You could never imagine the places that buying a bus will take you.

As we drove south of the city, to Guamani, the fifth place we had gone, we hoped that after all of our search we would finally find a bus. We had no luck yet, but we remained hopeful.
The further south we went buildings seemed a bit more decrepid, some were mere concrete structures with no roofs and others just shadows of buildings that once were, torn paint and whithered metal roofs. It was sunday, so most businesses were closed and normal families weren´t wandering the streets. They were probably at home sharing meals and beers with family and friends. Trash lined the banks of the worn avenue. Our driver called headquarters repeatedly trying to figure out the way as Alaena questioned his speed and Alex and I sat quietly observing.
As our collective nervousness came to a boil, we finally turned down a side street and begin to go up. We came to the climax of the hill, people lined the streets, women, children, street vendors, skinny homeless dogs and cats. We paid the driver and got out of the car. Chaos surrounded us and we walked towards it with confidence and the giant lot of cars revealed itself.
This was what we were all looking for. We had all pictured it to look like this, a lot of cars as far as the eyes could see, music blaring out of every car as their owners sat motionless in the front seat waiting for a bidder, hundreds of people wandering, inspecting, restaurants thrown together with bamboo, tarps, plastic tables, chairs, and whole deep fried pigs sitting on the front table enticing the hungry. This was it. But where were the busses in this merky, chaotic sea of vendors, customers and creatons.
We searched. In the distance one of us spotted a bus. We walked towards it. We came to a smaller lot full of busses and trucks. The excitement we had with the initial idea resurfaced and we all lit up.
There it was white, blue and black. The perfect size, the perfect price, the perfect moment at the perfect time in all of our lives. The only time that we could ever consider this idea, put all the work we had into it, and believe in each other and the idea so completely. The time before any of us had become jaded with time, failure, success, and stagnation. A time that we believed in and wanted. And I know that even if we don´t succeed, we had already lived our adventurous future, maybe only in our heads, thousands of times this past week. I can always think back on the time we wanted to drive a bus around South America and I will know to myself that we did it, regardless of whether we buy it or not, because of the strength of our belief and imaginations. Wait...then we have to buy the fucking bus becuase if we don´t everything I just said was bullshit.

Going into business

I met some people. We´re going to start a business. We will buy a bus and travel around Ecuador searching for the fountain of youth. The bus is going to have a virgin mary naked holding her tits airbrushed on the hood, and The Gypsy Train in old English letters down the side. It will be black so no one can see it at night. It will be equipped with bunks in the back and seats in the back. Maybe a gun tourette on top. We will be drunk a lot and climbing lots of mountains. It will be the single greatest thing to ever happen to me.

Fans, I wish I could bring you with me, but the bus we´re going to buy only sits eight. There´s no way I can fit half, or more, of the United States in my bus. So I am having a contest. Please send a self addressed envelope with an essay saying why you deserve to ride my bus over everyone else to my mother. Why are you so special? I know most of you aren´t very special and that´s why you will lose, but I know that its statistically impossible that you are all losers. The trip only includes the chance to ride the bus, it does not include airfare, lodging, food or anything else. It will cost around 7000 dollars. Just make the check payable to the Gypsy Train LLC.

The Gringo Happy Trail

Last year I traveled throughout Latin America and I started this blog. I wanted to write a story a week. I failed. So the three previous blog entries are from last years trip which wasn¨t more than a mere adolescent masturbation. However, that masturbation taught me a valuable life lesson: dont fall in love or you'll end up picking cranberries in Central Wisconsin then moving to Colorado to host hard-boiled egg eating contests.
What I'm trying to say, oh darling reader, is that I am sorry for leaving you outside in that cold dusty wind. What did you do without those posts that I never finished or even really started. You couldn't know happiness because I couldn't write it for you. Look into your cold, black hearts to forgive me. Come on. You can forgive me. You've done worse before.