TravelStream™ news feed for member elltrev on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/elltrev en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 22 Oct 2009 05:56:10 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1203031800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1203031800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1203031800/tpod.html Thu, 22 Oct 2009 05:56:10 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico

Hello again!So, to begin where I left off: True to my word, I did indeed go for a shower and then a few beers. After going to a few random bars on my own with my book in tow, the beer started going to my head and I couldnt concentrate, so I dropped it off at home and headed to the "Blue Parrot Beach Bar"; supposedly one of the best in Playa Del Carmen. Its quite a cool place - dancefloor on the beach, swings for chairs, etc etc. It also has some of the best music Ive heard for a whilein a club, mixing hip hop and reggaeton (which could be my new favourite style of music)..... Anyway, I met a group of girls from Australia and Switzerland (I think) and was chatting to one of the Aussie girls for a while, but then the time came for me to hit the dancefloor, those lucky Mexicans. I met and danced with a few local Mexican ladies, who tried to teach me actual dance moves; now these moves actually involved me moving my feet, and as anyone who has seen me dance can testify, that is a little oustide of my dancing capabilities. Still we had fun, and I like to think that their laughter was due to my wit and charm as opposed to my rhythmless thrashing around on the dancefloor. Unfortunately I got back to the hostel quite late, and the gate was shut, so I had to risk my future ability to have children by gingerly climbing over the spike topped obstruction ¿I later learned that you can just slide a lock to open it? ¿by the way when I press the bracket button these little question marks pop up; Im not actually questioning anyone?I woke up the next day a little hungover, so I went to have some melon on the beach where it proceeded to "piss it down". I went back to the hostel and met an Aussie dude called Cain or Kane or Caine, and we headed to have a hair of the dog style beer. As we were talking, a 35 year old Canadian tanning salon owner chirped in, as he said he hadnt actually spoken to any human beings for a week and feared for his mental wellbeing. So he joined us, and we ended up getting another 6 or so beers, for which he picked up the tab. By this time it was about 6, so we decided to just carry on through the night. The place he was staying had 3 beds in it, so he said we could go shower and stay at his that night. So we went over and I had a shower, but upon reentering the room I discovered that the Canadian had attempted to bumrape Cain and was in fact a raging homosexual. No, just kidding. Anywho Tom ¿the Canadian? showed his age by flaking at 9, and me and Cain went on to have a few beers. I have just realised that this is taking far too long to type in detail, so I will shorten it. We met a tinitis ridden Northern monkey withparentholidaying DJ, met 2 of the most beautiful Norweigen women I have ever seen, who left about 3 minutes after they arrived ¿we hope because their less beautiful friends who we were ignoring were bored, as opposed to us boring the beautifl ones.... Im staying positive?, went to Blue Parrot again, met and danced with some more Mexicans, to the same music in addition to a 5 minute old school Medley ¿Bird and Twee, think Szoda, was awesomeª?, woke up today hungover, met 2 funny Welshmen, sunbathed ¿I have turned my usual pinkish hue?, generally relaxed all day, and here I am now, once again about to go and shower and have a few beers. There is more to say, but typing hurts my hands and brain. Love to everyone, adios.P.S. I cant seem to upload photos at the moment, will try in a different town.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1215124380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1215124380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1215124380/tpod.html Wed, 13 Aug 2008 12:07:46 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Managua, Nicaragua

Hello again! Let´s start from where I last finished shall we? I woke up on Saturday morning with just three goals in mind for the day: getting all of my laundry done, going to the immigration office to sort out my passport issues, and getting a taste of the Tegucigalpa based nightlife. But, to continue the theme of general frustration, I failed on all three counts. Whilst I did manage to find a launderette, the proprietor informed me that he wouldn´t be able to return my clothes to me until midday on Monday, thus leaving me with just one pair of boxer shorts, which I´m ashamed to admit I had already been wearing for five days, and my tight black shirt, which is less than ideal for wandering around the streets of this sun and smog drenched capital city. Regardless, smelly but still smiling, I headed off to find the immigration office with my trusty lonely planet guide in tow. However, after about ten minutes of fruitless searching in the area that I was certain it should be, I headed into a restaurant to ask for help as to where the office might be located. To my dismay I was told that it had moved to a spot a few miles outside of the city, and that it wasn´t open on weekends anyway. Lovely. On the plus side there were no obstacles to hold me back from completing my third and final goal, but I couldn´t face the idea of going to a bar with soiled underwear and a sweat soaked shirt. Besides, I now had other (albeit relatively sad) plans for the evening - in light of the fact that I was probably going to be spending at least a few days in this uninspiring city that is seldom traveled by other backpackers, I had decided to search for a bookshop whose goods might help to alleviate the inevitable boredom that I would be facing. After a few minutes of aimless wandering I was lucky enough to stumble upon a shop that sold a number of English language titles, and even luckier to recognise that it was the very shop whose products I had spent a short while browsing through five years ago! Whilst I was 99% certain that it was the same place from the moment I walked through the doors, that one percentile of doubt was banished once I had seen the location of the toilets. You see, the last time I was here it happened to be with one of the other volunteers that I quite fancied at the time, and unfortunately I had been absolutely desperate for a Central American style shit at the time. So, determined to carry out the deed without her knowledge, I was forced to sneak around the shop and hide behind bookshelves on my way to reaching the facilities. So Clare, if you are reading this - now you finally know where I disappeared to for half an hour. Anyway, back to the "present"; I actually ended up getting a bit carried away in the excitement of finding such a treasure trove of literary works, and ended up blowing about $80 on five books and a magazine. I must admit that for a short while I had been clutching "The Notebook" in my collection of possible puchases, mainly due to my teen-like crush on Rachel McAdams, but, after considering that I had already been to see Sex and the City and P.S. I Love You on this trip, I decided that The Notebook might just have been the straw that broke the camels back. Or rather, the feminine story that inverted my penis. As I made my way back to the hotel, delighted with my purchases, I suddenly came across the cement football pitch where one of the other volunteers and I had played against a group of local youngsters the last time I was here. I´m sure by now you are probably bored of hearing about all of these places that I recognized, but for some reason they all induced in me this weird, intense feeling that I´m not really sure how to describe. The thing is, for as long as I can remember, as opposed to looking back on my life as a continuous passage of time, I have always seen it as being divided into a series of strictly separate epochs or eras, some of which almost seem like a different lifetime - as if it was a different person who lived through them. My time in Honduras is one of these "eras", and I think that because these concrete places are so intrinsically linked with events and memories that had seemed forever banished to my past - to this different era of my life - it felt really strange to see them again in the present. I guess the feeling is not unlike a form of nostalgia, and I also experienced it when we went back to visit the school in Amsterdam that I had attended as a little kid. That evening, and indeed the following day, were fairly uneventful, as I spent most of my time reading my new books. The only event that might be seen as noteworthy (though not necessarily interesting) was watching the European Championship final with a German guy. He wasn´t happy. That Sunday evening I headed to the local pizza hut for a meal, as it was the only place that seemed to be open after 7pm. However, the waiter informed me that they would be closing in twenty minutes and so, knowing how annoying it is when customers stay much later than the closing time, I decided to be kind by ordering just a starter. After about 35 minutes of waiting I was beginning to get a little bit impatient; a feeling that soon grew to annoyance when they started to turn off all the televisions and close all the shutters. It was at this point the waiter came over and asked me if there was anything that I wanted. "Excuse me?" "Can I get you anything else sir?" "Ermmm... I haven´t had anything yet." (I hadn´t even ordered a drink.) "Ah I´m sorry sir, I didn´t understand you earlier; I thought you´d said you didn´t want anything." I knew my Spanish hadn´t advanced as much as I was hoping it would, but I didn´t think it was so poor that "I´ll have the chicken tacos please" could be misinterpreted as "No I don´t want anything to eat thank you." What´s even weirder is that they just let me sit there on my own for thirty five minutes without ordering even so much as a drink. In the end I just got a dessert to take away, as I couldn´t be bothered to wait any longer. This whole event just seemed to typify what had been a frustrating few days. The following morning, after picking up my laundry, I grabbed a taxi to the immigration office in the hope that I could finally pay my fine and arrange an extension. To cut a long story short I had to fill out a lot of different forms, join a lot of different queues, talk to a lot of stupid people, and ultimately pay the disappointingly high combined fine and fee of $110; all in return for the promise that I could return the following day to pick up my passport, complete with a freshly extended tourist card. So although I was both a little saddened and surprised by how much I had had to pay, I was relieved that there had been no talk of writing letters or waiting fifteen days. That evening I went to the cinema to see Untraceable, a movie about a murderer who broadcasts his killings live on the internet. Although I had been planning to go and see The Incredible Hulk at a movie theatre that was mere metres from my hotel, my taxi driver had told me that that´s where local men went to masturbate. I was somewhat shocked and surprised to learn that Hondurans were in the habit of paying $2 for the privilege of pleasuring themselves to the latest Hollywood release - in this case polishing the one eyed monster whilst watching a two eyed green one - I would have imagined that the comfort of one´s own home and imagination were far more suitable, let alone cheap, places to carry out such an activity. But then that is what is so fascinating about visiting and learning about other cultures. It transpired that that nugget of extremely useful information was just one of many that the taxi driver had had to offer. In fact one of my favourite things about Tegucigalpa was actually the taxi drivers - they were all super friendly and talkative, and also extremely proud; whenever I asked them if they were from Honduras, they almost all responded by thumping their chest and saying "Of course, 100%". The only downside of taking taxis was that the entire city was riddled with never ending traffic jams, which meant that it took about fifteen minutes to travel one kilometer. I have no idea how the drivers make any money, especially considering the current cost of fuel, as at least half of the journey is spent being completely stationary whilst the engine is left running. Anyway, I digress. After finally arriving at the cinema about a quarter into the film, I spent the next hour or so watching a movie that I thought had a very interesting premise and message, but ultimately proved to be fairly bland and average. That night I was unfortunate enough to endure that experience that seems to happen approximately once a year for no apparent reason - namely an inability to get to sleep, no matter how exhausted you might feel. So the following morning, after about one hour of sleep, I headed to the immigration office where I was delighted to be able to collect my passport in record time, with no issues whatsoever. This meant that I was finally free to leave the country, and so I got straight into a taxi to take me to one of the international coach stations. What followed was a ten hour journey to Managua - the capital of Nicaragua - which can most effectively be described in one word as "annoying". For a start, despite the fact that the coach was only full to approximately 15% of its total capacity, the other passengers insisted on regimentally sticking to the seat numbers that had been arbitrarily assigned to them by the company. So, just as I had settled down in one of the empty seats, someone informed me that I happened to be sitting in theirs. As I looked up and down the bus and saw approximately thirty identical seats, I was forced to bite my tongue as I made way for the gentleman. When a lady asked me what seat number was written on my ticket, and I had answered, she said "Oh, it looks like you´re sitting next to me then." Once again, I looked up and saw thirty other empty seats, and this time I politely informed her that I was going to go and find one of my own. What a rebel. After just an hour or two we had to change coaches, which involved waiting under shelter from the pouring rain for another half hour or so. When the next bus eventually arrived I noticed that it was a lot fuller than the previous one, and so I thought that I had better adhere to the sacred seat allocation system. It made me chuckle when the man behind me was forced to give up his seat to its rightful owner, but my laughs soon gave way to a frown when he stepped forward to inform me that I was in fact in his seat - it seemed that I had mistakenly sat by the window instead of the aisle. "Can´t you just sit there, in the empty seat? I asked him. I had already made the seat my own you see, and was feeling rather snug. "No, you are sitting in my seat", came his reply. "But does it really matter? You were sitting next to the aisle before you were forced to move. Can´t you just sit in the seat that is already free?" "But you are sitting in my seat." This made me angry. I would have thought that, having himself been so violently ejected from his previous seat, he would have sympathized with me somewhat. But this was not the case. To make matters worse, he spent the majority of the remainder of the journey CLEARLY taking up a disproportionate amount of the central arm rest, which I found extremely selfish. On the plus side I did get to watch Kindergarten Cop.After what seemed like several hours waiting at the border, we finally made it into Nicaragua, and eventually Managua. As we all disembarked I met a trio of Germans, and we agreed to share a taxi to one of the recommended hotels. I´ve never felt so famous - as we approached the exit we came across hoards of screaming Nicaraguans, all vying for our trade. "Taxi, taxi!" they shouted, as they battled against each other to push their faces and limbs through the iron fence that separated us from them. First of all we had to withdraw some money from an ATM, and eventually our money went to the most persistent of the drivers - the one who followed us to the petrol station and waited outside whilst we bought and ate some late night snacks and sandwiches. In the end I ended up sharing a room with one of the Germans, in a slightly seedy hotel (it was gone midnight, and it seemed to be the only one that was open). When it came to paying the owner, I asked if we could pay the following morning, but he replied that he would prefer the money there and then. When I explained that we didn´t all have the correct change, he disappeared without a word and left us alone for about a minute. The next thing we knew we spotted one of the most ripped men I have ever seen in the flesh, swaggering toward us in just a pair of jeans. Shit, I thought, this is it; I´m about to be beaten to death by a man with a neck thicker than my waist. Luckily no such beating took place, and instead he just stopped a yard away and stared at us, without so much as a word. I swiftly handed over enough money for the four of us (which I have only just remembered I never got reimbursed for....), and the giant turned around and went on his way. I have no idea where he came from, nor where he went, but I hope to never see him again. Whilst I have now been in Managua for a day and a half, I feel that I have come to the end of this entry and that I should therefore give my closing thoughts on Honduras. To be honest, alongside Belize, it has probably been my least favourite of the countries through which I have travelled so far. Characterized by uninspiring towns and cities, delays, queues, ATM issues, passport issues, sunburn, and too much time spent in hotel rooms and watching cable TV, it has left a general feeling of frustration and boredom. Having said that, the above have been due in the most part to situational factors and shouldn´t really be seen as a reflection of the country itself. And on the plus side I really enjoyed my brief foray into diving, watching the European Championship, the relaxed vibe of Utila, and the friendliness and eccentricity of the locals. Plus I think the Honduran women have been the hottest of all the countries so far, with El Salvador and Mexico coming in a close second. Guatemala? Not so much.....Hasta luegox
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1218641940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1218641940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1218641940/tpod.html Wed, 13 Aug 2008 12:03:41 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Winchester, England, United Kingdom

Well hello there! Since the very beginning of this whole adventure I had been planning on writing one final mother of all blog entries, which would be full of grandiose statements on what I'd learned, lists of my favourite places, activities, meals etc, and philosophical musings on the world. Well, it is now almost a week that I have been back in England, and the truth is that such an entry somehow no longer seems appropriate - partly because the last six months already feels like a different lifetime, and also because I would imagine that no-one is actually reading this, what with me no longer travelling and all.Even so, after all that time spent writing it would seem a shame to leave the blog hanging unfinished in such an awkward way, and so consider this a very brief goodbye that serves only to provide the blog with a tidier ending. All in all the trip was in fact a life changing experience, though in a way that is not as cheesy or profound as the phrase might suggest. But one thing that I've learned over the last week is that the experience was an extremely personal one, and that it seems virtually impossible to try and share it with other people. My only aim now is to make sure that that experience wasn't for nothing - that I don't slip back into my life as it was before. Unfortunately this may prove to be a difficult task as, despite the fact that I feel like I have changed a lot, the world that I have come back to appears to not have, and it feels as though it would be all too easy to see the last six months as nothing but fond memories and photos, leaving those changes to disappear into thin air. Hopefully this won't prove to be the case. Anyway, just wanted to say thanks to anyone who read even a little of the blog. At last count it had 2251 hits which, despite the probable fact that half of those were my own, was far more than I had expected at the outset. Well that's it, a final "adios" from the grey and rainy shithole that is England.x
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217101020/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217101020/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217101020/tpod.html Sat, 26 Jul 2008 15:56:23 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Granada, Nicaragua

Following the festivities of July 19th, which didn't finish until the sun had risen on the following day, I was rudely awoken at about 8am by a group of children attacking me in my hammock. Me and a few of the other volunteers had promised to take them to the nearby Laguna Apoyo and so, despite my complaints as to the early hour, I was forced to prepare for the trip following just two or three hours of sleep. So here are some photos of that trip, the majority of which were taken on Pete's snazzy digital SLR...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217004900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217004900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1217004900/tpod.html Fri, 25 Jul 2008 13:07:28 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Managua, Nicaragua

Last Saturday - July 19th - saw the 29th anniversary of the success of the Sandinista revolution, which was celebrated in style in Managua. I went with a few of the other volunteers to experience what I was hoping would be quite a historical occasion - we were not let down. Although I have seen parties and celebrations on a scale of this size before, I have never experienced anything as political and full of propaganda - as we listened to fiery anti-US rhetoric from president Daniel Ortega and even Hugo Chavez of Venezuala, I couldn't help but think of Hitler's famous rallys in Nazi Germany all those years ago.Anyway, once again here are a selection of photos from that day, including a couple of the night out back in Granada that followed.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216943580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216943580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216943580/tpod.html Thu, 24 Jul 2008 21:33:45 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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La Prusia / Granada, Nicaragua

Here are some photos from my second week of volunteering, taken in La Prusia and Granada by various people's cameras. They include a few from Aina's birthday night out. I hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I enjoyed uploading them. Actually I hope you enjoy them much more than that, because frankly it's been an incredibly dull, tedious, frustrating and time-consuming process.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216763340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216763340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216763340/tpod.html Tue, 22 Jul 2008 19:29:00 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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La Prusia / Granada, Nicaragua

Here are some photos from my first week in La Prusia and Granada, in no particular order...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216682100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216682100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1216682100/tpod.html Mon, 21 Jul 2008 20:13:11 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Managua, Nicaragua

Hola!So it has now been a couple of weeks since the last entry; a delay that has been caused mainly by a lack of both substantial free time and access to the internet. But luckily I managed to scrawl down a few notes during my first few days in Managua, the Nicaraguan capital, and so here comes a fairly out of date update of that time....I was pretty excited to be arriving in Nicaragua as, even though I had never set foot in the country before, I was fairly certain that it was going to my favourite of those that I would be visiting. It's hard to say exactly why this was, but I suppose it was a mixture of the following things: It is cheap, very safe, allegedly home to some of the friendliest people on the planet, relatively free of tourists for the most part, and incredibly diverse in both culture and landscape.... plus I just love the sound of the name. N-I-C-A-R-A-G-U-A. Mmmm. But I think that what attracts me most to the country is its history - whilst the majority of countries I have visited have seen some internal conflict, Nicaragua is the only one whose conflict ended in victory for the revolutionaries, when the Sandinistas ended the decades long US backed Somoza family dictatorship in July 1979. What makes the revolution even more salient is that two years ago, Daniel Ortega - one of the heads of the Sandinistas and later the president of revolutionary Nicaragua - regained power for the first time in sixteen years. Whereas in El Salvador any memories of the rebellion and conflict of the seventies and eighties are pushed aside to make way for ideas and aspirations for the future, and in Guatemala any such memories have never really been discussed openly because of the severity of the political repression during the thirty six year civil war, the Nicaraguan revolution still seems very fresh in the minds of the people, as I have experienced several times in my two and a half weeks here. Anyway, back to Wednesday 2nd July - my first day in Nicaragua. Most people tend to spend as little time as possible in the capital city, as it is said to offer very little to the tourist or traveler. Whilst it is true that it doesn't offer very much in terms of beauty or interesting activities, I was keen to spend at least a few nights here in order to get a feel for a city that I had recently been reading a fair deal about in books set during the civil war. It has to be said that Managua makes for a very strange capital city - the old centre was all but destroyed by a powerful earthquake during the seventies, and has never been rebuilt due to a lack of funds coupled with a fear of another quake. Since this natural disaster both shops and houses have simply been built on the outskirts of the old city, which has left what looks more like a sprawling mass of separate towns than a single city. What's more is that there are literally no street names or house numbers, and so all directions and addresses take the form of a distance relative to a specific landmark (that might no longer exist!) For example, "You know where the old bakery used to be? Walk two blocks towards the lake from there and then five blocks to the setting of the sun." Seriously. Nicaragua is also the second poorest country in the region (behind Haiti), and Managua certainly has the most visible poverty of the countries that I have visited so far - mainly in the form of squatters, beggars, and people living in illegal houses that are literally made of garbage. I wanted to take some photos of the latter, but couldn't help feel that it would be quite rude and insulting to their occupants. I started the day by climbing the hill that leads to a huge monument of Sandino - a national hero who was murdered by the Somoza family back in the 1930s, and whose name forms the basis of the revolutionary group of the seventies. The hill also offered a great view of the surrounding city, whose beautiful setting by the lake Managua really isn't done justice by the contents of the city itself. Next I headed to the old city centre, which is characterized by poverty and monuments and relics of the revolution. I feel that pictures speak better than words here. I also headed to a national museum which, just like every other museum I have ever been to, was extremely underwhelming. I was guided round by a young student who, although very sweet, also seemed to be limited to reading out the small signs that I could quite clearly read myself. "Oh yes, and here is yet another piece of pottery from the Daedactic period, which took place between 350 and 50 BC". After this fascinating tour I headed to a lakeside bar to read "The Alchemist", which I'm fairly certain is both the most overrated and indeed most boring thing I have ever experienced. Okay, that is probably a slight exaggeration, but I really am baffled by all the hype. I had been toying with the idea of leaving for Granada that evening, but I was really keen to attend a gig on Thursday night whose main (and indeed only) act was a famous local band whose music was all based on and written during the revolution of the seventies. I the end I was successfully wooed by the idea and so, having purchased my ticket for the following evening, headed to the cinema to see "The Happening". Like Untraceable I thought it was quite a cool concept, but unlike Untraceable I thought it was a steaming pile of poo. On the plus side I did get offered some popcorn by the stranger sitting next to me, but she cancelled out this altruistic behavior by actually taking a phone call in the middle of the film and spending the next minute or so discussing her cousin in a voice that was more than a notch above a whisper. Funnily enough this type of behavior is not all that uncommon for Central American movie theatres where talking, texting, and even snoring are seen as acceptable. Luckily I am yet to spot anyone masturbating though. I was pretty much stumped as to what to do the following day in the build up to the 21:00 gig, and ultimately ended up spending a mammoth five and a half hours on the internet followed by a couple of hours at the cinema watching Hancock. Yes, I like going to the cinema. Later that evening I was preparing to walk the 500m or so from my hotel to the bar at which the show was being played, but was warned by all the locals that it was far too dangerous and I would probably be robbed. Although Nicaragua is supposed to be one of the safest countries in the region, this label apparently doesn't apply to the capital, and so I took a taxi just to be on the safe side. The gig that followed was a real highlight of the trip, but unfortunately I forgot my camera and so have neither photos nor videos. The place was packed to the rafters and, despite having a sore throat, the lead singer (who must be at least in his sixties) belted out every number at the top of his voice. It was a great atmosphere, with jokes (which I didn't get) and cries of "Viva Nicaragua!" galore. Feeling surprisingly drunk after just four bottles of beer, I got a taxi back to my hotel where I slept like a baby.The following day I headed to Granada, an old colonial town that is apparently the metaphorical jewel in the crown of Nicaragua's tourism industry. Although I've grown quite fond of the place, its character is dampened somewhat by its touristy nature and its beauty isn't on the same level as that of Antigua in Guatemala. As I was sat reading a book in the sun soaked central park I suddenly heard my name being called, and looked up to see the beaming face of Jen - one of the Irish lasses who had rescued me on that fateful night in Belize when I had come within a whisker of sleeping on the streets. She was in Granada with a few chums whose names I forget, and together we went for a wander around the churches and (incredibly boring) museums in town. It happened to be Independence Day at the time, and one of the local restaurants was literally handing out free burgers, hot dogs and cans of beer to anyone from USA or Britain. Needless to say we made the most of this kindness, but unfortunately my day was ruined by the constant American jibes regarding our loss of the war... obviously these cutting remarks hit me pretty hard, what with me giving a shit and all. After watching Superbad at the hostel and then going out for a few more beers, my companions decided to hit the sack at the relatively early hour of ten O'Clock, leaving me to head back to the hostel to see if I could find anyone to go out with. I ended up staying at the hostel for three nights, and my time there pretty much just reinforced my dislike for the current backpacking culture - namely gap year kids from England and abrasive Yanks talking about how drunk they got, how drunk they're going to get, which tourist spots they've been too, and indeed which tourist spots they're going to go too. I think the whole experience can be summed up by the Irish girl who recommended a town to me because its bars played "proper" music like 50 Cent, as opposed to "local crap". Anyway, it turned out that the hostel was pretty much shut down by the time I got back, and so I had to settle for a bottle of water and a book rather than a bottle of beer and a bar. I still got to experience some form of nightlife though as I was sat by the door through which all the tenants of the hostel returned at the end of the night, and the sight of them only served to enhance my hatred and make me feel a little ashamed to be a "Gringo". Whilst pretty much everyone was noisy and incredibly disrespectful, the biscuit was taken by the two American brothers who got into a fist fight and ended up smashing each other's heads into the glass bookcase in the main courtyard. To cut a long story short the police had to be called, and all purchasing and consumption of alcohol was banned in the hostel for the next few days. In fairness though it was actually quite an entertaining night, as some of the people were quite cool and it was nice to be on the sober side of things for a change. The following day was a pretty chilled one, and I spent most of it reading and watching DVDs at the hostel. That evening I headed into town with a few other peeps that I met that day, including a Turk who looked EXACTLY like the lovechild of Edward Norton, Steed Malbranque, and Boris from Goldeneye. Honestly, it was uncanny. I ended up meeting a group of local Nica girls in "El Club", and headed with them to a lakeside bar in their chauffeur driven ride! It was a pretty fun night, and nice to hang out with some locals as opposed to a bunch of Brits that I almost definitely wouldn't want to hang out with at home. On Sunday I woke up with a fairly bad hangover, which I think was the first I had had since back in Playa Del Carmen. I can tell you that absence most certainly does not make the heart grow fonder in this case. Due to this condition I once again spent the whole day reading and watching DVDs, as well as occasionally shuffling aimlessly around the hostel. The following day, or the Monday before last, is when I began my very brief volunteering stint in La Prusia, a little town just a couple of minutes from Granada. The last two weeks have been great for a number of different reasons, but I feel that there is so much to say that attempting to cover it all on this blog would end up being pretty futile. Having said that, I am told that a picture says a thousand words, and so the next few entries will be nothing more than a collection of some of my favourite photos from the last two weeks. On that note, I bid you all farewell.Hasta luegox
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214780940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214780940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214780940/tpod.html Sun, 29 Jun 2008 19:11:16 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Tegucigalpa, Honduras

Hello and welcome, to what is the first entry of the blog that will be dedicated in its entirety to some certain special individuals; individuals who not only showed extreme generosity in making substantial donations to my travel funds, but who have also given me encouragement to continue with both my writing and my future plans. Twig, Julie, Taff and Lewis: I thank you! And I will be sure to spend your hard earned money wisely. I must apologise for the fact that you've all had to share this frankly incredible honour with persons whom are completely unknown to you, but someone was bound to be insulted if left out of the initial dedication... I should also remind you all that you now have the opportunity to extend to me one dare or challenge, which I am obliged to do my utmost to complete. However, feel absolutely free to waive this opportunity should you so desire.... Anyway, let me begin where I left off. You may recall that I was lamenting the fact that my diving instructor had failed to show up on Sunday morning; in fact, it turns out that that failure was mine. Let me explain...As I settled down to watch the Spain vs Italy match in a local café, I was somewhat surprised at the brevity of the interlude between the players' arrival in the tunnel and the subsequent kick off - they seemed to have skipped the usual fanfare of singing the national anthems and shaking the hands of every man, woman and child in the stadium. I was even more surprised when, just ten minutes into the match, substitutions were being made left, right and centre by both teams! Although it still took a while, it eventually dawned on me that I was watching the second, as opposed to the first half of this vital quarter final. It turns out that my clock had inexplicably turned itself back one hour during the night, and so I had been impatiently waiting for my instructor at 8am rather than the arranged time of 7am. After the match I headed back to the divecentre to apologise to Alfred, the very chilled out co-owner, who informed me that the next available opportunity to dive wouldn't be until Tuesday afternoon.This meant that, with no football being shown, I had a completely free day on Monday. As I was greeted in the morning by a beautiful cloudless sky, I decided to head down to the beach to do some sunbathing. Now normally I think of myself as being pretty careful when it comes to sun exposure - with a nose as sensitive as mine one learns from an early age - but unfortunately it seems that the rare appearance of a cloud-free sun roused in me an excitement that overcame my common sense. I must point out that I did put sun cream on (almost) every inch of exposed skin, but it would appear that the back of my upper thighs haven´t seen rays of this strength, or perhaps even any form of daylight, in their lifetime, and so have turned the most pink shade of pink imaginable. Nah, just kidding; I'm not that stupid. Having said that, despite using factor 30 and exposing them to just one hour of sun, they did get slightly burned. This brings me to the following question, which I direct mainly to the pasty-thighed among you: Is it actually possible to go from being utterly white to remotely tanned, without the interim stage that is characterized by pinkish hues and vague burning sensations? Answers on a postcard please. The beach was beautiful, and I spent most of the day alternating between lying sprawled in the sun and sitting in the shade reading a book. During one of these shadey breaks, I was approached by a little local kid who was keen to show off his baseball skills. After a bit of persuasion I agreed to join him in a one on one game, which essentially involved me gently tossing the ball to him, him twatting it as far as he could, and me retrieving it from the sea as he excitedly shrieked "Home run! Home run!" Although he was very cute, after a short while it all became a bit too much for me and I decided to head back to the relative calm of lying spread-eagled in the sun. That evening I went to my favourite oceanside bar with my book in tow, and proceeded to demolish two large pepperoni pizzas followed by a snickers bar. God I love food. The following day I finally managed to get down to some diving, which was after all the entire purpose of coming to Honduras in the first place! Although I had finished my open water course just fifteen or so weeks ago, I decided to start with a brief tune up, which involved going over some of the safety exercises such as swapping regulators or making emergency ascensions. After this I was free to do a "fundive", where my German instructor and I descended twenty five metres or so alongside a beautiful coral wall. Whilst we weren't lucky enough to see anything as exciting as a whaleshark or manta ray, we did see a few cool crab-like creatures, one of which resembled a giant daddy long legs and seemed happy to crawl up and down our hands and arms, in the manner of an ant or small house spider. I think my favourite aspect of diving is actually the peace and tranquility of entering a world that is completely alien to our own; I could happily stay down there for hours without seeing another living creature. I also enjoy the feeling of weightlessness, and find great pleasure in witnessing the extent to which your buoyancy is affected by the quantity of air in your lungs. That evening I went out for a few beers with some of the other divers and instructors, but once again it was quite a tranquil affair. On more than one occasion I have find myself pining after the beers, beaches and bustle of Playa Del Carmen, and in fact I have already begun to plan my return trip to that Caribbean paradise. Although I had done just two tanks worth of diving - I had originally planned to do ten - the following day I decided that I would leave the island and head towards the capital Tegucigalpa, in the hope that I could be able to make it all the way to Granada, Nicaragua, in time to start volunteering on Monday. Rather than trying to describe the type of volunteering that I will be doing, I will instead direct anyone who is interested to the organisation's website: http://www.casas-de-la-esperanza.org/ . However, for reasons that are no longer absolutely clear to me, I didn't end up leaving the island until Thursday. I think it was something to do with the fact that there was a power cut on Tuesday evening, which meant that the fan above my bed was out of action, which subsequently meant that any minute that should have been spent in slumber was instead spent lying wide awake sweating my bollocks off. It was due to this lack of sleep that I missed the early 6:20 departure to the mainland, which meant that it would now be impossible to reach La Ceiba in time to catch one of the long distance buses to Tegucigalpa. So rather than catching the later boat and spending the night in the somewhat boring town of La Ceiba, I opted instead to spend one more night on the island and make sure that I rose early enough to catch the 6:20 boat the following morning. But, as always seems to be the case when I have a particularly early rise to look forward to the following day, I struggled to fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, which meant that I awoke at 05:30 tired, irritable, and suffering from that strange sense of nausea and light headedness that always seems to accompany a lack of sufficient sleep. This was to be an unpleasant beginning to a frustrating day; a day that just so happened to be the first of a collection of frustrating days. First of all I had to endure the bumpy one hour boat trip back to the mainland, which wasn't doing my already present feelings of nausea any favours. The bus I was hoping to catch was the 10:30 to Tegucigalpa, so I decided to kill a little bit of time in La Ceiba's central park. Here I met a young Mexican policeman, who was complaining about being forcefully relocated from his home in Mexico City all the way to San Pedro Sula in Honduras. Don't blame him really. Then again he was wearing the lowest-cut wife beater I've ever seen, from whose stifling grasp his nipples seemed desperate to escape at every opportunity. After a delicious and healthy breakfast at Dunkin' Donuts, I made my way to the immigration office to sort out a few passport issues.I should explain; there is an agreement between Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua known as the CA-4, which allows completely free travel between the four countries. Although this has its benefits for travelers such as myself, it is also somewhat frustrating in that the maximum number of days one can be granted to travel through all four countries is just 90. My tourist permit was expiring around the 22nd June, and so I had gone to the immigration office in Tela to arrange a 30 day extension. However the officer there told me that I should wait until the penultimate day to extend it, as the 30 days begins from the day of extension, regardless of whether you still have any time left from your original 90 days. He told me that there was another office in Utila, and that it would be no problem to arrange the extension once on the island. Unfortunately, as I later discovered, this office never seemed to be open - I checked at various times on every single day to no avail. I was getting rather frustrated, especially as none of the people in the surrounding offices could offer any sort of opinion as to why it wasn't open, nor when it might be. Although the easy going nature of the Central American people is great at times, it can also be incredibly frustrating when you are actually trying to get something done. This frustration is only worsened by the fact that this easy going nature seems completely absent in those people whose job it is to uphold immigration laws and policies. Anyway, because getting a boat to and back from the mainland to get the required extension would cost about $45, I figured that I might as well save myself the hassle and instead just accept that I would have to pay a fine, which I'd heard was about $50. So, back to La Ceiba. To my surprise and dismay, the kind lady in the immigration office informed me that extensions over 90 days could only be arranged in the office at Tegucigalpa, and that the process could be expected to take approximately fifteen days (whether or not this was because I had already gone over my original allotted time, my Spanish was not quite good enough to deduct). Obviously this came as a rather massive blow, as a) I had been hoping to start volunteering in Nicaragua just four days from then, b) I only had about forty days left of my travels, and c) regardless of a) and b), I wouldn't have wanted to spend another fifteen days hanging around in Honduras anyway. When I explained that I had been hoping to start volunteering in Nicaragua that Monday, the lady made a call to the Tegucigalpa office and was told that if I wrote a letter explaining my situation (which could prove an interesting task), then it might be possible that my extension could be pushed through in two or three days. Although this still wasn't ideal, it was certainly much better news, and regardless I had no option but to head to the bus station to catch the 10:30 coach to Tegucigalpa as planned. Unfortunately, upon my arrival I was informed by the gentleman at the counter that the 10:30 departure had been cancelled, due to a strike that was being carried out by all the public transport workers in the city. Excellent. The strike had actually been mentioned to me by the Mexican policeman earlier that morning but, possibly because I had had only a couple of hours of sleep, or alternatively because I spend the majority of my waking hours with my head in the clouds (amongst other such wondrous locations), or most likely because I couldn't stop watching his nipples' frantic attempts to escape, I hadn't taken any note of this at the time. The following departure was at 15:00, by which point there seemed to be a general confidence that the strike would have died out. Luckily the four and a half hours wait went by fairly quickly, as I spent the majority of it in deep slumber sprawled on the marble floor of the bus stop, and also killed some time watching the football and chatting to two Brazilian women who were sharing my fate. I'm sure anyone who is reading this can share my anguish, then, when they hear that we were told at about 14:55 that there would be no departures at all that day. It turns out that the few coaches that had already attempted to cross the picket line were lynched by the striking masses, and the entire highway had now been shut off. I had no option but to stay in La Ceiba that night, and so booked in to the hotel that I had stayed in during my last visit. That evening was essentially spent lying around naked in the hope that I could once again make / ruin the maid's day.The following day, after another dunkin' donuts breakfast, (what did I say about always trying to patronize local establishments?) I headed back to the bus stop with my fingers crossed. Apparently I hadn't crossed them hard enough however, as it turned out that although the strike was indeed over for the time being, all the seats on the 10:30 departure had been booked up. Super. That is unless, the man in the kiosk said with a sly look in his eyes, you want to shell out an extra 350 Lempiras for first class. My initial reaction was a sort of "hrrmmph" noise, which at least in my mind signaled something along the lines of "No way Jose". But then a number of things occurred in rapid succession - first I imagined waiting for another four and a half hours in the bus station, then I realized that 350 lempiras was only about 8 pounds, and finally I had the eureka like revelation that this was roughly the amount of money I would receive for just one hour of work back in the UK... I would be a fool to refuse the kind man's offer! Of course it is extremely dangerous to translate all of my expenditure here in Central America into extra hours of work or the foregoing of other expenditures back in the UK, as I would be obliged to work 140 hour weeks and spend my money on nothing but stale sainsbury's economy bread and BHS 'buy two get one free' pairs of y-fronts. But those were some of the last things on my mind as I stepped onto the 1st class section of the coach, or "heavadise" as I have this very moment so wittily decided to dub it (a mix of heaven and paradise you see). As well as being brought a bottle of water and a carton of apple juice, I was even brought an (admittedly random) lunch of some cashew nuts, an ice cream flavoured sweet, and four fruity pastries! What's more is that my ridiculously comfy single chair had a mechanism that turned it into more of a bed than anything else, and even came with its very own blanket and pillow. Talk about luxury. On the downside my MP3 player ran out about twenty minutes into the seven hour journey, but luckily I was able to make full use of my superhero like ability to sleep on any form of public transport, and it was in this state that I spent practically the entire journey, despite having had more than eight hours the previous night. However, I am ashamed to inform you all that towards the end of this marathon sleeping session I had my first ever FACEBOOK dream. And it wasn't even interesting - I just logged onto my facebook account, saw that I had two messages, read both of them, and then returned to what I had been doing previously. In fairness what I had been doing previously was making my way to a specially designed space shuttle that was about to transport me and a few lucky others to the centre of one of the volcanos in Nicaragua. But still, I dreamt about checking facebook....My first evening in Tegucigalpa was spent at the cinema watching Super Agent 86, which turned out to be much funnier than I had been expecting. And although I am currently typing this at 16:46 on Sunday afternoon (congratulations Spain), I just don't have the energy to fill in the gap that was yesterday and this morning. So there.Adiosx
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214162100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214162100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elltrev/1/1214162100/tpod.html Sun, 22 Jun 2008 18:04:24 -0400 From Cancun to Panama City - My Quest for a Tan

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Utila, Honduras

Yes, itchy; if I could choose one word to best describe my experiences over the last few days, then that would be it. As I predicted, the burning in my thighs gradually gave way to an insatiable itching; one that unfortunately also assailed my torso, stomach, neck and parts of my arms, despite the fact that they hadn't seemed particularly sunburned. To make matters worse, despite applying a healthy covering of the strongest DEET possible to my legs and feet every night, they have been devoured by mosquitoes, and so have joined the itching extravaganza that is my current life. And so I have spent almost every waking hour over the last few days thinking about how much I itch, wishing I didn't itch so much, trying to resist the urge to vigorously scratch every inch of my body, and vigorously scratching every inch of my body. However, things are not as bad as they might seem; if I could choose any place in the world to itch and scratch to such an extent, then Utila would surely be in the top ten. I arrived here on Thursday with two French Canadians, who happen to be the same two French Canadians that I joined for dinner after finishing my last blog entry. As appealing as the lotion / cable TV combination had been, in the end I decided to stop being such a miserable bastard and so accepted their kind invitation. It turns out that they are very quiet, both in terms of the volume of their voices and the quantity of their words, and are also rather nerd-like. But they are both friendly enough, and we agreed to meet the following morning so that we could share the cost of a taxi to the port at La Ceiba. After a relaxing hour long boat journey we arrived at our destination, Utila, where we were accosted by a number of gringos and locals trying to sell us their wares; specifically, the diving courses and accommodation of their respective companies. After a short discussion we decided to go with "Parrot Diving", mainly because their salesperson was quite hot and also a bit mental (at least those were my reasons). After hearing her bang on in French about the open water course (she's originally from Ecuador but is fluent in five languages), we were shown to the various types of accommodation on offer. Although my bilingual buddies wanted to minimize costs by sharing a room together, I insisted on having my own so that I could lubricate my pink body with some privacy. Whilst watching the Germany vs Portugal match in a bar, I met a couple from Leeds and, shamelessly going back on my promise to meet my timid Canuck companions at 17:00, arranged instead to join the Brits for some drinks later on. I had heard that Utila was somewhat of a "party island", which I was quite excited about due to the fact that I had barely gone out since my booze-filled nights in Mexico, but unfortunately our bar to bar wanderings suggested that this was a place that was more accustomed to people supping a beer or two whilst sharing diving tales, as opposed to downing shots of tequila and revealing their genitals to unsuspecting passers-by. Still I had a good evening, and it was actually nice to talk to some people that I had so much stuff in common with. As I have stated before, the main reason that travelers head to this island in such droves is that it offers world class scuba diving at comparatively low costs, and my reasons for coming were no different. Unfortunately I felt that it was in my best interests to delay donning a wetsuit for a day or two, as a) I didn't want my burned skin to ruin the diving, and b) I didn't want the diving to ruin my burned skin. Luckily Utila is a pretty awesome place to just kick back and relax; second to diving, the most popular pastime seems to be to sit out on one of the many piers that jut into the Caribbean Sea and, whilst nursing a beer or two, watch the world and the people go by. And that is exactly what I have done for the last day or two (well, that and itch), and quite frankly I'm in no hurry to change anything.Having said that, despite Herculean like efforts in regularly moisturizing and refraining from scratching my burned skin, yesterday I entered the final phase - peeling. At first I was pretty pissed off that all my efforts had been in vain, but once the floodgates opened it was actually quite satisfying to scratch and peel to my heart's content. It also means that I am now free to do some significantly overdue diving, which coincidentally I am supposed to be doing right now. Unfortunately my instructor didn't show up this morning - the manager seemed to be a bit worried about him actually - but I was told that I should definitely be able to get going tomorrow afternoon. I'm pretty excited about it; two nights ago I met an American woman who told me that they had come within a foot of a group whale sharks on one of their dives - creatures that are around thirty feet in length and whose mouths are easily large enough to swallow a human whole. Gulp. Anyway I'm off to watch Spain beat Italy.AdiosxP.S. I have now uploaded some photos to the last 4 or 5 entries if anyone is interested.
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