Ferrari nu a pierdut vremea si a prezentat colectia de accesorii si obiecte promotionale care poarta numele celui mai recent model al scuderiei: California. Linia exclusiva contine tricouri, sepci, geci inscriptionate cu logo-ul Ferrari California, care se vand cu preturi cuprinse intre 35 si 158 dolari. "Cireasa de pe tort" sunt doua minimodele California lucrate manual si ancorate pe un soclu de piele. Rosii sau albastre, aceste doua delicii se vand cu 340 de dolari atat in varianta hard top, cat si open top.

The 70-year-old man stormed off after remonstrating with the cab driver about his parking early on Wednesday morning, said police in Limburg-Weilburg in western Germany.

Soon afterwards, he reappeared at the driver's office armed with a 24-inch machete and attacked the 60-year-old, who was taken to the hospital with head injuries.

The assailant fled the scene, but later gave himself up. He is likely to be charged with attempted homicide, police said.

Source

El trailer prometía y la película cumple bastante, sobre todo en ciertos aspectos. Si unos es consciente de lo que va a ver Tropic Thunder roza el notable. Los efectos especiales y ciertos planos aéreos son dignos de películas como Salvar al soldado Ryan o Apocalypse Now, a la que rinden homenaje. Tampoco se quedan cortos los efectos de sonido, la selección de la banda sonora y las interpretaciones de todos los actores (mención especial a la caracterización y papel de Tom Cruise). El único que no convence demasiado es Jack Black, cuyo papel se ha visto ya demasiado.

En cuanto al guión, la idea es interesante y bastante entretenida aunque la duración se presenta como principal inconveniente. Y es que últimamente las películas de humor (sobre todo las más absurdas como Casi 300 ) no pasaban de 80 minutos y Tropic Thunder dura casi dos horas, más de lo que cualquiera se espera. Algún tijeretazo en el metraje no hubiera venido mal.

Pero no todo son chistes fáciles. Ben Stiller se despacha a gusto burlándose del sistema de producción de las grandes películas americanas. Son muy interesantes ciertas reflexiones que se hacen, como las referentes a los Óscars a papeles de casi-retrasados como Forrest Gump (Tom Hanks), Rain Man (Dustin Hoffman) o Yo soy Sam (Sean Penn), que a pesar de su tono irónico son certeras cual Barret M95.

Otra cosa que llama la atención son los falsos trailers que aparecen al principio, que tienen como protagonistas a los actores fiticios que aparecen en Tropic Thunder, y muy en la línea de Machete, que apareció en Planet Terror (el segmento Grindhouse de Robert Rodríguez). Seguro que darán más de una idea a quienes se vayan a presentar al concurso de trailers Teaserland. Aquí tenéis Satan's Alley (con Robert Downey Jr y "el ganador de un Premio MTV al mejor beso", Tobey Maguire).

A modo de conclusión, Tropic Thunder es un película recomendable que mezcla humor absurdo (véanse los pedos de Mr. Black o el nombre de algunos personajes como Alpa Chino) pero que pone entre la espada y la pared el sistema de producción de películas de Hollywood. Resulta irónico que el propio film responda al star-system que tanto critica, pero esa es otra historia...

"Have you seen the butchering machete?"
Ten minutes later I´m holding on to the back of a trailer, gripping tightly because I´m balanced on one foot on a 4x2 inch piece of metal that juts out and the steep road that the tractor is descending is far from smooth. In the trailer stands Irene, with a bucket in her hand. The white plastic bucket contains a short brush and a little shovel. In her other hand she holds an orange handled machete.

Joe is on the front of the trailer, facing forwards, his arms wrapped around the metal bar behind him. No one talks as we bounce down the path. Apart from the engine, the only sound is the clicking of horse shoes against the trailer floor.

Once down the hill, we unload our cargo onto a space of grass. Past a small hedge of bushes the four ocelots prowl and further down the mountain, Pumara is howling. She is in heat and will do nothing but lie on a plank of wood, scratching her hind claws under her and crying out moans that male pumas apparently find irresistable in the wild. If we could see far enough, we could watch the four lions far below pacing their enclosure, back and forth, back and forth. At first glance you might think there were four females, but the large-muzzled maneless lion is actually a male who was castrated at a young age and lost the hormones neccesary for a mane. The other three lions are females. One has hypnotizingly large pupils. Forced to jump through hoops of fire, her retinas were destroyed and she is completely blind.

All the lions walk slightly strangely. Rescued from a circus, their front claws were ripped out and to avoid the agony, they learned to walk only on the back of their paws. The result of their maltreatment and their modified walking has also left them with damaged tendons and ligaments.

Down another path lives Brenda the jaguar. Kept as a freak show animal in a tiny cage and regularly abused by strangers, she hates humans. She is a beautiful animal, and her spotted coat really does shine, but her eyes are always angry.

Irene, Joe and I begin the morning by cleaning out the trap cage of one of the ocelot pairs. Crouching down, we pick up the remnants of their last feathered meal and any droppings. Joe makes the most of his supervisor status and earnestly claiming morning sickness, sits back and enjoys a cigarette. Once the ocelots have been taken care of, it is time to return to the grass.

Yesterday, a bull had run into a horse and killed it.

My very first job on my very first morning of my very first day was to butcher that horse.

Irene was in charge. Having worked at a wolf sanctuary, she was pretty much an expert at butchering deer. She started with a foreleg, following the muscles, Joe and I pulling on the leg to create tension and eventually pop the leg out of its joint. Irene finished cutting away the muscle and the hide and soon the leg lay a few feet away.

We worked steadily removing each of the legs in turn. Irene had some trouble findin the joint where the back leg met the hip and as she searched the intestines began to bulge out. Gigantic swollen balloons flopped out onto the grass, groaning and gurgling like the horse was still trying to digest its last meal.

After the legs, Joe began to cut down the centre of the horses belly. As Irene and I held the skin apart to give him better tension, Joe suddenly puncured the stomach. A wet gust of its contents sprayed over my face even as I instinctively turned away and shut my eyes. Irene and I finished the opening the chest as Joe hacked the head from the neck and the neck from the shoulders with the large machete.

We had the most trouble cutting the guts from the spine. Up to her elbows in blood, Irene fished about trying to organize the swollen intestines. I suggested that we lift the front part of the ribcage to let the blood and guts run down and make it easier to cut them away. Once the cold heap finally lay on the grass, the only task left was to split the ribcage into servable portions.

I had already done some knife work, but now I really had the chance to hack and saw my way through the hide, membrane, fat and muscle. As we were finishing the butchering, Joe was called away to lead a tour for the new volunteers who had just arrived. Irene and I were left to distribute the meat.

Although I had worn gloves during the butchering, it was a purely psychological aide. The gloves were old and full of holes and my hands were already covered in blood. From the force of the machete, flecks of blood and gore were speckled on my t-shirt, arms and hair. My jeans were soaked and the knees from kneeling by the carcus. If I thought the hardest part of the task was over, I was very very wrong.

The two young lions were the first to receive their meat. A brother and a sister, former circus animals who love eachother dearly and are ferociously protective of each other, they are known as the babies but are actually fully grown. I carried the horses neck in my arms as Irene dragged the rump by the tail along the rocky path, down the dirt steps and through the grass to the enclosure. Having succesfully moved the lions into one side of the cage, we dropped the door and placed the meat on the other side.

Each pair of ocelot received half or a third of a rib cage. These portions had to be carried ¨bloody hug¨style. With barely any hide left on my piece of ribs, as I held it to my body, I could feel the blood soaking into my t-shirt and skin. It felt like a cold, bloody hug.

The little ocelot received a third of a rib cage and Brenda had the head. (The ears make great handles.) The three pumas also had ribs, which left the guts and the legs. Four legs for four hungry lions.

There can be nothing more backbreaking than carrying a horse´s leg over your shoulder, up a steep and rocky mountain with the horse´s own liver draped over its ankle. But that´s what I had to do. I don´t mean a pony´s leg up a little path, this was a large horse´s leg up a mountain at an altitude of almost 3000 meters. Climbing one of the flights of stairs cut through the brush is hard enough empty handed, this was a whole new catagory of endurance. My muscles, lungs and heart soon proved utterly inadequate, only will power forced me and my horse´s limb and liver to the top.

The drama did not end once we made it to the lions. Having separated the blind lion from the three others we gave out the legs. Unfortunately, the blind lion carried her leg straight into the electric fence (vital for our safety) and dropped it in fright. The leg fell into a dip under the electric wire and she was too nervous to try and get it.

Now we had to find a way to get her back into the other half of the cage so that Joe could go into the cage and retrieve the leg. Once this was done , using the horse´s liver as encouragement, we opened the dividing door and instead of the blind lion going back, the other three silly lions all rushed through. As the blind one is clearly skinnier than the others, we just shut the door and allowed her to enjoy three legs unharrassed. Of course, we let the others back in later to have their fill, and as the horse meat was only a lucky bonus, all the carnivores also received their regular ration of chickens.

In comparison to my morning´s labour, my afternoon spent cleaning the small birds´cages was almost like a nap. Well, not quite. To clean the cages you have to first get in them. As the door to one of them is only 1x3/4 ft, it´s not that roomy and as only the wood slats can support your weight, you discover you can bend in ways that never seemed possible before.

After a rewarding first day, Ariana, Sophia and I cooked rice and bean sauce for dinner. Not understanding just how much a kilo of rice is when cooked, we put it all in the water and could have supplied the entire volunteer population with dinner. Luckily we were all starving and had fun trying to plan the next few dinner, all of which would clearly focus on rice.

Anyway, although I did my best, I was physically unable to write more than a couple papagraphs in my journal. I was tired, but it wasn´t that I was too tired to write, my arm, back and neck muscles were all too sore to permit me to properly control a pen. As a result, I´m finishing this Wednesday night. Despite the delay, I can remember every detail from that day because every single part was incredible. I really didn´t know what I had got myself into when I said yes to Dalma about being comfortable with cutting up a horse, but I´m so glad I did. The strangest things can change you. One day at Santa Martha and I´m not the person I was before.

Made as a spoof trailer for the Grindhouse films, 'Machete' received such a good reception that Robert Rodriguez decided to make a feature length film based on the trailer. Originally intended as a straight to DVD release, it is now rumored to be getting a cinema release.  

Its currently in production and I can't wait to see the finished product..

UPDATE: Man I check this thing today and check out that projected path. Does New Orleans ever catch a break?

I can't imagine that path couldn't be more focused on South Florida. Being a Miami resident all my life, I have been through my share of hurricanes. We all remember Hurricane Andrew, which ate Homestead, FL like it was a bowl of corn flakes with extra Splenda. Then of course came Tropical Storm Katrina...we all know how that turned out. Soon after that we had Hurricane Wilma, who picked up a tree and hurled it down to my driveway, collectively damaging all the cars. Though Hurricane Wilma was an important storm, because it taught me something. Never doubt 3 Cubans with machetes.

Not a day after the storm had passed, that tree was neatly segmented on the ground using nothing but sharp blades and elbow grease. Having had no power for weeks, we poured out all our frustrations on the tree. Our nagging family members, our days without TV or music, our need for a hot shower and a cold pillow. Ike, as with other hurricanes, will takes us along on its magic carpet ride of destruction. But we shall weather it like we have weathered all others. We are Cubans. And We have machetes. 

Quando la figlia undicenne di Antonio Gomez iniziò a lamentarsi per i dolori addominali, il padre ne attribuì la causa alla “stregoneria” del suo vicino evangelico.

Gomez, del villaggio di Jolitontic, municipalità di Chalchihuitan, stato federale del Chiapas, ha riunito sette uomini per assassinare la famiglia del presunto colpevole. Secondo l’accusa dopo la mezzanotte del 23 agosto hanno assassinato i genitori e il figlio maggiore e ferito a colpi di machete sei bambini.

Secondo il procuratore della Giustizia Indio Mariano Lopez Perez i vicini consideravano il padre della famiglia assalita, Pedro Gomez Diaz come “un evangelico molto impegnato a pregare” e la sua famiglia non era dedita a pratiche esoteriche.

Il quotidiano Cuarto Poder, con sede a Tuxtla Gutierrez riferisce che gli otto uomini accusati del massacro della famiglia di Jolitontic sono detenuti nella prigione di San Cristobal de las Casas, in attesa di giudizio.

fonte articolo porte aperte italia

This is the picture of the day. It's my booface Jenn Ayala. This is how I roll and who I roll with so for any potential haters: come correct cause we be armed with machetes, ya diiiiiiig?

Nace TEASERLAND, un festival de teaser trailers de películas inexistentes. El objetivo no es otro que el de generar en el espectador interés hacia la futura película através de un pequeño collage de imágenes . Quizás, inspirado por piezas como las que acompañaban a Grindhouse (Machete de Robert Rodríguez, Thanksgiving de Eli Roth, Werewolf Women of the SS de Rob Zombie o Don't de Edgar Wright) el cineasta de Lleída, Jaume Balagueró se ha convertido en el impulsor de este festival tan peculiar. Las condiciones del mismo permiten presentarse a cualquiera que tenga una pieza de un máximo de 90 segundos, 100% original y grabada con cualquier tipo de cámara. El plazo de entrega de los trailers comienza el 15 de Septiembre y terminará el 31 de Diciembre. El premio 30.000 euros para realizar un cortometraje. Una sorprendente iniciativa en la pensamos participar y a la que ya se han sumado directores de prestigo como el propio Balagueró, Isabel Coixet, Juan Antonio Bayona o José Corbacho.

Roughly described, a machete is a very long, heavy knife.  It’s made in varying sizes and designs.  A very popular blade size is one that is usually 18” in length, 2 and a quarter inches in width and just a few millimeters thick.  They’re not too short and have good weight on them.    

In third world countries, the machete is often as valuable as a sharp knife.  It’s actually used as a knife, a cleaver, a splitter, even a butcher’s knife to mention a few.  You’d be hard pressed to find a household without one.  It is truly fantastic when it isn’t being abused as a weapon.      

Just in case you’re not sure, the swing when using a machete is very simple.  Bring your arm up to just beside or behind your ear.  Your elbow should be sticking outwards and to the side at shoulder level.  Your forearm should be on the same line as where you want the machete to land.  This can serve as a guide until you get the hang of it.  Bring your arm down forcefully and do a snap as you chop.  The point of contact on your machete should be midway along the blade length.  Please, firmly warn any person following you to stay at least 10 feet behind you.  (Just imagine!)  The tip should never be used as part of a chop.  It’s usually only used for piercing, poking, jabbing or as an extension of your hand.

When clearing a path through jungles, there are recommended swings for specific types of targets.

▪  Succulent or frail vegetation can be smacked away by cutting sideways or by swiping upwards.  Most of the time, you can just duck or pivot and save your energy for the tough stuff.

▪  If you’re cutting tall grass, reeds or anything similar in structure, cut downward at a 45 degree angle.  Do this just above waist level where you won’t need to stoop.  If the vegetation is towering, you might decide to just cleave your way through using your arms. 

▪  If you’re cutting tough rubbery vines, try to avoid swinging away at them.  Use your free hand to gather as much as possible and then chop at an angle a foot in front of your hand holding the vines.  This way, you won’t have to hack three times to sever one vine.  Some jobs just aren’t easy.

▪  If a long branch is hanging down into your path, chop at it from the topside of the branch.  Again, use a 45 degree angle from the branch surface.

▪  When you come up on very slim tree trunks or really sturdy bushes, you’ll need to make a judgment call.  You’ll need to decide on whether you should exert the energy to remove it or whether you should just go around it, under it or over it.  When in doubt, and even if the doubts are frequent, pass them by.

When you’re in a dense jungle, and you’ve got a long way to go, your champion is a machete.  It cuts just about anything.  And if you haven’t gotten clear when approaching dusk, your machete can cut and shape wood, help to make twine for you to quickly build a temporary shelter.  It’ll cut firewood.  It’ll cut fruits, nuts and even enable you to catch wild game, if you’re able.  It can even help you to fish, if you’d like.  The possibilities are many.

If I ever had to coordinate a survival gear package, the machete would be a guaranteed inclusion.  It’s difficult to think of another tool that could do as many things for you in the situations which call for it.  When you’re surrounded by dense undergrowth for miles in every direction, nothing can outperform the magnificent machete.  Just you believe it.

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Len Q. is a master blade sharpener and an adventurer who strives to protect the natural world.  If you would like to learn about

            ▪  Knife Sharpening:  How to Sharpen Knives, Maintain and Store Them

            ▪  Tests for Sharpness, Steeling, Stropping and more

            ▪  Sharpening Other Blade Edges

               (i.e. Chain Saws, Gardening Tools, Axes)

            ▪  Maybe you’d like a Free Guide:  Sharpening Lawn Mower Blades

Find it here at www.MakeKnivesSharp.com 

We are now prototyping a new life management system codenamed RabbitScore. Be advised that it is highly addictive and you may even achieve your dreams, find true love and happiness. You can also eat as much chocolate as you want. RabbitScore will solve all your problems and give you answers, trill answers to life's toughest questions. From "where should we go eat dinner tonight?" to "why am I here?", RabbitScore can answer them all. We're considering a sliding scale payment scheme, so we can take money from the rich and the poor.

I'm so excited! I can't wait to talk about RabbitScore at the office. Ughh machete face!

P = R / C, always

Today the audition is for a dramatic role. No stunts, no acrobatics. Stunts are a lot easier than drama, and safer.

Part 1: The Monologue

It's a fun crew, and we chat for a while, but now it's time to get down to it. At the director's request, I've prepared a 90-second monologue.

Here's how this sort of thing goes: You shake hands and make smalltalk, then you sit in the hot seat, clear your throat, and they start the camera.

...and then everyone gets quiet and looks at you, just the same way you look at a spider when you're deciding whether to kill it, put it outside, or just watch while the cat eats it. Sometimes they even roll up the script.

I've adapted some lines from Dr. Reinhardt in The Black Hole. In retrospect, something from Young Frankenstein would have been a much better choice.

Part 2: The Screaming

For the second part, we're working from the script.

(Note: To respect the secrecy of the production, I'll change the type of weapon involved, and also the type of fruit.)

In this scene, the character contorts his face, weeping in pain and anguish and fear, and screaming the word "PINEAPPLE!!" while a very beautiful, very scantily-clad woman threatens his life with a machete.

No, I'm not kidding.

Yes, it's fun. This kind of thing hardly ever happens at work.

There actually is a beautiful (though respectably dressed) woman, which is helpful. The character is supposed to be thinking "How did I get myself into this?" and that's funny, because I'm thinking that anyway.

The chance of getting this role is slim (about 1 in 12 or so), but that doesn't matter. The audition alone was well worth the time, and I'm done screaming for the whole week.

As I'm leaving, another machete-girl walks in, and takes a seat in front of the camera.

Random assertion: Some days it's useful to broaden your sense of what's normal.

Steganographic data: 1808/2.1

Top of Mind: Posicionamiento (positioning), según el vocabulario de términos publicitarios, es la palabra que designa al deseo concreto de una empresa para situar su marca y su imagen dentro de un segmento concreto del mercado, por medio de una percepción previamente establecida. Se dice que este termino fue acuñado por Al Ries y Jack Trout en 1982. Pero el posicionamiento no se refiere al producto, sino a lo que se hace con la mente de los probables clientes; posicionar es crear ese algo en la mente, teniendo en cuenta que lo que la mente recibe por primera vez se graba allí y no se borra.

Bien, cultura con sabrosura.
Ahora, en RD esa estrategia ha funcionado, y creanme, los ejemplos son infinitos.
Lo extraño es que el ´Top of Mind´ en nuestro pais, funciona como al revés. Lo lógico, es que si ud tiene un producto en mente como el preferido, acá en cualquier establecimiento, a ud le dan lo que sea y ud lo toma gustosamente.
Por ejemplo...

* Si buscas detergente, de seguro eliges una funda de ACE.
* Al pedir una Coca Cola, no es extraño que te vendan una Pepsi o Kola Real.
* Para afeitarte, no dudas en usar una Gillete.
* Las mujeres embellecen sus uñas con Cuté.
* Al cambiar un pañal, siempre se utiliza un Pamper.
* Para sorber un refresco, lo usual es utilizar un Calimete.
* Un Kotex, hace más fácil los días difíciles de una chica.
* Al pensar en Goma de Mascar, deseamos masticar un Chiclet.
* Para celebraciones especiales, nunca falta el Champagne.
* En horas de hambre meridiana, lo más rápido es meterse un McDonald.
* Sin importar que existan los pica pollo chinos o pollos victorina, es más fácil referirse a un Kentucky.
* Para informarnos con prensa escrita, era muy habitual pedir un Caribe.
* Un jardin descuidado, es que tiene necesidad de un Machete o colín (Collins).
* Para la playa o una juntadera de la universidad, las pastas (Espaguettis) son de Milano.
* En cualquier picadera con galletas saladas, nunca falta una Guarina.

Tomen en cuenta, que cada uno de los productos mencionados anteriormente, los he referido por nombres de marcas, pero nuestra mente, dá por sentado que ese es el producto en sí. Curioso no?
Eso es Top of Mind.

pb

Aproape pierd trenul. In gang, e un tip ciudat. Se uita in vitrina magazinului cu cutite si "machete" si bastoane telescopice.

Il depasesc. Dau muzica mai incet in casti si aud pasi.

Imi scot incet clama din par.

Vine si-mi pune mana la gura.

Ma intorc, speriata, si ma sperii si mai tare de privirea lui.

Se uita la mine ca si cum ar vrea sa ma devoreze.

Incerc sa-l lovesc, sa-l musc, sa-l imping.

E puternic.

Ma linge pe fata si saliva lui miroase puternic a alcool.

Ma intorc brusc si il scuip in ochi.

Ramane socat si se da un pas in spate. Se apropie iar si cand mana lui dreapta se infige in parul meu, mana mea dreapta ii infige clama in gat.

Sangele tasneste in toate directiile. Ma murdaresc de sange.

Ma duc la politie si le spun tot. De atunci, clamele au devenit arme albe.

If you´ve answered the latter to all these questions, you´re probably in Irshim, the most remote post of the Fundecoipa volunteer program, where Sam and I have spent this week, toiling and toiling until our litlte bodies are bent, battered and broken.  

Even the journey to Irshim was far from straightforward, and frankly, a bit of a trial. Following a spectacular thunderstorm the night before, the trail from our base at Arutam to our new home was drowned in knee-deep mud, and it took us double the usual two hours to hike/crawl it with our backpacks. Just to make me feel better, on the way we saw some sort of enormous, blind, grey snake that lives underground (that is a MASSIVE KILLER WORM, my friends. Grosser than gross.) 

When we arrived we knew we were in for an experience. The community at Irshim is just one family; tribal chief Jorge, who satisfyingly looks exactly the part with his long hair, hairband and collection of ancient Shuar myths, his lovely wife, and impossibly cute bunch of kids including 5 year old Lisa, 7 year old Reina, and 10 year old Doris. (I know, I didn´t think that was a particularly tribal name, either... ). There is no electricity, and no running water. We were ´welcomed´ by a huge bowl of chicha - the drink made of upchucked yucca. Sam, who is clearly some sort of I´m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here heroine in disguise, finished hers and my own when the family weren´t looking...

The volunteer quarters, located a 20 minute walk away from the main house along a treacherous path, are as far from, for example, Malmaison, as it´s possible to get. See above for description of the beds... And if we thought there hadn´t been quite enough work for us at Arutum, we were about to find out quite how much physical activity our bodies were capable of. After we´d ´settled in´ we trekked back to the main house, where we ate all our meals, and were given our work. Stupidly, even though I was so tired I could hardly see straight, I volunteered to go and pick some bananas (plantains really) for dinner. Almost an hour later, covered in mud due to the fact that my legs could hardly hold me up any longer, we arrived at the plantation, after crossing raging rivers on felled tree-trunks and picking our way through various swamps, all under the blazing Ecuadorian sun.

Over the next four days, I worked harder than I ever have in my life - and have the machete blisters on my hands to prove it. Blisters which were dressed by Jorge with a plant that acts as a natural disinfectant, natch. Painful? Only a lot.

We de-barked entire tree trunks to make supporting beams for a new hut. We dragged those beams accross streams and up muddy hills (mud, as you can see featured PROMINENTLY this week). We (ok, Sam and the boys, not me, as such - no wonder my girlf´s hands are way more battered than mine...), chopped down trees with an axe. We (and this does include me) stripped those trees apart. (I *may* have sliced my welly in two with my machete. My foot was unaffected. If wet and muddy for the next few days...) We carried huge bamboo-shoots from an implausibly far away location back to the volunteer hut to make shelves for future (masochistic) volunteers. We cleared huge swathes of jungle weed to make room to replant new trees and crops. Dirt, you are my new clothes, covering every bit of my body. Mosquitos, I am indeed your food.

Despite losing blood and sweat in copious amounts, the pendulum landed just on the side of fun. It was fascinating to see how these people live, without any of the comforts we take for granted. And Jorge, in the flickering glow of a candle at night, imparted Shuar stories and ancient myths which brought the entire history of the culture to life. And it´s clearly part of his vision to do just that. As well as the stories, we were treated to a sports afternoon. As recently as 70 years ago, the Shuar, one of the most vicious tribes in South America, were involved in various wars, and the games we indulged in were once the stuff of serious fighting. We competed to see who could throw the lance the furthest, battled with hugely heavy shields to protect us and were shown a kids game curiously similar to dreidel.

That same night, Jorge organised a cultural evening for us. He played traditional Shuar songs on the flute, guitar, AND violin (is there no end to his talents?), and forced three of his kids to show us some traditional dancing. Once they got over their embarrassment, it was less embarassing for us! Until we were asked to join in that is... the site of 7 huge (compared to the Shuar) westerners attempting a delicate jumping dance is one that, unfortuanately, will stay with me forever... And when we were asked to impart some sort of cultural dance or performance to them, what do you think we chose?

That´s right, the okey kokey. If there is anything more surreal than teaching members of a tiny Ecuadorian jungle tribe how to put their right arm in, right arm out, not to mention shake it all about, in a wooden hut by the light of two tiny candles I would like to see it. Although maybe I did a couple of nights later... (stay tuned, readers...)

The food in Irshim, I´m pleased to report, was a step up from that at Arutam. Of course, there was the usual glut of almost inedibly boiled plantain, but alongside it we were treated to, for example, chicken, onions and palm hearts direct from a tree we had just felled , wrapped in leaves and boiled.

After 5 days there, however, we were all a little relieved to make our way back to Arutam, where we had beds with mattresses, occasional electricity, and what´s more, an actual shower. Ahhh, how inviting seemed our concrete shower block with its freezing water and walls covered in insects... It was officially the weekend, so we could have run off to Banos or Puyo, nearby towns which sell delicacies such as pizza, but we had a prior arrangement. With a shamen.

Yes, the latest in our list of  *high*ly cultural experiences was to partake in the ancient jungle ceremony of taking natural hallucenogenic plant ayahuasca. We had arranged with Ernesto, the chief of Arutam, to meet with the shaman who would bless us all and give (ok, sell) us the concoction. Before drinking it, we had to fast for most of the day (possibly we didn´t manage this...) as a side effect is copious vomting. It is fair to say that between the seven of us, we got ourselves a little worked up at the process. The shaman arrrived at the volunteer house at around 8pm, along with Ernesto, and a few of the others from the tribe. Disappointingly, he was dressed in unremarkable slacks and a t-shirt. Where was the long flowing white hair and caftan I had been expecting? In my imagination only, I guess. Also slightly disappointing was that he didn´t talk to us at all about the experience; I was after some sort of explanation about the ceremony itself, things we could expect, and why the plant is so important in the Shuar culture. But it wasn´t to be - and maybe that was more authentic. After all, he gave no explanataions to the other members of the tribe who imbibed with us, and his modern clothing underlined the fact that this is a very normal experience for them, that it goes on in modern times and isn´t some sort of ancient rite brought back to life merely for tourists.

We sat in a circle around a table with the lights turned low. The shaman drunk the concoction first, and after half an hour began muttering and singing in a strange, high voice, his leg shaking violently against the table. One by one, we were poured a tiny glass, over which the shaman performed some sort of benediction, breathing in and out over it, before we were commanded to drink. Nervous and giggly, we waited. And one by one, we started to feel the effects. First of all I was suddenly very light headed. The next stage was vomiting - apparently it happens to almost everyone and really cleans out the system (maybe that´ll be goodbye to my evil La Paz tummy bug then...). I was lucky - and only felt/was sick for about fifteen minutes, whereas poor Catherine and Veronica (Vevomica more like) spent most of the evening heaving their guts up. Once the puke was out, things turned a hazy shade of strange. The shadows morphed into people, hiding behind non-existent fences or giggling somewhere over my shoulder. The trees looked became an enchanted forest. My movements were all incredibly heavy, and at one point all I wanted to do was lie on my back and gaze at the trees and  stars. At one point every movement caused light trails to shoot from my hands. Sam saw spiders and snakes and various lizards, but my ´trip´wasn´t as intense as that.

All in all, it was pretty fun, and wore off after a couple of hours, leaving us all very giggly. I get the feeling from their reactions that some of the other volunteers had a stronger, more hallucenogenic experience than I did.

The following day, feeling perhaps unsurprisingly hungover, we set off for Puyo, a little town on the edge of the jungle to satisfy our craving for any food that isn´t plantain. The little hotel we found even had cable tv, and my fave channel, Sony Entertainment Television. Not to mention E! and MTV....

Next week we´re back in Arutam, for a bit of a break. And after that, it´s back to how we used to roll: long bus rides, beautiful beaches, ancient cities and rowdy hostels...

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What’s really important?
What’s ferris wheel?

A DeBeers diamond
only holds meaning
to the beholder.
Bottom line:
I’m robbed by gravel name.

Hair! Who the hair cares!?
I don’t want hairin’ gravel blood
forever engraved on our ring.
I am not a walking billboard.

And what if I lose it?
Then it’s paperclip.
But I could never paperclip love.

I own this love;
we own this love;
we will never paperclip this love.