Hiking for Amateurs, and other Assorted Thought-Forms

I woke up half an hour before my alarm yesterday, a 3 a.m. stillbirth into a world that roiled uneasily like bad food in a colon. Roosters were pealing a Mexican-wave cacophany over the mountains a few hours earlier than they should have been. What was that all about? I didn't have to wonder for long. The childlike screams of pigs being slaughtered at the local butchery began not long after those preemptive roosters, and lasted for about fifteen minutes. Their lives guttered out unwillingly, like dropped candlewicks. Dogs all over town went bananas for the duration of the killings, whining and barking and fuck knows what they were saying but it felt like all the dogs and roosters were just as disgruntled as I was, drawing in breaths of cold sharp air while life was knifed from pigs in such close proximity.

This could be pure conjecture on my part, trying to make a story out of everything I observe, but it seems to me that the roosters responded to the fear and other emotions of those pigs lining up for the smackdown before they'd even screamed.

I don't think there's anything wrong with eating meat for those people who do it. Do carrots suffer any less just because I don't hear them scream? I don't know the answer to that. Plants are certainly conscious, as anyone's who has communed with a flower or tree could attest to. These beings haven't lost their connection to all that is and all that they are. It is not the eating of meat or plants that is an issue. I think the way in which humans in large-scale societies are removed from the processes involved in producing food on the whole is, however, a Really Big Issue. If we never hear the screams of the animals who become steaks, it certainly gets a lot easier to mindlessly throw down chunks of flesh without gratitude for the life that was sacrificed. Same goes for plants. If we're not involved in the growth and harvest then it's much easier to eat mindlessly, without gratitude for everything that goes into the end product that is a meal. Is it such a coincidence that there are so many different nutrition-based sicknesses in western society? If the food is grown unconsciously, harvested unconsciously, killed and eaten unconsciously, the nutritional value is significantly mitigated by the hazy intention of the whole food chain we've created.

Here is some real food, grown in real dirt with real hands and real hearts. Small scale farming is the way forward.

It's important to be a part of the life of the things we eat. It is important to be conscious of the screams of pigs. Wrapping slabs of pork in plastic on a styrofoam tray disconnects us from the entire process and it's little wonder we forget how much is good to eat, what is good to eat, when it's good to eat. We need to touch the dirt, hold the knife, measure the life in our hands and to be conscious of our connection to it.

So this is actually a blog about my first guided hike up a mountain dubbed 'Indian's Nose' for its likeness to Indigenous anatomy. In order to hit the precipice of yon nose to see the sunrise I needed to catch a chicken bus at 3.30am to the outskirts of the town slumbering beneath the mountain. They're called chicken buses because livestock commonly ride on them, but I also like to think it's because the motors of these buses are measured in chickenpower not horsepower. These are seriously ancient buses, only just grunting up the mountains and threatening to blow out any second. After the fifteen minute chorus of animal suffering which was my alarm, I stumbled out onto the street to catch the bus in a pretty weird headspace. I felt like I was in the movie 'Dark City', which is one of my fave flicks..watch it! The crunking wheezing sounds of the bus coming up the hill for me enhanced the dark city experience, as did all the dogs standing awkwardly in the street having some strange silent dominance stand-off with each other. The weird lighting in the street iced the dark city cake. I was going to have a dark city day, clearly.

I stumbled quite a few times up Indian's Nose, because as it turns out a phone doesn't offer much torchlight and the world is really dark before sunrise. My guide Samuel (pronouced Shamwell) didn't stumble once despite having no light. I am constantly reminded of how disconnected I have become as a result of my reliance upon communication devices and the other trappings of urban living. It was all totally worth it anyway. Just as we spidered up the last rock crest, Volcano Fuego let off a plume of thick grey smoke, a little digestive rumbling to begin the waking of the world. Early-bird fisherman left stretchmarks across the belly of the lake as their boats rowed to premium pastures of plenty. We had the mountain to ourselves to watch the sun lick the mountain crests like a cow welcoming her miracle of cowbreath and rubbery legs into the world.

one does not simply walk into Mordor without a machete or a cowboy hat...

We took the long way home after scuttling up the easier side of the mountain to say hi to the sun. My legs were rubbery as a newborn calve's by the time I got home for a quick nap to rejuvenate for spanish class. Samuel took me through a Mayan cave hidden in the neck of one mountain...a hiding place from the Spanish conquistadors back in the day. True to form my photo is awful, although no photo could capture the full rabbit-warren we stooped through. I think it's awesome that Guatemalans primarily speak their Indigenous tongues, and only make do with the very basics of Spanish...flipping the bird in passive resistance to that urge for dominance which seems to be inherent in the self-same cultures that are to be held responsible for strangling the planet today. White kids gotta learn.

Another interesting observation I just made this morning - banker rhymes with wanker in English. Cajero (Cash outlet) also rhymes with pajero (wanker) in Spanish. Good times...

And speaking of tossers, here is Mr. Turkeypants the finger biter. Jokes...I love the little bastard even though he is well-skilled at biting fingers within a 50cm radius of his fence.

Here is our most regular customer at The Fifth Dimension. Introducing Colonel Custard, overachieving at life since whenever. This week we had a seedy poker night and tomorrow night some beer-pong competition is going down. Colonel Custard will likely be participating.