Cuba Libre?

Economically poor but culturally rich.

As I stepped onto the streets of Cuba for the first time I knew I was in for something different. People everywhere, loud shouting and laughing voices, colonial buildings, horse drawn carts transporting people to and fro, old US made 1950's Chevys and Fords, a lack of advertising conspicuous by its absence, long queues of people for health clinics, colourful and neatly dressed school children, old people, musical instruments and a lot of people doing, well...I'm not exactly sure what.

Political Situation

The bakery across the street from where I stayed 

'Communism' (derived from the Latin word for common, or shared), is defined as a revolutionary socialist movement to create a classless, moneyless and stateless social order structured upon common ownership of the means of production. Cuba's current political situation came to be when an armed revolutionary group let by Fidel Castro (with the support of Che Guevara) successfully ousted the USA-backed dictator Fulgencio Batista in 1959. Revolutionary socialist movement: check. Some 80% of employment is for the government, down from 90%. Utilities, the petroleum industry, supermarkets, white goods stores, airlines, hotels, tourist resorts, airports, rum and beer production, sugar factories, TV stations, newspapers, restaurants, bars and even most homes are all government owned and operated. Within a few years of the revolution, almost US$25 Billion of private assets were confiscated and nationalized, including all foreign owned property. Common ownership of the means of production: check. It is also true that it is almost a classless and moneyless society, since all of these government jobs pay very little and very similar wages between occupations.  However, unlike a pure definition of communism, but very much like almost every example in history, Cuba is not stateless. Closer to a dictatorship than a republic, free speech does not exist, with Fidel Castro remaining in power and beyond public reproach since the inception. Even your liberty is public property, with two years of mandatory national service and one of the highest imprisonment rates in the world for those who do not strictly follow the rules.

Living Conditions

Poverty

One of the public housing projects in which I stayed

Economically, the average Cuban family is very poor. I was fortunate enough to be invited into the homes of many Cubans, and even stayed with one family for almost a week. Whether they live in grand old colonial mansions or small public housing project apartments, they have a low standard of living by the financial and material criteria. The roof and walls are peeling, few light globes work, few taps have running water (and almost never the toilet, which must be manually flushed with a bucket), they share up to four people to a double bed, there are no doors between rooms, no toilet seats and not much food. One day the family that I was staying with had no money, and if I was not there to buy some groceries to share they may have gone without. It was a particularly ironic moment  because immediately after doing the shopping for an impoverished family I walked with the grandmother to the monument to and final resting place of Che Guevara, where he helped win the most significant battle for the revolution. I wonder what Che would think about the current conditions in Cuba.

Conditions are not so bad to prevent joy

However, while poor, the home is not a dead place, filled with love and respect rather than material wealth. Guests would come and go all day, and when they had food or other things they would share without hesitation. The first night I arrived late and, even though I was not expected (they have no phone to call), was invited to share the meal with them. Respect is key in Cuba, and although there was not a lot of food to go around, you were expected to leave your plate unfinished to give a sense of abundance where there is not.

A very interesting feature of Cuba, which is partially responsible for the prohibitively expensive prices of some products, are the Government stores.  While most stores are government run anyway, some products that are deemed 'luxury' items are only available at certain government stores and are purchased with a separate currency specifically for luxury items. Things like toilets, fridges, furniture, Tupperware, imported food products, toilet paper and other such 'luxury' products are available at these stores. It is a sign of prestige to shop at these supermarkets. I came from spending $1 (in the local currency equivalent) for hamburgers and drinks for five people to this government run supermarket where I could buy a piece of frozen meat for $30. And it is not exactly like you get superior service at these government stores. Cuban Government employees are the most lazy and unprofessional I have seen in Latin America, and that is saying something. When you earn less than $1 per day and work for a Communist government who will not fire you, there is very little motivation to work hard. And this applies across the 80% of work in Cuba that is for the government. At least in my observations of Cuba, Communism does indeed tend to result in very low productivity and efficiency.

Variety is not a hallmark of  Communist countries

While many things are expensive (whether due to market forces or government policy), many things are also quite cheap. For example, a Government operated cafeteria runs at a loss selling a slice of cake and a scoop of ice cream for 6.5 cents. So in Cuba, at least in this case, cake and ice cream is subsidized by the government. Other things are cheap as well. A cafe, bread roll, bus pass or juice can be obtained for 4 cents, or a personal pizza for 20 cents. I also got into a live music concert for 8 cents and and some 300 km in the back of a truck for $1.60.

This picture requires no explanation. Just look!

But even given these low prices for some things, it is hardly surprising that families have insufficient money to replace light globes, fix plumbing or put food on the table when wages are as low as they are. One relatively well paid building painter living in the touristy area of Havana I talked to earned US$10 per month, working six days a week. A DJ I stayed with earned US$10 per month working three nights a week. An average Lawyer or Doctor salary is US$20...per month. That is $1 per day of work. Many doctors and lawyers are forced to work part-time as taxi drivers to supplement their income. It was with great embarrassment that I explained how I used to earn more than the monthly salary of a Doctor every hour working at a minimum wage Government job in Australia. If the standard, simplistic definition of poverty is used, where anyone with less than $1 per day is considered below the poverty line, then almost everyone in Cuba is impoverished, including Doctors and Lawyers. With such a low income, you then need to make very careful decisions about priorities and the lifestyle you want. Do you want to eat more food, better food, buy new clothes, rum or tobacco or perhaps household 'luxuries' like a working toilet or a door to your room? Because there is not enough for everything.

Government Services

On the other hand, you don't need much money when the government provides so many services. Another definition of poverty, rather than a set amount of spending money, is whether certain human needs are not adequately met. According to another criteria used by the UN, you are only impoverished if two or more of the following are lacking: food, safe drinking water, sanitation facilities, health, shelter, education, information and access to services. Water, health care, Government housing, education and some food is provided by the Government free of charge. So, by this definition, almost no one is impoverished in Cuba. Indeed, compared to the USA, Cuba has a higher literacy rate (99.8%), a lower infant mortality rate and a longer average life expectancy.

The free education system is actually quite good by world standards (excluding the History and Politics departments, who's impartiality is questionable to put it mildly). Cuban doctors, particularly, are internationally recognized for their high caliber, and many students from around the Spanish speaking world come to train in Cuba. Cuba also has an extensive program for sending medical graduates to assist in developing countries. Indeed, at any given time there are about 30,000 Cuban doctors stationed in developing countries, an effort which outmatches that of all the G8 countries combined. Cuba also has the highest doctor to population ratio in the world. 

Education is highly valued in Cuba. In Havana, the Capital, the most beautiful building is not the parliament building nor the presidential palace nor a church; it is the University. Following the revolution, the elite private collage and attached Catholic church were taken over and converted into a public university. Mounted on a hill overlooking the city and the ocean, the campus buzzes with a vibrancy that can be created only by students who want to be there. Since doctors are not paid much more than cleaners, only those who genuinely enjoy it will pursue higher education. It had a great vibe. And the courses are provided free of charge. 

Healthy care is also provided free of charge, but is of low quality. While the staff and doctors are well trained and do the best they can, the resources and infrastructure are insufficient. The hospitals are in disrepair and essential equipment, medication and available beds are often lacking. For example, when I was there by friend had a motorcycle accident hitting a pothole while avoiding a pedestrian who had carelessly walked onto the road. The hospital cleaned and bandaged up his broken ribs and collar bone free of charge, but had no available beds to keep him overnight for observations, and lacked stocks of some of the medication they proscribed.

Food is also provided to the people free of charge through ration vouchers exchanged for supplies at government depots once a month, but the quantity and quality is insufficient. While the monthly quota of rice and beans may keep you alive indefinitely, "it is only enough to feed a dwarf," explained one Cuban. In reality, all families must supplement their diet with food purchased in the market. Other things provided include free housing projects, pensions and old people homes.

The Cuban government does provide a lot, so there is less need for money. This is an ideal to be aimed for in Communism. However, the income and food rations they receive are insufficient. While they are not as impoverished as their minuscule income would suggest, they are still poor. The only way to maintain a decent standard of living in Cuba, other than being Fidel Castro, is to rely on money sent from relatives living overseas. When a toilet costs more than the entire annual salary of a Doctor or Lawyer, what other way is there?

Cuba is an Island

Cuba is an island. Not only geographically, but socially, politically and physically, Cubans are cut off from the rest of the world. This takes two main forms.

The US Embargo

Propaganda billboards are the only type of advertising 

When the revolutionary government took charge they confiscated billions of dollars worth of property from wealthy private citizens, mainly US citizens and companies. The capitalist, cold-war fearing US government did not like this, and imposed strong political and economic sanctions to undermine the new government. Cuban-owned assets in the USA were frozen, US products were prohibited from export to Cuba, Cargo ships which have docked in Cuba cannot dock in the USA for 6 months, US owned companies cannot do business with Cuba and, sometimes, foreign companies who conduct business with Cuba are barred from operating in the USA. This more or less remains the situation today. At a vote 188 UN countries were against the blockade, and only 3 in favor (the USA, Israel and some Pacific island nation). It is estimated that the blockade costs the USA over $1 Billion in lost trade annually.

Photo taken 2012, not 1952

As part of the broader cold war, the Soviet Union propped up Cuba,  providing mainly grain and manufactured products. But when the Soviet Union began to fade in the 1980's and material support began to dry up, Cuba was forced to turn to a new ally. Another communist country that just so happens to be the largest manufacturing country in the world stepped up: China. Now brand new Chinese made cars can be seen alongside the old USA made ones.

But the US blockade cannot entirely be blamed for the lack of products coming into Cuba. Firstly, the government is the only party who can import into Cuba, and this leads to reduced variety of imported goods and no competition. For example, the Cuban government made a deal with a Chinese manufacturer for 5,000 of the same car. The same brand, same model, same year, same colour. Not exactly a vibrant market.  Secondly, the Cuban currency is almost worthless on the international market, so they could not afford to buy anything with or without the blockade. For example, the Chinese cars were purchased by direct exchange of Cuban made rum, sugar and tobacco, rather than cold hard cash. Similarly, Cuba made a deal with Venezuelan president Hugo Chaves for 80,000 barrels of oil daily in exchange for 30,000 doctors and teachers

With such a limited flow of new goods, Cubans have learned to care for what they have. A culture of conservation and re-use has developed. The roads are still filled with Russian made 2-stroke motorbikes and 1950's pre-revolution USA made cars, whose tires they re-groove rather than re-place. They also refill what we could consider disposable cigarette lighters.

Censorship

Impatient, but I am sure he had nowhere to be

The other source of isolation comes from within. There is not free speech in Cuba, nor a free flow of information. Internet use is very restricted, and unauthorized access can attract prison sentences of up to five years. All television channels are also Government operated, as are the newspapers. Cuba has the second highest number of imprisoned journalists in the world, second to China. A Cuban girl proudly explained to me that she had an international email address, as if there was another kind. The US spends huge amounts annually broadcasting a TV and radio station into Cuba, but the Government has been successfully able to block the signal. Cuba does receive international news, but if it is unfavorable to Cuba it will not be shown and if it is unfavorable to the USA it will definitely be shown.

But other than the gross partiality in the news, the TV in Cuba is actually pretty good. An example of the schedule for one channel I saw was this: Opera; Art for Art; University for everyone: French Level IV; Classical Piano; Acrobatics (from China); Primates (David Attenborough). There are also plenty of the popular US made TV series. Another upshot of communist TV is that it is all delivered without adverts. To watch a movie or TV program without breaks, like watching a DVD, is a pleasant change from the periodic barrage of messages to consume delivered at high volume, often accompanied by seizure inducing bright lights and flashing colours. This lack of advert breaks means that programs do not run half an hour or an hour exactly, and start at odd times like 7:52 or 8:41. This lack of advertising applies throughout the country. On the streets, in the newspapers, everywhere. It is not that advertising is banned but rather than the Government sells virtually all manufactured products and they choose not to advertise. There is no need since they virtually have a monopoly. The only advertising I saw on TV was a campaign depicting moral lessons: help blind people cross the street; how to clean your house to reduce asthma; the importance of family; cleaning your yard to be a good neighbour. The only advertising I saw on the streets where giant billboards depicting sentiments of national pride. Contrast this lack of advertising with Australia, where more money is spent on advertising than on education. But despite all this Cubans somehow remain surprisingly aware of their situation. As one Cuban said to me, "we are blindfolded but not stupid."

Freedom 

One of the common consequences of sharing the means of production is that everyone needs to be the same, and if they are not they need to be forced to be the same. Cuba has severe criminal penalties and a very high incarceration rate by world standards (some 5%). They even have a 'Vigilance Committee,' charged with "vigilance against counter-revolutionary activity" but in reality with unlimited scope. Very George Orwell 1984. A good example is Marijuana. A small amount for one joint costs $5, or half the average monthly income. It is only so expensive because the penalty for being caught selling it is so sever: 5-10 years in prison or work camps. Around this an interesting culture has developed. To avoid the vigilance committee and police, dealers usually operate only via a mutual friend, who's commission for being the middle man is to share the spoils and join you to smoke. I met a guy drinking rum on the front steps of his house, celebrating his 30th birthday and a day off work. One thing lead to another and the next moment we were smoking in a back room in his house with a shrine to his African voodoo god, who he assured me it would please. Rolling papers are impossible to find, but he managed to role something smokeable using some government receipt. He then smoked it down until he was burning his lips in the true Cuban fashion not to waste. Everyone in Cuba seems to like marijuana, except the Government.

Other things attract excessive prison sentences as well. You will go to prison for making home-brew bears (up to five years), unauthorized access to the internet, killing a cow (twice the prison sentence of killing a human) or running a tattoo studio. One of my Cuban friends went to prison for three months for carrying a kitchen knife in his bag on the way from his house to his mother's house to help cook lunch. This law against carrying a concealed weapon is not universally enforced, but my friend has lots of tattoos and does not fit the image the Government has decided is proper. Another example of control is that, until 1997, there was a policy of apartheid tourism, where Cubans were not allowed to interact with foreigners beyond a professional capacity. Now tourism is too huge for this to be enforced, but you will still be sent to prison for being caught 'harassing' tourist twice, where harassment is defined and enforced as the officers see fit. On several occasions the Cuban I was walking with told me to walk in front as we passed police, since they already had one count on their record. But I guess that's what I get for hanging out with Anarchist youth in a communist state. Some people love Cuba and love living in Cuba, while others do not. A philosophy student I talked to who was actively involved in the student union loved Cuba. He was getting a free education and enjoying the student lifestyle. An Indie anarchist tattoo artist, on the other hand, said he did not like it, and wanted to live somewhere cold. The main problem I have with Cuba is that you cannot easily decide to leave. You need official permission, which is not readily granted. Indeed, some 30,000-80,000 Cubans are believed to have died fleeing to the USA by raft, only 145 kms away by open ocean.

Socialising

Dominos, the national game of Cuba

Cubans are night owls. With free time as their must abundant resource, indeed their only abundant resource, they spend most of their time socialising. Whether it is spent in hole-in-the-wall bars or playing dominoes under a street light, it seems that most Cubans stay out past midnight most nights. Cubans love to party. If they were not so damn poor they probably would be the biggest partying nation on earth. Or maybe it is because they are so poor. Fortunately, booze is still very cheap. A bottle of full strength beer costs from $0.50-$1, a liter of rum about $3 (or $5 for aged Havana Club) and cola almost $3 for two liters. When rum is about the same price as beer per quantity, cola about half the price of rum per quantity and everyone is poor the result is obvious: everyone drinks straight rum. And since most liquor stores and even nightclubs are Government run the prices are the same everywhere. I have bought a bottle of rum from a liquor store and gone into a club with it, and bought a bottle of rum from a club and gone home with it. The prices are the same. Street drinking is also legal. This results in a very fascinating drinking culture. Everyone will have bottles of rum in the bars or music venues, which they pass around freely. If there was a mouth transmitted disease everyone in Cuba would have it within a few days. Alternatively, people will loiter in the street out the front of the club or in a nearby park rather than pay the entrance fee to the club. If the entrance fee is $3, that's another bottle of rum. I saw a guy walking around with a boombox on his shoulder, preferring more rum and to provide his own music and entertainment.

Cuba is a culture of scabs. You know that one friend everyone has who is always bumming cigarettes and drinks from you? Well in Cuba that is virtually everyone. If they have they will share, but they almost never have. Other interesting feature of the Cuban social scene is how they communicate and organize themselves. Since almost no one has phones or even watches, organizing when and where to meet is very difficult. But somehow, through word of mouth, patience and a lot of luck, it works. The result is like an open party held in public places almost every night of the week. Sometimes people bring musical instruments and always people bring rum. You then talk and mingle, often moving to seek a more happening place based on some rumour or feeling rather than any concrete information.

Santiago de Cuba

In Cuba its all about personal respect. With no other possessions, they defend it and care for it above all else. When someone joins a group everyone greets them, usually by standing up and shaking hands or kissing on the cheek, but at the very least with a few moments of eye contact and a nod of the head. I never felt unwelcome. I spent most of my time with anarchist youth covered in tattoos who loved heavy metal, almost like punks from the 80's, but they were some of the most respectful and gentlemanly people I have ever spent time with. Another side of this respect is the importance of image. Cubans are very fashionable, well dressed people, at least for their level of income. Imported shoes are smuggled in from Mexico and other countries and sold on the black market. Cubans would rather spend $100 on a good pair of shoes and live in poverty. Socializing in Cuba is fun. Everyone wants to escape the melancholy produced by the poverty and drudgery of their daily lives. And, at least during the night hours, they often succeed.

Music

Free classical music concert in the Plaza

Another vital feature of Cuban society, also a means of escape, is Music. Whether it is in the house, on the street, on peddle-powered bicycle taxis or little girls thrusting their hips about dancing on their balcony, music is everywhere. There are regularly free concerts in the city's plazas, cafes and bars, as well as many more that you have to pay only a small amount. I paid 8 cents for entry to an entire night of live music. The previous afternoon at the same venue was a free concert of classical string instruments. Santiago de Cuba had the most abundant music. Within a few hours of walking around I stumbled upon three music concerts in various plazas all of different styles, including a brass band of some 30 members. There were about twice as many band members as onlookers. And the music throughout was of very high quality. Cuba has the highest ratio of doctors to population in the world, and I would not be surprised if they had the highest ratio of musicians as well. With little money to spend and lots of free time, the free government run music programs make an appealing prospect.

The best concert I went to was Candido Fabre and his band, playing in a public park in Havana at a free Government organised event. Best described as Cuban Charanga, the music was melodic, percussive and had a driving rhythm that made you want to move. Way in the back where small groups of friends talking and passing around bottles of rum, but as you moved closer the crowd got progressively more animated. In the middle where plain looking woman with children moving their hips like sexual animals, and in the front it was full on party. Almost everyone was drunk, which tends to happen when you drink straight rum from the bottle. And everyone was dancing, or at least moving in their own way. Many were dancing salsa, but most were free-styling. Old men were dancing and swaying with arms around each other like they were teenagers getting drunk for the first time. It was a great atmosphere. Everyone was there to forget about their dreary lives and have fun. The front man was a real showmen and his banter between songs held the attention of the crowd as much as the music. He started testing the crown with anti-Government sentiments, and by the end he was passionately shouting anti-Government solgans, all to roaring applause. According to my Cuban friend, more than half the population is openly anti-Systemic. He also believes that within 10 years the Communist Party of Cuba will be no more. The people already want change, but they are scared of fighting the Government. Another revolution is coming, and music and rhythm, the life blood of Cubans, will help drive it along. If it comes soon, the grandmother who I lived with for almost a week, who was born before the revolution, may yet live to see another attempt at Communism come to an end.

Conclusions

Cuba is a fascinating country. It is materially poor but culturally rich. Where even doctors don't always have enough money to replace the light bulb or fix the toilet, but can go to a free concert with excellent music and get drunk for $1 with rum they brought from home. They go without food to afford the new imported shoes they bought on the black-market with money sent from relatives working overseas. They don't have much, but what they do have they will share with an open heart. Music and passion still flow in the veins of the people, and I wish them luck. When the current establishment comes to an end they will need to change to survive; but I hope they don't change too much. If you are planning on visiting Cuba, the sooner the better. It is already changing.

Authors Note: I cannot verify any of the information in this article, and I apologize if I offend anyone. Most of the content for this article came from my own observation or informal conversations I had with Cubans, mostly conducted in Spanish. Cut me some slack.

Turtle Power!

Watching a baby turtle make its mad rush to the ocean is one of the many magical moments that exist on Earth. Running on nothing but instinct, they seek the ocean like their lives depended on it. However, it is closer to the other way around. For most species of sea turtle the survival rate is about 1/1000. Sadly, the global populations of many sea turtle species is dropping to dangerously low levels. This is mostly the result of commercial tuna fishing, loss of suitable nesting sites, and egg poaching for sale as a delicacy.                                                                                                                    I recently had the opportunity to visit a turtle sanctuary on the Pacific coast of Guatemala. Near Monterrico, the beach resort town for rich Guatemalans, is the biggest turtle sanctuary in Guatemala. Leatherback and Olive Ridley turtles arrive year round, but mostly between the months of August and September. Leatherback turtles, the second largest reptile in the world, are now endangered, and nesting is now quite rare (only two reported times at this site last year). Even the Olive Ridley, the most abundant sea turtle, has experienced a serious drop in population, and is now considered vulnerable.

                                                        As the sun was setting a bale of young hatchlings were released into the ocean. If they are kept for a few days after hatching they become stronger, but if they are kept for more than two weeks they will loose their instinct to make for the ocean. I was able to ´adopt´ a turtle for a small donation to the foundation and release it myself. For such little turtles they were so strong. Their black, rubbery flippers struggled against me with astonishing strength. I tried to make him rest for the big journey ahead of him. Whenever I turned by body or hand, he would re-align himself to be facing the ocean. He was anxious to get going.

Her you can see little Timmy making a run for the ocean.

So I set little Timmy down amongst his 100 or so brothers and sisters and wished him good luck. He would need it. When he reached the water he got wiped out by a wave and dragged back into the sea. He was on his way. All things going well, and if he was a she, he would come back to this very beach in many years time and lay his own eggs. If hatchlings are released directly into the sea they will generally not come back to the same beach. That few minutes of charging down the beach is enough to orientate them enough to return, no matter how far afield they go.

That night I went with a guide from the sanctuary to search for mothers arriving to lay their eggs. A famous characteristic of the Olive Ridley turtle is how they arrive en mas for laying eggs. These groups, called arribadas, can number in the hundreds. I was not lucky enough to witness this spectacle, but when I had almost given up hope of seeing any, we saw one. A distinct trail led up from the water to the beach above. We had to wait for the turtle to finish digging the nest before we went to watch, otherwise we might disturb her, causing her to abandon her attempt and come back the following night to try again. Once they start laying the eggs, however, they go into a trance and are very difficult to disturb. She was a medium sized one, weighing no more than 50 kgs and being no more than 70 cms in length. She was beautiful.  

After laying about 100 ping-pong ball sized eggs, they were collected by the guide to be incubated in the nursery and then released, the same as the ones earlier that evening. The turtle then filled in the nest, and compacted the ground by repeatedly dropping her heavy body on it. She then cleaned up the site with her big flippers, trying to leave no trace of the nest site for predators. She then made her way back to the ocean. She was hit by a big wave, and then disappeared under the water, where she would again be a graceful swimmer with no resemblance to the cumbersome creature she is on land. I was so grateful to have witnessed this miracle of life.

 

While I was not lucky enough to see a mas arribada, this is what they can look like.

Turtles nesting on Escobilla, Oaxaca, Mexico

Vipassana Meditation Retreat: 10 days of silence

Hello my name is Zack and I am addicted to craving. I read addictive, page-turning books, follow the occasional addictive TV series and obsess about food and sex. When the weather is hot I want it cold and when it is cold I want it hot. I hate mosquito bites, waiting for buses, being hungry and the last 5 minutes of an exercise routine. I eat when I am bored. I just want the suffering to end.  I can rarely enjoy something nice, like a sunset, without craving something that would make it nicer, like a beer. Sometimes, even when I am satisfying a long-anticipated craving, I am already thinking about the next thing to crave. I am obsessed with the past and future and spend little time truly in the present. If you don't think these things apply to you, try sitting still and quiet for an hour. Even a minute.

So how does one overcome this addiction? The options available are the same as for breaking any addiction.  You can gradually wean oneself off little by little, or you can quite cold turkey. I opted for the latter. I recently participated in a 10-day residential meditation course in Nicaragua. The Nunnery used for the course was set in beautiful gardens, surrounded by cloud forest. The only distraction I would encounter from the outside world in those 10 days would be the resident howler monkeys demonstrating their namesake ability each dawn and dusk. The group of 60 or so students were a mix of travellers and locals, old and young. For most of us it was the first time, but some were returning for a second or even tenth time. One guy was a recovering cocaine addict. Most were just hippies. Vipassana meditation is not a religion, and people of various faiths attended, as well as many atheists. 

When we arrived we handed over our contra ban items to be locked away. For the duration of the course we were to abstain from as many things conducive to craving as possible. We were to give up talking, non-verbal communication, physical contact, alcohol, cigarettes, caffeine, reading, writing and music. The two genders were separated and where possible divided by screens. Even the mere comfort of eye contact was denied to us. They could not quite deny us the pleasures of food and sleep, but they sure tried. Food was confined to two small meals a day consisting of plain, unspiced vegetarian food without added salt, sugar or oil. Dinner was a small banana. As to sleep, the last refuge, I got 6 1/2 hours to lie down on my thin mattress on the hard floor. We also received a copy of the daily schedule: 10 hours of meditation per day every day. We had lost more freedoms than most prisoners in the world, and we had done so voluntarily. At the last moment, after the silence had begun, I was moved to another room and therefore did not know the names or nationalities of the two guys I would be sharing with for the following days. The stage was set. It was going to be a difficult 10 days as we faced our addiction.

The basic premise of this meditation technique, common with Buddhism and Hinduism, is that most suffering is the product of our own cravings and so is purely mental. It is rooted in a deep-seated tendency of mind that wants things to be different from what they are. The technique is to observe the bodily sensations and practice reacting to them with equanimity and objective detachment; with neither revulsion nor attraction. To do this you need immense amounts of patience and concentration. Thus we started by developing our concentration. On the first day, for all 10 hours, we observed the breath: watching the air come in and out of our lungs. On the second day we narrowed the area of attention down to the nose and nasal passage. On the third day, again for 10 hours, we narrowed our attention down to the small area between the nose and the upper lip. By then I could notice all sorts of subtle sensations concerning the workings of the body that I had not previously been aware of. We were then instructed in the specific Vipassana meditation technique and for the remaining week, day in day out, we observed the sensations of the entire body.

At 4:00AM, like every morning, I was woken by the morning bell to go meditate on the sensations of the body for two hours. But I already knew what the body felt: tired and hungry. I had only been lying on my thin mattress on the floor for 6:30 hours and had not eaten a proper meal in 17 hours. Then, on one such day, a new rule called 'Sittings of Firm Determination' was added. For a minimum of three designated hour-long sessions we were to sit without moving. When kneeling or sitting cross-legged on the floor, this becomes very uncomfortable very fast. In your private bubble of closed-eye silence, it was pure, unequivocal, agony. But with it comes a constant opportunity to practice non-identification with cravings - in this case the craving for the agony to relent.

Half way through the course we were a comical bunch to behold. We would hobble out of the meditation hall with stiff joints and walk to the furthest limits of the campus, delineated by a thin yellow string tied between trees. Lining up along this invisible force-field, we looked like a group of liberated Holocaust survivors that didn't know what do with their newly found freedom. But we were also looking around like people tripping on psychedelics: people were following ant trails, finding bugs on the ground, flowers or just looking out onto the jungle that surrounded us. I saw one old man stand perfectly still and grin with child-like delight when a butterfly had landed on his shoulder. With heightened awareness and an almost complete lack of visual stimuli, everything seemed so vivid and vibrant.
I was making progress day by day. I was managing the discomfort better and becoming more and more aware of my thoughts and more disconnected with my cravings. Indeed, it was only by non-identification with my cravings that I could survive through those hours without moving. Whenever my concentration lapsed and I thought about how much longer must be left to hold the position, or how much longer my grumbling stomach had to wait until its next meal, my agony would spike to nearly unbearable levels. I was forced to detach from my cravings as the only way to survive. However, I was still not getting happier, just less miserable. 

Most participants make some breakthrough, usually coming immediately after their lowest point. For some it happens on day 5, for some day 10. For me it happened on day seven. I was envious and resentful of one roommate and annoyed and resentful of the other. The first was a handsome young man with long blond hair who could sit for hours without moving, apparently without the slightest trace of suffering while I was in a world of pain. The other was constantly fidgeting and irritating me as he would go to the toilet sometimes more than once an hour, just to break the monotony. He would also shower thoroughly, working a thick lather through his body, shave, clean his ears with Q-tips and trim his toenails almost every day. Then all of a sudden, during one particularly difficult meditation session, it just shifted. I felt inspired by the good meditator and compassionate for the suffering of the other. I was excited about making the most of my remaining days and even started feeling, well... good.

I don't know what happened, but I cannot help but make comparisons with overcoming other addictions. After going through the withdrawal of a week without almost any endorphin hits, the body adjusts to this new state of equilibrium. Just like overcoming heroin withdrawal, eventually the body starts producing the endorphins again, but now without the presence of the previous trigger. For the heroin addict he no longer needs heroin to feel good. For me I no longer needed food when I was bored, no longer needed to talk if I had nothing to say and no longer needed a beer to accompany the already beautiful sunset. I was already content.

It was hard to compare progress when we could not speak, but I felt that it was getting better for everyone. On the eighth night, when we were listening to a recorded talk by a past master, the closest thing we had to entertainment each day, the power went out. The stereo turned off and the lights went black. For any other group this would have been a drama, but not for us. Without any apparent signs of even noticing, we calmly sat in silence in the pitch dark until the power came back on. We then continued as if nothing had happened.

So it was, in essence, 10 days of practicing how to suffer well; how to react to sensations of craving with equanimity and objective detachment. By the end you are no longer resisting the craving, but rather observing it passively. The automatic connection between a craving existing and the need to act on it had been broken. I looked forward to meditating (although never at 4:00 AM) and even papaya, the blandest of fruits, seemed sweet and full of flavour. It was a full-on detox - body, mind and soul.

I am still addicted to craving, and I always will be. It's fun to crave every now and then, and chocolate is still better than papaya. But now I have the tools to establish a more healthy, sustainable and satisfying balance. The road will be long and will require constant vigilance and hard work. But I am so glad I have taken these first steps. Those of us who survived to the end of the course were now privy to the greatest secret to happiness: As soon as you truly stop searching for happiness, it will find you.

Vipassana courses are available on a donations only basis all around the world. http://www.dhamma.org/

A flower that I looked at every day during the course

Daily Schedule 
4:00 Wake Up Call
4:30-6:30 Meditation
6:30-8:00 Breakfast and Rest
8:00-9:00 Full Group Meditation
9:00-11:00 Meditation
11:00-12:00 Lunch
12:00-1:00 Rest and Meetings with the Professor
1:00-2:30 Meditation
2:30-3:30 Full Group Meditation
3:30-5:00 Meditation
5:00-6:00 Tea (one small banana) and Rest
6:00-7:00 Full Group Meditation
7:00-8:15 Lecture
8:15-9:00 Full Group Meditation
9:00-9:30 Question time with the Professor
9:30 Lights Out

Crossing the Darién Gap

The Darién Gap bewteen Colombia and Panamá is one of the most hostile jungle swamplands in the world, and is also the home to several Colombian para-military groups and to the main cocaine trafficking route to the USA. Many people have died or been kidnapped trying to cross it. I opted for another, more scenic, route.

San Blas Islands, Panamá

I departed Cartegena, Colombia  at 8:30 with only a few hours sleep after a full moon party the previous night. It took the shitty old bus over an hour to edge its way through the congested traffic and trundle its way through random suburbs before we even arrived at the bus terminal. I was then immediately thrown into a bus to Montería. Other than having to change buses half way because mine was too empty to continue, it was an uneventful, bumpy 7 hours. Then, while waiting for the very last vehicle of the day to my destination of Turbo, I watched a male police officer flirting with a female shop attendant, which culminated in a tickle fight and the woman squirming her way off the chair and onto the floor. All in a days work for the Colombian Police Force.

In the 4WD I was jammed into the back cab with 3 Colombians, including an obese woman. After a while of driving through the countryside in the dark, we stopped behind a line of parked trucks and cars in the otherwise deserted highway. Two soldiers bearing large weapons in hand informed us that there was a blockade ahead. ´OK, some sort of military checkpoint for drug trafficking,´ I thought. Then a gang of rowdy shouting men passed by with shirts wrapped around their faces, leaving only a slit for the eyes open. Their shirtless dark bodies were glistening with sweat under the nearly full moon.

I jumped  down from the cab and walked around the truck parked in front. Further up the road I saw burning bonfires and many shirtless men with covered faces blocking the road. ´What´s going on?,´ I asked a fellow passenger. Its the ´Revolucionarios,´ he said. Knowing that this was one of the most dangerous parts of Colombia frequented by para-military groups trafficking cocaine to North America, suffice to say I was a little concerned. All of this occurring in Spanish added to my unease. But as the time passed and I saw several Colombians sleeping on the ground under their parked trucks I began to settle. I even got the confidence to go take a photo.

After asking around and getting several varied and vague answers, I found out that it was a protest from the local village who wanted to be connected to the electricity grid. So it was not guerrilla or para-military after all.

Eventually our driver decided that he was finished with waiting and burning blockades did not scare him. Despite no one else attempting to cross in the time we were there, our driver sped past the 20 or more vehicles parked ahead of us, almost leaving 2 of our passengers behind. He then eased his way around and over the blockade. The men were all shouting at us, but as we got closer I heard that they were only flirting with the girls in our car.

We continued on for several more hours on the shockingly bumpy road, gradually reducing in numbers as people where dropped off at their homes. Eventually it was just me in the back cab. At 1AM I arrived in Turbo, after over 12 hours of travelling. I checked into a cheap guesthouse and collapsed into bed.

When the port opened 5 1/2 hours later I got up to try and reserve a seat on the one daily speedboat to my destination. At 8:30 I returned with my bag and was squashed next to the captain out in the rain because they had over booked. He was already drinking port straight from the bottle. It was then a 2 1/2 hour ride across the gulf to Capurganá, the last town in Colombia and only a few kms from the Panamá border. 

Upon arrival I wondered around the town and bumped into a cute French girl with dreadlocks riding a bicycle. She took me back to her guesthouse, where I met another guy, also with dreadlocks, who told me about a boat leaving for Panamá the next day. I then went on a mission to find an Italian called Fabio for the details. While there are sometimes infrequent and irregular departures, his was the only boat actually stopping in the San Blas Islands on the way for the next 10 days. While I wanted to spend more time in this cute little town, I had to take this opportunity. So I interrupted 2 men playing chess at the currency exchange office to sell my Colombian Pesos for US Dollars, went to immigration to get my exit stamp then made the most of my first and last day there. No cars, kids hassling you to take photos of them, men playing domino's under a coconut tree, heavily armed soldiers enjoying ice creams with child-like delight, horse drawn carts, old man dancing by himself and everyone super friendly and curious about you. Oh and the beach was pretty great as well. Pretty much what I imagined a little Colombian Caribbean fishing village would be like.

Later that night when I was about to go to bed the hippies came back and said they were going to the beach with other people to drink and play music. So we sat on logs on the beach with beers, Rum, instruments and some joints with a mixture of locals and foreigners, speaking Spanish.

After a delayed departure due to heavy rain and police checks, I climbed onto a little speedboat with Argentinians, Mexicans, Spaniards, Italians, French and Israelis, all of whom spoke Spanish. After a short ride we arrived in Puerto Obaldia, the first town in Panamá, where we got out passports stamped and our bags searched by sniffer dogs. It is indeed the main route for Colombian cocaine destined for the USA, but the traffickers usually ´forget´ to stop there for immigration formalities.

The Colombia-Panamá border

An hour later we arrived on an island inhabited by the indigenous Kuna people. Our room was perched above the sea on stilts and you could see the crystal clear water through the gaps in the floorboards. Not a bad view for $5 a night.

We had lunch with fresh seafood and went for a walk around the village. A great place to be a kid, with children running around everywhere in packs, swimming, wrestling in the mud or playing with balls. Then we got back on the boat to go snorkeling off a nearby island. Super clear and warm water, but not heaps of coral. Someone saw some lobsters though.

I sat on the jetty for sunset writing in my journal and then speaking with an Israeli girl I had briefly met several months earlier in Peru. Just when I though the moment couldn´t get any better phosphorescent plankton started appearing everywhere, glowing fluorescent green.

We got up early the next day for 6 more hours of travel, with a short stop at an island with the biggest Kuna village. I got stuck in the worst spot on the boat, constantly getting sprayed with water and even using a mask and snorkel some of the way to keep the water out of my eyes.

But it was all worth it when we arrived at the island that would be my home for the next 2 days. A tiny island of about 100x50 M covered in coconut trees and cabins made of coconut trees, surrounded by white sand, Crystal clear shallow water and coral reefs. The San Blas Islands arguably have the best beaches in the world, alongside Polynesia in the Pacific ocean, and I could see why. 

After lunch we went snorkeling right off the beach. Corals of alien design, fish of brilliant colours and starfish up to 1/2 M across. Some people saw a ray and a shark as well. Snorkeling is one of the few things that is as good now as when you were a kid, and I explored with child-like delight for hours. Most of the time I was with the Israeli girl, and when we swam in to shore we lay on the beach in awe of where we were. The water was so calm and glassy that we were able to rest our heads on the shore out of the water with our bodies in the water. We then went and watched sunset with the others.

The Kuna people are a matriarchal self-governing indigenous culture living on and managing the San Blas Islands. They provide for almost all of their needs, including vegetables and some other crops which they grow on the nearby mainland. They also do not have individual money within a family. As such, they are still coming to grips with what I would call basic economic theory. Two beds in a private cabin costs twice as much as two beds in an 8 person dorm; 1/2 L Rum costs $6 while 1 L costs $18; goods cost the same whether you by them on a remote island or beside a highway on the mainland.

The following morning we all went to another island 1/2 hour away which was even more spectacular, and the weather was perfect. I felt euphoric. After a period of hysterical laughter trying to come to terms with how beautiful it was, we smoked some weed and went snorkeling. The visibility was incredible and the coral and sea life mind blowing. Such a magical foreign world under there. There was also a quite large shipwreck directly off the shore.

We had lunch back at our island, then said goodbye to most of the group. Me and a few others had elected to stay another night and make our own way to the mainland. I went snorkeling again, this time making a whole lap of the island. As sunset approached I put my mask half under the water so that I could see half coral and fish and half sunset at the same time. I then joined the others on the beach to watch sunset.We just looked at each other in silence. Nothing needed to be said. It was one of the best days of my life

The following morning we said goodbye to our island and the Caribbean sea and took an hour boat ride to the mainland and up a river a way. We then took a jeep a couple of hours along honestly the most roller-coaster like road I have ever experienced, before arriving in Panamá City on the Pacific Ocean. With a huge modern skyline, this wealthy city felt a world away.

For more information on this route, check out:

http://www.facebook.com/sanblascolombia (Fabio was recently interviewed by Lonely Planet so may be in the next edition, and was organising buying his own, better, boat when we left him in Panamá City)

http://www.thedariengapster.com/ (has good info on the transport details)

Currently, these are the only 2 operators undertaking this route.

Pablo Escobar and the Medellin Cocaine Cartel

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria was a Colombian criminal kingpin most renowned for his leading role in smuggling cocaine to the USA. At the height of his power, Pablo Escobar and the Medellin Cartel were smuggling 15 tons of cocaine to the USA each day, accounting for about 80% of all cocaine consumed in the USA and valued at some half a billion dollars per day. From humble beginnings, Pablo worked his way up to become one of the richest men in the world, and was eventually gunned down on a Colombian rooftop by a huge team of USA funded and CIA controlled men deployed to track him down.



Pablo was born 1 December 1949, the third of seven children to a farmer and school teacher parents. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, Pablo answered that he wanted to be a millionaire. As a teenager he began his criminal career reselling stolen gravestones, stealing cars, smuggling contraband cigarettes and even assisting in the kidnapping of a business executive. At the age of 25 he got into the business of cocaine in earnest. After a rival dealer was murdered, ostensibly by Pablo, all his men were told that they now work for Pablo. The following year Pablo was caught in possession of 18 kgs of cocaine after returning from Ecuador. While his attempts to bribe the judge were unsuccessful, after less than 2 months in prison he was eventually able to bribe the arresting police officers, and the case was dropped. This pattern of corruption and intimidation characterised Pablo´s manner of dealing with problems. As Pablo once said, ¨Everyone has a price, the important thing is to find out what it is.¨ Bribing was the first choice, but Pablo was not afraid to take more dramatic actions if necessary. He once said, ¨Sometimes I am God. If I say a man dies, he dies that same day.¨ This policy became to be known as ¨Plata o plomo¨ meaning ´silver or lead´.


While Pablo Escobar was the most well known member of the Medellin cartel, he was not the boss and held an equal, or perhaps only a somewhat greater, share to about 10 other senior members. However, over 10% of a cartel that at its prime smuggled 80% of the USA cocaine supply made him an exceedingly wealthy man. Indeed, by 1983 his fortune was loosely estimated at US$20 Billion, making him the 7th richest person according to Forbes Magazine rich list. As cash was the primary mode of transaction, stashes of millions of dollars continue to be found hidden in the walls of country villas and warehouses across Colombia.


The cartel was mainly a smuggling operation, with most of the cocaine coming from Peru and Bolivia. After is was further refined, it was transported to the USA via other Caribbean countries, mainly the Bahamas, where the cartel bought an island as a smuggling headquarters. They had a fleet of planes, helicopters, boats and even submarines at their disposal, and Pablo, unlike most of the other cartel leaders, famously piloted some deliveries. There were jetliners that could carry 11 tonnes of cocaine per flight and a record delivery of 23 tonnes in a cargo ship.


But controlling so much money has its costs. In addition to constant fighting with rival cartels involving frequent bombing and counter-bombing of cartel owned properties, they were also at war with the US-backed Colombian Government. In a rare offer of peace, Pablo and the cartel offered to pay off the entire national debt of some US$13 billion in exchange for immunity for cartel leaders.  The government said ´no´ and confiscated nearly 1000 cartel owned properties. They then signed an extradition treaty with the US whereby Colombian drug criminals could be imprisoned in the US. As Pablo famously said, `I would prefer to be in the grave in Colombia than in a jail cell in the United States.` The cartel responded with violence. A presidential candidate was gunned down, banks,  newspapers and a Government building in Bogota were car bombed and a commercial flight on which the President was supposed to be was bombed, leaving 107 dead. It was also alleged that Escobar financed an attack on the Colombian Supreme Court in 1985 by a guerrilla group which left have of the Supreme Court judges dead. With so much conflict, Medellin became the murder capital of the world, with over 25,000 violent deaths within the city in 1991 and over 27,000 in 1992. A portion of this high murder rate was attributable to the cartel´s offer of US$1000 for every police officer killed. Over 600 officers were killed in this way in only a few years.



After a period of relative peace, when a new president rescinded the extradition treaty and Pablo was voluntarily imprisoned in a luxury house he built for himself, the position was changed again under pressure from the USA. The war was back on, and Pablo let himself out from his prison and was on the run again. Throughout all these periods of different levels of violence, the rate of cocaine trafficking never faltered.

It took a US funded and CIA controlled team of 1500 men 499 days to track down the escaped Pablo. Using radio triangulation technology provided by the US, Pablo was tracked down to a middle-class neighbourhood in Medellin while talking to his son on the phone. As forces moved in Pablo and his one remaining bodyguard, who had been by his side since almost the beginning, fled the building rooftop to rooftop before they were eventually gunned down. It was 2 December 1993, the day after Pablo´s birthday. There is some controversy about how he actually died. Some claim it was the CIA, who have photos with the body moments later, while others claim it was a vigilante group called Los Pepes who had been pursuing Pablo for over a decade and had captured and killed his cousin earlier that day. Other´s claimed that Pablo shot himself and assured his wish to end up in a Colombian grave rather than a US prison.



While seen as an enemy of the US and Colombian Governments, Pablo was a hero to many Colombians, especially the poor. He built many hospitals, schools and houses in Colombia, most notably a 500 residence housing project in a poor area of Medellin that he gave to the locals. He was also patron of football, building sports centres, sponsoring children´s football teams and paying for about half of the Colombian national team. He did however, have umpires assassinated on a couple of occasions when he did not agree with a decision. He also built a massive zoo on his private country residence. It was abandoned upon his death and there are now some 300 wild hippos roaming the Colombian mountains.



Since 1995 Pablo´s widow and two children have lived in Buenos Aires Argentina, under different names. Pablo said that his wife was the only person he was ever scared of, and other than  being unfaithful was actually a good husband and father. While the family could only get away with a small fraction of Pablo´s wealthy, they still live a very comfortable life.

Now days, about 90% of cocaine used in the USA still comes from Colombia, usually via an intermediary Mexican cartel. The murder capital on the world is now Juarez, on the Mexican border with the US. In the post Escobar era supply and production of cocaine has not dropped, but now it is a collection of guerrilla and paramilitary groups in power operating from the jungle regions of Colombia. It is though that 50-300 thousand hectares of virgin Amazonian rainforest are cleared each year for the production of cocaine. But the situation in Colombian cities and highways has improved dramatically. Medellin is now a growing city with a perpetual spring-like climate, streets lined by mango trees and more beautiful women with breast and arse implants than you could poke a scalpel at. Once the murder capital of the world, this fun, safe and progressive cosmopolitan is now leaving many Western cities for dead. However, some bombed cartel buildings, including a highrise tower used as the cartel´s headquarters and the house of Pablo himself, remain unrepaired and vacant, serving as a constant reminder for the still too recent pasts.

Sacred Sueños Regenerative Farm Project

I recently came back from volunteering for a couple of weeks at a farm in Southern Equador. On the first morning I met up with Yves (pronounced Eve), the guy who runs the project. He is  Swiss born, Canadian raised fiery red headed ex-psudo-anarchist who completed a Bachelor and Masters in Environmental studies. Eight years ago he bought some land serverely degradaded by years of unsustainable farming where almost nothing grew, and committed at least 15 years of his life to help restore it. Today was his 37th birthday.

Clyde the baby donkey having his weekly bath

After a 15 minute taxi ride out of town I was handed the reigns to a horse loaded with a week´s worth of supplies just purchased in town, and we hiked about 1 1/2 hours up a steap, narrow and sometimes muddy trail. Huge respect to Jocito (the horse). We unloaded the weekly bounty of food. One of 12 eggs were cracked, several avacados and papayas were damaged, a few pears were uterlly destroyed, one bag of rice split open, and the bag of oranges and mandarins was left left in the chaos of the market. ¨All in all not too bad,¨ said Yves, who on other accasions had lost almost everything when the bags slipped off, sometimes bringing the horse with it over the edge of the trail. Then Yves, I and 4 other volunteers sat down to a hearty lunch of stewed vegetables, beans and grains.

The kitchen/dinning room/sitting room/library that we ate in was made by Yves at the begging of the project. After months of clearing flat land on the steep slope, he then dragged timber by horse from a tree plantation further up the mountain, and combined it with hand made adobe/mud bricks. After more than 6 months, there was a single room. The whole area was still covered in ferns and other weeds following the previous mono-cropping of sugar cane.

Now, after 8 years of using what he calls regenerative design (roughly permaculture principles), much progress has been made. With the help of a transient community of volunteers (up to 1000 over the 8 years), the soil quality has improved and now there are a number of productive vegi patches, greenhouses, native trees and fruit and nut trees. There is also running water from a nearby spring, solar panels for some eletricity, a composting toilet (aka the shit bucket), bee hives, 2 chicken coops, a solar shower, a dormitory and several cabins for sleeping. There is also a surpisingly extensive library with such titles as: Home Cheese Making; Butterflies of South America; 1984 (Orwell); Packin´ In on Mules and Horses; The Road; Ishmael and Human Manure. The other residents of the property include 2 milking goats, 1 baby goat (aka  a kid), 2 cats, 1 kitten, 1 dog, 2 puppies, an old horse, a donkey and her baby. Yves now lives on another part of the property intermitantly with his girlfriend, raising the goats and making goats cheese which he sells in town each week.

Mani (or Peanut in Spanish), the baby goat

We were expected to do 6 hours of work each day, and after splitting the chores to maintain the place, we could work on whatever projects we chose. I did such things as: weeding and caring for plants, planting seeds, transplanting seedlings, washing puppies, maintaining trails, fixing water tanks, feeding the animals, watering the garden and harvesting. I loved harvesting. While there is room for improvment in vegetable production, there were certainly enough beans. When I traced a thicket of climbing beans down to their stems, sometimes what I thought was 1 plant turned out to be 5, and other times what I thought was 5 plants turned out to be 1. These self seeded beans from past cropps were everywhere. I also harvested root vegetables, salad greens, some squash-like thing called Sambo, berries, a few types of fruit and eggs from the chickens. You could go pick a bowl of salad in a few minutes for lunch or pick some strawberries, rasberries and blackberries to go with your pancakes in the morning.

Living at a farm that did not import fertiliser or chemicals and that did not take any rubish off the property made you very aware of the consequences of your lifestyle. The rubish was sorted into careful piles. The planstics and other things that could not otherwise be reused were mixed with mud to make bricks, the food scraps were fed to the animals or composted, and the paper was burnt so the ash could be used in the garden bed. Furthermore, carfeully selcted plants were used to help improve the soil. Some brought up nutrients from deap in the soil, others fixed nitrogen, and all, even the weeds, produced organic matter that helped to improve the quality of the soil. As Yves said, even when removing undesired plants from the vegi patches, trim them back with love, and thank them for their contribution to the soil. Everything grown on the property -- and everything brought up in the form of food -- will return to improve the soil. Whether it is directly broken down, composted, eaten by the chickens or other animals and pooped out or eaten by the humans and pooped out (yes, even the human waste was used as fertiliser). At Sacred Sueños you can see the miracle of life in action.

You don´t need to sacrifice your lifestyle to be more sustainable; you just need to adjust it. My time at the farm was not at all unpleasant or unduely difficult. In fact, it was wonderful.

For More information, please checkout http://sacredsuenos.wordpress.com/