Of towards Lima
Cusco is a wonderful city. It´s full of history and surrounded by beautiful mountains. It happens to be at the perfect spot to explore Machu Piccu or the Sacred Valley, close to wonderful rafting and mountain biking and has become one of the major gringo capitals of South America and a center for those trying to learn spanish. So I decided to head to the dirty, loud and dangerous capital of Lima.
It´s not so much that I wanted to go to Lima but I had to get there at some time to catch my flight to Cuba. And I figured I´d go a day early and take at least a little bit of time to see what everyone was complaining about. I was planning on taking a Omnibus and not looking forward to the 22 hour journey. But I tought it would be cool to say I travelled all the way from Buenos Aires to Lima in bus. But the English lass I met rafting the other day planted the idea of taking a plane instead, she told me it wasn´t that expensive.
So I woke up on monday, packed my bags and went to the airport. I hadn´t bought a ticket as of yet but it turned out that wasn´t too much of a problem. Within minutes of getting to the airport I realized that I could get a ticket fo rhte 1 hour flight to Lima for only about US $100. Not too shabby, the flight left in two hours and I was ready to go.
As I passed through security they stopped me and questioned me about the metalic container in my carry on bag. It had been a while since I flew anywhere so I forgot about how this always happened. But I took out my flask and showed it to them. They asked me if it was full of rum. ¨No vodka¨ I replied.
The nice lady running the x-ray machine asked me if it was strong. She had a glass of Sprite sitting next to her and I told her she should try some, it goes really well with Sprite I assured her. She unscrewed the cap and smelled it, then poured a bit into her glass. I also made the other guard pour a bit into his bottle. They both seemed pretty content with their newly spiked bevarages.
The Peruvian security officer then asked me what the script on the flask meant. I told them it was a riddle. I recieved that flask in what seems like another life time. ¨May the dreams that drive you be the passions that guide you¨ it reads.
I never really knew what that meant or what I was supposed to take away from it. But it always struck me as a cool thing to have written on a flask. Every once in a while I stop and look at it and think about what I should be thinking about when I look at it. And once in a while, usually after I have emptied the flask, it feels like I might kinda have a feeling about what it is supposed to mean.
The two security officers wished me safe travel and I passed through the gate towards the boarding area. And I beamed as I thought about those passions and where they were taking me and reflected on those dreams of mine.
Monday, June 05, 2006
The Road I have taken
I had heard a lot of peoples stories about hiking the Inca Trail and they all sounded wonderfully painful. Four days through the Sacred Valley before arriving at the ruins of Machu Piccu. Unfortunately given my schedule there was no way I had four days to spare. So instead I took the four hour train from Cusco to Aquas Caliente instead.
The train ride was long and arduous as well but somehow I managed to survive. I think it was because I broke down and paid the 5 Soles they were asking for a Snickers bar. As we neared the last stop my excitement built. Machu Piccu was one of the few things I knew I wanted to see while I was in South America. Everything else I had mostly just stumbled across.
They say that when you hike the Inca trail and you get up early on the fourth day and pull through the last 3 hours and come around the Sun Gate early in the morning an hour or so after sunrise, before the trains and tourists roll in, that you get a view of Machu Piccu that is humbling unlike any other in the world. Well it turns out the view when you get when you hike up from Aquas Caliente and stand in line behind the 15 person tour group from Idaho is fairly amazing as well.
As I looked out on the mostly intact ruins of the Incan the one thought that kept running through my head was ¨what the heck where they thinking???¨ The Incans had built Machu Piccu over a period of a 100 years on top of an incredibly steep mountain surrounded on all sides by other sacred majestic peaks, completely out of painstakingly carved stone. Meanwhile at the bottom of the hill lies a lush valley with a flowing river.
But, Luis, my Peruvian guide I met the other day at the ruins outside of Cusco explained to me that Machu Piccu was a retreat for the Incan royality. And the location was thought to be chosen because it was centrally located around several sacred mountains. He said the Incans believed that mountains were the children of mother earth and Machu Piccu was special because if you look it at with your head turned on its side the profile of the mountain looks like a face staring up towards the heavens.
As I looked out towards the magnificent rolling city that was once Machu Piccu I thought back to the set of ruins I had visited in the previous days. They had all been raized by the invading Spanish conquistadors and brought down to their foundations as a demonstration of the power of Catholicism and Spain. I thought if the remote retreat of Machu Piccu was so awe-inspiring what must all those other ruins have looked like before they were ruined.
I find it odd that throughout history the most devout Christians are generally the most un-Christlike people. Of course Christianity is not alone in this, I can´t think of anything in the history of the world that has caused more human misery and suffering than organized religion. It´s been true as long as anyone can remember and continues to this day.
The Incans seemed to have a wonderful religion from what I understand. It was truly egalitarian with a respect of all things natural with an welcoming of outsiders and their influences and a deep emphasis on personal excellence. Sure there was all the ritual sacrifice but no one said it was perfect. Besides, it`s so much easier to love a loser that has been wronged and think of what might have been than to look at the course of history and accept what actually did occur.
I thought again about my camera that I left in that cab in Buenos Aires. It would be nice to have at least one photo of Machu Piccu, but I´m still hoping the English guy Mark I met hiking around will hold true to his word and send me a couple snaps. I´m not really too concerned about it, I feel like I´ll be back. This is the kind of thing I´d like to see again with someone by my side so I can say things like ¨look how perfect the stone work is.¨ I know the poet tells us that one way leads to another and doubts that he´ll be back to retrace his steps, but we always come back to the things we truly care about.
I had heard a lot of peoples stories about hiking the Inca Trail and they all sounded wonderfully painful. Four days through the Sacred Valley before arriving at the ruins of Machu Piccu. Unfortunately given my schedule there was no way I had four days to spare. So instead I took the four hour train from Cusco to Aquas Caliente instead.
The train ride was long and arduous as well but somehow I managed to survive. I think it was because I broke down and paid the 5 Soles they were asking for a Snickers bar. As we neared the last stop my excitement built. Machu Piccu was one of the few things I knew I wanted to see while I was in South America. Everything else I had mostly just stumbled across.
They say that when you hike the Inca trail and you get up early on the fourth day and pull through the last 3 hours and come around the Sun Gate early in the morning an hour or so after sunrise, before the trains and tourists roll in, that you get a view of Machu Piccu that is humbling unlike any other in the world. Well it turns out the view when you get when you hike up from Aquas Caliente and stand in line behind the 15 person tour group from Idaho is fairly amazing as well.
As I looked out on the mostly intact ruins of the Incan the one thought that kept running through my head was ¨what the heck where they thinking???¨ The Incans had built Machu Piccu over a period of a 100 years on top of an incredibly steep mountain surrounded on all sides by other sacred majestic peaks, completely out of painstakingly carved stone. Meanwhile at the bottom of the hill lies a lush valley with a flowing river.
But, Luis, my Peruvian guide I met the other day at the ruins outside of Cusco explained to me that Machu Piccu was a retreat for the Incan royality. And the location was thought to be chosen because it was centrally located around several sacred mountains. He said the Incans believed that mountains were the children of mother earth and Machu Piccu was special because if you look it at with your head turned on its side the profile of the mountain looks like a face staring up towards the heavens.
As I looked out towards the magnificent rolling city that was once Machu Piccu I thought back to the set of ruins I had visited in the previous days. They had all been raized by the invading Spanish conquistadors and brought down to their foundations as a demonstration of the power of Catholicism and Spain. I thought if the remote retreat of Machu Piccu was so awe-inspiring what must all those other ruins have looked like before they were ruined.
I find it odd that throughout history the most devout Christians are generally the most un-Christlike people. Of course Christianity is not alone in this, I can´t think of anything in the history of the world that has caused more human misery and suffering than organized religion. It´s been true as long as anyone can remember and continues to this day.
The Incans seemed to have a wonderful religion from what I understand. It was truly egalitarian with a respect of all things natural with an welcoming of outsiders and their influences and a deep emphasis on personal excellence. Sure there was all the ritual sacrifice but no one said it was perfect. Besides, it`s so much easier to love a loser that has been wronged and think of what might have been than to look at the course of history and accept what actually did occur.
I thought again about my camera that I left in that cab in Buenos Aires. It would be nice to have at least one photo of Machu Piccu, but I´m still hoping the English guy Mark I met hiking around will hold true to his word and send me a couple snaps. I´m not really too concerned about it, I feel like I´ll be back. This is the kind of thing I´d like to see again with someone by my side so I can say things like ¨look how perfect the stone work is.¨ I know the poet tells us that one way leads to another and doubts that he´ll be back to retrace his steps, but we always come back to the things we truly care about.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
So long Bolivia, I hardly knew ya
After a couple days enjoying the sights of Lake Titikaka (yeah I know, I like saying it too) I crossed the border and headed to Peru. This wasn´t my original plan. I was thinking of taking my time and slowly working through Bolivia and seeing all the sights and enjoying the terrible shape the Bolivian economy is in.
But for reasons that I still don´t really understand I´ve got to get to Lima faster than I originally thought. And that means running through Bolivia and Peru. Bolivia is truly a beautiful country, well atleast the parts of it that I´ve seen. It´s stuck right in the middle of the Andes mountain range and the Amazon jungle, and is home to the birthplace of the once great Incan Empire.
But even with these things going for it, Bolivia is the poorest country in South America and there is evidence of that everywhere you look. The people are generally pretty nice, which has actually been true of just about everywhere I´ve been. And based on the people I talked to they seem a little more optimisitic these days since they elected their latest President, Evo Morales.
Morales´ election is interesting for several reasons, but I find myself happy for the Bolivians because for the first time since the conquistador Pizarro ordered Atahualpa to be strangled an indigenous Andean is the head of state of this land. Given that something like 60% of Bolivia is ethnically categorized as indigenous I find this quite fascinating.
Actually Morales is the 2nd head of state in Latin America of indigenous ancestry, after his only real ally Hugo Chavez in Venezuela. And like Chavez, Morales rode to election victory by appealing to the downtrodden populus of his country and promising to defy the will of the latest would be conquistadors, the United States of America and especially our President George W. Bush.
Morales has already halted the coca erradication programs that Bolivia previously participated in and has nationalized his countries oil and gas supplies, although it remains to be seen what exactly that means. Given Morales´pedigree as a former coca-grower and current socialist none of this is too suprising.
And given my long standing history as a believer in the innate goodness of the free-market I initially felt disdain for all of this. But after talking with several Bolivians it´s hard not to sympathize with them.
They say that coca is a form of life in the harsh Andes. It helps the locals deal with the altitude, hunger and harsh weather or the this region. And just because the western world seems to love putting a refined by-product of a mostly harmless plant up their nose they don´t want have to have their lands poisoned and their way of life taken away from them.
They point to the ¨liberalization¨ of the 80´s forced upon them by the IMF and WorldBank, two institutions basically controlled by the US Government, and wonder how someone can justify the fact that the same conglomerate that forced their country to put all it had of value up for sale came and bought it that stuff on the cheap. So when Morales talks about nationalization, it resonates with the people. Even though they know they don´t have the money or expertise to truly control their own energy suplies.
Of course it´s tempting and even politically correct to point to the evil imperialists as the source of all the problems in South America, especially countries like Bolivia, but that neglects the fact that the people themselves seem to keep putting these charasmatic strong-men in charge, who lack any idealogy and inevitably degrade to being corrupted by their own power. Like most things I think the answer is not so simple that it can be summed up in the time I´m willing to devote to thinking about it.
I still believe in the power of the free-market. But sometimes I forget the inherent assumptions that underlie liberal economic theory. Economists tell us that the free-market leads to the most efficient distribution of goods assuming that all the players act rationally, perfect information is available and capital is readily available. Of course none of this holds true in the real world, and even less so in Bolivia.
Ultimately I think capitalism is a lot like democracy. The worst form of economy that exists, except all the others. I´m not sure where this leaves us, but as long as one sides continues to exploit the advantages they have, there will always be a backlash from the otherside who resents this and that will lead to what we have today. While Bolivia might not have any real ability to harm the mighty empire of the US of A, grudges last a long time and the death of a thousand pin-pricks is not any more desirable than going out with a bang.
After a couple days enjoying the sights of Lake Titikaka (yeah I know, I like saying it too) I crossed the border and headed to Peru. This wasn´t my original plan. I was thinking of taking my time and slowly working through Bolivia and seeing all the sights and enjoying the terrible shape the Bolivian economy is in.
But for reasons that I still don´t really understand I´ve got to get to Lima faster than I originally thought. And that means running through Bolivia and Peru. Bolivia is truly a beautiful country, well atleast the parts of it that I´ve seen. It´s stuck right in the middle of the Andes mountain range and the Amazon jungle, and is home to the birthplace of the once great Incan Empire.
But even with these things going for it, Bolivia is the poorest country in South America and there is evidence of that everywhere you look. The people are generally pretty nice, which has actually been true of just about everywhere I´ve been. And based on the people I talked to they seem a little more optimisitic these days since they elected their latest President, Evo Morales.
Morales´ election is interesting for several reasons, but I find myself happy for the Bolivians because for the first time since the conquistador Pizarro ordered Atahualpa to be strangled an indigenous Andean is the head of state of this land. Given that something like 60% of Bolivia is ethnically categorized as indigenous I find this quite fascinating.
Actually Morales is the 2nd head of state in Latin America of indigenous ancestry, after his only real ally Hugo Chavez in Venezuela. And like Chavez, Morales rode to election victory by appealing to the downtrodden populus of his country and promising to defy the will of the latest would be conquistadors, the United States of America and especially our President George W. Bush.
Morales has already halted the coca erradication programs that Bolivia previously participated in and has nationalized his countries oil and gas supplies, although it remains to be seen what exactly that means. Given Morales´pedigree as a former coca-grower and current socialist none of this is too suprising.
And given my long standing history as a believer in the innate goodness of the free-market I initially felt disdain for all of this. But after talking with several Bolivians it´s hard not to sympathize with them.
They say that coca is a form of life in the harsh Andes. It helps the locals deal with the altitude, hunger and harsh weather or the this region. And just because the western world seems to love putting a refined by-product of a mostly harmless plant up their nose they don´t want have to have their lands poisoned and their way of life taken away from them.
They point to the ¨liberalization¨ of the 80´s forced upon them by the IMF and WorldBank, two institutions basically controlled by the US Government, and wonder how someone can justify the fact that the same conglomerate that forced their country to put all it had of value up for sale came and bought it that stuff on the cheap. So when Morales talks about nationalization, it resonates with the people. Even though they know they don´t have the money or expertise to truly control their own energy suplies.
Of course it´s tempting and even politically correct to point to the evil imperialists as the source of all the problems in South America, especially countries like Bolivia, but that neglects the fact that the people themselves seem to keep putting these charasmatic strong-men in charge, who lack any idealogy and inevitably degrade to being corrupted by their own power. Like most things I think the answer is not so simple that it can be summed up in the time I´m willing to devote to thinking about it.
I still believe in the power of the free-market. But sometimes I forget the inherent assumptions that underlie liberal economic theory. Economists tell us that the free-market leads to the most efficient distribution of goods assuming that all the players act rationally, perfect information is available and capital is readily available. Of course none of this holds true in the real world, and even less so in Bolivia.
Ultimately I think capitalism is a lot like democracy. The worst form of economy that exists, except all the others. I´m not sure where this leaves us, but as long as one sides continues to exploit the advantages they have, there will always be a backlash from the otherside who resents this and that will lead to what we have today. While Bolivia might not have any real ability to harm the mighty empire of the US of A, grudges last a long time and the death of a thousand pin-pricks is not any more desirable than going out with a bang.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Did you ever find what you were looking for?
Sometimes you hear a song or a new album by an artist you like and it just grabs you. It´s hot. It´s got it going on, and before you know it you´re head is bouncing and your feet are moving. But other times you hear something by a musician you thought you knew and loved, one you thought you understood and it´s completely unlike what you expected. You thought they were zigging and it turns out they were a-zagging. And you walk away confused not knowing what to think.
And sometimes that bit of art just sticks in the back of your mind. It just kinda eats away at you. And you go back to it time and time again and maybe what you think and feel changes with every listening. And you struggle with it, and you ponder about it, and when you least expect it a song jumps into your mind and you feel like maybe you have an idea of what they´re talking about, and it´s like you just heard it for the first time.
Lauryn Hill started out humbly before she exploded beyond belief. She and the Fugees broke all kinds of records, she killed us softly with that voice of hers. When she went solo she was still dropping killer beats and doing that thing she did. But you could kinda feel the change coming on. She sold millions or records and collected more than a handfull of Grammy´s.
But when she came out with her Unplugged 2.0 album it was entirely different than what I think anyone expected. Gone were the finely produced rhythms and enchanting vocals. It was just her and an acoustic guitar and her bracelet jangling along for accompanyment. Her voice cracked, her fingers missed the chords she was strumming, she stopped and started in the middle of songs and broke down and cried as she played. The lyrics were hard to follow, deep and introspective.
Critics and fans couldn´t agree on anything. Some piled on the critical praise, some though she must be having a nervous breakdown. But as I reflect on that album now I think it must be among the most courageous things any artist has ever put out. She wasn´t what she was supposed to be, she kept it real by ignoring everything everyone thought she should be doing and defining her own path.
That album is raw and open like Dylan´s ¨Blood on the Tracks¨ It´s defying the same way Beck´s ¨Sea Change¨was. It´s like when Bruce Springsteen went to Nebraska or when Cat Stevens gave up music altogether because he didn´t believe in it anymore. It´s like when Nirvana started the whole Unplugged trend by doing what they weren´t supposed to. Or like when Marvin Gaye asked What´s Going On, or Charlie Parker started playing with strings.
I haven´t heard much from Lauryn since that album came out. I don´t know what she´s up to, but I suspect she found that piece of mind she was looking for. And if not Lauryn, you know it´s just right there, all you gotta do is reach out and grab it.
Sometimes you hear a song or a new album by an artist you like and it just grabs you. It´s hot. It´s got it going on, and before you know it you´re head is bouncing and your feet are moving. But other times you hear something by a musician you thought you knew and loved, one you thought you understood and it´s completely unlike what you expected. You thought they were zigging and it turns out they were a-zagging. And you walk away confused not knowing what to think.
And sometimes that bit of art just sticks in the back of your mind. It just kinda eats away at you. And you go back to it time and time again and maybe what you think and feel changes with every listening. And you struggle with it, and you ponder about it, and when you least expect it a song jumps into your mind and you feel like maybe you have an idea of what they´re talking about, and it´s like you just heard it for the first time.
Lauryn Hill started out humbly before she exploded beyond belief. She and the Fugees broke all kinds of records, she killed us softly with that voice of hers. When she went solo she was still dropping killer beats and doing that thing she did. But you could kinda feel the change coming on. She sold millions or records and collected more than a handfull of Grammy´s.
But when she came out with her Unplugged 2.0 album it was entirely different than what I think anyone expected. Gone were the finely produced rhythms and enchanting vocals. It was just her and an acoustic guitar and her bracelet jangling along for accompanyment. Her voice cracked, her fingers missed the chords she was strumming, she stopped and started in the middle of songs and broke down and cried as she played. The lyrics were hard to follow, deep and introspective.
Critics and fans couldn´t agree on anything. Some piled on the critical praise, some though she must be having a nervous breakdown. But as I reflect on that album now I think it must be among the most courageous things any artist has ever put out. She wasn´t what she was supposed to be, she kept it real by ignoring everything everyone thought she should be doing and defining her own path.
That album is raw and open like Dylan´s ¨Blood on the Tracks¨ It´s defying the same way Beck´s ¨Sea Change¨was. It´s like when Bruce Springsteen went to Nebraska or when Cat Stevens gave up music altogether because he didn´t believe in it anymore. It´s like when Nirvana started the whole Unplugged trend by doing what they weren´t supposed to. Or like when Marvin Gaye asked What´s Going On, or Charlie Parker started playing with strings.
I haven´t heard much from Lauryn since that album came out. I don´t know what she´s up to, but I suspect she found that piece of mind she was looking for. And if not Lauryn, you know it´s just right there, all you gotta do is reach out and grab it.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Pain sure brings out the best in people, doesn´t it
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
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