud - “Fuck off! You’re not the only one here, ya cunt!”

That same cunt was at the site less than 10 minutes as he was swished away within his stupid-arse tour group. And he’d have his photos and boast over some sycophantic dinner party that he’s been there, that he’s experienced Peru.

So call me a travel snob, a complete wanker or a ignorant leper, but it seems that tourism is strangling special places, rapidly depleting the world of any real travel adventure and intelligence – so get there now friends, within the next 10 years to your dream destinations. Or don’t bother (unless a war breaks out: then perfect travel, those early post-war years).

Me: I’ve suddenly been enlightened: I’ve finally realised that I’m just another dickhead like the rest of them (and even stupider, for being here during the height of the peak season). It’s all so clear now: I need a beer …

> photos of Cusco, inca sites, Peru