If Arcangel the musician is Arcangel the X-Man, Professor X has lost control of his mutants. And they've gone really soft.

I'm finding myself slowly seduced by Latin R&B and reggaeton, spinning romantic tunes in my cranium while I amble down the streets, the kind of admission that would normally leave my lips only as a teary confession while I toed the cliff's edge. Because the flight of my self-esteem is eased by an inability to understand the spanish lyrics -- which must be as abysmal as those of every hourly-repeated teen-devoured TRL hit on America's every Kiss FM -- I haven't sunken to smash-the-mirror-and-saw-off-my-head depths.

Yet.

Shit, it isn't even an option in a lot of these budget hostels.

But climbing all these mountains and volcanos presents an awfully easy solution.