June 2. Good old Paradoxes of Relativism and a hot volcano.

Relativism... the paradox has been forgotten. People don't appear sensible to the idea that presicely because of the relativist phase we are in, a fertile soil for new Great Stories is being created. The relativism of the Last Stories presumes a linear concept of history, history being the meta-story and thus in contradiction to the believe that there are no longer Great Stories. It follows that an appropriate view of history would be periodical (ewige Wiederkehr des Gleichen) in a weaker sense: the recursion must not be eternal, and what recurs would be the similar, not the same. What remains is the idea of a recurring pattern of believes and societies. I am not claiming this is the true version of history. It is a version compatible with present-day relativism.
When we confront Hegel (or rather: Hegelianism) and its perfect system of synthesis, leading to the concepts of Absolute Spirit and the End of History, absolute reflexion (der absolute Geist der sich selbst betrachtet) how can we defend our skewed perspective? Aren't we exposed to the compulsion of continuing logically to the next level, all the way up the ladder? Towards a Point where as much as possible is present, conscious? I think the key to an answer is the idea of forgetting. To defend our concept of history against a Hegelian perspective, to immunize it against the necessity to develop it into a bright blossoming Absolute System as it were, we elaborate on forgetting.
Forgetting: flushing the canals of history. The Geist over our heads can forget and does so with greater precision than we do. Forgetting is vital to him. It couldn't surve as a superstructure with the complete memories of mankind. Why not? As it is vital for religious beliefs to erode, transform. The concept of an Absolute Spirit realizing itself through History has always been just an interpretation. Hegel's way to proof his case is one of the greatest intellectual achievements of our times. He establishes a chain of necessities. As soon as we perceive of the world, we see the Hegelian inquirer/inquisitor asking us questions, we have to answer until we arrive at the Absolute Spirit. But the Hegelian inquirer is still a person. It's a personal philosophy like the Christian God is a personal God.
We forget and we do forget essential things. Of course we cannot proof this point since what's essential is determined by the perspective of the present. It's a belief. -
History can forget essential things, too. Every epoch defines itself. What do I mean when I say history essentially entails forgetting? Forgetting is not a way to cut out dying tissue from the body of collective memory. It is a vital process affecting its very organs thus keeping it healty and semi-circular.

In the morning I can write in my gringo hostel "Jungle Party" and take a calory-loaded breakfast. I have a ticket to the active Pacaya volcano in the afternoon. Yes, an active volcano and a rather popular one since I meet a lot of people who hike this volcano. It's the easiest volcano to climb in the region. And we get to see something! After a short busride, we start to walk up to where the lava is. Some local guys offering horserides come with us, but it's an easy hike. We run down a slope with volcanic dust and climb towards the streaming lava over hot stones. It gets really warm now. I'm the only one with sandals but they don't melt. The little daredevil inside me called and I approached the lava close enough to put my walking stick in it. It caught fire inmediately. Some guys roasted marshmellows; I roasted a coin as a souvenir. The guy taking a picture of me from some four meters distance says it's too hot. Red hot lava rocks tumble towards where I'm sitting; it's amazing. In Europe the volcano would be closed. Here, nobody cares how close you get to the lava. I really like it.

I go out with the Swiss girl who works here and we drink cheap Cuba libres in a place called "Kafka". We share our travel experiences and plans in a good conversation.

May 16. San Blas, Narcisso, and Monkey Island.

Big red starfish, the pristine beaches of small deserted islands surrounded by turqoise water, rippling like millions of natural mirrors. It's so beautiful here! We arrive in the San Blas archipelago. Fabien anchors next to a large catamaran, close to a fairy tale palmtree island. We can dive in the water now, and explore the island. Hundreds of little fish shoot away in small coral dungeons when I wade to one of the islands. The feel of land under my feet comforts me, and I walk along the beach to inspect our first island. Unfortunately it is polluted with bottles, plastic, slippers. We couldn't see that from the boat. The island is not cleaned up because it is under Kuna supervision, I learn a little later. As opposed to the yachtsmen, who oversee some islands too, the Kuna don't care about the presence of waste from our technological culture.
This first island is uninhabited. My instinct call for something to do and I put some effort in the opening of a coconut, slamming it against sharp stones to no avail. My instinct gives up easily and decides to explore another island. This one has some thatched huts on it so I'm prepared to meet the first indigenous Kuna. On the second island I walk the beach until I've almost gone full circle when I see a man. A normal man in western clothes and a baseball cap, hanging out in a small hut. He cleans up the riff and offers me a smoked fish I eat right away. The Kuna shows me a pile of dehusked coconuts they export to Colombia. When I tell him I'm with a group he gets me another fish. With the second fish and some avocados in a bag I swim back to the boat. The smoked fish has to be kept dry, so swimming it back is not an easy task, but I gloriously succeed. My friends taste the smoked fish too and praise me for my herculean accomplishment. The Kuna man's name is Narcisso, by the way.

I spend the afternoon on the boat reading.

In total darkness we row to yet another island, that we agree to call "Monkey Island", we light a small campfire with dry wood we gather on another island, and share many Cuba libres with a hint of lime and DJ's delicious apple shisha. This is, we all do agree on that, perfection in its purest form. We do some more rounds of rum, put some more hot coal on the shisha pipe, philosophize about being in paradise until we get comfortably tired. We sleep right next to the smouldering embers.