This blog's for ME

Almost 25 years old, asking my parents if I can sleep in their bed with them. I had thought I was going to be the 25th Prime Minister of Canada. Things had changed. 10 years later, I was still a scared little boy. The time had come to slap myself awake. One Saturday morning, November 19th, 2009, I declared to the world I would be riding my 10 year-old motorcycle from Vancouver, BC Canada to Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, and back.

The official departure was August 28th, 2010. A group of well-wishers saw me off at 8:03 am.

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro around 6 pm March 1st, 2011.



My return to Vancouver came on July 5th, 2011 about 2:00 pm.

Drug & alcohol abuse, ADD, social anxiety, health, chronic pain, night terrors.

So many concerns. But I am far more interested in this question: Do I have the capacity to make this trip despite all my shortcomings?

My mission: To inspire myself to face my fears, enlighten myself on how all living things can peacefully co-exist, enjoy every moment, and see the world as plentiful and generous.

Go ahead. Call me crazy. Call me anything you like.

I'm out to save my world.



I LOVE YOU ALL



Questions, comments, concerns, threats? Contact me: jason.chapman99@gmail.com


Anxious to Get Going



Despite hustling back from the shit hole of Colon with $800 in hand, Captain Jack was no where to be found. He had decided to venture to Panama City in hopes of attracting at least one more traveller on our boat to make it a bit more worthwhile of a trip. This meant another night at the hostel, which could have been worse, with a young Canadian bartender I nicknamed Dilly Bar at the helm slinging Cuba Libres. They have a great bar game there involving a hook on the wall, and a ring on a string. This thing was the hit of the party and I got pretty good at it to the point it would only take me a couple tries and I would have it swung and hung onto the wall. I even hit it a couple times in a row a few times. More Canadiana: the massive timber sitting in the middle of their patio was harvested underwater by an enterprising Canadian selling them for $10,000a piece and taken from the flooded area resulted from the creation of the Panama Canal. Finally, there was a string of world flags in the main area and not one Canadian that I could see so I made up for that by stringing about 20 of ‘em across the ceiling. This was one of the gifts mom and jod had sent me in a care package received in San jose, Costa Rica. ¿Overkill>? Nnnaaaahhhh........



Captain Jack

absolutely no ferry in colon despite AAA map saying so. Ended up in Portabello, where 2 families were killed by mudslides this week..... tragic. Had to go all the way back today for cash and tried 4 different banks finally success and $800 later we should be boarding a boat for Columbia in an hour or so. Captain Jack will have me as a crew and our boat is called Fantasy, known better for its role in the 70s show Fantasy Island. well be pallet wrapping the bike and putting onto the boat deck. first is san blas island where the indigenous people have lived relatively the same for thousands of years, then Sepsura with a necessary 2nd boat to take me to Targo or something. andy and i are still 45 minutes away from the hostel and theyre waiting. hope to say hi again in 5 to 7 days

http://www.captainjackvoyages.com/contactus.html

Colon


With conflicting views whether there was a ferry to Cartagena Columbia I decide to go into Colon anyways, winding through streets that look like they've been bombed. I luck out and find a cafe to relieve my bloated bladder, and an official looking guy walks out, and I promptly ask him where the ferry is, if it exists. He sent me on my way, and with 2 other helpers found my way to the Raddison, where the local kids resort to rollerblades to get around. So, I am now looking for this ferry, and if I find it, I will be on it for the next 3 days. Love to all.

Everybody's got a story that will break your heart!

Blowing Over

The Policia, with his stern face, gave away some resemblance of humanity when I looked into his eyes. Perhaps this assisted in a positive final outcome. Out of nowhere, at around 7 pm, red pylons show up on the left hand side of the road, and a Policia is standing there in his dark green fatigues and cap. He proceeds to show me his radar, clocked at 76. Limit on the non-existent sign (or a sign that, like other signs here have been worn down to braille) was 60. Three other plainsclothes were there as well, and the one asked me for my passport to which I responded "why are you wearing regular clothes?" to which he promptly unzipped his nike sweater and pulled out ID. The Policia and I walk together into the square office, thankfully getting away from the crowd of others, and I'm definitely feeling the heat in this place right out of the third world. Wires hanging out of the walls, a small desk with antiquated paperwork and books on top. He opens his book to show the fine for speeding: $50. Okay. I got too close.

1/2 hour before, I almost dropped the bike to stop at a place with xmas lights thinking I could grab a bite, only to find they sold alcohol only. Well, what to do? Have a cuba libre, and try one of the local drinks. 2 total. He smelt it on my breath.

So, he pulls out the breathalyzer, an experience to wreak havoc on any Canadian's state of mind. It takes forever and numerous attempts, as he shows me how to breath properly into it. Finally, he gets the reading he wants, and shows it to me: 8. Whatever that meant, he was soon getting quite agitated; we were now both fully putting on our best acting performances of the year: him, trying to extort as much pain and suffering from me as possible, and I, trying to get some connection with this guy as a last resort. He shows me another number in his book for driving under the influence: $1500, with the last 0 blocked out in blue pen, accompanied with a 350 km trip into Panama City.

I ask him if I can pay him here and now. He says if you don't mind I don't mind. So, I ask if $100 is ok, and he replies "too much". I end up giving him what I had on me, 2 crisp twenties and a fiver. Complicating my escape, I temporarily hide my passport and license somewhere and have the whole group assist me in finally finding it in the front pouch of my bag.

So Far Away

A couple days easy drive away from the Panama Canal, and all I can think about is how far i have pushed myself away from me. From spending time doing things I didn't want to, I wreaked havoc on my health; i found the outer limits of being human, and danced on the razor's edge for so long....... it's amazing I still care, still want to live and connect. From 2 decades of trying to be what I thought was expected of me, or what it would take to survive, I completely lost out on the joys of life, of living a life that is truly my own, truly representative of where I light up, where I gain my strength from. It will be a long road back, but I am already enjoying the journey.

And Then....

It was a pure blessing the rain didn't hit until after I was down the mile and a half steep gravel road from the finca, but it felt far from it when it did. Soaked within seconds, I could hardly see from the rain pounding behind my glasses, with goggles stored away behind me. This was only 1o km from the border, and, thinking I could not make it, pulled into a seemingly empty house porch to wait it out. Within a few minutes a child is screaming something as if to say "whoever's there get out!" I look out and up to the 2nd floor and see him and his mom, and I clamber to explain I'm simply hiding out for a few minutes longer to escape the rain. I'm unable to relieve her concern, and reverse my statement to one of "I'm ready to go thank you".

What was to come next? A routine car line-up again, and electing to pass them as motorbikes do, found that the cars were getting more and more congested on this highway - waiting to get through the border? No, trying, one car at a time, to get past a humongous tree that had fallen right on the road. I shimmy through the line-up, and see a trail off the pavement, only to have a large truck trying to come back my way, with a man violently shaking his hands at me to back up. The edge of the pavement was about 6" higher than the trail I was on, and with highway tires, 600 lbs. of bike, slick, rain-soaked roads, I couldn't get back up on to the road. I waited for him to pass, then kept going on this trail, looking for a low spot to get back up not without some sense of panic. After two nail-biting attempts, I do.

The border was the regular schmozzle, so I took the first person to offer to help me navigate the process. CJ's english was excellent; if you call living in Jersey for 12 years excellent. Turns out he prefers the quieter, slower pace down here and could go back to the states whenever he wants. He had to leave me at the Panama border, with instructions on which door to go through first, second, and third. One of the places was tantamount bureacracy: walking up a flight of circular stairs, a lady was there to stamp my paperwork. That's it. Just a stamp. Honestly, all of the other 4 places were similar, with stacks of paper on tables, and people lined up. I had to go through part of the procedure again because of my registration papers not showing the license of the bike. I tried to stay my old charming self throughout.

Panama seemed to have the same affinity for signs and directions as San Jose. On the advice of Mateo and Erica, I went looking for Boquete, a Colorado-type resort town north of David. Directions: turn left at the mall. It took me a couple tries but I did finally get to the sign that said "Bienvenidos Boquete"........... but there was hardly anything there. Just a few houses on either side of the road. For the next hour, I went back and forth 3 times, into a farmer's yard, into a processing station, and finally got it that the town was much further away from the first sign. Rain-soaked and friggen freezing, I pulled into the first place with a sign of life in it. It was a Chinese restaurant and i found it amusing that it felt like home. The young Panamanian server, and his boss, Chong, introduced me to Jonathan, an American who came down here building houses for doctors and now happened to have built a hotel. We spoke formalities and got down to business. "$60 a night? I thought Panama was cheap?" "That's the going rate around here anyways", Jonathon slightly drawled. I told him $50 and we got a deal. It was a nice room, with fuzzy tv, water sprinkling out of the tap, and 3 minutes of hot water. Couldn't find the front desk so I had to shower without a towel.

This morning involved waking up in a lot of muscle pain, so it was off to stretch and go for a half an hour run. Am I racist for thinking it fascinating to see someone of Chinese descent speak Spanish?

excerpt from Better Off Flipping the Switch on Technology by Eric Brende

There really is no end to the possible uses of technology, nor are there limits to finding a way around it; but in all cases it must serve our needs, not the reverse, and we must determine these needs before considering the needs for technology The willingness and the wisdom to do so may be the hardest ingredients to come by in this frenetic age. Perhaps what is needed most of all, then, are conditions favorable to them: quiet around us, quiet inside us, quiet born of sustained meditation and introspection. We must set aside time for it, in our churches in our studies, in our hearts. Only when we have met this last requisite, I suspect, will technology yield its power and become a helpful handservant. Mary and i still turn on the kerosene lamp and read by the fire on a cold winter's eve. By switching off the electric light, I think we see a bit better.

excerpts from The Tao of Inner Peace Diane Dreher

Only one woman I knew didn't play this game. Pat told us when she was busy, when she could meet for lunch or tea. Phone calls with her averaged five minutes at most. Centred and disciplined, she was writing a novel and selling short stories while the rest of us squandered our energies over the wires.

Years of pleasing others had made her emotionally numb. Even her movements were stiff, almost mechanical. Out of touch with her centre, she met other people's needs until opposing loyalties turned conflict into crisis. The opposing "shoulds" were pulling her apart.

Intelligent and strong minded, Jim succeeds in every venture until he suddenly loses interest. Once the initial excitement fades, he decides this career isn't right for him and moves on. His centre, his identity, always remains outside. The elusive goal beckons, just beyond his grasp, promising this time.

What makes an intelligent woman such a chameleon? She keeps placing her cetnre outside in the hands of the man she loves. Once she gives herself away Christa becomes compulsively attached to her man, fussing, clinging and driving him crazy when he pulls away, strangled by her.

At birth all people are soft and yielding.
At death they are hard and stiff.
All green plants are tender and yielding.
At death they are brittle and dry.
When hard and rigid,
we consort with death.
When soft and flexible,
We affirm greater life. - Tao 76

Duane Elgin writes in Voluntary Simplicity that "Our civilizational crisis has emerged in no small part from the gross disparity that exists between our relatively underdeveloped 'inner faculties' and the extremely powerful external technologies now at our disposal. "As it is within, so it is without." An imbalanced world results from personal imbalance The Tao teaches uws to slow down, look within, and make wiser choices.

Lyle began work early, helping run his parents' theater in Little Falls, MN and found "there was always something interesting to do." Part of his detachment is humility. Over the years, he's worked with contractors, plumbers, and electricians, doing much of the work himself. "I never felt I was better than anyone I hired, " he told us. "Everything is an interesting job, a challenge," and he added again, "I never felt there was anything I don't like to do." People like Lyle live with wholeness of purpose, avoiding inner conflict. They embrace everything they do with interest and enthusiasm, the joy of Tao.

Living harmoniously takes effort. It's easy to fall into lazy thought patterns, succumbing to anger, resentment, self-pity, or the other negative emotions that tug away at us, dragging us into destructive cycles.

Kimbo Slice














We got to talking about stories, which are the crux of a community's culture. Forever sewn into the fabric of the Finca's culture is the story of a white English Bulldog named Kimbo Slice. Erica, who hadn't even seen their new adopted dog from San Jose, was told on the phone by Matt, (who was in tears) that Kimbo had freaked out and ran across the bridge, and had been missing for a few days. The story goes that every man in camp was out looking for this dog, and finally found some evidence of his tracks going up into the hill, accompanied with puma tracks about 3 times as large as his. Signs of a struggle showed further up the hill, with only puma tracks exiting the area. That was day 5. On Day 12, a guy by the name of Paul was out into the finca's forest when he screamed Matt's name. Everyone ran over to Paul immediately, and saw a big bulldog head with emaciated body barely alive behind him. The local Tico's were convinced it was a ghost, that's how bad that dog looked. His eyes were caked open with layers of gunk, a 25 pound weight loss, and two deep gashes on the side of his neck. Today, he's as stupid as ever, mostly blind from the experience, but still the finca's protector with an affinity for balloons and Chester.

TreeTop Transformations









“I hope people show up,” Erica asks, more to herself than anyone. “Honey, drop it,” her husband replies as gracefully as possible considering the situation. “Ok,” she says, quickly pulling herself together. Although a good day for Erika and Matteo “Matt” Hogan often involves several stressful moments, today’s inaugural Open House at Finca Bellavista is different. After 5 years of developing the first sustainable tree house community in the world, their farm, located in the south-western jungle of Costa Rica, is ready for some big-time attention. With everyone from the governor, to local farmers and friends on the RSVP list, there is much more at stake here than showcasing an alternative lifestyle, the business itself hinges on attracting some serious investors.

It didn’t start out that way. Matt’s 2005 memorable surfing trip on the coast of Costa Rica ended with a convincing phone call to Erika to join him in the Osa Region. “The initial plan was to buy a little fixer-upper surf shack,” explains Matt, “and to switch between Colorado and here.” Surveying the area, they settled on a 62 acre secondary growth plot, marketed as a ‘fast-return on investment’ due to it being tagged as a timber harvest site. As soon as the early 30-somethings fell in love with the area, they found 9 other farms being sold for the same reason. “We’re going to have to buy the whole mountain to save it,” Matt told Erika. After petitioning each of the owners, mortgaging their home, and pooling their life savings, they held the title to over 350 acres of Costa Rican rain forest. The question then became what to do with it. In a monumental dream state, Erika free-formed “Why don’t we build an Ewok Village with zip-lines and bridges?” After some research, they realized it was possible and from that first machete-wielded trip through their property, they set to work.

Their first 18 months resembled more of a mud pit than a construction site, but determined to work with as little impact on the environment as possible, Erika, Matt, and 35 Ticos slept under a tarp, washed in the river, and used a hole in the ground for a toilet. Their dedication and commitment to the integrity of their project was monumental, fighting off flesh-eating insects, watching for deadly snakes, and flash floods, that could bring a 6 foot wall of water through the ravine in seconds.

The groundwork was being set for their unimaginable project, with paths hewn out of the mountain-side, indigenous trees planted, the land surveyed and strategy planned meticulously. By being completely ‘off-the-grid’, it was solely Erika and Matt’s responsibility to ensure healthy long-term growth. Electrical needs were to be satisfied through solar panels, water used from rain catch and an artesian well, and waste eliminated through bio-digesters. Transportation throughout the forest would rely solely on the footpaths, and zip-lines. Meals were meant to be primarily harvested from the garden and the only time one would have to leave would be for the 3 B’s: beef, beer, and booze.

The Hogans became an unstoppable force of PR after others became interested in getting involved. Every step forward took them one step deeper into the project, as the details of developing a community from scratch became more complicated. Complicating things further, both the government, and private professional companies severely hampered their progress through corruption, and costly errors. One specific surveying error cost the project over $750,000 in lost property, and $300,000 to rectify it. As the couple were far from a conglomerate with wealthy investors behind them, major setbacks threatened Finca Bellavista on a daily basis. Without advertising, and relying on word-of-mouth and a website, 45 of the 94 plots they subdivided were sold at up to $65,000 each, providing the necessary capital to build a much-needed road, hydro-electric generator, a community centre, and open-air verandah. It seemed they weren’t the only ones who preferred watching toucans, macaws, or bands of white-faced capuchin monkeys travel through the rain forest canopy rather than TV, or the sound of the river and crickets chirping at night over the din of constant traffic.

So, how did the open-house go after all? Over 50 people showed up, ranging in age from 6 months to over 60 years, but one notable face was absent: the governor. Despite receiving hundreds of thousands of dollars in taxes, a new police station, a public road and bridge, the government has not shown any special gratitude for the continuing tax dollars, local employment, and investment interests the project has created. He is not the only one who seems less than thrilled over a couple of gringos in their territory. The couple almost died this week in a car crash due to faulty brakes installed by a local mechanic. “I’ll be going down there and asking for my money back”, Matt quipped, without any hint of giving up his fight.

http://www.fincabellavista.net/


Finca Open House



Tree Roots, & Tree Tops

I have questioned everything. I have went to the brink once again, and pulled myself back. I know that worrying about my life is a complete and utter waste of time; that knowledge doesn't necessarily help me in stopping. What does help me stop is actually practicing shifting my focus, shifting my attention away from what is bothering me. From the annals of Buddha & Tao, the rooms filled with silent meditation, I know now my years of running around trying to occupy myself, and distract myself from what I really want in my life has wreaked havoc. I'm 38 years old and more lost than ever. This is perfect. For the first time, I feel hope that I can really find myself. In finding myself, I mean being myself.

This world is so full of distractions for me; loud noises, confusion, so many choices, so many people asking things, TV, media, music............ for me, I've felt it impossible at times to feel ok about being myself. The key has been getting away from it all, and being forced to deal with myself. I now know the power lies within me. My world is me. I am my world, and the more centred I become, the more I create my world from the inside out, the better I feel about living.