A Moral

I'm still here in Africa, but everyone has now left me. I'm the lone American here, except for the other one, but I don't ever see him. Therefore he doesn't exist. I'm living with a bunch of Germans, driving a beater bug, and overall sick of this continent.


On the bright side, the flowers are in their prime. I'm beginning to see why old people might make the trek out here to see them. I mean, if there were nothing else for me to do, I'd be right with them.


On the climbing front, I've got a number of projects. Nothing I'm all the psyched on, but then again, I've been here way too long. Some of the climbs here sure are lookers, like Black Mango Chutney (7c+) below.


Rain and horseback riding are in my near future. As is pizza. I finally have internet in my house, so my clairvoyance is picking up more posts as well. I think I'm missing home, or am I just ready to leave Africa? Either way, more of the same would be easier to bear if Amna were still in the hemisphere. Apparently loneliness is the price to pay for buying the ol' ticket on a whim. Remember that. I need to remember that.

The Return

Awwwww...

I'm back in the US, and more photos to come. Soon...

Once I get my life together again.

Raining in Germy

It's raining today, spoiling my rest day plans of Mt. Olympos. Looks like I'll have to cook my dinner over a stove instead of the eternal flame. I can't stand the rain, even on rest days. That's why I live in the desert.


There are Germans everywhere here! Mein Deutsche ist verbessern, but I flew to Turkey, so wtf? Check out his glasses, cute huh? This way he can look up without hurting his neck. Germans are weird. And not hip at all.


I spend my days taking portraits of animals, since the rain keeps me off the rocks. Look, a turkey! You're a long ways from home - or maybe turkeys belong in Turkey? I suppose it's fitting, although I swear they came from America. One more export for the US of A, right behind movies, sex, and rock and roll.


See those things on top of the buildings - every single structure has one here. That there is a passive solar system. The water flows through thin pipes in the array and absorbs the heat, no gas or electricity required. Why don't we have those in the US? We are lame.

Geyikbayiri

I lack a robust understanding of where I am in the world right now. It isn’t that I’m entirely clueless, but I definitely don’t have a firm grasp on it either. Turkey is on the Mediterranean Sea (or is it the Aegean?), somewhere between Europe and Asia, the western world and the middle east, the 70s and today. For you see, mustaches are quite big here. Observe. The fire was warm, he beckoned me closer.


Islamic prayers echo throughout the valley five times a day as the local mosques sing Allah Allah Allah. I’m in a small village near the city of Antalya on the southern coast, camping with a bunch of Germans. Sometimes I think I flew to Munich instead of Istanbul. I went into town the other day and a local mistook me for a Deutsch. Fuck that.

I really don’t feel like I’m out of Europe most of the time. Check out the accomodations, very Rodellar-esque, no?




The climbing is better than decent, with big tufas, my friends. No climbing photos yet, the rock is pretty hard to shoot because of the lighting and flora obstructions. You can see a glimpse of the orange limestone past the goat, but remember to hide your food or these hoofed menaces will ravage the lunch.


The ratings are super fun-soft as well – I’ve been a heartbeat away from onsighting two 13ds. Sorry dudes, I don’t onsight 13d. I think an across the board cut of two letters is likely in order, but it’s been so long since I’ve been on a rope, my calibration is all off.

I leave you with some final shots of…puppies! If these photos don’t melt your heart, I pity your loveless existence.

Istanbul

There are actual Muslims here! Look at him, washing his feet or something before going into a Mosque. Turkey is cool. The way I see it, the only way to pull off a mustache is to antecedently be incredibly hip, otherwise you're just a loser of a redneck - and the Turks most definitely know how to rock the stash.

After a long flight I ended up in Istanbul. After New York I was sick of the city, so I booked myself a night bus out of town and spent the day exploring. What’s there to say, landmarks are landmarks. So how about a list:

The Blue Mosque:

The Aya Sofya:


I had one of the most intense experiences of my life in a Turkish bath. The room was steamy, the man was big, and the massage was amazing. I told him to press harder near the beginning, and from that point on he made it his goal to break me. Tears came rolling out two or three times, and I think he dislocated my toe, but I’ll never forget that day. When it was all done, I was told to drop the towel, and he reached around me to affix a new one. He put a towel on my naked body. No one does that. Amazing.

I had dinner with a German radiologist I met there (nothing like some semi-naked bonding), then got on an overnight bus to Antalya, a city on the Mediterranean coast. It took a bit, but from there I made it to the climbing in Geyikbayiri. Three nights of traveling and I’m done. Time to pass out, tomorrow is for climbing.

NYC

On my way out of this country I ended up with an eleven hour layover in New York - the cost of cheap tickets is made up in time. But I know people, so no worries. I met Jake at the Empire State Building in the morning and we toured the city. I feel like there's no reason to go back now. I mean, I've done all the essentials: saw tall buildings, ferried to the Statue of Liberty, went ice skating and rock climbing in central park, ate a bagel, hailed a cab. It really was the perfect date. Thanks Jake.

I'm tired, so if you want to see photos, follow the link for yourself.

Perhaps a Return?

Alright, I'm back. Here's my trip this summer: to Nice, Ceuse, Saint Leger, Geneva, Chamonix, Basil, Freiburg, Barcelona, and Rodellar. I'm like, international or something. More to come. I've got to get back into it slowly or I'll totally rupture a disk. I'm an old man now. I'm 25.

Yosemite

After NorCal I spent twelve hours in the R-Side before leaving again to Yosemite. Ah, my fingers were still recovering from splitting four pads at the tram earlier this week. Got in Friday night and stayed with this strapping ranger. Ladies, from what I hear he's free. Let me know if you want his number. Who can resist a man in uniform?

There was a big crew, and we didn't stray too far from the beaten path. John, Shannon, and Casey were all present for Shannon's birthday - she turns 30! Wooo! We partayed at Ranger Rave '08 in federal employee housing. Nothing puts a damper on festivities like having two cop cars parked on your street.

Climbing wise, the trip was a little...eh. I opened up a pad in the first hour, and tape helped make Thriller nearly impossible. Not that things would have been otherwise without it. I flashed the Force (V9), a sexy little climb next door. To be fair, I'd tried it once a few years ago, but come on, that doesn't count, does it? The next day was the next day, so we weren't quite to spunky. Justin and I had an epic contiguous pair of sends on the King Cobra Sit Start (V9), a climb that was much harder than it should have been.

Yosemite is 7 hours away, so I don't think I'll be making that commute again soon. Or course it was worth it, both to see old friends and to celebrate Shannon's 30th. Everyone let her know horah!

Sacramento

I'm in NorCal for a few days to attend my little sister's graduation. She is now Cassandra Moore, AS. Does anyone put an Associates of Science degree after their name? Has anyone heard of an Associates of Science degree? Eerie. But well done to Cassie, she's got an internship lined up with the DA in Stockton as a paralegal. She used to be a badass climber you know, on the US team for two years around the year 2000. Doesn't it seem like the year 2000 is still in the future?

Cassie and I spent some time in Sacramento yesterday, touring the capital and the Crocker Art Museum. It had some awesome stuff, check out Bush made out of ceramic skulls and ears. It was one of the better pieces of the modern collection there. The older paintings were boring. They have a huge Edwin Deakin exhibit going on - yawn. I'm just not a fan of realism in my landscape paintings. I find them to be like a photo, but not as good.

Reunion

I've been around, oh you know it's true, and Bishop is easily in my list of top five most magical places in the world. The high desert, the snow, the boulder for scaling, god damn, I love it. Guess where I spent last weekend? Seeing old friends, climbing old rocks. Who've we got, a list:

• Justin, bear tracker, all around great guy, living at home.
  
• Peter, tall, funny, gangly, and tall.
  
• Shannon, finally putting that MS in Aeronautical Engineering from Stanford to good use, that is to say, no longer working in a climbing gym (but still living at home, ha).
  
• John, our lovely photographer, a gentleman's gentleman, with the demeanor of an English valet.

But in terms of sendage, there was some love coming from the rocks. Peter got 2/3 of his projects (goes to show what can be accomplished when you don't set your sights too high? Breathed air, the trip was a success). Shannon had a five minute epic flash of the Arch Druid (V5), as seen in the photo below. Justin...I think he got Soul Slinger (V8/9), but I'm not too sure because I was too busy being into myself.

Why's that? Because I was the star of the trip of course, absconding with Already Forgotten, my second V11. It's a traverse in the Cave Boulder in the Buttermilks, long, kneebars, my style. I also did Devoted, a V9 slab, because that's just how I am. But the photo of the trip belongs to me. Climbing the Leary-Bard Arete (V5), looking grizzled, looking good. By the way, check out how hardcore I am these days. Wouldn't want to run into that in a dark ally, now would you?

Think I'm biased? take a look at other takes on the trip here and here, two shameless ripoffs of my blog template.

Molesting Wax

I'd never really thought about it before, but wax museums let you molest anyone you want, dead or alive. My goal was to make out with Madam Curie, I always thought she would be all hot an skinny because of the radiation poisoning, but this place wasn't nearly that classy. I made due.

Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum in Las Vegas, the place where dreams come true that you never knew you had. Like snorting coke with James Brown, or giving Larry King a wet willy. Who knew a spitty finger in the ear could still keep one's interest, I thought they had gone the way of Zubaz, fun to reminisce about but good for little else.

I towered over Prince doing the opening scene from the official 1999 video, replacing purple with kick. And, as you have already seen, I twitched Benjie's little nips, that naughty diplomat/inventor/sex machine.

Who knew such wonders awaited at a wax museum? Did I desire such things before I entered, or did the place stir up secret passions that have always dwelt within? Perhaps we shall never know.

Hawaii

I spent last weekend in Hawaii, surfing, beaching, snorkeling, running, jumping, all the things you do in Hawaii. I only had three days on the island, but hey, when that's all you've got. I even ate some fish because I'm the world's worst vegetarian. I can justify it because fish don't have souls, and I should know, I'm a philosopher.

Amna and I got this awesome couples photo. I had an asian guy take it for us, I figured they must be the best tourist photographers out there, if not for natural ability then out of sheer practice and repetition. I must be in fifty chinese family/couples photos from my trip last summer. Dudes would ask me to be in a photo with their girlfriends, umm...ok. Creepy, but ok.

I leave you with Amna Superstar. Yay!

The Return

I've been horribly neglectful of my blogger duties. Let me begin by finishing off my trip to mexico. So here it is, The Return:

I left Tecolutla because I had a seminar to get back in time for. Unfortunately, all of the buses were booked because of the holdays. So I had to be creative. An hour ride got me to Poza Rica, then a three hour wait, then a 1:00 am bus to Puebla, then an hour wait, then a two hour bus to mexico city, then getting lost on the metro, picking up a bag I left, more metro, then waiting in the airport. I was on standby, and I spoke with a woman who had been waiting since 5:00 am to get on a flight with no luck. In fact, no one on the waitlist had found an open spot all day.

So I waited in apathy an depression. This photo here is after eight hours in the airport. You can literally see my spirit dying in atrophy. That's right, I'll use "literally" however the hell I want to.

Dumb luck and charm got me a flight, last of the evening, only one who got on it. I was so late, one of the workers ran to the terminal with me, on the phone calling the gate to hold the plane for me.

I crossed the border with $15 in pesos and a passport, nothing else since I lost my cell phone in Monterrey and got my wallet stolen in Mexico City. I needed to get a hold of Amna who was waiting to pick me up, but I had no change. And it was 1:30 am so everything was closed. I tried calling collect, but no dice on her cell phone. So I traded a cabbie some pesos for change, but you can't make long distance calls from pay phones anymore with cash, you've got to use a card. Fuck. So close, but fuck. I finally borrowed a drunk's cell. I got home at 3:30 am. It was nearly 30 hours of travel, shit.

So now the quarter has begun. Damn. Damn. I need to climb more.

Rooms

The theme today is rooms. We really found some winners in Mexico. After a day in Puebla putzing around town, seeing one of latin america's largest pyramids buried under a hill (it looked like any fucking hill to me), and doing you know all that stuff, Jesse and I found the most amazing hotel. Square, two stalls in the corner, one for showering, one for the toilet. You lock the toilet stall from the outside. Jesse was showering, I was peeing, we high-fived.

Then we left for the small beach town of Tecolutla, I'm still not entirely sure why. We wanted a beach, the decent ones on the west coast were too far away, the close ones in the gulf were too polluted, so somehow we ended up seven hours away by party bus.

Jesse found us another sweet place, renting out a space from The Dude out of The Big Lebowski. It wasn't so much a hotel as not a hotel, Jesse saw The Dude drinking beer out front after reading this sign advertising rooms. We realized later that Jesse mistranslated the wall - this was the Dude's attempt at putting his house on the market. He said interest was limited, but there were buyers. I said he should advertise on craigslist instead.

It started raining, so the beach was basically a bust. We spent New Year's Eve drinking tequila in the square surrounded by a bunch of mexican families. The three of us and the Dude were the only gringos in town, but I think we had enough tequila to do a decent job of fitting in.

We took a boat ride through the mangroves with The Captain the next day. When we first met him he was simply trashed, and he was fucking hilarious, so we decided to come back the next day for an adventure. He wasn't nearly as much fun on the hangover.

I had an epic return, over 30 hours traveling, crossing the border at 1:30 am with no wallet or cell phone and just $15 in pesos. Can't talk about it now, still too soon, too traumatic. Give me a day.

Mexico South

The update. I left Potrero Chico to get a look at the south of mexico. So the party relocated - flew into Mexico City, met Eleonor at the airport, met Jesse at the hotel, new surroundings, new trip plan. No more climbing rocks, what nonsense, now it's all about the volcanoes.

After a day in the city we bussed over to a small town at the base of Ixta, not the badass volcano we originally planned on, but considering we didn't have warm clothes or boots of crampons, we thought it might be a little more...I don't know, close to the realm of possibility.

So towards La Muerte, we taxied up to the trail head to find it closed. We spent the night at 12,000 ft in some strange and empty visitor's center we found at the gate. I've never seen anything like it, we had the whole place to ourselves to do with as we pleased. The night guard even locked us in to keep the bandits from stealing out stuff. How strange, knowing there is a padlock between you and the outside world.

We hitched a ride to the trail head the next morning, ate some fucking awesome quesadillas at 13,000 feet, then hiked up to a hut at 15,000. That's pretty high, pretty fucking high to sleep at. But luckily sleep wasn't an issue, since the elevation, mice, a party of goobers, and a creepy kilo of meat kept us from getting any.

At 4:00 am Jesse and I went for the summit, watched the sun rise, crossed a glacier, and stood on top of Ixta, at 17,104 ft, the seventh highest peak in north america and the third highest volcano. It was pretty much miserable, I realize again how much I despise climbing mountains. It's boring, tiring, and a lot of work. I'll stick to rocks until I forget this lesson learned. Probably next summer I'll do something stupid like this again.

But the most irritating part of the whole thing was the lack of information. There is some shitty guide, probably the worst guide I've ever seen, and a little on the internet, but none of it is reliable. We didn't know if we needed ice axes (most people said yes, but we didn't), or crampons (most said yes, but we didn't), or a tent (once again, glad I hauled this fucking thing up the mountain), or where to sleep, or where to leave our shit, or how long it was (anywhere from 3 to 10 hours to the top we were told), or if there was water on the mountain (lots of yes, but there wasn't).

We were the only whiteys on the mountain when we did it, but when we got down there were three other groups going up. I felt like the platonic ideal of knowledge, telling everything Truth that I now knew so well. Everyone else climbing the thing was decked out in snow pants, crampons, high-teck gear, while I did it in tennis shoes and khakis.

Got down and bussed to Puebla. More to come.