TravelStream™ news feed for member theuglyamerican on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/theuglyamerican en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 06 Dec 2006 08:40:08 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1165086300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1165086300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1165086300/tpod.html Wed, 06 Dec 2006 08:40:08 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Antigua, Guatemala

You know, it's strange, every journey I embark on does little to quench my wanderlust. It often only highlights the things I am missing as opposed to what I am experiencing. I am a mere amateur at this nomad thing compared to the people I meet every day. But I learn things about this planet constantly. The earth is a cruel mistress, but we as humans have a seemingly endless capacity for survival. In this context, my own life becomes insignificant. None of you know this, but my life is about to irrevocably change. And the manboy that you've come to love/tolerate will eventually have to grow up and shed his childish, often selfish nature to catapult him to the next stage. I leave my life in the States to get new perspectives on myself, and also, so that I do not squander the freedom (and it IS freedom) that I have been given. But nothing lasts forever, and that is always part of the deal, amigos.

Thursday, in San Pedro De Laguna was a hard day of nothing much at all, walked around town in the morning and there is this one street where there are 3 orange juice ladies with separate stands only 20 feet from the other. They are the usual reserved and sedate Guatemalan women until you walk by and they all start shouting at you to get your attention. I have enough problems getting my own attention, so I just gravitate towards the warmest smile, and the juiciest fruits. And that, is how I met Anna.

But regardless of which stand I choose, you can´t beat fresh squeezed and I put down my 3 quetzales and drink like the gluttonous gringo that I am. Unfortunately, I have suffered numerous setbacks and mishaps on the coffee and beer front. I´ve become a stickler for cold beer, which is not a commodity here. I can´t help but think that Terry Huettl has been my co-pilot down here in my travels for this reason. I actually will not let them open a beer until I can touch it to see if it is fria. And coffee, let´s just say it´s either made right in front of me, or I don´t drink it. Ain´t got time for NesCafe, Davey.

Hit the bars with the posse, albeit a smaller one, on my final night in San Pedro. Always a good time. John, Jamie, Jamie 2, Tony, Michael, Caroline and some new faces. Everyone filled me in on how my afterparty went the night before, and more specifically, how it ended. Turns out my upstairs neighbor didn´t appreciate the fiesta downstairs
and yelled at us. John briefly passed out in the hammock, Jamie (who lived with a local family for a homestay as part of her Spanish School) had to climb the fence to get to her bed, Caroline claims she took a dump in my bathroom, (gauche but weirdly calming), and the little dog, I think he was just trying to get a piece of ass. Or a piece of chicken that was in my bathroom garbage. The foreign beer bottles were accounted for, the cash I lost was found in my shoe (?), and the mystery was at last solved. TT´s afterparties: Come for the feral dogs, stay for the amnesia.

Observations about Guatemala while on tour:

Nobody ever has change for anything. I find myself drinking more Mozas just so I don´t have to haggle for my change.

The police: For Sale. (and business is good)

In 3rd world countries, you don´t flush your toilet paper. Think about that when you tip the maid.

The only debt I have in the world is two unpaid bar tabs in San Pedro.

Joesy is the ultimate instigator.

British women are prim and reserved. Until the rum flows and then their pasty white boobs usually hatch some sort of escape plan. God Save The Queen.

My hotel security consists of a homeless dude with a flashlight.

Somewhere in San Pedro, at any hour, there is a happy hour.

We are the sons of no-one.

And Guatemala should be called the "Land of the 3 Legged Dog". Where did all these legs go? And WHAT was my street kabob made from? Seriously, I saw 3 dead dogs along the road yesterday and I realize I have no stomach for gore. I won´t describe some of the things I saw in these instances, but death isn´t pretty.

Back to my last night in San Pedro. Toned it down a bunch and stayed within the realm of cervezas, smart move. Many of our guests were recent Spanish School Gradeeates and we celebrated accordingly. We hit Buddha Bar, then Barrio until it closed. Another small soiree at my place, (because I´m the closest) but me and Two Brit dudes is nothing but Black Pudding, right?

Woke up and did my morning walk of town, bought juice and other street yummahs, took some final pix, paid my tabs, and made transit arrangements to Antigua and beyond. Turns out my seafaring mishaps were pretty flocking far from over. Because the small boat across the lake turned out to be worse than the ferry in Honduras. Lago De Atitlan was completely windy and the boat was bucking so hard that both my bags took on water (Thank you, Sea Line dry bag) and my ass was more sore than a prison orientation.

Got to Panajachel without drowning, and ate some street vendor ceviche. They actually tried to put fake crab in it. Yuckahs. Crabless, it was great, they put Worcestershire in it and these great peppers I´ve never seen. Hopped my shuttle to Antigua and met Carly, a Canadian about to go home as well. Got to Antigua, hit late happy hour with Carly and then, GOOD-Nite!!! Man, had to rest before climbing the volcano, right?? Old assed man.

The next day, I hit the markets, a bit overwhelming, and nobody had bulk coffee. it´s interesting how they recycle American used clothing everywhere. Perkins polo shirts, "Whoop!! There it is" hats, and Old Navy everywhere. Recycling is cool, kids. Had a few coffees at a cafe and then a Moza to smooth me out. Met a local lass named Maria at my fave restaurant, Cafe De La Mixta, who wanted to practice English, but knew almost none. She was cute as a button and 17 years old. And asked me to go meet her at the park later, within a few minutes of striking up our "conversation". Yeah, I quite like to brag. Sure,anybody can ATTRACT a 17 year old girl, but how many guys actually get to teach them the English word for "p-whipped"?

Later on that day, I hopped a shuttle to go hike up the Pacaya volcano. Met Francesco, an Italian guy, and Louise and Kristine, two Swedish ladies in every sense of the word. Them, me and some various stragglers made our way up the active beast to encounter intense fog and wind near the summit. We had signed up for the Sunset trip to see the lava´s glow and watch the sun go down. Halfway up, one of the Swedes opted out due to the strenous (it wasn't bad at all) hike up. But the mountain is known for semi-frequent robberies, and she may have put herself in more danger than us. I found out soon that that assumption was incorrect. About 45 minutes later we could see maybe 50 yards ahead of us by the time we hit the lava fields. Either my pictures look like they were taken from the inside of a lit bong, or they look like out of focus shots of a campfire. The darkness proved to be daunting when we scaled near the summit. The ground was all cooled lava and very unstable, several shoes got eaten in the process. We stepped around many lava "wells" and it became increasingly windier as we scaled. The group took a vote and I lost out on the chance to summit it. Bogus, as it were. Our guide, Juan, was a maybe 15 year old kid who was seriously on some sort of hallugenic drug. He used the flashlight for everything but safety during our descent. Seriously, he was truly on something and scared the bejesus out of some people in our group. The climb down got a little dangerous at the beginning, because of the instability of the ground beneath us and the guide in front of us. We definitely went down a different way than we came up and I began to wonder in the dark if one of us would not accidentally step in one of many lava portals. That sounds sensationalistic, but it DID enter my mind. As we left the lava fields for the vegetation, we saw a group of police/EMTs heading up the mountain, someone was lost and possibly hurt. In that darkness and foggy murk, it would have been relatively easy to become separated. I was the only member of our party besides Trippy the Guide who had a light source. The Petzl Tikka headlamp saved the day and I unwittingly became the safety person for this international crew. Everybody got down OK, the Swede defector was safe, and I even gave a tip to Shroomy McTripperson.

We didn't get back to Antigua until 10pm. But some of us went out to a Gringo Bar called Mono Loco and then headed to La Sin Ventura for a bit of dancing and Gallo (most unpleasant). The evening ended up at someone's hostel drinking a bottle of dark rum and shooting the shite til the wee hours. I got a bit lost on the way home, but maintained.

So here it is, the last day in Antigua, and really, Guatemala. I'm sitting on this rooftop terrace overlooking this old city at it opens its eyes and stretches on a Sunday morning. In front of me, on the table, I am looking at the first and last step of my journey to this country. Yep, I'm having one last cup of the reason I came here in the first place, the Antiguan Coffee. This buzz will no doubt carry me across the Gulf Of Mexico and home to my familiar world, a place without chicken buses or the constant trebly drone of Marimba. But I've purchased a few bags of beans, as much as a souvenir as the bug bites and battle scars of Honduras. These glorious coffee beans that were born and raised on the volcanic slopes of this beautiful place have managed to teach me a few things about life:

That you sometimes need the care and nurturing of others to help you to thrive.

That where you come from is just as important as where you go.

But mostly, that life can be really bitter, but it is ALWAYS well worth savoring.

And that, my friends, is quite a lot to get out of drinking a simple cup of coffee. . .

Peace, Love, and Medium Roast,

TT



Thanks for tripping with me. Hope you had a time. Mad props to Colin Fletcher. Get ready for the big surprise, y'all!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164838560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164838560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164838560/tpod.html Sat, 02 Dec 2006 11:30:37 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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San Pedro De Laguna, Guatemala

In the past few weeks, I have made several big money transactions with children under 10. I rented my kayak, twice from a 7 year old. I pay my 10 year old landlord $10 for rent every morning. I bought a shuttle ticket from a girl no older than 9. I purchased a beer from a 5 or 6 year old boy. These kids work from the second they are weaned off the nip. Here I am, flip flopping down the "path" (a San Pedro street)enjoying a nice buzz and some banana bread, and I come across this little boy, raking between coffee bushes miserably. This kid had obviously been busting his ass all day and I actually felt bad for him. You could tell he wished he was playing or doing ANYTHING else. He just sighed and kept raking in the heat. Just a little tale to make you feel better about your difficult lives.

Kids here are inquisitive and anxious to practice English. They are very friendly and trusting, and I quite like to hang out with them. Work to them is just part of their lives, so any chance they get to be social they quite enjoy. The indigenous children are a bit shyer, until they try to sell you banana bread. You get all sorts of "sales pitches" from them. They´re so hungry, their mom made these bracelets, they start to "cry", "Why don´t you LIKE me?". Awesome. The kids are alright!

I finally got to yak to Santiago Atitlan, the lake was calmer and it was sunrise. Could not ask for a better paddle, at least on quietwater. Santiago doesn´t have the party atmosphere that San Pedro does. I spent a little over an hour walking the streets as the town woke up. There was a different vibe here, a little negative, to be honest. But this town in particular was the scene of a bloodbath in the Guatemala guerilla wars a few decades back. Everyone here is related to the many citizens who innocently lost their lives in the crossfire and they are still mistrustful of the government and foreigners. Well, the "kayak" valet dude was pretty friendly, but he kept trying to extract cash from me for all of his "services". He thought I paddled over early to see Maximon, the infamous celebrity of Santiago.

Maximon is this weird EVIL saint that these people worship on the lake. He is embodied in this weird scarecrow-like effigy that wears a cowboy hat and always has a cigarette in his mouth. But they didn´t make him legs, it is so he can´t chase woman. He is very famous in Guatemala and on Easter, they drag him out to the public square to do a symbolic battle with a Jesus effigy in some ceremony that sounds right up my alley. Maximon is kept at different people´s houses throughout the year, but he is the number one tourist attraction in town. When you visit him, you must pay a fee, AND you must give him cigarettes and booze as an offering. To be honest, Maximon creeps me out, so I did not partake. But one of my friends here showed me her picture with him. Maximon, her, and a dude praying to him in the background. Nothing but smokes and booze all around them. Keee-razy. Google "Maximon" and try to see if you can find a picture of this disturbing Guate tradition. But beware, Maximon is watching.. .

Outside of yakking, I balked at hiking, biking, diving or ziplining. Just chilling, but really. . .waiting to return home. The F key on this computer is sticky, it is ucking gross!!

Last evening was the one you all were waiting for. The one you knew was going to happen:

Oddly enough, all day yesterday I kept bumping into people I´ve met a just about every stop on my trip. Small flocking world. British Tony from Copan, North Carolinan Charles from La Ceiba-Jungle River, Coloradoan Caroline from Tikal, Jamie from Roatan, and a couple whom I met in Utila on my 5th pukey dive. They were all in San Pedro to party. And party is exactly what we did, along with some other mates from my stay here. Buddha Bar for starters (they played "Cold Beverage", small world indeed.) and then Barrio, both bars 50 steps from my door. 6 or 7 Mozas. Held it together, but feeling good. Cops came and closed Barrio, so we set up our own soiree on the other side of town. Up on the roof of someone´s hotel. Things got loud, and people complained, but the party didn´t stop. Beer ran out, vodka pineapple juices ran in. Bad idea. But the fiesta continued, ate some grubbin street food. Talked to Gandalf and the crazy hybrid dog beast on the street. (got a picture today) Then, things become sketchy. I was on the other end of town from my place, shooting the shit with a Brit named John, and another girl named Jamie. Spanish School students. Two Dutch guys joined us. The last thing I remember was trying to convince them of my age. (yeah I know) Then.. . blank.

Woke up this morning, late, hanging like a mofo. Pants still on. (thank god) The $13 I thought I had. . . missing (undoubtably at my own hands). The Rolling Stone I had was next to the toilet (I didn´t put it there). There were 5 foreign beer bottles on my patio under the hammock. And there was a small dog on the floor of my hotel room. No shit. What kind of evening did I have? Apparently I had a party at my casa and have no recollection. Was it the Dutch Guys who brought the beer? How did I get home? Why do I continue being a dumbass? The dog had no answers. Old enough to know better, I hope to use those words in a sentence someday.

I also hope to be filled on last evening sometime this evening from the gang. And I hope to stay away from spirits for the remainder of this trip. Cocktails are bullets, people.

Other than my self induced amnesia, things are going copacetic on the lake here. Tomorrow, I make my way back to Antigua, where I will scale the Pacaya volcano, whose smoke plumes forebodingly in the distance. It will be a fitting, Tolkienesque conclusion to my journey. To peer straight into the very inferno that forged the taste of this delicious coffee in front of me. Now I just hope my guide knows about 2nd breakfast.. .

Peace Lava and Dog Napping.

TT

A big up to all those who have corresponded with me in the past few days, and props to those who have remained wisely silent.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164659160/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164659160/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164659160/tpod.html Thu, 30 Nov 2006 18:38:46 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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San Pedro De Laguna, Guatemala

Man, this odyssey is rolling towards a close as I finish my last week in these here parts. It´s been a weird two days here on Lago De Atitlan. I hopped a 2 hour late shuttle to Panajachel from Antigua (2 and a half hours). Pana is on the lake and had a restaurant called Guajimbo´s. I ate the pork chops, with bacon as a garnish. MMMMMMM, Puerco. Hopped on a boat across the lake to San Pedro, a small, steep, strung out blur of a town. Many gringos, many of them messed up on various vices. But the atmosphere is chill and the lake, Lago De Atitlan, is incredible. No picture can do it justice, they were right.

San Pedro has been a trippy place so far. In the first seven hours of me being here, I got lost 4 times. The "roads" off the main road are mere pathways, but they are considered streets, and it´s like a maze of corridors and tight squeezes. So I get a bit lost a bit frequently. At least going TO my hotel, there are some signs pointing toward a nearby Spanish school. But at night. . .

So far in the last two days I´ve:

Pulled a "you don´t know who I am" stunt with a crackhead tout.

Ate very questionable food more than once.

And procured the 2nd best hotel room of my life, $10 for hot water, lake view (and WHAT a lake), 50 yards from a cool bar, and a jacuzzi, bitches. Still doesn´t beat my $16 ocean front cabin in Thailand with the best restaurant in the world 40 ft. from my door. But count me in on metrics.

This town is full of some characters. I had walked back from town (after getting lost for the 3rd time) and stumbled across The Buddha Bar, which was very close to my hotel, whose name I cannot pronounce for some reason. Had a few Mozas, befriended Vanessa, the Seattlite bartender and her British fiance, Rob or Ron. I also met several people that contributed to many bizarre episodes all at this bar in one night. Vanessa and Rob deal with this insanity on a nightly basis. Weird, they actually, no lie, brought me up to date on the "dog politics" in San Pedro of the feral dogs and the "owned" dogs. Vanessa is a former Rollergirl with a taste for Bowie, and Rob-Ron is a DJ (I think like I am a guitarist, though) and an even less fan of Gallo than myself. Cheers to them for making me feel welcome. Um, maybe, TOO welcome.

Other tidbits of the evening was a crazy older local lady who picked up a tourist in less than 2 minutes (no money was involved) and a bunch of zooted up Spaniards arguing over a game of pool. The Mozas ran out, and I started drinking Victorias, because they were the coldest. Whiskey was offered, whiskey was turned down. But. . The evening´s high point was when they played Pavement´s "Rattled By The Rush" as the hookah careened towards me. When in Rome... I guess.

I´m writing this from a hammock. My shoes are easily 15 feet away from me, and I can smell them. That´s not good, is it?. Can´t say enough about Ani DiFranco´s lyrics. She finds the poetry in the uncomfortable spaces between love and loss. Do I have to start wearing a wife beater, now?

I concluded the entertainly disturbing first evening here with a little stroll towards my hotel with Davey, a completely loony Canadian who speaks with an exaggerated, almost Scottish, accent. This dude totally looks like Gandalf in flipflops and was shadowed by the most cartoonish dog I have ever seen, Gypsy. Gypsy, was like a big ass wiener dog shaped beast that had bits of Springer, sheepdog, beagle and lord knows what else. It was the bastard son of a thousand mutts. Davey kinda rebukes it, even disowns it occasionally, but that inbred thing is at his feet 24-7 and I was told that it would follow him to the death. I´ll try to get a picture of this little Frankenpooch so you can dig it. Dig it?

Yesterday, I did nothing but sample local food, lie on my patio, get lost in town, and drink fairly warm beers. It ruled. I ran into Tony from my second trip night in Copan and we caught up over mango curry and a campfire. Cozy as lice. Then I went home and dulled my senses to a level where I could watch the sunset and chill guiltlessly. That was my day.

Today I got up to watch the sunrise over the lake. Killer. Then I went out kayaking on it, very calm at first and then not so calm. I state in the video that I was going to Santiago Atitlan in the kayak. Didn´t make it. That video will be up as soon as I can find a computer that isn´t duct taped together.

They say people get trapped in this town, and I can see why. This probably is the best way for me to unwind after a sometimes stressful series of escapades. Tonight, I´m going to do more of the same. I like the local food so that should be the ticket. Tomorrow, I hope to hike, bike, kayak, or zip line. Or do nothing at all. Wish me luck.

Peace Love and Hell Yes its in the house,

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1162670700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1162670700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1162670700/tpod.html Wed, 29 Nov 2006 15:10:38 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Antigua, Guatemala

Greetings from the edge, Y´all. Welcome to the
Sudoku-free zone, my amigos. I´m flying over the
Gulf, writing this intro as my ears are poppin´ and
downtown Miami is a neon pink speck in my wake. I
think I can see Phillip Michael Thomas´s career from
up here. I am speeding towards Central America to
complete the caffeinated journey that began with a
single sip. . .But let´s not get ahead of myself.

I want to take a slight moment to thank you all for
once again coming with me on the run. Sure, you don´t
actually get to see firsthand the seat of Mayan
civilization or experience the mystery of the
Caribbean. But then again, you also don´t have to sit
through this inflight showing of "The Lake House"
without sound. I´ll just have to throw in some
Verbena in the old CD and quietly whisper "Whoa" to
myself whenever Keanu comes onscreen. If I´m lucky,
there´ll be a nude scene or something. Now, back to
our regularly scheduled intro, already in progress:

You know, the Early 90s were a crazy time, Robert
Stack was daring us to solve his mysteries, Sebastian
Bach and Sean Lennon joined forces to protest a 3 week
war in Iraq, nobody was a somebody til their picture
was on a Pog, and most of us were all mopey and awash
in mismatched flannel. Somehow, in the midst off all
of this, in between my daily injections of Taco Bell
Fountain Dew and my intake of, ahem, "around the
counter" stimulants, I found a suitable ELIXIR to
soothe my troubled soul. Now granted, my "troubles"
consisted of fighting off my ADD long enough to pass
my badminton class, produce a polka show on NPR, and
maybe catch a boot of Premo at the Caledonia while
wrangling the psychotic hijinx of a certain
manic-depressive Pollyanna with way too much meds on
her hands. But things were tough all over, and just
because I had 69 problems (and a bitch was one of
them) didn´t mean I didn´t have the skillz to turn out
a Granada Lakes keg party wearing nothing but a Living
Colour T-shirt and a crappy acoustic guitar. But the
"haze" cleared when I walked into a nameless coffee
joint in 93 and tasted some Antigua Guatemalan java.
It was dark, complex, and nicely balanced (much like
the Nigerian girls gymnast team, but without all the
locker room drama). I loved that shit, and by the
time my Yankee ass hit Austin, TX, I was drinkin´it
bold and cold, truth be told. And my love affair with
the bitter fruit of the rich volcanic soil of the Agua
Volcano kept going.

Fast forward 8 years. We now have a 3 YEAR war in
Iraq, beer guts galore, our kids are all growing up
(Dylan, Cody, Anna and Brooke), our hair is
short/missing, and we have debt. Ok, YOU have debt.
So it´s time to go back. Back into our place in the
wristband line outside of the downtown Dayton´s, back
to the railroad trestle above the Blue Earth river,
back into the 7th St. Entry "dressing" room, back to
Salem Green (Wait. . .we never left).

Can a single cup of coffee do that for me? Can that
expertly written song be right? "The fountain of youth
is a coffee machine"? There´s really only one way to
find out.

So join me on another trip, South of being conscious,
and North of being humble. This is my excessive
excursion into Guatemala, Honduras, and the next stage
of my so-called life. I think I´ll call it:

THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: Beer and Loathing in
Honduramala!

Stay tuned.

(and get back to work/surfing porn/free cell)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164572520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164572520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164572520/tpod.html Tue, 28 Nov 2006 16:34:58 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Antigua, Guatemala

That twinkle in my eyes is probably caffeine. I am in Antigua, the colonial ex-capital of Guatemala sipping a coffee or two or three. Rolled into Guatemala City at 6 in the morning and waited for my shuttle in a tired blur. Got to Antigua, took the first hotel that had a room available at 8:30am. Took a nap and walked around town, really great vibe. Ate at a great restaurant next door, very cheap. Then I did some errands, some laundry, some coffee drinkin´ and then went out that evening.

With the exception of MAYBE two nights, I´ve always had something important to do in the morning the next day: school, diving, rafting, hiking or most commonly, transit matters. In my 3 weeks here, I´ve slept in once. And that was out of necessity. So I made a command decision and decided to go out, have fun, and sleep in the next day. I went out to two clubs in Antigua, the Casbah and Sin Ventura. It was fun, I danced, met people from about 6 different countries, and met several cool Guatemalans who invited us to some after parties, really good time and just what I needed. I drank these things call "micheladas" which are basically Bloody Marys with beer and more lime in them. They were cool until some dumbass bartender tried to play "Embarrass The Gringo" and dump a tablespoon of Tabasco in my 2nd one. I didn´t give them the satisfaction of sweating even a little, but my lips looked like Angelina Jolie´s when I was finished drinking it.

Ironically, later that night/morning at the hotel, two fall down drunk Israelis were having this childish (and a bit gay-sounding) argument with each other in the hall that culminated in one of them breaking a window and the other passing out on a chair in the lobby. Cops were called and the boys disappeared. The best part was, they were arguing in Hebrew, but swearing in English. Superb.

Listening to: G-Love "Cold Beverage" (something from the bar?)

Everybody but Double J is completely oblivious to many of my travel "eccentricities". I´m a distracted individual, to say the least, and I need a keen sense of organization, or shit gets lost real soon. I don´t HAVE any such¨"sense", I just pretty much live in a constant state of "carabiner" all the time. I figure if I can just attach everything to me, I won´t lose it. So when I go out for the day on an "adventure" I pretty much look like the REI version of Mr. Potato Head. Batman ain´t got jack on MY utility belt. (HOLY CHAPSTICK HOLSTER, ROBIN). Yet, things DO get lost. Both my pairs of shades . . See Ya. One of my two bottle coolies. . .arriva derche. Any bottle water I have. . .flotsam at a net cafe. My other odd habit is jumping headfirst into scenarios and conversations that I´m not equipped for. A conversation with some benign Guatemalan Gangsta Wannabees (whom I´ll call "Guiggers") went South after I ran out of Spanish verbs. I regularly go into places where Spanish is necessary and I falter. But sometimes, you gotta take the plunge.

Why don´t I take a Spanish class or at least bring a dictionary? Some theories are:

1. I really am AFRAID to find out that all overwrought Spanish torch songs really ARE about accidentally killing your true love, or mom.

2. I like to fly by the seat of my pants. (and I´ve got the frequent flyer miles to prove this)

3. Accidentally ordering whipped cream on your T-Bone is funnier than shit, and you know I like a few yuks every once in a while.

But really, I think there´s a part of me that may relish being the "outsider", to see if I can get others to "orbit" ME instead of vice versa. Or. . .I´m just a dumb prick who does nothing but think about himself. (the usual)

I spent the whole day Sunday completely wired on Antiguan coffee, which turned out to be unwise. Made friends with the army of shoe shines in the Central Park. They spend all their profits on ice cream and internet gaming. No mierda, I´ll be checking my email and there´ll be a loud gaggle of these twerps playing Call To Duty against each other, all the while licking the Dreamsicle off their black, stained fingers. These boys drive a hard bargain and they work you like pros. Which, of course, they are. The clincher was when a 7 year old boy demanded I buy him a coffee. They know, man, even at THAT age.. .

The kitchen at the place I´m eating at is darker than my attic. Guess I´ll hope for the best, and mop up the rest. Even more alarming, someone just changed the Marimba CD in the little boom box to a Dave Matthews Band record. I´m a pay the check and walk away. . .backwards.

I´m getting tired of cold water showers, noisy hotels, and chickens. Time to upgrade when I get to Lago De Atitlan. I´ve decided to take the shuttle there this evening, making it the last major transit day of my trip. And that, is good news indeed.

And speaking of Great News: Congrats are in order for Joe and Brooke, on their way to a shared life together. Like I said, sometimes you gotta take the plunge. Mozoltov, Old Man. Here´s to life, and all of it´s beauty.

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164337500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164337500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164337500/tpod.html Sat, 25 Nov 2006 16:02:50 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Tikal, Guatemala

I remember a day when I was in a boat headed back to the Irish mainland from the stark island of Skellig Michael. It was sunny out, but cold and windy, the sea water spraying up to pound the stern of the vessel. There I sat in the back, letting the cold spray hit my face while everyone else huddled up front. I was exhilirated, happy to feel the power of wind and ocean, and revelling in my general insignificance in the greater scheme of the world. But, there was Anna's family watching me get wet, looking at me like I was completely out of my mind. Her mom's a worrier, and I don't think I'd ever seen her MORE worried than that bracing day.

Perry Farrell said something about not truly knowing that you are well, until something comes along to hurt you. And for me, the bitch slap that Mother Nature is often more than happy to provide can be just the thing I need to love my life more and experience the humility that so regularly eludes me. Whether it be the power of a waterfall's hydraulic sucking me under, or a behemoth ocean wave crashing over me, or the daunting ascent of a mountain halfway up, I find time and again that these experiences and struggles help me to realize not who I am, but who I am not. Sorry to get all Confucious meets X-Games on you, but you'll never get a refund that last 30 seconds anyways, bitches.

So when you last heard from moi, I was in the town of Flores drinking Gallo, the scourge of Central American brews. Flores is a tiny colonial island on a great big lake in the Peten region of Guatemala (which heretofore will be called Guate, for short). Had some bitchin grub at a local cheapie and started to drink Moza (the Shiner of Guatemala) and called it a GOOD-nite! The next day I took an hour and a half bus to Tikal.

So Tikal is basically the biggest Mayan city that is known anyway. It is only halfway excavated and it surrounded by jungle, so the wildlife is all around you. Tikal is in the middle of nowhere and there is little in the way of development for tourist infrastructure around it. There are only 3 hotels near it and they are all expensive. Prices is steep, because they know you have no other options. So, I rented a tent, and camped....Yeahhhh. Um, next to a restaurant, NNNNNOOOOOO!. It was as bad as it sounds, the clanked of glasses and people singing in the kitchen. Because of the lack of infrastructure, they actually turn off all electricity at 9pm, which worked to my advantage. So I actually hiked all of Tikal that first day in about 8 hours. You could fit about 15 Macchu Picchus inside of it. It's massive!! That day, I climbed every temple that they allow you to. No small feat. The weather was aces and the skeeters were few, very nice. Everywhere there were monkeys, birds, lizards, and something that made some crazy noises that I did not care for. Got some great pix of the ruins and the jungle. I stayed until sunset and climbed the structure known as the Great Pyramid to watch the sun set. Wished for gooch at that moment, and then started to make the 2 mile trek out of the park in the dark. Holy, it was way scarier than I had thought it would be. Solo trekking through the park at night was wicked, but I had my headlamp and umbrella for protection (?). Went to the restaurant next to my tent and drank $3 Mozas (aye caramba, but what could I do?) until I could sleep in the tent. The power went out, the last Moza was drank, and the night was chilly. Slept like ass, and was first woke up by a bunch of those German mofos walking around the grounds shouting Deustche at each other, my earplugs could not defend me from the Gerries, and then at 4:30am, the howler monkey serenade began. Sounded like I was in another world!! So I just got up, and took the world's coldest (and public) shower. (don't these Nazis know about shrinkage?) Then, as I had planned, I took my "sneak route" into the park in the dark of dawn to get to the top of Temple 4 by sunrise. Got about 5 minutes in before the shotgun and flashlight wielding guards busted me. People attempt this every day, so they weren't too pissed, and I actually wanted to get a picture of them but it was pretty dark. So I waited at the gate until 6am and didn't even attempt to walk 2 and a half miles to Temple 4. I ran, yes, ran to Temple 5, although the sun was already up. When I got there, well, watch the video. I was completely alone on this gigantic Mayan Temple in the middle of the jungle. Spec-flocking-tacular. Well worth the armed confrontation, rude Germans, and freezing water on my smithyriddles. The birds and monkeys were going apeshit, the mist rose from the tree canopy, and my fat ass breathed the jungle air heavily as I recovered from the steep climb. Tikal? Too cool.

Spent the rest of the day retracing my steps in the city, climbing every Temple again. Met a guard on top of Temple 4 who let me go out to the scary ledge to take pictures because there were no other tourists there, this place is so high and I got to see the restoration they are doing to it. Stunning!! To cap off my immersion in all that is Mayan, I broke the rules just one last time. I climbed to the top of the rarely visited, unexcavated South Acropolis. This is actually the largest structure in Tikal, unrestored, and completely enveloped in vegetation and trees. It basically looks like a steep forested hill, and I climbed to the highest point, there was little sign of ruins until I got to the top and saw some crumbling stone work, if you didn't know where you were, you would've never thought you were on top of this huge man-made pyramid. The summit was tiny, but as I descended, all became clear and I began to see walls, and stonework. The structure began to take shape around me. It looked SO different than all of the restored Temples, but 20 times cooler because it has been reclaimed by the jungle, and I got to see something that Joe Tourist does not. This was easily the high point of my Tikal trip. The best part is that at the top, I almost ran into this big assed spider that freaked me out enough to bat at my head frantically every time I walked through the many webs on my way down. Watch the video.

I ate lunch outside the park and took a bus back to Flores where I am now. I will be taking a grueling 11 hour bus trip back to Antigua at 10pm tonight. I will finally be able to drink that cup of coffee that has eluded me these last 3 weeks. I have not slept in a bed in two days, but don't cry for me. My bus leaves here in 3 hours so I've decided to drink Mozas until I pass out on the bus. I have much to give thanks for on Thanksgiving, I have a cold beer in front of me, I'm watching the sun set over the lake, and I got to explore a Mayan City. I hope everybody had a great Thanksgiving. I give thanks for my great friends, my life, and my Anna. And apparently, for Subway.


Peace Love and Save a Brother a Drumstick,

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164396780/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164396780/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164396780/tpod.html Fri, 24 Nov 2006 22:42:46 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Tikal, Guatemala

"A lot of truth is said in jest" - Eminem

So call me self-loathing (far from it, and you know this, mang) but I´ve seen some messed up antics in my travels from my fellow Americans. Sure there´s the air conditioned whiners, the pants up over your chest whiteys, the lechs, the "why don´t these people understand my English?" crowd, the elitist resortists, the boho Camus reading vegan Clove-smokers, the white dudes with dreads, the watch TV at the hostel all day dweebs, the "latino" lovin´ ladies, the "are we gonna get wet?" flip-flop first time rafters, the jet ski set, the cheap drug fetishists, the Chris Levercom in the Tropics dudes, the traveller´s checks passers, and, of course, the johns. What unifies all of us Staters is our conversation dominance, our penchant for speaking loud, and our being completely oblivious to the nuances of any culture that doesn´t have Subway. Point made.

But man, in my opinion, the majority of that shit pales in comparison (albeit barely) to some of the disturbing behavior of both the Germans and Israelis. The irony of these two cultures being singled out today should not be lost on you. But I ain´t lyin´, and I can only speak of what I see, but a majority of times you meet a cool Israeli, hang with them, and at some point, the price of something is contested, bitched about, or not paid at all. Some Israelis will be really cool to you until a larger pack of them comes around, then you get ignored. And the rudeness, it´s legendary.

Then the Germans, with their silly Deutsch-ness, it´s not to be believed. If a group of Germans are having a bad day, they will take everybody down with them. The rudeness surpassed the Israelis in some cases I´ve seen. I´m not talking towards locals but other tourists. This morning capped it when about twenty Germans tourist hung outside of where I was sleeping, smoking and speaking some loud ass Colonel Klink shit. I would´ve told them to "Essen Scheisse" but I saw "They Save Hitler´s Brain" and I hadn´t had my coffee yet. It may be unwise to post such controversial remarks for the world to see, but maybe, just maybe, and American, German, or Israeli will take heed these words and do something to stop negative stereotyping. That being said, I still yell "SSSSSSLAYER!!" after the mariachi band finishes playing.

Back to less scathing politics, I most certainly spoke too soon when I said I did THREE paddle trips in the last entry. After my Class 4 "swim class" kayak debacle, my spirit was broken. But the next day, they convinced me to do the same section that smeared me earlier, but with a raft and 3 guides for the hell of it. I had rained all night and the river was up and pushy like a mofo. We DID NOT skip the first two and last kilometers (bring it) and it was raging!! We shot it, the Class 4 PLUSes whizzed by, the water was big and the rain was torrential, but it rocked. I was a free ride and rode it I did. Then they offered me a free rafting trip down the Rio San Juan with the guides the next day, but only if they couldn´t get a regular trip scheduled. So I went back to La Ceiba with some people I met at the Lodge and introduced them to that addictive chicken. We did some barhopping and some guy kept following me around trying to sell me DVD bootleg porn. Do I fit some sort of profile? Guess so. We SERIOUSLY considered going to Crapplebee´s (they have one at. . the mall) for happy hour but thankfully didn´t and just went back to Zona Viva for 65 cent Salva Vidas. Met up with two Spanish Chicks and a Hondurena and went to a bar that might as well have been Applebee´s anyways. Stayed out til 2am (atta boy) and gooch flowed. Topped off the evening with some ice cold Imperials on the rooftop terrace of our hotel. Had trouble sleeping due to the rain and extreme wind that night. Sounded like a hurricane with the waves crashing LOUD!!! Woke up and took a cab to the rafting office to find a NO GO on the free rafting trip. Hit a net cafe then caught a bus (six hours) to Copan Ruinas. Can´t say enough about the place I ate in that town. 10 bucks for 3 beers, chips and bean dip, rice, fries, pickled veggies, tortillas, fresh pico, and the biggest kabob of all time with beef, pork, corn, tomato, broccoli (?), onions, and peppers. I ate it all down to the last tortilla. Hit one bar, had one beer, and then, . . .GOOD-night!! Hey, I saved cash.

This plague on my body from sand fly bites is outrageous. I am covered in large hardened, chicken pox-like welts that itch unstoppably. It make me miss poison ivy, or at least that song by Faster Pussycat, anyway.

Woke up the next day, read my guide book and panicked that I didn´t have a Honduran visa stamp or a tourist card to return to Guate. So I took a cab to the border to either sweet talk or bribe my way across. Turns out ALL Central American countries now work off the same visa, making my trip for naught. Damn you, Rough Guide! So I had to go back to town for my crap, and come back. The border crossing bribe went up in the 2 weeks since I crossed. SOMEONE´s getting a PS for Christmas this year.

Note to self: If a money changer at the border speaks English, you are in for a ride.

Speaking of rides, my bus from the border to Flores, Guatemala was hauling ass in a way that would make Jeff Gordon blush. Remember what it looked like when the Millenium Falcom hit warp speed? Same thing, but with plastic bottles all over the road. (more SW stuff for Anna) I had an open window during this and at the end my hair looked like Hasselhoff´s in Knight Rider circa 1984. You know I´m nothing without that windblown look.

A word about Gallo, the beer of Guatemala: Apparently the finest beer here, I guess the kind people of Guatemala like to lick goat balls. Cuz that´s what it tastes like.

Next Entry: There will be giving of thanks.

Peace Love and Happy Goats,

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164035640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164035640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1164035640/tpod.html Fri, 24 Nov 2006 14:32:50 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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La Ceiba, Honduras

So I'm not too humble to say that I've done some straight up ballsy shite in my day. Think not? Where were you when I serenaded a 4 person standing room only crowd of Costa Ricans with a loud, drunk, and sloppy interpretation of Pat Benatar's "Hell Is For Children"? And perhaps I need to remind you of the time I was the only one on the dance floor busting a move to the Scott Laurent Band at the Cabooze wearing a cropped women's fur coat. (which I rocked, by the way) Not enough? What about when I played drums (and I don't play drums)and sang onstage at Austin's Electric Lounge during an impromptu, ahem, "show"? OK, some of these incidents were due to alcohol. . . Ok ALL of them. But it seems all you people ever remember is the naked hiking story and the Richard "affair". But Monday will rank up there in Todd History. Because that was the day I ran four Class 4 runs in a kayak the size of a bar of hotel soap.

Now I won't lie, I took chicken lines on every one cuz my roll is pathetic and I haven't quite acquired a taste for drowning. In fact, I wouldn't have CONSIDERED doing this had I not been spotted by two pros named Darwin and Jorje, AND had I not been called a pussy by Jorje's hot wife from Norway. How hot? Let'sjust say I shoehorned my fat ass into that tiny boat now, didn't I?

Norwegian wood aside, it probably was a bad idear for me to do this, but I get all Marty McFly when faced with a throwdown. So off we went down the same section I rafted earlier that day, minus the deadly first two kms and last km. I couldn't have handled THAT.

Testosterone aside, it was a cool experience and it confirmed my fear and respect of the river. It will be there long after I kick the bucket. AND, it was nice to kayak sans gooch, although I was drinking. . . the river.

Got up the next morning with a hurtin knee from a rock during one of my 3 swims. I have almost exhausted my supply of Ibuprofen, the years have not been kind to me. The last night at Jungle River, I again commandeered the stereo and bar, but there was no chicha and the soiree was strictly sausage save a snotty Russian chick who did nothing but smoke cigarettes and act dismissive towards all. So the stage was pretty much set for my 3rd gayest moment ever, behind the naked hiking and that picture of me and Tony wearing nothing but a Hondo Explorer. What happened was I was playing one of my mix CDs and wedged between Verbena and Sugar was Aimee Mann's "Could've Been Anyone". I guess that made my QUEEN for a day. Suffice to say, I got bored with Jungle River and wanted to go. Oscar the owner has already tried to pad my bill and from what I've heard from the boys down the road at Omega, he is not a fella to mess with. He looks like a Honduran version of Vinnie Jones (seriously) and talks with the same raspy out of breath whisper as the rat/witness guy in Godfather 2. He mostly just glowers at me and smokes, and that's OK as long as he doesn't pull a gun. Which is what is rumored. Still, firearms aside, he is still cooler than the German dude at Omega.

So 3 paddle trips in 2 days, not bad for less than a hundred bucks. How fitting that my bar tab is quickly approaching my paddling tab. Hey, I haven't showered in 2 and a half days, which is like blasphemy for me. But remember, I HAVE purified myself in the waters of the Rio Cangrejal, just don't get my seat wet.

After a few weeks of hard work, I'm ready to relax. Can I do it? Don't know, but I'm gonna find out. Listening to: Coldplay "The Scientist"

Gotta fly, I will be hitting the border tomorrow, the Honduras portion of this story is over. Can Guatemala match the bravado of this Banana Republic? Can beer possibly be cheaper across the border? And most important, can I avoid cocktails in yet another country? As a wise thrash band once said: Only death decides.

By the way, if you do not approve of more than 4 of the following things, you may not like solo travel in a 3rd world country:

1. People constantly staring or laughing at you while trying to sell you something or themselves.

2. Four hours off is considered "a little late"

3. Your bus driver seems to be suicidal, or to hate pedestrians, or is a big fan of all the "Smokey and the Bandit" movies. (El Bandito esta muy macho!)

4. Having bizarre and indistinguishable foods thrust violently at you while being yelled at "Try theese! TRY theese! TRY THEESE!! SI!!"

5. Your bus ticket not guaranteeing that you won't have to share your seat with an infant or chicken or bag of fried plantains.

6. That there is such thing as a polite fistfight.

7. The fact that you can smoke a large brisket in the time it takes to send one email.

8. Guns aren't holstered, they either get tucked in the front or brandished hopefully.

9. The clothes you are wearing go out of style before the check comes.

10. You have to check your machete at the door of the nightclub.

Tally up the votes. Survey says . . .

Peace Love and Don't cry for me Honduras,

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163898180/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163898180/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163898180/tpod.html Thu, 23 Nov 2006 20:19:30 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Las Mangas, Honduras

Open up your nostrils, relax, and inhale. There you go, THAT is the undeniable smell of one man enjoying himself. I finally got to get on the river. And WHAT a river!!!!The Rio Cangrejal was still lower than normal for November, which only meant that the drops are higher, the turns are tighter, and the impact is harder. Lawd....Sure we were dragging ass so much I regretted not wearing my hiking boots, but the 8 foot drops more than made up for it. Easily the most technical all around river I´ve ever paddled, the Cangrejal held many surprises. The guide, Joni, was cool with my mad skillz and at the end of a particularly high portage, we did a vertical launch off a 15 foot overhang. Now that´s some FLY shit, yáll. In the States, that´s a lawsuit in progress, but in Honduras, this is what we do before lunch. Also tackled a steep Class 4 that was immediately followed by a weird pillowy undercut under a boulder the size of Travvy´s house. We scouted it for about 10 minutes and were given the chance to walk it. The chick in the boat got out, but I didn´t spend 6 hundos on plane fair to walk around some badass foam, so over (then under) we went. No problemo. Good times, great runs, plenty of river to drink for all.

Best Paul Westerberg song ever: Ryan Adams "Monday Night"

Jump back two days before to Roatan. Couldn´t dive my last day because of impending storms, which of course, I´ve been waiting for to paddle. But the sea wasn´t quite finished with me, because the ferry back to La Ceiba was terror on the high seas. It was crazy rough on the ocean, there were 30 people throwing up around me, babies crying, huge blast of wet wind coming through the canopy, and nobody could stand because the ship was bucking like a bronco in a gay rodeo. I just popped in some Bowie and thought about my rescue plan should we capsize. Now, I never saw "The Perfect Storm", but anything with wet Clizz is alright by me.

Got to La Ceiba without sinking and prepared to go out that night before rafting in the morning. So I showered, went out to eat with a beer or two, and decided that before I went out and whooped it up I should take a quick nap. GOOD-Night!!!! Man, I´m getting old. Woke up the next morning and drove up to Pico Bonito National Park to raft with Jungle River Lodge. (I just wasn´t feeling the pissy Kraut dude´s outfit) It was pouring rain, and it was me, the guides, and 4 El Salvadorean med students. Eva, the only one who spoke English was really nice and helped to translate for me. The trip was not their cup of tea, and to be honest, it was hard paddling and dramatic leaps of faith. Not a good first time rafting experience. After the trip, I had a few $2 beers (that´s insane for Honduras beer prices) and then decided to let Eva drive me up to Udo´s lodge up the road to see what section they were shooting in the morning. Well, here´s what I remember after that. I bought a sixer of Impèrials because they were 75 cents at Udo´s, drank a few there, and then halfway back to Jungle River Lodge we saw a bunch of locals standing around this shack off the road. So we went in to have a look see. Now you have to appreciate this: It´s 11pm, I am in the middle of the rainforest in backwoods Honduras, there´s this little cantina on a crumbly rainsoaked dirt road miles from anything, and I´m tossing back some cold ones with a group of locals whose language I barely grasp. Then things, of course, devolved. They started feeding me shots of "chicha", which in most of Central America is made from chewed up corn or plaintains. But this stuff was made from pineapple. Travel Tip: Never drink anything from a jug. This stuff tasted like drinking pineapple juice after brushing your teeth. Well, 3 of these and I´m salsa dancing with a 5 year old girl named Gabi. She was adorable, saying "no" to all my questions but never left my lap, me continuing my descent. The last thing I remember I was at Jungle River sitting at the bar with Darwin, one of the guides, talking about cool waves and tasty buds. When I woke up, I was missing my shoes, umbrella, and bottle coozy. I did, however, have a remote control in my pocket. Chicha wins again, my friends.

Listening to: Sugar-COPPER BLUE

Don´t know what´s in store for the next couple of days. Just trying to catch a few eddies and run some Big ´Uns. What I do know is that I´ve only worked the "Hand Solo" routine a mere 4 times since being here. What´s up with that? Either its the higher dosage meds, or I left my mojo in a crappy hotel room somewhere. Sorry, I know this subject makes many of you uncomfortable, but think of how housekeeping feels.

It´s just me and the internet cafe chick in this room, and she doesn´t seem to notice that "What´s Up?" by 4 Non Blondes has played over 5 times since I´ve been typing this. International incident? Coming right up.

Hope you all are having a Fabu November. My next entry will go into a bit more details about the paddling I did over the last two days. I´m a bit behind in my entries and I´m consistently at the mercy of bad internet connections and non-USB friendly computers. But there´s video, and you know how I like you to watch. . .

Peace Love and all of my shoes smell like river rot, even my clubbing shoes.

TT
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163639460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163639460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/theuglyamerican/ca2006/1163639460/tpod.html Fri, 17 Nov 2006 21:06:21 -0500 THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: One man's tiptoe through the Tropics of Central America in the rainy season in Guatemala and Honduras to raft, dive, hike, and finally get a decent cup of Antiguan coffee. Enjoy!

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Roatan Island, Honduras

THE UGLIEST AMERICAN- Reef Madness

Awwww cuddin', it's The Bela Lugosi Look and I'm giving it to this computer that can not currently hook up to the internet. I am in Roatan on my last day here unable to contact anyone, although if you are reading this you know things got better.

Well, I saddled up and got back on the SEAhorse again.
Grouper for dinner last night and fish tacos for
lunch. It must be said that it is very pricey to eat
out here by Central American standards.

Yesterday I did my first dive on Roatan. I said
DAMN THE TORPEDOS and ignored my ear nose throat
thing. No problems at all. In fact, it was the most
relaxing dive I've done yet. I went without a wetsuit
and that may have made all the difference. Tomorrow,
I'm going totally naked. I'll show these undersea
creatures what CRABS really look like. The dive was
cheaper than my meal last night. The irony, I can
look at many of them for $20 but to taste just one. .
. Hopefully my continued unease with the deep will
continue to drift away in the current.

I also went on a beautiful morning walk and sweated
profusely. Had an early bedtime last night, but I was
worn out after Skyping Anna in a bizarre, I get to
talk but she can only type, sort of way. It was nice
nevertheless.


Outside of a few digestive issues (for which I am solely to blame), things are going pretty good here. I am not able to dive today because of the crappy weather, which as you will find out, works for me big time. I have done 5 dives since being here, bringing my number to 12 dives, or 11 and one freak out. I saw another hawksbill turtle and also a nurse shark. Really cool.

What can I say, I hated diving, and now I love it. I'm glad I didn't give up because it really is as cool as everybody says. I am addicted to the weightlessness, the colors, and the peace I find down there. Getting to that point took a lot for me. Diving is nothing more than a constant monitoring and adjusting of 8 different factors- your weight, your buoyancy, your lung capacity, your inner air pressure, your tank pressure, your depth, your speed, and your mask or visibility. It seemed too much for a "distracted" gentleman such as myself. Pair that with claustrophobia and a childhood fear of sharks, and it made things difficult. Now, I actually become dismayed when we have to surface. As of right now, I am done with the undersea portion of this trip, but I'll be back down there someday. Because I've got nothin' against ye, Squiddy!!!

I have been eating at the Caribbean chicken stand for every meal now, it's the cheapest food in town but also the best. I will miss the vinegary slaw and the sweet spicy grilled pollo. But that damn Scotch Bonnet Pepper sauce, so good, so bad, and soooooo painful in all the wrong places.

So word of Roatan's party all night atmosphere have been painfully exaggerated. Nights have been sedate and maybe that's OK. Last night, the sparsely populated bar called Blue Channel had a band playing a reggae version of Don Henley's "The End of The Innocence", bizarre, then they topped that with Foreigner's "I Want To Know What Love Is". Had enough beers to catch a great buzz last night and then waded out to Native Son's dive boat and sat and watch the storm roll in. Very cool. Except two guys came walking down the beach and started to shout things at me on the boat. I figured that it was either the Captain coming to chew me out for being on it, or some drunk dudes trying to start something. Turns out it was two VERY DRUNK Marine Park officials who noticed that the boat was getting too close to the beach. They made me take them to the Dive Shop owners and try to wake them up to move the boat. In my state of mind, it all seemed surreal. I got a topper Imperial from the local store and retired to my cabin to listen to Fiona Apple for about 3 songs before. . . GOOD night! (it was calm, under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion)

The good news is that the clouds and rain keep rolling in this morning. Last night it rained like a madre and this is, indeed, what I have been waiting for. I'm taking the ferry back to the mainland this afternoon and rafting tomorrow. Other than that, I have no solid plans for this afternoon. It is now officially raining sleeping cats and feral dogs again, which may make my ferry some rough going. Time to snort some Dramamine and get out the dry bag.

My current state of mind is a bit homesick and strangely unfocused. Normally, I know what I'm doing on every day, but I have no plans beyond tomorrow, so keep your digits crossed.

Bringing the CD player was a mixed blessing. It's nice to have the convenience and distraction when in transit or on the beach. But I can't help thinking that I will never get the same cultural experience here, when I am wrapped in the cocoon of my tunes. There is much to hear in Roatan, the children playing in the streets, the constant construction/repair (nothing but hammers and drills everywhere), the mangled dialects of the Caribbean folks, the waves crashing, and the chickens. Those goddamn chickens.

I'm really digging on my Willie Nelson CDs. How can you not love this man? Even the reggae songs are cool.

I hope everybody is doing well. We've got Turkey Day around the corner. The only stuffing you're going to find down here is me stuffing my face with more of that grilled chicken. How can one man hate and love chickens so much? That is the rub....mmm, spicy rub.

It's raining so hard right now, I'm considering taking a taxi for 3 blocks. Whatevs. BRING IT!!!!! And then RUN IT!!!!!!!

Peace Love and paddling,

TT
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