Adventure Trip 2009

Cuba (8/1 – 8/14)

2010-09-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

While living in the former Soviet bloc, I was always curious to know what it was like prior to the fall of communism in Europe. Having heard a lot about Cuba and being so close, I thought it would be interesting to make a quick side trip to our little neighbor to the south to get a glimpse into what an extreme communist country is like. And so I did.

Sitting on the plane flying over the dark ocean below en route to Cuba, I felt a certain sense of excitement that I used to feel often earlier in my travel days. The flight from Cancun was very quick; before I knew it my plane had touched down on commy soil at around 11 pm. Everything seemed pretty normal until my fifth minute in the country. Having disembarked the plane and approaching the immigration booths, I was stopped by some sort of security personnel. The following conversation took place in Spanish. He asked where I was from. “The United States,” I replied.

“How long are you going to be in Cuba?”
“Thirteen days,” I replied.
“Where are you going in Cuba?”
“Vinales, Trinidad, Playa Giron, Santa Clara, Sierra Maestra, Santiago de Cuba, Baracoa, and Habana”
With every question I answered, the next came even more quickly asked with a faster pace.
“How many times have you been to Cuba?”
“This is my first time.”
“Do you know anybody in Cuba?”
“No.”
“Where did you learn to speak Spanish?”
“I learned while traveling through Latin America.”
“How long have you been traveling?”
“11 months.”
“Where did you travel to?”
I listed the countries.
“Do you travel often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where else have you traveled to?”
I listed the other continents.
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Finance.”
“What did you study?”
“Accounting.”
“How many times have you been to Cuba?”
“Never, this is my first time.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Finance.”

The conversation continued with rapid fire questions for only a few minutes. In the spirit of it, I replied as fast as he would ask the questions. It was interesting. The longer the questions went on the more I realized that he thought I was a spy. Not many Americans come to Cuba first of all. Secondly, most all people coming here come with friends or a significant other or are coming to meet people they know in Cuba. Not many solo travelers from America come through these parts. So the fact that I did and could speak decent Spanish as a white American was enough to convince the guy I was a spy… which I don’t think I am. Lol!

So after the interrogation, he says, “wait right here.” He takes my passport and walks through some mystery door #7 at the side of the large room. Five minutes pass, ten, fifteen, and finally after just over twenty minutes, the door opens and out he walks. At this point, all passengers had passed through immigration. Everybody else on my plane had already cleared customs. I was the only person detained. He walks over to me and tells me I can go. I take my passport and begin to walk to the immigration desk. He gets in my way and tells me I need to go to the last immigration booth, booth #22. So I follow him over there. They ask me a few questions I have already been asked previously and take my photo. Finally, I clear customs. I collect my bags and find a seat in the terminal. It’s 11:30 pm. I decide to stay in the airport until the early morning and go directly to the bus terminal. Welcome to Cuba!

While waiting I decided to change a bunch of the Euros that I came with from Mexico. While standing observing the exchange rates, being a finance guy I noticed a peculiar abnormality with the exchange rates. For each US dollar (USD) you receive .89 Convertibly Cuban Pesos (CUC), for each Euro 1.19 CUC, and for each Canadian dollar (CAD) 1.18 CUC. I am essentially offering anybody interested a free vacation to Cuba. In early August, 1 USD was equal to 1.05 CAD. Assuming you were to trade your USD to CAD one for one, exchange 5,000 USD to CAD before going to Cuba. Once you arrive, begin changing all 5,000 CAD to CUC as soon as you can (there is a limit of 1,000 CUC you can change daily, I’m not sure if it’s enforced or not, but it’s worth noting), you’ll end up with about 5,900 CUC. If you stay at casa particulares (to be explained shortly) and are not too spendthrift, you’ll spend about 50 CUC per day. So, a two week vacation will cost you 700 CUC. Once you change all the money into CUC, begin changing them to US dollars. Exchanging your remaining 5,200 CUC into USD, you will receive about 5,500 USD, because the asking price was .94 CUC per USD. So you return home with having gone on vacation and an extra 500 USD in hand. Assuming the flight costs you 500 USD, you just went on a free vacation to Cuba. As to why this anomaly exists, I’m not sure. I know there are increasing amounts of Canadians going to Cuba instead of Mexico, but most likely reason is that the current regime is probably pro-Canada for whatever reason.

Cuba is the only country I’ve been to that has two currencies: the Cuban peso and the CUC or convertible peso. The CUCs are effectively tourist dollars. For buses, accommodation, and higher quality food (only in relative terms) and drinks you use the CUC. The Cubans sometimes pay in Cuban pesos and other times CUC. For taxis, tourism, and most entertainment they pay in Cuban pesos. But for nice buses and higher quality foodstuffs, they’ll pay in CUC. What’s the difference? The CUC is worth 25 times the Cuban peso. So a 25 peso ride to the airport from the city will cost you a foreigner 25 CUC or dollars essentially and the locals will pay 25 Cuban pesos or 1 dollar. Anyways, so if you ever hear that Cuba is an expensive place, that’s why. However, as a tourist you can exchange for Cuban pesos in the city. I would change about 5 CUC at a time for Cuban pesos and they’d last me a while. With pesos, a lot of things are very cheap. I would buy ice cream cones like crazy. You can buy okay tasting soft serve from street kiosks for 1 peso or 4 cents. I was pounding probably four or five cones every day I would stroll around a city. I’m an ice cream addict and for that price you can’t go wrong. However, most of the food you can buy with pesos is absolutely horrific. For example, the street pizza which will set you back 5 pesos is a challenge to swallow. With a few specks of cheese and some red sauce, you get a circular personal pan sized pizza. The only thing is that the bread is the worst I’ve ever tasted, even though freshly baked. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it was so bad but after thinking about the taste long enough, I concluded that if bread tastes as if it were made up of three parts flour and one part freshly sawed, fine sawdust. It really does taste that bad. The hamburger I bought on the street is ineffably disgusting and tastes like no meat I’ve ever tried. The silver lining is that every burger and all bread I’ll eat for the rest of my life will be better than that which I commonly ate in Cuba.

So I waiting until the morning and then shared a taxi to the Viazul bus station. Transportation in Cuba is an interesting thing, because first of all there’s not enough of it. There are two official bus companies Viazul and Astro. Viazul is for tourists but locals can also pay to get on it. It is my understanding that they have to pay the same price as foreigners, which costs about $4 per hour on the bus, more expensive than any other country in Latin America, with Cuba being the poorer than every other country I’ve been to in Latin America, which is almost all of them. There were locals on the bus sometimes as well. So much for equality amongst your people Fidel. To give you some perspective, I met a girl who moved from one end of the country to the other for work. She worked every single day of the week from 8 to 5 earning 20 pesos per day, equivalent to 80 US cents. It was an okay paying job as well. So for some people to be able to pay $4 an hour to ride a bus and seeing some of the cars on the road suggest there are classes in Cuba.

The other bus company, Astro, is for Cubans only. It is illegal for foreigners to ride on it. The buses generally only connect major cities. So if you live in a smaller city, it gets a bit interesting. There are yellow stops and trucks. The large majority of all the vehicles in the Cuba are at least 50 years old, including the trucks. So people will pack into the back of old Soviet style trucks about the size of dump trucks. They’ve made metal bleacher seats in the back so people can sit down. They then will pack in over 50 people into the back of these things. Pretty safe, huh? The other option is the yellow stops. On the edge of every city, tens to hundreds of people will pay a very small fee and wait for cars going in the same direction to stop if they want to take people to where they’re going. It is similar to a public hitchhiking system. But for a lot of poor people, that’s the only way they can afford to get around.

I caught the first bus to Vinales, a small city in the west of Cuba. Vinales is known for its landscape. The area surrounding the city consists of many limestone mountains, mogotes, similar to those in Southeast Asia. The mountains are filled with caves as limestone mountains commonly are. After getting situated in a casa, I spent the rest of the day there walked through the countryside a bit exploring a couple caves.

I didn’t think Cuba was very touristy until I showed up. There were dozens of people waving signs for their casa particular. Tourists in Cuba have a choice of two types of accommodations, hotels and casas particulares or homestays. Homestays are the cheaper and the more interesting of the two options. In a typical homestay, you get your own air conditioned room and bathroom, generally on another level or somehow separated from the rest of the house. You still nonetheless have a lot of contact with the host family, which allows you to meet and interact with Cuban nationals. The family with whom I stayed in Vinales was very hospitable and prepared some good food as well. I had a political discussion with a guy about my age living in the house. He showed me a newspaper article where a US army commander was quoted saying that it is fun to kill people. I have a hard time believing that anyone would say that on the record.

Generally, the anti-US sentiment is very strong at the government level. Every newspaper or political message is strongly anti US. Any negative piece of information or news regarding the US always makes it in the papers, from US unemployment to neo-Nazis in California to the unjust jailing of the “innocent” Five Cuban heroes. In a communist country, there are no advertisements, billboards, etc. on the streets. In the place of ads, you get drenched with pro-communist propaganda, anti-US signs, etc. from “Viva la Revolucion” to “Against the injustices of the US and the EU, Unite!” to “Socialism or Death,” which to me makes about as much sense as the late-80s coined phrase of “skate or die.” The economic crisis is referred to the crisis of capitalism – ironic given the effectively moribund economy in Cuba.

When I lived in Ukraine, I recall people telling me that during the Soviet Union, the government would tell the people that in the US, people had money but lived in danger, that the US was rife with arms, murders, and other forms of violence. A similar propaganda is spread in Cuba. When you meet people, they will often talk about that even though the country is poor it is very safe and mention how the US is much more dangerous or ask questions about the danger in the US. Whenever people would bring up danger and the US, I would explain that a lot of people do have arms but the country is not that dangerous. Everyone seemed in disbelief when I would tell them so. The other huge piece of pro communist government is free, quality health care. It is my understanding that the health care system is fairly good despite the abject poverty of the country. Safety and free health care are always brought up when the government or people talk positively about Cuba. I did meet a fair share of people who were very negative about Cuba because of the poverty, and the lack of freedom.

After spending a day in Vinales, I caught a morning bus to Trinidad, a UNESCO world heritage site for its colonial architecture. The historical center was quite different than the other dozen or so colonial cities I have seen throughout Latin America, due in part to the fact that the city was fairly dilapidated. I went out in the evening to watch some live music and was a bit surprised to see the throngs of tourists. Afterwards, I went to a dance club completely enclosed in a cave. Again, I was surrounded by tourists, comprising over 90% of the patrons. I was a bit surprised because Cuba doesn’t have much all too exciting in the way of tourism. To me the only truly interesting aspect of Cuba is the radical political regime and its collection of 1950’s automobiles. There are few new cars in the country. Most of the cars are Soviet Ladas or pre-communism American automobiles. Cuba is also a playground for a lot of old European, especially Italian, men looking for inexpensive loving with half black to full black young ladies. Cuba is also notorious for professional hangers-on. Usually guys will come up to you acting a bit too friendly, offering to take you around or ask you what you’re looking for in an attempt to hang out with you to get them to buy them stuff. I got first approached in Trinidad, and then many times else thereafter. I became pretty good of flicking them off like with a fly swatter.

Having seen the colonial city and wanting to avoid the oodles of tourists, I got on the next bus out of Trinidad bound for Bayamo. As it so happens, Carnaval in Bayamo was beginning on the day I arrived. It was very anticlimactic. There two evenings I was there, one there was a less-than exciting concert and the other just a bunch of people walking in the streets, eating street pizza and pork sandwiches, and listening to blaring music. Carnaval was a bit humdrum and early return home inducing. Luckily, Carnaval was my reason for coming to Bayamo. I came to Bayamo as it was the nearest sizeable city to La Comandancia La Plata, Fidel’s hideout and staging ground for the offensive that resulted in the revolution. The morning after I arrived, a middle-aged Italian guy staying in the same casa and I got up early to catch early transportation towards La Comandancia located in the Sierra Maestra mountain range. We first hopped into the back of a large truck with 50 others. After an hour and a half, we arrived in Yara and changed to another truck, we were jammed in the back of a smaller truck with the same amount of people.

After a long 18 km, we arrived in Bartolome Maso, where we took a horse drawn carriage a couple kilometers to the point where taxis picked up tourists interested in going up to La Comandancia. After waiting an hour, a taxi came and picked us up. We arrive late in the day, and the park guard almost did not let us go up, because it the heavy rains common in the afternoons. We talked him into letting us go up and arranged for our taxi to pick us up at 3 pm. Upon arrival at the trailhead, I took a picture of the sign and an old jeep adjacent. We continued along the original trail created by Fidel and his guerilla comrades. Halfway to La Comandancia, we took a break where we met a women working and living up at the top. After a short break, we continued to the guerilla compound, where we saw a number of different buildings from the kitchen to Fidel’s quarters. It was interesting to see and learn how the revolution transpired.

Returning from La Comandancia, we walked down the steep road towards the nearest village. As we were descending a large truck came to notify us that there was an accident and the taxi wouldn’t be coming because it had to turn back with some of the injured people. We hopped into the back of the truck and continue down the road about 200 meters until we caught sight of the accident. I could a smashed up jeep and two bodies lying on the pavement. As it turns out the jeep I saw with five passengers, including the woman working at the top, were descending the steep road when the jeep’s brakes went out. The jeep ended up going off the road, flipping on its top side, before falling back onto the wheels, crushing the top of the jeep and instantly killing the two passengers in the front seat, including the woman I met and her husband. Another person bled to death while getting taken away in the taxi. If it weren’t for us coming up late in the day, the taxi wouldn’t have come up and it may have been much more time before anyone may have come across the accident, possibly resulting in more fatalities. If the car wouldn’t have been so old, chances are the brakes wouldn’t have gone out first of all and secondly, the car flipping over wouldn’t have completely crushed the top like a tin can. Two years prior on the same road, a truck full of people had its brakes go out and the truck went barreling down the side of the mountain killing 28. For a country that prides itself so greatly in its safety, it has the most dangerous vehicles and forms of transport I have ever come across. The train I took later the same day was nuts to say the least. One car would sway one way and the next in the other direction. I got video of it. It was humorous at first but the ride became scarier as the reality of the danger set it. At any rate, after a taxi, bus and train ride, we arrived back in Bayamo.

The next day I proceeded to Santiago de Cuba. I stayed in Santiago two nights. During the day, I walked around the city, eating ice cream, sometimes food, talking to a few people, and seeing a few sights. My first night there, I met a girl from Habana (and she was normal, wasn’t looking for money, quite a shocker) at The Tropicana. I asked her if she wanted to hang out the next day in the city. She was pretty elusive saying that she’d call me the following evening to hang out. The next evening came and she called. I tried to figure out a time and place we’d meet, and again she was elusive saying that she’d call me from where she was going once she arrived. It seemed strange at first but then I realized how in Cuba many people are afraid to be seen with foreigners in public. If so, the police will often stop them, interrogate them, and/or take down their information.

The second day I was in Santiago, I began to feel pretty weak, but it wasn’t until I arrived the next day in Baracoa that I felt really bad. In the afternoon I had a temperature of up to 103 degrees and I felt terrible. The high temperature only lasted a few hours but I felt unwell during my two days stay in Baracoa. Luckily, I was staying with a really nice family who were very kind and helpful to me in weakened state.

After two days of rest, I began the long trek back to Habana. I made a stop for a few hours in Santa Clara, a city “liberated” by Che Guevara and where now lie Che’s remains. I spent an hour at the museum and mausoleum. There was an awkward moment of silence when asked by an employee where I was from when entering the museum. It was the CIA that helped capture Che days before his assassination. Cuba says the CIA killed Che, but from what I’ve read it was a Bolivian officer who gave the execution order, whereas the CIA wanted to take him prisoner. The museum was moderately interesting, but did not mention anything related to his demise. After a visit to the museum, I continued my trip back to Habana where I would spend the final three nights of my trip.

Havana was an interesting city, one of opposites, new nice buildings next to others that have fallen. Some of the streets were beautifully lined with trees while other had broken asphalt with the buildings in the process of collapse. The city had a good energy about it despite the poverty. I spent a couple days walking throughout the city, logging many miles on my feet and the third day relaxing on the beach. The second night I went out with the family at my homestay to a celebration of Fidel’s 84th birthday. It felt strange to be celebrating the birthday of a man whom I feel is better off dead for Cuba’s sake. I ended up running into a couple Dutch guys I met a few days prior, and we went to the La Casa de la Musica, I nearby lounge with dance/band performances. At 1:30 am, after having seen the show and bored with watching the jineteras working their craft, I headed back to my casa.

By the time the end of my stay in Cuba arrived, I was very anxious to leave. The propaganda and the terrible food began to weigh too heavily. Visiting Cuba was an experience, not a vacation. I am glad that I went but have absolutely no intention of ever going back unless there’s a complete regime change. I think the change will come not to long after Fidel and Raul pass on. The system of government doesn’t working economically. It’s no coincidence that Cuba’s economy is failing and that Venezuela has the worst economic growth in South America. Capitalism has its fair share of problems as we have all witnessed but pure socialist systems can never work, as history has shown.

Yucatan – Part 1 (7/23 – 8/1)

2010-09-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

I stopped in Chetumal long enough to change money and get on a Tulum-bound bus. Four hours later I was gazing into turquoise blue waters gently lapping onto white, powdery sand. I quickly learned why the Riviera Maya is so dang touristy… its beaches are outstanding. What made Tulum so nice is that it manages to retain its charmed despite its tourism whereas other resorts get increasingly packed with more tourists and large resorts the further you go north. Tulum’s beachside resorts consisted of beach huts and cabanas in contrast to the towering lines of concrete lining the coast in Cancun. I spent three days in Tulum in a cabana on the beach. The first day I just walked up and down the beach from between my cabana and the Tulum ruins. Coming back from the ruins in the late evening, I came across a giant turtle (about 4 feet long) that had crawled upon the shore to lay eggs and retreat back into the moonlit waters. The evening’s perfect air temperature, gentle breeze, moonlit waters, and soft sand make the area a great choice for a romantic getaway, for those of you looking for one.

The second day in Tulum, I went snorkeling for two or three hours out to the reef about 500 meters offshore. The swim was relaxing and enjoyable but the reef wasn’t impressive and marine life was lacking. The rest of the day I spent just relaxing and feeding mango slices to the resident wild iguanas that were lazing the day away on a rocky section of the beach by my cabana.

I thought I’d visit the Tulum ruins on Sunday because my guidebook said it was free on Sunday. As it turned out, the Tulum ruins along with every other park, ruins, etc. in Mexico is free on Sunday, but only for Mexican residents. So I had to pay and get overwhelmed by the throngs of Mexicans taking advantage of free Sundays. I enjoyed the most well set of all ruins I’ve seen despite having to elbow my way through the crowd and wait in line to take some snapshots.

The area surrounding Tulum is well known for its cenotes, freshwater-filled caverns. So after returning to my cabana from the ruins, I quickly changed and began a 4-mile walk to Gran Cenote. Having walked three miles along the road, a truck slowed and the Mexican driver asked me where I was heading. I told him the Gran Cenote. He gestured to hop in the back of the truck. I thanked him and hopped into the truck bed. One mile down the road he stopped and I jumped out thanking him again for the ride. I proceeded to the cenote. I walked down into the sinkhole. The water was still and very clear. I spent a little over an hour swimming around in crisp water. The further I would swim into the cavern, the more bluish-green the water would become. I wish I had an underwater camera because the color of the water was very impressive. After thoroughly exploring the cavern and getting rather chilled in the process, I decided to head for the city in search of food. I didn’t walk more than 50 meters down the highway before I heard and then saw a truck slam on its brakes on the other side of the road. The truck flipped into reverse so hard that the front tired spun out for a few seconds. The truck swerved a bit as the driver drove backward against the flow of traffic. Then a guy pops his elbow and then head out the window looking back at me. I then recognize that it is the same truck driver who had just given me a ride to the cenote. He yells out in a classic Mexican accent, “Otra vez tu, pasa adelante!” I smile, run across the highway and off to the city I go. As I hop out of the truck upon reaching the city, I give the guy a warmer bigger thank you and wave. He waves back and drives off.

The next morning I catch a bus to Cancun en route to Isla Mujeres. I would spend three days on Isla Mujeres at Poc Na Hostel. Isla Mujeres is a small island just off the coast from Cancun. Long a backpacker’s getaway from Cancun, it has recently become more touristy with boatloads of day trippers from Cancun. The beaches on Isla Mujeres were gorgeous. Most of my time on Isla Mujeres I spent just relaxing, swimming, and walking around the small town on the northern end of the island. Much of the relaxing was done at Poc Na. Social and situated on the beach, Poc Na was great place to spend much of the day lazing around. Unfortunately, I had my Chacos stolen at Poc Na. It was my last pair of sandals. The other two pairs broke in Medellin and San Salvador. So I walked barefoot around the city until I could find suitable replacements, which have since been replaced because I wore a hole through the heel of the right sandal. You can’t find the kind of cheap crap in the US that you can in Mexico.

Dour about my recently stolen sandals, some friends I made at the hostel insisted that I come riding bikes around the island with them. So I did. Our first stop was at a tortuga farm. There were hundreds of turtles being bred to be released into the wild. After a brief stop there we continued our bike ride to the Floating Island. A guy made an island from empty plastic drink bottles, covered the bottles with some dirt and plants and even built a light house on the island. It was a fascinating little place. We then continued to the southern tip of the island which had a small ruin and great views over the ocean and across to Cancun. From there we rode back to the hostel where I spent the rest of the evening relaxing.

After the third day, I caught a boat back to Cancun. I stayed on the edge of Zona Hotelera in a hotel which has ties to Poc Na, so I got a 67% discount. Cancun is an interesting place. The city almost really isn’t one. There’s no real city center like other Mexican cities and there’s really nothing to do in the city but buy food or go to bus station. I did find a little park, Parque de Las Palapas, that had a bunch of cheap and tasty food stalls that got a little lively on the weekend evenings. People came out with their families and clowns put on a show (something that happens almost every weekend in the main plazas in Mexican cities). It made for a pleasant way to pass the evening. Outside of the city there’s a narrow strip of land along which all the gigantic hotels are built. That’s the Cancun people know. There really is nothing else there, just hotels and sand. At the center of it all, there is a small area where the party goes down, where the spring breakers go crazy. I stopped by one evening but it wasn’t too lively and I really wasn’t too tempted to enter any of the establishments, especially the Coco Bongo with its $50 cover charge. After making the obligatory stop to find out what Cancun is all about and pull out money daily for the next leg of my trip to Cuba, I packed my bags and headed to the airport eagerly anticipating the coming two weeks.

Belize (7/15 – 7/23)

2010-09-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

Crossing the border the Honduras-Guatemala border the day before, I meet a Belizean fellow named Ernesto who had his trip cut short just a couple days before. He was planning to travel all the way to Panama until he was divested of all his belongings while sitting on the beach in Tela. He had to pull a few strings to even get back to his country. He was a friendly guy and wasn’t looking for money, so naturally we hung out for a few days as we were heading in the same direction. As he alleges, his dad was one of the biggest drug dealers in Belize and that his family was well known in Belize. Being a country a 300 thousand people, anyone could be well known. But I after hanging out with him for a couple days, I learned he talked a big game, but nonetheless, I came to believe that there was at least some truth to his story.

We crashed at the same hotel, as previously mentioned the waterless Hotel Miami in Puerto Barrios, a typical port city (ie a real dive). Ernesto had only great things to say about Belize from how friendly the people were to how nice various locations were. It all seemed too good to be true, and it was.

I was planning on only staying in Punta Gorda long enough to catch a bus to Placencia, but since Ernesto was going to stay there a while I decided it might be interesting to meet some of the people he knew, which were many. In the less than 24 hours I was there, I met a ton of his family and friends. It’s not that often that you get an experience quite like that. For how much he talked about how friendly the people were, his friends and family were cordial at best. I found that to be the case throughout Belize. People were never friendly unless they wanted to sell you something. Granted, not speaking or understanding much Creole made it more difficult to get by, as it is the language of choice.

Belize is different from the rest of Latin America. That is simply because it’s not Latin. Everything about it is Caribbean, from the blackness of the people to the language to the food. A lot of people lived in run down wooden houses. The country didn’t really have any cities with maybe the exception of Belize City. It’s just a bunch of villages. There are hardly any people in the entire country. For being as seemingly poor as it was, I was a bit surprised that everything cost as much as it did. My theory is that with the total economy and all of the tourism going to support only 300,000 people, the average person will get a fair chunk of change assuming there’s some semblance of social justice.

At any rate, so I hung out with him for a day in Punta Gorda. It was fun and a good experience, but by the next day I was ready to leave. The city itself was decidedly uninteresting. Moreover, although on the ocean, there were no beaches like in Dangriga. I did go swimming and had something what felt like biting my skin much of the time.

The next day I went to Placencia, known for being a great place to chill out and watch the days go by. The pace there was snail slow, which was nice. But like in almost all of Belize, the beaches weren’t. They were rather dirty and shallow. I went for some nice strolls around the small city and along the beach but I can’t get behind the city because the beaches were bad and for being a small laid back place, the people were not at all friendly. Well, except for one. As I was approaching the northern part of the beach I approached a luxurious hotel owned by Ridley Scott. Some guy working there who was standing near the beach waved at me and struck up a conversation. It didn't take more than a couple seconds to realize his interests were more like those of my sister than mine. He invited me to come back after 5 and I could use whatever facilities and consume whatever I wanted. The offer would have been very tempting if he were a girl or if I knew I wouldn't have to see him again. But because neither were the case, I had to give the offer a courteous pass. Such a shame.

Glad to have stopped for a day to see the place, I left the next morning for Dangriga, which turned out to be another underwhelming destination. With a population of 15,000, Dangriga is the third largest city in Belize. Dangriga was another one and done stop. I walked around the town for a few hours and could hardly even get anyone to make eye contact with me and the town is not touristy. There was also nothing to see in the city except ramshackle wooden houses.

The next morning I was on a bus headed for Belize City just long enough to catch the next boat to Caye Caulker. I had heard about Caye Caulker from afar and was afraid I was gonna be disappointed because of my Belize experience up to this point. Luckily I wasn’t. The small island of a few thousand people had a great vibe. It wasn’t too busy or too quiet. It wasn’t too big or too small. There wasn’t too much to do, but not too little. Most things about it were just right. And with there being more travelers there as well, made it better for social reasons as well. The water and marine life was very nice, but the beaches were underwhelming. I came to understand that the only nice beaches were those on small islands well off the beaten path that were expensive to go to and most of the time you couldn’t stay the night if you wanted.

I ended up staying on Caye Caulker for three nights. Aside from lounging around, I went on a snorkeling trip one day where I was able to handle some large rays, see moral eels and some nice coral formations. The highlight of the stop was diving the legendary Blue Hole. I had heard mixed reviews from others who had dove it. The main complaint is that you don’t see a whole lot of marine life. But that’s not what makes it unique and interesting. It’s like hearing a dumb girl complain about Cuba because she didn’t like the beaches. That’s not why you go!

So anyways, the Blue Hole. The $175 dive trip consists of three dives, the first being the Blue Hole. Having never dove below 80 feet, I was a bit tentative about diving to 130, especially worrying about the potential of getting nitrogen narcosis, not arriving at a bottom of any sort, sharks, etc. Nevertheless, I felt comfortable enough with my ability to dive to give it a shot. The dive starts out at on 45 degree slope from shallow waters. After following the slope for about 30 feet you reach the precipice. From there, you look down and see nothing but darkness below. At that point, you grab your SPG to make sure you don’t fall to far too fast and then step off into the nothingness below. It felt truly eerie drifting into the blackness knowing there are sharks somewhere not far out of sight. There were large white particles in the water which were lit up from the sunlight. I felt a bit like Ed Harris in The Abyss when he was descending into the trench, maybe a bit less dramatic but the same sort of feeling. It seemed like no time before we got to 130 feet. We followed our dive master behind and around some stalactites. What makes the Blue Hole unique is that many years ago it was all above sea level and it was a fresh water cave with stalactites and such. Over time the water level rose and the sinkhole filled with water. After being at maximum depth for 8 minutes, we had to slowly head up to avoid the possibility of getting decompression sickness. Just as we began to ascend I saw a group of three of four sharks patrolling the waters. After ascending 30 or 40 feet I saw another group of three or four. As I came to find out they, were mostly reef sharks but there were in fact a couple bull sharks. One of the three sharks considered to be dangerous, the others being the tiger and great white.

Considering everything, it was a pretty exciting and very memorable dive. The following two dives were much shallower and I saw the best coral that I have seen in the Caribbean. We made a quick stop for lunch at a small island called Half Moon Bay, not to be confused with the other few dozen Half Moon Bays in the world. After traveling up the coast of Belize from south to north, I learned that the only reason to come to Belize is for what goes on underwater and for nothing above.

After Caye Caulker, I made a stop just for a day in San Pedro on Ambergris Caye. Crowded, narrow streets, more expensive, loud, busy, without nice beaches… another one and done. On the 23rd I caught a boat to Chetumal, Mexico, the country I will return home from.

Honduras (6/28 – 7/14)

2010-09-05T21:39:00.000-07:00

For better or worse, Honduras is the least interesting of the Central American countries. So why in the world would I stay there for two weeks?... SCUBA diving.

After passing through immigration, I walk another 200 meters to catch the Puerto Cortez-bound bus revving its engine to leave. I get settled and the bus driver puts in a CD of some sort. All of a sudden the bus is thumping with electronic and hip-hop music, good quality songs. I couldn’t help it but smile for the first half an hour after hearing one good song after another. It was quite a drastic change from the make-you-wanna-jab-a-crochet-needle-in-your-ear music abounding in Guatemala. Such was my first impression of Honduras. Honduras felt much more Latin than Guatemala. I decided that I might as well make the day one extremely long and miserable bus day so continued from Puerto Cortes to San Pedro Sula to Tegucigalpa. I had heard the city wasn’t fantastic, although it does have a large Coca-Cola sign on the hillside, much like how Hollywood has a sign. I also met somebody while traveling in Argentina who was living in Teguc, and it’s always fun to meet up with somebody later on in the city they’re living. So I went, arriving in a sketchy part of town. So I took a taxi to a budget hotel in another sketchy area of town, the downtown. The next day I wandered around the city looking for a Laundromat to take my long past clean clothes. I walked around the more interesting parts of town, and they were anything but that. The cities in Honduras seem to lack character. There’s nothing very nice or interesting to look at, no nice places to walk or relax or even little to offer in terms of nightlife. I contacted my friend and we met up with some other people later that evening. It was a Wednesday and there was nothing really to do, so we split up sometime around midnight back to our respective domiciles. Two nights and a day and I was ready to move.

Flipping through my guidebook, I read that San Pedro Sula’s biggest festival, in honor of its namesake, takes place the end of every June. It just so happened that the festival was beginning the day I was to arrive. I was planning on only staying one night there, but considering staying more if I deemed it worth it. Well, after walking around the city a bit, visiting one of the evening festival venues, and considering there were only a couple people at the hostel (none of which were staying more than 1 day anyways); I decided one night was indeed enough. The city was rather boring, with little of interest and the festival wasn’t too interesting although it was supposed to get better at the end of the week. The only thing I really liked in San Pedro was the baleadas at Baleada Express.

The next morning I was on a bus for La Ceiba. I thought I’d stay a couple days in this coastal city before venturing on to Utila. The heat in La Ceiba was stifling. It made it difficult for me to do the little that I did. I stayed in a hostel near the beach. It was a 12 bed dorm, army barracks style and there were either one or zero other people in the room the three nights I stayed there. During the morning and early afternoon, I slept and watched the World Cup. Later in the afternoon, I’d eat and roam around the city and the beach. In the evening, I would go out. The city wasn’t that nice but I lived in an area where everything was convenient and had a laid back feel to it. The beach, restaurants, and nightspots were all a stone’s throw or a jaunt from my hostel. I’d usually stick around where I was staying but would make a daily trip into the city center just to change things up. By the end of the three days, I was ready to move on to Utila.

I caught the Sunday morning boat to Utila. Upon arrival, I immediately went to a dive shop I had read good things about, Captain Morgan’s Dive Centre. After sorting out the details, I signed my life away to the Open Water certification course to begin a few days later. So after getting settled with my accommodation and my diving course I walked up and down the main street along the bay seeing what the island had to offer, mainly in terms of food, as I was planning on being there over a week. I didn’t start my diving course until Thursday, so I had four days to kill. One day, I rented a kayak and kayaked around part of the island, through a mosquito infested canal to arrive on the opposite side of the island and to a long stretch of empty beach. The uninhabited beach had quite a bit of seaweed and garbage washed ashore since nobody’s there to clean it up. The water was really beautiful and I saw my first ray on this trip while walking along the sand. The sea got quite choppy and I was definitely paddling against a current to get back, so I was a bit exhausted by the time it was all over. The next day I slept in and went to the beach nearby the city. The following day I watched the intense Germany v Spain semi-final matchup. I don’t really care for the Spaniards; I just didn’t want to see Germany win it all. Luck worked out in my favor that afternoon. The following day I walked across the island to Pumpkin Hill, the highest point on the island, about 100 meters above sea level. I arrived at the “peak” after a short hike fighting off mosquitoes. From the peak you get to appreciate the amazing flatness that is Utila. Four kilometers and a few dozen mosquito bites later, I arrived at the city sweaty, dirty, and tired.

Friday, July 9th, I began my SCUBA cert course. We arrived at 7 am at the dock. Captain Morgan is the only dive shop that does its courses on another island, the small Jewel Caye. Upon arrival, we were shown our quarters for the duration of the course. The first few hours consisted of boring videos and worksheets learning how to not kill yourself amongst other skills, signals, SCUBA factoids such as sound travels four times faster underwater than through the air and the volume of air decreases by 50% for every 10 meters you descend below the surface. In the afternoon, we had our first skills test. So we put on our gear and did a confined dive to 5 meters, where we practiced various skills like clearing your mask and controlling your buoyancy.

On Day 2, we finished off the videos and worksheets. The weather got downright windy later in the afternoon so we were only able to complete one of the scheduled dives. The other would get pushed back a day. We got an early start on Day 3 completing two morning dives, before hopping on the boat back to the city and the Pirate Bar to watch the World Cup final in a Dutch-filled crowd. They were pretty vocal most of the game, that is until the last three minutes of the second overtime. Day 4 was the final day of the course. We did two more dives which consisted of part skills tests and part coral and fauna observation. The following day I did two fun dives that came with the SCUBA course. And come the afternoon, I was on a boat bound for Utila city.

Utila is a popular destination for those looking to take diving courses. There were a dozen or so outfits on the island. All are fairly reasonably priced, which is part of the draw. It is advertised as the cheapest place in the world to get your Open Water cert, although many Southeast Asian locations are the same price. The total cost was $250, accommodation and some silly reef tax included. The diving in general between Utila and the Yucatan is generally good. The main plus is the abundance of coral reef, as the world’s second largest reef system spans this area. The paucity of marine life is the minus. I saw a lot of different fish, but not in large quantities. In Utila, I saw many fish, lobster, turtles and rays. No sharks. The coral was nice as well, but paled in comparison to the reef quality in Belize.

The next morning I was on the 6 am boat back to La Ceiba. The day’s journey would land me in Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, where I stayed the night at one running-waterless Hotel Miami awaiting the next boat to Belize the following day.

Guatemala (6/10 – 6/28)

2010-08-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

Just a few days ago, I was sitting around a table conversing with a handful of French guys, who were on a short vacation. They were asking me a lot about my trip. At one point, one asked me which country in Latin America was the biggest disappointment. My reply was quick and definitive… Guatemala.

Being the greatest disappointment doesn’t mean Guatemala was the worse place, which it clearly isn’t, but rather that the country had been talked up a great deal by most and fell well short of how it was advertised. Many different travelers mentioned it was their favorite place in Central America and how certain sites and places were just amazing, etc. What I learned quickly is that Guatemalans aren’t very friendly and the country has a mild case of Peruvitis – the condition where people, bus companies, travel agents blatantly lie and deceive and where the cost of places of interests are grotesquely disparate between foreigners and locals all in an attempt to milk foreigners like the fat prized cow. A gross case of this occurred on my second day in the country, of which I will speak momentarily.

Before that I will briefly gloss over what happened up to that point. I arrived in Guatemala City on the night of the 11th to ensure that I’d be there for my sister’s arrival in the early afternoon the next day. After a morning stroll around downtown Guate, I met up with my sister, Simone (henceforth referred to as Sam). We immediately began our whirlwind trip around Guatemala.

Heading for the bus station, we made a break for our first destination, Copan Ruins (just across the Honduran border). We took a couple different buses in the direction of Copan. Upon realizing that the border was closed for the day, we stopped just short of the border in the small town of Jocotan. That wasn’t before an argument with the money collector on the second bus, who was trying to Peru us. The Force was strong that evening and Good prevailed. Walking around the city on a dark, drizzly evening, we found one of the only accommodations in the city, Hotel and Restaurante Katu Sukchij. It took us awhile and a bit of persistence before we got the unwelcoming service we received. We requested a double room and Lady tells us the charge is 90 quetzales. We looked at the room and decided it was acceptable for a night. We went back down to the restaurant to order dinner. There were three people working in the kitchen and only three or four other patrons in the restaurant besides us, but somehow we managed to sit at the table for a good ten minutes without anyone asking us if we wanted help or bringing us a menu. Finally, I got up and walked over to the kitchen to request two menus. A minute later, Lady brings us the menus without looking us in the face. We decide what we want and wave somebody down to place our order. While waiting for the food, Sam goes upstairs to our room for a minute and comes back with a notification from INGUAT, the tourist commission. On it is specified the maximum rates for the hotel room we were in, which happened to be 80 quetzales. I chuckled and shook my head. It’s not a ton of money, but I don’t let people get away with lying to me when I detect it. Lady brings us our food. I tell her that she has overcharged us and that the room is only 80. She replies that 80 is only for rooms without a TV and walks off. My BS radar is flashing all sorts of colored lights with bells ringing. So I finish my food and walk over to the kitchen with the notification. I ask who’s in charge and another woman comes over. I explain the situation. She repeats what Lady said about the TV and I mention that it says nothing about a TV on the notification, only that the maximum that can be charged is 80. She points to the bottom of the notification and says that it is mentioned there. What is ironic is that the notification is in Spanish and English and the part she pointed at said verbatim, “All complaints concerning violation of the present rates or any other kind should be registered in…” I chuckled again and walked over to her telling her what the notification actually said where she pointed. She maintained her BS. Then she says, “Well, we can come take the TV.” I responded, “That’s fine.” I ask for the bill and go back to our table. Lady brings the bill. I give her and explain that I am giving her the total less the 10 we were overcharged for the room. She nods and walks off. We go upstairs. We weren’t in the room for 10 minutes when we hear a knock. Lady has come to take the TV. She does. As she is leaving, I ask her if she wants to take the dresser the TV was sitting on as well. No response. I shut the door. Another 10 minutes goes by and we get another knock at the door. Who could it be? You guessed it, Lady. I answered the door with a confused look on my face and eyebrows raised. She proceeds to tell us that we owe her 10 quetzales for dinner. I close my eyes and shake my head side to side saying, “What!” I tell her I explained to her at the table why we only paid her ten less than the bill. She repeats that we owe her ten for dinner again. I tell her, “That’s fine. Just give us the ten you overcharged us for the room and I would be happy to give you back the very money you just gave me to pay for the rest of the dinner bill.” I stare at her wide eyed and shaking my head waiting for a response. Finally, I bring up the notification. I tell her that it mentions if we are overcharged for the room that we should contact a certain government agency. I tell her that I am going to do so. I ask her for her name. She stands there quietly. A take a step closer and with a raised voice ask her again for her name. She starts to look sullen and a bit afraid. Finally she blurts out “Fine, go ahead and rob us.” She turns around and walks out. I follow her to the door. “Are you listening to what you are saying?” I ask. “Are you completely stupid?” She doesn’t turn around but proceeds down the hall and down the stairs. I don’t see her again. Early the next morning, we leave the keys in the room and walk out not saying anything to anyone. This encounter is a good illustration of a classic case of Peruvitis.

After two short bus rides and a border crossing, we arrive at Copan Ruinas. We check into a hotel before proceeding to the ruins. We spent about two to three hours at the ruins. Copan was the first Mayan ruins I visited on this trip. The ruins were nice but not amazing, breathtaking, or any similar adjective. What made it different than the other Mayan ruins I visited were the stelae, 10 foot tall blocks of intricately carved rocks. Tikal and Tulum had little detail. Palenque had more detail, but the carvings with on the ruins themselves. Standing on top of one the central ruins, you get a nice view of the ruins to the north, but the views were much less impressive than Tikal and Palenque. During the day, I noticed that part of my leg began to itch. I itched a lot more that night. By the next day, it was apparent that I and my sister both, had a case of scabies, which would last for most of the remaining two plus weeks we traveled together. I believe we got them at the lousy hotel we stayed at the first night. Between the service, cleanliness (although visibly the room wasn’t terribly dirty), and comfort of the bed, it was arguably the worst hotel I have ever stayed in. The only reason it is not the hands down winner is that the room wasn’t sweltering hot, due to the altitude. It’s really too bad she got them on her first night of a two week vacation.

After a night in Copan Ruinas, we continued to Livingston. Livingston is predominately a Garifuna city, a stop for culture vultures they say. Reading about it, I thought it was crap but Sam wanted to stop. So we did. The one day we were there, we decided it would be nice to take a walk along the beach to the Seven Altars waterfalls. After a couple miles of walking along a garbage fraught, narrow beach, we were stopped by a park guard who told us the falls were closing soon and that we’d only be able to stay for a few minutes. Tired, thirsty, unimpressed, and not wanting to pay to go to some falls for a few minutes, we made a u-turn and headed back to the nearest place we could buy something to drink. After a couple drinks and a moment’s rest, we shared a taxi with a couple of Brits back to the city. The rest of the day and the next morning we just relaxed with an occasional stroll around the touristy, unfriendly city waiting for the boat ride up Rio Dulce.

The boat ride was about an hour and a half, but for $16 bucks each wasn’t worth it. The river was beautiful in some parts, flanked by jungle covered mountains. We also took a nice side trip a short distance up a tributary. Occasionally, the boat driver would point out something along the way. It was okay all in all. From Rio Dulce (the town) we caught a bus for the tourist price up to Flores. There was only one bus company and no talking him down.

We arrived to Flores in the early evening. After tons of bus time and three one night stays in a row, we decided to park here for three nights. By the time we got settled and ate dinner, the first day was almost over.

We were up the second day at 6 am to catch the first bus to Tikal. I was amused during the ride over. Once you enter the park area, which is much larger than the ruins, you’ll see a few yellow diamond signs with a different animal in the middle. You first see one with a monkey, then a snake, and lastly a jaguar. At that point, you’re forced to laugh out loud. The extent some will go to to excite stupid tourists. First of all, monkeys don’t cross roads all that much, neither do snakes. But jaguars, if you live in the jungle your whole life you may see a couple. What is the chance you see a jaguar during daytime park hours during crossing the road of all things at a time when these very shy animals usually sleep. I’d say somewhere between one in 50 to 100 million. Anyways, we arrived at around 7 am to get charged 6 times the local price to visit. The area covered by and size of the ruins are both greater than those of the other three ruins I visited. The ruins, however, have less detail than the other ruins. They’re kind of like American homes in that respect. We spent a good four hours walking around the complex. The land that the ruins are on are also the least interesting – flat, nondescript jungle. What was impressive, however, was climbing to the top of some of these tall ruins and being above the jungle canopy. You could see for many miles in every direction including the tops of other ruins in the complex. We saw a number of monkeys at Tikal. I never saw too much wildlife at any of the other ruins, with the exception of a few macaws at Copan. Around noon, we headed back for Flores. After eating lunch, I went for a swim in the lake. Flores is an island on a lake connected to the mainland by a short bridge. The town is kept up, because it is the tourist Mecca for all those going to Tikal.

The next day, we just watched the World Cup, relaxed and went swimming again. The following morning we caught a shuttle bus to Lanquin, where would stay two nights. Arriving in the evening, we just got settled and walked around the town a bit before returning to our hostels for stone oven pizza and Game 7 of the NBA Finals. The game was intense and the outcome was just as I wanted.

The next morning we went on the limestone cave/Semuc Champey tour. After jumping off a rope swing a number of times into the river, we went to a dark limestone cave. We each were given a candle and followed our guide. We walked deep into the mountain. We were inside for probably over an hour, climbing over rocks and up waterfalls and wading and swimming through cave pools candle in hand. It was quite an adventure. I was quite chilled by the time the tour was over. Then we continued to Semuc Champey. We jumped off a 30 foot bridge into the river on the way to the lookout. The lookout provided good views of the aquamarine pools that are Semuc Champey as well as the river and surrounding mountains. A fierce river plunges underground into a serious of pools on a labyrinthine route for about 200 meters. We only observed the river from a good distance and swam from pool to pool created from minerals related to its limestone surroundings. It was similar to Erewan Falls in Thailand. We arrived back at the hostel in the mid afternoon. I had a conversation with a couple who was on a similar route as me from South America. We both agreed that Central America as a whole was extremely underwhelming coming from South America. So for anybody going to Latin America for the first time, go to South America. If you don’t want to go that far, then go to Mexico. Everything in between isn’t too impressive as a whole.

The next morning we caught a series of buses that eventually got us to Antigua. Antigua is the tourism capital of Guatemala. Knowing that, I wasn’t expecting too much. I was positively surprised when I got there because the small city still retained its charm and people didn’t harass me to buy stuff or for money as much as I was expecting. On Sunday night, street vendors sold a bunch of tasty food and snacks out in front of the city’s main cathedral. We ate a variety of things which constituted dinner. Two weeks prior to my arrival, Guatemala was a disaster area with Tropical Storm Agatha and the eruption of Pacaya. Because of the eruption, the lava flow had been disrupted a bit. Where it normally flowed, it no longer did. So I was told I had to go to an area where lava was flowing only as of recently and I was guaranteed to see large red lava flows. So I excitedly signed up for the tour. After three hours in a shuttle bus up to the flows, all I saw was black lava rock. We walked for 45 minutes up the volcano to where there was allegedly still some red lava flows. All you could see in a small red crack in the black rock in one small area. These were the lava flows I was sold. It was interesting to see the profuse amount of fresh black lava rock but a bit pissed that I have been sold a tour with a BS guarantee. We spent one more day of wandering around the city, observing the architecture, eating, and hiking up to scenic overlook of the city and surrounding volcanoes.

The following day, we went to Lake Atitlan. As in Antigua, I would spend the first half of the day watching the World Cup and the other half strolling around the town of San Pedro. One day, Sam and I walked around part of the lake to villages San Pablo and San Marcos. San Pablo was off the tourist map. There were no accommodations or even restaurants. Walking up the main street, kids would stare at you smile, wave, and say hello. You are met with a friendly curiosity, which I didn’t find anywhere else in the country. In most places, people won’t even so much as look at you unless they’re trying to get into your pocket. So the trip to San Pablo was refreshing. I sat for a good 15 to 20 minutes in the town while Sam walked around to take pictures. While sitting, I ended up talking to a twenty-year old mother. It was interesting learning about the culture, history and language of the people in that village and the lake in general. When Sam got back, she wanted to go, so we continued on to San Marcos, which was less than impressive before making the long walk back around the lake back to San Pedro. During our last night on the lake, there was a festival in the neighboring town of San Juan. So we went over just after the festival started at 7 pm. We walked around sampling street food and taking in the festival atmosphere. A concert began at around 8 pm. We stood and watched the show where a few scantily clad women and a couple male singers, likely from the capital, performed in front of a very conservative, traditional crowd of locals all wearing traditional modest clothing. None seemed to be bothered by the show. The music like all other in Guatemala was terrible. So after 20 or 30 minutes, we could take no more. We hailed a tuk tuk and went back to San Pedro.

The following morning we headed for our final destination, Quetzaltenango, or Xela for short. A lot of people come to Antigua, Atitlan, and Xela to learn Spanish. There are many schools and many of those taking classes stay with a local family as a part of the learning experience. Xela, Guatemala’s second city sits at a fairly high altitude and gets quite chilly. While we were there, rain poured down constantly making it cold and damp. We stayed two nights. The second day we were at the “bus station” at 5 am to begin a series of bus rides to the trailhead of Tajumulco, standing at over 4200 meters is the highest mountain in Central America. The nice part about the hike is that you start at just above 3000 meters. So the actual ascent is just over 1100 meters. The trail, however, is straight up the side of the mountain. The weather was nice in the morning as we started the hike. The weather gradually worsened the further we climbed. As we were climbing up a steep section of the terrain near the top, it started to pour very cold rain. The rain combined with the strong winds and less-than-balmy temperature made it uncomfortably chilly. We stayed at the summit just long enough to take a few pictures. The views from the summit are said to be beautiful. Unfortunately, we were standing in the middle of a cloud so we could see very little at all. We made the descent as quickly and safely as possible. The hike in total only took us about 4.5 hours. The hike is advertised as taking 4 hours to go up and 2.5 down. After a couple World Cup games the next morning, we took a bus back to Guatemala City. It was too cold to stay any longer. So Sam’s and my last night in Guatemala was spent in Guate, as locals call it. The next morning, I was on a bus bound for Puerto Barrios and then the Honduran border. Sam would catch a plane home from Guatemala.

El Salvador (May 29 – June 10)

2010-08-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Perquin on the penultimate Agatha night. It was wet and quite cool given its elevation. With a little guidance I found essentially the lone hotel in Perquin, and for $6 a night I had a dorm room all to myself.

El Salvador is much less touristy than many of its neighbors, Guatemala and Nicaragua included. I’m not sure if it’s memories of the civil war, its world’s highest murder rate for countries at peace (thanks largely to Mara Salvatrucha), or the fact that people consider it undesirable from a tourism standpoint, or any of these reasons at all. Case in point, a week after I left, two city buses were attacked by gangsters, the first was shot up resulting in a couple fatalities; the second was lit on fire with more the a dozen fatalities.

But one thing is for sure, it was to my benefit that there weren’t many tourists. Here’s to you people who don’t travel! Thank you for making the world a better place for me.

One thing I have noticed in all my travels is that there is a strong negative correlation between the level of tourism in a given country and the likeability, honesty, and goodness in general of people living in that country. It may come as no surprise then to know that far and away the least likeable people in Latin America are Peruvian and the most likeable award would likely go out to the Colombians or Salvadorians. At any rate, back to Perquin…

As I mentioned before, Perquin was the FMLN guerilla headquarters during the civil war which lasted from 1980 to 1992 making it an interesting place to visit. The following day, I weathered the heavy showers to visit the Museum of the Salvadorian Revolution and the guerrilla camps. The museum contained a lot of interesting photos, armaments, the studio and radio equipment of the insurgents radio station “Radio Venceremos”, as well as the helicopter that was blown up by a phony radio transmitter and which was carrying Colonel Monterossa (the head of the counterinsurgent death squads). The guide at the museum was a maimed former guerrilla. He was rather pleasant and gave a fairly factual and unbiased account of the civil war. Following the museum tour I walked over to the guerrilla camps. It was all very interesting just thinking about what was happening there just two decades ago. You could see the little tarp shelters they’d sleep in, caves they hide in during bombing raids, and the weapons and trails they’d use. All in all, fascinating. During the rest of what turned out to be Agatha’s final downpour I stayed indoors and relaxed, waiting and hoping for respite from the rain the next morning as I planned to visit El Mozote.

With the morning came clear skies and sun, I had been many days since I had such weather. Ironically, this Memorial Day I went to El Mozote. During the war, death squads massacred a number of villages containing innocent people “believed” to be sympathizers of the guerrillas to weaken the insurgency. It didn’t work but they did kill a lot of people. Luckily I ran into a few English guys going so I didn’t have to awkwardly show up by myself. Upon arriving, we walked across the village to the monument, church and memorial. The memorial contained a large wall naming all 700 plus people that were slaughtered on December 11, 1981. All the bodies that were recovered were buried there, including the lone survivor who died just a few years ago. Although it lacked the gruesomeness and brutality of Rwanda, the sinister feeling of Auschwitz, and the malevolence of Cambodia, it was still very sombering thinking that one day it was a village filled with families and children playing, and the next a deathly silent graveyard. I met a guy at the monument who recounted the events of that day and the days leading up to it. His family was told by a government soldier to leave or they would be killed just weeks before the genocide. So his family went to nearby San Miguel and stayed there, not returning to the village until more than a decade later after the end of the war. He mentioned that the people were warned by the guerrillas as well that the death squads were going to come, but the residents thought the notion of them getting annihilated was impossible. Sadly, the soldiers came marching in one day, separated the men, women and children into different areas of the village. All children under 9 were stabbed in the belly with knives and bayonets. Those over nine were raped if a women and murdered. The lone survivor reportedly while walking in a line of women fell to the ground and the soldiers didn’t notice her and she ran off into the bushes. She later wrote a book about the events. While there were other genocides in other villages, the El Mozote genocide was the most publicized. After listening and observing for 90 minutes we returned to Perquin. I immediately hopped on a series of buses bound for The Flower Route, specifically the town of Juayua.

Juayua is a quaint, peaceful small city in the western mountains of El Salvador. I just hung out there for four days, making an occasional daytrip to places of interest nearby, including nearby towns of Apaneca and Ataco and waterfalls Los Chorros de Calera. While visiting Apaneca I decided to do what I failed to do in Costa Rica, a canopy tour. Canopy tours are a series of zip lines through usually through heavily forested areas. The canopy tour had 17 zip lines, only 3 of which were really long. The feeling of fly through the fresh mountain air is quite enjoyable. Box checked. The waterfalls I went to were notorious for robberies. Still that didn’t prevent me from going by myself, as I couldn’t find anyone else to go. I just grabbed a few golf-ball sized rocks and made the hour journey from the city to falls along a jungle road/trail. The falls were nice but less than impressive. I stayed long enough to snap a few photos before heading back. And I made it there and back without incident.

After Juayua, I caught a bus to San Salvador. I spent a couple days in San Salvador. The city is nicer than people lead on, but not nice enough to spend more than a couple days. I did the usual things, walk around the center, markets, cathedrals. Seemingly every expat was a Peace Corp volunteer. I only met a few during my entire vacation before coming to San Salvador. I was in a hostel choke full of Peace Corp volunteers. They told me the beach was more fun than the city, so I cut out a day early for Playa El Tunco. El Salvador’s beaches aren’t much to look at but the surf is huge, great for surfers and for body surfers looking to get crushed by some big waves. I spent a few days there doing beach things before heading to Guatemala to meet up with my sister.

I didn’t do too much mention worthy in El Salvador, but I really like the country. It was the biggest positive surprise in Central America. The people are quite nice; the country is beautiful and better kept than some of its neighbors.

Rainy Days (May 24 – May 29)

2010-06-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

It had been raining on and off for the past couple weeks, but usually light showers or short bout of rain. Well, that all changed in much of Central America about the time I reached Leon. About a day after arriving, the torrential rains began. I don’t think I’ve ever been in such continuous heavy rains day after day. At one point, I wished I had a tube to go tubing down the street. It was almost bad enough that you could. Needless to say, I spent my days there just relaxing, going to a couple museums, and seeing the city. Leon is much like Granada in that it’s a colonial city of a similar size. Leon felt like a real city, not one created for tourists. One way you can tell the difference is the lack of older people, especially older men. I don’t know why but a lot of touristy places in Latin America are a magnet for geezers. I mean that in the American not British English sense.

Speaking of men, one thing I noticed in Nicaragua and so far the day I’ve been in El Salvador as I write this is that guys are interested in talking to you or rather foreign men, not just women. Almost always in all other Latin countries they ignore you or begrudge you, but here they approach you often and strike up conversation without any ulterior motive, usually monetary. In fact, I was only asked for money a time or two the five days I was in Leon. And Nicaragua, in general, for being the second poorest country in the western hemisphere had fewer people asking me for handouts than most other richer countries in Latin America. It was surprisingly refreshing, about as refreshing as the food was unrefreshing or unhealthy for that matter.

Going back to Managua a few days prior, on the night I arrived, I walked across the street to grab a bite to eat, some guy changed his course of walking upon seeing me so I tried to walk a bit faster to avoid him. He struck up a conversation, to each question I responded with a curt reply. Usually, that expedites their goal of asking you for money, but in this case it didn’t. He came across with a pleasant friendly demeanor, but I could tell looking in his eyes that the guy was hard up. He spoke incredible English; he supposedly lived in the states for 11 years and got sent packing because the US wouldn’t let him renew his visa. His hard luck story didn’t completely add up to me. There was something he wasn’t telling about his past. But he was likeable and knowledgeable, telling me all sorts of stuff about Nicaragua that normal people would never know. I could tell he wanted help but was reluctant to ask. I don’t give away money ever, so I gave him the remaining half of my dish, partly out of kindness and partly because the food wasn’t exactly terrific. But he was very sincere, thankful, and seemingly a nice person. It was the first time in I don’t know how long that I enjoyed my interaction with a needy person and gave something to somebody who asked or was about to ask for help. Usually, they just approach you with a hand out or ask you for money directly only to curse you as you say no and walk on, which just reinforces my aversion for dealing with said individuals and decreases the likelihood that I will help the next beggar to come along.

At any rate, back to rain, so I spent most of my time indoors, talking with other travelers and watching a couple NBA Playoff games, which I miss dearly. I just found out after writing this entry that a tropical storm came through, Agatha she’s called. Saturday morning, I was up at the crack of dawn to make a long day’s journey from Nicaragua across southern Honduras to El Salvador. I left at 7 am, crossed two borders, rode on seven different buses/pick-ups and arrived in Perquin, the former FMLN guerrilla stronghold, just after 7 pm the same day. Tired and with a sore rear, I ate dinner, watched a movie on my laptop and headed to bed.

Bugging in Nicaragua (early May – May 24)

2010-05-25T16:02:00.000-07:00

I will resume my travelogue with Granada, arguably the centerpiece of tourism in Nicaragua. It’s a small colonial city located on Lake Nicaragua. Much of the town is freshly painted and well maintained. I believe, in part, for the sake of tourism. The town, like many in Central America, is flanked by a volcano. I spent my three days in Granada just relaxing, walking around town, etc. You’ll notice I have been doing fewer crazy activities and more relaxing. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m in Central America (which has fewer thrilling activities), my general travel-weariness, or the big three-oh. Probably all of the above.

In Granada, I stayed in a hostel called Bearded Monkey, and ironically I got scabies from the Bearded Monkey. Haha, really funny. Actually, I am serious. I got up one day and itched like crazy up and down the side of my body I slept on, especially areas with greater contact with the “mattress,” like my hip knee, and upper arm/shoulder. At first I figured it was just a bad case of bed bug bites. After a day, I could tell it wasn’t just bed bugs. See… being a traveler through poor countries, you become an expert on things like bed bug bites, mosquito bites, sand fly bites, and now scabies as well. The typical bed bug bite is much like a mosquito bite in the way it looks and feels. You can tell it’s not a mosquito bite because you get them in straight lines or clusters, even when you have much skin exposed. So when I got extremely itchy, small red bumps all over, I knew it was a treat of a different sort. Once I figured out what it was, I got a bar of jabon escabacido, with permethrin. That was my best friend for a few days. The amount of time I would spend in the shower with that thing could make any rubber ducky jealous. So after a few days the symptoms started disappearing. Even though I washed my clothes, I still would get a few select bites here or there, under clothed areas. Things that make you go hmmm. I think I may be over it now. I got all my clothes (except for those I’m wearing) thoroughly washed and dried, and I will hopefully have my last permethrin shower tonight.

That came after I found out I had ringworm on my lower stomach. Didn’t think my roll situation was that progressed. Maybe a case of hot, humid weather as well.

To top it all off, eating a meal about a week after getting scabied, the next day I realized I wasn’t feeling very well. I spent the first day on the Little Corn Island lying in pain on the beautiful, white sandy beaches. The silver lining is that the atmosphere was perfectly relaxing and therapeutic for my health situation. After not eating and puking out both ends for a day, and then a day of bread and water, I treated myself when I got to Managua to a greasy, but clean, double quarter pounder meal, with cheese of course. It was T-riffic.

Anyways, going back. After Granada, I hopped over to Ometepe Island for four days. I stayed in three different spots, in a village, beach, and farm. I got views of the island from a bunch of different perspectives. The island was pleasant but not fantastic. The lake is pretty dirty and the beaches are okay for being on a lake, but all in all compared to what it was made out to be, I was a bit let down. The nicest thing about the figure eight shaped island is the two volcanoes on each side of the figure eight. You can climb the volcanoes as well, but the reports I had heard from many was that the trails are incredibly muddy and half of the volcanoes are in a cloud and you can’t see anything. So I decided against the slippery ascent. I did do a small hike to see some petro glyphs and lived nearby a bunch of howler monkeys. At first I thought somebody was slaughtering pigs, but came to learn it was just the monkeys. Ometepe is where I did my descabicizing, before my long journey to the Corn Islands. So, I took an evening boat on Monday the 16th to San Carlos across the rest of Lake Nicaragua, the trip which took 11.5 hours, immediately following by a cramped motorized boat ride down the Rio San Juan to San Juan del Norte, which lasted 11 hours. It was a beautiful ride down the jungle river. I spotted a crocodile on the way down basking in the sun.

I spent 14 long hours in what was of the worst places I’ve been to; long enough to get food poisoning from the one meal I ate. What made it so bad? Well… San Juan lacked the destitute of Goma, the seediness of Formosa, the nose hair curling stench of the Manaus waterfront, and the profundity of less than fully intact people of name your favorite Cambodian city. I guess it was the complete and utter lack of anything resembling something interesting for good or bad that made this place so bad. Absolutely no way to occupy your time or mind. The fourteen hours didn’t come soon enough. I hopped on a speedboat the next morning for Bluefields. It was a very fast and bumpy ride, but only three hours. I had heard horror stories about Bluefields, but I found it to be surprisingly pleasant. Anyway, I was only there long enough to eat, buy and ticket and hop on a local boat to a nearby bluff to catch the four hour ferry to the Corn Islands. I started to feel a bit wheezy at times but didn’t have the full effects of the illness until the morning after I arrived on the island.

I took a cab the next morning around Big Corn Island and decided to do what everybody recommends, go to Little Corn. So I did. I spent three days and two nights there. The first one lying on the beach in terrible pain, the second walked around the island in a weakened but stable state, and the third, I swam 200 meters out to sea with harpoon in hand for defense and offense I guess as well. I tried to harpoon a fish, but I don’t think I ever really got close to getting one. The reef was pretty huge and I saw some big fish, including a massive grouper. No sharks or barracudas to speak of. I came across a shipwreck I didn’t know was there. Probably a former Colombian drug boat, haha.

I had heard that occasionally mysterious boats will pull up in the middle of the night to make special deliveries. The entry points into Central America are pretty obvious and it seems that everybody knows about them. I find it shocking that on my three hour boat ride from San Juan to Bluefields, I was checked three times for drugs: at the docks when leaving, getting stopped by the “coast guard” in transit, and going through controls at the Bluff in Bluefields. Every time they take everybody’s name and make sure nobody has drugs. Okay, how often are coc boats pulling up to get checked? The efforts to stop trafficking are a check the box sort of thing. Gotta write down everybody’s name to show they’re doing their part to fight trafficking so they can collect their financial aid from other countries and organizations, all the while letting the drugs come through and collecting money from the traffickers with the other hand. That’s my theory anyways.

Corn Islands were peaceful and tranquil, but there wasn’t much to do but relax. Electricity is a luxury there. It comes on every day at noon and stays on until the early morning. About a quarter of the people on the island at any given time are white, so prices are high. Everything is overpriced because they know that people will still pay. To be fair, it is a nice island. Tired from the travel and not wanting to embark on two boat and one bus ride to Managua, I decided to fly.

I stayed in Managua for about 20 hours, long enough to have a rest and see the city center or lack thereof. The city is just sprawling suburbs. The city center was destroyed during a quake in 1972, and they haven’t rebuilt it because of the high likelihood that it could happen again. I thought it was interesting walking around empty lots and open areas interspersed with a few new buildings. I also hike to the top of a little hill in the city that provided nice views over the city and lake. On the top stands a gigantic silhouette of Sandino and on display are some tanks gifted by Mussolini. After stopping at Micky D’s, I headed for the bus station and on to Leon.

Travel Break (March 10th – early May)

2010-05-17T14:00:00.001-07:00

I have grown a bit travel weary from over six month of continuous travelling, so I decided to take a break and relax for the most part. Consequently, I cancelled the two weeks excursion I was planning to Venezuela. Instead, I just relaxed, hung out, ate, went swimming, watched movies, and other things you do in normal life.

Before heading back to Vegas for the wedding of my little brother, Danny, I spent a week in Bogota and two in Medellin just relaxing doing nothing particularly interesting or noteworthy.
I left Colombia on April Fool’s Day, met up with some friends in Panama City for a day before continuing to Costa Rica. On my way to San Jose, I stopped to climb Cerro Chirripo, the highest mountain in Costa Rica, 3,800 meters or so, a mere molehill in comparison to the Andes. The hike took two days and a night. I was taking it easy, I could have done it in a day but I was in no hurry. I spent the next couple days relaxing and recuperating in San Jose before my April 8th flight to Vegas.

The water pressure and temperature was enough to make me glad to be back for a few days. Oh yeah, it was really great to see everybody or at least many people again. All my immediate family was there, and some relatives and friends, too. It was a lot of fun to catch up and spent some time with everybody. I still can’t believe my baby brother is now married, although at 24 he’s not much of a baby anymore. His now in-laws were gracious enough to have my family over for dinner on a number of occasions while we were there. They were incredibly kind and hospitable. I don’t suspect my brother will have a monster-in-law problem. Oh yeah, the food, it was out of this world. Great food plus incredibly bored palate equals near explosion in mouth. I think I gained a few pounds being in the states for five days. A few days later, I was back on a plane for Central America.

I spent the first few weeks just hanging out, meeting up with old friends, taking it easy before the 4 or 5 months of travel remaining before showing up at Central Station in LA.

The Jungle (Beginning of March – March 10)

2010-05-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

After 4 days on transport I arrived in the manic jungle town of Iquitos. Iquitos is an interesting place. The city was packed with little moto-taxis, half motorbike - half carriage sort of things. It felt really different than the rest of Peru, and it was. I immediately arranged for a 3-day jungle trip on the day I arrived leaving the next day. So back on transport to the jungle lodge. The taxi-boat combo took a few hours. I was excited to arrive.

My guide, Daniel, is a really nice guy but a very incompetent guide. At times, I think I knew more about the jungle than he did. The lodge was located on a milk-chocolaty calm small river just off the Ucayali River, a bit upstream from the beginning of the Amazon River, at the confluence of the Ucayali and Maranon. When you think of what the remote Amazon jungle would be like, simply put this place was it. It made it exciting to know the waters you would go up and down in the canoe were infested with alligators, electric eels, piranhas, anacondas, among other delightful things. There weren’t any lamprey; however, you could only find them in the Ucayali, not here. About a half an hour after arriving, a huge tarantula decided to come down from the ceiling in the dining room and visit. He was basically a resident of the lodge.

The first night I decided to go camping. An English guy and I went with my guide and a local boy to a remote laguna and hour away in the canoe. On the way we spotted a rare huapo monkey. Talk about isolated in intense jungle. Just what I wanted. I really wanted to spot an electric eel but the water was too dark. Further up the river, dark-chocolaty would best describe the water, possibly the darkest I have seen. So after arriving at our “campsite,” Daniel and the local kid, who did everything, fixed dinner and set up our tents. The real drawback of the jungle was the overabundance of mosquitoes. My jungle juice, 100% DEET spray, wasn’t always totally effective.

With dusk come the mosquitoes in droves, so to our cocoon-like hammocks we went until the darkness had set in. Once it was dark enough, we hopped back in the canoe in search of alligators. Because it was the wet season, there were many more places for the alligators to hide. So at the end of the day, we only saw one, it was a baby, which the local boy grabbed out of the water with his hand. It was exciting being out there in the middle of the night. The jungle was truly alive, you could hear so much, but see so little. After cruising around for a while, we returned to our hammocks. It was a long, hot, sleepless night with little in the way of fresh air.

The next morning we went on a jungle walk. The local boy took us through the jungle machete in hand. He showed us a bunch of interesting things. Little did I know that the best insect repellant is termites. We stuck our hands on a termite nest, let them crawl all over your arm and then rub the bugs into your skin. It worked like a charm. He also showed us a tree from which you can drink pure clean water. All you gotta do is cut off a branch, tilt your head back, and pour. There was also a tree that would produce large seeds with white nuts inside, but when the nuts are young the white seeds are larvae… edible larvae. They said the larvae have got a smooth milky texture and flavor. I took their word for it.

As we were heading back to our campsite, we encountered a snake coiled up in a small open area. It looked big, 2 meters, but it was only a baby I came to learn. This was my first encounter with a sizable snake so I was a bit excited, being the snake enthusiast that I am. When I asked the guide what kind of snake it was, he deftly deferred to the local boy who said it was a shushumi. At the time it meant nothing to me so I asked the boy if I could poke it with a stick. So he instead went and grabbed one, about 10 feet in length and started poking it in its side. To nobody’s surprise, the snake didn’t find pleasure in being poked and showed us its displeasure by standing about 1.5 feet off the ground and brandishing its fangs. Unfortunately I didn’t get a picture of it in action. I was busy preparing myself in case the flight mode was to become necessary. After what seemed like a few minutes, probably 15 seconds, the snake lowered its head and proceeded to slither off into the brush. We, too, proceeded to return to our camp, where we broke camp, got in the canoe and headed back to the lodge.

At the lodge I asked another guide, who spoke English what kind of snake we had seen. He paused for a minute before replying buushmasta. That got me even more excited. The bushmaster, which is highly venomous and grows up to five meters, is a shy snake that is usually in hiding. The guide, who was in his late thirties, said he had seen five jaguars and seven bushmasters in his life living in the jungle. That gives you an idea of its rarity. That by itself made the trip worthwhile.

Later that day, we went down the river to a village, we walked around a bit, just a typical jungle village, bunch of houses on stilts. The real reason we came was because I wanted to see a sloth and there was one the hung around the village, quite literally. So we tracked it down. It was about 15 feet up a tree. So our guide began to shake the tree to get it down. I asked if the sloth would get hurt if it fell, to which he replied it wouldn’t. So after a few minutes of futility, he and the local boy apologized for not being able to shake it down. So I asked if I could give it a go. The tree was about 25 feet high and a flexible sort of like bamboo. So I began to shake a little then vigorously back and forth. The tree looked like it was in a hurricane, and the sloth limb by limb lost its grasp on the tree until… thud. It fell. We played around with the sloth for a few minutes before putting him back in the tree.

During the remaining 24 hours of the trip I saw a baby anaconda and some other monkeys etc. On the third day I headed back for Iquitos. It would have been nice to stay longer but the mosquitoes made me happy to return to civilization.

I spent 5 days in Iquitos, the last two unintentional because I kept missing the morning speed boat to Leticia, Colombia, which would depart daily at 6 am. I made triply sure I didn’t miss it on the 9th, because I had a flight on the 10th back to Bogota.

Journey to the Jungle (2/16 – end of February???)

2010-05-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

On the way to the jungle in Peru, I spent some time in a few cities doing research for a potential business opportunity. So after getting held up in the Barranquilla bus station over night (because all buses leaving on the last day of Carnaval were full), I took an 18 hour bus ride to Honda, another six to Cali, and then another three (excluding waiting times) until arriving in Buenaventura where I would spend a whole day. To make a long story short I spent a whole day searching and trying to find out how to ship stuff out of Colombia. It started with talking to a truck driver in a truck behind my bus who was transporting foodstuffs to Buenaventura, while traffic was stopped for construction. I stopped by about five or six places before the day was over. I thought I understood the process but as I found out later it is simpler than I had initially understood. One day in the sultry, unattractive city of Buenaventura was more than enough.

The next leg of my trip took me from Buenaventura to Cali to Pasto to Ipiales, across the border and over the river and through the woods, before catching a bus to Otovalo, famous for its Saturday markets, and it just so happened to be Saturday when I was there. So I made a stop in Otovalo, leaving my stuff at hotel while I walked around (which turned out to be an ill-fated decision). I spent the day walking around the market. Most people go to buy stuff, but I like to try the food. So that’s what I did while browsing. I did pick up some light, white pants for my trip to the jungle, but nothing else.

After also visiting a nearby crater lake, I grabbed my bags from the hotel I was staying and hopped on a bus for Quito to stay just for a night before going to Guayaquil to meet the father of a guy I met at a government agency in Buenaventura. Going through my stuff in Quito, I noticed all my cords, battery chargers, memory cards, etc was all missing. I retraced my stepped and am pretty sure that it was taking from my bag at the hotel in Otovalo while I was sightseeing. So… that explains why my blog abruptly stopped. I didn’t get a cord replacement until April. So moving along, the guy in Buenaventura told me his father, Miguel, would help me figure out what I need to ship from Ecuador, as another option. So I arrive Sunday night in Guayaquil, another hot coastal city. I had been here five years ago, so I did the only thing there is to do in Guayaquil, walk along the Malecon 2000, a large and surprisingly nice boardwalk along the muddy coast in downtown Guayaquil. It’s interesting because there’s a large narrow bay that almost looks like a river. It packed with lily pads of some sort. So when the tide is going out, it looks like a river flowing and the water moves fairly quickly, I’d say faster than most rivers, and faster than the Amazon.

So the next day I contacted Miguel by phone and met with him a few hours later. He seemed okay at first but as the minutes went by I could tell he had an agenda and wasn’t there just to help me. He ultimately wanted to be my agent and be involved with procuring and shipping stuff if I decided to do so. There’s nothing wrong with that except for he didn’t seem to really listen to me and didn’t come across as completely honest. I tend or always am cautious with Latinos, especially Latin men regarding matters of money. Because as I have learned from my experience, if you are white the perception is that you are rich and stupid. I guess there is some truth to every stereotype or it wouldn’t exist, right? But with me, this is untrue on both counts. Many, especially the poorer population think that every American is a millionaire a few times over. While I wish it were true, it is pretty crazy. At any rate, so they think you are rich and stupid. And having been in Latin America for about a year of my life I have learned another thing as well, that Latin men are about as honest as they are faithful… not at all.

So taking all this into account I approached this guy with caution. I found out from a local customs agent that it cost $5,000 to ship to California from Guayaquil. Not only did the guy do a poor job getting information about certain products for me, insisting I use a contact of his who was out of town and couldn’t give me pricing until his return from a funeral or something and not looking for other suppliers, the guy during my last meeting with him told me he got pricing for shipping to California. When I asked how much, he replied $6,000. I quickly responded mentioned the price I was quotes to which he even more quickly responded that it cost $4,900 and some odd dollars. I don’t know what I was more shocked by, his dishonesty or his stupidity. Needless to say, a few minutes later we parted ways and that’s the last I hope to ever see him.

So I took a night bus to visit a factory in Quito and get an ID number which would enable me to ship products.

One day later I was on a 50 hour sleepless trip from Quito to the Peruvian border and then to Chiclayo and Yurimaguas, whereupon I immediately hopped on a boat for Iquitos on what would soon turn into the Amazon River. The two-day boat ride was relaxing and cheap. I believe it cost $7 a day, which included three repulsive “meals.” The views were nice but I only saw a couple dolphins and no other animals the whole way.

Carnaval (2/11 – 2/17)

2010-05-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

Two weeks prior, I left the Caribbean coast with the intention of heading south, making a couple stops on my way to the Amazon in Northeastern Peru. However, while in Medellin I found out that Carnaval is a huge event in Barranquilla, a UNESCO Heritage event and second largest Carnaval celebration in the world, after none other than Rio of course. So I my compass turned from due south to due north.

We have all heard stories of Carnaval and the crazy goings-on. My general skepticism about some of the stories made me even more curious and interested to see what Carnaval actually is like. Secondly, I wanted to see how Carnaval in Barranquilla would measure up to what I had heard about Brazil’s celebrations.

On the 11th, I headed for El Dorado, Bogota’s international airport, to catch the flight I had booked to Barranquilla. So I step up to the counter to check in, handing over my passport. The lady behind the check-in counter pounds away at the keyboard for a minute and tells me she can’t find my reservation. Surely she had misspelled my name or made some kind of mistake. Surely enough that was not the case. Apparently my credit card did not allow the transaction to go through when I attempted to purchase the ticket online and my reservation was cancelled. The ticket now being twice as much as at the time of attempted purchase, I resign to asking how to get to the bus terminal. Seventeen hours after embarking the bus, I alight at 4 am.

After taking a rest for a few hours, I go down to leave when I run into Kenneth, a farmer from Wisconsin. We got to chatting and ended up hanging out together during pretty much the entire Carnaval. In Rio, Carnaval lasts one week, Recife ten days, and Barranquilla… a whopping four days. Carnaval officially kicked off on the 13th, but in the evenings leading up to Carnaval, there were concerts and events.

The first evening, Thursday, was pretty dead. We tried to find a concert but came across nothing. We caught a cab back to our hotel, on the way the cabdriver mentioned there was an open-air concert at 7 corners, an unusual intersection with you guessed it, seven corners. There were a few reggaeton groups that performed. The groups were legitimate; I even recognized some of the songs.

The next day, we walked around the downtown area, through hordes of street vendors hawking everything possible. I picked up a watch for 4 bucks. Its $10 predecessor lasted only 3 months before giving up the ghost. I bought a bunch of fruit drinks, sugar cane juice, and street food galore. After relaxing from the stifling heat for a few hours, we headed out to Plaza de la Paz where there was a huge night before concert event. The plaza was teeming with thousands of people. The energy was pretty good but still not what you’d expect from Carnaval.

The following few days were very alike. We’d head over to a parade in the early afternoon, about 1 pm, stay for a few hours before returning to the hotel and taking a cold shower and relaxing before leaving at 7 or 8 pm for dinner and then whatever venue had an event that evening. The parades differed a bit from day to day. The first day had the most popular and biggest parade with a bunch of Latin pop stars, etc. It was called the Batalla de Flores. The following two days, the 14th and 15th, the parades were called The Great Parada of Tradition and Folklore and the Great Parade of Fantasy. The last two parades were similar, lots of crazy, colorful costumes.

Carnaval is notorious for pick-pockets. I had some teenage kid who was with his girlfriend and a bunch of friends try to pick my pocket. We were standing in a somewhat uncrowded area Friday night when all of a sudden a group surrounded us a started pushing. I figured something was up. So the guy starts to put his hand in my pocket, which I was all but waiting for. So I move my arm to bump his, which he quickly retracts giving me a look like I was trying to knock away his arm as if it were around his girlfriend. My pocket has a couple papers but nothing of value in it. So he begins to try again and I just look down in a very obvious manner and that was it. A few minutes later the group all left. Some old man tried to pick Ken’s pocket as well on a later day. Funny thing was I met so many people who lost cameras and money from their pockets.

At any rate, it was a lot of fun; I saw a lot interesting things and met a lot of people, locals and foreigners.

Bogota (2/6 – 2/10)

2010-05-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

As a result of travel-weariness, the number of photos I took and things I did in Bogota are few. Luckily there’s not that much to do or see in Bogota anyways. The highlight of my four day stay was and afternoon at the Plaza de Toros to watch bullfighting. Prior to watching the bullfight, all I knew about bullfighting was that the matador kills the bull. The end is the most exciting and most gory, but the rest can be entertaining as well. First the toreadors toy with the bull for about 5 minutes. Then a guy on a protected horse comes out with a long spear. He taunts the bull until it charges whereupon he proceeds to stab the bull in its upper back digging the spear about four to six inches into the bulls back. After that, he trots off and the toreadors come back without their flags and attempt to get the bull to charge and poke a couple of poles with hooks superficially in the bulls back two at a time. After about six to eight poles, the matador comes out and gets the bull to charge and run into the flag multiple times. He’s clearly more skilled that the toreadors with the flag. After toying with the tired and bleeding bull for 10 minutes, he goes to the side of the arena to draw a sharp sword with which he proceeds to drive deep into the bull back and if successful into its heart. After that they watch the bull until it falls to its feet nearly dead. Then somebody on the side drives a dagger into its spine thus severing the spinal cord and the bull is finished. An afternoon of bullfighting, which only takes place once a week for six weeks in January and February, consists of six different bullfights. It was definitely a memorable afternoon, at times exciting, boring, and at the end of every fight… gruesome.

Other than that I hit up a couple museums, took a cable car to a cathedral overlooking the city, walked around, applied for a visa extension beyond the 30 days, and that’s about it. I tried watching the Super Bowl, but being in Spanish and without the usual commercials, it felt like a different game. So I only watched half of it. Due to my tiredness, I’m gonna leave it at that.

...and were back

2010-05-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

I had my electronic accessories nabbed back in February, so I haven't been able to update my blog since then. Fortunately, I got replacements not too long ago. So I'm gonna to post the entries I had written before my cords were stolen and try to sum up the past few months, hence some of the entries may be relatively brief.

Medellin (1/26 – 2/4)

2010-02-07T10:51:00.001-08:00

The little colonial city of Mompos gave me time to catch up on things undone and sleep after a lot of late nights with my friends. I did a lot of walking around relaxing along the river with fruit juices. After two full days there, I was very ready to leave. The low-lying sweltering jungle city was well off the beaten path. After a couple bus rides I arrived in Medellin a 3:30 am.

I decided to stay at the bus station for a couple hours so as to not have to pay for a night’s stay anywhere. After sitting around for a half an hour, a guy approached me and began to make conversation. After realizing that he didn’t want anything from me I opened up and we talked for a good hour or so. Alonso, a soon to be military sergeant, offered to show me around the city that day. So after heading to a hostel a 5 am, he agreed to meet me at my hostel at 10 am. I met a couple others that morning that joined us. So we went to Cerro Nutibara, took the cable car above the city, walked around the city center and late in the afternoon ended up watching a free movie, 12 Angry Men, in the cupola of the Palace of Culture. Tired from a long day, I feel asleep and drooled a bit on myself during part of the movie.

Friday I did much of the same during the day, walked around the city center and saw some more sights. I went out that night with some guys from my hostel to Zona Rosa, the nightlife zone. For reputedly having the most attractive women in Colombia, I was a bit disappointed with what I saw that night. It was strange that I’d see the best looking girls on the subway and supermarkets. I guess all the good ones are accounted for and don’t go out. One girl I saw at the supermarket was a 10, which I’ve only seen a few of in my life, and she was with some lame-looking fellow. I guess his parents were probably pretty rich. People in Colombia are very nice in general. I really like it here. Nonetheless, a lot of people here are no less materialistic than Los Angeles, especially in some of the larger cities. At any rate, it became a running joke with some of the guys I was hanging out with that in the evenings we’d travel down a few metro lines, then stop by the Exito supermarket before heading to Carrefour and so on.

On Saturday I made a day trip out of the city to El Penol and Guatape. El Penol is some gigantic monolith, about 700 feet high in the middle of this large lake with dozens of island and peninsulas. The views were stunning. What are the odds that this huge random rock ends up in the middle of a gorgeous lake? After climbing up the stairs to the top of the rock and spending time soaking up the view I headed down and for Guatape, a nearby pueblo. The pueblo had a nice boardwalk with all sorts of foods and snacks I hadn’t tried before. So I ate a de facto dinner trying a half dozen different foodstuffs off the street after riding down the zip line over the lake. In the early evening I headed back for Medellin.

The next day, Manuel, an employee at Palm Tree Hostel agreed to take a handful of people to see Pablo Escobar’s grave. You would expect to see some sort of huge shrine but there was nothing but a simple headstone with the rest of his family. Although very simple, it was interesting to see.

Monday, I went to go paragliding. After sitting there all day long at the top of the mountain hoping for the wind to die down, we eventually got our gear on to go. Just as we did the wind picked back up and that was all she wrote. I was a bit disappointed because you can’t go paragliding in many places for $40. Oh well.

After a fun 5 days in Medellin, I caught an early bus to Salento via Pereira. Salento is a laid back village in the Coffee Zone, also famous for the Valley of Cocora. I spent three nights in Salento, and went to bed every night pretty early because the pueblo would shut down early. On Wednesday, I went on a tour of a coffee plantation. Not knowing anything about coffee, it was interesting to learn a bit about the types of coffee, how it’s grown and why Colombian coffee is famous. The answer to the latter is that the coffee beans throughout Colombia are picked when yellow or red and soaked so that all the sugar on the beans is absorbed by the water. Nowhere else in the world is that a standard practice.

On Thursday I went to Valle de Cocora, a small valley full of wax palms, palm trees standing at times over 100 feet tall. I haven’t really seen them anywhere else in South America but they are plentiful in this small region of Colombia. I went for a 5 hour day hike during which I stopped at a hummingbird house so to speak, where some lady grew many plants and had birdhouses the hummingbirds would come to. I saw a hummingbird with the largest beak in the world, 4 inches and others with long colorful tails. They were quite beautiful. I got back from the hike in the late afternoon and relaxed and got a good night’s rest before my bus on Friday to Bogota.

Guests from the Homeland (1/16 – 1/25)

2010-01-29T13:56:00.000-08:00

With Saturday night, not only came the end of another week but also friends from LA. Vahan and Molly spent most of their American vacation time by coming to the Colombian coast. Neither FARC nor drug lords could keep them from visiting. Lol. At 10 pm, I met them at the airport. Immigration wouldn’t let them pass without specifically naming the hotel they would be staying at so Molly had to find me outside and bring me back in to give them the name. Never before did I have to specifically name the hotel where I would be staying, maybe they just looked suspicious to the immigration officer. At any rate, a few minutes later we were in a taxi headed for Hostal La Casona. I had looked at a few including Hostal Media Luna but decided La Casona was the place. The rest of the night we spent just sitting around the hostel talking. Tired from the day’s journey we went to bed not too long after midnight.

On the 17th, I thought it would be best to stay in the city and see the sights and walk the streets of the Old Town. It was fun playing tour guide, introducing them to new foods, fruits, candy, and crema chica. After a long, hot day in the city and dining out at a reasonably nice restaurant in the early evening, we headed back to the hostel to watch what else but Romancing the Stone. After getting to know the city pretty well, I couldn’t seem to match the scenes in the movie with actual locations in the city. It was probably mostly filmed in a Hollywood studio anyways.

The next day we were up early and on a boat tour which would end in Playa Blanca, where we would stay the night. Lucky for us that we didn’t stay at Media Luna Hostal because this morning nine guys with guns came into the hostel, robbed everyone in rooms A through N on the first floor and took all the money from the hostal safe, about $10k. The staff was tied up. Last I heard the police caught two of the robbers. At any rate, the boat tour took us through National Park Islas del Rosario to an aquarium where we opted to go swimming instead of see the reputedly less than impressive sights the Aquarium had to offer. After a 50 minute stop, the incredibly large and slow boat left for Playa Blanca. We were the last of many boats to arrive, coincidentally the largest of all the boats. So its patrons got to spend the most time on the boat and the least amount of time on the islands. Note to anyone going on the same boat tour, take a small boat. Nonetheless, the boat ride was interesting in part because I got to take part in the festivities as has become the norm. I was chosen to represent Team Tiburones (Sharks) in some contest that was put on. On each of the two teams there were about 100 people. So I got to run up and down the aisle collecting different items from my fellow team members and eventually compete against the other team captain in a dance off of sorts. I won the crowd vote by a long shot but some guy who was asked to judge who looked like he just came from cleaning toilets declared the other guy the winner. I felt like the runner up to Milli Vanilli in the 1990 Grammy’s… cheated. Oh well, after 30 minutes of nautical fame, I returned to being just another guest on the boat. Vahan and Molly got photos and footage of me performing that will hopefully never get out or get posted on Facebook (subtle hint). Arriving at Playa Blanca in the late afternoon, we had to wait for what seemed like forever for the catamaran to slowly unload the boat. So hot and sweaty, Vahan and I dove off the boat and swam to shore where we waited for Molly who was so kind to carry all our stuff. After grabbing lunch we walked down the shore looking for a place to sleep. We were called off the beach by a guy who was offering us to sleep in a hammock for 5,000 pesos or $2.70. So we dropped our belongings at what would be our home that night. The rest of the day, we walked along the beach, went swimming, took showers (dumped buckets of water on each other’s heads), ate and relaxed.

The next day we did much of the same before hoping on an early afternoon boat back to Cartagena. Upon arriving we made a couple stops for more fruit drinks and some crema chica before hopping on a local bus headed for the bus station and continuing to Santa Marta. We eventually arrived in Santa Marta at 11:30 pm and were dropped off for some reason on an almost empty road, where we hailed a taxi for the laid back fishing village of Taganga. Arriving at midnight, almost all the hostels were full. Finally we were guided to a place that was strangely empty. The room was nice but the location and the grounds were terrible at best.

The next morning we got up and headed out to check out other hostels in the city. As we were leaving the guy working there said he’d be going to Santa Marta, which is just a few kilometers away. Thinking nothing of it, we said okay and left. We came across a couple and eventually decided to stay at Bayview. We went back many times throughout the day but the guy at the hostel never returned. We even walked to Playa Grande, ate lunch, lounged around every street. So we were locked out of our hostel with all our stuff inside. The fences on the outside had razor wire on the top, so trying to climb the fence was out of the question. We happened to notice a long stretch of the chicken wire fence without any posts, so Vahan and I pulled the fence out so that Molly could slide underneath. I felt like a kid sneaking into a neighbor’s yard to fetch a ball we had thrown over. It had been over six hours when we decided to get back in in such a manner. We rounded up our stuff and left out the front door. We had a bbq that night at Bayview to celebrate my birthday eve. We ended up leaving the hostel at 1 going around to what would turn out to be a pretty dead night in the town. We walked to a few different bars/hostels/clubs, not sure what exactly to call them, before calling it a night.

The next day was my birthday. I spent a lot of time on the internet, posting some stuff to my blog, calling a few family members even though almost nobody was around, swimming in the pool, lounging around the city, restaurants, beach, etc. It was a lazy and relaxing day, the way birthdays should be. So I began my 30’s. I feel young but am beginning to look less so. People I meet still guess that I’m 25 or 26 usually, so that’s a good sign.

The next morning we were up early to catch a boat to Tayrona National Park. The swells were enormous to say the least. It felt like I was in the middle of the Pacific or something when I was in the southern Caribbean. It made for an entertaining ride at the very least. At one point, I looked up and one of the boat workers was frantically pulling off the lifejacket of the girl in front of me. It looked like maybe she dislocated her arm or something from the bumpy ride. I decided to help out and while helping pull her life jacket off I saw what the real problem was. As it turned out there was an enormous centipede that was hiding in her lifejacket that decided it wanted to come out. It was at least 8 inches long and an inch wide. The driver told me that the bite was very painful. After 1 ½ hours on the rough waters, we arrived at Tayrona. The beaches were very beautiful, jungle-lined with large round boulders. After pitching my tent and Vahan and Molly renting one for themselves, we headed for the beach. We spent the afternoon swimming, sleeping, and laying on the beach. In the evening we played cards for a few hours before going to sleep.

On the 23rd, we decided to do a bit of exploring, we walked up the beach to the beach called the Piscina and then Arrecifes. The campground at Arrecifes was nicer but our beach took the cake, hands down. Having not eaten breakfast, we stopped at a sign that said bakery and walked inland to some casa/restaurant. They had a stone oven with freshly baked bread with dulce de leche inside. It smelled good and I was hungry so I bought one. It was fabulous, far and away the best bread I’ve had since coming to Latin America and even long before that. So after putting down another we walked the rest of the way back to our campsite at San Juan. I grabbed my snorkeling gear and we headed back to our beach. A couple hours later we packed up and headed back to Taganga and shortly thereafter to Santa Marta.

In Santa Marta, we went to a hotel my guidebook said was cheap. It was that and the quality matched the price. Unfortunate for Molly, our toilet lacked a seat and we even had problems with it flushing once in the two nights we stayed there. They had heard from a Colombian friend in the States about the Chiva bus. I had heard they were fun too and common in Santa Marta. The receptionist at our hotel called around and found one leaving from a location across the street from a military battalion. Those were the directions she gave. So after cleaning up, we headed for the Chiva bus. We got dropped off in front of this military facility and get directions to the place, which we came to later find out is a hotel for military personnel. Everyone on the bus was probably wondering what in the world three gringos were doing there, but it didn’t stop the fun just made it more so. The Chiva bus, endemic to Colombia, is a party bus that drives around the city with loud music and people dancing inside. This one happened to stop at a few tourist locations since most of the people were from out of town. After almost two hours of driving around we make a final stop at about 9:30 pm at Beer’s Bar. After hanging out and talking for twenty minutes, they asked for people to come to the front from every table. Vahan and Molly didn’t want to go, so I did. It turned out to be another dancing competition. After 10 minutes of embarrassing myself, I was declared winner by the number of decibels from the crowd. From there, we returned to the hotel where the trip began.

The next day was our last travelling together. We strolled along the beach in Bahia and Rodadero before returning to our hotel, eating, and playing a few hours of cards. The city was quiet so we spent most of the night in.

On the morning of the 25th, we were up early because Vahan and Molly had a long way to go to catch their flight back to LA. Up at 7:30, we stopped by Juan Valdez coffee shop which was closed and the bank before going to the bus station. I made a gametime decision at the bus station and decide to stop in Mompos before heading on to Medellin. We all caught our respective buses at 9 am, Vahan and Molly to Cartagena and me to Bisconia, where I would catch another to Mompos. After saying good-bye, I was off. It took about 7 hours to get there, but arrived after a hot a sweaty ride much along a bumpy dirt road in an unairconditioned van. After walking around for a couple hours, I concluded that I was the only gringo in town. Well, I have plenty of writing to do for my blog so I shouldn’t be so bad.

Pics:

1) On the Chiva Rumbera in Santa Marta

2) On a large boulder on Playa Arrecifes, Tayrona National Park

3) Tayrona National Park

4) "On a Boat," Poseidon look at us

5) Playa Grande, Taganga

6) Castillo de San Felipe, Cartagena

Back to Cartagena (1/12 – 1/15)

2010-01-29T13:54:00.000-08:00

This segment of the trip consisted of a whole lot of travel and a whole lot of nothing interesting. Back in October I bought a plane ticket on the 12th to Quito and another to Cartagena on the 14th. A night bus on the 11th took me back to Lima, where I waited four hours to fly to Guayaquil where I waited another four hours to fly to Quito. Tired from the travels, I spent the night in Quito at Hostel Vamara, the same place I stayed in October when in Quito. The next morning I took a bus to the bus station whereupon I took a bus to Tulcan, then a bus to the border, from the border to Ipiales, and finally from Ipiales a night bus arriving in Cali at 5 am… and I had just enough time to take a bus to the airport and catch my 8:00 am flight to Cartagena with a brief stop in Bogota. Having left Huaraz on the 11th after a 7-day hike, I was basically in transit until I arrived in Cartagena at 12 pm on the 14th. What a fun journey!

The next couple days I spent looking for a nice hostel, wandering around the Old Town sampling local fruit and foods, and figuring out my plans for the next week and a half that I would spend on the Caribbean coast with Vahan and Molly, friends from LA.

Cordillera Huayhuash (1/5 – 1/11)

2010-01-21T07:04:00.000-08:00

Pics:

1) Final day of trek at Llamac

2) Edgar's sleeping bag

3) Laguna Jahuacocha

4) Donkey Driver

5) Breakfast w/ local kids

6) Hiking to Huayllapa

7) Day 4 Pass (Cuyac on right)

8) Day 4 hiking

9) Siula Grande and Yerupaja

10) Huayhuash Day 3

11) Laguna Carhuacocha

12) Day 2 hiking

13) Starting out in Pocpa

Day 1:
After squaring away all the details of the trip the day before, we were up at the crack of dawn to catch the 6 am bus to the cordillera. According to our guide (Edgar from company Andes X-Plorer), the 7-day trek would take us around most of the cordillera and cross through the middle of the cordillera midway through the trip via the Trapecio Pass for the best views of the trip of the mountains, including the face of Grande Siula (the mountain in the movie Touching the Void). I was really excited as I had heard the trek was among the best in the world.

For most of the 4.5 hour bus ride, the road was bumpy and windy so I wasn’t able to get any sleep before arriving. We began the trek in a small village named Pocpa. Upon arriving, the four of us (Kylee, Maya, Tabi, and I) and Edgar pulled our stuff out of the bus and waited for the donkey driver (Glisario) to arrive with the donkeys. After about 15 minutes, Glisario rolls up with two horses and a donkey to carry all our belongings, food, etc. After dividing our belongings into portions the animals could carry, we headed out for Mitococha on what would turn out to be the shortest day of hiking on the trip, 4 hours. The first 2.5 hours, the weather was very pleasant, in fact almost idyllic. We saw a few condors early on, which one of the girls was dying to see. I was hoping that the rainy season was going to give us a pass for the seven days we would be hiking. Because the weather was nice when we arrived, I packed my poncho on the mule.

However, after 2.5 hours it began to rain and got very cold. At about that time, Edgar asks me if we can pay for one of the horses, because as he claims they are more expensive to rent in winter than the other times of year. I reiterated that he said the amount we were to pay were to cover as many horses/donkeys that would be necessary. Irritated, I tell the girls and tell him we’ll talk more about it later in the day. He never brought it up again. The girls were walking slowly and I was beginning to get cold, so I went ahead of the group just to stay warm. I arrived to our campsite after 4 hours, after which I stood there and waited twenty minutes for the rest of the group to arrive. Tabi got a bad headache along the way, so the rest of the group had to stop. We ascended from 3000m to 4200m today. After hearing she was sick, I was afraid that she could muck up our entire trek. I could only hope that that did not turn out to be the case. In the rain, we put up our tents and tried to stay dry. My jacket, shorts, and sweater were wet and with the exception of my jacket were slow to dry. Dinner came later in the evening, soup and rice with a little beef. The first and last day we’d get meat with our dinner.

Day 2:
We awake early, just before 7 am to pack up our stuff and get on the road. I am first to pack up my stuff among the group, which became a recurrent theme every morning. So I helped a couple of the other girls pack up their tent. Breakfast is spartan, two small pieces of bread with butter and jam and hot chocolate. Not enough food, which also became a recurrent theme. At 8 am, we headed left on what would turn out to be a long day of hiking. We had two pass to cross and a fair amount of ground to cover. The first pass was steeper taking us up to 4800m; the second was much more gradual with the same altitude. Nobody had any effects from the altitude today. I had more hope that we’d be able to complete the trek. Again, the weather was nice until about 2 pm, when we crossed the second summit and first laid our eyes on the jagged snowcapped peaks that the range is famous for, including the Siula Grande and Yerupaja, the second highest peak in Peru. They were covered in a lot of clouds initially but were nonetheless impressive. We stopped and took a bunch of photos.

As we began to descend from the second pass, it began to hail. At first the hail was not big deal especially because I had my poncho today, but the hail eventually began to get everybody and the ground wet. So consequently, I got a bit wet but nothing like yesterday. All day long, Edgar had been bagging on the girls saying that they couldn’t make it etc. I laughed it off because I had my own doubts, but he persisted and began to get annoying. By the evening time, he came to our tent and said that there was no way the girls could make it through the pass because they weren’t strong enough and there was likely to be more snow than he originally thought he claimed. He demanded that we tell him today whether we wanted to go on an abbreviated 7-day trek or extend the trek to 8 days and go around the mountains. I was pissed that we could no longer go on the original route and even more so because he was demanding we tell him today what we wanted to do when he, for no logical reason, needed to an immediate response. The conversation got a bit heated and I even told him he was a terrible guide.

At Laguna Carhuacocha, where we stopped, I ran into another guide who mentioned Edgar was a very bad guide and that among other things he always changed the plans he agreed upon with his clients. This was even before I mentioned he was trying to do the same with us. Lunch today was the same as breakfast, bread and jam. Dinner was soup and spaghetti, not enough calories at all. Luckily I bought snacks that kept my caloric intake at a reasonable level.

Day 3:
We were determined to get an earlier start today, but with the three girls it, needless to say, didn’t happen. We left just after 8 am after the same hearty breakfast we had yesterday. Miguel, a solo trekker from Argentina, joined us today. For logistical reasons, he wasn’t able to go with his guide/donkey driver. Today is known to be the most beautiful day of the usual trek around the range, but our plan is to go through the mountains which are nicer. We came across a number of different colored lakes with the majestic, jagged Huayhuash Mountains in the background. It was quite a sight. Today we had more problems with our guide. Yesterday, he made such a big deal about us staying together as a group. Today he himself would walk way ahead of the group especially the girls and leave us to cross some wet areas on our own. I, again, gave him a piece of my mind. Today we just had one pass at about 4900m. It’s the steepest of the trek supposedly. After coming down from the pass, we came across this strange landscape with firm, green, round, knobby little mounds with water between them. I don’t know how else to describe it. I felt like I was in a Super Mario Brothers video game jumping from mound to mound. I taped some footage of me sprinting across the top of them and then slipping and falling near the end of the footage, luckily I didn’t get wet. Anyways, we arrived in Huayhuash, the camping spot for the third night, at 2:30 pm after a 6.5 hour day of hiking.

Later that evening, Edgar came to the girls tent, not surprisingly not mine, asking them to lend him money. Apparently, he didn’t bring enough money to pay the donkey driver for the entire trip. He only paid for the first three days at the beginning of the trip. Glisario, whose dad, has worked with many guides told him that Edgar often pays part of the trip, later saying he’ll promise to pay the rest to never actually doing so. So the Glisario told him he would turn back unless he paid the rest of the trip in full. That is why he came to us. So this created a whole other ordeal with this damned guide of ours. After a bit of a headache sorting everything out, I assured Glisario that I would pay him at the end of the trek if Edgar did not. Once I assured him of that, he let Edgar know that it was okay to pay him at the end. Lunch was the usual two pieces of bread and dinner was a bit tasteless as well, rice and tuna. I had the girls talk to him about the less than substantial nature of our meals, as I’m sure if I had done it fireworks would have been set off. I really hate our guide. The size of our dinner and breakfast the next morning were larger than usual although the quality did not improve. After that, meal sizes returned to normal.

Day 4:
One of the girls somehow developed a fever, so she rode on a horse with Glisario the long way around to the camp that night. Edgar last night determined, all of a sudden, that the snowy Trapecio Pass had no snow. It seemed a bit curious but I was excited and so the three of us and Edgar left for the pass. I was really looking forward to see the Huayhuash mountain range from the inside, to see the face of Siula Grande, etc. After three hours of hiking we reached the pass at about 5200 meters. It was the highest altitude we would reach on the trek. The view from the pass was amazing but strangely I wasn’t able to see the jagged snowcapped mountains that I expected to see. I would have thought I would be able to see them from the pass, but I brushed it off thinking that we would see them soon. We descended upon a number of colorful lakes punctuated with interesting mountains in the background, good for photos. It was a really nice hike.

At some point during the last hour of the hike, it dawned upon me that without a doubt this was not the way through the pass he had originally advertised in the office. I confronted him and asked him why we didn’t go the other way. He replied that we couldn’t because we had donkeys with us. So he lied from the beginning, we could have never gone the other way. All the stories about the girls not being able to make it, too snowy of a pass, etc. was all a bunch of malarkey in an attempt to cover his massive lie. We could have never gone on the trip he sold us. I was furious when this all came together in my head. After an exchange of a few heated words, I started machinating how to get back at him. I had been told he always does similar things to other tourists and a number of times had screwed donkey drivers out of money. The Boondock Saint in me had had enough.

We got to camp just as it began to rain. Day 3 and Day 4 were the best weather days of the trip by far. We ended up camping in a green valley below Mount Cayuc. I sat in my tent, had a subpar meal, and studied Spanish until dusk.

Day 5:
One of the girls in the group continued to feel sick so Edgar took her back to civilization and the rest of the group continued on with the Glisario. The morning of Day 5 would be the last bit of nice weather we would have. The early afternoon brought overcast drizzling conditions that didn’t go away. The hike today was long, about 8 hours. For some reason I thought the days were going to get shorter but that didn’t turn out to be the case. We hiked to the pueblo Huayllapa, stopped for lunch, and continued on another 2 1/2 hours. The tents were soaked but luckily because I packed my sleeping bag in my backpack it remained dry. Now that Edgar was gone, the rest of the trip would be pleasant except for the weather.

Day 6:
From what the Glisario said, it would be another long day with two passes. We camped on a little island between two rivers, so it was hard to hear much. As I was eating breakfast, these two little local kids who lived in the hills were walking to their aunt’s house and decided to stop at our camp. They walked up and stood by us for a few minutes. I assumed they wanted some food, so I offered them some. They politely took the food and ate with us. Talking to the kids we learned that they would walk every day during the week to school in Huayllapa. It took us 2 ½ hours to walk from Huayllapa to our camp spot, gaining about 800 meters in elevation. Pretty nuts. They left and we began packing our stuff. As I was getting my stuff together, shrouded in the misty drizzle approached a somewhat small man. He stopped next to the tent of Glisario. They exchanged some words but didn’t say much. I noticed the guy giving me longs looks. He seemed suspicious from the moment he arrived. After standing there in silence for ten minutes, he walked off. We finished packing our stuff, so the girls and I got a head start while Glisario packed the donkeys.

After about 1 ½ hours of walking we stopped at a trail intersection to wait for Glisario. He arrived shortly after we did. We continued hiking through the clouds. After about another half hour of walking, Glisario says to me, “you remember the place where we just stopped?”
I replied in the affirmative.
He continued, “About five years ago there were two people murdered there by four bandits. One was a foreign guy and the other a Peruvian girl, a daughter of a military colonel.”
“No way! Did they catch the bandits?”
“Yes they did. One of the bandits was the guy who came to our camp this morning.”
My eyes opened wide and in partial disbelief, I asked, “Why are they out already?”
He didn’t know why but that they were released back into the pueblo, Huayllapa, where they were from.
We continued talking about the incident for some time. At this point, the girls were getting closer, so I figured I just had to tell them. I did and they were instantly freaked out. They asked me what the bandit and Glisario had talked about that morning. I didn’t know. So I went ahead and asked Glisario. He replied, “Nothing, he just asked me where we are going. I did not tell him anything.”

Shortly after the conversation, the rain began to drizzle and the trail became muddy. The uncomfortable blister-causing boots I rented did, however, do a good job keeping the water out. Glisario was having some problems leading the three animals so I became a makeshift donkey driver. I can honestly say I enjoyed the simplicity of guiding the donkey. For the last 5 – 6 hours of hiking I drove the donkey. The scenery was beautiful still but the looming clouds made it hard to see much of our surroundings. Finally, late in the rainy afternoon we arrived at Laguna Jahuacocha, a lake with a beautiful backdrop of the Cordillera Huayhuash. I spent a lot of time chatting with Glisario in his tent for a few hours before heading to bed.

Day 7:
We got an early start today in order to arrive in Llamac by 11 am to catch the bus back to Huaraz. After a few days of machination, I decided Edgar deserved a comeuppance. Early in the morning, I pulled out my Swiss Army knife and engraved the word “Mentiroso” (or liar) across the sleeping bag I was using. I usually don’t ever do anything like this, but Edgar being such a deplorable, dishonest person really deserved it. He would have to pay for the bag.

We left the campsite by 6:30 am. The trail for most of the day was very level until the last 1 ½ hours. We arrived at 11 am, but ended up having to wait until 12 noon to catch the bus back to Huaraz. My feet were so in pain from all the walking in those shoes. The trek was fantastic, but because of the rain I was glad that it was over.

Transition to the Real Latin America (12/29 – 1/4)

2010-01-12T10:44:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure if Argentina, Chile and Uruguay feel more like Europe or Latin America. Right now I don’t really care. All I know is that I am headed back to the land of $2 three-course meals, cheap taxis, and sellers walking the bus aisles at every stop.

I was up at the crack of dawn on the 29th trying to make it from Salta, Argentina to Arequipa, Peru by New Year’s Eve, making a stop along the way to catch up with a travel friend. I was a bit groggy after staying up the previous night watching Angels and Demons on my laptop until the early morning. The 9 hours bus ride got me to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile at about 4 pm. On the way, the bus picked up a Brazilian friend of mine who I met and hung out with in Mendoza. I knew we were headed in the same direction but it was sheer coincidence we ended up on the same bus. So I thought I’d stay a day in San Pedro and hang out before continuing on to Peru. I spent the late afternoon and evening looking for cheap food, planning the next day’s activities, and figuring out when I was to leave. San Pedro is the biggest rip-off tourist destination to my knowledge in South America. Located exactly in the middle of nowhere where land is probably given away for free you have to pay typically Chilean prices for accommodation, simple meals cost $10, and tours are overpriced.

Nearby is an impressive geyser field, Tatio Geysers, so I figured the eight hour tour was worth it. The tour also departed at 4 am so as to arrive at the geysers by sunrise when the geysers are most active. And so we did. The chilly, bumpy ride up to the geysers ended at about 6:30 am. The geysers were all steaming and I saw a few of them shoot water a good 10 - 12 feet in the air. Thanks to the geysers we had a warm breakfast which included, of course, boiled eggs among other things. We made a few stops on the way back at some less than notable sights, but the trip all in all was well worth it despite the early morning start.

The previous evening I learned over dinner that the next city I had to pass through on the way to Peru was home to the largest copper mine in the world and that the tours were free. It sounded pretty interesting and I was excited were it not for the fact that the tour left every day only at 2 pm. Because the geyser tour was to end at 12:30 and the ride to Calama was 1.5 hours, I didn’t think it would be possible especially considering it was unlikely that a bus would leave exactly when we were to return. As it worked out, the we arrived back from the tour at 11:45 am and I was excited to see a bus was leaving at 12 noon. So I bought a ticket, quickly returned to my hostel, grabbed my stuff, and got back just in time to catch the bus. I would now have an extra 30 minutes to make it to the tour. I was pretty content with the way things worked out. About 25 minutes out of the city the bus stopped in the middle of the desert. A few minutes later, one of the passengers who stepped off the bus hurried back on to grab his bag and jump in a vehicle that had stopped. At that point I knew something was really wrong. So I disembarked and saw the driver back working in the engine with a broken belt sitting on the roadside behind the bus. At that point I knew the mine tour was not meant to be. We waited for help to arrive. Passengers began hitchhiking, hopping in cars, truckbeds, 18-wheelers, you name it. However, the passengers who got on in San Pedro, of which there were only a few, had their stuff in a different compartment under the bus that the passengers who got on previously. Apparently somebody opened the other compartment before the bus engine was turned off because their compartment was opened. Strangely, you can’t open any of the cargo doors unless the engine is on. The driver needed some tool to restart the engine and open the cargo door but he did not have that tool. So on a bus of 50 people, there were 9 left after 2 ½ hours because we couldn’t get the door open and everybody else had hitchhiked. Finally, a truck stopped who had the right tool and within 15 minutes help arrived to take us to our destination. So now sunburnt, frustrated and tired I roll into Calama, a terribly boring city aside from the mine tour. A lot of the bus companies had sold all their tickets to where I needed to go except for one bus company and somehow I got the last ticket, so I was able to take a night bus to Arica, near the Peruvian border, but I had six hours to kill in Boredomville. After six hours of walking around looking at nothing, I got on the 10 pm bus to Arica.

Arriving at 6:30 am, I crossed the border to Tacna, where I got a bus arriving at 2 pm in Arequipa on New Year’s Eve. I made it!!!

After finding a hotel, setting up a two day trip to Colca Canyon leaving on the 1st, walking around the city center, and eating dinner; I spent a good two hours shaving, showering, brushing my teeth, cleaning my shoes, etc. It felt really nice just to relax. For less than what I’d typically pay for a dorm bed in Chile and Argentina, I got my own fairly large, clean room, over 100 channels, and a nice bathroom. Again, it’s nice to be back in Latin America. At about 10:30 pm I rolled back out on the town. I ended up at Plaza de Armas where there were a few street performers putting on shows. I was standing by one watching in a crowd of about 200 people, when one of the performers called out to me and began to ask me questions. The next thing I knew is that I was part of the show. I had to do a bit of dancing or making a fool of myself in front of the crowd but strangely it didn’t seem to bother me. In fact I kind of enjoyed it. Maybe Hollywood had rubbed off on me a bit. I even got the crowd to laugh quite a bit. Anyways, I was part of the show for about 20 minutes until it ended a quarter till midnight. At midnight, people were lighting fireworks and what have you. I spent the next few hours dancing in a club on the plaza before walking sleepy eyed back to my hotel and getting not more than three hours of sleep before my tour departed the next morning.

The tours left from Arequipa to a touristy village called Chivay. We made a few stops along the way, but nothing noteworthy. In Chivay, we went to a pena to watch a traditional dance of the region. Again, from a tourist crowd of about 30, I was one of four or five people to get pulled out of the crowd to participate in the dancing. Do I look like I know how to dance or what? I dunno. Anyways I was part of the Malaria dance. I got to act like I was eating a fruit, die and be brought back to life. Again my acting was entertaining enough to draw a good laugh from the crowd. Anyhow, once the show ended at 10 pm, I was back to my hotel and asleep in a flash for I had to get up at 5:30 the next morning to get to the Cruz de Condor by 8:30. We made a few touristy yet pleasant stops along the way at other villages. Cruz de Condor was packed with tourists. Supposedly the condors were to have mostly left for the ocean this time of year but we did get to see a few. We stayed at the condor lookout for 1 ½ hours. Just before leaving two condors started flying just over the crowd. People were yelling and screaming. Unfortunately my memory card had just filled up so I missed all the potentially good shots, but it was very cool to see them flying at such a close proximately. We hopped in the bus and made our way back to Arequipa stopping for lunch along the way.

Upon returning I needed to immediately get on a bus to Lima and immediately another bus to Huaraz to hopefully get on an eight-day trek through the Cordillera Huayhuash, per National Geographic the second best hike in the world behind Anaperna (sp?) in Nepal. So a fifteen hour night bus was followed by a three hour wait for a seven hour bus ride to Huaraz. Arriving at 9 am I was able to find a hostel and find out that almost no tourist were doing Huayhuash because it was the low season. I resigned to possibly not going before heading to bed. I was up early on the 4th to hit up the tour companies to see if any groups were going. The first agency said they had none and that going solo would cost $500, I was outta there in less than a second. I was then approached by a guy who said he had another traveler and we agreed to $180 for seven days. At the end of the day, the other guy bailed and I found three girls at my hostel that wanted to go, so we went to the guide renogotiated the price for $140 per person. The trek is usually done in 8 days. Now I’m doing it in 7 with three girls. 15 km a day of hiking with a number of passes at 4000 – 5400 meters… I hope I didn’t make a mistake in inviting the girls. Time will tell.

Pics:

1) Bus broken down in the middle of the Atacama Desert, the driest desert in the world

2) Local girl in Chivay, Peru

3) Cruz de Condores at Colca Canyon, Peru

4) Me with other tourists dressed up in local garb

5) Sipping on hot chocolate at Tatio Geysers, Chile

Quebradas (12/20 – 12/28)

2009-12-28T07:20:00.000-08:00

Many travelers who have traveled throughout Argentina have claimed that the very northwest area of Argentina to be their favorite destination. So I had to see what the chatter was about. After a brief 22 ½ hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Jujuy and 1 ½ hour ride to Tilcara I arrived at one of the villages in the Quebrada de Humahuaca. The mountains in the northwest are rich with minerals which give the landscape a full pallet of reds, oranges, purples, greens. The pueblos of the northwest are located in valleys scattered throughout the region. So I decided to make Tilcara my home base for a few days from which to explore the area. Arriving at 9 pm after a full day on buses, I crashed at a hacienda-style hostel, La Posada. The hostel had a somewhat large yard and a nice terrace area from where you could enjoy the view of the surrounding mountains. There were thunderstorms my first night there and into the next morning. Luckily after sitting inside for a few hours the following morning the sky began to clear a bit, so I grabbed my umbrella and headed out to the local fortress ruins on a prominent hill overlooking the valley. After a 1 km walk, I arrived at the hilltop ruins. The mostly reconstructed ruins and their scenic location made for a nice 1.5 hour visit, much of the time I spent enjoying the view of the valley. It had warmed up considerably since leaving my hostel, so with my sweatshirt and jacket tied around my waist I walked down to grab a drink. Some local kids looking to make a little money wanted to sing a local song, so I gave them a couple pesos. After they finished their song and me my drink, I headed up a side valley on a 5 km walk to a narrow canyon called the Devil’s Throat. I cautiously walked down into the ravine but didn’t walk the full loop in the ravine because the trail got very narrow with a steep cliff on one side. I got a ride back to the pueblo with a couple people from BA. The rest of the day I spent walking around the village taking in the tranquility and looking for food.

I hopped on a bus for Iruya at 8 am the next morning. The three hour ride took me to one of the most remote pueblos. Set at the confluence of two narrow valleys, the quaint pueblo had a very great laid-back feel. Even though there were travelers coming through it didn’t feel at all touristy like the other pueblos I visited. I strolled around the pueblo split by a river and hiked to a couple scenic viewpoints during my four hour visit. Even though I left most all my belongings in Tilcara, I nearly stayed the night in Iruya, but decided not to in the interest of time. I hopped on a bus back to Humahuaca as there were no buses going all the way back to Tilcara. When arriving in Humahuaca, I ran into the same people from BA that gave me a ride the day before. They offered me a ride back to Tilcara, so after walking around the town for an hour, we headed back to Tilcara stopping along the way at the Tropic of Capricorn. Tired, I arrived back in Tilcara late in the evening and packed up my stuff to be ready for the long day I had tomorrow.

The next morning, Christmas Eve, I grabbed my bags and hopped on the 7:45 bus for Purmamarca, the last village I would visit. Purmamarca is well known for its seven-colored mountainside. After arriving I immediately hopped on an excursion for Salinas Grande, some salt flats. Having been to Uyuni a few years back, it was hardly impressive but the ride over the mountains was nice. After 3 ½ hours I caught a bus to Salta, waited for 2 hours and then caught a bus to Cafayate arriving at 10:30 pm. Waiting for the bus, I began talking to a girl named Luz also going on the microbus to Cafayate. As it turned out, she was from Cafayate but studying in Salta. We talked during most of the ride to Cafayate. She ended up inviting me to her family’s Christmas Eve fiesta. I was hesitant as it could be a bit awkward showing up as some random guy she met on the bus but decided to go for the experience. I met up with her after she went to mass and we went to her grandma’s home. Almost all of her family and extended family were there. It was a little uncomfortable at first but they were mostly all very friendly. So I had dinner after midnight and stayed around talking and listening to loud music until 3 am, when I began to nod off. I thanked them for their hospitality and went back to my hostel.

I woke up Christmas morning with no tree and nothing from Santa. After collecting myself from the disappointment, I packed my day bag, put on a swimsuit and headed out for the waterfalls. I walked most of the 5 km to the trailhead before getting picked up by a few people also heading to the falls. We hired a local to be our guide to the falls, as others had recommended hiring a guide. The walk up to ravine to the large waterfall took about 2 ½ hours making a stop along the way to swim in a waterfall pool. With the guide we saw a couple of falls, one of them being very beautiful, that we wouldn’t have otherwise seen as they weren’t on the beaten path. The ravine was full of green grass and trees and saguaro cactuses. The combination was very unusual and very beautiful. I arrived back at my hostel late in the afternoon to find that money had been taken from my wallet that I forgot to take with me and left in the shorts I wore yesterday. Merry Christmas, huh?! I was convinced it was a girl staying in my room but other people had stuff turn up missing and I came to find out that the hostel, El Balcon, had a reputation for people missing stuff while staying there, so it well may have been one of the employees. At any rate, it was only the equivalent of $27, so not that big of a deal. The city was essentially shut down so an English couple was generous enough to share with me the food they had prepared. They had their meat taken, so we ate potatoes, salad, and bread.

The next day I met up with Luz and we went to the Quilmes ruins, 45 minutes out of town. The weather went to sunny and scorching hot to rainy by the time our 2 hour visit to the ruins was over. The ruins spanned a very large area, only a small part of which had been reconstructed. The ruins were nice but didn’t stand out in any way from other ruins I have seen, although the history was a bit different. We caught the last bus back to the city a 4 pm after hitching a ride in the back of a truck to the bus stop on the highway as we were getting soaked by the rain. She invited me again to her grandma’s house, but thinking it would be awkward I decided to just go back to my hostel and fix dinner and relax at the hostel with some other travelers I met that day.

The next morning of the 27th, I packed up my stuff and caught a midday bus to Salta, which is just a stopover while I wait for the infrequent bus to San Pedro de Atacama prior to going to Peru hopefully by New Year’s Eve. The Quebrada de Cafayate along the road back to Salta was incredible. The colors weren’t a diverse as the Quebrada de Humahuaca but the rock formations were much more impressive. I bought a ticket on the next available bus for Chile which is leaving early Tuesday morning, the 29th, which means I have to stay here in Salta a day and a half, during which I’m just going to relax, catch up on things undone, and do some city walking. I’ve spent about a month and a half in Argentina, many of my most memorable moments on this trip have been here, but it is time to move on and I am eager to head back north and excited to find out what the next chapter of my trip will bring.

Pics:

1) Funky building in Cafayate

2) 7 colored rock in Purmamarca, Argentina

3) Tropic of Capricorn in Northern Argentina

4) Iruya, Argentina

5) Pukara in Tilcara, Argentina

Regeneration (12/11 – 12/19)

2009-12-25T05:30:00.000-08:00

After living without basic conveniences, you gain a new appreciation for the simple things that lasts usually about a week. This was that week… and it felt great to be warm and comfortable again. After coming down off the mountain, I spent the next few days doing essentially nothing, eating, hanging out, relaxing and writing the previous blog entry, which took a while. I had to buy a larger backpack for my trip because my other backpack was too small. Getting a new backpack was something long overdue. My backpack that has traveled to as many countries as I have was ripping near the shoulder strap as well. It was tough to part ways with my travel companion, but it had to be done. Not wanting to throw it away, I ended up giving it to a Polish girl who thought she could use it as a day pack. After sorting through my stuff and tossing a few other things out I packed my stuff and left Mendoza for the beaches of Uruguay.

It took me about 24 hours to get from Mendoza to Montevideo. I spent a night there and no more because the pleasant but interest-less capital didn’t give me a good reason to stay. Moreover, the price of accommodation in Montevideo was a bit too high. Part of the reason I even stopped here was to pay a visit to the Brazilian embassy. My 5-year Brazilian visa which expires in the summer of 2010 so happens to be in my old passport in a box somewhere in Southern California. So I went to the embassy in hopes of them giving me a copy of the same visa or something equivalent. That didn’t happen, I needed to pay for and apply for a new visa. Not going to do it, so my plans to go to southern Brazil were cancelled.

I hoped but didn’t expect the cost of traveling in Uruguay to come down a bit at the beach cities but it did not. My next stop was in Punta del Este, a resort town/getaway for Portenos (people from Buenos Aires). Needless to say it was expensive and even though the beaches weren’t all that bad, I didn’t feel it was worth staying and deciding against continuing to travel up the Uruguayan coast. Besides the beaches were windswept and the city was pretty dead, which really surprised me given that it is summertime. So I decided to pass on staying on the Uruguayan coast and head back to Buenos Aires and figure out what I want to do before I fly back to Quito in early January.

I spent three days in BA, and after changing my plans a couple times after my visit to Brazil was cancelled, I have decided to head to the north of Argentina for the better part of a week before making my way to southern Peru.

Photos:

1) Punta del Este, Uruguay

2) Bike riding in Mendoza

3) Parting with my backpack.

Aconcagua (11/27 - 12/10)

2009-12-11T09:17:00.000-08:00

The 6,962 meter, non-technical ascent was a bit more challenging than expected. I came to learn from experience and word of mouth that the mountain is very windy and cold. Since the climbing season began, the weather has been rather bad, from 120 mph winds early on near the summit to continuous storms and subnormal temperatures. The success rate is generally about 20 – 25%, low primarily due to weather conditions, second due to health conditions related to the altitude. However, due to the bad weather so far this season, as of the day I finished my second attempt, only 4 mountaineers, at most, had reached the summit of the over 100 that made the attempt since November 15. Of those who made it, only 3 will live to tell about it. More details later.

I rented what I thought to be adequate clothes and gear in Mendoza, but the mountain quickly indicated otherwise. At some of the upper camps, the temperature in my tent got as low as 0 degrees Fahrenheit, not taking into consideration the 30 – 40 mph winds that I was treated to. My last night at Camp Berlin (the high camp at 5930 meters), I pitched my tent inside a shelter, wore 5 warm layers in my -30 degree C sleeping bag and was still chilled all night long. When I put on my double boots in the morning, which I kept in my tent, the boots were so cold that my toes went numb for a couple hours, even though I would try to warm them up. The cold was seemingly inescapable and was ultimately the reason I failed to even attempt to hike to the summit.

Can it snow in a tent? Yes, as the temperature drops the moisture freezes on the inside of the tent. With strong winds blowing the tent making the tent walls shake furiously causing the frost to fall from the tent ceiling and sides. After a number of days I began to dread the long cold nights. At many of the camps the sun would begin to set at 8 pm, meaning you’d have to be pretty quick to get in your tent, and not hit your tent until 9 am the next morning. Once the sun would hit your tent, the tent would warm up very quickly. But lying in bed for 13 hours a day, often sleeplessly, gets tiring after a while. At the higher camps you have to melt snow to drink water, defecate in a plastic bag. There is no showering and even at base camp the toilets are generally a porta-potty with nothing but a hole in the bottom. Most people sleep in the clothes that they wear during the day and seldom change their underwear. I didn’t.

A German guy I met who came for a third time to attempt to summit turned away after a couple days at base camp because the weather was far too cold. Descending from my first attempt to find warmer clothes, I’d see mountaineers bravely climb from camp to camp to inevitably be turned away because of the cold and difficult conditions. A lot of people made it to the high camps but few made a serious attempt for the summit. It has been an unseasonably bad year for climbing. Nonetheless, it was a great experience. I met a lot of interesting people, was afforded many breathtaking views (even though I didn’t summit), and again was reminded of the many comforts I often take for granted. Despite the difficulties, I plan to come back one day, hopefully with some people to give it another try.

Day 1 (11/28):
I leave Mendoza at 3:30 pm with my 65 pound backpack for Puente del Inca, a small town of 15 families a few miles from the entrance to Parque Nacional de Aconcagua. I arrive at 7 pm. On the bus, I meet a Swedish lady who bought two permits for up to 40 days on the mountain. She wants to camp above 6000 meters for ten days and then camp on the summit. At the time I thought it was a bit crazy, after my experience I’m convinced it is crazy. I stay in a dorm room at Hostel Nico. I meet an Argentinean that tells me about the windy conditions, up to 200 kph winds and that a few tents at base camp were blown over at Plaza de Mulas (base camp at 4300 meters), a Chinese guy with two guides and two porters tried to summit but couldn’t make it, and that a Thai American from Los Angeles was the highest on the mountain in Nido de Condores (Camp 2). Nido, as I came to find out, was even incredibly windy when I was there when the winds had calmed down quite a bit.

Day 2:
In the early morning, I look around for mule service to carry some of my stuff to base camp about 35 km away. They all want to charge me for the full mule price of around $150 for up to 60 kilos even though I don’t have much to put on the mule. I walk away from their exorbitant offers deciding to haul my 30 kilo/65 pound backpack about 32 km from an elevation of 2900 meters near the park entrance to 4300 meters at base camp. 4300 meters is about the same height as Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the continental US.

I catch the 11 am bus a few miles to the road leading to the park entrance. From the drop off point, I walk 10 km, 3.5 hours today to Confluencia (3400 meters). By the end of the first day of hiking, 2 clips on my bag are broken and the strap over my right arm is beginning to fray from tightening and loosening the strap. I am worried my backpack will not make it. Day 2 was pleasant and sunny most of the day until just before my arrival at camp. Waiting to get a medical exam testing blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and breathing, I run into Pierre (a Danish guy coming for the second year in a row to attempt the mountain. We met at a shop in Mendoza when I was looking for gear. We talked at length and I grilled him on everything I could think of related to the hike.) Pierre promises he’ll buy me dinner at base camp if I make it carrying all my stuff. I met the rest of his expedition team of 12, including Urs, a 50-something year old Swiss guy, living in San Francisco. Over time on the mountain we become hiking friends so to speak. My test results are excellent. My oxygen saturation levels are higher than anyone else I meet on the trip even including some of the people living at the camps.

Day 3:
Plaza de Mulas is about 22 km from Confluencia. Because I’m lugging a heavy pack, I stop halfway at ex-Refugio Ibanez, a 4 hour 14 km walk. The weather today was terrible, completely overcast, high winds, small hailstones. The walk is mostly flat along a river. Closer to Ibanez the trail gets very rocky just as I’m getting tired. I am not supposed to camp anywhere before Plaza de Mulas per the park guards. I’m too tired to make it all the way so I stop anyways. I am the only person camped in Ibanez tonight. The isolation feels exciting. Because I heard the weather has been bad, I begin rationing the 11 days of food I have to last longer. Tonight I ate salami for dinner.

Day 4:
Today is sunny but windy, a complete change from the previous day. I walk the final 8 km mostly along the river before a steep set of switchbacks to reach Plaza de Mulas, base camp. The walk takes 3.5 hours. I am exhausted from carrying my pack for three straight days. Over 95% of people hire a mule to carry their stuff to base camp. Upon arrival, I run into Urs, apparently Pierre had high blood pressure, 220, back in Confluencia and was forced to leave the expedition. Last year he almost made it to the summit. The group is down to 11. It’s too bad he had to turn back so soon. Also, no dinner for me. Exhausted, I set up my tent. I get short of breath and feel a bit weak. Glad I have a few days break to acclimatize. There are no public bathrooms at base camp. Because I did not hire mule service, I am completely independent. One company tries to charge me $10 per day to crap in a hole, a cheap porta-potty. I have almost no cash on me. The workers there tell me to go ahead and use it even though I can’t pay. I meet Vicky, cook at MDQ and Mauricio, independent porter. I fetch my water to drink and cook from a small pond of melted snow.

Day 5:
I stay in my tent almost all day recuperating from the past few days. Also, it’s recommended that we stay here for a few days to acclimatize. I welcome the rest. I make a stop at the doctor’s tent to get my vitals checked. I’m doing very well. I learn from the park guard that nobody has made it to the summit yet and that there are two people at Berlin (the high camp), one is the Thai American. Later in the evening I stop by the expedition of 12, an expedition member had an edema and was evacuated. They’re down to 10. The guide is nice enough to offer me dinner, beef and potatoes. The best meal I’ve had on the hike. I have trouble breathing in my tent. I'm not sure why. I panic a bit making things worse. The trouble goes away after a couple hours.

Day 6: Another rest day at Plaza de Mulas. I don’t do much, just lay in my tent, hang out at the MDQ tent with Vicky and Mauricio, and prepare for the coming days. My tent is tiny. I can't sit up straight in it. I get slight headaches occasionally from always having my neck bent. Today, the expedition goes to the medical office after making a day trip to Plaza Canada. One guy has high blood pressure and another a pulmonary edema. They are evacuated, the group is down to 8.

Day 7:
After 70 hours of rest at base camp, I pack up my tent and most of my belongings. I am bored of base camp and eager to move on. I leave a bag of unneeded stuff with Vicky. At 11:30 am I leave base camp for Plaza Canada, Camp 1. Today and yesterday are beautiful days, sunny with calm winds, I wish that my days higher up on the mountain are the same. The hike is up the gravelly base of the mountain. I take it slow hoping to experience no altitude symptoms. I pass the expedition who was leaving for Canada as well. The expedition is at 7, one guy who has persistent bad trembles from the altitude decides to leave the expedition. I arrive at 2:15 pm. It’s not too windy at Canada and is relatively pleasant. From the camp, there is a great view of the glacier mountain to the north. I set up my tent and go inside to get warm. From here on out, I’ve got to crap in a bag and melt snow for cooking and drinking water. I made sure to fill up my two bottles and spend more than ample time squatting over the hole in the ground at base camp. The sunset is beautiful but I spend little time out watching it due to the cold. The night is a bit colder than at base camp, but there was almost no wind. Could it last?

Day 8:
From 8 pm till 9:15 am the next morning, I stay in my sleeping bag. The sun hits my tent at 9:15 am. The tent warms quickly; I get up as usual with the sun and make my usual breakfast: water, powdered milk, Nesquik, and muesli. I drink less water than recommended so as to not have to melt as much snow. I want to preserve my propane. The winds are still calm. By 11 am, my bag is packed and I am ready for Camp 2, Nido de Condores. I leave at 11, as I approach the Cambio de Pendiente (Change of Slope) the winds pick up dramatically. I become a bit chilled as my clothes don’t keep out all the wind and I’m a little sweaty. Up to the Change of Slope the trail is pretty steep but afterwards and the rest of the hike to Nido, the trail is much more gradual. I walk faster for awhile with the gentler slope. I get tired and need oxygen breaks frequently after pushing it a bit too hard. I arrive at about 1:30 pm. Nido is exposed to different wind currents as it on a lower part of the northern ridge of the mountain. I alone have to set up my tent as there is nobody around I know. Usually I set up my own stuff because it’s not a problem but with the winds I must be careful that no part of my tent goes flying away. With enough rocks I am able the put my Doite Himalaya 2 tent up. My hands are completely numb and look like they are 10 years older than they were previously. After I finish the expedition shows up. I help a couple of them put up their tent before I retreat to mine. Sitting in my tent, I hear vomiting. One of the expedition members is having a tough time with the altitude. He will not continue higher, the expedition is down to 6, half its original size. With all my five or six layers, I lay in my sleeping bag all night shivering as the frigid temperatures and strong gusts of wind pound on my tent. I hope my tent does not break. I decide to return to base camp and call off the expedition because I’m not prepared for the cold. If it’s this cold here, there is no way I could survive a summit attempt.

Day 9:
The strong winds continue into the morning. I eat some chocolate and cookies and pack my bag quickly in a disorderly manner wanting to get off the mountain. It’s much colder this morning than when I was last out of my tent. I take down my tent as fast as possible, my hands numb and the winds strong, I do a poor job of packing my tent. Half of the tent doesn’t fit in the bag, but I tie it tight enough to my backpack so that it all makes it down. I leave quickly. Once I get off the ridge and move down the mountain the winds calm considerably and I am again comfortable. I pass many people who I tell I am turning back because of the cold and my lack of adequately warm clothes. When I make my second approach, I see many of them calling off the expedition and some I don’t see at all. None of them summitted. I get back to base camp in 1.5 hours. I sit distraught in the MDQ tent. I can’t believe it wasn’t able to summit, an outcome I didn’t consider possible. I didn’t even make it to the high camp. A man enters the tent, saying a few people descended but planned on going back up after the storm in a few days. I decide I’d do the same, but I still need more clothes. I ask around to a number of expeditions, Campo Base, Inka, and others. I have no cash, so I offer to give them a coat, headlamp, balaclava, etc just to use a down coat for 4 days. They say no. I talk to Mauricio and some of the independent porters. Mauricio, Jose, and Michalis lend me for no cost a thick fleece, a polar layer, and a down jacket, respectively. Vicky lends me a thick, comfortable mat to sleep on. I thank them gratuitously and plan my second attempt. I have my best sleep since the beginning of my expedition.

Day 10:
I remain at base camp, resting and waiting for the weather to improve.

Day 11:
The sky clears a bit. I decide to head back up the mountain. I leave a larger bag of unneeded stuff with the independent porters. I decide to skip Camp 1 and go directly to Camp 2. I pass Camp 1 after just two hours. I come across the expedition of 6 coming down the mountain. They made it to one of the high camps, Colera. The weather was so cold they didn’t attempt a summit. The expedition is over for the remaining 6, 0 of the 12 summitted. Another lady I passed when I was coming down the first time said she got no sleep at Nido, the other two guys she was with were continuing to the high camp but she was turning back. She says it was -15 Celsius in her tent last night, not considering the wind. As I am talking to her, I see three park guards helping a man down the mountain. Two are on each side of him and the third behind them holding a rope tied around the man as he could barely walk down the mountain. I’m not sure what happened. I decide to stay at the much warmer Plaza Canada and make the long trip to Camp Berlin, Camp 3, the high camp, tomorrow.

Day 12:
The night in Plaza Canada was windier and colder than the first time I slept there. I get up a bit earlier and am on my way at 10:30 am bound for Camp Berlin. I arrive at Nido de Condores at 12:45 pm, faster than the first time. Freezing outside, I eat a Milky Way and a granola bar for lunch, and within ten minutes am up walking toward Camp Berlin. I am tired at Nido, the long trip and the weather and living conditions are begin to wear on me. To have a chance at the summit I must arrive at Berlin today. Upon arrival I see only one tent at the camp.

Three Mexicans are all in one tent, hoping to summit. I talk to them a while. They inform me that the Thai American is dead on the summit. He stayed at Nido de Condores inside the small park police office for a week eating their food etc. The park police was getting irritated by him because they didn’t expect him to hang around so long. He then left for Berlin, stayed a few days, left his sleeping bag there and took a very small backpack with him to the partially destroyed Refugio Independencia at 6370 meters. He had an expensive Everest snow suit with him. He was at Independencia for a couple days before going to the summit. He took no food or water with him. He left his bag at Independencia, only taking his crampons. A day or two later, a Spanish climber with a guide found him dead on the summit. The park police told me he got there unprepared and died from a heart attack or lack of oxygen or something. I don’t believe them. Based on the facts it seems to me that he was on a suicide mission and wanted to go out with a bang, to be the first Thai and first person this season to make it to the top. His behavior leading up to his summitting seemed to indicate his adamant desire to reach the top with little regard for anything else. I believe he wanted to die on the summit. As of now, his body remains on the summit.

I go to the small refugio and see two Argentines inside. They, a seemingly strong American, and the Mexicans made an attempt at the summit that morning. The Mexicans and American turned around after 20 minutes, whereas the argentines continued until Refugio Independencia whereupon one of them had fingers and toes that were very cold. They see the Thai man’s bag and take pictures. As it turns out one of the argentines got frostbite after going only ¼ to 1/3 of the way to the summit. They returned to Berlin after arriving at Independencia. The American left sometime during the day when the others were in their tent. One argentine leaves and heads back to base camp. The frostbitten argentine stays another night in the Refugio because he is too weak and in too much pain to head back to base camp. I pitch my tent inside the Refugio. That night I wore five layers, including the three warm layers from the porters. I am still chilled and can’t sleep despite sleeping with five warm layers in a -30 degree sleeping bag in a tent inside a small building that kept out all the wind.

Day 13:
The morning comes and it feels freezing. I hear the Mexicans talking outside. Yesterday, we discussed leaving for the summit at 7:30, 1.5 hours later than they had attempted yesterday morning. I felt the weather was no better than the previous day plus it looked like there were clouds from inside the Refugio. I got out of the Refugio at 9 am. The Mexicans left for the summit. The sun was shining although it was windy. The frostbitten argentine says it’s a nicer day than yesterday. I am upset at myself for at least not talking to the Mexicans when I heard them to find out how the weather was and what they’re plan was. I pace around the camp for three hours looking at the mountain trying to see if I can see them on the Traverse or beginning of the Canaleta. I see a small black dot moving across the beginning of the Canaleta. They are within 1.5 hours of the summit. I could kick myself right now.

I see a couple men just below at my camp a couple small, broken Refugio building. I walk down to talk to them. They are park police; I ask them about the Thai man. One of them is collecting his sleeping bag he left in Berlin, the other continues on to Independencia to collect his backpack. One the police says that tomorrow the weather should be worse, windier. I could kick myself twice.

Pacing around the camp trying to decide whether to stay another night. Two of the Mexicans come into sight and return to camp. They say they all got to the Las Cuevas, the caves, where the Canaleta begins. One got tired so the second guy returned with him while the third continued on. Nobody else is at the camp so if I want to try to summit, I will have to go to the other high camp Colera where there are more people and hope the park police is wrong about the weather. I am worn out and decide against doing so. I pack up my stuff. As I am about to leave I see a small speck coming down the Canaleta. I believe it is the third Mexican. Given the amount of time he was higher. I think he made it to the top. I could kick myself again.

I turn a go down to base camp. I am disappointed and frustrated with the way things ended up, but relieved that I will be back in civilization soon. I arrive at base camp at about 4 pm. I eat with Vicky and Mauricio and return the clothes I borrowed. Because for a couple days they have no clients there, they invite me to sleep inside the deposito where clients usually sleep. It was my most comfortable night of sleep, although some of the water in my bottle still froze.

Day 14:
I get up with the sun at 9:15 am. The sky is completely clear and it seems to be a beautiful day. I curse to myself at the park police. I go to my tent and pack all my stuff and throw out a few unneeded things. At 10:00 am, I go to the MDQ tent, have hot chocolate and cookies with Vicky and Mauricio. At 10:45 am, I say goodbye, check out of base camp and head for Confluencia. I get to Confluencia after only 4.5 hours, so I decide to continue on to try to make the last bus for Mendoza, leaving Puente del Inca at 7 pm. I arrive at the park entrance at 5:15 pm for my final checkout. I begin to walk toward the highway, reach the highway and begin to walk toward Puente del Inca. A car stops and a guy yells in English with an American accent, “Where are you headed?” I smile to myself and yell back “Puente del Inca”. I hop in for the 4 km ride back to the town. As it turns out Teddy and Simon, from New York, are headed to Mendoza. I ask if they can take me back to the hostel in Mendoza, they agree. I feel so exhausted, but glad to be going back to civilization. We stop in Uspallata at a gas station. I buy a 1.5 liter bottle of Coca Cola. I drink it quickly as we chatted all the way back to Mendoza.

Pics:

1) Mineral filled waters of stream in Horcones Valley on Day 14

2) Mauricio, Vicky, and I in MDQ tent on Day 14

3) My tent at base camp on Day 14

4) View of final summit hike (far left is Berlin Camp and far right is the peak), if fast 6 hrs up, 1000 mtr ascent (view from between Camp 1 and Camp 2) on Day 13

5) View north of Andes from Camp Berlin, think the tall mtn on right is Ojos del Salado, second highest peak in South America on Day 13

6) View of summit from Camp Berlin on Day 13

7) Small old Refugio at Camp Berlin (not where I slept, but where Thai American left his sleeping bag) on Day 12

8) Me inside my small tent on Day 10

9) Sunset at Nido de Condores on Day 8

10) Nido de Condores (my tent on the right) on Day 8

11) Me at Camp Canada on Day 7

12) View of Aconcagua from base camp, only over 2600 meters to summit (peak on the left) on Day 5

13) Plaza de Mulas (base camp), my tent on right, MDQ yellow tent on far left on Day 5

14) View of upper Horcones Valley from top of steep switchbacks just before base camp on Day 4

15) My tent at ex-Refugio Ibanez on Day 3

16) Mule's head at ex-Refugio Ibanez on Day 3

17) Camp at Confluencia on Day 2

18) My number, 177th person to enter the national park this season since 11/15. My garbage bag I have to carry.

19) Me walking toward Aconcagua in the background on Day 2

20) Me at Laguna Horcones near park entrance on Day 2

R&R (11/16 – 11/26)

2009-11-26T12:08:00.000-08:00

A day after returning to Puerto Natales from Torres del Paine, the four of us continued our travels in a much more laid back environment. For four nights and three days I returned to babydom. All I did was eat, drink, sleep, and look out the window. We took a semi-cruise ship from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt. Meals were hearty and the berths a bit cramped but comfortable. I haven’t eaten so well in as long as I can remember. We smoothly navigated a large passageway through southern Chile into the Gulf of Penas where we encountered a bit of rough water. The boat, not weighed down with any cargo, rocked like a rocking chair. The ride was fun for a bit. Eventually I admittedly got a bit seasick but managed to keep my food down. The rough waters only lasted for about 12 hours until we reached smoother waters. After a night of bingo and dancing to less-than-good music, we arrived at Puerto Montt at 7 am on the 20th. At this point the four of us split up heading in different directions.

I straightaway got on the next bus bound for Santiago, which meant warm weather. Patagonia was fabulous, but I was more than eager to wear shorts and a t-shirt again. I spent three nights in Santiago, mainly just relaxing, roaming around the city center, hiking to a couple small miradors in the city, Cerro Santa Lucia and Cerro San Cristobal. Santiago was a pleasant city, nothing really stood out for better or worse. Tuesday I hopped on a bus for Mendoza. The ride cut straight through the majestic and barren Andes. I really felt pretty small amidst the gigantic peaks. I caught only a glimpse of Aconcagua on the way. It seemed to beckon me. Lol. The area we passed through was a main filming location for much of the movie “Seven Years in Tibet.” The next two days, including today, I spent running around the city gathering information, hiking gear, a permit, groceries, etc. for my attempt at the 22,841 foot Aconcagua. The trip in total which will likely begin tomorrow will take about 12 days. All of my food and gear I have to take with me. The cost if you go with an expedition is about $3,000. I’m doing it myself for $600 to $750 depending on if I decide to rent a mule. Anyways, I’ve got most all my gear and am waiting for a bus ride tomorrow to Puente del Inca, from where I will begin the ascent.

Photos:

1) View of Santiago and Andes from Cerro Santa Lucia

2) Navimag plowing through icy waters

3) Glacier from the Navimag

4) Me on the Navimag

T. Paine (11/8 – 11/15)

2009-11-21T02:38:00.000-08:00

My early morning arrival in El Calafate was followed by a decision to sleep in or crawl out of bed and do a day trip to Glacier Perito Moreno. The latter won out, at 9 am I was on the bus to the glacier. The glacier is considered by most to be one of the top highlights on a trip to South America. The 60 meter high glacier calved regularly during my four hour visit sending thunderous cracking and crashing sounds resonating through the area. The ice field which extended as far as the eye could see consists of jagged ice peaks and emits a kryptonite-like blue glow. It was truly a spectacular sight and experience, much more impressive than other glaciers I’ve seen.

The following day I went to El Chalten to do some trekking. The small city was built in 1985 to cater to outdoor enthusiasts. I did some trekking with an English fellow, Stephen, I originally met in the bus station in Commodoro Rivadavia and have bumped into three times since. I ran into him shortly after arriving in El Chalten. With a only a few hours left in the day, we hiked up to the mirador (scenic lookout) over El Chalten which provided great views of Cerro Fitz Roy and surrounding mountains looming over the small city in the valley below. We happened to bump into an annoying French girl (whom we disdainfully refered to as Frenchy) we met earlier who was heading in the same direction as us. She was in the same dorm as me the previous night in El Calafate during which 300 Argentine pesos (=$80) just so happened to turn up missing from the moneybag in my coat pocket. She was the only traveler I had met on this trip whom for various reasons I did not trust. Due to the facts and circumstances, I was 90% sure it was her once I realized the money was missing. That quickly turned to a 100% certainty when we ran into her at the mirador in El Chalten whereupon she fabricated a bologna story that somebody stole 50 pesos from her that night. It was total crap, especially considering I had a few fifties in my moneybag that were not taken. I was extremely agitated but refrained from making any accusations. I tried to ignore her and be unfriendly, but strangely she persisted to follow the two of us around like a stray dog as if the two of us were carrying bacon in our pockets. The next morning she managed to track us down when we were eating breakfast before hiking to Laguna Torre. Irritated, exasperated, agitated and borderline livid, I got up, said I wanted to get a head start on the hike and left. I ended up hiking the 20 km alone just to avoid Frenchy. After that, thankfully, I never saw her again as we were heading in different directions from there.

From El Chalten, Stephen and I went to Puerto Natales to hike the “W” in Torres del Paine. We spent the day in Puerto Natales sorting out what equipment we needed to rent, what food to buy, and the route we wanted to take on the W. I rented a sleeping bag but no mat. I bought a tent for $21 in an El Calafate supermarket a few days prior. I only have a pair of slip on Timberland shoes which have worn soles. I tried to rent hiking boots at the rental shop Cecilia but their shoes were all rented out. I asked the young guy working there what I should do. He glanced again at my shoes, paused, and said he would get his dad’s shoes for me. I offered to pay him the rental price for the shoes, to which he responded that I didn’t have to pay anything. So I returned at closing time and we walked to his house. I asked him on the way if he had asked his dad if it was okay. He said he wasn’t going to. I chuckled. He snuck into his house and grabbed the shoes. I tried them on and they fit, so I was good to go. I thanked Christopher and headed back to my hostel to get sleep before the early morning departure to Torres del Paine.

Day 1: The bus stopped at our hostel at 7:30. We scrambled to get our stuff together and were out the door. After two hours on the bus, one hour waiting during which we walked to a nearby waterfall, and a 30 minute boat ride, we arrived at our campground for the first night. On the bus, we made friends with an Irish couple, Dennis and Sabrina, with whom we ended up hiking the W. The more the merrier. After setting up camp at Campamento Pehoe, we hiked 22 km round trip to Campamento Glacier Grey. It was mostly overcast with strong chilling winds. The hike provided some nice views but it was the least impressive of the four days. Meals were typically as follows:
Breakfasts: Yogu-Flakes and milk.
Lunches: Rolls with cheese, salami and mostaza and an apple.
Dinners: Chorizos and soup all three nights, the second night with pasta.
Drinks: Glacier water.

Day 2: It wasn’t until after 11 that the four of us ate and packed up our stuff. We hiked along the lake 7.6 km before arriving at our next campground, Campamento Italiano. Day 2 was far and away the most stunning day with amazing views and getting treated to frequent avalanches. I got part of a massive avalanche on video. After arriving at the camp and setting up camp, we hiked up Valle Francis past Campamento Britanico to the mirador. At the end of the valley you were surrounded on almost all side by tall, jagged, majestic mountains, almost as if I was in a bowl. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous. We returned to camp at about 8 pm, having hiked about 23 km. I slept worse tonight than the previous night. My tent is a joke. I’ll explain more later.

Day 3: Today was a bit of a slog. We hiked the entire day with our packs, a total of 21.4 km. We hiked most of the day along Lago Pehoe before hiking up another valley and staying at Campamento Torres, below the Torres del Paine. The sky was overcast and drizzling, the trail a bit muddy. Upon arriving at the camp I saw a tent just like the one Stephen and I both have. We both bought the same tent. I busted out laughing to see somebody else had the same stupid tent. I had to meet the guy. When I did, his first comment was that he was glad that somebody else was as stupid as he was to have bought the tent. Some Spanish lady later that day commented that she was wondering who owned the tents, that they were meant for kids to put them up in their backyard. The $21 special is only 6 feet long and much less wide. When the wind blows, the whole tent bends inwards because the two thin metal poles which criss cross the tent are very weak. The tent fabric is very thin and has only one layer. Because it was a wet night, I had to curl up in ball so as to not touch the tent fabric because I’d get soaked if I did. Curling up hurt because I had slept two nights without a mat and my hip was already really sore. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep tonight. I did manage to get a little wet though. It was a memorable experience with the tent. You’d think I’d be quick to toss it out but I’ll probably hang onto it because in warmer weather it’s probably nice.

Day 4: In the morning, I hiked up a short but steep trail to the Torres del Paine, the namesake of the park. Upon returning to camp at 11:30, the others said that the bus, 8.5 km from our location, was leaving for Puerto Natales at 1:30. So I threw my stuff in my bag and started jogging down the trail in an attempt to catch the bus. Otherwise, I’d have to wait six hours for the next bus. In 40 minutes, we had gone over 6 km. At times I was in a dead on run down the trail. Once I realized how good of time I was making, I slowed up considerably ambling the rest of the way and arriving with enough time to sit and eat the rest of my food.

Photos:

1) Mirador above Campamento Britanico

2) Torres del Paine

3) Bridge crossing by Campamento Italiano

4) Los Cuernos, first day in Torres del Paine

5) El Chalten (Cerro Fitz Roy in background)

6) Moreno Glacier

The End of the World (10/31 – 11/7)

2009-11-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

After the early morning arrival in Puerto Madryn and getting my accommodations sorted out, I asked around to find other willing participants to rent a car with me to drive to Punta Tombo Reserve. The cost of renting a car with a group of people worked out to be a fraction of the cost of hopping on a tour so that was the motivation. After a bit of asking around I found four Danish people interesting in the trip, and after a bit of searching we were able to find a rental company with available cars and we were off. The drive was about 2 and a half hours each way. The Patagonian landscape was rather barren but it was amazing how low the horizon is. It seems you can see much further there than anywhere else I’ve been. I was amazed at how many thousands of penguins were scattered all over, most laying in these shallow depressions in the landscape that they had carved out. I was able to see them up close as well. After walking around the windswept reserve for a few hours, we headed back to Puerto Madryn.

The following day I arranged a tour to Valdes Peninsula, known for its diverse and visible marine life. I saw many elephant seals, got very close to some whales on the whale watching portion of the trip and saw a few penguins there as well. Didn’t get so lucky as to see any killer whales though.

The next couple days I’d spend making my way to the Fin del Mundo, as they call it. About 48 hours and two border crossings after leaving Puerto Madryn I arrived in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world and the starting point for cruises to Antarctica. I spent three days and three nights here doing a lot of relaxing and going on one hike and a boat trip. The city was a little touristy but not enough to lose its charm. Situated on the Beagle Channel and surrounding by mountains, the city was rather beautiful and afforded a lot of nice views. Unfortunately, it was rather pricey so there were a few things I would have liked to have done, including visiting Cape Horn, but decided to leave out as a result. I hiked up to a small glacier overlooking the city and went on a three hour boat trip around the Beagle Channel. This area of the world is known for its rough waters and I got to experience that first hand on what was a rather typical day. The weather was a bit cold so I picked up a good but cheap coat and wind resistant pants, which made my stay dramatically more comfortable.

I met a few people who had hitchhiked their way across Argentina and given the exorbitant prices of busses in the Tierra del Fuego, I decided to give it a try. So on the evening of the 6th, we headed for the road with our thumbs up. After standing out there for three hours in the biting wind, I was beginning to doubt how good of an idea this was. Finally, some lady stopped heading in the same direction as us, so we were off. She offered us a place at her friends house. So after arriving in Rio Grande at 11 pm, we met her friends, talked for a couple hours and then they showed us to their RV they had next to their house where we stayed the night. The next day she was gracious enough to drive us 80 km and drop us off at the border where we hitched a ride in an 18 wheeler headed for Rio Gallegos. We arrived in Rio Gallegos 10 minutes before the bus was leaving for El Calafate. That was the first time I ever really hitchhiked and the first time I rode in an 18 wheeler. It was an experience but don’t think I’ll be doing much hitchhiking in the future. We arrived in El Calafate at 1:30 in the morning, exhausted and eager to crash for the night. So we went to the first hostel we came across and finished a long and tiring two days.

The Lake District (10/23 - 10/30)

2009-10-31T19:37:00.000-07:00

I left from Quito on the evening of the 23rd and arrived late the next morning in Santiago. Right after landing, I headed directly to the bus station and began a 10 hour bus ride to Pucon. I arrived just before midnight with the weather not as good as I was hoping. Prior to my arrival it had been had been raining constantly and with the exception of a couple nice daytimes in Pucon, the week in the Lake District was unseasonably wet, wet, wet.

After waking up at 1 pm the next day, eating breakfast and having a nice hot shower, I hitched a ride in the back of the owner’s pickup at the hospedaje where I’m staying and headed for Termas los Pozones, a series of seven natural hotsprings in the mountains. The landscape down here in northern Patagonia is really beautiful. There are some jagged peaks but nothing of the 20k foot variety, more like the height of the Sawtooths. The landscape was dotted with lush green pastures, crystal blue rivers, and snowcapped mountains and volcanoes. After soaking in the hotsprings for a few hours I made my way back to my place for an early nights rest. The next day I headed for Huerquehue Nat’l Park where I encountered a muddy, then snowy and muddy, and finally just snowy trail up the mountain past a powerful waterfall to a few lakes. I missed the morning bus so I had to haul tail, 14 km round trip in only three hours. I got back down two minutes before the final bus of the day was going to leave from the trailhead back to the city. I was a bit wet and quite chilled. The next day I headed for Valdivia where I stayed one day and then to Puerto Varas for a day. The weather was reminiscent of what I imagine Seattle is like, completely overcast, wet, rainy/drizzly all day long. With the temperature in the mid-50s, it was touch to enjoy much and consequently I was quick to move on. The forecast didn’t appear to get a ton better in the short term so I changed my plans.

I decided to head to the Atlantic coast in Argentina and make my way toward the Tierra del Fuego from there. It’s warmer and much drier over there at the moment, so it only made sense to do so. The next day, I took three buses arriving in El Bolson, Argentina early in the evening. I went for a day hike the following day before catching a night bus to Puerto Madryn on the Atlantic coast. The weather finally was a bit better on the day I was leaving which made the hike pleasant, but I still would rather take my chances on the weather getting better a couple weeks from now in the region. The landscape in the eastern part of Patagonia is flat with lots of dry shrubbery, reminiscent to driving across Nevada. The clouds and sky are quite breathtaking, looking as if an artist painted them.

Photos:

1) & 2) El Bolson, Argentina

3) Tres Lagos, Huerquerhue NP

4) Lago Tinquilco, Pucon, Chile

5) Mountain road near Pucon

6) Volcano Villarica, Pucon

Week in Transit (10/15 - 10/22)

2009-10-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

October and November are the worst weather months in northern South America and Central America, so for a week I was searching for reasonably (not even cheap) priced flight to Santiago or Buenos Aires from near Colombia. I finally found such a flight, from Quito to Santiago. I think it was so cheap because the flight to Santiago includes 3 layovers. Pretty crazy considering how far it is. I booked the flight on the 15th and for the past week have been making my way to Quito with a few stops. The initial leg of the trip took me from Cartagena to Cali. Bus tickets in Colombia are the most expensive in South America, even more than Brazil. Why… I’m not sure, but I know there are high taxes on travel in and from Colombia. I went on a roundabout path so as to save a few bucks. From Cartagena, I stopped and changed buses in Honda and Ibague before arriving 28 hours later in Cali. I spent a couple nights in the salsa capital of Colombia. I don’t do salsa but I saw some salsa. Colombia’s third largest city had really little else to offer so after two days I hopped on a bus bound for San Agustin. San Agustin is known for a bunch of stone statues dating back to 3300 BC. Archaeologists and historians don’t know who made them. There were a number of plateaus in the area where the stones were found. Because there were so few tourists at the moment, there were no jeeps going to much of the area.

So I hopped on a bus the next day and again changed buses twice during the day. I was beginning to get tired of all the busing around and consequently have caught a bit of a cold. One leg of the trip was from Mocoa to Pasto. I was told to take the bus during the day because it was so scenic. I decided to take it during the night just to get to Quito faster. I came to find out that there is probably another reason why I should take it during the day. If the road I rode a bike down in Bolovia four years ago was the world’s most dangerous road, than the road from Mocoa to Pasto had to be a close second. The road was carved out of the side of a steep mountain and we basically went up and over the mountain. I was on edge for most of the trip, looking out of my window at times and often seeing nothing but black and sometimes the tops of trees. I arrived in Pasto just after midnight and took a bus to the Ecuadorian border and then a bus to Quito arriving on the evening of the 21st. Today I’m just relaxing trying to get my cold under control before I fly to Santiago tomorrow and begin my trek to the tip of South America, the Tierra del Fuego. I plan to travel a lot through Patagonia, the Chilean fjords, Torres del Paine and reach the summit Aconcagua (the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas) on Christmas Day.

Colombia was an interesting place. They people are very friendly and the country is incredibly beautiful. The current president has done a lot to weaken the guerrillas, including destroying the most of the sites in the mountains and jungle where they live. I’ve never seen close to as many police officers in another country before. You can view that as bad or good, but one thing is for certain, it is a safer place than in past years. And the fear that keeps many travelers away makes traveling through Colombia much more interesting and enjoyable than it would otherwise be.

Photos:

1) Making sugar cane juice.

2) Las Lajas Sanctuary

3) Consome - chicken feet soup... don't consume!

4) Archaelogical Park - San Agustin

Good-bye Central America (10/5 - 10/14)

2009-10-14T20:41:00.000-07:00

Today I bid Central America good-bye as I boarded a plane for Cartagena. I spent about two weeks in Panama City and having seen the sights just spent most of the last week just hanging out with new friends, both locals and travelers. On the 6th I set off on a short trip to the San Blas Islands. I had to catch a ride at 5 am with the travel company that provided transportation to the islands. On the way, we made a stop at a large grocery store to buy any food or drinks for the trip because not a whole lot is available on the islands. Getting back in our SUVs, some friends of mine noticed that a couple strange local men got into the back seat of their SUV, no explanation was given as to who they were or what they were doing. It was strange but I just brushed it off as only that. Anyways, two hours later we got out of our SUVs and hopped on a boat for the islands.

The coastline on the Eastern Caribbean side of Panama is dotted with hundreds of small islands filled coconut trees and lined with white, powdery beaches – the nicest islands I have ever seen. I spent only two days there as I was unsure of how I was going to leave Panama in the coming days. I stayed on two islands, Franklin and Pelican, one of which is how I envision heaven, well minus the Israeli-dominated crowd. The Franklin island was pristine, covered with coconut trees and white sand from across the entire small island. It really felt special, ineffable. The next day I went to another island which turned out to be not quite as nice as the first. I was able to go for a 20 minute swim to a very small, uninhabited island nearby. I had another traveler take some pictures of me from across the water.

On the morning of the 8th as I was leaving, the rain was pouring down in torrents. We waited under shelter for hours until the rain passed. Once there was a cessation in the storm we hopped on a boat and made the hour ride back to the drop-off area. Because of the rain, the river was impassible for the SUVs, so we had to take a boat up the river to an area the SUVs could access. The boat ride up the river through the jungle felt was fantastic. The jungle was impressive with a lot of vegetation hanging over onto the river. Finally, we reached the SUVs and began the trip back to Panama City. We had to stop at a major checkpoint where the police check every car and make everyone register with the office there. We were entertained to the cops using aggressive force to pat down and inspect a car passing through. Returning to my SUV, I found the same two suspicious local guys in the back of my SUV. I made a bit of a scene with the driver because I had to sit uncomfortably in the back of the SUV with those two characters for the remaining hour of the drive. Looking at their faces, they were clearly not upper class, but they were well dressed in new clean shirts, jeans, and Jansport-sized backpacks on their laps. At first I didn’t think anything of it. But it all came together suddenly, these guys were trafficking cocaine. The more I thought about it and all the circumstances, their suspiciousness, the fear on the driver’s face when I was making a slight protest at the checkpoint. On the ride, one of the guys briefly unzipped part of his bag and touched what sounded like plastic bags inside his backpack. It was a bit frightening yet strangely fascinating that sitting next to me were drug traffickers. I was determined to go to the police upon returning but decided against it for my own safety. Between their backpacks and large Styrofoam container in the back of the SUV, if they were transporting sugar, it would have probably weighed about 40 kilos.

Panama City - (9/28 - 10/4)

2009-10-04T19:08:00.000-07:00

Before leaving Boquete, I wanted to hike the highest mountain in Panama, Volcano Baru at 11,398 feet high. I began hiking Tuesday morning at 6:10 am with a guy I met in Boquete from Seattle. Over the course of 15 km, we gained 1600 meters in altitude. The ascent was pretty steady with only a few downhill sections. They say that on a clear day you can see both the Caribbean and Pacific at the same time. Because in most of Panama and Central America it’s the wet season, we weren’t so lucky. Nonetheless, we were treated to many scenic vistas. We reached the cross at the highest point of the volcano at 10:45. A fairly strong chilling wind blew across the ridge, so after getting a few snapshots at the top we hiked down about 15 feet on the leeward side of the mountain where there was only a slight breeze. The sun was out and the weather up there was the nicest I’ve experienced on my trip to this point. After an hour of eating lunch and relaxing, we headed down arriving at the bottom at 3:40. Boquete was really nice and I’d checked off all the boxes on my to-do list, so I was on the 7 pm bus out of Boquete en route to Panama City.

The bus arrived Wednesday morning in Panama City 30 minutes before the crack of dawn. Groggy, I dropped off my stuff at a hostel in Casco Viejo and headed out to the canal with an Israeli couple I met in Boquete who was also going to Panama City. We wanted to take the train along the canal, but because it was a day of mourning as the ex president had just passed away, the train of course was not running. So instead, we just headed for the Miraflores Locks, the most visited of the three sets of locks on the canal. There was a museum and an observation deck right next to the locks. We arrived just after 9 am to see the final two ships for the morning cross from the Pacific to the Caribbean. Were we to wait until late in the afternoon, we would have seen all the ships coming from the opposite direction. After spending a couple hours at the locks, we headed back to Casco Viejo, the old part of town where I am staying. It’s probably one of the most run down parts of town I’ve seen in all my travels. However, a lot of efforts are being made to restore the area. Casco Viejo had a number of scenic streets, with the presidents mansion, the cathedral I spoke of earlier, and Noriega’s old hangout (now in complete disrepair) on the shore.

During the following four days, I did a lot of relaxing and saw a few sights, including Isla Taboga (a small island off the coast), Panama Viejo (the original Panama City destroyed in the 1600’s by Captain Morgan), and the boardwalk connecting Casco Viejo and downtown.

To the Interior – (9/20 – 9/27)

2009-09-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

On the 20th I left Bocas for Bastimentos, a much quieter island, just to relax for a couple days and do nothing. It took $3 and 15 minutes and I was there. I followed the recommendation of some fellow travelers and dropped my bags at Hostal Bastimentos. The hostal was relatively empty and had a great view. That was all I needed to see. I slept in a single room that was almost as large as my closet in my Marina del Rey apartment, which is fine given I don’t spend many waking hours in my room. I was pretty surprised the hostal had a wifi network given the fact that the island has neither roads nor cars. Shortly after arriving, a couple guys I hung out with in Bocas showed up at the hostal. We got the idea to head to Wizard Beach, a one mile walk across part of the island. It wasn’t that easy. The trail was very muddy and we were all wearing flip flops. Once we got mud in our sandals it was a bit tricky to walk up and back downhill to the beach. One stretch of the trail, which was covered with mud had a large army ant crossing. It was one of the other guys who found out first that the red-bellied ants packed a mean punch. Both of them got bit in a relatively short amount of time. One large ant made an attempt at my foot, both of its pincers made it all the way around the side of my sandal, so one pincer was stuck in the top of my sandal and the other on the bottom. It was hard knocking the ant off my sandal. It dug it pincers in with some real conviction. Eventually we made it to the beautiful beach, which was well worth the difficult trip at least for the unbitten me.

The following two and a half days I did nothing but work on my computer and occasionally look up and enjoy the view over the small bay. Wednesday came and I decided it was time to move on. Another traveler at the hostal mentioned she was going to a place in the middle of the forest called Lost and Found. Because it was on the way to my next destination, I figured I should drop by and check it out. After a couple boats ride and a brief 2 hour bus ride, we pulled up to the marking alongside the road indicating that we had arrived. We hiked up the side of a hill for 15 minutes before getting a visual of the place. Because there was nothing else around, the hostal would buy food from nearby cities and bring it up and sell it to those staying there. As you’d use food you’d mark a sheet and thus keep track of the food you would consume. I did find it a bit amusing that everyday they’d be short a ton of beer. Because it was up in a cloud forest, it was much cooler than the other places I had stayed, a change I welcomed. It was nice to not sweat and feel sticky later in the evenings. I did some hiking and a lot of card playing the three days I was up there. One of the days, I went with a group of other travelers on a treasure hunt that was set up by the owners of the hostel. You had to find clues that would lead you to somewhere in the jungle where you’d get another clue/riddle and so on. My group was the only one that day that found all seven of the clues and solved all the riddles. Much of the hunt took us up a small river called Rio del Oro. It was very picturesque, with waterfalls, rapids, pools, rocks to jump off, etc. Three days up there was enough for me, most of the people I spent time with were leaving plus I wanted a proper meal.

Saturday afternoon I arrived in Boquete, a quaint town up in the mountains. The town is popular among retirees because of its serenity and Panama’s tax breaks. I am staying at a little hotel on the river. It’s nice to sit outside and listen to the river. The river would be nicer to look at were it not for a big flood last November that came through here and wiped out all the trees and much of the vegetation along the river. Today I set out on a 16 kilometer trek from Boquete to Cerro Punta along the Quetzal Trail. You’d think that at some point along those 16 kilometers I’d come across a quetzal, but it wasn’t to be. I just saw a lot of jungle, a few nice lookouts, ordinary birds and nothing more. I like it here in Panama but there’s not a whole lot to do or see. Sounds like it may be time to head further south.

Bocas del Toro, Panama (9/12 – 9/19)

2009-09-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

Thankfully this week was much less eventful than last. I arrived in Bocas on the 11th well after dark on a very bumpy boatride from Almirantes to Bocas. I really can’t believe I spent almost nine days in Bocas. It seems that when you do less time flies by, much like at home, working all the time and watching your life quickly pass by. My foot is about 90% whole; it’s still sensitive to too much pressure but doing well. I won’t make mention of it again unless there is some kind of complication. In fact today, I passed along the remaining half of my antibiotics to a guy with a very swollen, red and infected foot. He stepped on a nail and had another mysterious wound on his foot for which he had no explanation. I guess it’s going around, be careful where you step.

The first couple days I spent walking around the small city, learning where to eat, where to buy things for the best price, etc. I was very underwhelmed by the city. There were no beaches nearby, nowhere to just chill out besides your place of accommodation or a restaurant/bar, kind of disappointing. I spent most of my time at a hostel called Mondo Taitu, and unfortunately I didn’t figure out there were free breakfasts until my second to last day there. Early on in my stay there I took a bus ride over to Bocas del Drago (Starfish Beach). It was nice to see beautiful water with starfish intermittently situated along the shallow sandy ocean floor. I’m sure some people would be happy or relieved to hear that I’ve finally begun to work on my suntan.

On Thursday, I borrowed a run-down bike from my hotel to go ride what turned out to be a hilly 10 km ride to La Gruta, a cave located at the center of the island. The cave was small but the setting/entrance was pretty beautiful. I thought it would be a long walk/wade through the cave but it turned out to take only ten minutes to get a visual of the other side. I saw and heard a few bats in the cave but at the other end there were 20 or 30 bats just flying all around the small exit. So I decided to go out the way I came in. I’m not scared of bats as much as I am rabies. As I was walking back, I turned my head just in time to see a bat flew right by my head. I more than quickly dropped to the shallow water on the cave floor.

Bocas to me will be most memorable not for the things I’ve done but for the people I’ve met and spent time with. I met up with a girl in Bocas who I met are few days earlier in Puerto Viejo who was heading in the same direction as I. We hit it off pretty well and so we ended hanging out a bunch in Bocas. There were a few things that she avoided talking about and it wasn’t until the third or fourth day of hanging out that her life story came spilling out. I was completely stunned when she began recounting some of the events of her life. I am not going to elaborate but she’s had the worst life of anybody I’ve ever known. It was so shocking and saddening that it actually brought a tear to my eye. Some of her experiences have changed her forever but she was on the whole such an unbelievably nice and personable person for what she has been through. Her life to me is a sobering reminder of how in some ways this world can be so cruel and that even though I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I’ve been blessed and lucky to have had the life I’ve had.

On Friday I went on an organized day trip where we did a bunch of snorkeling, visited Red Frog Beach, and did some dolphin watching. On the whole, it was an enjoyable trip. I met a group from Panama City who I got to know fairly well and hung out with on the following day as well. We’re going to meet up again when I get to Panama City, so it will be nice to see a different side of the city and hang out with some locals when I make it over there. I packed up my bags this morning and hopped on a boat to a nearby island, Bastimentos, where I’ll spend the next few days on a much more peaceful, sparsely populated island before moving on.

2x4 Meet Head (9/6 – 9/11)

2009-09-13T19:31:00.000-07:00

The title pretty much sums up the past few days. About an hour after creating my last posting, I headed out on a 4-mile stroll along the beach to Punta Uva to go snorkeling. I left a little late, at about 1:00 pm. So by the time I arrived and did some snorkeling, it was already late in the afternoon. In Costa Rica, the local time is the same as mountain time right now, so it gets dark pretty early. I began to head back at 4:30. The sun had set before I arrived at Playa Cocles about 1.5 miles from my cabina. At that end of the beach, there were coral reefs and sand. I had been walking along barefoot when I came across a part of the reef. Instead of walking over the small exposed part of the reef, I decided to jump over it onto the sand three feet below. Once I hit the sand below, I felt a sharp pain in my right foot and I knew at that moment the sandy beach had been nothing but a mirage, a thin layer of sand covering the reef in that particular spot. I immediately hopped a few feet to a nearby branch overhanging some shallow water. I proceeded to inspect puncture wound. As the blood dripped off my foot into the ocean, I pounded my sandal against the branch in both anger and fear. So many thoughts were running through my head, “What if the bleeding doesn’t stop?”, “How am I going to get back to my cabina in the dark?” and so on. Luckily the wound only bled for a few minutes before stopping. I proceeded to gingerly hop and hobble the rest of the 1.5 miles in the dark on the hard wet sand along the beach almost all the way back to the cabina. Upon getting back, I washed off, cleaned with alcohol and bandaged with wound with some gauze and Neosporin. I planned to get some oral antibiotics the next day, which I did, but at that point all I could do was relax and hope that my condition would improve.

My last couple days in Puerto Viejo were a bit more relaxing obviously. I limped around as much as possible to get food and just hang out. It gave me the opportunity to lounge around more at my place and meet other people. I met quite a few people from a fellow Angelino whose friends’ called Rambo to some Austrians. It was a lot of fun to relax and take it easy for a few days. I went on a free tour to a nearby waterfall and a Bribri home where they made chocolate. I went with some other travelers and a Costa Rican tour guide who was on vacation and from a town near Monteverde.

On Wednesday, I packed up and took a bus to Cahuita for a couple days. Again we found a place on the ocean but it only cost me $10 a night, much better than the $20 I was paying in Puerto Viejo. The following day we went on a 9 km hike around Cahuita National Park. I did a lot of hobbling and even some walking at times when the ground was more flat and firm. We saw howler monkeys and white-faced capuchin along the way. The highlight for me was a yellow eyelash viper we came across. It was ten feet off the trail curled up on a tree branch, really a beautiful snake. Once the trail brought up back to the main road, we hitchhiked in the back of a pickup back to the city. An all-around enjoyable, yet exhausting day.

Friday came, I packed my stuff and said farewell to the Austrians and headed for Bocas del Toro, Panama. As the crow flies, it’s about 50 miles from Cahuita to Bocas, but it somehow took me 5 hours to make the trek. The border crossing was particularly unpleasant. I was forced to buy a bus ticket from a town near the border in Panama to San Jose because you’re required to have a return ticket to the country you came from. So even though I walked across the border, I was required to buy that silly ticket as it was the only return ticket they were selling. After questioning the immigration officer about the stupid rule, I resigned to wasting $11 on the ticket. So after two bus rides and a boat ride, I arrived at Bocas. Aside from the border crossing, my first impression of Panama is a good one. Things are cheaper, people seem to be more friendly (both locals and travelers), and I’m not getting stopped every 100 feet on the street by some guy trying to sell me drugs like in Costa Rica.

As for my foot, it has been healing well. It was never infected, red, or very swollen. A German girl I came across who happened to be a nurse said the wound looked like it was healing well. I still hobble a bit because any pressure to the wound is still a little painful. I did no damage to any tendons or anything like that. My toes and everything move just fine. The only risk of complication at this point is that of a foreign body in my foot. The injury seemed to be a clean one as the coral was like a large hard rock. But only time will tell at this point. Despite the recent complications, I’m having a great time, enjoying most every moment.

Starting Out

2009-09-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

This is a new thing for me. Unlike past trips, I should have more time to relax and reflect on my day's adventures and activities since I won't be traveling at the frenetic pace of past trips. After leaving LA at 1:30 am on Wednesday, I arrived at Puerto Viejo by the late afternoon of the same day. The bus ride from San Jose to said destination was incredibly scenic and I felt completely relaxed as we wound through the lush green mountains and along the coastline. My mornings are pretty slow, I spend most of my mornings during the week relaxing and on the internet. In the afternoons, I've gone for a swim or just strolled through the city. It ain't no Cancun, but it is still too touristy for me. So given that, I plan on cutting my time short here and moving on a bit early. Yesterday I went trekking through some jungle down in the Gandoca - Manzanillo National Wildlife Refuge. The jungle was intense, incredibly beautiful and rugged. Even though I was a couple of miles outside of the laid-back town of Manzanillo, I felt like I was in the middle of nowhere. I set out on a 3.5 mile hike to Punta Mona. I wore flip flops and didn't bring any water bc I wasn't expecting to hike long and for it to be difficult. I came to find out later that it had rained the night before, so the trail was incredibly muddy, to the point my flip flops would get sucked off me feet by the mud. After coming across tons of crazy insects, poison frogs, etc. and given the fact the trail was a nightmare and I was thirsty, I decided to make my way to the coast and try to follow the coastline back as much as possible. Upon arriving at the coast I saw the coconut trees and had a eureka moment. I tried throwing rocks at the coconuts perched high in the trees, but to no avail. I walked further along the beach until I spotted a small island just off the coast with three coconut trees, one of which had two low hanging coconuts. So I waded to the island, grabbed a 5 foot stick, knocked down the coconuts. After repeatedly pounding the coconuts against a sharp rock, I got through to seed and proceeded to more carefully crack the seed. Once I got the seed open, I cut through the soft coconut insided and had me a drink. It felt pretty awesome to actually procure my own food and not just buy it. It was very much a Cast Away moment. On my hike, I saw a bunch of poison dart frogs and and some crazy insects but no sloths or monkeys unfortunately. I did see a snake of some sort but it was so fast as it slithered off that I couldn't get a good look... perhaps a fer-de-lance. Monday, I'm headed on a day trip to Cahuita National Park... some good trekking there and I should see some monkeys.