TravelStream™ news feed for member closedforlunch on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/closedforlunch en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:49:56 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1227210360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1227210360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1227210360/tpod.html Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:49:56 -0500 Global wanderings.

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San Cristobal de las Casas, Central Mexico and Gulf Coast, Mexico

So I've decided to move my blog from here to another website to avoid the advertisements and fact that no one can comment unless they're a member. I liked the maps and fancy stuff on this wesite but I like hearing from friends and family more... so check it out:

http://closedforlunch.blogspot.com/

Mark
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Quetzaltenango, Guatemala

Guatemala!

Thanks to my terrible inefficiency and large amounts of apathy this entry and the others that will follow are on a slight delay. My intent to stay on top of it all has obviously failed miserably. However, instead of giving up on it I climb back onto the horse and continue to write meaningless rubbish about my travels. A few people (Nancy) have commented that my blog is very matter of fact and I don't really get all emo and write about my feelings. I apologies. Ok no I really don't care. I'll cry on all your shoulders next time I see you to expel all of my repressed emotions... Where was I?

Oh, that's right, Guatemala. The flight up from Panama was in extreme luxury thanks to me mistakenly booking a business class flight... it was strangely the cheapest, but I wasn't going to complain. The stop over in San Salvador, El Salvador was entertaining as I was whisked into a shop by these very friendly girls who insisted I take my hat off so they could admire my boofy hair and blue eyes. They then demanded I play them some songs on the guitar despite the fact I only know english songs and they didn't speak a word of english. The formalities over, two of the girls insisted that I call them 'mi amor' (my love) and proposed marriage a least three or four times. Seeing as my inclinations toward marrying people I've known for five minutes and my impending connecting flight meant that I (sadly) had to turn down their offers and depart the Cigar store, possibly forever.

Ok so the entry continued from here with amazing literary genius and highly amusing anecdotes... then the computer decided that I would take advantage of my delicate state and delete everything. Ouch. Now days on and with much procrastination achieved, I return.

Having left the cigar shop and my potential future wives I caught my connection and made it to Guatemala. The brand new airport greeted me with alluring odors of fresh paint and floor cleaner, an odor unfamiliar to the rest of the country. I emerged into the dense evening air and into the comfort of a tourist shuttle to the nearby Antigua, around 45 minutes from the less appealing Guatemala City with its rampant gang violence and high murder rate. Of course, true to the traditions of my travels, it was raining. Having been the epitome of organization that I am, I had obviously not booked accommodation and found the randomly picked local from the guide full. Seeing as it was raining, night time and I had spent the entire day in airports I was not going to be picky. So on the recommendation of the portly lady behind the wheel of my shuttle we knocked on a random door and an old lady - Estella - appeared and showed me to a room in her home for the absurd price of four dollars a night. Happy with this selection I threw my bags into my room and collapsed onto the bed. Moments latter she knocked on the door and offered to cook me up a late dinner for the, once again ridiculous, sum of 1 dollar. I accepted and after indulging in those rice and beans which I missed so dearly I called it a night.

Antigua is a beautiful colonial city with cobble stoned streets and brightly coloured Spanish styled buildings. The streets are organized and clean which puts it in the interesting position of being absolutely nothing like the rest of the country. For this reason there are an inordinate number of gringos and tourists who either live in Antigua or find themselves passing through (me included). The next few days were spent wandering the streets and updating the blog and generally just chilling out after an intense Panama experience with the American. It did however dawn on me at this point in my travels that this was the first time, since 2003 and my round the world jaunt, that I had truly been traveling alone. With this realisation came the unwelcome feeling of homesickness and a bit of loneliness. It wasn't aided by the fact that staying at Estella's house offered no social opportunities what-so-ever. With my emotional outpouring over I guess I can move on... *tear*

From Antigua I set off toward Quetzaltenango or ¨Xela¨ as us locals like to call it. I waited patiently on the corner in Antigua and was shortly squished onto one of the brightly painted old US school buses that make for public transport in Guatemala. These buses are affectionately referred to as ¨chicken buses¨ thanks to their frequent use in transporting chickens and other livestock often squished beneath the ample buttock of the native Mayan locals. This bus journey was a particularly poignant reminder that I was in fact back in Guatemala and not in a Switzerland or somewhere where sanity parades itself openly. I found the bus rather full... which admittedly is no miracle or abnormality. The seats which are designed to hold two little school children in the US all had three brightly dressed locals on either side. In the middle was another fortunate soul who managed to squeeze a quarter of a butt cheek onto the edges of the seats on the left and right, leaving them suspended mid air, held in place by their quarter of a butt cheek and the generally overweight Mayan women on his/her left and right squishing in like sardines. Then there remained the rest of us. Namely me and a couple of skinny farmers in cowboy hats who found ourselves standing between the mid-air-butt-cheek-sitters bags in hand and occasionally falling into the laps of the toothy smiled laps of our follow bus folk. This was how I stood for this and many other bus journeys come in Guatemala. An hour into the journey and the mighty ¨Pan-American Highway¨ turned into little more than a wide dusty race track which our bus driver used to take over petrol tankers, motorcycles and other buses... on blind corners only, of course.

Arriving in Xela was a relief. Five hours standing wasn't exactly the highlight of my travels so far. As I wandered the vaguely familiar streets in search of a hostel I recalled the incredible times and amazing people I had met on my last visit to this cool (temperature) mountain city. Arriving at my hostel and dumping my gear I went in search of my Spanish school - Proyecto Linguistico de Quetzaltenango - based upon my terribly unreliable memory and good vibes. After getting exceptionally lost, 40 minutes and wandering about 4km´s further than I should have I found the school, a casual 5 minute stroll from my hostel. Incidentally I would be studying in the ¨mountain school¨ which was another hour and a half from this one, but at least I knew where it was. The next day I went to the school to register and then set off to the mountain school all of my crap in tow. Arriving at the mountain school I realized that I had missed the orientation and that there was no-one there. I left my bags inside the abandoned school and wandered out into one of the three streets which comprised the little town of Santa Domingo where the school resided. I spotted a couple of tall white people... not necessarily the description of the local inhabitants... and set about catching up to them. Thankfully one of them was the schools director, a very Liverpoolian British lass who showed me to the family I would be eating with for the week. The way the school was set up meant that we lived in dorms at the actually school but went and ate meals with local families. It was an interesting concept. My family was a young couple with a gorgeous 4 year old daughter who would run out and meet me on the road, take my hand, and escort my to the house for every meal. The house itself was a one room concrete structure with a small dirt floored kitchen out the back. The father would catch a daily 4am bus with the rest of the men from the community into the nearest large town to look for work. Some days he would find it, and others not. Whether or not he was able to find work decided what, if anything, they would be eating the following day. Having language students provided additional income for the family and empowered the women who traditionally exist as the homemakers. This was an extremely positive impact of the school and something which makes one feel all warm and fuzzy about participating in. On the other hand the way in which it was set out struck me as really strange. At meal times the precession of fourteen rich white westerners would emerge from the school, walk to their family, feed and then retreat to the lair... I mean school. It made me feel a little uncomfortable. Hard to explain really.

My time at the mountain school was interesting. I met some amazing people in the other students, one of which being Benedict. Benno is a tall, lanky goofy kind of character who was studying up to work for a human rights organization in Guatemala city for 6 months (where he is now). We would spend a bunch of time study and eventually traveling together... he's good people... but more on that later. My teacher at the mountain school had lost his son in a terrible motorcycle accident which had also severely injured his wife also. I was his first student after two months off and as a result heard absolutely everything. While I felt bad for the guy I was there to learn Spanish and honestly, by the end of the week, I had exercised more of my counseling skills than Spanish skills. It was a bit of a disappointment. I was glad to leave.

I left with my mate Benedict and we made it back for the graduation in Xela. The school holds a dinner every Friday where the students provide the food and the teachers provide the drinks or the other way round. Regardless, Benno and I arrived, beer and rum in hand just in time to miss all of the often drawn out speeches and in time to drink with some of the teachers and Fidelma. Fidelma is the American co-ordianator (or something along those lines) at the school and she's pretty awesome. Over the coming weeks much time would be spent, post-graduation, drinking and dancing with Fidelma and friends.

Back in Xela my first week of classes were far more productive with my teacher bombarding me with more grammar in Spanish than I know in English. He was intense. He would correct every single grammatical error I made in speech which made conversation very, very difficult. Given the waste of time the week before had been and how hard I worked with him, I requested him for the following week. My days were relatively simple during these times. I lived in a cheap, cheap hostel across the road from school. I would wake, eat, study, eat and go to class. I would eat often in the markets and thankfully never suffered the gastronomic problems oft-associated with such feats. I drank a lot of coffee, partly because it was free at school, partly because it was so cold and partly to try and maintain some sort of focus on my homework and 5 hour one on one instruction.

At one point I got an email from Su, a girl from the US who lives in China who I had met in Xela some 5 years before. Su is one of the most giving and generous people you could ever meet. When I met her she was working in an orphanage and doing all within her power to invest money into making it a better place for the kids. The last time we had seen each other was when I left her, Chris and Hidde in a town called Coban with a beat up rental car after a life changing road trip in 2003. Randomly she was coming to Xela for a week to sort out some legal issues (to complicated to even explain) involving some of her kids from the orphanage which she continues to support financially from China. Anyway she was coming and wanted to catch up! After a series of missed calls and lost emails Su arrived with a car full of kids on a Friday and picked me up from school half way through class. She had just been on a road trip with some of her kids and was absolutely run off her feet. The next couple of hours we spent running errands around town whilst trying to be inconspicuous about our presence (for reasons which are too complicated to explain). Su had a flight the following day from Guatemala back to China via the US and had already been on the road for over 6 hours that day so I volunteered to drive her and the rental car back to Guatemala city. With a bunch of delays and problems with traffic we only actually departed the city around 7pm instead of the 4pm. No worries except the highway between Xela and Guatemala city was renowned of car-jacking and hold ups at night. That and, as usual, it was pissing down with rain. After carefully stashing that line of thought in the ¨don't want to think about it¨ bag, I took the reigns (wheel) and headed out along the highway. Su promptly fell asleep and I drove the most interesting and probably dangerous journey of my life. Screaming along at 100km/h dodging pot holes by swerving across lanes was made all the more interesting by the chicken buses and petrol tankers which would fly past me doing around 150km/h in the rain. Thankfully, all said and done, there were no car-jackings, muggings or horrific crashed and we rolled into Guatemala city around 11pm. Su woke up, took the wheel and guided us to her Guatemalan friends house in a relatively safe part of the city. There we did some long overdue catching up before ceding to fatigue and passing out around 2am.

The next day we ate breakfast with the family and drove on over to the airport. Su had been pulled over on her road trip earlier that week and was issued with a fine by a corrupt police officer chasing a bribe. Unfortunately she hadn't had a chance to pay the fine and so passed it on with the associated money, to me to pay for her later. No worries right. Wrong. But that's for later. Thanks to the big ass hurricane which had just devastated Cuba and was headed on up to give New Orleans another undeserved battering, Su´s flight was canceled. The lady behind the check-in counter issued a giant ´I don't give a shit´ speech complete with a big toothy ´you won't get any sympathy here´ smile as Su tried to explain her need to get anywhere in the US so as not to miss her rather expensive connection to China and back to work. A lot of fretting and $800 USD´s later and she had five minutes to run through immigration to get her flight with another airline (never fly continental). So that was the end of my very rushed, but well worth while reunion with my friend Su. Hopefully it won't be another 5 years before we meet again.

From Guatemala I caught that luxury little can down to Antigua to spend the weekend, considering that I really didn't need to rush all the way back to Xela in one go and it was a nice, slightly warmer, local to hang out for a few days. Cash and multa (fine) in hand I wandered over to the bank to pay the fine Su had passed on to me. The first branch didn't accept payments so I had to cross town to the main branch to pay it. No worries. Like I said... wrong. I arrive at the bank and after handing over the fine expecting a straight forward transaction, and am told that I cannot pay that fine at the bank. I questioned why and the explanation was rather strange. See the fine was issued in Chisec, a tiny little middle of nowhere town around 10 hours bus ride away. And despite the fine saying that it could be paid at Banrural (the bank) it apparently had to be paid at the Banrural in Chisec. I swore, in Spanish, a lot. This would ruin my vague travel plans to visit Mexico and some of Guatemala before leaving for Costa Rica. So I asked to speak with the manager. A long drawn out conversation with the bank manager and the result was the same. Despite the fact that it was the same bank, there was no way they were willing to even send the money by post to this stupid bank in the middle on no-where. I would have to go it myself. Damn it. Jump forward in time to a day before I was about to head to Mexico and I'm going to get money out in Xela. I decide to try one final time and walk into the bank and just play dumb (not hard, or much of an act I know). I hand over the fine and after 15 minutes and four people trying to work out why they couldn't get the fine to come up on the computer the guy shrugs his shoulders and puts out his hand. I hand over the money and he prints out a receipt. I nearly wet my pants with relief but pretended like it was nothing afraid they'd realize that no other branch would accept it and throw the money and fine back in my face. Upon emerging from those doors I did a little victory dance and damned the man... that's right, damn the man, I was free.

Jumping back in time I left the bank and decide it was an opportune time to drown my sorrows. So I headed to the bar at one of the hostels and promptly started enjoying some liquid gold. It was there I met a Belgian girl and a super cool Guatemalan guy who was shamelessly hitting on her. We ended up drinking quite a bit and winding up at a beetles cover show, which, admittedly wasn't all that bad. The next day we met up and this guy, in a land of absolute poverty picks us up in his brand new BMW and takes us to the gated garden of Eden community where his house was. It was gorgeous. We lazed around the pool for the day and the Belgian girls tested her wares and cooked up an amazing traditional Belgian beefy dish (yes my vegetarianism has been abandoned while traveling). So we enjoyed some great food, amazing wine and even better company. It was all a little surreal.

The next day I squeezed myself back between some sweaty Mayan women and the worst try hard pick pocket ever (he failed) for the journey back to Xela and to school. I arrived 10 minutes before class... but damn it I made it. The week was another relatively normal one. Except that Melton my British Jamaican friend made me drink wine almost every night after class... bastard. Ok so I may have been a willing party but whatever.

The weekend heralded an array of festivities with Guatemala's much revered independence day celebrations. The day started modestly enough with me meeting Melton and Benno at one of the local hangouts to have a beer and watch the craziness of the street from the luxury of a balcony overlooking the central square. Benno dragged along the father of his former host family, a taxi driver who had obviously decided to start celebrations off a little earlier in the morning. Eventually he tired of our bumbled attempts at casual conversation in Spanish and Benno walked him back to his cab to drunkenly guide it home (or into a wall?)... who knows. The festivities in the bar downstairs seemed to be well and truly underway with a chorus of drunken chanting emanating from the large arched entrance. Following the festivities down stairs it seemed that every young (more hispanic = whiter = richer) Guatemalan had decided to make Xela and this bar the spot to celebrate the independence (or perceived) of their country. It also inadvertently answered our question as to whether there were any really attractive Guatemalan girls in existence - they were all there. So we sat, liter beers in hand, and watched the frivolity carry on. This included an overweight 30-something Guatemalan in a cowboy outfit funnel half a bottle of the local firewater... nasty. As I stood, Panama hat perched upon my boofy hair, I contemplated the difference between these celebrations and those of Australia day back in the mother land. I determined that Spanish drunken shit-talking sounded far more poetic that Australian English shit-talk... that was about it. Eventually the bathroom called and I squeezed my way from the beer garden into the sweaty interior of the bar. After standing at the toilet door for what seemed like an eternity I was accosted by a young Guatemalan guy who thought that the guy in the toilets (which was actually a urinal - why close the door) must have been giving birth and that my hat was awesome (in your face Simon). After stepping over the guy guilty of making me cross my legs and squirm like a little kid, I eventually made it to the holy alter and was relieved.

Upon emerging from the porcelain alter I looked in vain from my hat which had, at some point in my previous conversations, ended up on the head of my new Guatemalan friend. It emerged moments later and I was dragged to a group of young Guatemalans from the city, who it turned out, had chosen to adopt me for the evening. I was glad to have been adopted as this guaranteed that I would be able to exercise my Spanish skills without the social inhibitions normally adorned by logic and good manners. After some casual conversation (all in Spanish of course) I see the funnel emerge from the crowd in the hands of my new Guatemalan friend, panama hat and all. This spelt trouble. I flatly refused as they suggested that I partake in the holy communion that was independence day inebriation. At that point it was as if the whole crowd went silent and one of the more attractive girls in the group paused, looked me up and down, and posed the question that sealed my fate... ¨¿no tienes huevos?¨ or... ¨what you don't have balls?¨. The question, posed by a girl in a highly machismo energized society and environment, spelt absolute social exile and ridicule if not met with proof of my balls and subsequent manhood. Therefore I conceded, grabbed the end of the funnel and threw out my last hope at avoiding the impending doom of the funnel... ¨no tengo mas cerveza¨ or ¨but I'm out of beer?¨ My cunning plan was immediately thwarted as another of my new friends emerged from the crowd, two liter bottles of beer in hand. After handling myself with as much man composure as I could muster I was promptly swept up with the group and we headed to another three or so bars (I think?) where I remember a bottle of vodka on the table and a lot of singing along to Spanish songs I'd never heard before. It was a great night. I saw no other whitey´s the whole night and spoke not a word of English the whole night. At some point I donated my panama hat to one of my new friends and at around 3am stumbled back to my hostel and crawled into bed. The next day was a little slow.

Another weekend had me venturing to Lago Atitlan a beautiful volcano rimmed lake which I had visited years ago. When last I was there the place I stayed had simple wooden huts, no electricity, no hot water and was a hippy haven where everyone ate together and sang around campfires until late in the evening. I arrived with Italia (Guatemalan) and Laura (Uruguayan) whom I´d met on the bus to find newly concreted buildings, a bar, restaurant, electricity and the works. I´d be lying if I didn´t say I was a little disappointed but hey, I´d met some cool people on the bus. On arriving I also met up with a Chilean girls I´d met in Antigua three weeks before. Also lucky was the fact that we had arrived on a Saturday just in time for the weekly cross-dressing party. So, fueled by an amazing dinner and a few ml´s of liquid courage (not that I really needed it) we dove into the room filled with dress ups. I helped adorn my new friends in masculine threads and black marker mustaches, and they squeezed me into a leopard skin dress, frilly underwear and pigtailed wig. From there we descended to the bar and danced like my frilly underwear were possessed. Myself and Italia were the hot couple with our dance moves capturing the attention of the whole bar at one point when she made a sneaky move and groped one of my sock filled bosom. It was a lot of fun. At one point the police showed up to laugh at the stupid gringos in cross dress - obviously a weekly event. I decided, that even though the police all carry shotguns which are commonly used, I would, leopard skin dress and all, get a photo with them. Proof found on facebook. The night ended somewhere around 1am when the frilly underwear began to chafe and the wig began to itch. I spent the rest of the weekend chilling out, swimming and trying (possibly in vain) to reclaim the image of manliness from my fellow hosteliers who thought that perhaps I had embraced the role too well.

Back in Xela classes continued and my confidence in my Spanish abilities was continually shattered by the insurmountable amount of grammar that seemed to multiply when I would take my regular coffee breaks. My teacher in my final week was the best ever. She was this tiny little Mayan women who had fought as a guerrilla soldier for 18 years in the struggle for Guatemala. Her father and brothers ¨disappeared¨ and at one point she was captured by the Mexican military, incarcerated and tortured. This was one hardcore chick. In addition she was a great Spanish teacher and I honestly believe that I learnt more in this week than I did in the cumulative weeks prior. My graduation beckoned and I had prepared nothing... no food, nor a presentation to show off my Spanish prowess. So as my ¨traditional Australian food¨ I wrapped a couple of beer bottles in labels that said ¨comida typica de Australia¨ and made a five second speech about how much I was looking forward to eating that night. Genius I know. That night heralded some amazing dancing with Fidelma and my awesome Canadian friends Alana and Tasa. At least we thought we were amazing. At some point I managed to pay that fine and I packed myself up and said adios to the fleas which a week earlier had decided to take up residence in the entire hostel. Benno and I were off to Mexico!

Tell me thats not a blog entry.
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Bocas del Toro, Panama

Waiting at the airport was a laugh a minute. Nancy's flight delayed by at least 3 hours and there was stupid me showing up to the airport early to make sure I was there to collect her crazy American ass. When she finally touched down in Panama city I was half asleep and still recovering from the all night partying from the night before. We taxied back to Roberts house and crashed out.

Crack of dawn Nancy drags me out of bed and gives me shit for being so slow. Thanks Nance. We fell out the door and embarked to Bus town (also know as the bus station) and jumped onto a bus to Boquette a sleepy little town in the mountains about 7 hours bus ride away... in theory. The bus journey was fun. The aircon had broken which would have been fine if we could have opened the windows. So sweating our asses off the bus driver managed to stop a total of a billion times to drop off deliveries, chat with his mates and scratch his ass. By far my favourite part of the bus journey was when the entire bus filled with smoke and everyone panicked and trampled one and other trying to get out the door. Nancy and I just kinda of sat there a little puzzled and contemplated a fiery death in the windowless bus. Well for everyone at least. They were running towards the smoke? I contemplated opening the emergency window right next to our seat but instead waited to see if we actually had flames to run from. Disappointingly we didn't. There would be no burns unit for us. No one bothered to ask why the bus filled with smoke but once it had all cleared out they all jumped back on to continue the sweaty journey up into the mountains. So we made it.

Boquette was cool. But as seems to be the theme of my travels it pissed down with rain. We spent half a day hanging out with the travel agent trying to work out what we were going to do for the rest of our time in Panama. We also headed up into the mountains a zip-lined through the canopies. It rained there too. Zip-lining is basically where they string up a bunch of cables which criss-cross between platforms attached to trees etc. They give you a massive wedgy, attach you to the cable and send you on your way making random hand signals which are supposed to indicate whether you should slow down (by pulling down on the cable) or speed up. Apparently Nancy doesn't particularly like listening to instructions and flew head first into a tree. Comic genius. To compensate she braked too hard on the second last (and the longest) one and stopped about 50 meters from the platform hanging, wedgy and all about 40 meters from the ground. I took great pleasure in laughing at her. I'm a good friend.

From Boquette we headed out to Bocas del Toro - a bunch of Caribbean style islands off the north east coast. It rained there too. It was pretty awesome though. Freakin hot. It was here that the most amazing purchase thus far was made - My Panama Hat - Made in Ecuador. Perfect. We stayed on three different islands over our three nights. Just for fun. Bastimentos was the first. We sucked it up and jumped on a boat for a tour around some of the surrounding islands. My aversion toward organised tours wasn't really necessary on this occasion. Though the people we were with were kind of weirdos. We first headed out to this "dolphin bay" and sat, along with about 10 other boats trying to sent out dolphin vibes. I did my best dolphin impression. It was pretty good. It must have worked because 1 dolphin appeared and all ten boats started circling, all with hordes of tourists touting cameras and comedic fascination, all apparently oblivious to the absurdity of all the boats chasing down this one poor dolphin. We took photos of the tourists instead. Far more entertaining. Later we headed out to this beautiful little island which stuck me as very, very Cocos like. Apart from the naked old ladies and loud and obnoxious Italian tourists. Of course. On this island I experienced one of the highlights of my travels to date. A ranger was in the process (rightly or wrongly) in assisting a couple of hundred baby turtles escape from their especially warm nest. They'd decided that rather than hatch at night, they be like, "screw you man, I'm hatching in the day time". So we watched as they all scuttled down the beach, got smashed by the waves and headed ocean ward. At one point one of the stupid Italian tourists was so busy taking photos that he failed to realise he was standing on one of the little turtles legs. Nice work dickhead. If I could have sworn in Italian I would have. All Italians aside it was an amazing thing to witness.

The next night we spent on the random Island were we paid for an overpriced room. That was about all we did on that island. Oh except we hung out at this crazy ass hostel called Aqua where it was ladies night and Nancy drank for free. Why is there no mens night damn it. I wonder if I wore a dress they'd give me free drinks. The final night we hung out on Isla Colon, the main island. I managed to sweet talk this little old lady into knocking US $25 off the price of this apartment like room with a private balcony over the water, right in the middle of town. That night we made our best attempt at a pub crawl. We kind of sucked. The highlight was the local bar full of, believe it or not, the locals. All the tourists were paying $2 for a beer next door in their fancy shmancy bars and we sat in a building which was slowly descending into the water and drank our 70 cent beers. Yes I know, we're awesome. We fizzled out early though and retreated to our private balcony and watch a kick ass lightning storm roll through. I did already mention that it rains everywhere I go right? It was pretty incredible. There were lightning strikes on all sides of us and the thunder was so powerful that the building was shaking. Sweet.

The next day we walked the four blocks down the street, beers in hand, past the police station to the international airport. While the plane was landing a bunch of kids were playing soccer at the end of the runway and no one batted an eyelid. From Bocas we flew, via Panama city, out to the San Blas Archipelago home to the indigenous Kuna's. It's a semi-autonomous region where you can't live or buy land unless your indigenous, and it's huge. When we arrived we realised that reservations would have been a good idea as the island we landed on was literally just a runway with a couple of coconut trees. Luckily some Spanish tourists had made a reservation with the cheapest place on the atoll and the guy (Senor Robinson) showed up which I fumbled with my phone trying to call someone who spoke english or spanish. He showed up in the nick of time because on the phone, my spanglish and their Kuna was getting so mixed up I think I told them that their island was about to be invaded by rabid kangaroos carrying machetes. Or something to that effect.

The boat ride was painfully slow but eventually we showed up to Senor Robinson's island only to find out that he really didn't have any space. Oops. The island was really just a couple of cabins and beach. No one lived there, it was just for tourists. So we headed out to Senor Robinson's friends island to see if he had space. About halfway there I told Senor Robinson that we really wanted a cultural experience and that Nancy was an anthropologist. He promptly turned his boat in another direction and took us to his house to stay with him and his family.

The Kuna's still live very traditionally, thatching roof's and building woods out of bamboo. Their toilets consist of a short platform just off the edge of the island and some gaps in the wood where you just squatted and did your business straight into the water. Hence the reason why when your enjoying the vista and you look down into the water you frequently see pieces of fecal mater haphazardly floating by. Mmmmm tasty. Not that we had to worry about that because Senor Robinson didn't have a toilet, or running water. So we had to head to his friends house to pee or poo or whatever. They also like to throw their rubbish into the ocean. Just for fun. On this tiny little island lived over a thousand people, and this island was tiny. You couldn't go anywhere and not see people walking around. There is no real privacy at all and people just walk in and out of each others houses. Snr Robinson gave up his sort of room (there was a curtain) and Nance and I slept in their hammocks. There were kids everywhere... and I mean everywhere. We contemplated how exactly this occurred considering the lack of privacy and the logistical difficulties likely involved in sex on a hammock. Maybe it's a spectator sport.

Most of the women adorn this beautiful and ornate traditional dress. The women decided to dress Nancy up on the last night which they thought was hilarious. Her half Japanese look could almost have passed for Kuna except that on the island her short ass is actually tall. We went and visited an incredibly beautiful island with a bunch of weirdo Spanish tourists one day but by far the best experience was hanging with the locals. We spent hours just hanging out with Nancy firing of a billion questions about Kuna culture which I translated and Snr Robinson would explain. It really tested my Spanish, especially when I had to translate it back into English for Nancy who sat pen in hand scribbling down page after page of notes like the good anthro nerd that she is. We spent one day as the entourage of one of the Kuna women as she went
to another island and campaigned as a candidate for the upcoming
election. She went door to door showing the mostly illiterate women how
to vote for her if they wanted to. I can't even believe how much we learnt about their culture in such a short period of time. Everything from traditional songs, politics, family structures, spirituality and everything in between. It was pretty amazing. We were basically adopted by the community for the few days we were there.

From San Blas we flew back to Panama city for our last night in the country. It was pretty cool, we just hung out with Robert and Keyra (his girlfriend) made pizzas and drank to much (again). I stupidly went with Nancy to the airport to see her off in the morning. Stupidly because my flight was at 5pm and hers was at 10am. So again I hung out at the most boring airport in the world, all day. I did however meet an American guy who had been robbed in the city. All of his money, his passport, his military ID... everything. I felt so bad for him. He'd left Iraq 3 days earlier and was supposed to wait 4 days to meet his wife and kids on a cruise ship. I gave him my mobile telephone, $20 so he could eat and sleep somewhere that night and instructions to the US embassy so he could go there early the next morning.

Robberies, stupid Italians, cute turtles and too much beer aside, I had a great experience in Panama and I made some lifelong Panamanian friends. I'll definitely head back one day. So from Panama city I jumped on the plane and flew of to the next destination in my global walk about... Guatemala.
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Panama City, Panama

Hola! So a little delay on the whole "updating the blog thing". Sorry, I'm a little slow. After my BR experience the brain was a little exhausted and I was remembering what it was like to have free time again.

So Panama! I actually have very little concept of how much time I spent there but there have definitely been some highlights. After seeing of my group of kids at a ridiculous hour of the morning I headed back into the city and to Roberts house. Robert was helping Fidel out by cooking on the boat and acting as "lifeguard". When I mentioned that I'd be hanging out in Panama he offered me a place to crash. I accepted and it was sweet. Over the following weeks (who knows how many) I was more or less adopted into Rob and Fidel's group of friends. It's awesome. They're all referred to as "Zonian's", that being people born in the Canal Zone in Panama. It was for a long period of time official territory of the USA and all of the people within it went to American schools, had America passports and spoke English as a first language. Of course with the US leaving at the end of the Millennium and Panama taking over the Canal the became the last of a kind. It's kinda weird.

Some of the highlights of hanging with Robert and his friends was seeing a locals perspective on Panama city. I didn't really visit the tourist sights at all but more the local hang outs. One afternoon we showed up at the canal in a sort of industrial area, bought some beers and watched the ships go buy. The beers were bought from these beer drinkers come boat builders. When we showed up (during work hours) they were kicked back on chairs drinking while half a dozen unfinished fiberglass boats sat unattended. After minutes of hanging out random people would either drive past and stop or merely show up. It wasn't like an organised hang out it just seem that they all had some sort of telekinetic drink by the canal vibes they were attuned to. We chilled and watch the massive... massive ships roll by and spoke spanglish. Was sweet.

They also took me along to 'Lum's' a local bar near the canal... more than a few times and more or less everyone in the bar would know everyone else. There's always be David or Rata with his girlfriend enjoying not working on a container ship (which he does 9 months of the year) along with heaps of other crew. It's a cool spot.

I got to hang out with a 'doctor crowd' since Keyra, Roberto's girlfriend is a legit doctor. I felt kind of uneducated until they got drunk then I felt good smart. That was fun. She's cool.

I went on a surfing road trip with Robert and Chris up to a place called Santa Catalina. Robert came back to his place at about 11pm and was wired from too much redbull. He woke me up and we packed the car, then he looked for his debit card for about and hour and then we left. We picked up Chris at this mansion like place where there was some party amongst a group of friends. We jumped in the car and I sort of fell asleep in between times of Brown (Roberts dog) deciding that she didn't like the boot and would climb over the back seat inadvertently managing to rub her ass into my face. 6 or so hours later we arrived and the swell was um... big. It was about 8-10 foot and there were about 40-50 guys already in the water. In my fatigued state I made the 40 minute paddle out the back. It was there I had a realisation. I hadn't surfed in about 6 months. I was on a 6'0 board that I'd never surfed before, I was incredibly unfit and had never, ever surfed with so many people competing for such big waves. I then had another realisation as I found myself caught in the impact zone right before the lip landed on my head... I might die here, today. Turns out I didn't or did I... It was one of the first times I've (in my head) thrown my hands in the air and though screw it... I'm not having fun surfing. It was also a realisation that if I kept traveling to surf then I was going to see very little else... as I know how easy it is to get sucked in to that lifestyle (mostly because it's awesome). I had planned to stay on in Santa Catalina but I jumped in the car with the boys and headed back to the city.

The next day I jumped onto a bus out to El Valle. A sleepy little town which sits in the crater of an ancient volcano. I ended up camping in the backyard of this very rasta looking Hari Krishna called Swami. He was one cool dude. He spent 8 years living in India, was on a plane high-jacked by Pakistani terrorists and has been arrested (multiple times) and deported (once) from Cuba. Besides the fact that the tent I rented was less than water proof and that I had to wait for the mud on my feet to dry before I jumped into my sleeping bag... it was 5 star accommodation. While in El Valle I did a couple of hikes. The first up to some waterfalls and indigenous rock paintings (which were kinda lame) and the second over the length of this mountain referred to as "la India dormida" or 'the sleeping Indian girl because of the shape that it makes. Some parts were kind of sketchy, especially when I got lost and ended up emerging from the bushes to find a sheer drop of oh... 50 meters or so. I took a break on her boob for about half an hour and again around her bum about an hour later. The whole hike took around 5 or 6 hours and I was more or less shattered after that. On my last night I caught up with Jaime - one of the zonian crew from Panama city who lived out in El Valle. We went out to dinner at the place where all the bus driver ate... thanks Jaime... actually other than some expensive restaurant it was the only thing open... plus they had beer. My favorite food.

Back in Panama City I had a few days before Nancy flew down from New York. I pretty much just hung out, drank with my friends (notice they became my friends at the part of the story), had an interesting Chinese brunch/Dim Sum experience and played with brown and the rat dogs which also occupy Roberts back yard (along with two turkeys and a couple of ducks).

The day Nancy flew in I caught a lift with Keyra out to the airport and was lucky enough to discover that her flight had been delayed. Yay for me. So I waited four four and a half hours in THE most boring airport in the entire world. I payed too much for a few beers and then spent the rest of the time contemplating whether "there" actually exists. Think about it. By the time you get "there" you are actually "here" therefore there really is no "there" but only "here". Yeah, deep I know.

The Panama section is... to be continued. Wow sounds dramatic doesn't it. In reality I need to pee and it's about dinner time and I can't be bothered writing any more. But hey... To be Continued...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1217623560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1217623560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1217623560/tpod.html Fri, 08 Aug 2008 17:00:59 -0400 Global wanderings.

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Panama, Panama

Arriving in Panama we met Fidel our outfitter for the rest of the trip... and what a relief. They guy is a legend. Everything was organised and we jumped on our own private boat with a bunch or hired new boards and headed toward the surf.

The surf was an interesting one considering we were on a boat and I had to get both the kids and the boards to the beach in order to teach them... not that great an idea in retrospect. My faith in the sea faring abilities of "Perdo" (not his real name) were shattered when on the first day he managed to flip the dingy in surf with the boards, five kids and me. Luckily no one was hurt but that set the tone for about another 5 dingy flip in the next few days.

Other than the chaos of getting in, life on the boat was chilled out. Rob one of Fidel's mates was working as the chef and Ratta (another mate) was captaining the boat. They were both awesome. All of the kids surfed well in sometimes dodgy conditions so I was stoked. I was a lot of work though.

All in all it was a great experience working with the kids. They were challenging and exhausting but great fun. When I said goodbye to them at the airport there were tears from some of the girls and it was quite an intense goodbye. Had I not had only one hour of sleep I might have been a little more emotional but I was really ready to get out of there and recover some of the many hours of sleep I'd lost on the trip. Mariann was awesome and I'd work with her again any day. A friend for life for sure.

Robert was kind enough to offer me a spare room so I jumped in a taxi from the airport and to his place to sleep and work out a plan for exploring Panama. I'll post my Panama update soon. Panama real.

:) Mark.
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San Jose, Province of San Jose, Costa Rica

Costa Rica was my first chance to really try out my wilting Spanish for the first time in 6 years. I made some friends on the plane trip across which really highlighted how much I had lost.

The side of Costa Rica we saw with the kids was completely different to the Costa Rica I new. We were taken around in a new private bus and saw the fruits of the tourist dollar at work. It wasn't the real Costa Rica. That said it was really cool. We stayed at Pozo Azul this place which offers a heap of different activities. While there we went zip lining, white water rafting (sweeeeeet), rappelling and horse riding. It was fun. I made friends with a few off the staff who extended an open ended invitation to come back and stay at their house. I'm definitely going to take them up on that when I go back. I love tico's (Costa Ricans). They're so mellow and layed back. Even when I had to do a hospital run with one of our kids. At one of the other places we rafted in and stayed in a jungle camp. It was some of the most amazing view I've ever seen. We even hiked up to a legit indigenous and met this old guy living in the most simple of conditions and loving it. Cool.

From Costa Rica we were off to Panama... a new one for me and the company.
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Glovers Reef Atoll, Belize Cayes, Belize

Leaving the comforts and complete laziness that surrounded my New York portion I set off to Miami to collect all the kids and head down to Belize. I'm not going to to a blow by blow because you can check out the 'whats up' section of their website and read the kids blog there. But the highlights.

Meeting all the kids in Miami was interesting. As with any new group there was a lot of awkward silence while I made a complete ass of myself. Arriving in Belize we met Mariann and jumped onto a tiny little plane out to Dangriga (from Belize city) and to our accomodations then over to Glovers atoll. The islands themselves were beautiful but my back hurt like crazy because of the psychotic boat drivers insistence of going flat out through solid swells with my at the bow. Nice work idiot. In our 8 days on the island the kids learnt to cook and clean - something most had NEVER done before. Yes I know. We spent a night on half moon caye and snorkeled the world famous Blue Hole which was Ammmmaaaazing. We got stuck on the island for an extra night because the lady who ran the island was completely freaking insane. Think old, senile, cracked out, leather skin, overweight and bikini clad and you get some idea of classyness of this lady. She told us that it was too rough and late to leave (after she had sent the boat away an hour early). Then she sent another group of people on a smaller boat back to the mainland... ok then. The staff at the island were awesome though and we all made the most.

Belize seemed pretty cool, not that we really experienced the real Belize though. I guess I'll have to go back. To check out more check out the website link on my face-crack aka facebook.

On to Costa Rica!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1215784020/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1215784020/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/closedforlunch/2/1215784020/tpod.html Fri, 08 Aug 2008 16:10:52 -0400 Global wanderings.

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Poughkeepsie, New York, United States

I arrived in New York with Louise, one of my friends who was off to Fiji for her summer program, I was grateful that Marrian had taken all of our project gear. Louise had a trolley full of gear which she had managed to convince the guy at check in to knock fifty or so dollars off the excess baggage charges. Oh the power of flirting. I tried to get an upgrade to first class by doing the same. The guy was unimpressed. Back in New York I bid farewell to Louise with the intent of catching up with her in a week or so with another co-worker Greg who promised us a feast at his mums house in the Bronx. Thanks to my phone dieing it never happened... oh well next time. Anyway, a bus to grand central saw me to my train to Poughkeepsie where my friend Nancy was living for the summer. The train wound through the city and up north along the Hudson River. The river is expansive and actually quite beautiful. Soon the sky scrapers and apartment buildings gave way to lush green trees and large river side houses. Not quite what I had expected from New York.

That was my introduction to five weeks in New York. Obviously I've done a heap of stuff, but again, doing a blow by blow account would likely have you contemplating how they came up with the word 'word' to describe words. My NY experience only involved a couple of trips into the city, which was actually fine. It has given me the opportunity to get to see what life is like actually living in a place. It also gave me the opportunity to see the kinds of things that a tourist would never get the chance to see. Its been great. I can't thank Nancy enough for putting me up for the WHOLE time and putting up with me for that same time period. She's introduced me to so many people and shown me such a great time... she's kinda the shit. I'll do my best to give you some of the highlights from my time here, but its all a bit of a blur at the moment.

The first week or so revolved around Nancy's "workplace" freedom lake. She and a bunch of her friends "work" as lifeguards there. The lake itself it man-made and gets progressively more disgusting as the summer progresses thanks to a mix of fecal matter, urine and an array of 'i just don't wanna know' other things which find their way into the lake. I put the word "work" in inverted comma's as a large proportion of their time is spent throwing things at each other, playing ping pong, wiffle ball (sort of baseball) and diving for things at the bottom of the lake. That said they do have to stop people from drowning and stuff.

I got to experience a legit college party in the dorms at one of the local universities. It was funnier than you could possibly imagine. We...

Ok so this did post before I intended it and thanks to Nancy for filling in the gaps. It seems a travesty to undo all her handy work so I'm tempted to just leave it alone. That said, in the interests of maintaining continuity in writing style (crap) and correct grammar (not American) I should probably fix it up. I guess I'll keep Nancy's writings (in italics) as a prompt and add in my own gibberish around it. So again, thanks Nancy... even for the embarrassing additions.

I would also like to comment on Mark's description of my work place. It is indeed a man-made lake, but is filtered by a natural spring. So it's not as gross as Mark is making it out to be (he's just a bit of a wimp).

Ok, so I might be a bit of a wimp but that lake and its "natural spring" could be considered a septic tank by the end of the summer. I'm unsure as to the origin of its effluent - some foamy algae like substance - but its there. Maybe I"m being harsh but its my blog and I'll write whatever crap I like :)

We went to a Yankee game and went out for drinks in the city afterwards. I took Mark to my favorite hole in the wall bar, which serves $4 drinks all day/night long. Miraculously, we made it back to Poughkeepsie in the same evening in one piece.

Yes the Yankee's game... that was freaking awesome. It was about 44 degrees (celcius) with Darwin like humidity at the original Yankee stadium (due for demolition at the end of the season). As we walked toward the entrance Nancy commented that I would see and here some of New York's Finest in action... no not the NYPD but Yankee's fans. Moments later as we walked behind two Yankees fans with their matching shirts, hats and beer guts I hear one of the most eloquently spoken exchanges in my life. *Imagine a thick, thick Brooklyn accent - Fan #1: "Yo dude what da f*#k, it's hot as a mutha f*#ker our heya" Fan #2: "F*#kin' ay". I told you... linguistic brilliance. The game itself was a side show to the overly enthused fans. My favorite part was when I had to stand for a the US national anthem and a minutes silence out of respect for troops serving in Iraq. It's such a big thing over here - supporting the troops. It's cool but I think they should also support the logical voters who didn't elect that idiot bush. Whatevsies. It was an all round all American experience. We did go to the Bar downtown afterwards which was so cool. I know I'd been into the city before (6 years ago) but I really feel like I got to experience the city this time. Its cool.

After a few rounds of drinks one evening, Mark revealed his true talent: karaoke. At the time, I had lost my voice and could barely talk. Mark thought it would be funny to tell the karaoke DJ to call me up to sing "Sexual Healing". What Mark did not realize is that I'm actually not stupid, and saw him blatantly walk up and sign my name on the list. So, a few minutes later I snuck up to the DJ and told them to call out Mark's name, not mine. So yes, that's how Mark sang "Sexual Healing" to a roomful of strangers. And he did it quite well.

Yes back in Poughkeepsie in the "Dutch Cabin" near Nancy's families house this event did occur. I thought I was real subtle actually. Apparently not. I totally out did the guy from Alaska in the "came farthest just to sing karaoke for ya'll contest". Owned him.

I took Mark to Woodstock to meet my father and his veggie Benz. My father's friend just bought a plot of land in Woodstock that was famous during the 1960s as a nudist camp, so Mark and I walked around the property checking out all the "sex huts". There was also an old tennis ball court in the middle of the camp grounds that people must have played on... nude. NUDE. I can't imagine - nor do I want to. We, however, did not get nude. Mark was worried about getting bit by ticks.

I hold no fear of ticks. I merely felt that neither my hair, nor my beard or pubic hair was neither long enough to honor the hippy spirit that existed at the camp. Nancy's dads 'vegi benz' runs entirely of vegetable oil. Depending on where the oil comes from his car either smells like a Chinese kitchen or french fries. Its cool.

Mark overcame his fear of water and heights when we went cliff jumping at Kaaterskill Falls. Oh wait, but before the jumping part we hiked up the falls (Kaaterskill Falls is the highest two-tiered waterfall in New York State. The water drops 260 feet - not meters - in two stages. The first drop is 180 feet while the second is only 80 feet), had some awful Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat beers which I will never drink again, and hiked down the mountain while watching our friends stumble down in their inebriated state. It was after the hiking/drinking that we went cliff jumping. We definitely peer pressured Mark into being perhaps a little too carefree and wreckless. Don't worry Mr. and Mrs. Gossage, Mark did leave NY in one piece - I made sure of that!

I can add nothing to this. The waterfall was amazing. Oh and there was this hippy couple camping at the top who were off the planet. When Mike asked them how old they were the guy responded with "what, in earth years?" I felt ashamed by my mediocre hippyness. The girl then decided to change in front of everyone hairy hippy legs and all. They were cool. I asked them what they were doing after they left and they were like "oh dude we're headed to this rainbow gathering in the forest... its gonna be a trip". I'm sure they were destined to keep tripping. Cliff jumping was cool but I am allergic to hurting myself so I was reluctant. But it was sweet.

Mark "played" baseball with the Freedom lake lifeguards, meaning we sat in the outfield and drank because the guys thought Mark and I were more harm than help to the team. Shunned by my own friends - nice.

Yeah the baseball. At a fully fledged baseball pitch thingo. Yes we got shunned. They took the game way too seriously anyways. It's not a gentleman's game like Cricket where having a beer in hand while playing is an optional rule. They could learn a little culture from backyard cricket.

Luckily for Mark, he was here for the 4th of July, the celebration of America's independence. I took Mark to a backyard party where my co-worker let his little daughters, nieces, and nephews set off fireworks while we idly sat within several feet of the launch site. All of a sudden, one of the boys set one of the fireworks upside down and it ricocheted in all directions, flying right at our faces. One little girl got burned slightly, but all in all it was a pretty spectacular display of irresponsible firework management.

It was sweet. The upsidedown firework was definitely the highlight. Especially when I grabbed two of the little kids and pushed them underneath me to avoid them copping some fireworks in the face. Another highlight was the fact that fireworks are illegal and one of the guys setting most of the fireworks off was a cop and the other was a catholic priest... I shit you not. It was classic.

The Gay Pride Parade took place down 5th Ave in Manhattan, so Mark and I roughed out a huge rainstorm to join in the festivities. We saw a celebrity on one of the floats which I was rather excited about, but I don't think Mark recognized him (it was that Asian news reporter from "Ugly Betty"). In the same trip, we stopped by the Museum of Sex. Uh, no comment.

Yeah the Museum of sex... well that was an experience. From antiquated dildo's to examples of every form of sexual act known and unknown to mankind. It was pretty well done though. I think I saw more penis's than I ever needed to or wanted to see but whatevsies. Its all natural... except for those unnatural ones... whatever. The pride parade was awesome. It turned downtown Manhattan into a flamboyant and colourfull kaleidoscope of leather g-strings, feathers and flesh. It even managed to piss down with rain for hours and no one really seemed to mind.

One weekend, I had to drive to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania to drop off some of my belongings at my apartment at college. Mark tagged along, of course. My anthropology professor invited us over for a homemade Guinea Bissau style feast. She was ecstatic to meet Mark and hear all about Cocos, as she and her husband are both practicing anthropologists.

Yeah I got to check out Nancy's "school" read - Uni. It was pretty nice. Very white upper class. Which is interesting considering Nancy's half Japanese tendencies. We got to check out her new apartment which is strategically positioned above the towns two bars... coincidence... I think not.

Two of my friends are ex-culinary students, but although they dropped out early they learned enough to throw a fancy dinner party for us. Mark actually dressed up and looked like an old man for once. After our classy dinner party, Mark got drunk and half naked, pulling down his pants and showing everyone his speedo. Hold on, let me explain. He wasn't wearing a speedo for funsies, but instead because we had not done laundry in over a week and that was all he had left. Okay, moving on.

Thanks Nancy for filling in the details on that. Firstly I didn't look like an old man... just me dressing up as if I was going to work for 'the man'. Secondly I believe my pants were pulled down when someone spotted my speedos. I merely didn't bother to return them to their normal position. What you also failed to mention was that I was then joined by the rest of the male population in sitting sans pants for half an hour after I told them that it was the latest trend in Sydney.

New Paltz is basically the new Woodstock. It's my favorite hippy town in New York, as Woodstock has been destroyed by the tourist industry. On our way back from hiking Minnewaska, we passed through NP and had lunch. It was either this trip or another one when Mark walked into a bazaar and almost bought a rastafari hat. It looked pretty good on him. Minnewaska was pretty cool - the view from the top of Millbrook Mountain would have been much more expansive if it wasn't for the thunderstorm clouds that accumulated there overnight.

New Paltz had really cool vibe. Like an American Margret River without the surfing culture. The hike in the National Park was cool. Made me appreciate our National Parks at home though. Much better kept and without the porta loo's.

In the mornings, I coach a rowing team consisting of about 20 boys. I needed some filming assistance one practice, so Mark woke up at the buttcrack of dawn with me and rode in the launch filming my boys. Later in the afternoon, I convinced the organization to let me take out a crew shell with my younger sister, her friend, and Mark. However, I did not tell them that Mark had never rowed before... instead I told him to lie his face off and say he had "some" rowing experience. Meaning, watching my boys practice earlier that morning. I was rowing in the front seat while Mark was in the back, mostly so I wouldn't get pissed off with Mark for screwing up and turn around and smack him with my oar. However, I must admit, Mark caught on very fast. We were all impressed by his natural ability to pick up a skill that takes most rowers at least one season to understand. Kudos, Mark.

Thanks Nancy. Rowing was hard as though. Especially because one of the head coaches was watching from a little dingy (he was out coaching another boat). We'd had to lie to him so we could use the boat and he was watching intermittently throughout the whole thing. I rowed on the Hudson... it was cool.

Ummmm.... gosh what did we do for a month? It seems like it all kind of blurred together. There was a lot of learning on my part of Aussi culture, which I found entertaining. However, Australia, you can take Fosters back to your island and keep it there. Please. Right now. I'm sure Mark thought my American/New Yorker ways were a bit odd as well, and hopefully he doesn't trash me too much in his blog entry. He was fascinated by squirrels, chipmunks, deer, groundhogs, and fireflys - and slowed down every outing by stopping to take pictures of them.

Those animals were cool. I took lots of bad photos. I love squirrels. From this point I head(ed) to Central America via Miami to work for BR. New York almost felt like home. I'd made some great friends and done some really cool stuff. So thanks to everyone for looking after me.

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Raleigh, North Carolina, United States

After passing out on the plane from Cali I found myself walking, glazed eyes and all, out of the arrivals gate in Raleigh, North Carolina. I was there to start staff training for my dream job taking kids on adventure travel through Central America. Thanks to this being a public blog and the joys of the inter-web I won't say who I'm working for in case parents or kids search my name and the company... the continual consumption of excessive amounts of alcohol might not instill the most confidence.

Arriving at the airport my pro-active organisation meant that I had no idea where I was supposed to go or how I was going to get there. Nice work me. I wandered around the airport with bags and guitar in hand and did my best 'dumb tourist needing help look'... this is America I needn't have bothered. No one bothered to ask. I eventually thought it might be an idea to get the number of my employer, to call and ask what I was supposed to do. While on the incredibly overpriced computer I hear this big black security guard shouting something which sounded like my company's name. I looked over and there was my co-leader for my trip who had been lugged with pick up duties. I was relieved to say the least. A short bus ride and brief introductions later we arrived at North Carolina State University where some of the crew had been doing their first aid course. First impressions last and I could already tell that almost everyone there was awesome.

After lunch and introductions all round, the forty or so of us jumped on a bus and headed out to a camp where we'd spend the next week training for our upcoming trips. There's no point going blow by blow about what we did but it was great. It was such a unique environment to be in. To be surrounded by and international (yet pre-dominantly American) group of people who were well traveled, philosophically and ethically like minded positive people was amazing. Added to that, our boss and the organisation he had created were fantastic. Their philosophy on working with young people, on the environment and pretty much everything else lined up perfectly to my world views. I might marry it if that was ever anything I'd be stupid enough to consider again.

Aside from meeting some of the coolest people I've ever met in my life there were a few highlights. The very southern maintenance guy who was, I kid you not, wearing denim overalls and a straw hat, had a brief but interesting conversation that went something like this:

*I walk into the dorm room to grab some stuff.
(me): Hi, hows it going?
(Overalls): Hey ya'll, I be good.
(me): You really don't need to fix the air conditioning, we'd prefer to leave it off if thats ok.
(Overalls): Reeeallly? Aight, I can leave it down if thats what ya'll want.
(me): That'd be great thanks. I'm sure the next people to stay will appreciate it working though.

(Overalls): Yuh, I guess. Hey mr. I think you be from Auustraaalia. Dat right?
(me): Um, Yeah thats right.

(Overalls): You wanna know how I know?
(me): How's that?

(Overalls): Cause ya'll sound like crocodile dundee...

You get the idea. Funny stuff. Other highlights include sitting out on the giant porch in rocking chairs looking over the lake and sharing travel stories. Also the incredibly disgusting food which would probably violate every single health regulation existing in Australia. The cook with this big Christian black mumma who commented that, I quote, "I ain't never cooked for none dem vega-teern's bfore. What cha'll eat?". Another day we had small group meetings and Marian and I were determined not to sit in the air-con while there was a big thunderstorm rolling in. We eventually abandoned our meeting and just stood and watched as lightning darted across the sky, hail stones fell from the sky and the walk way turned to a veritable stream. It was cool. We had been told to stay inside because of the risk of lightning, but it was too cool to stay in. A good crowd had formed to watch the storm when our boss walked out of the door. I half expected him to call us all inside, instead he walked out into the torrential rain, fully clothed and hands raised and commented on how cool storms were. I'm working for the right man. Jesse (the Canadian) and myself then decided that the stream which was flowing down the grass slope looked enough like a slippery slide that we should make it happen. We de-robbed and ran at full speed skimming across the water momentarily before coming acrop on the rocks and grass beneath. Great fun.

I can emphasis enough how great the people were that I was going to be working with - even if they were doing their trips to Australia, Fiji, France etc. etc. They were all great. We returned to NCS Uni for the last few days of training and immersion back into the real world. The camp had been in rural North Carolina and was very, very Christian (read no alcohol). So our return to civilization was celebrated with a large gathering a local pub. It was a Wednesday and in a quiet part of town so I'm sure that bar staff were a little surprised when around thirty or so young people showed up. Corona's were on special and within a couple of hours we had completely depleted their supply. Nice. The end of the night heralded with the die hard crew, 2 Aussies, 1 Kiwi, 1 Canadian and 2 Americans. The next day heralded hangovers.

Unfortunately for me, I'd been feeling a little sick before we'd even started drinking the night before and my niggling sore throat and head ache had developed into a fully blown viral flu of some sought. It was brutal. I thought that alcohol was supposed to sterilize, incidentally it hadn't worked. The next few days involved a lot of drugs and fluids, mostly provided by Marian (my co-lead) and two British girls Loise and Imogen... to whom I am eternally greatfull for looking after my sorry ass. This was also the time when we had to make phone calls to our kids and their parents to introduce ourselves. I would make a phone call then curl up on the floor for about fifteen minutes watching the room spin. I hadn't been this sick in a long time.

The timing of this illness was amplified when the boss threw a 'end of training' party at the offices (which were the coolest I've ever seen) with kegs and all. I floated around the party thanks to some strong drugs and watched while everyone lapped up the great food and drinks on offer. Oh well, suck it up princess.

The next day, still very sick and at a stupid hour of the morning I jumped into a taxi, then onto a plane and head north. I was going to New York baby.
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San Diego, California, United States

The return to San Diego marked the end of our whirlwind roadtrip which took in four states and a few thousand miles. Sorry global warming, I promise I'll plant some trees. Back at Jackie's a random party emerged from no where an I was introduced to 'beer pong' a college institution and yet another game designed to ensure that all players receive the maximum blow to their liver. It was fun. Along with a random assortment of San Diego crew was one of Nancy's friends Sean who had moved from New York to San Diego. He's a pretty cool guy who's doing an internship at a snowboarding company, surfing everyday and occasionally performing as a rapper around the area. It turned out that the following night he was competing in a battle in a random bar. I asked if we could come along and after a moments thought he agreed. His pause was clarified when he said with genuine concern... "you have to know that you will be the only white people there. Just so that you know, It's in a bit of a rough area". I looked to my New York ghetto hardened friends who showed little concern for Sean's comments and it was settled, we'd go check out his performance the next day.

The next day emerged a little hazy and we headed down to Pacific Beach to swim and generally laze about. I expressed concern at peoples lack of any concern for the sun, especially at two of the girls whose Irish heritage was clear beyond the shirt with a four leaf clover. They responded by mocking me as I liberally applied sunscreen to me ears. They got burnt. I didn't. Karma wins again. Sucked in them.

The evening dawned... interesting selection of words me... and we dressed up ready to get all gangsta. Which translates to me dressing in the same clothes I've been wearing since I left Perth and everyone else actually dressing up. Especially Nancy who, buoyed by the concerns of Jackie about her 'legit' ID, wanted to look of age. Namely the arbitrary 21 years old. As a side note, they can vote at 18, die for their governments absurd wars at 18, have sex at 16 but not drink until they're 21. Oh and did I mention they elected George Bush TWICE! Crazy ass Americans. I love em. Anyways... five of us piled into Jackie's car and hit the road towards the eastern suburbs of San Diego. Jackie and Tasha, our SD locals, commented that they'd never heard of the suburb we were headed to. It soon became evident why. As we drove into the suburb I noted the barred windows and doors of every building. The populace also changed and the cliche blonde haired, blue eyed white Californian was no where to be seen.

When, after a few wrong turns, we found the address of the bar and drove slowly into an expansive car park. The bar was on the corner in what looked like a side room to a dilapidated shopping center. As we drove into the carpark the amusement of a new suburb quickly turned to serious concern amongst all in the car. The discussions quickly centered around a few key comments including "I don't think this is a very good idea", "I'm really concerned about Mark" and "This really doesn't feel right". Now I'm pretty relaxed normally but the nervousness of my friends who knew what a rough neighborhood was like was starting to make me a little unsettled. It's difficult to set the scene but when we pulled up and I got out of the car the massive black guys drinking 40oz beers and smoking joints in the carpark burst out laughing. I really was the only white person there. Thankfully my exit from the car was followed by the remainder its occupancy which consisted of Ryan a tall stocky yet very American looking guy, Nancy who's half Japanese/could pass for Hispanic, Jackie who is actually Hispanic and Tasha a very white yet very American looking chick. I stood out more than all of them. Our concern quickly resulted in us all piling back into the car while Nancy called Sean to firstly see where the hell he was and secondly reprimanded him for sending us to one of the dodgeyest areas of SD. We quickly learned that he wasn't even there yet and a unanimous decision was made to get the hell out of there and to re-assess whether this 'cultural experience' was about to end in a 'hospital experience'. Just for a moment imagine every gangster film you've ever seen where the unwitting white guy, or black guy for that matter, is cut down in a hail of bullets for stepping into the wrong 'hood'. That is kind of how it felt. Contrary to the Hollywood cliche I think this was the movie where the white guy died in the opening scenes.

We drove down the street to a 'Gas station' or petrol station for the educated to buy some beer to calm the nerves. I'd have been better off speaking Spanish to the ladies behind the counter as my Australian English took some deciphering and my passport id seemed to completely throw them off. We jumped back into the car and headed to an empty carpark and parked under a light. By this stage everyone was extremely concerned about all of our safety and while I publicly said that I was up for whatever, my psychological stress had manifested to the point that my hands were shaking uncontrollably. Another phone call to Sean calmed things somewhat, more because he said he'd meet us in the carpark than from his "it'll all be cool" attitude about the situation. A few beers later Sean called and said he was there. So off we went.

Everyones nerves were on edge and as we again piled out of the car Nancy was immediately on the phone to Sean rattling off a series of 'where the f... is he?'. We spotted him near the door and our walk about 30m across the car park seemed to pass in slow motion. I was shit scared. This is when it became absolutely surreal. As we walked to the door this lovely little old black lady checked our id's and took the cover charge. When we walked into the bar and as my eyes adjusted to the lights, Nancy came over and talked me - it was all cool. Given the build up of the previous hour or so I was going to take a little more convincing... or alcohol, whichever came first. Incidental it was alcohol. Beer in hand we met Sean's girlfriend and his partner in rhyme Chad from Staten Island, New York. When I went for my next drink a big guy knocking back shots at the bar asked if i was there to compete in the rap battle... I responded with a nervous 'ah, no, people would laugh too hard, they'd think it was a comedy routine'. He laughed. I wasn't going to get shot tonight (hopefully).

Eventually we were all ushered into the backroom of this bar with a DJ booth at the front and a desk serving fried chicken at the back. I shit you not, fried chicken. The crowd hovered and a series of rappers including Sean and Chad got up and did their thing. It was absolutely surreal. You know the movie 8 Mile? I was there. Except I wasn't the white guy with rapping ability. That was Chad (Sean was Hispanic). The girls disappeared to the bar at some point and were apparently knocking back shots while I took in the rest of the performances. It was incredible. After they finished and the board of judges from a small time record label deliberated they presented the winner with some free studio time and encouraged everyone to network and 'get down wit some peeps'...

I took this opportunity to mingle and try not to get shot. I thought that the only way I could even explain slightly what this was like was to get some photos with me in them. Sean's girlfriend took no time in introducing me to some of the rappers and getting us to pose for photos. It was awesome. I ended up chatting with a few and it turns out one guy had been to Perth twice while he was serving in the military. It was weird. He also turned out to be relatively important in the hip hop world in San Diego and he insisted that the next time I was in SD that I give him a call and he'd 'hook me up'. Crazy.

After a few more beers and some mingling we headed out toward the car and were stopped by this big black guy who wanted to talk everything cliche Aussi. It started with him teaching me to talk ghetto and ended with me busting out some Hilltop Hoods rhymes while he beat-boxed (as posted on facebook). He couldn't beat-box for long because he burst out laughing. He pulled off his bling, a massive silver chain with a dollar sign on it, and put it over my head. "Yo, I don't need dis no mo. You owned that shit" he said (or something along those lines). Thanks to the hoods for that. After more playing around I returned the bling and we went on out way.

This really was one of the weirdest nights of my life. It started with probably on of the most scary experiences ever and ended up being amazing. I hardly think that my words can even convey the sense of doom or subsequent great time that we all ended up happening. After finding no bars open in SD and with early morning flights for Nancy, Ryan and myself we called it a night/early morning and headed back to Jackie's.

At some point the next morning I was awoken and driven to the airport. I bid Nancy and Ryan goodbye and proceeded through to my gate for a drunken hour and a half wait before my flight. I was off to staff training in Raleigh, North Carolina. A little tipsy and very tired but with an amazing preceding two weeks. Thanks to everyone.
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