Friday, August 29, 2008
A note for Juan
Juan from Columbia, I tried to call your mobile to get your email address and stay in touch. If you do check the blog, please leave a note or email us!
Flight of the Condor
Having planned our days in order to be in the right place in Ecuador for our flight to the Galapagos (still can´t believe we are going!) we went south to Popayan, known as the white city, as the centre is all whitewashed colonial style buildings. The journey was marked by the attentions of a very friendly, English speaking physiotherapist, desperate to be our guide. He was so genuine and eager but he really wouldn´t put a sock in it. After 3 hours of non-stop babbling during which we were asked if we had seen the papaya over 200 times, and if we saw the sugar cane even more, we were ready to throw in the towel. Anyone thinking that this a pot-kettle-black scenario should not underestimate the world-class relentlessness of this perniciuos fellow. Once out of his clutches (thank god he got off half way, and yes, I refused his phone number) we stayed in La Familiar de Descanso in Popayan, one of the sweetest places so far, with grandmotherly style, nice big blankets (it has started to get Andean cold) hot showers and plants all around. We met Hanna, from Tampere, who we went around with for a few days - enabling her to enjoy some drinking after dark - something she hadn´t been doing since getting mugged on her first day in Columbia. Anna and I took a day trip to Agua Hirbeando, hot springs out in the hills. Friendly locals poored us AguaArdiente, the local firewater, as we played head-tennis and splashed about in the mineral-rich pools of varying temperatures. It was a lovely day but our overriding memories will be of the seriuosly pungent sulphurous smell that was very hard to wash off, and the lovely cat we petted for an hour while waiting for a ride out.
Popayan was friendly and fun to walk around. And so was the centre of Pasto, where we had to spend a night before the border crossing to Ecuador. We ate terrible pizza, but again enjoyed more mountain views all around and paced the centre of another progessive-feeling Columbian city. The border crossing to Ecuador was painless and, once across, the scenery got even more impressive. The south of Columbia is marked by three mountain ranges that come together to form the Andes proper, and as the relief grows more severe, the land is scarred by deep ravines and canyons. Much of the land is precariously farmed and there are some major volcanoes around to spice up the skyline.
Our first stop in Ecuador was Otavalo, where I write now. It is one of the craft centres of Ecuador and we have just been shopping this afternoon. It is also the town with the most pizzerias and internet cafes per square mile in the whole wide world ever. There are lots of indigenous folk around and our hotel has a free rooftop pool table with views to the surrounding valleys and volcanoes. Otavalo sounds Finnish and actually means the imperative ´take light!´.
This morning we went to Parque Condor, a unique Andean bird-of-prey sanctuary, set on top of a hill with 360 views across to the lakeland and distant vocanoes as far as the Columbian border. We saw a whopping Andean Condor up close and saw the flight show with various eagles, buzzards and hawks. And we coo´ed at the very cute owls. I used my charms to blag a lift back with a local family from Quito. The coffee is arguably better here than Columbia, though we have been drinking too much the last few days.
Tomorrow we are heading through Quito and on to Salinas in central Ecuador. Our book says it the cheese, salami and chocolate capital of the region. Wild horses... So we will swerve Quito, partly because we have just a few days to get to Guayaquil, but mostly because everyone we meet gets mugged and/or altitude sickness in Quito and we haven´t heard anything good about it.
It was this time last year that my dad left us. My thoughts now are with Kusti and his brothers and sister, who just lost their father. I can´t imagine what they are going through but we are thinking of them.
Snowy owl, like what we have back home hiding in the Finnish wilderness
The famous blinking owl of Otavalo
Popayan was friendly and fun to walk around. And so was the centre of Pasto, where we had to spend a night before the border crossing to Ecuador. We ate terrible pizza, but again enjoyed more mountain views all around and paced the centre of another progessive-feeling Columbian city. The border crossing to Ecuador was painless and, once across, the scenery got even more impressive. The south of Columbia is marked by three mountain ranges that come together to form the Andes proper, and as the relief grows more severe, the land is scarred by deep ravines and canyons. Much of the land is precariously farmed and there are some major volcanoes around to spice up the skyline.
Our first stop in Ecuador was Otavalo, where I write now. It is one of the craft centres of Ecuador and we have just been shopping this afternoon. It is also the town with the most pizzerias and internet cafes per square mile in the whole wide world ever. There are lots of indigenous folk around and our hotel has a free rooftop pool table with views to the surrounding valleys and volcanoes. Otavalo sounds Finnish and actually means the imperative ´take light!´.
This morning we went to Parque Condor, a unique Andean bird-of-prey sanctuary, set on top of a hill with 360 views across to the lakeland and distant vocanoes as far as the Columbian border. We saw a whopping Andean Condor up close and saw the flight show with various eagles, buzzards and hawks. And we coo´ed at the very cute owls. I used my charms to blag a lift back with a local family from Quito. The coffee is arguably better here than Columbia, though we have been drinking too much the last few days.
Tomorrow we are heading through Quito and on to Salinas in central Ecuador. Our book says it the cheese, salami and chocolate capital of the region. Wild horses... So we will swerve Quito, partly because we have just a few days to get to Guayaquil, but mostly because everyone we meet gets mugged and/or altitude sickness in Quito and we haven´t heard anything good about it.
It was this time last year that my dad left us. My thoughts now are with Kusti and his brothers and sister, who just lost their father. I can´t imagine what they are going through but we are thinking of them.
Snowy owl, like what we have back home hiding in the Finnish wilderness
The famous blinking owl of Otavalo
The coffee zone
Medellin was interesting, for a big city. An endless valley of sprawling barrios, industry and a busy centre, the highlight was the new cable car, that has been built to connect some of the poorer barrios with the bustling metro. It is not really meant for tourists but it gave great views over the city and over the slums - it was also a great shot at urban generation, with many projects and public spaces at the bases of the huge pylons supporting the ski-resort-style gondolas. The low point of Medellin was our hostel, the Pitstop. A right royal rip off complete with Irish bar, pool, TV room filled with 18 year olds who should have been out doing something more interesting, though it was located near the zona rosa - so we found a nice restaurant and ate, yes, you guessed it, fondue. We also found Gato, the cat themed bar. And we waltzed around Medellin´s shopping district and saw all the statues in the squares. We didn´t see Pablo Esobar - in fact, Medellin seemed pretty sensible really.
Our bus journey south was far from sensible. About half way to Armenia in the zona cafeteria, the traffic was stopped as the main highway between Columbia´s two biggest cities was severed by a seies of landslides along a 30km stretch of road. Our daytime 6 hour bus ride was extended to 16 hours though we enjoyed a nice lunch as we waited for the road to be cleared. We finally arrived in the hill town of Salento at 3am, though it took us another hour to find the Plantation House hostal. We got a good night´s sleep and we were lucky. Some people we met left before us, their bus turned back, the slides were worse the day after and they ended up having to fly - so it took them three days.
Salento was charming. The Plantation House was owned by Tim, keeper of the wellies, necessary for venturing into the gorgeous surrounding countryside. We took a half day hike in the Cocora Valley nearby with some new friends (including Danny from Brighton who was given her first job by Ed in the Honey Club - but that´s another story) and we bought and cooked local produce and enjoyed the company of Agatha, the resident white Persian. There were lots of moths and she hid in the kitchen cupboard.
Cable car hijacked for the purposes of tourism
One of the six crazy bridges on the Cocora trail
The Cocora Valley... and the Delicatessens
Our bus journey south was far from sensible. About half way to Armenia in the zona cafeteria, the traffic was stopped as the main highway between Columbia´s two biggest cities was severed by a seies of landslides along a 30km stretch of road. Our daytime 6 hour bus ride was extended to 16 hours though we enjoyed a nice lunch as we waited for the road to be cleared. We finally arrived in the hill town of Salento at 3am, though it took us another hour to find the Plantation House hostal. We got a good night´s sleep and we were lucky. Some people we met left before us, their bus turned back, the slides were worse the day after and they ended up having to fly - so it took them three days.
Salento was charming. The Plantation House was owned by Tim, keeper of the wellies, necessary for venturing into the gorgeous surrounding countryside. We took a half day hike in the Cocora Valley nearby with some new friends (including Danny from Brighton who was given her first job by Ed in the Honey Club - but that´s another story) and we bought and cooked local produce and enjoyed the company of Agatha, the resident white Persian. There were lots of moths and she hid in the kitchen cupboard.
Cable car hijacked for the purposes of tourism
One of the six crazy bridges on the Cocora trail
The Cocora Valley... and the Delicatessens
Flight info
In the interests of complete disclosure, and because the gremlins on the big blog day wiped it, here is our flight itinerary:
Santiago SCL - Easter Island IPC Sat 25.10 0910-1250 LA841
Easter Island IPC - Santiago SCL Sat 1.11 1350-2030 LA 842
Santiago SCL - Auckland AKL Tues 4.11 2305-0415 (6.11) LA 801
Auckland AKL - Sydney SYD Sat 6.12 0545-0720
Sydney SYD - Noumea NOU Sat 17.1 0855-1145 QF 91
Noumea NOU - Sydney SYD Sun 25.1 QF 92
Sydney SYD - Perth PER Sun 25.1 1920-2215 QF 583
Perth PER - Singapore SIN Fri 6.2 1305-1720 QF 77
Bangkok BGK - Helsinki HEL Thur 12.3 1235-1825 AY 96
Before that we are also flying to and from the Galapagos 3.9-10.9 and we are also maybe going to fly in Peru from Iquitos, if we get the chance to take a river trip... but that´s another story.
Santiago SCL - Easter Island IPC Sat 25.10 0910-1250 LA841
Easter Island IPC - Santiago SCL Sat 1.11 1350-2030 LA 842
Santiago SCL - Auckland AKL Tues 4.11 2305-0415 (6.11) LA 801
Auckland AKL - Sydney SYD Sat 6.12 0545-0720
Sydney SYD - Noumea NOU Sat 17.1 0855-1145 QF 91
Noumea NOU - Sydney SYD Sun 25.1 QF 92
Sydney SYD - Perth PER Sun 25.1 1920-2215 QF 583
Perth PER - Singapore SIN Fri 6.2 1305-1720 QF 77
Bangkok BGK - Helsinki HEL Thur 12.3 1235-1825 AY 96
Before that we are also flying to and from the Galapagos 3.9-10.9 and we are also maybe going to fly in Peru from Iquitos, if we get the chance to take a river trip... but that´s another story.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Bye bye Caribbean
We ended up staying 4 nights in Techos Azul on the hill overlooking Taganga. We spent one day at Playa Grande, the big beach in the next bay, and we spent one lovely day at Parque Tayrona (pronounced to the tune of My Sharona). After a couple of bus rides we found ourselves waiting for the lift through the jungle towards the beaches of Tayrona and we met the ace couple, Steffi and Juan, from Frankfurt and Cali, Columbia respectively. Another multilingual, internationally time travelling couple. We took the hour walk through the jungle with them and saw a big bat, a big guinea pig (running very fast) and a timid monkey (who was too shy to take a banana) and then we chilled on at El Piscinita, a beach sheltered by a natural arc of shallow rock about 100m offshore - one of the few beaches where it is safe to swim. I snorkelled and saw some cuttlefish and plenty of fishfish and we enjoyed Steffi and Juan´s charming company. They were newly dating, in the first flushes of lurve, and very sweet and funny with it - we called them trolley dollies even though that doesn´t really reflect their work for the world´s best (not favourite) airline. And we were very envious as they found a cabin to stay at and return to on the beach. And Parque Tayrona is a paradise. Juan has an acoustic bass. I gave him a verbal warning.
Meanwhile we pushed on from Taganga to Cartagena, arguably South America´s prettiest city. Yes, it is very Spanish, lots of lovely narrow streets, buildings dating from the 18th century, thick walls and all that. But we are jaded, and we´ve been to Spain. And we were a bit ill. I think I might have got Juan´s flu. And Anna got some kinda stomach bug. But we did find a lovely new apartment to stay in - with a new kitchen, AC, seperate bedroom, 2 TVs and 2 comfy sofas to make us feel better. We cooked and watched trash TV for 3 days to recover, shopping at our favourite Columbian supermarket, Exito, and now we are ready to head on the night bus to the city of Medellin in central Columbia. And it is bye bye to the Caribbean.
Oh yeah. And more importantly you will be pleased to know that I took on the services of a local Cartagena hairdresser and took it all off. I feel great and I am much less of a threat to passing light aircraft.
Oh yeah. And most importantly we spent a few days emailing various Ecuadorian tour operators about the Galapagos islands. We contacted about 20 in all about the different types of all inclusive cruises that are the bread and butter of a Galapagos trip. You basically select on boat (motor, sail, large, small), guide quality and language, standard (from basic up to super duper first class), sports (diving, snorkelling or none), length (4 to 7 nights), itinerary (some go a long way at sea to the northern island) and cost. We have ended up with 4 nights on the 12 berth sailing boat, Encantada, from 3rd September. It is one step up from basic (so the AC works and we have an English language guide), just for snorkellers, and we are very excited. It is not cheap but based on the discussions we have had with other likeminded wanderers we realised it was a must. Fingers crossed! We now have under two weeks to make it to the Southern Ecuadorian city of Guayaquil for the flight on the morning of 3rd Sept.
Anna and Steffi at one of Parque Tayrona´s glorious beaches
The rocking view from the cosy area at Techos Azul above Taganga
Meanwhile we pushed on from Taganga to Cartagena, arguably South America´s prettiest city. Yes, it is very Spanish, lots of lovely narrow streets, buildings dating from the 18th century, thick walls and all that. But we are jaded, and we´ve been to Spain. And we were a bit ill. I think I might have got Juan´s flu. And Anna got some kinda stomach bug. But we did find a lovely new apartment to stay in - with a new kitchen, AC, seperate bedroom, 2 TVs and 2 comfy sofas to make us feel better. We cooked and watched trash TV for 3 days to recover, shopping at our favourite Columbian supermarket, Exito, and now we are ready to head on the night bus to the city of Medellin in central Columbia. And it is bye bye to the Caribbean.
Oh yeah. And more importantly you will be pleased to know that I took on the services of a local Cartagena hairdresser and took it all off. I feel great and I am much less of a threat to passing light aircraft.
Oh yeah. And most importantly we spent a few days emailing various Ecuadorian tour operators about the Galapagos islands. We contacted about 20 in all about the different types of all inclusive cruises that are the bread and butter of a Galapagos trip. You basically select on boat (motor, sail, large, small), guide quality and language, standard (from basic up to super duper first class), sports (diving, snorkelling or none), length (4 to 7 nights), itinerary (some go a long way at sea to the northern island) and cost. We have ended up with 4 nights on the 12 berth sailing boat, Encantada, from 3rd September. It is one step up from basic (so the AC works and we have an English language guide), just for snorkellers, and we are very excited. It is not cheap but based on the discussions we have had with other likeminded wanderers we realised it was a must. Fingers crossed! We now have under two weeks to make it to the Southern Ecuadorian city of Guayaquil for the flight on the morning of 3rd Sept.
Anna and Steffi at one of Parque Tayrona´s glorious beaches
The rocking view from the cosy area at Techos Azul above Taganga
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Hips don´t lie
Currently on a food shopping, Internet and banking trip to Santa Marta (the first Spanish settlement in South America and a big Caribbean port), we are actually staying in Taganga (said loudly and with purpose as if you are a Lenny Henry character), the backpacker (read; Israeli) hangout 5 clicks along the coast.
We had some room aggro today when we changed hotels only to find the lock busted to our new room. The owners have those guys from the PG Tips ads in to fix it and our stuff is chained up while we get some provisions.
The night bus to Maracaibo was painless and we got the first bus at 7AM to the border town of Maicao. We understood it was in Venezuela but it was in Columbia and we went through all the formalities getting on and off the same bus. While this was a better result and avoided the often-required cycle rickshaw or hike across the border, it still took 5 hours and we are indebted to our Argentine´s, Bruno and Corda, for bridging the comunication gap, helping us pay half for the onward bus, and not get ripped in currency trading.
Our first taste of Columbia is sweet, at the fishing village of Taganga. It is the gateway for the National Park of Tayrona and also the 6 day trek to the Lost City of the Incas, which we are considering.
In other news;
There were a few typos and gremlins had removed some images, comments and passages in the two thousand blog entries I made last week - most have been corrected.
We have new leaders; we sat down at dinner in Taganga and got a surprise when we saw Nico´s smiling face wander up. We have now seen the drunken Irish couple in San Blas, long bus to Acapulco, Acapulco square, Oaxaca, Semuc Champey and Taganga. bearing in mind these places are in three countries, over three months, and three thousand miles apart, that´s pretty extreme, even for the gringo trail. And it has made us feel a little like we have ´come home´.
Re: haircare; My hair is now dark brown, light brown, ginger and grey. And quite funny. I now sport a fabric bandana most of the time and am either German or Israeli to the locals. Anna made her hair turn green when she tried to disguise her blondness but it has recovered to more natural tones in the sunlight.
We are having great fun with money. From 20 Guatemalan Quetzales to the dollar, via 2.7 Venezuelan Bolivares to 1700 Columbian Pesos and a few others, it gets pretty hairy at the borders, and when calculating for the bus - but we are doing OK.
There is plenty more that I have missed. Next up we will spend a few days in Taganga before seeing Cartagena and then journeying south to Medellin and Cali. We met a Brightonian living in Venezuela who confirmed that, as much as it could and will be different in six months, it is the worst time to be in Venezuela - he was holidaying in Columbia to save money! And, it seems it is a good time to be in Columbia because tourist trails have only recently opened up...
We had some room aggro today when we changed hotels only to find the lock busted to our new room. The owners have those guys from the PG Tips ads in to fix it and our stuff is chained up while we get some provisions.
The night bus to Maracaibo was painless and we got the first bus at 7AM to the border town of Maicao. We understood it was in Venezuela but it was in Columbia and we went through all the formalities getting on and off the same bus. While this was a better result and avoided the often-required cycle rickshaw or hike across the border, it still took 5 hours and we are indebted to our Argentine´s, Bruno and Corda, for bridging the comunication gap, helping us pay half for the onward bus, and not get ripped in currency trading.
Our first taste of Columbia is sweet, at the fishing village of Taganga. It is the gateway for the National Park of Tayrona and also the 6 day trek to the Lost City of the Incas, which we are considering.
In other news;
There were a few typos and gremlins had removed some images, comments and passages in the two thousand blog entries I made last week - most have been corrected.
We have new leaders; we sat down at dinner in Taganga and got a surprise when we saw Nico´s smiling face wander up. We have now seen the drunken Irish couple in San Blas, long bus to Acapulco, Acapulco square, Oaxaca, Semuc Champey and Taganga. bearing in mind these places are in three countries, over three months, and three thousand miles apart, that´s pretty extreme, even for the gringo trail. And it has made us feel a little like we have ´come home´.
Re: haircare; My hair is now dark brown, light brown, ginger and grey. And quite funny. I now sport a fabric bandana most of the time and am either German or Israeli to the locals. Anna made her hair turn green when she tried to disguise her blondness but it has recovered to more natural tones in the sunlight.
We are having great fun with money. From 20 Guatemalan Quetzales to the dollar, via 2.7 Venezuelan Bolivares to 1700 Columbian Pesos and a few others, it gets pretty hairy at the borders, and when calculating for the bus - but we are doing OK.
There is plenty more that I have missed. Next up we will spend a few days in Taganga before seeing Cartagena and then journeying south to Medellin and Cali. We met a Brightonian living in Venezuela who confirmed that, as much as it could and will be different in six months, it is the worst time to be in Venezuela - he was holidaying in Columbia to save money! And, it seems it is a good time to be in Columbia because tourist trails have only recently opened up...
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Venezuela - slight change of plan
We arrived in Caracas, got very confused by the ATMs - turns out you have to swipe very, very quickly and got burned with our tester black market money swap. Then we got to our hotel to find the price had doubled from our book. Then we went to a restaurant and found the prices had doubled from the book.
So we went to the backpacker hangout of Chorini along the coast to meet some more people and generally find what the heel was going on. We turned up in time to see the most incredible avalanche of locals arrive for the weekend on Choroni´s beaches, including the aptly named monster, Playa Grande. The sea of people was frightening, though they were very sensible with the sun shades, and the water looked brown at times because it was so dense with Venezuelan bodies.
And there was an incredible amount of plastic surgery around - at last Anna and I found a common interest to discuss! That´s not fair - we have been talking so much that we have been learning great things about each other - you know that we both watched Dogtanian and the three muskahounds when we were younger (singalong if you know the words!).
And we had two great long days on the beach - but then we needed two days to recover as we had high temperatures and unpleasant side effects either from heat (it was 40 plus in the shade) or maybe just changing country bacteria.
Anyway, we learnt that inflation has doubled prices in the last year in Venezuela. Also that the Bolivar has always been overvalued against the dollar. That the extensive black market trade in dollars has normally solved this. But that the currently weak dollar, combined with the inflation, means that the exchange rate is the lowest it has been for some time (not helped by the change to new Bolivar Fuerte notes (the "strong" Bolivar - a joke to everybody). All in all one successful tour operator told me it is probably the worst ever time to visit Venezuela. The standard Angel Falls tour cost around 100usd 4 years ago and is now 400usd. There is hardly any double accomodation under 30usd and everything is pricey. The locals aren´t happy but at least some wages in the cities are keeping up (especially in Maracaibo the oil centre).
After recovering for a few days in the lovely and safe Posada Alfonso in Choroni, we moved on the Andean mountain city of Merida, where I have just spent two days non-stop blogging to make up for my lack of blogging over the past few months. We want you to know, with our blog, that we love you.
So, we like Merida, but it is ideal for multi-sport adventures, the world´s highest and longest cable car is down for repairs (aaargh) and we have decided to cut our time in Venezuela. It was the country in the world I most wanted to visit but we arrive in what is a traveller`s economic disaster. We have looked at the money and realise that we can do far more elsewhere - and now we can spend a few weeks in Columbia and Ecuador and try to book a good Galapagos trip. We will head for the border on Sunday night and Monday and take a look at Santa Marta and Cartagena on the Columbian Pacific coast. Many thanks to my regional advisor, Mr Shanahan, for his thoughts, including persusaive evidence that we should take a monster Amazonian boat ride at some point. We "only" have until Nov 4th in South America and the Peru gringo stuff, Bolivia and Argentina are musts so we have to see what else, like any of Brazil, we have time for - fingers crossed - one natural disaster (Tropical Storm Arthur) and onw one economic one is enough for me for this year.
All travellers report that Columbia is great at the moment but we will take precautions. Our border crossings in and out of Columbia will take place in unsafe areas so will stick to the obvious areas and move on quickly to major towns, and avoid night buses. We will also sacrific the flight we had from Caracas to Lima in 3 weeks time - now that we have our hearts set on Galapagos, going overland will stop us having to backtrack from Peru to Ecuador and back and give us a chance to see Columbia - and sing plenty more Shakira!
We will leave you there blog readers and hope you enjoy the updates and photos.
Yours MC Deli and Miss Deli (currently preparing stew in Vene Suis - our cute hostal on the hill in Merida)
This is my ´where in the world´picture for Q, on Playa Grande with about 20000 Venezuelans
Sunset over the posada in Choroni
So we went to the backpacker hangout of Chorini along the coast to meet some more people and generally find what the heel was going on. We turned up in time to see the most incredible avalanche of locals arrive for the weekend on Choroni´s beaches, including the aptly named monster, Playa Grande. The sea of people was frightening, though they were very sensible with the sun shades, and the water looked brown at times because it was so dense with Venezuelan bodies.
And there was an incredible amount of plastic surgery around - at last Anna and I found a common interest to discuss! That´s not fair - we have been talking so much that we have been learning great things about each other - you know that we both watched Dogtanian and the three muskahounds when we were younger (singalong if you know the words!).
And we had two great long days on the beach - but then we needed two days to recover as we had high temperatures and unpleasant side effects either from heat (it was 40 plus in the shade) or maybe just changing country bacteria.
Anyway, we learnt that inflation has doubled prices in the last year in Venezuela. Also that the Bolivar has always been overvalued against the dollar. That the extensive black market trade in dollars has normally solved this. But that the currently weak dollar, combined with the inflation, means that the exchange rate is the lowest it has been for some time (not helped by the change to new Bolivar Fuerte notes (the "strong" Bolivar - a joke to everybody). All in all one successful tour operator told me it is probably the worst ever time to visit Venezuela. The standard Angel Falls tour cost around 100usd 4 years ago and is now 400usd. There is hardly any double accomodation under 30usd and everything is pricey. The locals aren´t happy but at least some wages in the cities are keeping up (especially in Maracaibo the oil centre).
After recovering for a few days in the lovely and safe Posada Alfonso in Choroni, we moved on the Andean mountain city of Merida, where I have just spent two days non-stop blogging to make up for my lack of blogging over the past few months. We want you to know, with our blog, that we love you.
So, we like Merida, but it is ideal for multi-sport adventures, the world´s highest and longest cable car is down for repairs (aaargh) and we have decided to cut our time in Venezuela. It was the country in the world I most wanted to visit but we arrive in what is a traveller`s economic disaster. We have looked at the money and realise that we can do far more elsewhere - and now we can spend a few weeks in Columbia and Ecuador and try to book a good Galapagos trip. We will head for the border on Sunday night and Monday and take a look at Santa Marta and Cartagena on the Columbian Pacific coast. Many thanks to my regional advisor, Mr Shanahan, for his thoughts, including persusaive evidence that we should take a monster Amazonian boat ride at some point. We "only" have until Nov 4th in South America and the Peru gringo stuff, Bolivia and Argentina are musts so we have to see what else, like any of Brazil, we have time for - fingers crossed - one natural disaster (Tropical Storm Arthur) and onw one economic one is enough for me for this year.
All travellers report that Columbia is great at the moment but we will take precautions. Our border crossings in and out of Columbia will take place in unsafe areas so will stick to the obvious areas and move on quickly to major towns, and avoid night buses. We will also sacrific the flight we had from Caracas to Lima in 3 weeks time - now that we have our hearts set on Galapagos, going overland will stop us having to backtrack from Peru to Ecuador and back and give us a chance to see Columbia - and sing plenty more Shakira!
We will leave you there blog readers and hope you enjoy the updates and photos.
Yours MC Deli and Miss Deli (currently preparing stew in Vene Suis - our cute hostal on the hill in Merida)
This is my ´where in the world´picture for Q, on Playa Grande with about 20000 Venezuelans
Sunset over the posada in Choroni
Vieques
Vieques - have you heard of it? No? Neither had we. Well, PR has two bigger islands, Vieques and Culebra, and also a few islets. It turns out they all have great reef for snorkelling, one has a 2000 strong monkey research population, a few are wilderness, Culebra is famous for its world-class beaches including Flamingo beach, but we were heading for Vieques, known for its laid back vibe, world class beaches and the world´s most bio-luminescent bay.
We got to the ferry terminal and there was a huge queue. You see we were in PR during summer holiday ("summer xmas") and everyone was going Culebra. You have never seen so many ordinarily sized people carrying so many outrageously sized cool boxes. We had seen crowds on the beaches aroud Loiza and at Palmas Del Mar but there was a mass exodus to Culebra. Luckily 2 hours before departure the Vieques queue was tiny. We got tickets, brekkie and we were on our way on the cheap public ferry - actually the cheapest thing in PR - and it is a passport to paradise.
On Vieques we went across to Esperanza, the laid back ex-pat water side hangout. Snorkelling off the beach and jetty we saw tens of thousands of sardines, some big fish and plenty of littluns. And when we swam out to the island in the bay we saw a handful of big moon jellyfish and great marine life on the coral. We stayed at Bananas guest house, ate comfort food and took the walk to the massive curve of Sun Bay beach; next bay along.
And that night we had our real treat, the Mosquito Bay, a shallow bay, almost a saltwater lagoon that is filled with microscopic organisms. Turns out that these little fellas light up like xmas, like fireflies, when disturbed. Apparently it is a defense mechanism though I can´t see why the little fella going off is going to put me, a whale, or even any little fishie, off my supper or dipping my paddle. In fact strikes me that they are just enjoying themsleves.
They say that full moon should be avoided for bio-luminescence watching. We had no moon. Not only was the moon hiding somewhere in the earth´s shadow. But we also had the clearest night, more stars than we have ever seen in the sky. And we were in a double kayak, in pitch darkness, paddling out into the middle of this great bay.
After a few paddle strokes the fun started. You could see the water around the paddles glow. Once we got closer to the hotspots in the lake you could see the whole area around each canoe glowing a vibrant turquoise. And as we lifted our paddles out of the water with each stroke you could see bright sequins falling from them, lighting up, going out, dripping back into the water.
The water was incredibly warm. We had life jackets, slipped into the water and started playing about. You could lift your hands out of the water, hold them to the stars, and have your hands dripping with stars of their own. It was terrific. Some of you may know that I have something of a penchant for glowing sea life, even having penned a (still incomplete) suite of music on the subject. For me, this was a life long fantasy.
On a darker note our time in PR was coming to an end and meant that we were uinable to visit the town of Ponce. I therefore do not have the money shot of myself posing in Ponce. I feel ashamed and that I have let my father down.
We spent our last night in PR in luxury at the Mariott Isla Verde on the beach with the pool, great room and short hop to the airport. We were gutted to leave Puerto Rico. We would also recommend it to anybody.
Hodad at Sun Bay. A Hodad is someone who pretends to surf. It is also the name for our axe.
Chillin´ at Isla Verde
The Esperanza malecon waterfront on Vieques
We got to the ferry terminal and there was a huge queue. You see we were in PR during summer holiday ("summer xmas") and everyone was going Culebra. You have never seen so many ordinarily sized people carrying so many outrageously sized cool boxes. We had seen crowds on the beaches aroud Loiza and at Palmas Del Mar but there was a mass exodus to Culebra. Luckily 2 hours before departure the Vieques queue was tiny. We got tickets, brekkie and we were on our way on the cheap public ferry - actually the cheapest thing in PR - and it is a passport to paradise.
On Vieques we went across to Esperanza, the laid back ex-pat water side hangout. Snorkelling off the beach and jetty we saw tens of thousands of sardines, some big fish and plenty of littluns. And when we swam out to the island in the bay we saw a handful of big moon jellyfish and great marine life on the coral. We stayed at Bananas guest house, ate comfort food and took the walk to the massive curve of Sun Bay beach; next bay along.
And that night we had our real treat, the Mosquito Bay, a shallow bay, almost a saltwater lagoon that is filled with microscopic organisms. Turns out that these little fellas light up like xmas, like fireflies, when disturbed. Apparently it is a defense mechanism though I can´t see why the little fella going off is going to put me, a whale, or even any little fishie, off my supper or dipping my paddle. In fact strikes me that they are just enjoying themsleves.
They say that full moon should be avoided for bio-luminescence watching. We had no moon. Not only was the moon hiding somewhere in the earth´s shadow. But we also had the clearest night, more stars than we have ever seen in the sky. And we were in a double kayak, in pitch darkness, paddling out into the middle of this great bay.
After a few paddle strokes the fun started. You could see the water around the paddles glow. Once we got closer to the hotspots in the lake you could see the whole area around each canoe glowing a vibrant turquoise. And as we lifted our paddles out of the water with each stroke you could see bright sequins falling from them, lighting up, going out, dripping back into the water.
The water was incredibly warm. We had life jackets, slipped into the water and started playing about. You could lift your hands out of the water, hold them to the stars, and have your hands dripping with stars of their own. It was terrific. Some of you may know that I have something of a penchant for glowing sea life, even having penned a (still incomplete) suite of music on the subject. For me, this was a life long fantasy.
On a darker note our time in PR was coming to an end and meant that we were uinable to visit the town of Ponce. I therefore do not have the money shot of myself posing in Ponce. I feel ashamed and that I have let my father down.
We spent our last night in PR in luxury at the Mariott Isla Verde on the beach with the pool, great room and short hop to the airport. We were gutted to leave Puerto Rico. We would also recommend it to anybody.
Hodad at Sun Bay. A Hodad is someone who pretends to surf. It is also the name for our axe.
Chillin´ at Isla Verde
The Esperanza malecon waterfront on Vieques
A tour of the island
We went out to the famous Nuyorican live salsa bar and watched Magda dance with a succession of hopeful Ricky-wanna-bes, but she was a little disappointed. Rafi had set her up with an amazing dance teacher from the Loiza festival so we know she has a better partner at least to practice with. Rafi made us weird and wonderful drinks in the Candela bar. We relaxed in the hotel, Casa Candela, with Pablo´s collection of paintings of his old record label activities. We saw the San Juan sights, including the kite flying at El Morro, the castle grassland where families unfurled. We thought of the Kiterunner. And took pictures that didn´t capture the kites in all their glory. We stayed up until 3AM drinking every night because it was Old San Juan - we didn´t even make it to the after hours sessions.
And then Rafi. Hee hee hee. He is a cheeky chappy no doubt. Old enough to know better and with the manic enthusiasm of one a little unhinged. Charming, generous, funny. We were very lucky. He came up with the plan for us to go to see his family on Sunday. The morning came and, after about an hour´s sleep, he was too wasted to drive. I took the wheel once we had found the car, and then it wasn´t long before we were on the highway being pulled over by the boys in blue. It transpired that the Rafimobile had rear wheels that looked more like weebles. The rozzers belived his explanation that his telemetry was safe after a bump on a sleeping policeman, and after recovering from the embaressment of not being able to follow the spanish instructions from the police loud hailer as it tried to pull us off the motorway, we were back on the road. Rafi showed us his 700usd of unpaid tickets under the seat, we laughed and sped on.
We drove around the wild forests of El Yunque and eventually arrived at Palmas Del Mar. Rafi´s sister is PR PR, publicist to governers, celebs, musos and the like, and their holiday place for 10 years has been in PR´s exclusive gated community. Big luxury development, glorious beach, happy kids everywhere, Rafi´s nephews running amok, a bit of body surfing, and his sister being a wonderful hostess. We dined out near Fajardo and said goodbye to Rafi, who selflessly drove us around to make sure we had a nice place to stay - well, there was still a lot of love in our hotel but maybe nightly not by the hour.
And we prepared for the real wonders...
Kites over El Morro
Rafi has some explaining to do
The view inside the hip Casa Candela
And then Rafi. Hee hee hee. He is a cheeky chappy no doubt. Old enough to know better and with the manic enthusiasm of one a little unhinged. Charming, generous, funny. We were very lucky. He came up with the plan for us to go to see his family on Sunday. The morning came and, after about an hour´s sleep, he was too wasted to drive. I took the wheel once we had found the car, and then it wasn´t long before we were on the highway being pulled over by the boys in blue. It transpired that the Rafimobile had rear wheels that looked more like weebles. The rozzers belived his explanation that his telemetry was safe after a bump on a sleeping policeman, and after recovering from the embaressment of not being able to follow the spanish instructions from the police loud hailer as it tried to pull us off the motorway, we were back on the road. Rafi showed us his 700usd of unpaid tickets under the seat, we laughed and sped on.
We drove around the wild forests of El Yunque and eventually arrived at Palmas Del Mar. Rafi´s sister is PR PR, publicist to governers, celebs, musos and the like, and their holiday place for 10 years has been in PR´s exclusive gated community. Big luxury development, glorious beach, happy kids everywhere, Rafi´s nephews running amok, a bit of body surfing, and his sister being a wonderful hostess. We dined out near Fajardo and said goodbye to Rafi, who selflessly drove us around to make sure we had a nice place to stay - well, there was still a lot of love in our hotel but maybe nightly not by the hour.
And we prepared for the real wonders...
Kites over El Morro
Rafi has some explaining to do
The view inside the hip Casa Candela
New friends in Old San Juan
Well strictly speaking it was Magda that we met properly first. Though there are a few more things you should know about PR before we begin.
Puerto Rico and New York have a strong connection. There are lots of Puerto Ricans who have lived on the mainland. Their accents could be from anywhere in the states. And they speak spanish and english. And they call each other (guys) "cabarone" meaning cuckold. And they know they are Puerto Rican. There is a strong sense of identity and lifestyle. And in the heat of it, it is obvious why. Yet before we opened the book I would have had trouble pining it on a map.
J-Lo, the ex-Ms Affleck, star of Gigli, the very same Jenny from the block is Nuyorican, a Puerto Rican but one that has lived her whole life in NY. Marc Anthony (not the Cleopatra one) is from PR, as are numerous baseball players and boxers.
And so is... Ricky Martin. And Magda works for Ricky Martin. We feel like he is pretty much one of the family as Magda has him on speed dial - well, she works for the Ricky Martin Foundation, doing good on behalf of the sweaty, leather-trousered one, and helping the young and disadvantaged. Magda is tall, blonde and Polish and hoping for a steady job with Ricky. Meanwhile she was staying at our hotel, Casa Candela, enjoying the benefits of living above the Calle San Sebastian, the coolest street in town, filled with bars, salsa and revelry - and not unlike the Bairro Alto in Lisbon.
Within minutes we were discussing the festival we had read about in Loiza along the coast and how hard it was to get there and how no one knew about it. And then Rafi, our barman, our hero, appeared. With a flash he has rounded us up, grabbed some water bottles, found the car, and we were on our way to Loiza. We caught the tail end of the local afro festival of masks. We were just in time to see the booty shaking-conga-dance off. Chaps with congas spat out pulsating, earthy soca rhythms while ladies of various shapes, sizes and ages took it in turns to second guess the drummers´ syncopations, syncronising their ass-and-milkshakes with the beats. Each dance off became a battle as the lady would close in, threatening the skinsman with fluttering flesh. It was at times a frightening spectacle. And then there were also blokes with colourful masks. We were the only tourists around and everyone was having a great laugh. Rafi took us back to the old town, set us up in a nice restaurant and we realised, that as long as we threw financial caution to the wind, we were in for a great week.
Old San Juan
Loiza festy action
The view from Casa Candela
Puerto Rico and New York have a strong connection. There are lots of Puerto Ricans who have lived on the mainland. Their accents could be from anywhere in the states. And they speak spanish and english. And they call each other (guys) "cabarone" meaning cuckold. And they know they are Puerto Rican. There is a strong sense of identity and lifestyle. And in the heat of it, it is obvious why. Yet before we opened the book I would have had trouble pining it on a map.
J-Lo, the ex-Ms Affleck, star of Gigli, the very same Jenny from the block is Nuyorican, a Puerto Rican but one that has lived her whole life in NY. Marc Anthony (not the Cleopatra one) is from PR, as are numerous baseball players and boxers.
And so is... Ricky Martin. And Magda works for Ricky Martin. We feel like he is pretty much one of the family as Magda has him on speed dial - well, she works for the Ricky Martin Foundation, doing good on behalf of the sweaty, leather-trousered one, and helping the young and disadvantaged. Magda is tall, blonde and Polish and hoping for a steady job with Ricky. Meanwhile she was staying at our hotel, Casa Candela, enjoying the benefits of living above the Calle San Sebastian, the coolest street in town, filled with bars, salsa and revelry - and not unlike the Bairro Alto in Lisbon.
Within minutes we were discussing the festival we had read about in Loiza along the coast and how hard it was to get there and how no one knew about it. And then Rafi, our barman, our hero, appeared. With a flash he has rounded us up, grabbed some water bottles, found the car, and we were on our way to Loiza. We caught the tail end of the local afro festival of masks. We were just in time to see the booty shaking-conga-dance off. Chaps with congas spat out pulsating, earthy soca rhythms while ladies of various shapes, sizes and ages took it in turns to second guess the drummers´ syncopations, syncronising their ass-and-milkshakes with the beats. Each dance off became a battle as the lady would close in, threatening the skinsman with fluttering flesh. It was at times a frightening spectacle. And then there were also blokes with colourful masks. We were the only tourists around and everyone was having a great laugh. Rafi took us back to the old town, set us up in a nice restaurant and we realised, that as long as we threw financial caution to the wind, we were in for a great week.
Old San Juan
Loiza festy action
The view from Casa Candela
White, black, Puerto Rican...
...everybody just-a-freakin´
We opened our new copy of LP Puerto Rico and our faces dropped at the opening gambit "there is no budget accomodation in Puerto Rico", "PR is not a country for budget travellers".
Oh dear (well actually "oh bollocks") we thought (Anna has some strange verbal quirks and a very unusual vocabulary for a non-native English speaker) and we created a vague plan to see San Juan and maybe go to one of PR´s islands. As usual we put the best foot forward, found a cheap hotel tip and pitched up at San Juan.
PR isn´t a country at all. It is a tone of thought. Well, it´s actually an American dependency, the 51st state, not a state, they vote in the primaries, but can´t vote for the president, they don´t pay federal tax, but they are subject to federal law. And they like it that way - about 65% are happy to be a dependency. The whole North of the island is a sprawling metropolis, there is little public transport, car culture everywhere, some security issues like any US city and then the really good stuff - but we didn´t really know about that when we arrived at 1AM after a double delay and missed flight out of Miami which no longer has a transit terminal, multiplying change times exponentially.
So, taxi to Old San Juan, hotel address, no hotel. Dark, late, cobbled streets, attractive, just around the corner from the dangerous La Perla part of town, hotel owner not answering the phone to the cost of about 50euros, panic is maybe 5 minutes away. The lads in the nearest doorway are somehow inviting. They are musicians, there is a studio visible in the front room and they are very, very nice. Already I realise that we coud crash on the floor if our hotel doesn´t exist. Promo guy is already on the phone, knows our innkeeper, he´s called a cab to check there is someone there before getting us. Guitar guy gives us a few riffs. Bass player girlfriend hangs. Smoking and drinking is going on in the street. And this turns out to be the home of PR rock minor legends Viva Nativa - and they are a very nice bunch.
It´s still not over though. We arrive at a bar. And then some confusion as the barman leaves his post, replete with pumping nu-jazz, and takes us around the corner to the hotel. And then it all becomes clear. It is not really a hotel. Pablo, a well known promoter and friend to our local nu-jazzers Nuspirit Helsinki, owns a couple of bars and now this private guest house. Some people online had posted about no staff and not being able to check in in the morning. That´s because the owner and manager (our barman, our hero) are up until 5AM drinking every night. So, 2AM was the perfect time to check in. It all made sense. We had the big room at the top with en suite, balcony overlooking greater San Juan, which we ditched for a cheaper one the second night. I still had time to wind down by going downstairs and finding some local lads for a few beers before retiring.
In the morning, we saw the view from the roof, the seductive charms of the hilly, tight, cobbles of Old San Jaun, and we breakfasted for the first of many times at St Germain, the relaxed brasserie that warmed us with fancies that would even have been treats back home.
But Anna still wasn´t convinced. In fact, disturbed by the contrast between our room´s bright wightwashed walls and the layers of dirt on the floor, she was insisting, and we were seriously considering, bailing.
But then... enter... Rafi :)
We opened our new copy of LP Puerto Rico and our faces dropped at the opening gambit "there is no budget accomodation in Puerto Rico", "PR is not a country for budget travellers".
Oh dear (well actually "oh bollocks") we thought (Anna has some strange verbal quirks and a very unusual vocabulary for a non-native English speaker) and we created a vague plan to see San Juan and maybe go to one of PR´s islands. As usual we put the best foot forward, found a cheap hotel tip and pitched up at San Juan.
PR isn´t a country at all. It is a tone of thought. Well, it´s actually an American dependency, the 51st state, not a state, they vote in the primaries, but can´t vote for the president, they don´t pay federal tax, but they are subject to federal law. And they like it that way - about 65% are happy to be a dependency. The whole North of the island is a sprawling metropolis, there is little public transport, car culture everywhere, some security issues like any US city and then the really good stuff - but we didn´t really know about that when we arrived at 1AM after a double delay and missed flight out of Miami which no longer has a transit terminal, multiplying change times exponentially.
So, taxi to Old San Juan, hotel address, no hotel. Dark, late, cobbled streets, attractive, just around the corner from the dangerous La Perla part of town, hotel owner not answering the phone to the cost of about 50euros, panic is maybe 5 minutes away. The lads in the nearest doorway are somehow inviting. They are musicians, there is a studio visible in the front room and they are very, very nice. Already I realise that we coud crash on the floor if our hotel doesn´t exist. Promo guy is already on the phone, knows our innkeeper, he´s called a cab to check there is someone there before getting us. Guitar guy gives us a few riffs. Bass player girlfriend hangs. Smoking and drinking is going on in the street. And this turns out to be the home of PR rock minor legends Viva Nativa - and they are a very nice bunch.
It´s still not over though. We arrive at a bar. And then some confusion as the barman leaves his post, replete with pumping nu-jazz, and takes us around the corner to the hotel. And then it all becomes clear. It is not really a hotel. Pablo, a well known promoter and friend to our local nu-jazzers Nuspirit Helsinki, owns a couple of bars and now this private guest house. Some people online had posted about no staff and not being able to check in in the morning. That´s because the owner and manager (our barman, our hero) are up until 5AM drinking every night. So, 2AM was the perfect time to check in. It all made sense. We had the big room at the top with en suite, balcony overlooking greater San Juan, which we ditched for a cheaper one the second night. I still had time to wind down by going downstairs and finding some local lads for a few beers before retiring.
In the morning, we saw the view from the roof, the seductive charms of the hilly, tight, cobbles of Old San Jaun, and we breakfasted for the first of many times at St Germain, the relaxed brasserie that warmed us with fancies that would even have been treats back home.
But Anna still wasn´t convinced. In fact, disturbed by the contrast between our room´s bright wightwashed walls and the layers of dirt on the floor, she was insisting, and we were seriously considering, bailing.
But then... enter... Rafi :)
Surf city
With a few days to go before our flight out of Costa Rica we reasoned that due to known factors (high prices, development, westernisation, profusion of American holidaymakers) Costa Rica would not be for us. So we took the chance to visit the Nicaraguan surf town of San Juan del Sur. We pitched up on the chicken bus and had trouble finding a room, eventually landing in the local surf-bum-shack. Definately the shakiest room we have had (would have blown away on Little Corn) there was definately a laid back vibe with the lads playing computer games, wet suits everywhere and the pets patrolling the ground floor. I found one of the tiny tortoises staring down both the dog and the cat at the same time. We ate enormous pizza, swam on San Juan´s great beach, didnt have time to explore the surrounds, but understood how it would be easy to lose weeks there.
We took a pricey cross border bus direct to San Jose in Costa Rica but still had to spend a couple of hours at the border and we went straight to the Pangea hostel, a backpacker dream according to the bible, and also a Miles Davis album, and pre-historic continent to boot. Nightmare morelike. Not bad in a persoal security or dirty way. But my god. It looked a prison. The rooms were tiny, pokey and dark, like prison. There was a fast food restaurant with (albeit free) stand up Internet terminals. You had to wear club style entry wrist bands and endure avergely unpumping averagely uninspiring music. And pay extortionate amounts for extras. It was a traveller distopia. It was positively Orwellian. In Oz people get shuttled from hostel to hostel only to exit the hostel for the obligatory bar hopping tour (unless there is an in-hostel bar like this place had). This was a nightmare for us, only made worse by the sound of shrieking American youth at all hours. Trying ont to generalise we have noted regularly how our North American cousins will enter a room or quiet area and begin to whisper. But then once a certain threshold has been reached they will ramp it and scream the same old dull small talk as if that has been the atmosphere of the room/terrace/bar/restaurant/recital/mosque all along. Guys - give it a rest. Put a sock in it - as the old man would have suggested.
Oh but we are weak. Because of the westernisation of Costa Rica it was very easy for us to spend money on shopping for bikinis, books and other travelling essentials. Just lik every time we end up spending in a non-native owned hotel or restaurant, we felt dirty.
The real reason I don´t like Costa Rica is because the snakes took my two spare sets of guitar strings off me at security check. The seventh flight and now they take my strings - arseholes!
La chica enjoys senset at San Juan before massive pizza
Backgammon on the InterAmerican highway waiting for the bus out of Nicaragua
We took a pricey cross border bus direct to San Jose in Costa Rica but still had to spend a couple of hours at the border and we went straight to the Pangea hostel, a backpacker dream according to the bible, and also a Miles Davis album, and pre-historic continent to boot. Nightmare morelike. Not bad in a persoal security or dirty way. But my god. It looked a prison. The rooms were tiny, pokey and dark, like prison. There was a fast food restaurant with (albeit free) stand up Internet terminals. You had to wear club style entry wrist bands and endure avergely unpumping averagely uninspiring music. And pay extortionate amounts for extras. It was a traveller distopia. It was positively Orwellian. In Oz people get shuttled from hostel to hostel only to exit the hostel for the obligatory bar hopping tour (unless there is an in-hostel bar like this place had). This was a nightmare for us, only made worse by the sound of shrieking American youth at all hours. Trying ont to generalise we have noted regularly how our North American cousins will enter a room or quiet area and begin to whisper. But then once a certain threshold has been reached they will ramp it and scream the same old dull small talk as if that has been the atmosphere of the room/terrace/bar/restaurant/recital/mosque all along. Guys - give it a rest. Put a sock in it - as the old man would have suggested.
Oh but we are weak. Because of the westernisation of Costa Rica it was very easy for us to spend money on shopping for bikinis, books and other travelling essentials. Just lik every time we end up spending in a non-native owned hotel or restaurant, we felt dirty.
The real reason I don´t like Costa Rica is because the snakes took my two spare sets of guitar strings off me at security check. The seventh flight and now they take my strings - arseholes!
La chica enjoys senset at San Juan before massive pizza
Backgammon on the InterAmerican highway waiting for the bus out of Nicaragua
Nicaraguan wonders
Again, taking some advice from our gurus, Alex and Iris, we realised we should buy at least something before leaving CA, and so, in spite of pack weights, we set off for Masaya, in search of the crafts capital of the region. Weighed down by my constant babble about ´being the Masaya´ and how ´ony the true Masaya denies his divinity´ we made it to the hammock city, even though we had come to the only tourist town in the world with no maps for tourists to find the workshops, markets, galleries and peddlars that are the town´s lifeblood. We bought a hammock. I failed to convince Anna of the need to purchase a hoop of my people (feathery round thing unfortunately used hanging from the rear view mirror in these parts, but originally a very important symbol for native american Indians, representing the life of the tribe. I have just read Black Elk Speaks, pitched as a native american Indian bible, which details the last stands of the North American Indians before their betrayal and butchery and removal from their lands. But I also like the feathers.). And we went to the evening dance show in the market. It was weird because it was mostly Nicaraguan families in from Managua having a night out drinking. The show was a faux traditional shambles. Nice masks. Rock band to finish. 40 left feet on stage. Pity the shoemaker.
And then we went to Lake Nicaragua and the twin volcanic isand of Omotepe. We had presumed that Omotepe was going to be cheap but it is being overrun with foreign owned posadas, big hotels, and a transport system whereby American toursists pay 25usd for a taxi so the 25 taxi drivers think that everyone will pay it. As it is difficult to get around the accomodations are far apart we took a recommendation and stayed at El Encanto. We were very pleasantly surprised. Just five rooms, hillside, glorious views of the two volcanos, 200m down to the end of the long beach on the lake, amazingly rich garden, giant frogs blocking the path at night, fireflies, butterflies, ancient petroglyphs on rocks dotted around, lovely terrace, big hammocks, lovely-if-pricey food, bikes, and a great vibe. Even when the very-loud-American-groups arrived the next day we still couldn´t be shaken from our peace. We swam in the lake, got wet in the afternoon rain, biked to the swimming springs, walked the garden, and should´ve changed the guitar´s strings.
Is this the ferry?
Omotepe's volcanos
El Encanto - we had about 20 wasp`s nests in our bathroom but didn`t notice amid the glorious setting
And then we went to Lake Nicaragua and the twin volcanic isand of Omotepe. We had presumed that Omotepe was going to be cheap but it is being overrun with foreign owned posadas, big hotels, and a transport system whereby American toursists pay 25usd for a taxi so the 25 taxi drivers think that everyone will pay it. As it is difficult to get around the accomodations are far apart we took a recommendation and stayed at El Encanto. We were very pleasantly surprised. Just five rooms, hillside, glorious views of the two volcanos, 200m down to the end of the long beach on the lake, amazingly rich garden, giant frogs blocking the path at night, fireflies, butterflies, ancient petroglyphs on rocks dotted around, lovely terrace, big hammocks, lovely-if-pricey food, bikes, and a great vibe. Even when the very-loud-American-groups arrived the next day we still couldn´t be shaken from our peace. We swam in the lake, got wet in the afternoon rain, biked to the swimming springs, walked the garden, and should´ve changed the guitar´s strings.
Is this the ferry?
Omotepe's volcanos
El Encanto - we had about 20 wasp`s nests in our bathroom but didn`t notice amid the glorious setting
More good stuff in Nicaragua
We came away from Little Corn feeling it was one of the best places we had ever been and one of the nicest weeks, even though we had had the most atrocious weather imaginable - the place is that cool. When we got back to Managua airport we had a mission with the American Airlines desk there.
You see a few week prior we had tried to confirm all our flight dates. We had requested all our open dates by email with Finnair but we had got a few nasty suprises. We could only get wait-listed to and from New Caledonia, we couldn´t get any flights before November between Rio and Santiago, and worse, Costa Rica (San Juan) to Puerto Rico (San Jose) did not exist; American Airlines did not have the route. This was very confusing and annoying for us as we had a blank ticket for the flight. Finnair told us the route was scheduled to start in the future - which didn´t do us any favours as we were holding a ticket for a plane that didn´t fly. We would have uncovered this mistake if we had booked dummy dates for all our flights but we had also presumed that our rep had checked when we said we would probably fly this one on July 17th.
Anyway, we came up with the plan to ditch the Rio-Santiago flight and use that segment to fly via Miami to Puerto Rico. The big change being that we would have to make it overland around all of Peru, Bolivia, Brasil, Argentina and to Chile. The other issue was that, by the terms of our round-the-world ticket we would have to fork out 125eur each for a route change and ticket reissue.
The AA lady at Managua airport was veru sympathetic, said they knew nothing about flying one day direct from San Jose to San Juan, and started making the necessary arrangements. After faxing, photographing and emailing our tickets to HQ in Mexico and about 4 hours of faffing, she had nailed all our flights (including settling a duplicatation of New Caledonia flights that Finnair had missed), got all the dates confirmed and then announced that we would have to pay... nada. It was all free. Whether be oversight, sympathy or fortune we didn´t even have to pay additional taxes and avoided any charge and reissue fee - and some airlines (Quantas) charge 15usd for every date faff.
For the Deli tour completists, and those still considering joining us (there must be some you left out there) I will put the dates here shortly...
You see a few week prior we had tried to confirm all our flight dates. We had requested all our open dates by email with Finnair but we had got a few nasty suprises. We could only get wait-listed to and from New Caledonia, we couldn´t get any flights before November between Rio and Santiago, and worse, Costa Rica (San Juan) to Puerto Rico (San Jose) did not exist; American Airlines did not have the route. This was very confusing and annoying for us as we had a blank ticket for the flight. Finnair told us the route was scheduled to start in the future - which didn´t do us any favours as we were holding a ticket for a plane that didn´t fly. We would have uncovered this mistake if we had booked dummy dates for all our flights but we had also presumed that our rep had checked when we said we would probably fly this one on July 17th.
Anyway, we came up with the plan to ditch the Rio-Santiago flight and use that segment to fly via Miami to Puerto Rico. The big change being that we would have to make it overland around all of Peru, Bolivia, Brasil, Argentina and to Chile. The other issue was that, by the terms of our round-the-world ticket we would have to fork out 125eur each for a route change and ticket reissue.
The AA lady at Managua airport was veru sympathetic, said they knew nothing about flying one day direct from San Jose to San Juan, and started making the necessary arrangements. After faxing, photographing and emailing our tickets to HQ in Mexico and about 4 hours of faffing, she had nailed all our flights (including settling a duplicatation of New Caledonia flights that Finnair had missed), got all the dates confirmed and then announced that we would have to pay... nada. It was all free. Whether be oversight, sympathy or fortune we didn´t even have to pay additional taxes and avoided any charge and reissue fee - and some airlines (Quantas) charge 15usd for every date faff.
For the Deli tour completists, and those still considering joining us (there must be some you left out there) I will put the dates here shortly...
Little Corn
We flew from Managua to the Corn Islands, the Nicaraguan islands in the Caribbean. We knew that Little Corn was a must-see backpacker destination and after researching the overland route (12 hour bus, 4 hour speedboat, 7 hour ferry - 3 days total) with no recommendations we opted for the plane.
We got busted for excess baggage on the way to Big Corn and then changed to the local speed boat for the crossing to Little Corn. This hour long journey was charaterised by the taking of seasickness pills and the large plastic sheet which we had to cling onto for dear life along with the other 20 passengers to avoid being drenched by the bow wave as flew over the swelling sea, smacking hard after every wave. Luckily we had also read the passage in the big book about grabbing the life jackets to sit on them in deterrence of arse-ache, and also sitting in the back of the boat, to avoid the sensation that one is forever on the edge of ejection and familiarity with Davy Jones´ locker.
Little Corn is a tiny island, walkable in 45 mins, with a village of a few thousand, and posadas (guest houses mostly with cabanas) dotted around the beaches on the coastline. It is no longer remote or uindiscovered and the pricing was a bit strong but we struck a deal for a really nice new beachfront cabana (stilts, own bathroom, balcony, hammock, sofa, good roof) with Elsa on the backside of the island.
We spent a week at Little Corn at Elsa´s and it was heaven for us. There was small issue. It rained every day. Not just a little bit. In fact it stormed every day. We were woken by thunder at 2, 3, 5 AM and the lightening storms were regular, spectacular and pretty mean. The thunder was the loudest we have ever heard. But the water was warm, there was time for snorkelling, to explore the island, pick wild fruit, befriend the resident kittens who lived in cabana number 4, feed the scawny abandoned kitten (who we hope the others´ mother has adopted), write songs, read, and just enjoy it.
Little Corn was perfect for us and we met some lovely other people. The Belgians were back - now holding the record for most meetings on the gringo trail with the Deli crew. We got to know Siguri and Rodolpho (yes, his parents had a sense of rumour) much better, we met the dreadlocked-matching-head-torch-Austrian couple with the quality AliG shades, and we met the worse backgammon players in living memory; Alex and Iris. Actually they are the only couple we have ever played against, they had the same set we had bought in India all those years ago - with the dodgy non-symmetrical dice - and, being German, they were going round the world the other way, so we were robbed of more of their company. But they had time to set us straight on a few things; most important of which is that the Galapagos islands are a must, not an option. And they filled us in on some places in Brasil around Salvador, Alex offered me his hair shaver (I am still regretting not induging) and Iris had us rolling in the aisles (or in the isles in this case) with her impressions of Cambodian family tea and beer (and spittle) sharing rituals.
And we met an army of Finns, connected to the Finnish Solidarity organisation that evaluates Finnish origin NGO projects and then we went to Big Corn for the day. And we wished we had gone for longer. We found the beaches were vast and empty, it was easy to get around on the local bus, there was a bit more choice (with budget options) for food and then we found Anastacia´s; a hotel (which we didn´t know about beforehand so we didn´t stay there) a jetty, to a big bar, with the most fantastic snorkelling off the back. It was too far for us to swim to the wreck but we spent a few hours checking out amazing coral walls and the abundant marine life.
Miss Elsa´s on Little Corn´s backside
Hut number 7
Back in training after snorkelling off Anastacia´s on Big Corn
Big Corn. Words failed us.
We got busted for excess baggage on the way to Big Corn and then changed to the local speed boat for the crossing to Little Corn. This hour long journey was charaterised by the taking of seasickness pills and the large plastic sheet which we had to cling onto for dear life along with the other 20 passengers to avoid being drenched by the bow wave as flew over the swelling sea, smacking hard after every wave. Luckily we had also read the passage in the big book about grabbing the life jackets to sit on them in deterrence of arse-ache, and also sitting in the back of the boat, to avoid the sensation that one is forever on the edge of ejection and familiarity with Davy Jones´ locker.
Little Corn is a tiny island, walkable in 45 mins, with a village of a few thousand, and posadas (guest houses mostly with cabanas) dotted around the beaches on the coastline. It is no longer remote or uindiscovered and the pricing was a bit strong but we struck a deal for a really nice new beachfront cabana (stilts, own bathroom, balcony, hammock, sofa, good roof) with Elsa on the backside of the island.
We spent a week at Little Corn at Elsa´s and it was heaven for us. There was small issue. It rained every day. Not just a little bit. In fact it stormed every day. We were woken by thunder at 2, 3, 5 AM and the lightening storms were regular, spectacular and pretty mean. The thunder was the loudest we have ever heard. But the water was warm, there was time for snorkelling, to explore the island, pick wild fruit, befriend the resident kittens who lived in cabana number 4, feed the scawny abandoned kitten (who we hope the others´ mother has adopted), write songs, read, and just enjoy it.
Little Corn was perfect for us and we met some lovely other people. The Belgians were back - now holding the record for most meetings on the gringo trail with the Deli crew. We got to know Siguri and Rodolpho (yes, his parents had a sense of rumour) much better, we met the dreadlocked-matching-head-torch-Austrian couple with the quality AliG shades, and we met the worse backgammon players in living memory; Alex and Iris. Actually they are the only couple we have ever played against, they had the same set we had bought in India all those years ago - with the dodgy non-symmetrical dice - and, being German, they were going round the world the other way, so we were robbed of more of their company. But they had time to set us straight on a few things; most important of which is that the Galapagos islands are a must, not an option. And they filled us in on some places in Brasil around Salvador, Alex offered me his hair shaver (I am still regretting not induging) and Iris had us rolling in the aisles (or in the isles in this case) with her impressions of Cambodian family tea and beer (and spittle) sharing rituals.
And we met an army of Finns, connected to the Finnish Solidarity organisation that evaluates Finnish origin NGO projects and then we went to Big Corn for the day. And we wished we had gone for longer. We found the beaches were vast and empty, it was easy to get around on the local bus, there was a bit more choice (with budget options) for food and then we found Anastacia´s; a hotel (which we didn´t know about beforehand so we didn´t stay there) a jetty, to a big bar, with the most fantastic snorkelling off the back. It was too far for us to swim to the wreck but we spent a few hours checking out amazing coral walls and the abundant marine life.
Miss Elsa´s on Little Corn´s backside
Hut number 7
Back in training after snorkelling off Anastacia´s on Big Corn
Big Corn. Words failed us.
A missed opportunity
We nearly always have a camera with us and, though we are not trigger happy, we have managed over 1900 photos so far. One thing I wish I had been able to capture has been the profusion and variety of footy pitches; particularly those we have seen from the roadside as we plough past on the chicken bus.
Pipes, including curved corners, brought fom the suv on the beachfront; the litter strewn marsh to rock of Caye Caulker; the holidaymaker mini nets inflated for the kids on La Ensenada beach on Saturday. The real fascination for me was with the pitches on 20 degree slopes, the minature pitches with huge stick goals, the well groomed end-of-runway bowling green pitch with nets, the pitch overgrown with 150cm weeds but with nets, goals with wooden posts that must be the only straight beams i the village, crossbars of tape, crossbars of rope, y-shaped stantions, plastic pipe stantions to bind the wooden posts, swamp pitches, tiny ones, huge ones, roadside dirt ones, the gleaming watered pitches of Costa Rica... And the stadium in tiny San Marcos where we saw a commotion and waited around to see the annual clash of the two young village teams, including the procession of the queens with their crowns, the announcer you could hear across the lake, and with ten goals - it finished 6-4 and we only saw the first goal!
San Marcos nil, San Marcos... er... nil
Pipes, including curved corners, brought fom the suv on the beachfront; the litter strewn marsh to rock of Caye Caulker; the holidaymaker mini nets inflated for the kids on La Ensenada beach on Saturday. The real fascination for me was with the pitches on 20 degree slopes, the minature pitches with huge stick goals, the well groomed end-of-runway bowling green pitch with nets, the pitch overgrown with 150cm weeds but with nets, goals with wooden posts that must be the only straight beams i the village, crossbars of tape, crossbars of rope, y-shaped stantions, plastic pipe stantions to bind the wooden posts, swamp pitches, tiny ones, huge ones, roadside dirt ones, the gleaming watered pitches of Costa Rica... And the stadium in tiny San Marcos where we saw a commotion and waited around to see the annual clash of the two young village teams, including the procession of the queens with their crowns, the announcer you could hear across the lake, and with ten goals - it finished 6-4 and we only saw the first goal!
San Marcos nil, San Marcos... er... nil
Leon, first taste of Nicaragua
Leon, the Nicaraguan city, was a great intro to a new country. It was small, friendly, cheap, had a gringo zone that could be avoided, and had a certain vibe about it. Already on the first Nica buses the locals had been friendly and chatting away. We arrived in the rain with Anna not feeling too good and all the obvious gringo accom booked. I trapsed about in the rain and found a room in the back of a sports bar. El Cedro (the Cider House AKA Shark Bar) turned out to be a good stroke. Canadian Jack was our host and was a very good cook - whenever we went elsewhere we were disappointed. The bar out front had a good mix of young locals and long term foreign residents and the room was basic, cheap, clean and quiet.
We dug Leon the same way we dug Oaxaca. Just walking around, digging the vibe, enjoying hanging out. And it was here that was the famous backgammon plan was formed. So I should update you. Well, on the first day I wiped the floor with my opponents, but it was all for points, so just practice. That night Anna and I played. Anna played with a hitherto unseen zeal, presumably subconsciuosly acutely aware that our holiday money was connected, and she wiped the floor with me, winning 7 consecutive games.
The next day I skulked back to the Internet cafe and though I should warm up with some points games before parting with real cash. And I couldn´t buy a game. I lost to everyone, in every way. I lost all the points I had won the day before, even against rank beginners. It really was a disaster. So I totally bottled playing for money! I should add that since then Anna has won here first ever series-of-series-of-series but I am still well ahead in the rankings (she insists on keeping score!).
Leon, where big hair meets big street art
Bay Island blues
After the highs and lows of La Ensenada we thought about trying another village but felt that we had our perfect experience. The obvious thing to do was to get back on the gringo trail so we got o the boat to the budget-dive-island of Utila, still part of Honduras. And we didn´t heed advice and take sea-sickness pills.
The boat was a motor catarmaran. The sea was rough afternoon. There was pitching, but there was also yawing. There was so much movement in all directions. And the sides of the boat were non-transparent tarps so you couldn´t see out and get a fix on the horizon or land. The journey was only just over an hour. Within ten minutes my shorts and b-ball top (still thanking Per!) were soaked through with sweat and I realised something was up. The crew were scanning the 50 or so passengers readey with bags and towels. Then it began. I was puking so much for the next 45 minutes I didn´t even notice that Anna had joined in the fun along ith about 20 others. My hands were numb, my body was weak, and when we arrived I couldn´t get off the boat for about 20 minutes. Then I had to lay on the dock for another 45 minutes, still throwing up. Oh, I was a sight. Meanwhile Anna scored us a great room at Ruby´s, with a lovely bathroom, kitchenette across the courtyard, jetty with late night rays, and the lovely cats, MC (coincidental note to Warnocks) and Baby, who was blind, so had the most incredibly piercing green eyes. MC stole the yank fisher guy´s steak shark bait and we fed Baby sweet milk. But I couldn´t really do anything for 2 days. But the beach and snorkelling were great. Anna still has the jellyfish sting scar on her upper arm.
Our rooms usually look something like this. This was a nice one
Anna befriends parrot on Utila beach. Jamie loses job.
The Cuban connection
You see, just like the book says, most travellers tend to fly through, or skip, Honduras, except for the cheap diving courses on the Bay Islands. So we thought that we would head for the North coast´s Garifuna villages to get off the gringo trail and find paradise - and we kinda did.
On the way through the Honduras with Laurent & Laura filling our heads with stories of (his) primitive pastoral lifestyle high in the Swiss Alps, we hit a local bus price protest outside San Pedro (AKA the AIDs capital of central america). After a quick chat up of an off duty minibus driver in yours truly´s awful spanglish, and with Laurent roping in some other stranded Frenchies, we were able to slip through the waning picket line with only a few gruff looks from the protesters. Anna and I then went to Tela, where our room for the night had an open window - altogether we had a cricket, 4 cockroaches and in the morning we found one scorpion (he had stuck to the Heath Robinson gaffa tape device I had tried to block the window with), and we moved on to the randomly chosen Garifuna village of La Ensenada.
The villages dot the Caribbean coast from Belize to Panama and are made of Creole speaking descendents of slaves that were exiled from Roatan back in the day. There is a lot of poverty, basic subsistence living (fishing), basic tourist facilities, a few weekending local tourists, and in our experience, no gringos.
We arrived and did our classic luggage/accom manouver: we piled up the bags and one of us went off to scout all available lodging for the best deal for a week. We do this whenever we can basically because our bags are just too heavy to lug around! After meeting local-man-with-a-certain-quality, Gary, and seeing a mixted bag of overpriced or scummy rooms about three different people had pointed towards the Cuban, the last house on the beach. I came back beaming to tell Anna. I couldn´t believe it. Lovely big house on stilts, garden to the beach, big bedroom, sound of the waves, big kitchen, lounge with TV and stereo, and the owner and his partner who take guests because they have two spare rooms and like the company. And it was cheap (10usd a night). It was too good to be true. This was where coud spend 2, 3 weeks, even longer.
La Ensenada has about 200 residents, one tiny shop, about 5 palapas (shacks) serving food (you can have anything you want as long as its fried fish, rice and beans), most of the locals living in huts (mostly Pepsi sponsored) a couple of nice small hotels (empty) and four nice houses (all owned by the Cuban) on the beach - which, by the way, is a gorgeous arc of sand with rainforest at one end and stretches into the distance.
We lasted three days in the end, including watching the Euro final in the village shop. There was a classic side show when Gary reappeared, very drunk. The village shop had a young scrawny kitten that Anna had been giving some milk too during the footy, and Gary turned up and started getting very dramatic, and very, very camp, with the owner about taking away the cat. He was all swaying head, skinny torso, black painted nails, kitten kidnapping and rolling drunk (warning non-PC section)- and distracting me from the serious business of kraut-baiting. But it was all worthwhile when the shopkeeper leaned over to me and confided in me that Gary was ´batty man´ in rich creole pattoir. Yes, he really was the only gay in the village.
On the second morning we were both in the water looking back at the house, the forest, along at the beach, up at the blue sky; in soft, clear, gentle water; and we really were there. We really had arrived. It was truly magical. But a few hours later Anna came out of the water with a jellyfish sting. I spent some time on the Cuban´s internet to ensure that she about to make proper use of her urine. I didn´t watch. Anna got some bad cramps and muscle aches for a few hours after but no fever luckily. Later that day the true state of the kitchen also dawned on us. It turned out that the Cuban and partner spent all day in bed and drove the half hour to eat in Tela most evenings. They bought a lot of food, and vitamins (you have never seen so many power and pump pill bottles - and the big ones too) but left it to rot. The kitchen stank, there were fruit flies buzzing around black bananas, the floor thick with dust, gubbins everywhere and it was a real struggle to wade in and make something.
On our last morning we had a chat with Alfredo, our portly retiree host, that explained a few things. His partner, to who he lovingly referred as ´This One´ (as in ´not the other one who was 18´) was only 17 when they met, ´a few months ago´. There were five video recorders and no videos in the lounge (why have the videos elsewhere?), there were some fairly graphic images on his PC, ´This One´ clearly had other interests (fitting for a teenager) other than home building, and Alfie clearly only had interests in the bedroom. We felt dirty, the place was dirty, paradise ahd been tainted by an ex-pat exploiting ´their need for a father figure´. And the house, and the beach, and the village were wonderful. It was a bit sad. But funny, for everyone except for This One´s parents, probably.
La Ensenada bussling as ever
The beach backed by rainforest at tusk
The sting
Friday, August 8, 2008
Really cosmic Guatemala
Lake Atitlan has been on the gringo trails for many moons and is also now part owned by North Americans who have created some spectacular holiday homes on its banks. Panajachel was our first sight of the lake. It had a sports bar (Holland wasn´t it?) and good shopping and a relaxed vibe. We got the launch to San Marcos, famous for being a hippy hang out. One of the smallest and arguably most charming villages on the lake, San Marcos is unique because the bottom half of the village is filled with posadas (hostels) that are linked by tight leafy alleyways. It is like a fairytale, especially at dusk (or ´tusk´ as Anna called once, which I won´t let her forget:)) when the wailing of several local women starts. It is spooky, accompanied by some bells, and definately adds to the cosmic vibe. There is a yoga resort made out of pyramids, and our place, La Paz, had a yoga hall, Mayan sauna and good food. The Mayan sauna was brick, low, fired by wood outside, and you put water on the metal of the oven inside. It was only warm but very sweaty, which was good. The manager of the hostel we named Kinky Bill, after his T-shirt, which was suitably prophetic as it transpired he was known for walking around naked and walking in on sauna-ing visitors. There was a little security problem in the surrounding hills, which one long term gringo dealt with by always carrying a cricket bat - not unlike Ian {mandolin strings in Austin) Faith.
We swam in the lake, we met Germans, we met the Belgians again, Anna went to Yoga, I spanked axe. It was very cool. And we met Lauren and Laura, the multi-lingual Swiss-English couple, famous for giving us the Kiterunner (ace book), who we should have given Middlesex (similarly ace book) but hadn´t finished it yet.
Just when L&L thought they had lost us, we ended up on the bus out of Pana with them, and while they went onwards, we went local, via Antigua, the duff town of Chichimula (Chikki) for the Honduran border. At Copan, we didn´t bother seeing the ruins or the butterfly sanctuary but, within 5 minutes of arriving we saw the Grangers and Ficeland again, and when we went to buy bus tickets, Laurent´s de}readlocked permagrin was there to meet us. Around this time Central America started to feel very cosy. And we were in Honduras and I had a plan...
Always the search for...
The view across Lake Atitlan
Anna takes a dip late in the day
Slightly more cosmic Guatemala
At Earth Lodge we met the lovely, though Northern, Granger family. Mother Emily and toddler Toby sayed at the lodge torturing the residents while daughter Ishabel (13) and father Bananaman accompanied us on the tour of the Pacaya volcano.
Oh how Adi and (Emily´s cousin and Earth Lodge manageress) Lucy must have been creasing when they handed over the bag of rainwear to Bob. It wasnt until we arrived in the van at the foot of Pacaya that he realised he was about to climb a volcano in a bright custard yellow, all-in-one, light plastic jump suit, that was about 3 sizes too small for his lanky frame (I think I am qualified to use the term ´lanky´ by the way).
Did we offer to wait and reupholster him, or have a whip round, or canvas for alternatives - No. I promptly christened him Bananaman and sang the Banana Splits theme tune and mouthed other assorted witicisms, which needn´t lower the tone of this blog, all the way to the top.
And my god it was the most dangerous thing we have ever done. In some reference literature it does mention people have been hurt and died doing this but you don´t really realise that until you are standing in an active lava field, you feet are warming, you can see red hot rock in between the cracks and fissures of fragile, twisted lava rock beneath your feet, and you can see an actual moving lava flow about 150 meters away. Oh and there is smoke bollowing out behind, intermittent hissing, the guide can only manage to keep the group of 10 within 100 yards of each other (useless!) and there are other tour groups of panicing americans taking flight at random trajectories across the flow as they realise how totally ridiculous this is. Of course, the ones in shorts and flip flops are getting melting plastic soles, warm legs, singed leg hair, and the occaisional nasty cut from rock as the scramble as the brittle lava rock beneath them gives way, breaks away, or causes slips.
Anyway, it was wikked and there was still plenty of time to get a few super hero poses out of Bananaman.
Never in a month of sundaes!
Cosmic Guatemala
Arriving in Antigua, Guatemala was a bit odd. On the surface it is one of the most charming large towns in central america. Wide cobbled streets, safe, easily walkable, every restaurant with a lovely courtyard, interesting museums, good shopping, sensible prices, loads of excursion options, and those amazing volcanos that you can see rising from the end of every street, that help you orientate.
Unfortunately, Antigua is also gringo city. There is fast food (bad), a good guitar shop (good), long queues with tourists for the ATMs (bad), good food (good), loud obnoxious hostels (bad), language schools (good) - but why would anyone try to learn immersive spanish in a town where everyone is from Maine, Malmo or Manchester?
So we stayed a night and then shipped out to Earth Lodge. Perched on a hillside 20 minutes outside of Antigua, in a village accessed by 2 daily buses, requiring a final 2km walk along the hillside where vehicles can no longer pass in the rainy season; Earth Lodge is a US owned avocado farm with accom for 15 in stilted apex rooved cabins. Oh and every cabin has a view across the valley beside Antigua of three towering volcanos. We saw ´Fuego´ erupt two night running - it was awesome. We did nothing but eat resident Israeli chef Adi´s wonderful veggie food, help ourselves to the open bar, and start a backgammon school. I did also have to day trip to Antigua to fix my nut*
But it was 2 weeks before avocado harvest. Like the dolphins that are waiting for us somewhere, we will still have to wait for those fresh avos that we adorned; the prime reason anna wanted to go there! There were also four great cats; the ginger fell off the tin roof with delight as we tickled him and Baby purred. Anna had acupuncture. I spent 3 hours filing my new nut and fitting it and it works - hoorah - a first for me. I was helped by a lift into town from a comedy German withe most messed up VW camper I have ever been in. We discussed music (his touring with Captain Sensible), religion, politics and the vintage VW yard on the edge of town. He had been mugged walking there once so I didn´t go. He took frequent calls from his ex-language students as he had just been sacked. We drank coffee in the sun and talked nuts. And just as was about to start wandering around aimlessly I bumped into fellow San Blas Social Club members, Greg and Elise, for the first time since San Blas. They insisted we start afternoon drinking. We laughed a lot. They showed my photos, including Greg accidentally showing me one of his ´art´ pics that featured an unknowing Elise. We laughed a lot more. It was a good day.
Just part of the awesome view from Earth Lodge
The Earth Lodge cabins
The wilds of Belize and Guatemala
Quick recap
Belize; the ATM cave; named after all the cash you have to get out to see it; Altun Maa probably; waist deep water; swimming in the entrance; precarious mini climbs; only possibly by standing on the guide; only possible for Anna because of borrowing Ficeland´s Crocs (at last a use for them); the big Germans were there and we love them; we walked through ancient Mayan pottery fused into the living rock; at the end there was a skeleton; cool and scary; we felt very adventurous and got very wet.
Guatemala; El Remate we met the Belgians and Per and Marie; we swam in the lake; pigs played on the basketball court; the hotel owner persuaded us to do the dawn tour.
Tikal; expecting a small party we joined 70 tired individuals on the dawn tour; and some of them yapped far too much; we climbed temple four; we sat and waited for the clouds to break; monkeys called; tempes appeared in the mist; eventually the party shut up for 5 minutes; we climbed other temples; met the nice New Zealanders.
The view from the mirador of Semuc Champey´s pools was well worth the climb
This is an awful picture from Tikal´s temple 5. It was high up
Belize; the ATM cave; named after all the cash you have to get out to see it; Altun Maa probably; waist deep water; swimming in the entrance; precarious mini climbs; only possibly by standing on the guide; only possible for Anna because of borrowing Ficeland´s Crocs (at last a use for them); the big Germans were there and we love them; we walked through ancient Mayan pottery fused into the living rock; at the end there was a skeleton; cool and scary; we felt very adventurous and got very wet.
Guatemala; El Remate we met the Belgians and Per and Marie; we swam in the lake; pigs played on the basketball court; the hotel owner persuaded us to do the dawn tour.
Tikal; expecting a small party we joined 70 tired individuals on the dawn tour; and some of them yapped far too much; we climbed temple four; we sat and waited for the clouds to break; monkeys called; tempes appeared in the mist; eventually the party shut up for 5 minutes; we climbed other temples; met the nice New Zealanders.
The view from the mirador of Semuc Champey´s pools was well worth the climb
This is an awful picture from Tikal´s temple 5. It was high up
Blog day afternoon
There were lots of reasons not to blog - but now we are back.
Don´t try to read it all at once.
And you should know that we had to abandon the BG for money plan when I lost all my matches on the second practice day.
I had written a load of guff here but a gremlin has swiped it. Suffice to say we are rocking now - the following posts were written in two monster sessions over 12 hours in Merida, Venezuela.
Cheers, MC Deli and Miss Deli
Don´t try to read it all at once.
And you should know that we had to abandon the BG for money plan when I lost all my matches on the second practice day.
I had written a load of guff here but a gremlin has swiped it. Suffice to say we are rocking now - the following posts were written in two monster sessions over 12 hours in Merida, Venezuela.
Cheers, MC Deli and Miss Deli
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