Guest Writer: Dad climbs Mt Turari Pt 2.

We continue Dad’s account of his perilous ascent up Mt Tunari. Here’s Part 1 if you missed it. Anyways, we’re half-way up… No sooner had I arrived than, of course, the others headed off, making a huge effort to appear to be enjoying the agony that no doubt they were all experiencing.

Guest Writer: The Farja Climbs Mt Tunari

It looks like Magnum P.I. has opened the floodgates! Another guest Tale, this time from Dad, obviously reciprocating after many gracious, positive mentions on the site… For those who have never had the pleasure of climbing the famous Mt Tunari, at the end of the Cochabamba valley in Bolivia, I thought I would pen a few words to tell of our expedition some years back.

Camp Candelaria

The first Camp I ever went to, at least the first I have any memories of, was Candelaria. The campsite was high in the hills far from Cochabamba, impenetrable from threats like marauding villagers, personal hygiene, or warmth. They named it Candelaria after a Virgin or someone that was seen nearby back in the day (they were always seeing virgins over there) or perhaps because calling it Stallag 18 would have been walking on well-trodden ground.

Guest Writer: Magnum P.I.

Well! At long last, a brave soul heeded the call for decent (at last!) writing on MK Tales. And a celebrity no less! He often gets confused with that guy from Blue Bloods. Magnum P.I., take it away… I see you have been compiling stories of some truth about me without revealing my true identity.

Adventures in Babysitting

When we lived in Bolivia, we were pretty poor. Better off than most, but compared to Steve Jobs, the IKEA guy or Mother Teresa: pretty poor. This meant I got no pocket money and as a white kid, opportunities for honest work weren’t plentiful, aside from maybe selling vegetables on the street for 50c a month, or my remaining organs Dad didn’t have dibs on.

Site Re-Design

Well, as you may have noticed, the site looks completely different now. I felt the old design was a little cluttered, and I wanted to bring the focus back to the content, so… Photo of the Day, which has been very popular, now shows up in the slideshow on the homepage.

1 Year Old!

Well, here we are, one year older but not wiser. Thanks everyone for visiting throughout the year. Your support means something. I just haven’t figured out what yet. Of course, my pleas for photos largely went unnoticed; save for about 2 people, and I’ve never had anyone else try to write for the site, aside from threats from family members looking for revenge.

3rd World Plastic Surgery

A while ago a friend of mine had a melanoma removed from her arm. It left a rather large scar on her bicep and left my wife rather worried about the health of our skin. As a couple, we agreed the best course of action was to be men and to do nothing about it and ignore any symptoms that might arise in the future.

Pickin’ the Fruit

And once again we return to the innocent and occasionally factual years dubbed the Summers of Joel. Looking back, as I’m wont to do, I’d classify Joel & myself as good kids, even though, sure, we still caused mischief wherever we went. I mean, compared to us, we knew some total BRATS.

Chariots of Failure

By now you’d know that when I was young I was pretty fast around the track. I’ve talked about my skills here on MK Tales at length, it’s been in the news, and generally passed down from one grandmother to the next in villages everywhere as legend and heartfelt tales of yore.

Thomas & Daniel

I’ll be brutally honest: church in Bolivia was never any fun at all. Mum & Dad tried a few different churches over the years with ever loftier heights of boredom and awkwardness. Making things more difficult, in the beginning we weren’t speaking Spanish, like everyone else. Also, we weren’t dark-skinned and attractive, like everyone else. 

Revenge of the Smurfs

Midway through highschool we caught whiff of rumours in the wind of another 2 boys joining the school after the summer break. They were coming down from hellish Florida to idyllic Cochabamba to stay with their relatives and live the opulent lifestyle afforded to them by their DNA. This was exciting.