TravelStream™ news feed for member hess on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/hess en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 08 Dec 2009 11:22:01 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1260278431/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1260278431/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1260278431/tpod.html Tue, 08 Dec 2009 11:22:01 -0500 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Buenos Aires, Capital Federal District, Argentina

I can't believe I’ve been in Buenos Aires for 3 weeks already and it seems like a blink of the eye. Days have merged into unstructured but eventful days; gate crashing weddings, concerts, taking Tango lessons, meeting new people, dancing until my feet are numb, going to watch football matches. I have yet to embark on any more Spanish lessons, nor have I found a yoga class or gone for a swim. So much for all my talk and self promises of being good to myself after 9 months on the road. Yes folks, it’s been nine months, my liver has packed it’s bags and gone on strike, babes have been conceived and born, my nephew being one, engagements announced, weddings missed, others have emigrated, found love, fame, fortune and yet I still get the same response when I ask que pasa – what’s happening, "not much all pretty much same old, same old."

Well much has happened and yet not happened to me, and I can honestly say I’m so very happy here. Would it be churlish of me to say it could be warmer? Probably yes, but goddamit it could be warmer. This is meant to be late spring/ early summer in Buenos Aires. As I compose this blog in my head as I meander around the 'mean’ streets of this beautiful city the air is full of falling yellow flower blossom, drifting and floating in the air like summer snow, down from the tall trees that line the streets. It covers the pavements in a sickly smelling (as petals are squashed under foot) golden carpet. I’m not sure if the trees should be shedding their blossom at this time of the year, or they are confused by the cold temperatures. I have been reassured by many Portenos (locals of Buenos Aires) that that inclement weather and rain we have been experiencing, really is incredibly unusual for this time of the year. Not helping people! Anyway I digress, I am really very happy here.

Belinda left me bereft and homeless. After she headed to the airport at 10 am I got on the internet and after a few email exchanges was sitting in a rental agency looking at immediately available apartments. After an hour I had two addresses to visit. The first in the upmarket neighbourhood of Recoleta. The apartment belonged to an elderly psychoanalyst specialising in long term relationships and rented out rooms to foreign students. There was not a room immediately available, but I could stay for a few days in a bed shielded from on-looking eyes by a curtain until one of the other students moved out and if I would pay a bit more then I could eat dinner with the whole household that the maid prepared. As I haven’t actually had one dinner ‘in’ since my first night without Belinda, it didn’t seem to be a very good deal. I set off and walked via the Botanical gardens to Palermo Hollywood to find a charming house and a room which was immediately available. So I made the epic journey (2 blocks) back to Home Hotel, where my bags were and moved into 1944 Carranza. The house is set around a shaded and green courtyard. To enter the courtyard from the road, you have to walk through a dance studio – yes friends my landlady is a flamenco teacher, I’m yet to wrangle a lesson, but I’m working on it. Off the courtyard are her rooms, the bathroom and kitchen. There is a spiral staircase which leads up to my room with balcony. It’s not perfect, there is damp, a cat – although she has learnt to give me a wide berth and we exchanged hostile stares - and occasional cockroaches in the bathroom. I know it’s cruel but I do get some perverse sadistic pleasure spraying those vile creatures with “Raid” and knowing that when I come back they will be upside down and dead.

So I’m not only in a charming house, I’m also in a familiar and cool neighbourhood that is very chilled, artistic and especially in Palermo Hollywood up and coming. It’s a bit more edgy and ‘real’ than Palermo Viejo but not as real as other parts of Buenos Aires, which are not advisable to wander around. I’ve settled in nicely, have my regular cafes where I meet people for lunch (Oui, Oui – which does amazing salads and lemonade) and Baraka where I seem to meet Americans. The local cafe on the corner provides me with a caffeine hit and little croissants called Medialuna (half moons) for 10 pesos. Nights have been meeting Portenos, other travellers and hanging out with Matt.

After Belinda left, she put me in touch with a friend of a friend who was in Buenos Aires for a week, another Brit, Nat who made a great partying companion and together we got drunk, went to a nightclub Kika (with two guys, Adam and Bal and Nat’s travelling buddy Lu) paid our 20 Pesos only for the sound system to breakdown 20 minutes after getting there. We were all made to file out and no refunds. Nat and I went to La Cabrera, a Buenos Aires institution and a must. The atmosphere is great although you are surrounded by mainly tourists. The food is a good if you order well and one steak is enough to share between two.

On Saturday we went to Olodum. I had got onto a couple of networking sites and the earlier part of the evening I had gone to a birthday party in a beautiful house in Recoleta (the poor man’s Mayfair of Buenos Aires) and then got a taxi to the Konex Centre – in not a very salubrious part of town. Nat met me there and we had to walk and walk to the end of the queue of people waiting to get into see Olodum. The line went on and on around the block. We were wondering if we were actually going to get in. At 12.30 am. When the concert was meant to start, the queue started moving. We shouldn’t have worried; there was enough space for us. We initially moved into the centre of the crowd, but at the start of the second song, the crowd started jumping and Nat got squashed so we pushed our way out of the melee and found a spot where we could shake our booty – an absolute must. The rhythm and the sound of the drums was hypnotic and commanded hips to sway, knees to bend, shoulders to flex and bodies to dance. We left at 4 am as they were starting their encore and surprisingly found a cab really easily.

The next day we decided to join Lu, Bal and Adam to go and see Manu Chao in concert. Adam had managed to get an extra ticket for Nat, but I was ticketless. We were thoroughly confident we could get a ticket from touts outside the stadium which was also in a dodgy part of town. In fact it was so dodgy the taxi driver refused to come and collect us after the concert, so a kindly woman who ran a kiosk called an old man with a beaten up Peugeot 504, just like the one my parents owned in Africa 20 years ago, to take us back into town.

So we joined the queue and moved along with the hordes of others. The queue is again long but very orderly and all we can find along the way are people selling hash cakes but no tickets. We were getting closer and closer to the barriers and still I was sin boleto. So I tell everyone to give their tickets to one person and we planned to rush in and confuse the official. So Bal handed the tickets to security and rushed through into the stadium, by the time security had counted the tickets and the remaining people, he counted 4 and 4 – Bueno!! Although Adam was panicking as he found himself at the back of the group and was worried he’d be the one thrown out and not me.

Manu Chao was interesting and a bit repetitive but it was a great concert and thankfully the rain that had been falling all day stopped and we watched a great showman and amazing musicians under the light of an almost full moon and a star studded sky. We decided after the 5th encore to leave especially as Nat thought that a guest singer was two people. “There have been 4 people, the guy in the suit, the guy with the moustache.”

“The guy with the moustache was the guy in a suit.”

We wandered off, not sensible and soon found ourselves lost looking at a house that resembled a cat in what Bal termed the Labour hood, unable to properly pronounce Neighbourhood. Maybe you had to be there, but we killed ourselves laughing. We then asked directions to where we could find a taxi and were pointed in the direction of thousands of concert goers pouring out of the stadium. There were taxis but none stopped; either they were pre-booked or they truly didn’t stop in that neighbourhood. So after befriending a lovely young woman working in a Kiosk we were in some old dude’s car heading back to the centre and somewhat relieved that we had survived. Then followed a hilarious conversation about chickens, prostitutes and plastic gloves.

Monday night I met a Porteno who had lived in London for 2 years, brilliant, his English was better than mine, so again no chance to practise my Spanish, but we had a lovely evening sipping cocktails in the garden of Milion, an old converted former lavish mansion in the heart of the city, which is a great example of neo-classic architecture and a sweeping outside marble staircase from the first floor terrace to the garden on which to make a glamorous entrance or fall down later in the night. The food was beyond average and when Matt sampled the wares two nights later he accurately identified the food as “Mum’s gone to Iceland.” Gordon Ramsey would have had a fit. Which takes me onto Tango lessons. So Matt and I had decided we were going to try this tangoing lark so we met up at Milion, as Matt hadn’t been there. We were joined by another guy, Craig, who Nat had put me in touch with, so the three of us after a couple of drinks heading to a Milonga that held dance classes before the Milonga opened. We just learnt how to walk, the lady backwards, the man forwards and a couple of steps and then the Milonga started and we were awestruck at how easy people made it look. It had taken us 2 hours to be able to walk properly, let alone flick feet, switch legs, turn etc and all the women did this in killer killer heels. The Milonga had a live band which was awesome and an overdramatic and melancholic singer who had us in stitches with his melodrama.

On Thursday, Sabrina, a friend from London was in Buenos Aires for 24 hours after travelling around South America for a couple of months. We managed to grab a couple of drinks in Happy Hour and I met a friend of hers who will be studying with Sabrina in INSEAD next year. At 9 after a couple of very strong Mojitos, I said goodbye to Sabrina and staggered home into bed. I could feel the beginnings of a cold developing so I decided I should look after myself in preparation for the weekend which consisted of meeting up with the absolutely crazy (in the nicest possible way) and energetic Marlene, who I was at university with.

Marlene picked me up at 10 and we headed to dinner to Ruffino’s which was a bit disappointing, lacking in both atmosphere and quality food, which Marlene seemed to be more upset about than me. She reassured me that 6 months ago Ruffino’s was the place to be, but the “It” crowd are a very fickle crowd. But she did point out one of the many Love Hotels that are in Buenos Aires. All very discreet. Entrance is via the underground carpark and rooms are available by the hour. Allegedly the Argentinean man believes himself to be irresistible and a bit of a lothario; charming but not to be trusted. We then went on to have a drink at a restaurant next to the small and very difficult to get into Tequila club. We waited until the allotted time (that being 2 am) before making our entrance. In Buenos Aires, nothing happens before 2 am and the window of opportunity so to speak is just 2 hours – 2 am to 4 am and then it all starts to disintegrate. Dinner especially on the weekends is late after 10 (during the week it’s about 9/ 9:30) and then there is the after dinner coffee and sharing deserts or drinking at a friend’s flat and then by 2 am it’s time to hit a club or bar. There is no real bar/ pub culture and the majority of the Portenos don’t drink much and look incredibly glamorous again in killer heels. Plastic surgery is huge here and the women are elegant, well dressed but very uniformed. There is little variety in clothes, colours and styles even shoes are the same in pretty much every shop you go to, same shades, same styles, there is little individual expression.

We decided to call it a night at 4:30 and Marlene drove me home. I was impressed that I was feeling rather good and not too tired until I got home to find out next door were having a party. The music, singing and fun continued until 6 am. On reflection I should have joined them, but thankfully my iPod helped drown out some of the noise and I drifted in and out of sleep.

Saturday I awoke to rain, which put a stop to any ideas of going to the polo, sailing on the river or pretty much anything else. So I sat in a cafe and continued writing a short story and then went to meet Matt to get ready to go to see La Boca Juniors (it’s a senior first team – they are just called juniors). Matt had a nightmare trying to get tickets, he thought he had acquired them for 95 Pesos through his language school, this then went up to 145, due to something about ‘Mafia’ controlling ticket prices and increasing the prices at will. The game kicked off at 9.15 pm and at 5.30, an hour away from the meet time, Matt received an email saying that his contact had been unable to get tickets, the Mafia (again) were demanding too much money for the tickets, but he did know of someone who had some tickets. Matt called the contact and asks for 3 tickets. A jumble of emotions ran through us, first excitement about going and experiencing a football (futbol) game in Buenos Aires and then disappointment, then hope and finally excitement again as Christian says he had tickets.

We nearly got tickets via a hostel for 220 pesos including escort/ guide but had decided on using Matt’s contact. Advice to anyone doing this; go through a hostel or hotel. We jumped in a cab and headed to the address Christian had given to us. I then get a phone call from Craig who was meant to come with us and who we’d been keeping in the loop, to say he no longer wanted to come. It was a bit unappreciative of all the work that Matt had gone through to secure us tickets and we just hoped we could change the number of tickets reserved from 3 to 2 without getting our heads screwed in a vice. Thankfully there is no problem and we arrived at the said address. There were 3 or 4 guys hanging around outside an empty bar, one who bore an uncanny likeness to Maradona. La Boca Juniors was Maradona’s team. They tell us it’s closed. I explain that we were there to meet Christian – big smiles and handshakes followed and we were ushered into what we later find out is the La Boca club house. We are given beer, order pizza, still a little unsure what is included in the price of the tickets and have our photo taken with the Maradona look alike. Matt is then led away to the bathroom – he is more than a little worried, but it all goes smoothly and the deal is made and he hands over the now 340 pesos for both tickets. The face value of the tickets is 50 pesos.

We were then herded along down deserted railway tracks and through dark streets in what is considered to be not a great neighbourhood. There was a big crowd of us, about 20. As we got closer to the stadium we were herded together and made to give up our tickets. Made is a little harsh, no guns were drawn, but little choice was available. We handed them over to two guys. A lot of discussion took place, there was confusion. We were told to wait, we don’t know what was going on and then we were on the move again, the stadium was within reach and then we were stopped. We asked what the problem is. A stream of Spanish came back, I caught internal problem, there was nothing wrong with us, and it was all fine. However, as one person panicked the suspicion and mistrust multiplied and spread throughout the group. Then we were ushered forward and were through the barriers, nothing was searched, we had been warned not to take anything with us that might be misconstrued as a weapon, like an eyeliner pencil. Why anyone would want to take makeup to a football match is beyond me, but hey.

So we stood on the otherside of the barriers still without tickets and told to sit anywhere and left alone. We stood around perplexed looking lost and then Matt and I decided to head up the stairs and the rest followed. The match was pretty uneventful and the small group of away supporters were more vocal than the home team, their band even did a rendition of Culture Club’s Karma Chameleon, which we inadvertently sang along with until we remembered we were in the La Boca area. However, unbeknownst to us the crowd underneath where we were sitting in the stadium was going nuts which we saw as we left the stadium, but due to the acoustics we couldn’t hear them going off. There were no flares, fireworks and La Boca lost so we quickly left the stadium. The initial group was now diminished to 7 Brits and we spent 30 minutes trying to work out how to get out of La Boca. Thankfully the eventual arrival of a parade of away supporters and police forced us to head further away from the stadium and to the actual buses. The getting to and from the stadium were far more eventful than the game itself.

I got back home frozen, my toes were numb, my fingers blue, only to get a text from a Porteno to say they were coming to pick me up and we were going to go to Godoy and then a club. I quickly changed out of sweat pants into a more respectable attire for going out in BA. Godoy was a great place, restaurant come bar come dance floor and I did glimpse one or two of the mythical beautiful men of Argentina. It is a bit of a celeb hang out, not that I would have recognised any. Then the guys I was with get a call from a friend and we were in the car heading to a wedding.

We waltzed in, grabbed a drink from the free bar, headed out to try the deserts which consisted of little cakes, flambéed apples and little mousses on long trays and a whole table full of candy. We sampled a few of the choice morsels and then hit the dance floor, trying to avoid the bride, groom or any of the wedding party. Then a video started showing guests delivering various messages from the bizarre to the heartfelt to the bride and groom. And then a box full of masks, hats and silly string appeared and everyone went nuts. Soon everyone had a hat on, was jumping up and down and hoisting the bride and groom onto shoulders and danced around the floor. After a bit we decided we’ve possibly pushed our luck so leave just as the sky is turning a light shade of blue, welcoming the morning sun.

Observations

When getting the subte, tube, subway one evening – a single journey costs 1.10 pesos I saw a group of young guys with a large bottle of half drunk rum, trying to go through the barriers. They were being stopped by a guard/ come police officer. They responded aggressively at being stopped, the shouting and arm waving exchange went on until the compromise of one of the guys hiding the offending bottle under his jacket was reached – brilliant if all world problems could be solved so easily.

Wandering around the streets of Buenos Aires you are accosted by the delicious smell of baked bread and cooking pastries. I think it maybe piped through the streets to mask the smell of dog shit which litters the streets and is one of the main hazards to this city, that and zebra crossings. White stripped lines on the road mean nothing; even when there is a little green walking man displayed you have to dodge cars shooting around corners at cross roads, as they narrowly miss your perambulating body.

It’s not too great a price to pay and this remains an awesome place. I’ve been warned of violence, have yet to see any except for a very very drunk guest at the wedding wanting to hit somebody which turned into anybody until security came and his friends bundled him outside to calm down. Even the protesters are civil, mostly because they have been ‘shipped’ in and paid to be there by some politician who wants to make a certain point. I just need to find a means of staying here; ideas of setting up a business have been met with stories and evidence of bribes, corruption and poor workmanship. I could always teach English but fear I’m not a great teacher as evidenced by being told I was "condensing (?!?! yes condensing was the word used) and patronising" when I tried to tell someone (American I’m afraid) that Singapore was not part of Indonesia and Afrikaans was not a composite language of English and French. I could always offer my services as a dog walker, but there is a lot of competition for this line of work and I don’t as yet know the Spanish for “Come here” “Stay” and “Lie down” – words which on second thoughts may come in very handy! But the thought of clearing up after 10 dogs is not my idea of fun.

So I guess I just have to write an epic, era defining novel that is both critically acclaimed and immensely popular and after a very lucrative deal made into an Oscar winning film. Talking of which I have found time to write; a sign to me that I’m comfortable and happy. I also always measure how comfortable I am in a place by the number of times I’m asked directions - London often, Melbourne daily, San Francisco occasionally, Buenos Aires – at least 5 – only one I’ve understood and be able to respond to and no that’s not because it was in English, it was in Spanish!

So I am now into my fourth week here, starting Spanish lessons on Wednesday, going to a concert tonight La Bomba, meeting an ex-colleague and friend Eugene and his wife who are in BA for 3 days tomorrow and then who knows? It’s a city where anything can happen and everything does.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259583776/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259583776/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259583776/tpod.html Mon, 30 Nov 2009 10:39:01 -0500 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Buenos Aires, Capital Federal District, Argentina

Buenos Feckin' Aires

Although I had just spent my second night in a row sitting upright I was more than excited and awake. I was going to see Belinda and I was in Buenos Aires. In what I'd like to think was an unusual oversight I had forgotten to print out the address of the hotel we were staying in, however in truth I’ve been pretty much winging it for the last few months, that this really wasn’t a one off. However, clever me had remembered the road, the area and the name of the hotel, but the little (most) important detail i.e. the number was missing. After much Spanish – from the taxi driver and me saying 'Claro’ one too many times which really did give off the correct impression that I had understood nothing, we had the number, thanks to a phonecall to the equivalent of 118118 or 411. Soon we were speeding (well it was Monday morning rush hour) through the streets of Buenos Aires. The wide packed streets gave way to beautiful calm leafy cobbled streets lined by little boutique shops and old elegant colonial buildings as we travelled through Palermo. And then we were outside Home Hotel in the heart of Palermo Hollywood.

As it was 7.30 in the morning the room obviously wasn’t ready and Belinda guessing I would be about 2 ½ hours in the airport than 30 minutes wasn’t getting to the hotel until 9 – so with an hour or so to kill I headed back down the road to a local cafe and laughed as 3 girls who obviously hadn’t yet gone to bed were still drinking beer. I knew from that moment that I was going to like this city. Where else can you buy beer at a cafe at 7.30 where the patrons were both suited business men and local labourers?

At 9.30 Belinda arrived at the hotel and after an emotional reunion we celebrated with a glass of champagne and then headed out wandering around our ‘hood’ until our room was ready. Palermo is a beautifully chilled green and leafy suburb full of little cafes, restaurants and boutique shops selling everything from glasses, clothes, shoes to home furnishings and furniture. Monday continued to be very chilled ending with a steak and a bottle of Malbec, which set us up for a huge week.

The Highlights of the Week

- Getting involved in not one but two demonstrations and having riot police smiling at us (anything for a photo opportunity) and then being approached by the demonstrators and welcomed to Buenos Aires. Belinda wanted to get the riot polices’ batons and hat, I thought maybe not such a good idea, and eventually she chicken out of even standing next to them.

- Being a huge hit with the garbage trucks, "you know you’ve made it when the garbos whistle and holler at you" – Belinda’s words

- Being generally a huge hit with every man in Buenos Aires – they don’t hide their admiration

- Wandering around San Telmo during the week. San Telmo is more famous for the Sunday antique markets, but these need to be explored when not suffering from a horrendous hang over and with an understanding that the majority of what is on sale is tacky tat and that you are continually fighting against an unrelenting stream of pedestrian traffic coming towards you or suddenly stopping in front of you.

- Las Cabras – one of our finds for the week, a brilliant laid back, busy and buzzing Parrilla in Palermo Hollywood

- Osaka – another amazing find of the week, with the awesome Sebastian who didn’t let a few feet in height put him off from trying to win our affection. He was our fantastic waiter who ordered amazing sushi and sashimi for us. He then translated when a lovely woman came up to our table to tell us that the whole restaurant was talking about us. Buoyed up by some more attention than just from the garbos we headed to find a party and arrived at Rumis which was awful. We paid a ridiculous A$50, had a bottle of water each and headed out. We jumped into another taxi and headed to Museum and Oh My GOD!

- Museum – we were grabbed by a host, given free tickets, kissed on the cheek and then released into the wild. It was feeding time at the zoo. It was all very good natured and harmless and we had a ball, we were continually ‘attacked’ on all sides by guys all trying to impress us with their command of English. It was taptastic and hilarious. I even got grabbed by a guy who had his arm around another girl, who looked understandably incredibly pissed off. I turned to her and asked for her name; he responded with his name, she hit him telling him that I was talking to her. I left them to have their domestic in ‘private’

If you are going to chide me do it correctly

During the night I saw the help sign from Belinda so went to drag her away from some guy and said in what I thought was an authoritative voice “Suficiente”. He released her and then five minutes later he came up to me “Suficiente.. it isn’t suficiente, it’s ya basta!” I pissed myself that had told me. “Si, si, gracias, tu estes correcto.” I responded still laughing. It was a brilliant put down if you are going to chide me, at least do it correctly. Where can a girl go from there?

Back to the week’s highlights

- Checking out the amazing Faene hotel – a masterpiece in concept design and eccentric elegance. It’s so mad it kind of works – stuffed antelope heads mounted on the wall dripping with costume jewellery. Swan head taps in the bathrooms, white unicorn heads protruding from white walls over white tables in the main restaurant.

And there's more...

- Wandering around the Buenos Aires Design centre and salivating at all the amazing furniture and contemplating the possibilities of either setting up an import/ export business, buying furniture from Argentina and selling it in Australia/ England or alternatively just buying an apartment in BA and furnishing it with all the amazing furnishings.
- Going to the Recoleta Cemetery and being thoroughly underwhelmed by Eva Peron’s tomb, but overwhelmed by the actual cemetery.
- Going to La Boca, taking our photos and getting the hell out of that tourist trap still alive
- Going to club 69 with the delightful Matt, after having had a bit too much Flor de Cana and too many truths being told
- Meeting up with the said lovely Matt Branch, also in Buenos Aires
- Drinking my own body weight in alcohol every night
- Eating huge steaks oh and more steaks
- Deciding I’m going to stay in Buenos Aires for awhile
- Home hotel – our lovely little boutique hotel
- Street art – amazing graffiti and murals all over the city
- Going back to Las Cabras and ordering the plato completo and pointing to a strange looking piece of meat asking what is that to be told it was “chinchulines” – in other words intestines. And then asked whether we wanted it boxed up to take home.
- Chatting for so long at Las Cabras that they had to tell us to leave as they were closing the restaurant at 2 am
- Trying offal, intestines and sweetbreads – okay maybe not a highlight but watching Matt eat them was
- And of course the highlight of the week was hanging out with the gorgeous, fun, generous and beautiful Belinda.

The story of the week

The Kavanagh building or Edificio Kavanagh

A brilliant example of Modernism and Art Deco architecture, a towering building with clean lines and gradual setbacks, built in the 1930s. It was for many decades the tallest building in South America and was built as an act of revenge. Allegedly the Kavanagh daughter fell in love with a local aristocrat from the Anchorena family. Because the daughter was of Irish decent (the name somewhat gives that away) and was rich but not an aristocrat, the Anchorena family disapproved of the engagement and prevented from happening. So the mother, Senora Kavanagh decided to prove how worthy their family was by building the Kavanagh building in front of the Anchorena’s basilica so they could no longer see their beloved church from their palace across the plaza. Most of the Kavanagh’s inheritance and money was sunk into the building and it remains today a beautiful example of great architecture and that revenge can be a dish best served cold. I still haven’t found out whether the building of the edificio resulted in the Anchorenas relenting and allowing their son to marry the daughter or whether there was no truth in the story. However on visiting the Kavanagh building it is definitely built very close to the basilica which gives the distinct impression that the story is true.

The downsides

- Having bought tickets to the Polo it was cancelled due to the rain so Belinda could not complete her bucket list – she’ll just have to come back again next year
- The unseasonal rain
- The allegedly hippest bar in town 878 – complete wash out on the two nights we went there.
- Saying goodbye to Belinda



]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259154974/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259154974/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1259154974/tpod.html Wed, 25 Nov 2009 11:20:07 -0500 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Panama City, Panama

After 4 days in Costa Rica, it was time to head to Panama. I woke up on Monday morning and decided to head to Panama. My decision was compounded by an $8 breakfast consisting just of fresh local fruit and the smallest pieces of toast I had ever eaten. I grabbed Brad and headed to the bus station. The bus from Puerto Viejo to the border at Sixaola was painful. The distance is small about 40 kms but the time is great as the bus stops constantly along the way picking up and dropping off passengers every 5 – 10 metres. So 1 ½ hours later I arrived hot and sweaty at the border. No one offered to help me with getting my bags out of the bus, which was a first and I stumbled to the Costa Rican border post. Again they flicked back and forth through my passport trying to find the entry stamp and again I had to show them. No hassle, no questions, no fee just a stamp and I was on my way crossing over the longest and ricketiest wooden bridge that I had come across (sorry couldn't resist the pun). It not only serves as a foot bridge but also as a rail and road bridge. It sways high over a wide and fast flowing river that marked the border between the two most stable Central American countries. And that is really not saying that much.

I reached the other side after what seemed an eternity but was in fact only 5 minutes. The woman in the Panamanian side asked me if I had a return ticket to Costa Rica, I told her I had a flight to BA from Panama City and that seem to be sufficient, no need for proof and my passport was stamped and I experienced another fast, efficient and easy border crossing. My experiences seemed to be different from the vast majority of travellers.

Waiting on the otherside like hyenas awaiting their turn on the carcass of another traveller were not the usual money changers but minivan and taxi drivers knowing that most gringos arriving at Sixaola are going to Bocas del Toro. They tell you that one of the ports is closed and for $10 per person they will drive you directly to the port for a lancha to Bocas. I went for the easy option and jumped on board, mainly because I had little to no clue how to get to Changuinola or to the port, having no guide book.

I arrived in Bocas via an overloaded lancha bouncing across the waves and arrived hot and happy. Bocas is colourful, with brightly coloured timber houses with wide upstairs’ verandas and wooden shuttered windows. It is very chilled and relaxed, yet there is always stuff to do and a good party scene. In fact I loved it. Great beaches, beautiful seas, good food and a nice bunch of fellow travellers, including the fabulous Tyson, who I seem to be stalking. He is an amazing cook, which in my mind and any sane person has to be a justified cause.

Although it rained a lot, being the end of the rainy season in Panama, I stilled managed to make it to some stunning beaches, including Wizard beach on the chilled and beautiful island of Bastimentos which we hiked through ankle deep mud to find. We decided that doing that one way was not enough so hiked back in order to find this amazing Thai restaurant (Island Time) and it was definitely worth the hike. Other highlights included finding puff starfish just chilling and hanging out in knee deep water close to the shore and meeting some cool people including Hilary, Ben, Manuel, a total legend, a bunch of hapless Kiwis (Andy and Rich) and loads of Canadians.

My last day was overshadowed by constant rain and I was hoping to be instead in Panama City, but the previous night bus was fully booked, so I just had to spend one final night in Bocas drinking far too much Flor de Cana – evil but beautiful stuff. I then spent the Saturday night on a freezing bus. They put the air conditioning up so high that everyone sits on the bus in jumpers, jackets, hats, scarves and gloves. A couple even had a sleeping bag out. The theory is it keeps the driver awake and as a by product also all the passengers. We got into Panama City at 4 am and I made my way to Lunas Castle with a couple of Kiwis from the bus. We were shown to the movie room and zonked out for a few hours. The next morning Ben arrived from Bocas (he chose to fly rather than do the overnight bus – weird kid!?!)

Hester and Ben's Tour

So we did a "Ben and Hester tour of Panama City", which surprised me in how much I liked it. The old part, Casco Viejo, is crumbling and decaying colonial neighbour yet houses the main Cathedral and the President’s home. It is slowly being renovated but still has a faded elegant (read dilapidated) charm. We then jumped in a taxi and headed to the most amazing feat of engineering, the Panama Canal; see below for some interesting okay geeky and nerdy facts and figures. We then headed to The Causeway, a road joining islands to the mainland and is meant to resemble Miami’s South beach promenade. No it didn’t really, but there were palm trees, rollerbladers, cyclists and women in bikini tops with great racks.

Ben was flying back to Toronto at the same time I was heading to Buenos Aires so we continued our tour to the airport through the myriad of high-rise skyscrapers built on reclaimed land that now dominate the City’s skyline. We were told by some random guy, earlier in the day that they were all built by laundered money and if you wanted to launder money, Panama was the place to do it. Ben responded that if he had money to launder he’d keep that in mind. The random then went onto explain that the biggest businesses in Panama were owned by the Columbians, I see a theme here. However I would question that unless the Columbians now own the Panama Canal.

At the airport I was told I couldn’t enter Argentina without a return ticket. I explained that I had checked and it was fine. A huge lie, but delivered with such confidence and aplomb, they were momentarily taken aback. I wanted to do the whole “I’m British and we go anywhere we want to... we used to own this world, we probably owned you.” But decided against that attitude. Eventually after much discussion and looking up on the computer, they worked out that United Kingdom and Great Britain were somewhat the same country and agreed I didn’t need an onward ticket but I would need to produce proof of a credit card. Neither were required and in fact I think the Argentinean immigration were having a race against each other as to who could process the most people in the shortest space of time. Never have I gone through an airport so quickly – 30 minutes from landing, I was standing in the Argentinean sunshine blinking like a mole suddenly poking its head above ground.

What you’ve been waiting for – Facts and Figures about the Panama Canal

On average 39 boats go through the canal daily over 14,400 a year

Boats have a minimum 24 inches clearance on each side

The average toll for a boat is $100,000 and has to be paid in advanced – there is no credit and booked at least 3 days in advance

The maximum toll ever paid was $330,000; the most to jump queues was $240,000 saving the company 6 days delay

Tolls are based on tonnage and size of the vessel

93% of the world’s boats can fit through the canal; the other 7% will have to wait until new locks are built planned for completion in 2014

The canal opened in 1914

The canal is 80 kms/ 50 miles long and takes boats 8 hours to go through without delays which invariably there are which means the whole passage takes 15 – 16 hours

Boats going through the locks near the Pacific ocean i.e., Miraflores locks take over an hour to go through and drop about 16.5 metres from the Miraflores lake to the Pacific Ocean or rise 16.5 metres going the otherway.

The movement of the locks is based on fresh water and this is wasted into the ocean every time a boat transits the canal at about 100,000 cubic metres a go. Not very environmentally friendly. This is being addressed in the new locks which will look to reuse the fresh water and not lose it to the ocean.

I could go on but I leave you with this final one or two.

The profit in the Fiscal year 2008/09 on tolls alone was 1.4 billion dollars. The US handed over control of the canal to Panama on 31st December 1999 and in today’s current climate are probably regretting that decision.

And yes there was a reduction in the number of boats going through last year due to the world wide recession, so they just raised the tolls to compensate – brilliant!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257740100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257740100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257740100/tpod.html Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:37:38 -0500 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

San Jose, Province of San Jose, Costa Rica

Charging through Costa Rica without stopping to collect 200.

20 plus hours on water

I had a great couple of days in El Castillo, I met a lovely Dutch girl on the ferry from Ometepe to San Carlos and she too was going to El Castillo, so we joined forces and worked it out, i.e. how to get there, who was the man selling the boletos? Of course, it was the guy with the clipboard wandering around. We then searched for somewhere to stay and choose the lovely Albergue hotel. We also lucked out and met a French woman who was living in Ecuador, spoke perfect English and Spanish as well as French and German; and was writing for a small guidebook company based out of Quito. She became our translator and guide for the two days we were there

More Confused History lessons and Geography lesson

The Rio San Juan was the main trade route for the Spaniards in transporting their plunder from the new world. Later it became the main route (in the mid 19th Century) for traversing the States. The mid part of which was still considered to be wild, so travellers, left New Orleans by boat, to the mouth of the San Juan river, and Greymouth, now San Juan Del Norte. Travelled along the river, through Lago De Nicaragua and out at San Juan Del Sur. Then they took another boat to San Francisco. At the turn of the 20th Century plans were approved and work started on building a canal that would enable cargo to travel through Central America, taking goods from the Caribbean/ Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. This of course never transpired in Nicaragua as the US preferred the option of building the said canal further south, hence the Panama Canal.

El Castillo's fort was built in the 17th Century above a series of rapids and was incredibly important in defending the Spanish Empire from the marauding British pirates and later navy. In fact a young 22 year old Nelson commanded a British force of 1000 men to take the fort in the 1780s. He succeeded, but disease, dysentery etc won the final battle and war forcing the British to retreat, well the 10 of them that were left.

After a couple of nights, I was back on a boat heading to San Carlos, to take another boat down the Rio Frio to Los Chiles and the border with Costa Rica. I had 30 minutes to clear immigration and jump on the boat waiting to take me and others to Costa Rica and was panicking unnecessarily it turned out that I didn’t have enough time. The Nicaraguan Immigration turned out to be housed in a crumpled down blue hut on stilts and yes I’m a jammy bitch. I stood there as they looked for my entry stamp. I had to show them amongst the many others and hear them read out dieciseis de Julio and then watched in amazement as they stamped it with an exit stamp of 5th November. I was 3 weeks over my allotted 90 days/3 months and they just asked for US$2 departure tax and no fine for overstaying. Brilliant. I grabbed my passport and ran onto the boat, amazed at my luck. The crossing down the Rio Frio is slow and your entry into Costa Rica is accompanied by the hollow barking of howler monkeys, the soft calling of birds and the gentle flapping of Giant Heron wings and cormorants drying their wings. Once I got to Los Chiles I presented Brad to be opened and checked. The girl looked at her superior with a look of bewilderment, the superior stepped in, "Any fruits, foods, etc." My response was of course “No” and I was on my way, Brad was not molestered. I then wandered to a shack and paid US$1 to enter Costa Rica and then onwards to immigration. Here as in Nicaragua there were people to complete the necessary forms for you for a small fee. The crossing at Los Chiles is used by mainly labourers trying to find better paid work in Costa Rica than in Nicaragua, where the minimum salary is about half that of its richer neighbour. These labourers are illiterate so need help with completing the necessary paperwork to leave Nicaragua and enter Costa Rica.

A number of Nicaraguans try to illegally cross into Costa Rica via the Rio San Juan and often get caught and sent back. Whilst on the bus from Los Chiles to San Jose, via San Carlos, the police made 2 people get off the bus, because they didn’t have the correct entry stamp to be in Costa Rica. Normally people once caught are taken back to Los Chiles and either deported or allowed entry. According to the really nice guy that I had got talking to on the boat along the Rio Frio. Well talking to, is rather a loose description of the interaction, but he helped me and ensured I got on the right bus to another San Carlos this time in Costa Rica, and later change to the correct bus to San Jose. At one time, because you hear so many stories, I was concerned that he was going to take me somewhere completely different and relieve me of not just Brad but also all my worldly possessions. But I quickly put these thoughts and doubts aside and by 7 pm I was in San Jose not really knowing where I was going. The Rough Bitch and I had accidentally parted company in Managua about a month ago and so I’m now flying solo with no guidebook and so far winging it quite nicely.

I managed to flag down a passing taxi and mumbled the name of a backpackers that I had heard of.. the originally named Costa Rica Backpackers and after a bit, he remembered where it was and brought me there.

I’ve just eaten my first meal since 5 am at 9 pm and am now ready to fall into my bed which is a rather flimsy metal bunk bed in a dorm. I don’t plan to stay any longer in San Jose or here and will head hopefully tomorrow to Panama or Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica.

Never have plans only ideas

Late on Thursday night I received an email from a guy I had met at Spanish School in Xela, John. He was volunteering in a town on the outskirts of San Jose and offered me a bed in his shared house. I took up the option and found myself on Friday evening at the National Theatre with all my worldly possessions looking for John. He obviously spotted me and we jumped on a bus out to Movaria and to his rustic/simple lodgings which turned out to be pretty luxurious. We then went out with his two housemates, Kellie and Liz to the local karaoke bar and were amazed at the passion of one singer belting out the Spanish version of Total Eclipse of the Heart and the falsetto of another attempting Staying Alive. Thankfully no one was subjected to my voice and we stumbled out of the bar and headed home dignity still intact.

The next day we all went to a dance class, and I managed to make even great dancers look crap, it’s a special talent. However, I thoroughly enjoyed myself learning how to do the bolero and merengue, there’s a lot of turns and if there’s something I’m good at, it’s twirling. So it was Sunday before I headed towards Panama. I decided to break the journey at Puerto Viejo de Talamanca. The countryside is beautiful in Costa Rica, wide and fast flowing rivers, dense vegetation, and fields and fields of pina, banana and sugar cane, which they export to the US and Europe. Costa Rica is definitely richer than its northern neighbours and this is evidenced by the fact that I saw someone mowing a field on a ride-on mower and not using a machete. Also the people look more western, they are taller, fairer and speak English and the women wear the most skyscrapping heels I’ve ever seen. Costa Rica has no army, is politically stable and does not have the violent history (recent) of its northern neighbours and is definitely the preferred location for Americans wanting to holiday in an exotic location, bringing in the much valued dollar and foreign currency.

Well tomorrow I head to Panama to meet up again with Tyson in Bocas del Torro. The adventures continue.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257388978/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257388978/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1257388978/tpod.html Wed, 04 Nov 2009 23:01:46 -0500 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Granada, Nicaragua

3 months ago, I thought the CA4 three month visa allowance was ample, but somehow, irrespective of being held up for 4 days because of Zelaya's un-triumphant return to Honduras, I have managed to overstay my welcome in Guatemala, El Sal, Honduras and Nica combined. So when I do eventually leave Nicaragua I will be facing a fine... well a charge of $1 per day overstayed.. Hilarious!

So why have I stayed? Well Nicaragua turned out to be much more fun and interesting than I first suspected. I became more determined to learn Espanol – not at all sure how it’s going, but I’m currently immersed in a rural community Hijos Del Maiz in a small village of 25 houses and 100 people, mas o menos in northern Nicaragua and am being forced to speak and listen to Spanish 24 / 7. Well not quite, I’m still dreaming in English, but you get the picture. I’m hoping after a week here my Spanish will be good enough just to be able to have a basic conversation without constantly reaching for my diccionario. Mostly I’m fluking it my adding an o or an i to words or where the English word is tion, saying cion and it seems to be working mas o menos.

Sorry had problems uploading photos to this site, due to being in the Nicaraguan jungle, so please check out the photos on facebook link is as follows:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=131594&id=536447282&l=21de3789ae

Confused History Lesson

Nicaragua is the poorest of the Central American countries and is still licking its war wounds from a long history of fighting, which really only ended about 15 years ago. The wars were vicious and there were no victors. It’s not clear who was fighting for whom or for what and it seems that somewhere along the line the ideological principles and reasons got confused and blood lust became the main driver, or else it could be, and this is very plausible, that my Spanish is not good enough to comprehend the many complex issues and myriad of political issues. Or understand why someone was left and not a Sandinista, who was revolutionary; who were right wing, the Contra etc?

What I did manage to garner is: Nicaraguans are proud of their heritage, their heroes and their martyrs, especially Leon which is the home to not just the 1978/9 revolution but also the assassination of Augusto Cesar Sandino (el padre de la revolucion) by Somoza senior in 1934. In 56, Somoza himself was shot by Rigobetto Lopez Perez, a poet. Who said the pen is mightier than the sword? Somoza’s son took over. The Somozas were seen as US puppets and deeply unpopular and hence in 1978 the FSLN, Sandinista National Liberation Front launched a violent uprising against the military and government which resulted in Somoza resigning in 1979.

The new government being left wing was not so popular with its nearby large and right wing neighbour the United States, Estados Unidos, under Reagan’s administration and hence the Iran-Contra Affair began – and a decade of bloody civil war in Nicaragua. When I was a kid I remember watching the news and the trial of Oliver North and having little comprehension of the complexities of what was going on, only that North was seen as a scapegoat and that the US were selling arms to Iran to fight Iraq. The current Nicaragua is hugely defined by this time as the money generated by selling those arms, was given to the 'Contra’ to overthrow socialism in Nicaragua. At the same time, the CIA ‘allowed’ the Contra to smuggle cocaine into the US. How much of the later is heresy or truth I don’t know but I imagine the CIA turned a blind eye to the cocaine smuggling rather than allowing it. A technicality.

In 1986 The United Nations ordered the US to pay $17.8 billion in reparations to Nicaragua. I’m not sure if this amount has ever been paid, but overtime numerous amounts of debt have been written off. In 1991 Daniel Ortega and the leaders of the Contra agreed on a peace settlement and a new coalition government was created under Chamorro. The left believe during this time that public spending was cut throughout the nineties creating social unrest. Problems for the masses were compounded by the world coffee crisis in 2001 when bags of coffee plummet to $45 causing mass unemployment in Nicaragua. In 2006 Daniel Ortega was elected again 15 years after he left office, and the country is deeply divided. There are many not happy with his close relationship with Chavez, who in 2007 forgave Nicaragua its $31 million debt to Venezuela. And now Ortega has changed the constitution to enable him to stand for re-election in 2011. Which has caused rioting by those anti-Ortega and counter rioting by those pro Ortega. Anyone still following?

Many I talked to in Leon tended to be anti-Ortega. Maybe they were slightly wealthier and also had more access to multiple channels of information. But they believed that Ortega is only pretending to be a socialist and really is siphoning off funds and is too in bed with Chavez. Allegedly Ortega buys Petroleum from Chavez at 20% below the world trade price and sells it for 20% above to the people. No one knows where the profit goes but many are not convinced it goes towards education, medicine, hospitals, infrastructure etc. However, here in Lagartillo, a small and proud community that was attacked in 1984 by the Contra, they are very pro Ortega and can see tangible evidence that Ortega is trying to help the people of Nicaragua. Recently in a Government sponsored scheme some of the houses received solar panels and now have electricity. Again I’m not sure who is right or who is wrong, I cannot even scratch the surface due to my language limitations, but what I do know is that the failure of the rains this year will detrimentally impact this country and unless the president can perform a miracle, the cracks in this beautiful country will widen. There could easily be civil unrest, famine and fighting in the streets. Most families own guns, a legacy from the Contra war and it won’t take much for them to take up arms and head to the streets.

The whole of Central America is on a tipping point what with gang crime and political interplay. For example the situation in Honduras and the international community insisting on the reinstatement of Zelaya. My impression from talking to people in Honduras, was that the people don’t want him, they want the democratic elections of 29th November to go ahead. But the US is insisting that Zelaya, who has already allegedly misappropriated over an estimated US$5 million, to serve as President for the time he was out of the country in exile. All non-essential aid to Honduras has been suspended, there is a trade embargo, which means the people AGAIN are being impacted, and food is running low as are other basic necessities which Honduras relies on trade with the States to provide. However, as I write this, reports are coming in from Honduras that a compromise is being reached and trade may commence again very soon.

Corruption

Okay so they maybe seemingly democratic but of course there is corruption and I promise I won’t go on about the drug trade again. But if you have money you can buy your way out of most things including murder. El Salvador has just been ranked as the most dangerous country in the world for youth murders, with 92.3 homicides per 100,000 youths in a UN Development Program sponsored report. Central America is one of the most violent places in the world and 79,000 people have been murdered in the last 6 years, more deaths than in El Salvador’s violent 12 year civil war and a decade of fighting in Nicaragua in the 80s. And yes it is mainly gang and drug related. Sorry to go on about drugs, but they have such an impact on the economics and social aspects of Central America that their presence is impossible to avoid. And it is still pretty lawless. Qualified lawyers get more money teaching foreign students Spanish than they do practicing law, there is little to no recompense and justice through courts, revenge killing is more the way to go, so the need for lawyers is minimal. Two examples

About a month or so ago at Via Via, the fantastic backpackers in Leon, there was a gruesome murder of one of the security guards and a robbery. The robbery and murder was planned by another of the security guards, who shall be referred to as X, who has not been caught and nor is likely to be. The others involved have been. The security guard who was murdered was ex-police, let’s call him Y, and it is believed that X had a grudge against him. Despite checks carried out by the police, the owners of Via Via were not informed of X’s criminal record – 2 violent assaults and why weren’t they and why hasn’t he been caught? Well he’s connected, family in the police force, money elsewhere you get the picture.

Second story – pesticides and insecticides that have been banned elsewhere in the world (DDT plus up to 12 others) are still being used illegally in Central America. Workers, harvesters, farmers etc. of major corporations e.g. The Nicaraguan Estates Sugar Ltd are now suffering from considerable high rates of chronic kidney failure. For over 18 years groups of workers and people have been trying to just get heard, let alone compensated for working with these dangerous chemicals and can they? No. Will anyone listen? No. Do they have money? No. Will they get justice? Not without international intervention.

Okay major simplification over with, but I hope it illustrates why state delivered justice is not something the people here believe in; personal justice and feuds, yes. An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.

I’ve now left Lagartillo and Granada and am on a 16 hour ferry ride heading to San Carlos in preparation to cross the border into Costa Rica by boat on the Rio Frio. But first I’m going to take another boat to El Castillo on the Rio San Juan.

Observations:

Diet, Dogs and Dulce (Sweet)

Everything is pretty much deep fried, the main staple of the diet is maize which is corn and is ground up and mixed with water and made into tortillas, flat round corn wraps that are served with every meal

The other main staples are rice and beans or gallo pinto which is rice and beans fried together

Pretty much every dish comes with 3 or 4 carbs, rice, chips, tortilla, guineo (a type of banana which is deep fried) or platano (plantain) again deep fried.

Dogs and cats are only fed on scraps from their owners, the concept of buying separate food does not exist and why should it when it costs so much to feed your own family. Therefore the dog and cats eat mainly a human diet with high levels of salt and fat and no meat, look unhealthy and scrawny, scavenge through garbage bags and become pests that are then kicked because they beg.

Everything comes with sugar – the fresh juices or frescos and licuados all have added sugar and even the coffee is cooked with sugar – it’s taken black and sweet and is pretty shit, considering so much of the world’s coffee comes from this region. Also from a young age they consume so many sweets, fizzy drinks, I’ve seen babes in arms being fed coca cola. Even the bread is dulce. You can just imagine the state of most of the people’s teeth, it ain’t pretty and that’s coming from a Brit.

Leon

was great fun and I had an amazing week there, staying longer than planned, hanging out with Tyson, Gemma who co-owns Big Foot Hostel, Danny and all the crew there

I climbed a volcano, Cerro Negro and went Volcano Boarding down it on more than a 45 degree angle scree slope. It was very cool and when I got to the bottom I wanted to go again but the 45 minute climb with the board wasn’t particularly appealing combined with the fact it wasn’t an option meant I had to be content with surviving with no abrasions, no wipe out and a speed of 31 KMPH.

I did more Spanish classes in preparation for my week in Lagartillo

I drank too much rum, oh Flor De Cana... amazing stuff.

I got to see a side of Leon that most tourists don’t by spending time with a local, Eduardo who was both generous with his time and hospitality and showed me around Leon and the nearby beach, Las Penitas.

And I met some awesome people, Alanna, Mike, Chris to name a few. Randomly bumped into others I had met previously; Mez, American James, Louise and John.

Lagartillo

I could write another 1000 words just on Lagartillo, but I’ve been told I need to be better at summarising and consolidating my blog so here are the highlights:

There is no running water, so the shower was a bucket of rain water and a bowl, which you filled to pour water over yourself.

verything, clothes, plates, self were washed using rain water collected in a big trough

The toilet was a drop toilet – obviously no running water and a breeding read hunting ground for mosquitoes, yes my arse got annihilated

Mosquitoes feasted on me for breakfast, lunch and dinner, after counting 80 individual bites I gave up, they still itch 3 days later and are the nasty big blistering type – oh how attractive

I learnt so much about the history and politics of Nicaragua and what it was like to be here during the Contra wars of the 80s

The 1984 New Year ’s Eve attack by the Contra. On 31st December most of the men from the village had gone to the nearby Achuapa to buy food and alcohol for the New Year ’s Eve party and the village was full of mainly women and children. Suddenly a neighbour who had been severely beaten ran into the village to warn them the Contra where on their way. 30 minutes later the Contra swarmed into the village and killed 6 people who were left behind to defend the co-operative. These 6 consisted of two men, a 20 year old woman, her father and two 14 year old boys. The rest of the village fled over rocks and river beds, carrying children and babies to the nearby town of Achuapa. When they returned they found the school, houses and crops had been destroyed. The Contra attacked because Lagartillo was a cooperative and a symbol of socialism. The mother and wife of the slain woman and her father, is the 65 year old matriarch of the village and now only wears trousers, because for years she had to sleep in her clothes in case she had to escape and make a run for it and trousers were / are easier to run in than skirts. So she no longer owns any skirts

I watched the village play baseball which is religiously watched here and I think a pitcher for the Dodgers is Nicaraguan.

I learnt how tortillas are made, how beans are cooked, about rural life in Nicaragua

I found a community that was well educated, opinionated, gentle, kind, family orientated and supportive of each other

Oh and my Spanish improved

Granada

I was surprised that I liked Granada, it is beautiful. It is touristy and every food bill comes with tax and a service charge and there is of course a gringo street with expensive restaurants, where the gringos and rich Nicaraguans sit out of wide pavements watching street kids do amazing break dancing and other shows. The street kids also make objects out of palm leaves, sell cigarettes and cashews and take their proceeds and buy glue.

Again I met some great people, Nathan, Andreas, Toby, Alf and bumped into Mez again who had just returned from the Corn Islands.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1256165867/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1256165867/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1256165867/tpod.html Wed, 21 Oct 2009 19:05:16 -0400 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Corn Islands, Región Autónoma Atlántico Sur, Nicaragua

Corn Islands

After 3 days in Leon, which after a few hours started growing on me. But more on Leon in the next instalment, as I will be returning to the city that boast it is "the home of the revolution" and sports gravity that states that Bush has committed crimes against humanity. And yes as soon as I saw that in a Spanish scrawl I was sold on this old colonial city. Leon is to Nicaragua what Xela is to Guatemala, a bit less touristy and bit more real, less the Disney version of what a colonial Central American city should look like, which is what Granada again in Nicaragua and Antigua in Guatemala aspire to be. Although as I write this I haven't been to Granada, which is next on the idea’s list after returning to Leon.

Tyson and I hung out in Leon for about 3 days and he introduced me to Christina and Anina, a couple of Swiss German girls travelling around Central America. Both were keen to do more diving, so the three of us cooked up a plan to fly to the Corn Islands for a few days to do just that. Unfortunately on the Thursday when we wanted to book flights, the internet was down throughout Leon, and I mean throughout Leon. There was no service, so we could not contact the airline. Yes using the old method of contacting companies and people before the internet, i.e. by phone, did not occur to any of us. However, by the next morning having spoken to many people about our predicament, we took on their advice about using a telephone, a telephone, do they still exist? So we woke up early and asked the owner of our hostel, the fantastic Via, Via, to call, he duly did and booked us on the 2 pm flight out of Managua. Now all we had to do was get to Managua for 12.

When I travel I travel

So at 9 we were in a taxi heading to Leon bus station, from there we took a chicken bus, which was meant to be Expresso. It was mas o menos (more or less, which has become my favourite Spanish phrase) to Managua. Whilst travelling to the bus station in Managua we get stopped by the police to check paperwork, so the three of us jumped off and caught another taxi to the airport.

Sideline – taxis, crime, Managua.

Managua is unavoidable and like most Central American cities is best avoided. It is busy, polluted, unsafe, sprawling and difficult to navigate. Children hang around street lights trying to make a buck, begging, juggling, washing windscreens. It is always advisable to wind up windows when approaching a red light to stop wandering hands lifting bags, sunglasses etc. But this is not the main danger. There is now a number of stories circulating about hapless tourists getting into taxis and being kidnapped, held at knife/ gun point and robbed or made to go to cash point (ATM) after cash point to withdraw all funds from their bank accounts. The ruse goes as follows.

Scenario 1: A couple of tourists/ gringos are on a bus heading to either Managua, Granada or the handicraft markets at Masaya, they meet a well dressed local who on asking where they are going, states that they too are going there and they should share a taxi. The innocent couple agree, after all this person seems to be educated, well dressed and friendly, what could go wrong? The three get into a 'taxi’ surprisingly of the local’s choosing, and set off from the bus station/ bus stop. Along the way the taxi picks up another 1 or 2 people who get into the back and pull a knife/ gun etc. The couple if they have everything with them, loose everything, if they have cash, that is taken, if they have a credit/ debit card the taxi drives to ATM after ATM and they are forced to withdraw their daily limit. The taxi then pulls over in the middle of nowhere and the gringos are forced to get out.

Scenario 2: A couple get into a taxi at a bus stop/ station and as they are driving along, the taxi driver pulls over and picks up another couple of people who get in either side of the couple, trapping them in the back and then a knife/ gun is pulled on the couple and scenario 1 happens.

It seems to happen to couples not solo travellers or groups. It also has happened to only a few of the many thousands of travellers/ tourists that visit Managua, Granada and Masaya, but the stories circulate fast and on further questioning, it is apparent that the story is about the same couple you heard about in San Juan, Ometepe, Corn Islands, Managua, Leon etc. Can it be avoided? Some suggestions:

1. Travel in large groups – not always practical
2. Don’t get into a taxi at a bus station/ stop – which is what we did
3. One person always gets in the front so can escape, but obviously not the best means of prevention as it leaves the other person at the mercy of the kidnappers/ robbers, but if you wanted to pull a Joanne Lees and get rid of your other half then it is an ideal option.
4. Don’t trust anyone who offers ‘help’ on buses, bus stations etc, which ruins the travelling experience.
5. Or just keep your wits about you and if the taxi pulls over to pick up other people, get out of the taxi.

I first came across this, when I met friends (Dave and Fran) of George, who I travelled to Semuc Champey and Flores with. They had been ‘kidnapped’ in Granada and since then I’ve heard of a handful of others but it hasn’t prevented me getting into taxis and also sharing taxis with others and have I been careful? Probably not, I got into the back of a taxi in Managua and another woman got into the front, laden with boxes and cakes. The taxi didn’t start so crowds of people started pushing the cab, I had all my luggage with me and Brad was in the boot/ trunk of the car which wasn’t locked, anyone could have opened it and absconded with Brad, but no one did. Everyone was laughing, running towards the struggling cab to help push and it was a snapshot moment of the goodness of human nature. The cab started and we both were taken to the other bus station to catch a bus to Leon.

Back to the main story

So Anina, Christina and I jumped in a cab on a main street not waiting to get to the Bus station. I had left Brad with Tyson and just had my daypack so was travelling very light. Thankfully as the other girls had their big packs with them and the max weight limit was 30lbs per person for the flight to the Corn Islands. Their packs weight 88 lbs combined and if I had had mine we would have had to pay $1 per overweight lb. We got to the airport, bought our tickets and checked in which not only meant weighing in the bags, it also included weighing us in holding our hand luggage, which caused much hilarity.

At 2pm we were on a small 12 seater plane and taking off. We flew over swathes of farmland, mountains past the coastline, across the Caribbean sea to Big Corn. From the airport we took a cab with the idea of spending one night in big corn. On inspection of one place we changed our minds and walked back to the dock, jumped on the lancha that departed at 4:30 pm to Little Corn.

Little Corn.

Little Corn surpassed all expectations and apart from torrential rain on the first night (it is the rainy/ hurricane season) we had awesome weather for the whole 6 days and nights we were there. The islands are expensive for central America with breakfasts averaging $5 per person and dinner around $7 – 8 but lobster is cheap at $10 and good. We stayed in a couple of places; Elsa’s around the east side of the island, but after 1 night, admittedly the only night it rained we decided to check out other places. Also when we arrived the town generator was down as someone ‘accidently’ put salt water in it. Therefore there was no running water in Elsa’s and although they had their own generator, electricity was only on from 5 – 9 pm. We decided to move to Los Delfines, the hotel attached to Dolphin’s Dive and got an ensuite room with A/C for $30 per night (so $10 each) and single tank dives for $24 – awesome. Highlights of the week.

1. The boat journey across is not for the feint hearted, it is bumpy and wet and confirmed to us how glad we were that we decided to fly and not to take the ferry across from Bluefields to Big Corn, which is the other way of getting to the Corn Islands.

2. Walking to our cabana in the twilight and seeing blinking fire flies lighting the way which the locals call ‘blinkies’

3. Getting ripped off by the local crack head, at the time unbeknownst to us, but later we found out he had been thrown off the island 2 – 3 times for breaking into tourist’s cabanas so we later thought that we got off lightly each of us only losing $7.50 to him in his well known scam. He, Denis, basically tells ‘tourists’ that he is doing this great ‘cooking’ a feast of fish, lobster etc around a fire on the beach. He prefers the money up front so he can buy the fish. On the night the fish turns out to be a broth of sorts; containing fatty and little pieces of chicken, plantain and dried shrimps. He has a reason why there is no fish; Por lo visto (obviously) the fisherman got jealous so wouldn’t sell him the fish. But because some people have already paid up front he now feels bad and it wouldn’t be fair if others pay less. He wasn’t very impressed with my recommendation that he refunded those mugs who had already paid (not us), to the extent that he just walked off, but with our money!

4. Diving with nurse sharks (5 on one dive)

5. A night dive with a turtle – amazing and beautiful bio luminescence

6. Breakfast at Rosa’s for $4 including fruit salad and delicious toasted coconut bread

7. Beautiful seas and beaches, palm trees galore.

8. No cars on the island, the main street is basically a wide path

9. The disproportionate number of Swiss Germans on the island – out of about 15 to 20 tourists there were 8 – 11 Swiss Germans.

10. Kevin our fantastic and local dive master

11. Learning a new Spanish word Peligroso – meaning dangerous. This came about because on our second night at Elsa’s Christina and I were in our cabana and as we were turning off the lights, she stopped and pointed to somewhere behind my head. Sitting on the wall, illuminated by a spotlight was what appeared to be a tarantula. We discussed what we should do, and I said, I’d ask if they had tarantulas on the island. I duly did this, going to the guy who worked in Elsa’s. To say this person was slow would be an insult to slow people, he had either been dropped on his head too many times as a small child or had an intravenous drip of marijuana hooked up. I asked the question “Are there tarantulas on the island?” 5 minutes later “Yes, but only in the back bush.”
“Ah, because we’ve got one in our cabana”
5 minutes interlude
“Yes”
“So what should we do?”
No response so I tried again
“Do you want to have a look at it?”
“Yes” walks off in other direction, but returns with a machete 5 minutes later... We return to the cabana and as I point out the spider, Mr Unanimated eyes immediately pop out of his head on stalks and he exclaims “Whoa” and is off and running. A minute later the Cabana is full of people shouting and screaming things like Peligroso and loads more Spanish. A long pole is produced from somewhere, I think it belonged to the Corn Islands pole vaulting champion and the tarantula or wolf spider (no one really knew which it was) was quickly dispatched and smashed in 2. We were all thankful we were moving out the next day

This wouldn’t be a blog from Central America without mentioning the drugs

To legalise or not to legalise. If there is a case for both it can be found in central America where most of the economy is based on the illegal transportation of cocaine and most of the taxes and international ‘aid’ are spent on trying to ‘prevent’ the transportation and seizing the drugs/ associated money. Which news flash, is always recorded as less than what is actually seized, because the army, police etc also need to benefit from the drugs trade, taking a cut of an industry with an estimated annual profit of US$70 billion and that is pre-tax. Oh right, it’s illegal so there are no taxes. Forgive me for thinking how useful that money would be for education, rehabilitation, providing alternative activities for disaffected youths, gainful employment for adults, but maybe I’m just a naive liberal.

So how is cocaine impacting Central America? Southern Mexico has been transformed into a war zone as cartels and police battle for control, which has pushed other cartels and gangs into operating from the rest of Central America causing more lawlessness and problems in major cities. This has, especially in Mexico had a detrimental impact on tourism and thus the economy, employment, etc, not to mention the rise in corpses.

And then there are the transportation/ smuggling routes. All cocaine has to travel through Central America to reach the rich markets of the United States and Europe. The drugs are either smuggled ‘openly’ via light aircraft or boat through the Caribbean. Boats tend to have 3 motors compared to the Nicaraguan navy’s boats which only have 2, so can surprisingly outrun the Navy’s boats, except when something goes wrong or the boat is picked up by spotter planes. This happened recently in Little Corn and the locals spent the four days, the boat was circling near the island, with snorkel gear trying to retrieve whatever cargo/ evidence was being disposed of. When the authorities did eventually catch the smugglers it is believed that the $100 million the smugglers had with them was eventually recorded as $40 million seized, head scratch?

Often due to storms, or being chased by authorities, ‘cargo’ is lost and ends up washed up on shore (Corn Islands) for example. The Columbians then return to the islands to pay a ‘finder's fee’ to the islanders, who patrol the beaches in the early hours of every morning hoping to find packs of cocaine. The islanders do not try to move into the Columbians territory and smuggle/deal, because, and this happened last year, their bodies would be sprayed with bullets. It is also too much like hard work, so the islanders sit on their find, maybe having an occasional sniff until the Columbians come along with money. The islanders then go out bragging about their ‘windfall’ buying drinks for everyone. Their neighbours then slip away, break into the other’s house and steal the money. “Easy come, easy go.” Is the Island’s saying. It is kind of socialistic I suppose. Otherwise they use it to build houses or hostels and accommodation for tourists, like Elsa’s, so as a hapless tourist you are benefitting from the cocaine trade, although I’m not a 100 % sure anyone staying at Elsa’s is benefitting. But you get the picture.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but the so called ‘war on drugs’ isn’t working. Good money is being thrown after bad money. Whatever the authorities do, like add another motor to their boats, the Cartels will add another to theirs. Unless something is done Cartels will continue to control society and Governments in Central America through employment, money, fear and hope. Like everything it seems the poor suffer most.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1254942322/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1254942322/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1254942322/tpod.html Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:25:40 -0400 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

The Great Escape

Thursday morning, our third morning in Teguci we wake up at 5 am to call a couple of bus companies to see if we could get an early morning bus out of Teguci as we believed, along with the rest of Honduras that the curfew was being lifted at 6am. There is predictably no answer, so we reset the alarm for 6 am and try again. Using Skype, Dave gets through to TransNica, who don't speak English, so in my halting Spanish; I ask if they have a bus leaving today for Managua.

"Yes at 6:30" is the response

“Now, in half an hour?” I question

“Yes”

“Okay, we need 3 tickets, is that okay?”

“Yes” hangs up

Thankfully we were all pretty packed up, so it was just a case of throwing the toothbrush into the bag, heaving Brad onto a shoulder and running out the door. We still had to pay at reception, so whilst we were doing this, we asked them to get us a taxi and call the bus company to hold the bus until we got there. Our taxi driver was ace, as I urged him to be quick “Rapido, rapido!” He even pulled up in front of the bus so there was no chance of it leaving. We threw a mixture of dollars and lempiras at the receptionist and jumped on the waiting bus. By 6:40 we were on the road out of Tegucigalpa. The great escape was underway.

The border crossing was disappointingly slightly non-eventful and pretty quiet, something I was not expecting. We were held up by an American couple, whose papers were not in total order, the locals grumbled something about Gringos and the American couple grumbled something about bribes. And after an hour we were in Nicaragua and the military lock down of the last few days was now just a memory.

Another Day (3 days late..) Another Country

Managua cannot be avoided, unfortunately as it is the centre point for all transport and like any well planned city, all the buses leave from different bus stations and locations so you have to get rip off taxis to take you from one bus station to another which are teeming mass of humanity. The bus stations are normally located at Mercados (markets) which is an excellent idea as one can stock up on food for the journey; that is if one didn’t have the extra 20lbs of Brad and mini-Brad to contend with. I managed to avoid one rip off taxi driver who claimed it was 30 minute journey and thus $10 fare to the bus station where I could catch a direct bus to San Juan Del Sur. A quick read of the Rough Bitch gave me the great idea of heading down to the Pacific coast and not stopping to pass go and collect 200. The appeal of the beach was enhanced by the fact I knew James from San Pedro and James from Xela were both going to be there.

Anyway $10 was half the price of the already and not used Tica bus ticket from Tegucigalpa to Managua. He dropped his price to $8, still too much so I happily jumped ship when another taxi driver offered to take me for $5 (still too much, but I was tired, hungry – we had had some beans and tortillas in a polystyrene box on the bus, but that was all.) We drove for 10 minutes where he tried to persuade me to take the taxi the whole way to San Juan Del Sur. Um, this sounds familiar and wasn’t I (well Roman, Roland and I) caught out on this ruse before? No I said it was alright. The taxi driver responded in broken English.

“I can take you for 15 dollars.”

“15” I repeat and then in Spanish, but it’s a 2 hour or more journey.

“Si, 15 dollars.”

“Okay is it quince dollares or cincuenta dollares?”

“Cincuenta” he responds

“50 not 15.” I respond. Either way the direct bus was only $3, so I politely declined, and the offer to meet his wife, and asked him just to take me to the bus station. When we arrived I was jumped on by about 4 men who wanted to grab my mochilero, backpack, in other words, what Brad is referred to over here.

“Tranquilo.” I say. There is over an hour before my bus departs. Eventually a big fat guy wins out over the puny other 3. I feel a bit sorry for them, with their hollow, sunken cheeks, and concave stomachs, but gordo, has already got Brad and is running away with him, across a busy dual carriageway. So much for my Tranquilo. I throw a 100 Cordoba at the taxi driver and sprint off after Brad. Brad is unceremoniously deposited on several husks, pips and the flesh of discarded lychees. Gordo tells me the bus I want will leave from here and will arrive 30 minutes before it departs. He then proceeds to show me his very unofficial looking badge and insist because he has the badge I owe him 10 cordobas. Perplexed I keep repeating “Porque?” He keeps pointing at his makeshift badge I am convinced is made from the back of a cereal box in the style of Blue Peter. Eventually I relent; I mean 10 cordobas is about 50 US cents. He then toddles off and leaves me at the mercy of the hawkers and street merchants. Who thankfully sell me lychees, water and some deep-fried batter coated in sugar stick things... oh what a healthy diet.

At 7 pm, I arrive in San Juan Del Sur in the rain and check into the beyond dead Casa Feliz. After a few quick emails to the Jameses to say I’ve arrived; a very expensive pizza; and meeting a chef/painter and his girlfriend. I head exhausted to bed, it has been a very very long day.

Life's a Beach

The next morning by either brilliant planning or complete serendipity, I run into James Murphy from San Pedro and he persuades me, as if it needed much, to head to Maderas beach on the Casa D’Oro shuttle with my bags and to stay with him at Casa D’Abram. So 30 minutes later, I am heading to the beach with Brad, surf boards, surfers, sun worshippers and others. James, who has beaten me back on his moto, meets me down on the beach and we walk up the short path to Casa D’Abram. As we walk, he starts to apologise, “It’s a bit of a building site... but it’s really cool... the people are really nice... err but it is a building site.” I’m beginning to question my haste in following him out to Maderas and that my exacting standards are going to hate the place. My initial excitement is starting to wane. I’m happy to see James and want to catch up over a bottle of rum about our various adventures since we last hung out in San Pedro and Antigua, but seriously could I put up with sawdust, brick dust, hammering, drilling, sanding? Well blow me down with a feather, it seemed I could.

It is a great testament to Abe who owns the place and the assortment of people who hang out and around there (Jeremy, Eric, my favourite Brazilians and of course the fantastic funny and great James) that I was almost able to forget that all my belongings, well everything for that matter, had a fine layer of brick dust, that my hair was constantly matted not just from sea water and sand but also sawdust and that the tan I thought was deepening was in fact just dirt. There is such a chilled out atmosphere there; the ambience is fantastic. There are great views of the ocean, the sunset from a beautiful 2nd floor deck where Abe taught us yoga as the earth cooled down and the sun set behind us in stunning hues of blues, pinks, oranges, yellows and golds. In the evening we would gather round, after a day of surfing, for the others, lying on a beach, me, and drink 7 year old Flor De Cana, straight up, or with a squeeze of lime and chat as Craig prepared the evening meal. We would then have a family style dinner, with me trying to speak Spanish to the two Brazilian photographers, who were uber cool and very forgiving as I massacred Spanish but they seemed to understand and we got by via a mix of pigeon English and Spanish. They told me I should learn Portuguese, which caused not just me to fall about laughing.

Days dissolved into days; I caught up with the other James who was also staying at Maderas beach but in another hostel the Tres Hermanos; James and I got on his bike and headed into San Juan Del Sur for the Saturday night, which was tragic and doesn’t even warrant the two lines I’m taking to write about it. With relief we headed back to the beach on Sunday, James heading off early to get a morning surf in and me slightly later so I could check internet, buy some lunch things to cook for James and me. At Maderas, there is nowhere to buy food or drink especially after 5 pm, which is part of its charm and yet its drawback, as you have to be a bit organised. To every positive there is a counter. Minutes blurred, events became continuous except for when I walked down the path early one morning to be confronted by a huge fat snake lying across the path. It must have been well beyond 2 – 3 metres and about 15 centimetres in diameter, although I didn’t really hang around to take exact measurements, having a healthy respect for serpents. I think from its markings and docility, it didn’t move, but there again I wasn’t crashing around either, that it was probably a python, so with a 'Oh my God, that’s a snake’ and a ‘phew I’m observant enough to have seen it before I trod on it.” I calmly retreated (read ran) back up the path

Mini Moto Adventure

Monday arrived and James and I decided to go on a mini-adventure and head to Isla de Ometepe the next day on his bike. After much debate I decided that I too would come back to Maderas after our mini-break, so could go with him on the back of his bike. Kindly Abe looked after Brad and James’ very small in comparison bag. Tuesday rocked on, and after a mini-surf and quick stop off in San Jan Del Sur, we were on our way to San Jorge to get the ferry across Lago De Nicaragua, a huge fresh water lake, to Isla De Ometepe which is basically two islands in one, each island having its own towering volcano, Concepcion and Maderas. The moment we careered down the ramp into Moyogalpa, I didn’t stop smiling and laughing. Ometepe is fantastic. It is a tropical island, with palm trees, banana fronds reaching up to blue skies, all under the guard of these amazing volcanoes that soar into the clouds. At the bottom of the slopes is the circle of eight road that traverses the island and where most of the inhabitants live, who get about on donkey/ cattle carts, horses or bicycles. There are few vehicles and it was pure unadulterated joy.

We had it in our heads to go to Finca Magdalena on the north side of the second island, and so even though it was 5 pm and light was failing and James really didn’t have what you could call lights on his bike, we still thought it was a good idea. Missing the main turning to take us onto the second island made us even later and the bugs and flies were diving into our faces, mouths and noses at such a rate and velocity it was risible. We couldn’t stop laughing, which made us swallow even more bugs. Although it was dark I still had my shades on to shield my eyes from the flies, but unfortunately no such protection for my nose or mouth. We eventually turned up at Finca Magdalena spitting out a kilo of bugs from our tongues, throats, nose, ears etc. To get there we had to go ride on a very bumpy dirt road and without much suspension, my back had taken the brunt of the impact, but I wasn’t thinking of that as I was shown my room a converted stable with a double bed, mosquito net and fan.

That night we talked to the other guests including a girl called Lucy, who had been working with a guy James had met, so they traded stories as the rest of us called it a night. The next day we decided to go in search of some Petroglyphs, which this being Nicaragua, were not particularly easy to find. No sign posts and multiple paths and possibilities. Eventually we came across some farmers who with a machete cleared a path to show us the two that were in the field they were working in. Petroglyphs are rocks that have been carved with symbols and pictures, the two we saw were amazing. As we stood amongst banana plants with cane sugar growing in fields either side; with heartbreaking blue sky above; birds of prey circling on thermals and beyond the sparkling waters of the lake, I was truly happy and elated.

We got back to Finca Magdalena and decided to head to another part of the island and went to Charco Verde where Lucy had headed earlier on in the day and met her in Finca Venezia. Where the three of us ended up staying for the night in a lovely Cabana. That afternoon, we swam in the lake, which I had been told you can dive in, also there are allegedly bull sharks that swim up the Rio San Juan from the Caribbean, but we were assured they were on vacation/ i.e. none had been spotted in the lake for a while. However, given how poor visibility was I could not see how one could dive in the lake or how a bull shark could/ could not be spotted. But thankfully we didn’t see any. That night, as we were being attacked by flies and ants, we watched a glorious sunset as the glowing yellow ball dipped into the still lake.

The next morning James and I went off in search of the Punta de Jesus/ Maria (and is not in either the Lonely Wanker or Rough Bitch), which is a sand spit stretching out into the lake, which at, probably a certain angle, makes the casual observer from a boat, think you are walking on water. Having no casual observer or boat, we were unable to confirm this suspicion. James was keen to head back so he could do some surfing, so we headed off to get the 9 am ferry. There are two ferries that service the island, operated by different companies and so have slightly different price structures, but in the end they work out to be similar with maybe $1 or $2 difference. I so could have stayed and stayed, but was slightly reliant on James for transport. I could have done buses back by myself, but half the fun was being on his moto. By the time we reached San Jorge, my jaw ached from so much smiling. It was a fabulous mini adventure. No we didn’t climb either volcano, deciding that we had already climbed enough volcanoes in Guatemala... pathetic I know, but enough of a reason to convince ourselves not to bother.

Back to the Beach and various reunions

It was then back to Casa D’Abram and the beach. Another place I found difficult to leave. Maderas connects to other beaches, including one almost deserted beach, where I would often walk to and chill, as the others surfed. Yes my ideas of becoming a pro-surfer have somewhat been dampened or the plan has been put on hold. It needs a lot of dedication and I want to see so much more of the countries I’m visiting than the beaches and oceans, also where there is surf, there is no diving as the waves and subsequent poor visibility makes it far from ideal conditions. I also got stung several times by jellyfish and over a week later am still sporting the marks. I am happy at the moment being a surf groupie, but if ever I was to find myself living near a ocean with great wave breaks, of course I’d try it again, but at the moment I’m giving it a miss.

On Saturday I managed to catch up with the lovely Josie and Scott again on the beach at Maderas and we had a lovely afternoon, chilling before it got too hot for any of us to stay on the beach. And then on Monday I headed down to the beach and practically tripped over Dave from Utila, who told me that Tyson was still in Leon and that he, Dave, was thinking of going to the Corn Islands. So I decided to head to Leon and then go with Dave to the Corn Islands, all not sure when exactly that will be, either tomorrow or Thursday 8th.

So I eventually left Casa D’Abram today, Tuesday 6th October on the back of Abe’s bike, sandwiched between Abe and Brad, at 4:30 this morning in the moonlight. We found ourselves riding down in Abe’s words ‘roads like melted chocolate’ after the last couple of nights much needed rain. Abe’s comforting words were “If we start to slide, jump off the back.” Well at least I was going to have a soft landing even if was going to be difficult to launch myself off with the extra weight of Brad. But thankfully there was no need as we (okay Abe) negotiated the molten chocolate successfully. However we were running a little late to catch the 5 am direct bus to Managua, but thankfully Abe went the right way and was able to intercept the bus, by basically stopping in front of it as it tried to turn onto the road. Déjà Vu anyone?

I then headed back through Managua to get a bus to Leon, this time I was fiercer in my negotiating with the taxi driver and got him down to $2 for a much longer journey. So okay his car didn’t start and needed several people to push it before it spluttered into action, but...

I arrived in Leon at 11 am and promptly thought why did I leave the beach? Then at 2 pm I caught up with Tyson who I had met in Utila and all was good again with the world and had a vague plan about going to the Corn Islands.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253765464/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253765464/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253765464/tpod.html Thu, 24 Sep 2009 00:21:11 -0400 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Tegucigalpa, Francisco Morazán, Honduras

Instalment 21

Utila

Let me tell you about a little island called Utila; a small island in the Caribbean about an hour ferry ride from the Honduran mainland. There is not much to do there if you don't do any or all of the three Ds: Diving, Drinking and Drugs and if you don’t do one of them, don’t bother going. But if you do any of them, it’s an amazing, fun and beautiful place and is very difficult to leave. One of the biggest lies in Utila, is "I’m leaving tomorrow."

Drugs

The second night I was there, there was a shoot-out with a suspected drug trafficking plane which was brought down. However, when the authorities turned up there was no evidence of drugs, pilot or any passengers, but judging by the crowd on the Wednesday night at the Bar and the Bush, the only late night venue on the island, most of the drugs ended up there. Cocaine is rampant on the island, there is little to no subtly about it, the buying/ selling exchange and taking; and the cops know about it, occasionally running supposed drug busts just to get good bribes from the various tourists and longer term residents. They have no interest in arrests, just money and confiscation. Weed, cannabis etc is also widely available and is openly smoked constantly on the island morning, day and night. However, although the majority of people are there to have a good time, you can see the damaging effects as kids (18 – 23 year olds) get sucked deeper and deeper into the lifestyle and don’t have the wherewithal to disengage, they seem tired and damaged before their time. This accumulated sadly in a death on the island this Sunday from a drugs overdose, believed to be from taking ecstasy. He was a 21 year old American doing his Dive Masters in Training (DMT) at one of the dive shops (UDC). Allegedly this was the first death of a non-islander in years; the last person to die was from free diving in caves – complete and utter madness!

Diving

The main reason to visit Utila is to dive. As mentioned in my previous blog there are tons of different dive schools, all offering different vibes, accommodation, deals etc. The courses are all pretty standard, open water, advanced, search and rescue, dive masters and instructor. Because you spend the majority of your time at the dive school, either diving or doing theory you tend to form a clique with that dive school and associate solely with people from that school. Surprisingly this wasn’t the case with me and I flitted from group to group. I dived at Cross creek, hung out at Underwater Vision, went to Parrot’s barbeques and had dinners with Captain Morgans. I got to know some of the Utila Dive Centre guys but not too well and didn’t even bother with Altons, mainly because they drove around the island in a blacked out minivan beeping at you as you walked along the one narrow road that had no pavements so basically where were you meant to walk? But I’m sure underneath the façade they were lovely people.

The Diving is great, beautiful clear azure waters, amazing reefs and great visibility and dazzling fish of all colours. Spectacular parrot fish, angel fish, trunkfish, trumpet fish, damselfish, fairy basslets, blue chroms, blue tangs, sergeant majors, butterflyfish, black durgeons and margates, porcupine fish, drum fish, groupers, snappers, stingrays, turtles, morays, lobsters and many many more. My favourite dives were my first deep dive which was in the north side of the island, the airport caves, which included swimming through natural rock alleys into caves and through passages that were both vertical and horizontal. It was fantastic controlling my own buoyancy through breathing. I had one hairy moment as I had to swim up and over a bar and down through a small tunnel as I raised myself over the said bar to slip through the small opening and then out of the cave, my mask filled with water. I screwed my eyes tight shut and deflated my BCD. Exhaling I tried to lower myself feet first down, knowing that there were rocks above me and all around the small gap I had to fit both myself and my tank through knowing that the rocks were also covered in burning fire coral. I knew I could not clear my mask as my head would hit the rocks above me. I remained calm and started descending feet first just as I felt a pull on my flipper and it was Juan Carlos or Juca pulling me through. Crisis averted. The next challenges were a wreck dive and a night dive.

The wreck dive consisted of diving down to 30 metres to explore the outside of a sunken cargo ship that all the dive schools clubbed together to sink. Nowadays there are mementos left by dive masters and others, including an iPod, a jar of marmite and a scary one eyed dolls head. We were not allowed to penetrate the wreck, you need more advanced training than the Advanced Course to be able to swim through and go inside wrecks. The night dive was pretty hairy, but at the same time amazing as when the torches were switched off the sea came alive with luminescence, the stars of the sea.

I then spent my second week completing all my fun dives which varied from amazing to pretty ordinary. I must feel pretty competent underwater if I’m describing the experience as pretty ordinary. Unfortunately although I had another opportunity to swim with dolphins I did not have the chance to swim with a whale shark. They are currently in the area and a few of the other dive schools managed to not only see them but get in the water and swim beside them. I tried to be happy for them!

Drinking

The night life on the little island of Utila revolves around three bars – Coco Loco on the water front; Tranquilo next door to Cocos and Treetantic up the slope and on Wednesday and Friday nights extents to Bar in the Bush, which I only managed to get to once. Treetantic was definitely a favourite. The bar is set on a circular platform surrounding a huge tree and is covered in mosaics and glass beads all hand made by this mad American artist who owns not only the bar but also the 'huts’ that serve as luxury accommodation on the island. The mosaic craziness continues along raised walkways, to seating areas with swings, tunnels and staircases leading to the banos or to other discreet seating areas. Rum was the drink of choice and normally was bought by the bottle from the local shops and consumed prior to heading out to one of the above bars. On one or two nights a bit too much was consumed and there was no heading out to the bars but instead a stumble home followed by a ‘pass out’ Surprisingly there were no hangovers and if any were had they were quickly dispelled during the first dive of the morning, which meant getting up at 6:30. My drinking chums were a great bunch of people, Josie and Scott who I had met in Guatemala; Tyson who became our resident awesome chef; Dave and Alex; the Parrots gang of Mark, Melissa, Darren, Alan and the Cross creek crew of Max, Jen and Tim and the Underwater Vision gang of Dave, Carly, Debs, Ben, Chris, Sam and Jamie. I was never lacking drinking partners and in a few days was guaranteed to know enough people to walk into a bar by myself.

Independence Day

Independence day was such a revelation in its own right that it deserves a whole paragraph to itself. We had been told that the whole island basically shuts down and parties and that is pretty much what happened. No one was sure if Monday night was the big night or actually Tuesday night, but having got wrecked on the Sunday with some US Military boys and ending up skinny dipping with them at 2 am, I was in no mood for a big Monday drinking session. Thankfully I got sucked into a pub quiz, which guttingly Dave, Tyson and I lost to Josie, Scott and Alex. Unbelievably Scott beat me on knowing more countries in Africa - ??? So I was able to abstain from heavy drinking, but did agree to accompany Dave out as all the others fell to the wayside. We went looking for a party and couldn’t find one and ended up at midnight with me trying to extract a splinter of glass from Dave’s foot! Tuesday rolled on and there was a big parade – I slept through it. The afternoon was slow, no restaurants were open, but there were loads of locals setting up stalls along the road selling delicious but pricey plates of street food. Then by 4 pm Scott, Josie and I went to investigate what was going on in the centre of town. During the afternoon a makeshift boxing ring had been crudely banged together. It had a plywood floor and sagging side ropes, leaning struts and nails and splinters sticking out of every surface. The crowd was getting dense and starting to bray for blood, but first there was the matter of raising the slippery pole. Sounds rather filthy. But basically was this huge tall pole that was covered in grease and had 5000 lempiras stuck at the top. The object was for a team to make a pyramid or chain, standing on each other shoulders to try and reach the money. Once this was raised, the boxing started. Anyone could get in the ring, from men to boys to girls and even to white men. Anyone who wanted to flail their arms around and swing wildly at their opponent was welcome. There was blood, tears, one knock out, lots of cheers, many owws and ahhs and a lot of laughter. It was an unusual way to celebrate Independence Day but also possibly apt to show the fight and struggle against their former oppressor – Great Britain.

After the boxing was done and the sun was setting 1 lempira notes were thrown from the ring and the children scrabbled over each other to get to them, adults elbowed their way in and I and others took photos. Suddenly the scene went white... no it wasn’t a drug plane crashing or the celebrations taking a sudden narcotic turn. No it was flour and I was coated, my hair had gone grey, my clothes virginal white and my camera was covered in a thin lay of white powder. I decided rather than to watch the ‘climbing’ of the greasy pole to rush home to ‘de-flour’ myself. I got some strange looks... which I explained away with “This is what happens if you try and bake a cake.” I walked past our dive shop and was laughed at, nothing new there, but Nourja had a brilliant idea of using compressed air to blow the flour off my camera and clothes, so thankfully the camera was saved. I then met up with the others including Tyson who had been slaving away in the kitchen cooking us all an independence day feast and we wandered back down the road to watch the firework display which you just knew was two men running to set off a firework and then running away just to repeat the exercise a few seconds later. We then returned to eat our feast dodging children and fire crackers and other hazards.

Photos of Utila are again already posted on Facebook so please use this link to see them... http://www.facebook.com/album.phpaid=121275&id=536447282&l=772425fdb0

That night we went to Treetantic and met up with others and then onto Cocos where I danced the night away until I was dragged home. It was a great day and night.

On Friday we said a sad goodbye to Josie and Scott who were travelling to Nicaragua. I was going to go with them, but it would have meant I would have lost two free dives and also another couple Dave and Kate, from Cross Creek were going to do the same journey on the Monday, so I thought I’d stay the weekend and travel down to Nicaragua with them. Saturday I said another sad goodbye to Dave and Tyson who were going on a boys’ adventure to the Mosquito coast. Again I kicked myself and thought I should really go with them, I mean who was going to cook for me now? The ferry was leaving at 2 and at 1 pm, I seriously contemplated throwing all my stuff in Brad in record time and catching the ferry with them. The weekend was quiet without the gang, I still went to Parrot’s barbeque and had a chocolate cake fight and bumped into a guy, Mike, who I had met and hung out with in El Tunco. And then the rains came. I was planning on going out once last time to Treetantic to say goodbye to everyone, but half way there, I was drenched, cold and tired, so I turned around and went to bed instead as I had to get up at 5 am to catch the morning ferry.

Monday 21st September

Dave, Kate and I wandered down to the ferry and whilst slapping away the sand flies that were glued to Kate and my legs we discussed whether we should try to travel through down to Tegucigalpa the capital of Honduras or stop at San Pedro Sula. Getting to Teguci would mean that the Tuesday travel time would be cut and as we had all Monday we might as well try and get as far as we could. Once we got to La Ceiba, we investigated the options, timings and price ($24) and decided to do it. At San Pedro we had a couple of hours to wait before the bus departed to Teguci, so we cleverly bought our Tica bus tickets ($20) to Managua for the next morning, which would save us time doing that when we got to Teguci.

The bus was slow we departed an hour late and it took over 4 hours, it is meant to take 3. The woman next to me was shouting, constantly on the phone, getting more and more het up. Dave, Kate and I exchanged looks, pulling funny faces at each other. About half an hour from Teguci we get stopped at a road block, not unusual in central America. A policeman stuck his head into the bus and then departed. Seconds later we were on our way again. We arrived at the bus depot to silence. There were no taxis, no one out on the road. People were grabbing their bags and calling on their mobiles and no one was talking to us. We went up to the security guard and I asked in my halting Spanish where we could get a taxi. He responded, I caught ‘there are no taxis’ and then the woman who had been sitting next to me, translated. “He’s trying to tell you, there are no taxis you have to stay here at the hotel.” We all turn and look at her nonplussed. “There is a curfew, you can’t go anywhere.” Okay so she had had a reason to be getting more and more agitated. She then apologised that she wouldn’t be able to give us a lift as her husband who was a policeman, and coming to pick her up, had only a small car. We thanked her and followed the security guard into the back of this building, which turned out to be a hotel.

We then found out that, that afternoon Zelaya had decided after 3 months of exile to return to Tegucigalpa. He had taken refuge in the Brazilian embassy and was rallying his supporters. Of all the days he chose to return, after 15 hours of travelling over mountains and through rivers – what by foot?? It had to be the day we were travelling through to Nicaragua. We obviously did not co-ordinate our diaries, next time I will get my people to talk to his (or other disposed presidents) people. I don’t think we really grasped the seriousness of the situation as we negotiated the price for a night’s stay and confidently believed we would be able to catch the Tica bus the next morning. Frustrated we shelled out all our lempiras still positive we would be leaving. We watched the news, which was sketchy on the situation, I spoke to my brother, first time in months and reassured him everything was fine.

The next morning we woke early, packed had the complimentary breakfast, asked the front desk to get us a taxi to take us to the Tica bus station. At this we were met with blank and confused looks. “I don’t think the bus will be running?” This stopped us in our tracks. “What?” we collectively asked.

“Er, the bus it won’t be going. The ex-president returned yesterday.” The bewildered man replied
“Yes we know he returned, why can’t we leave?”
“There is a military lockdown, there is a curfew.” He tried to explain

A curfew during the day? Baffled we looked at each other, none of us had contemplated that the curfew would continue into the day.

“Please would you call the Tica bus to see if they are leaving?” we pleaded. None of us could afford to spend another night in the hotel. He called and confirmed that no they were not leaving. We sat down and tried to think of what we were going to do. I was all for trying to find the action, which he overhead and promptly warned us not to leave the hotel.

We got back to the room and called the British Embassy in Guatemala and were advised not to leave our hotel, that they were monitoring the situation and it could become volatile at any moment. In fact the military had moved into the disperse Zelaya’s supporters who had defied the curfew outside the Brazilian embassy. Tegucigalpa resembled a ghost town, there were no cars, few people on the street and all shops were shut. We slowly came to the realisation we would not be leaving on the Tuesday and just hoped that on Wednesday we would be able to get out. 6 pm rolled on and the curfew was extended to 6 am. At 8 pm we were watching television when all of a sudden a stationary screen appeared with the Honduran flag and a message stating there was an official announcement. We turned over and listened to a statement being read out in English saying that Zelaya had to accept the elections on 29th November. That the interim government were open to have a dialogue but Zelaya had to understand that there was also a warrant for his arrest, which had been issued by the supreme court and was therefore out of the interim government’s control. So if Zelaya stepped outside of the Brazilian embassy he would be arrested for unconstitutional acts.

It was the weirdest press conference I had seen. The press secretary took questions from a motley crew of reporters in Spanish, which revolved around the fact that water and other amenities had been cut off to the Brazilian embassy. But the upshot of the whole thing was the curfew was not just going to last until 6 am but would be extended again to 6pm. Our hearts sank, we would be under hotel arrest for another day. There were only so many games of cards we could play. Food was also expensive so we decide to stock up on breakfast and steal as much as we could from the buffet cart to last us through the day.

Wednesday morning rolled on and the breakfast tables were filled with local reporters. The staff were angry saying that all Zelaya was doing was disrupting Honduran lives. We were hearing complaints that the curfew had been imposed too quickly not allowing people to get in provisions. This could be damaging to the interim government which on the whole had been reasonably popular. Therefore at 9:45 there was another press conference, all the other channels were taken off air and it was announced in Spanish that the curfew would be lifted from 10 am to 5 pm to allow people to get provisions and to work.

We watched as the streets filled with cars and people, the supermarkets overflowing with braying crowds, the multiplaza teeming with locals trying to get to banks, get essential and some non essential supplies. Everything was pretty calm and there was only one incident where the crowd looked hostile, so we quickly scurried away. Meantime the front desk was trying to find us a way and means of getting out of Honduras. They came up with another option for Thursday; we weren’t going to be getting out of there on Wednesday but possibly Thursday. So another expensive night and then possibly shelling out for another ticket to Nicaragua on top of the one we bought in good faith on Monday.

I write this on Wednesday 23rd, about to enter my third night under curfew; the roads are becoming quiet, as people are returning home to meet the 5pm deadline. The TV crew is pulling into the hotel carpark and the rain is flooding the empting streets and I’m hoping, still optimistic that we will get out of here tomorrow.

So much for my bolshie comments, travelling to Honduras is fine, there are no problems, it’s all perfectly safe, best time to go is after a coup and then the friggin’ ex president instead of taking his millions and running to find asylum in some African, European or South American country, returns. Who could have predicted this? Well I’m well and truly learned.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253291747/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253291747/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1253291747/tpod.html Fri, 18 Sep 2009 12:51:59 -0400 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Utila, Bay Islands, Honduras

Coast to Coast

Currently as I write this I am sitting on an island in the Caribbean which is just off the coast of Honduras. It's not even 8 in the morning and the sun is high, the temperature soaring, the sweat is pouring and the mosquitoes are feasting. Also the whole island is currently experiencing a power cut which means there is no air conditioning, no running water (this works off a pump powered by yes electricity). And I'm in heaven. Welcome to Utila, the smallest of the Honduran Bay Islands and properly the best place to learn to dive not least because of the number of dive shops keeps the prices low, the waters are calm and there are plenty of dive sites and at this time of the year, there is the added bonus of whale sharks passing through and it is just before hurricane season. However, the island is doing about 5 – 10% of the business it did last year. Various theories abound but the main one is down to the military staged, publicly supported, CIA involved coup that took place in July. Travelling around the rest of Central America, everyone you meet from locals to other travellers look at you in amazement when you say you are going to Honduras.

- "Aren’t you worried?"

- "What?"

· “Isn’t it really tough?”

· “I heard it was really sketchy.”

· “Can you travel there? I heard no buses were going there.”

The answer to all the above is no, yes, no, no and yes and buses are definitely going to Honduras and through the country and counter to Foreign Office travel advice there is no reason not to come here.

The Epic Dash

After about 10 days in El Salvador I started thinking about moving on and heading to Utila to learn to dive. I was loving El Tunco and below are some of the reasons:

· Walking down the beach with 3 guys that I had met there, and being stopped by two ladies and a man with a camera who asked us to be in a commercial.

· Doing the commercial, which was based in San Salvador so we were picked up and taken to this sports stadium where we had to pretend we were at a football match. We think we were meant to be at a European football match, but all the football shirts were for different countries, Holland, Spain, Italy, Brazil, Argentina etc and so everyone was wearing different colours yet supporting the same team, it was highly amusing.

However coming back up to San Sal meant I could catch up with Mike again for dinner and then head back down to the beach.

· Sitting on a surf board early on the Thursday morning and watching the pelicans fly in the dawn light in perfect formation each dipping their wings in synchronicity towards the ocean. Spying flying fish jumping out of the waves and then spotting a turtle’s head popping out of the water before it came up fully showing its splayed shell and little flippered feet.

· Standing up on said surf board, admittedly for one second, but feet were definitely on board, and position was almost vertical.

· Boogie boarding at sunset

· Getting too cocky with the boogie boarding and getting completely face planted into the sea bed, including getting a mouthful of sand

· Meeting up again with Lizzie, one of the volunteers from Finca Ixobel, who arrived in El Tunco on the Wednesday, persuading me to stay until the Sunday

· Meeting up again with a mad Swiss German, Roland, who I had met in Antigua and his two friends, Roger and Roman and yes if you are in their gang, Swiss German, then your name has to start with an R

· Watching Lizzie’s friend Roi, do fire poi on the beach under a full moon

· Watching a drunk Lizzie doing fire poi

· Watching the swell come in and all the surfers who had been hanging around waiting for it to arrive head out into the surf and cut some shapes

· Watching a break dance off between locals

· Trying to beat Roman at ping pong

· Drinking beers and eating dinner for under $5

· Moving from one hostel Papayas to La Guitarra – so much better and for only $3 more a night had own bathroom, huge room. Papayas wasn’t bad it had great communal areas but the rooms were dank and dark and La Guitarra was a vast improvement and also had a pool, pool table and ping pong table... all good things

· And last but not least meeting wonderful, funny and cool people

For photos please use this link as I've already uploaded them to facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=120856&id=536447282&l=47c2279f95

So Sunday at 5 am having just had the obligatory 3 hours sleep I with Roland and his friend Roman plus Lizzie headed into San Sal to catch buses, Lizzie to go back to Guatemala and the boys and me to Honduras. We were catching a 'luxury’ bus across the border to San Pedro Sula a bustling bus stop in the middle of Honduras from there we were hoping to catch a local bus for the 2 hour journey to La Ceiba on the northern shore and then a ferry to Utila, in the Bay Islands. The schedule was tight as we had to make La Ceiba by 4 pm as that was when the last ferry departed.

The border crossing was a breeze, $3 to enter Honduras and no stamp, which is great on saving my pages in my passport, because Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nick a jaguar are all part of the Central American Border Control Agreement (CA-4)
We travelled through the western highlands, which I mostly slept through, but initial impressions were that Honduras definitely seems poorer than Guatemala, but is lush, green and beautiful. When we got to San Pedro Sula we were inundated by small kids and taxi drivers wanting our business. I needed the bathroom so excused myself and dashed off thinking we were going to get the bus. I got back and found that Roman had negotiated a taxi for all of us for $10 all the way to La Ceiba. I couldn’t believe it so I held up 10 fingers and Roman and the taxi driver both nodded. This was the deal of the century. I again questioned and said we should get a bus. But the taxi driver indicated the three of us and held up 10 fingers. Brilliant, let’s do it I agreed.

Driving along I practiced my very bad Spanish whilst Roman and Roland slept. By about half way I got this really bad feeling that there had been a huge mistake and that the taxi would cost $100 not $10 as the Spanish for 100 cien is very close sounding to the English ten. I questioned Roman who was convinced it was $10 and had asked 3 times to clarify. As we got to La Ceiba I asked the driver and he responded cien dollars. We tried to negotiate but he was holding firm. Roman sucked up most of the cost and thankfully with 15 minutes to spare we caught the ferry, which we would not have caught if we had got the bus.

On arrival we were bombarded by various dive shop reps who wanted our business. I kept saying I was in no mood to make a decision, but still they kept on, offering this or that offer, but word of advice, wait shop around as it’s totally about the vibe you get and you can always negotiate better deals for yourself when you are potentially going to go to another dive school. Eventually worn down we agreed to go to Underwater Vision for the night and despite the hard sell I refused to make a decision until I’d had some sleep, food and water.

The Dive School

There are heaps here, each trying to vie for your business by offering something just a little different, the most famous is the Utila Dive Centre and is a very efficient dive shop, but the accommodation isn’t on the water but up the hill (slope) and there are better deals on the island for rooms. I narrowed my choices down to Underwater and Cross Creek and decided on Cross Creek just basically on the vibe of the instructor and place to chill, however the set up at Underwater is very cool and I have spent most of my nights starting off there and then heading to the bar of the night. Most of the dive schools offer accommodation for free whilst you do a course with them, check about whether that extends for the 'free’ fun dives they all offer. The rooms vary from squashed dorm rooms to single person cabins. At Cross creek we are on the creek on wooden planks overlaying the water, which does make it a magnet for mozzies but reduces the number of sand flies. The walk to and from the room to the boat is 2 minutes via the equipment, which when the boat leaves at 7 am is vitally important.

So by Monday I had signed up to start my open water course with the view to finishing on Thursday and staying the weekend then heading through Honduras to Nick a jaguar. But hey plans change. On the Tuesday 2 more people arrived wanting to do the Open Water so as compensation for delaying my course for a day I got 2 more free fun dives on top of the initial 2 free dives. The PADI course is a mixture of theory and practical. The theory is either reading a huge tome of a manual or watching 5 very cheesy videos and then doing ‘tests’ at the end of each module, finishing with an exam on the whole theory. The practical is all about skills underwater like taking out your fib (the mouth piece you breathe through), filling your mask full of water, my personal hatred, and learning to gain buoyancy and many many more. Then there are the open water dives where again you perform more skills and get to swim around a bit and understand why people get so psyched about diving. On our first day we came across a pod of bottlenose dolphins, so jumped in the water to play with them. I managed to get through all the skills, just about, even the mask filing, which I had failed so dramatically on in Mozambique, when I first tried to dive and gave up. Everything in your head is telling you, this is not right, you can’t breathe underwater, what the f are you doing? And then when the mask fills with water you feel you are drowning, but you’re not because you’re still breathing. Then to clear it, you have to breathe in through your mouth and out through your nose, perfectly natural, it’s called breathing we do it subconsciously, but try doing it underwater when you think you are drowning anyway and it’s a completely different story. Diving really is a weird and alien concept.

Certified

The next two days the pattern was similar; 2 dives , one focusing on skills the other more of a ‘swim’ around but also practising taking out the fib, filling the mask with water, taking of the mask, removing my BCD, the buoyancy jacket divers wear, and navigating with a compass underwater. The actual diving was good, I was starting to relax and enjoy myself and was looking forward to having the 4 ‘fun’ dive. By Friday I was certified, I had completed the PADI exam, done all my confined and open water dives and was ready to go diving for fun and then I was persuaded to do the advanced. The sweetener was I could have my room for free until I left and I could get an extra 4 fun dives, this meant that I had negotiated for 8 fun dives and free accommodation for 2 weeks, not bad for a day’s work.

That Friday night, I went out on the town, well to the little village that constitutes as a town on the island. As I arrived at the coolest bar in Utila, Treetanic I got accosted by two guys, both claiming they knew me. I was like a bunny in headlights, nothing was computing, I was sure I hadn’t met them together anywhere and then one said El Tunco and I looked at the other and thought I didn’t meet you in El Tunco. Then Scott said, “Hey remember me, you met Josie and I in Finca Tatin.” And it all fell into place. I hadn’t met them together, I’d met Scott in Guatemala and Richie in El Tunco and before that night neither of them had met. Brilliant. The night was hilarious, great and I stumbled home to bed early as I had to go diving the next day as I was starting my advanced course. The rest of the week has been awesome hanging out with Scott, Josie, Tyson, Dave, Alex, Roland and many many more, but more of Utila night life and my second week on the island in the next thrilling instalment.

The Advanced Course

So I finished the open water thinking, okay I’m not a natural at this diving lark, but I can do it. I then did my first 30 metre dive and I loved it. They say you can get Nitrogen Narcosis at that depth, which makes some people feel and act drunk. I was okay with all the coordination tests but definitely had that very happy and confident feeling, it was f’ing awesome.

The advanced course is made up of 5 adventure dives, which for me included a deep dive, a wreck dive, a drift dive, a navigation dive and a night dive. The night dive was pretty hairy and I only really relaxed into it 5 to 10 minutes from the end but the luminescence under the water from microorganisms was freekin’ amazing. So now I am an advanced diver and a week before I couldn’t dive and was actually a little frightened, definitely nervous and apprehensive so I feel I have really achieved something.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1251562938/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1251562938/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hess/2/1251562938/tpod.html Sat, 29 Aug 2009 12:34:32 -0400 Intrepid and indefinite travels

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

El Tunco, La Libertad, El Salvador

Hammocks, chillaxing and on the move!

Finca Ixobel

Finca Ixobel was an oasis of calm, serenity and beauty with just enough doses of madness and insanity, to keep it interesting. It was a hard life falling out of a hammock to eat some amazing home cooked (some home grown) and fresh food and then making the big decision; bed or hammock. I had a fantastic relaxing time writing, sleeping and generally chillaxing. Although there were many activities to do there, like caving, horse riding, river tubing the beauty of the place was that you could do absolutely nothing. On the first day, I and a keen photographer, Tom who was staying there, went with Pablo, who works there, to some nearby caves to take photos of Pablo doing fire poi. It was an amazing privilege to watch Pablo make shapes with the flames by the speed of his arms. Pablo, who is originally from Argentina, has been Guatemala for 7 years and working at Finca Ixobel for about 5. He learnt how to do Poi from the internet, there is allegedly a lot of free time, and has now coached and trained most of those that volunteer at the Finca in Poi, so we were entertained most nights with fire dancing.

Other than that, the volunteers were really cool people and we had lots of laughs hanging out in hammocks, or chilling by the swimming pond. Lying on a small jetty in the midst of the pond, looking up at the amazing blue sky and watching dragonfly skim across the surface of the water, huge butterflies meander from plant to plant and no sound, I felt like I was in an Edwardian English novel. Our oasis of tranquillity was rudely, but somewhat welcomingly, interrupted by the arrival of 27 allegedly humanitarian aid workers rolled into town (well the Finca) on Wednesday. They were all complete with buzz cuts, tattoos, dog tags and muscles. Ah yes the great US military very unsuccessfully trying to be incognito had arrived. Most of them were knuckle heads who obviously hadn't been in mixed company for awhile and were easy bait, winding them up was fun, sarcasm was flowing (from me) over their heads; but at least it provided some amusement and gossip amongst the staff and volunteers, mentioning no names.

Rio Dulce and the Caribbean Coast

I kept saying that I was going to leave tomorrow and then tomorrow came and I didn’t leave. So I changed my tactic and said I wasn’t going to leave and the next day I did, after 6 days. I caught a bus down to Rio Dulce and then a lancha (boat) to another Finca, this time set deep within the jungle. Rio Dulce is a truck/ bus stop and bridge over the actual river Dulce on the route between Flores and Guatemala City, and hasn’t much going and yet along the river there are huge sailboats and gin palaces. I later found out that Rio Dulce is the only, at the moment, hurricane proof place in the Caribbean, so numerous rich Americans, taking advantage of low moorage fees, leave their boats there, when not sailing around the Caribbean. However, the river is beautiful. Huge banks of lush wild jungle creep down, overflowing to frame a wide river which is home to manatees, fish and masses of other animals, including mosquitoes that are out and about not just at night but all day. And on the first day I was eaten alive despite bug spray, they know a good thing when it comes along. After a leisurely couple of hours, we arrived at Finca Tatin, a lovely backpackers set within the jungle on a tributary of the river and full of the obligatory hammocks and little huts accessible via paths cut through the jungle.

The next day I went into Livingston, a town on the Caribbean coast only reached by boat; no roads lead to Livingston. You arrive through a maze of rusting fishing boats past rundown buildings to the main jetty and then walk up a small hill into the main town, competing with motorbikes, cycles and a smattering of taxis, the only cars in town. It has a very different vibe to the rest of Guatemala, very Caribbean and laid back, well actually that’s not unlike the rest of Guatemala. I wondered around for a couple of hours, sweltering in the midday heat and then returned with the lancha, picking up a few other guests along the way and went back to Finca Tatin for the afternoon, doing a mid river boat transfer into a faster boat with backpacks half way back.

That afternoon I and another girl, Angela, from San Fran, took out a double kayak; we didn’t get far along the river until we found an abandoned dock. So we tied up the kayak and jumped into the river. It was warm and the current was really strong, swimming against it you were still going backwards. We were the only ones around; there were no other boats or people. It was amazing way to spend a Sunday afternoon. We then paddled a bit further and let the current turn the boat around and take us home. We then sat out on the jetty chatting until the mosquitoes drove us inside.

On the Move

The next morning 3 of us got up at 6 am whilst it was still pouring with rain. The rainy season in the jungle, means that the days are sunny but during the nights the heavens open and there is a constant downpour. We took a lancha to Livingston again, which was late setting off and did another mid sea transfer to another boat, whose captain tapped his watch signifying we were late, a first in Guatemala and worthy of a mention. We then bumped over the waves to Puerto Barrios where I caught a luxury bus with a lovely Dutch girl, Rian, to Guatemala City and then onto Antigua. There I met up with Tim, our resident musician, and we went out with another guy Roland. In fact Tim was just talking about me and the crew from Xela when I walked in to the dorm. This caused much amusement. Also staying there was Zahava who I met in Finca Ixobel. Unfortunately the Yellow House where they were staying was full, but opposite was the lovely if somewhat faded Mochilero Hostel. Rooms are set above and around beautiful courtyards, accessible by narrow stone staircases.

That night I went out with Tim and Roland to Reilly’s, the Irish bar and ended up dancing on the bar to Beyonce and loads more. It doesn’t really take much to persuade me to get up on the bar, and I would have done it without the temptation of a shot of tequila.

The next day I was on another bus heading to El Salvador. The border crossing was simple and easy and I was in San Salvador by 5 pm. San Salvador is a mini America, mall after fast food restaurant after mall after fast food restaurant. The choice of consumerism is mind boggling, and everyone seems to have something to sell and street stalls offer anything the discerning or not so discerning consumer could want. It seems if you have anything to sell you might as well try to flog it, whether it is crap and tacky plastic dolls, key rings or blow up plastic Pokémons there seems to be a market. Oh and the customer service in shops is of complete contrast to Guatemala. Big smiles and Bienvenida welcome you as you enter and then a rush of words as the sales spiel is given, but I was able to purchase shower gel, something of an anomaly in Guatemala, but don’t worry they did sell soap.

El Salvador

San Sal itself is spread out with the safest areas being the rich western suburbs and historic centre. However, there isn’t much to do and trying to find cute and different places to go out was tough. There is a one must; Cafe La Luna north of the Boulevard de los Heroes, where on different nights has different live music. After a couple of days of long bus journeys it was good to chill, try and sleep, but if I wasn’t meeting a friend there, I definitely wouldn’t have stayed more than one or two nights. The friend was the reason I headed here instead of Belize which had been the original idea from Guatemala, but as everything in my life there are no plans and everything is fluid and flexible.

As it was I stayed 3 nights in San Sal and by the last evening I was more than ready to leave and head to the Pacific coast. I am now currently here, writing this blog with the beach at my feet and waves crashing less than 4 – 5 metres from me oh and a beer in my hand. How could I not love my life and know how totally privileged I am?

I am currently in El Tunco just outside La Libertad, a bit of a surfing community and a great place to learn to surf, or so I’ve been told as there are nice smallish but frequent waves. I am going to have a lesson tomorrow and see if I can improve on my attempts to surf 3 years ago in Mozambique. The water is warm, the sun is hot, the palm trees, that fringe the beach, still and the beach is black(?!). A weird phenomenon in this part of the world, the Pacific beaches have black sand, so my feet resemble granite, coated in sparkling dark sand. There is a huge smile beaming from my face. And as the sun starts lowering in the sky, more and more surfers are coming out to play; and the sunlight twinkling over the ocean is surreal and magical, almost ghostly as the waves shimmer and shine. I can see me staying here for a while.

El Salvador’s currency is the dollar which takes some getting used to and as a consequence is more expensive than its northern neighbour, or maybe it’s because I’ve been stocking up on shampoo, shower gel etc that it feels more expensive. But beers are of course cheap about $1.00 to $1.50, food ranges from $2 – 8, much cheaper if from street stalls, and accommodation is over $10 a night in San Sal look at $25 - 45. Also the concept of hostels is pretty non-existent in San Sal, the main two are grotty and empty, another reason not to stay there too long. I stayed in a cute little hotel for $30 a night with my own bathroom, satellite TV and breakfast included, called Hotel Tazumal.

However at El Tunco I am now ensconced in a room for $12 with shared bathroom, in Papayas a hostel strewn with hammocks and a couple of wooden decks that jut out over the small estuary which runs along the side of the main drag in El Tunco. The main drag consists of a couple of hostels, a surf resort, two restaurants, surf shops and a small and basic tienda. It’s simple but sufficient. There is no denying it I am totally happy... Me encanta la playa y mi vida.
]]>