birthday hoopla
jesus, that was an update. but i HAVE to do just one more. because today is debra's TWENTY EIGHTH birthday. my dear, you are old. but perfect!
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
The toenail saga continues...oh and Tikal.
Okay. I know that you guys don't come here to read repeated graphic entries on my toe, but for some inexplicable reason I am madly obsessed with the status and health of this toe, so read on of your own will. You should anyway though, because this ones a doozy! my life is pure comedy somtimes.
Chris and I but sin Gorgon bought into the shuttle to Tikal (or rather, the town nearest TIkal) which I expeted to be quite easygoing compared to the normal chicken bus transfer chain, but for some reason this trip was nightmarish. MIserably hot and feeling oddly cranky, I just wasn't handling things as well as usual. My stomach was still a bit off from the week before, so I think this was a big contributor.
Arriving late in the afternoon there wasn't much to do besides take care of errands, such as new flip flops (which were doing much better since I did a ramshackle emergency repair on them with a thread and needle), buying conditioner, arranging my shuttle through belize and onwards to mexico, etc. etc. So despite feeling weak I managed to accomplish a most of these but was still determinedly searching for the flip flops around dusk. I was becoming increasingly frustrated because each time I stopped to ask for directions people would repeatedly urge me further onwards. On and on and on until finally i inevitably tripped, and (surprise!) cracked my toe AGAIN, although now that it was unencumbered by the old nail thanks to chris' cajoling, I basically just cut open the tender skin underneath and started bleeding semi profusely on the street.
Then the moment happened. THAT moment. The moment where you've just had enough. I literally stood in the middle of that street and lte our a raging, gutteral scream of frustation, no doubt scaring the small children and dogs nearby. After this I collected myself and, limping, went into the nearest restaurant and asked to use the bathroom to clean the blood up. They pointed to the back. Inside the stall I hefted my foot up onto the sink, hoping to gently rinse all the grit and blood out, only to feel the sink crumble under the weight of my foot. A sickening "detaching from the wall" sound launched me into action, and by some small miracle I caught the sink before the porcelain crashed into a million pieces on the ground.
So there I am, a complete wreck: toe bleeding, one sandal on, the other off, clutching a sink I've just accidentally ripped from the wall, wondering what I should do. At least on closer inspection of the wall I saw that I could just precariously hook the sinnk back on (no doubt what my also clumsy predecessor tried to do). I quickly do this, dab my toe with a damp tissue and hightail it out of there, trying my best to not look guilty. At this point I'm feeling sort of mentally unbalanced from the entire day, so I march straight into the nearest bakery and buy a huge slice of banana cake to make me feel better. This eventually led to deep feelings of shame (as it was still feb, and i had just had chocolate the day before), but aftering confessing my sins to Chris, bless his heart, he simply told me it was okay because I was having such a bad day.
Chris and I but sin Gorgon bought into the shuttle to Tikal (or rather, the town nearest TIkal) which I expeted to be quite easygoing compared to the normal chicken bus transfer chain, but for some reason this trip was nightmarish. MIserably hot and feeling oddly cranky, I just wasn't handling things as well as usual. My stomach was still a bit off from the week before, so I think this was a big contributor.
Arriving late in the afternoon there wasn't much to do besides take care of errands, such as new flip flops (which were doing much better since I did a ramshackle emergency repair on them with a thread and needle), buying conditioner, arranging my shuttle through belize and onwards to mexico, etc. etc. So despite feeling weak I managed to accomplish a most of these but was still determinedly searching for the flip flops around dusk. I was becoming increasingly frustrated because each time I stopped to ask for directions people would repeatedly urge me further onwards. On and on and on until finally i inevitably tripped, and (surprise!) cracked my toe AGAIN, although now that it was unencumbered by the old nail thanks to chris' cajoling, I basically just cut open the tender skin underneath and started bleeding semi profusely on the street.
Then the moment happened. THAT moment. The moment where you've just had enough. I literally stood in the middle of that street and lte our a raging, gutteral scream of frustation, no doubt scaring the small children and dogs nearby. After this I collected myself and, limping, went into the nearest restaurant and asked to use the bathroom to clean the blood up. They pointed to the back. Inside the stall I hefted my foot up onto the sink, hoping to gently rinse all the grit and blood out, only to feel the sink crumble under the weight of my foot. A sickening "detaching from the wall" sound launched me into action, and by some small miracle I caught the sink before the porcelain crashed into a million pieces on the ground.
So there I am, a complete wreck: toe bleeding, one sandal on, the other off, clutching a sink I've just accidentally ripped from the wall, wondering what I should do. At least on closer inspection of the wall I saw that I could just precariously hook the sinnk back on (no doubt what my also clumsy predecessor tried to do). I quickly do this, dab my toe with a damp tissue and hightail it out of there, trying my best to not look guilty. At this point I'm feeling sort of mentally unbalanced from the entire day, so I march straight into the nearest bakery and buy a huge slice of banana cake to make me feel better. This eventually led to deep feelings of shame (as it was still feb, and i had just had chocolate the day before), but aftering confessing my sins to Chris, bless his heart, he simply told me it was okay because I was having such a bad day.
The Scotsman Arrives
Turns out getting from Xela to LAnquin is a day and a bit job, involving an overnight stop in unmemorable Coban, where we pick up Gordon, a wonderfully cheery glaswegian. Together the three of us go to lanquin, the ride there showing off more of the excessively beautiful scenery in Guatemala. We got ourselves set up in a sort of hostel, which is more like a series of thatch roofed huts set up next to a soothingly rapid moving river. We were all immediately taken in by the relaxing nature of the place, and even though getting in and out of my room required a climb up a towering death ladder, I felt cheery. We went down to eat in the restaurant next to the river, which was the type of river that inspires one of tire swings and lazy days in an inner tube.
Late that afternoon we checked out the local caves, and once again I was reminded of how much I seem to really like caves. I dunno what it is, but they're just endlessly fascinating with their nobbly rock formations and nooks and crannnies asking to be explored. Maybe i missed my calling as a spelologist? The stalactites and stalagmites were, as usual, impressive, although this cave wasn't nearby as big (or, thankfully, as cheesily lit) as the caves I saw in Lebanon, but I still enjoyed reading the signs and then exclaiming "oooh, it does TOO look like an eagle!" like a good tourist does. We stuck around during dusk hoping to catch the hoard of fruitbats that Lonely Planet claimed would come flying out, but instead of a dramatic swarm it was rather a more steady, pathetic small trickle. We walked 20 minutes home in the dark, unable to get a ride.
The following day we made the small trip to Semuc Champey in the back of a flatbed truck, little more than tourist cattle. I was running on a practically empty stomach and had trouble concentrating, but despite this Semuc Champey was my favorite day in Guatemala. The national park is home to a series of "idyllic pools that descend in a natural staircase of turquoise waters, bordered by steep jungle gorge walls." The pools were absolutely stunning, and other than the hideously steep 25 min vertical climb to the viewpoint that I accomplished in the still dying flip flops, our time there was exceedingly pleasant. Gordon, Chris (slightly uncomfortably, as he never really grew up swimming in the midwest), and I splashed around endlessly, diving into the waters, sliding down the natural waterfalls, and delicately climbing back up. Gordon even commented that I seemed so much more coordinated in water than on land (he had been updated on the klutzy toe business by then) which made me nostalgic for those idyllic summers growing up swimming for hours at MSJA.
In case you guys didn't know yet, I made a february resolution to not have any sweets and as a result FEbruary has seemed like the LONGEST month of my life. But i was doing exceptionally well until this day where I guiltily buckled to a chunk of homemade chocolate just because I was starving. Chris gamely justified this by saying I would faint if I didn't get some food in me, but I still felt pretty bad. This was not made any better by also kicking a rock and somehow getting a clump of algae stuck beneath my damaged toenail, so this required some serious face grimacing and flipping back of said toenail (shudder) to get it out for fear of infection. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back that allowed Chris to convince me to clip the nail incredibly short, which unbeknownst to me would come back to haunt me later on.
Late that afternoon we checked out the local caves, and once again I was reminded of how much I seem to really like caves. I dunno what it is, but they're just endlessly fascinating with their nobbly rock formations and nooks and crannnies asking to be explored. Maybe i missed my calling as a spelologist? The stalactites and stalagmites were, as usual, impressive, although this cave wasn't nearby as big (or, thankfully, as cheesily lit) as the caves I saw in Lebanon, but I still enjoyed reading the signs and then exclaiming "oooh, it does TOO look like an eagle!" like a good tourist does. We stuck around during dusk hoping to catch the hoard of fruitbats that Lonely Planet claimed would come flying out, but instead of a dramatic swarm it was rather a more steady, pathetic small trickle. We walked 20 minutes home in the dark, unable to get a ride.
The following day we made the small trip to Semuc Champey in the back of a flatbed truck, little more than tourist cattle. I was running on a practically empty stomach and had trouble concentrating, but despite this Semuc Champey was my favorite day in Guatemala. The national park is home to a series of "idyllic pools that descend in a natural staircase of turquoise waters, bordered by steep jungle gorge walls." The pools were absolutely stunning, and other than the hideously steep 25 min vertical climb to the viewpoint that I accomplished in the still dying flip flops, our time there was exceedingly pleasant. Gordon, Chris (slightly uncomfortably, as he never really grew up swimming in the midwest), and I splashed around endlessly, diving into the waters, sliding down the natural waterfalls, and delicately climbing back up. Gordon even commented that I seemed so much more coordinated in water than on land (he had been updated on the klutzy toe business by then) which made me nostalgic for those idyllic summers growing up swimming for hours at MSJA.
In case you guys didn't know yet, I made a february resolution to not have any sweets and as a result FEbruary has seemed like the LONGEST month of my life. But i was doing exceptionally well until this day where I guiltily buckled to a chunk of homemade chocolate just because I was starving. Chris gamely justified this by saying I would faint if I didn't get some food in me, but I still felt pretty bad. This was not made any better by also kicking a rock and somehow getting a clump of algae stuck beneath my damaged toenail, so this required some serious face grimacing and flipping back of said toenail (shudder) to get it out for fear of infection. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back that allowed Chris to convince me to clip the nail incredibly short, which unbeknownst to me would come back to haunt me later on.
Further proof of my uncoordinated life
Another series of buses got us to Quetzaltenango, although this 5 syllable mouthful of a town has inexplicably been nicknamed Xela. The moment I arrive I trip over my sandal, now in its death throes, the plastic strap repeatedly pulling out and tripping me up. I all but fall out of the bus, hitting my toe again, cracking the nail for the second time but in another spot. I am bleeding painfully on the street and chris rushes over thinkign I've broken my ankle, because it's one of THOSE type of embarrassing falls that look a lot more dangerous than they really are. My toenail is legitimately fucked up now, and I realize it may take more like a few months rather than a few weeks for this to grow out. This, for some reason, really upsets me. It is generally a superficial injury, but looking down at it makes me feel illogically terrified.
OTherwise I am immediately charmed by Xela, if only because the church on the main square for once looks to be of different architecture, or because there are streets LINED with secondhand shops calling my name. I carefully bandaid up my toe, drop off a load of laundry and Chris and I go exploring. Mostly we're searching for new flip flops, since I don't think my toe can handle anymore trauama. This turns out to be impossible. An entire town, and I couldn't find one acceptable pair of flip flops. I was forced to accept defeat.
The next day we headed to the nearby hotsprings of Fuentes Georginas, my highlight of Xela. It was slightly expensive to get there even with the two of us, but in the end i thought it was worth it. THe ride up through the farming countryside was gorgeous, sooo green and fertile looking. And the springs themselves were way up top in the semi misty and cold mountains, so sinking into the well manicured hot pools (much better than the grungy pools in banos, ecuador, but still second to the Tabacon wonderland hotsprings in costa rica) was blissfully relaxing. We stayed for hours, my fingers pruning within the first 5 minutes. Then as I got out to grab chris some water I managed to slip uncontrollably in a puddle and somehow land crouched down on one knee. A purple bruise and a bony like protrusion immediately bloom from my left knee, presumably because the hot water somehow gets my blood to the trauma site faster than usual. When i look up sheepishly at Chris I realize he's no longer even surprised by my endless bumps and bruises.
OTherwise I am immediately charmed by Xela, if only because the church on the main square for once looks to be of different architecture, or because there are streets LINED with secondhand shops calling my name. I carefully bandaid up my toe, drop off a load of laundry and Chris and I go exploring. Mostly we're searching for new flip flops, since I don't think my toe can handle anymore trauama. This turns out to be impossible. An entire town, and I couldn't find one acceptable pair of flip flops. I was forced to accept defeat.
The next day we headed to the nearby hotsprings of Fuentes Georginas, my highlight of Xela. It was slightly expensive to get there even with the two of us, but in the end i thought it was worth it. THe ride up through the farming countryside was gorgeous, sooo green and fertile looking. And the springs themselves were way up top in the semi misty and cold mountains, so sinking into the well manicured hot pools (much better than the grungy pools in banos, ecuador, but still second to the Tabacon wonderland hotsprings in costa rica) was blissfully relaxing. We stayed for hours, my fingers pruning within the first 5 minutes. Then as I got out to grab chris some water I managed to slip uncontrollably in a puddle and somehow land crouched down on one knee. A purple bruise and a bony like protrusion immediately bloom from my left knee, presumably because the hot water somehow gets my blood to the trauma site faster than usual. When i look up sheepishly at Chris I realize he's no longer even surprised by my endless bumps and bruises.
Lake Atitlan Escapades
The same day as the volcano hike Chris and I left for Lake Atitlan. On the way back from the volcano I began feeling queasy, which I mostly attributed to motion sickness and fatigue from the hike. But a few hours later I realized I had been struck down by a majorly upset stomach, grade VI (meaning no throwing up, but the shivers and body aches). I'm afraid it was sort of a trial by fire for poor Chris, who at this point had known me for less than 48 hours and was forced to care for me for the day.
Guatemala is cheap, the housing averages about $5 per night, and while the food is expensive relative to everything else, overall Guatemala is a great bang for your buck. That being said, I'd recommend for any future travelers to really consider forking out that little extra for the shuttles. Guatemalan chicken buses, for some reason are really just not as efficient as in some other central american countries. They're fast, yeah, and you hardly ever have to wait for the next one, but to get from point A to point B you have to inevitably switch 5+ times, and these chicken buses are seriously pushing the max in terms of speed. I would NEVER have guessed these old US schoolbuses were even capable of reaching such lightning speeds (WARP 8!), but in Guatemala they somehow make it happen, even accelerating and careening around the mountains turns so everybody and everything is haphazardly tossed around.
So you can iagine, grade VI stomach upset, plus a full morning of hiking, plus another 6 or 7 hours of this type of strenuous transport equals a very zombie like, unhappy jo. I was laying very pale and weak in chris' arms, shivering whilst wrapped up in his bulky sweatshirt, alternatingly slipping in and out of consciousness and apologizing for being such miserable company. When we arrived to a hotel in Panajachel I could only muster enough energy to crawl into bed, sip some 7up, and thank Chris for getting me there in one piece.
The next day I felt immensely better, although I still could only manage some lime chips (they ain't no choclitos from colombia, but close enough!). We hopped on a boat to San Marcos, one of the many little towns sprinkled around the enormous lake. The lake itself was beautiful--not quite the obvious beauty of maybe the swiss-esque lakes in bariloche, argentina or Lake Van in Turkey, but a more sedated, muted beauty, with a misty cast over the volcanoes and mountains.
San Marcos itself was a cute little foreigner village, filled to the brim with hardcore hippies intent on meditating, doing yoga, crystal cleansing and spanish lessons. Since neither Chris nor I were particularly fitting in with the hippie crowd we chilled out on our own for a few days.
The hostel we were at was amazing! It was one huge wooden cabin-like lodge up top of a cliff with an uncomparable view of the lake. Our beds were on the very top floor, which could only be reached by a series of rickety stairwells. With our musty matresses on the floor and a lone lamp I couldn't help but feel like I was at some twisted, guatemalan version of sumemr camp. My only complaint was the shit ton of dust, the bathroom missing a door (making showering a bit unnerving), and the endless amounts of cats, and therefore cat fur. I was even terrifyingly woken up one night at 3am by a very rude cat standing on my chest, demanding attention! Sneezing and wheezing aside, it was a all small sacrifices for the locale. I spent the rest of the day in a hammock on the sundeck and a book.
The following day we shuttled to and from Santiago, the town with the largest indigenous population near the lake. We perused the small market, admired the local people in their amazing, colorful patterned clothing (including women who had repeatedly wrap a long, skinny strip of fabric around their head, layering it until it became a weird sort of disc like halo), and ended up comically buying some groceries before heading back. This small excursion ended up taking most of the day, surprisingly, as the boats that shuttle you in between towns are incredibly slow. By the time we got back it was already time to prepare dinner. Incidentally, this is also where incurred my first toenail related injury. My sandals, now worn down to less than 1/2 cm of foam (i've actually worn right through the right sandal), slipped in the water at the bottom of the boat and I violently slammed my big toe straight into one of the benches. It immediately began to bleed, an entirely novel experience for me, and on later inspection decided in a few weeks the nail would grow out just fine.
Guatemala is cheap, the housing averages about $5 per night, and while the food is expensive relative to everything else, overall Guatemala is a great bang for your buck. That being said, I'd recommend for any future travelers to really consider forking out that little extra for the shuttles. Guatemalan chicken buses, for some reason are really just not as efficient as in some other central american countries. They're fast, yeah, and you hardly ever have to wait for the next one, but to get from point A to point B you have to inevitably switch 5+ times, and these chicken buses are seriously pushing the max in terms of speed. I would NEVER have guessed these old US schoolbuses were even capable of reaching such lightning speeds (WARP 8!), but in Guatemala they somehow make it happen, even accelerating and careening around the mountains turns so everybody and everything is haphazardly tossed around.
So you can iagine, grade VI stomach upset, plus a full morning of hiking, plus another 6 or 7 hours of this type of strenuous transport equals a very zombie like, unhappy jo. I was laying very pale and weak in chris' arms, shivering whilst wrapped up in his bulky sweatshirt, alternatingly slipping in and out of consciousness and apologizing for being such miserable company. When we arrived to a hotel in Panajachel I could only muster enough energy to crawl into bed, sip some 7up, and thank Chris for getting me there in one piece.
The next day I felt immensely better, although I still could only manage some lime chips (they ain't no choclitos from colombia, but close enough!). We hopped on a boat to San Marcos, one of the many little towns sprinkled around the enormous lake. The lake itself was beautiful--not quite the obvious beauty of maybe the swiss-esque lakes in bariloche, argentina or Lake Van in Turkey, but a more sedated, muted beauty, with a misty cast over the volcanoes and mountains.
San Marcos itself was a cute little foreigner village, filled to the brim with hardcore hippies intent on meditating, doing yoga, crystal cleansing and spanish lessons. Since neither Chris nor I were particularly fitting in with the hippie crowd we chilled out on our own for a few days.
The hostel we were at was amazing! It was one huge wooden cabin-like lodge up top of a cliff with an uncomparable view of the lake. Our beds were on the very top floor, which could only be reached by a series of rickety stairwells. With our musty matresses on the floor and a lone lamp I couldn't help but feel like I was at some twisted, guatemalan version of sumemr camp. My only complaint was the shit ton of dust, the bathroom missing a door (making showering a bit unnerving), and the endless amounts of cats, and therefore cat fur. I was even terrifyingly woken up one night at 3am by a very rude cat standing on my chest, demanding attention! Sneezing and wheezing aside, it was a all small sacrifices for the locale. I spent the rest of the day in a hammock on the sundeck and a book.
The following day we shuttled to and from Santiago, the town with the largest indigenous population near the lake. We perused the small market, admired the local people in their amazing, colorful patterned clothing (including women who had repeatedly wrap a long, skinny strip of fabric around their head, layering it until it became a weird sort of disc like halo), and ended up comically buying some groceries before heading back. This small excursion ended up taking most of the day, surprisingly, as the boats that shuttle you in between towns are incredibly slow. By the time we got back it was already time to prepare dinner. Incidentally, this is also where incurred my first toenail related injury. My sandals, now worn down to less than 1/2 cm of foam (i've actually worn right through the right sandal), slipped in the water at the bottom of the boat and I violently slammed my big toe straight into one of the benches. It immediately began to bleed, an entirely novel experience for me, and on later inspection decided in a few weeks the nail would grow out just fine.
Melt my shoes. Or not.
I was very excited to get to Guatemala after hearing backpackers rant endlessly how amazing it is, and for once I was not disappointed! Guatemala IS amazing and I gladly pronounce here it as my favorite central american country.
After another long day of crossing another border (these are coming way too frequently now, it seems) I strode into Antigua trying my best to not twist my ankle on the uneven cobblestoned streets. In the hostel I met Chris from New York who I immediately liked, mostly because he wasn't at all in your face and, when asked, said he was "from the US" and not from "the states", which most of you should know peeves me beyond belief. After a bit of talking I also liked that his story was almost uncannily like mine--a distaste for our respective careers, a long term plan to save money for travel, and eventually a massive backpacking trip, only he had been gone for 3 months longer than me. We bonded over our mutual exhaustion, general lack of enthusiasm for colonial towns, and eventually this became the beginning of 2 weeks together travelling about Guatemala.
Antigua is...nice. Actually scratch that, it's very nice. It's just not anything I haven't seen before. The main square reminded both Chris and myself of the main plaza in Arequipe, Peru, so aside from walking around and checking out the extremely colorful (but ultimately tacky, i think) souvenirs, my first day was underwhelming. I couldn't even manage to inspire myself to go into teh convent I was standing RIGHT outside of, if that's an indication of anything.
We instead tried to take the Pacaya Volcano tour that afternoon, but somehow got left behind by our bus in the kerfuffle, so were forced to go early the next morning instead. This hike is what I would definitely call "challenging", maybe even the hardest hike I can remember doing in my entire trip, although this is saying very little. I at least didn't feel as bad as I did on the sandboarding volcano in Nicaragua, which made me feel relieved that it really was the lack of sleep and I haven't just become that much of a fat, lazy pig. Regardless, I didn't feel great hikind early that morning, made worse from a team of guys on horses following directly behind me asking repeatedly if I wanted a "taxi". Trust me when I say that it's a cute joke the first time and made me feel like a maniacal killer by the tenth time. Still, getting to the top was great, because waiting for us at the top was, get this, LAVA. This was quite, for lack of a better word, hot. Painfully hot. The few seconds that you pose next to the lava for a photo is terrible, making your flesh crawl with a...er, well I guess a burning sensation. Even standing on the rocks nearby I eventually noticed the oppressive heat enveloping my shoes and feet, making me hop from foot to foot like some ridiculous hot potato cartoon character. I was sure that the soles were being melted straight off, but luckily there weren't as I still had to hike all the way down.
I only wish I had had the foresight to bring marshmallows to cook like some other, more enterprising tourists.
After another long day of crossing another border (these are coming way too frequently now, it seems) I strode into Antigua trying my best to not twist my ankle on the uneven cobblestoned streets. In the hostel I met Chris from New York who I immediately liked, mostly because he wasn't at all in your face and, when asked, said he was "from the US" and not from "the states", which most of you should know peeves me beyond belief. After a bit of talking I also liked that his story was almost uncannily like mine--a distaste for our respective careers, a long term plan to save money for travel, and eventually a massive backpacking trip, only he had been gone for 3 months longer than me. We bonded over our mutual exhaustion, general lack of enthusiasm for colonial towns, and eventually this became the beginning of 2 weeks together travelling about Guatemala.
Antigua is...nice. Actually scratch that, it's very nice. It's just not anything I haven't seen before. The main square reminded both Chris and myself of the main plaza in Arequipe, Peru, so aside from walking around and checking out the extremely colorful (but ultimately tacky, i think) souvenirs, my first day was underwhelming. I couldn't even manage to inspire myself to go into teh convent I was standing RIGHT outside of, if that's an indication of anything.
We instead tried to take the Pacaya Volcano tour that afternoon, but somehow got left behind by our bus in the kerfuffle, so were forced to go early the next morning instead. This hike is what I would definitely call "challenging", maybe even the hardest hike I can remember doing in my entire trip, although this is saying very little. I at least didn't feel as bad as I did on the sandboarding volcano in Nicaragua, which made me feel relieved that it really was the lack of sleep and I haven't just become that much of a fat, lazy pig. Regardless, I didn't feel great hikind early that morning, made worse from a team of guys on horses following directly behind me asking repeatedly if I wanted a "taxi". Trust me when I say that it's a cute joke the first time and made me feel like a maniacal killer by the tenth time. Still, getting to the top was great, because waiting for us at the top was, get this, LAVA. This was quite, for lack of a better word, hot. Painfully hot. The few seconds that you pose next to the lava for a photo is terrible, making your flesh crawl with a...er, well I guess a burning sensation. Even standing on the rocks nearby I eventually noticed the oppressive heat enveloping my shoes and feet, making me hop from foot to foot like some ridiculous hot potato cartoon character. I was sure that the soles were being melted straight off, but luckily there weren't as I still had to hike all the way down.
I only wish I had had the foresight to bring marshmallows to cook like some other, more enterprising tourists.
hwa-yoo-a?
My last stop in El Salvador was the small and unpronouncable town of Juayua, main base to explore the famed Ruta de Las flores, and home to the NICEST hostel I had been to for weeks. Get this, they had hot water. HOT WATER!! Myself and the other two girls in the dorm room were nearly shitting ourselves with happiness, since I guess it had been THAT long since any of us had come across a proper hot shower (or weather that would justify a need for hot water). For this reason alone I loved Juayua instantly. The town was tiny and uninteresting, and een the black jesus in the local church did little to impress me. THe hostel was certainly the highlight in town. IMagine a lush courtyard covered with beautiful flowers, hammocks, padded seating...a yard that just whispered invitingly in your ear to do nothing more than lay in a hammock in the sun reading a book. Save the broken copy of "Up" (now i've seen everything but the end, goddamit!) and the bevy of mosquitoes, I couldnt' really find fault with the place.
Outside of town was luckily a bit more promising. The goth german girl who only wanted to speak spanish, the girl from Arizona who eventually gave me a book on amish people, and myself headed together to the next town and did a light hike to a local crater lake. This was very pretty at best, but including the beautiful road in, lined with the beautiful flowers for which the Ruta De Flores is named for, the entire excursion was worth it.
Outside of town was luckily a bit more promising. The goth german girl who only wanted to speak spanish, the girl from Arizona who eventually gave me a book on amish people, and myself headed together to the next town and did a light hike to a local crater lake. This was very pretty at best, but including the beautiful road in, lined with the beautiful flowers for which the Ruta De Flores is named for, the entire excursion was worth it.
Couchsurf numero cuatro
During the few restful days in Suchitoto I arranged a couchsurf host in San Salvador, the countries less than glamorous capitol. Paco, as it were, was a fantastic host going as far as picking me up at the bus stop (with a friendly hug and a big smile, no less!) and letting me sleep in his room while he crashed out on a spare mattress in the computer room. We spent a few great days together, doing things I haven't attempted in ages, including tie-dying a filthy white shirt of mine (his side business) and even skateboarding up and down his street, something I haen't done since college. We went for beers where I, naturally, got drunk off 1 beer after having lost all 5ish rounds of the game we were playing, and the piece de resistance, after mentioning I had been dying to see Avatar, Paco took me to go buy an illegal copy of it and we enjoyed the film while eating plantain chips squeezed with lime. This will definitely be a latin american custom I plan on adopting, lime on EVERYTHING.
It was, in fact, two days of heavenly nothing, like being at home with nothing pressing to do but hang out with your buddies. For that, I will always be thankful to Paco, and indirectly to the couchsurfing project. I really can never seen to say enough about the experiences I've had through couchsurfing, so I'll just say I can't wait to start hosting and paying back the hospitality I've experienced from complete strangers.
The day Paco went to work I shoved off downtown for some leisurely sightseeing, but this was relatively unsuccessful due to lack of interesting sights to see, so I ended up getting onion rings at burger kind (to use their bathroom, i swear!), walking around, and then raiding an enormous second hand store for a fe whours. Certainly if I wasn't staying with Paco San Salvador might have been a bust.
It was, in fact, two days of heavenly nothing, like being at home with nothing pressing to do but hang out with your buddies. For that, I will always be thankful to Paco, and indirectly to the couchsurfing project. I really can never seen to say enough about the experiences I've had through couchsurfing, so I'll just say I can't wait to start hosting and paying back the hospitality I've experienced from complete strangers.
The day Paco went to work I shoved off downtown for some leisurely sightseeing, but this was relatively unsuccessful due to lack of interesting sights to see, so I ended up getting onion rings at burger kind (to use their bathroom, i swear!), walking around, and then raiding an enormous second hand store for a fe whours. Certainly if I wasn't staying with Paco San Salvador might have been a bust.
Honduras for an hour and classical surprises
After a little deliberation taking into account time, desire, sights worth seeing, and political unrest, I decided against spending anytime in honduras and went straight for El Salvador. This was another one of those bus, rickshaw, walk, van, walk, bus, taxi, etc. etc. days, being particularly long because I was attempting a double border crossing, and besides investing in a fake casio watch (a "cassiq", if you will), I passed Honduras with little to no impression.
Similarly, I expected almost nothing of El Salvador. I hadn't heard much from other backpackers and, admittedly, when planning out my itinerary I had completely forgotten of El Salvador's existence. So I shifted some dates around and allowed a small week to give it a chance.
First up was the small town of Suchitoto, largely chosen for its mountainous location (after Leon I simply couldn't take anymore heat) and appealingly quaint description in my guide obok. And, fortunately, it was just what I was looking for. I checked into a filthy little hotel, but couldn't complain because out back was a gorgeous lake view, all possible to lazily enjoy from a hammock. I even had my own bedroom complete with comfy bed and mosquito net, and a thick copy of Anthony Kiedis' autobiography to pick up in the book exchange (jesus, that guy did a LOT of drugs).
During the month of february there was allegedly some festival on, of which I saw no evidence of save the free performance the Duena informed me the moment i arrived. "A free concert!" she exclaimed, so I decided to stop in to see what the hullaballoo was about. To my surprise, it was a free classical concert, a cellist and pianist from Germany, and damned good ones at that. I was so impressed that all the way here in a small tiny village in El Salvador I would have one of my more "classy" cultured experiences. The only take aways were the rather uncomfortable plastic chairs set up in the theatre and the long, emotive speech in spanish by an adorable owlish man with coke bottle glasses about the war. Then we had to stand for the national anthem--that is, the ENTIRE national anthem. The El Salvadorean anthem, like our own Star Spangled Banner, actually has multiple versus. Bus while we usually sing the first verses and get on with business, the El Salvadorean (or at least THESE el salvadoreans) insisted on singing the anthem in its entirety. This led to a string of comical pauses between verses where I would half make a move to sit down, thinking it was over, only to promptly jump back into a bewildered, yet respectful standing position for the rest of the seemingly neverending song.
The Germans, thanksfully, managed to keep their anthem to a respectable few minutes.
Similarly, I expected almost nothing of El Salvador. I hadn't heard much from other backpackers and, admittedly, when planning out my itinerary I had completely forgotten of El Salvador's existence. So I shifted some dates around and allowed a small week to give it a chance.
First up was the small town of Suchitoto, largely chosen for its mountainous location (after Leon I simply couldn't take anymore heat) and appealingly quaint description in my guide obok. And, fortunately, it was just what I was looking for. I checked into a filthy little hotel, but couldn't complain because out back was a gorgeous lake view, all possible to lazily enjoy from a hammock. I even had my own bedroom complete with comfy bed and mosquito net, and a thick copy of Anthony Kiedis' autobiography to pick up in the book exchange (jesus, that guy did a LOT of drugs).
During the month of february there was allegedly some festival on, of which I saw no evidence of save the free performance the Duena informed me the moment i arrived. "A free concert!" she exclaimed, so I decided to stop in to see what the hullaballoo was about. To my surprise, it was a free classical concert, a cellist and pianist from Germany, and damned good ones at that. I was so impressed that all the way here in a small tiny village in El Salvador I would have one of my more "classy" cultured experiences. The only take aways were the rather uncomfortable plastic chairs set up in the theatre and the long, emotive speech in spanish by an adorable owlish man with coke bottle glasses about the war. Then we had to stand for the national anthem--that is, the ENTIRE national anthem. The El Salvadorean anthem, like our own Star Spangled Banner, actually has multiple versus. Bus while we usually sing the first verses and get on with business, the El Salvadorean (or at least THESE el salvadoreans) insisted on singing the anthem in its entirety. This led to a string of comical pauses between verses where I would half make a move to sit down, thinking it was over, only to promptly jump back into a bewildered, yet respectful standing position for the rest of the seemingly neverending song.
The Germans, thanksfully, managed to keep their anthem to a respectable few minutes.
In the country that shall not be named
As I write this my right big toe is cracked in 2 places, I've been wearing the same filthy clothing for the upteenth day, I've been recently robbed of my ipod touch, and I have been traveling alone for 10 days straight now. Which should generally be okay but there is no affordable internet here, no other lone backpackers or hostels, and I finished my books 8 days ago. I've been resorting to accosting random package tourists on the street just for some conversation in english and so try and soften the blow of this extended isolation.
Despite all of this, i'm feeling surprisingly chipper--not overjoyed, mind you, but oddly numb to bad goings on. I'm not sure if it's just because I will be home so soon that I've become over intently focused on the home stretch, or if I've had so much happen that I've literally passed beyond freaking out anymore. In fact, upon finding out my ipod had been stolen I had accepted the loss and mostly moved on within a small 45 minutes. 2 days later I only feel a small twinge of annoyance every few hours or so, mostly when I think about the amount of electronics i've gone through since the inception of this trip: my dslr, my kindle, now the ipod, all amounting to nearly a loss of $900 bones. I also feel annoyed when I realized a few hours later that I had literally just given the spare alarm clock I've been carting around for nearly a year "just in case" to an Israeli girl a week before. The sheer irony is a fresh slap in the face. I determinedly try to push down these negative thoughts by playing "the positive game", like telling myself "at least your sister isn't dying of cancer" or "at least you still have two functioning kidneys". Did I mention that one of the two books that I've had to alternately re-read here is "My Sister's Keeper", an incredibly depressing book about a family and cancer?
I am MOSTLY comforted by three thoughts:
1. There is a passcode on the ipod. It's a rather simple one, but it might deter the robber from getting in immediately, causing some frustation.
2. There's no wifi on the island (or not much), so aside from the few random podcasts, the 3 free songs I downloaded from iTunes, or extensive play of Unblock Me, I think the robber won't get much use out of the thing.
3. Whoever the robber was didn't have the genius foresight to also steal the charger. so.....yeah.
These three reasons in combination with buying and devouring an expensive package of imitation oreos has made things exponentially tolerable.
All of that being a LOOONG winded preface to why I'm writing all of these [very late] entries by hand and then posting them in one fell swoop. Apologies again for backposting//keeping up with the blog has proven more and more difficult as this trip has worn on.
Despite all of this, i'm feeling surprisingly chipper--not overjoyed, mind you, but oddly numb to bad goings on. I'm not sure if it's just because I will be home so soon that I've become over intently focused on the home stretch, or if I've had so much happen that I've literally passed beyond freaking out anymore. In fact, upon finding out my ipod had been stolen I had accepted the loss and mostly moved on within a small 45 minutes. 2 days later I only feel a small twinge of annoyance every few hours or so, mostly when I think about the amount of electronics i've gone through since the inception of this trip: my dslr, my kindle, now the ipod, all amounting to nearly a loss of $900 bones. I also feel annoyed when I realized a few hours later that I had literally just given the spare alarm clock I've been carting around for nearly a year "just in case" to an Israeli girl a week before. The sheer irony is a fresh slap in the face. I determinedly try to push down these negative thoughts by playing "the positive game", like telling myself "at least your sister isn't dying of cancer" or "at least you still have two functioning kidneys". Did I mention that one of the two books that I've had to alternately re-read here is "My Sister's Keeper", an incredibly depressing book about a family and cancer?
I am MOSTLY comforted by three thoughts:
1. There is a passcode on the ipod. It's a rather simple one, but it might deter the robber from getting in immediately, causing some frustation.
2. There's no wifi on the island (or not much), so aside from the few random podcasts, the 3 free songs I downloaded from iTunes, or extensive play of Unblock Me, I think the robber won't get much use out of the thing.
3. Whoever the robber was didn't have the genius foresight to also steal the charger. so.....yeah.
These three reasons in combination with buying and devouring an expensive package of imitation oreos has made things exponentially tolerable.
All of that being a LOOONG winded preface to why I'm writing all of these [very late] entries by hand and then posting them in one fell swoop. Apologies again for backposting//keeping up with the blog has proven more and more difficult as this trip has worn on.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
a grump and a volcano
Leon sucked.
Sorry, let me rephrase. Leon sucked because I had another bout of insomnia and was being grumpy about everything. Leon is actually not that bad, but itīs not really interesting or different in any way either. Seems like most everybody just stops in here to check out the volcano boarding at the nearby Cerro Negro.
After my 4 days of isolation I was happy to be in a proper hostel, though. I instantly connected with a brother sister from canada. Brigette and I saw a forgettable museum on my first full day there, and otherwise I walked around and hung out in the hostel trying to hide from the heat. That night I couldnīt fall asleep until the sun started rising, at about 6 am. I woke up at 9 am feeling like death.
I had signed up the night before to go volcano boarding that day, so I debated whether or not I should reschedule because I was feeling so terrible. But I couldnīt spare the day to just do nothing, so I went anyway. THIS turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes Iīve made in awhile. Just in case any of you are wondering, trying to go hiking on practically no sleep is a BAD IDEA. Trying to go hiking while carrying a wooden sled and a orange jumpsuit is an even WORSE IDEA.
I have never felt so shitty doing something physical in my entire life. It wasnīt even that hard of a hike, but on the truck ride in (little more than a cattle truck with a bunch of backpackers thrown in the back) I already felt sick and queasy, and while i was hiking I just kept feeling woozy and lightheaded. At one point I actually thought I was going to blackout! It wasnīt even one of those hikes where you feel like youīve worked hard and you feel exhilarated by feeling of accomplishment and the beautiful view up top. I just kept thinking about how I felt so shitty and wanted to sleep--insomnia can really fuck you up.
The volcano boarding itself was mediocre. I guess it was cool just because itīs something different to do and the ride down is pretty steep, but for the amount of money and the effort it takes to get to the top, the 30 seconds down pales in comparison. We all had to wear orange inmate jumpsuits (mine had holes in the buttocks region which made me nervous) and chemistry goggles that you couldnīt see out of. I crashed and burned a few times ending with shoefulls and a mouthful of volcano rock, but was happy to come out unscratched and unscathed.
Sorry, let me rephrase. Leon sucked because I had another bout of insomnia and was being grumpy about everything. Leon is actually not that bad, but itīs not really interesting or different in any way either. Seems like most everybody just stops in here to check out the volcano boarding at the nearby Cerro Negro.
After my 4 days of isolation I was happy to be in a proper hostel, though. I instantly connected with a brother sister from canada. Brigette and I saw a forgettable museum on my first full day there, and otherwise I walked around and hung out in the hostel trying to hide from the heat. That night I couldnīt fall asleep until the sun started rising, at about 6 am. I woke up at 9 am feeling like death.
I had signed up the night before to go volcano boarding that day, so I debated whether or not I should reschedule because I was feeling so terrible. But I couldnīt spare the day to just do nothing, so I went anyway. THIS turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes Iīve made in awhile. Just in case any of you are wondering, trying to go hiking on practically no sleep is a BAD IDEA. Trying to go hiking while carrying a wooden sled and a orange jumpsuit is an even WORSE IDEA.
I have never felt so shitty doing something physical in my entire life. It wasnīt even that hard of a hike, but on the truck ride in (little more than a cattle truck with a bunch of backpackers thrown in the back) I already felt sick and queasy, and while i was hiking I just kept feeling woozy and lightheaded. At one point I actually thought I was going to blackout! It wasnīt even one of those hikes where you feel like youīve worked hard and you feel exhilarated by feeling of accomplishment and the beautiful view up top. I just kept thinking about how I felt so shitty and wanted to sleep--insomnia can really fuck you up.
The volcano boarding itself was mediocre. I guess it was cool just because itīs something different to do and the ride down is pretty steep, but for the amount of money and the effort it takes to get to the top, the 30 seconds down pales in comparison. We all had to wear orange inmate jumpsuits (mine had holes in the buttocks region which made me nervous) and chemistry goggles that you couldnīt see out of. I crashed and burned a few times ending with shoefulls and a mouthful of volcano rock, but was happy to come out unscratched and unscathed.
Hitching rides with cowboys
Esteli had a very similar feel to Matagalpa, just less greenery and more pastoral farmland. Supposedly this area is saturated with "cowboy culture", but aside from a few men waltzing around in their cowboy boots and hats, I didnīt really get that vibe.
My second day there I decided to attack the 12km to the local waterfall (oh yeah, apparently when Iīm alone I get delusional about how i would like to go walking/hiking) despite the warnings from the hotel manager that I should have left 4 hours earlier. I just threw on my new yoga pants (thanks matagalpa), grabbed a bottle of water and started walking. Unfortunately for me the clouds from earlier in the day had burned off and I was slogging through a path with almost NO shade. I immediately became angry and wished I had stayed back in town, but kept on trudging thinking that, surely, i must be there soon.
After an angry 30 minutes a truck drove by which I halfheartedly flagged down, and I was delighted to see them slow down and invite me on for the ride. They told me to stand up and grip the holdbar, which I nervously did as the truck began FLYING up and down the path. Iīm pretty sure I caught some good air on some of those bumps, but I was exhilarated and cheered by the beautiful scenery. I realized after a few minutes that i was lucky to catch a ride, though, for the route was a LOT longer than I had thought and I certainly wouldnīt have made it to the waterfall until late, late afternoon.
They dropped me at the entrance gate and waved me off, and I cheerily entered the gate and greeted the gateskeeper. He held out his hand to be paid the "entrada" for the waterfall. I looked at him skeptically and figured he was just trying to rip a foreigner off, so I told him that there was no sign indicating that I had to pay and I just walked onwards huffily. I discovered days later from some other backpackers that according to the lonely planet (which i donīt have) says that youīre supposed to pay, so I felt some delayed guilt for ripping the old cowboy off.
The waterfall certainly wasnīt the most amazing or picturesque waterfall Iīve ever seen, but it IS the first waterfall Iīve come to that has been completely deserted. I was there for over an hour and I didnīt see a soul, so it was a rather nice feeling to relax and enjoy it all to myself. Unfortunately I had forgotten my swimsuit and after the harrowing heat all i could think about while looking at the water was to go for a swim. I waffled back and forth for 20 minutes and finally decided that nobody was around and jumped in with my skivvies, thinking they would dry quickly in the sun after my swim. The swim was very refreshing (cold! but refreshing) but immediately afterwards the sun was blocked by clouds (doh!) and my underwear was DEFINITELY not drying anytime soon, so I was awkwardly forced to go commando on the way home with my wet underthings tucked strategically into my bag.
I dreaded the idea of a 6km walk back sin underthings. But it was that or be stranded out in the boondocks after dark, so I reluctantly began walking back. By some blessed miracle, I heard a truck behind me after about 5 minutes and I began wildly flagging them down again, only to find that it was the SAME man who had picked me up on the way there! Such good luck. We had a wonderfully stilted chat on the way back about his farm, his health, and his sons in the US. He told me I was pretty, and I suspect he might have had an inkling to do a bit of matchmaking.
My second day there I decided to attack the 12km to the local waterfall (oh yeah, apparently when Iīm alone I get delusional about how i would like to go walking/hiking) despite the warnings from the hotel manager that I should have left 4 hours earlier. I just threw on my new yoga pants (thanks matagalpa), grabbed a bottle of water and started walking. Unfortunately for me the clouds from earlier in the day had burned off and I was slogging through a path with almost NO shade. I immediately became angry and wished I had stayed back in town, but kept on trudging thinking that, surely, i must be there soon.
After an angry 30 minutes a truck drove by which I halfheartedly flagged down, and I was delighted to see them slow down and invite me on for the ride. They told me to stand up and grip the holdbar, which I nervously did as the truck began FLYING up and down the path. Iīm pretty sure I caught some good air on some of those bumps, but I was exhilarated and cheered by the beautiful scenery. I realized after a few minutes that i was lucky to catch a ride, though, for the route was a LOT longer than I had thought and I certainly wouldnīt have made it to the waterfall until late, late afternoon.
They dropped me at the entrance gate and waved me off, and I cheerily entered the gate and greeted the gateskeeper. He held out his hand to be paid the "entrada" for the waterfall. I looked at him skeptically and figured he was just trying to rip a foreigner off, so I told him that there was no sign indicating that I had to pay and I just walked onwards huffily. I discovered days later from some other backpackers that according to the lonely planet (which i donīt have) says that youīre supposed to pay, so I felt some delayed guilt for ripping the old cowboy off.
The waterfall certainly wasnīt the most amazing or picturesque waterfall Iīve ever seen, but it IS the first waterfall Iīve come to that has been completely deserted. I was there for over an hour and I didnīt see a soul, so it was a rather nice feeling to relax and enjoy it all to myself. Unfortunately I had forgotten my swimsuit and after the harrowing heat all i could think about while looking at the water was to go for a swim. I waffled back and forth for 20 minutes and finally decided that nobody was around and jumped in with my skivvies, thinking they would dry quickly in the sun after my swim. The swim was very refreshing (cold! but refreshing) but immediately afterwards the sun was blocked by clouds (doh!) and my underwear was DEFINITELY not drying anytime soon, so I was awkwardly forced to go commando on the way home with my wet underthings tucked strategically into my bag.
I dreaded the idea of a 6km walk back sin underthings. But it was that or be stranded out in the boondocks after dark, so I reluctantly began walking back. By some blessed miracle, I heard a truck behind me after about 5 minutes and I began wildly flagging them down again, only to find that it was the SAME man who had picked me up on the way there! Such good luck. We had a wonderfully stilted chat on the way back about his farm, his health, and his sons in the US. He told me I was pretty, and I suspect he might have had an inkling to do a bit of matchmaking.
4 days of isolation
After Granada Sarah got some serious FOMO (read as: fear of missing out, my fave new word. Thanks nick and phil!) and decided to head back to the sun, surf, boys, and hippie festival in San Juan Del Sur while I decided to continue onwards to the gloriously cool weathered mountains of nicaragua.
This was the first time I have been alone in MONTHS, literally. In fact the last time I remember being alone was for a day or two in Bogota, in between dropping Julien at the airport and meeting up with Sarah in Medellin. It was rather disconcerting and sort of a hard adjustment at first, but I slipped back into it quickly and rediscovered my original joy of traveling alone. Most obviously I noticed I just had a lot more TIME on my hands to do things like go on the internet, read my books, and talk with locals. Iīve spoken more spanish in the past week or so than the entire month and a half with Sarah. Not that I blame sarah, but it just seems to be one of those natural things where if you HAVE somebody to speak to in english, you wonīt bother trying to speak in your second language if you donīt have to.
I decided to spent my second week of Nicaragua in the mountains becuase I was just plain fed up with feeling hot. So sick of sweating all the time, so sick of always having to wear my hair up, sick of constantly swatting mosquitoes, and INCREDIBLY sick of not being able to sleep well at night because of overheating. I had simply had enough, and Matagalpa was the refreshing little pueblo that I had been itching for.
Matagalpa, and to a lesser extent Esteli, are gringo free. For those four days that I spent alone I could easily count the number of foreigners I saw on one hand. This was great, once I became familiar again with the initial apprehension of forcibly being alone. I just reminded myself that I did 3 months in the middle east and the 6 weeks in brazil mostly alone. So what did I do first to ease myself into it? Shopping. Straight away. How could I resist? there were opshops all around and I had some GREAT finds, the best of which was easily my new 100% italian leather knee high riding boots for $10 USD!! I immediately felt better. Retail therapy does wonders, people.
Nicaraguans are also a relatively friendly people, iīm happy to report. Nobody really went out of their way to befriend me, but the ones I did have a chat with were very jolly and curious about where I came from. It never ceases to amaze people that Iīm a chinese person born in the US, and no matter how much I insist Iīm American they continue to ask me questions about China and what life is like over there. Itīs good that Iīve at least been a few times or else Iīd be fumbling to tell them anything.
Besides shopping in Matagalpa I ventured out on a little walk in the cloudforest nearby. even though this cloudforest covers a large portion of the surrounding land, a lot of it is privately owned by coffee farms, etc. so walking routes are rare apparently. I had to take a chicken bus (american schoolbuses repainted and spruced up for public transport in c. america) towards Jinotega and asked the driver to drop me to get to the Black Forest.
The moment I stepped out I was faced with an old, rusty tank and a sign indicating a path towards a hotel. Unsure of if this was the right way I simply decided to hoof it a few km and see how it went. Luckily this walk was extremely pleasant with really lush greenery about and offshooting paths onto private coffee farms so I could get an upclose look. There was something very magical and charming about the cloudforest there. It was something about the combination of a mountainly breeze with the fluttering sounds and glimpses of hummingbirds...I just felt very content. After my walk I turned around and headed back to the main road and ended up waiting at least an hour or more for a bus that wasnīt totally full. I nearly decided to hitch a ride back again, but reminded myself it wasnīt the middle east. So instead I waited patiently with an elderly Nicaraguan woman thinking to myself "itīs okay, weīre in this together!" only to watch her half an hour later try to catch a ride in a truck and pretty much jumped into the back of the car without a word to me to come along. We were no longer friends after that.
This was the first time I have been alone in MONTHS, literally. In fact the last time I remember being alone was for a day or two in Bogota, in between dropping Julien at the airport and meeting up with Sarah in Medellin. It was rather disconcerting and sort of a hard adjustment at first, but I slipped back into it quickly and rediscovered my original joy of traveling alone. Most obviously I noticed I just had a lot more TIME on my hands to do things like go on the internet, read my books, and talk with locals. Iīve spoken more spanish in the past week or so than the entire month and a half with Sarah. Not that I blame sarah, but it just seems to be one of those natural things where if you HAVE somebody to speak to in english, you wonīt bother trying to speak in your second language if you donīt have to.
I decided to spent my second week of Nicaragua in the mountains becuase I was just plain fed up with feeling hot. So sick of sweating all the time, so sick of always having to wear my hair up, sick of constantly swatting mosquitoes, and INCREDIBLY sick of not being able to sleep well at night because of overheating. I had simply had enough, and Matagalpa was the refreshing little pueblo that I had been itching for.
Matagalpa, and to a lesser extent Esteli, are gringo free. For those four days that I spent alone I could easily count the number of foreigners I saw on one hand. This was great, once I became familiar again with the initial apprehension of forcibly being alone. I just reminded myself that I did 3 months in the middle east and the 6 weeks in brazil mostly alone. So what did I do first to ease myself into it? Shopping. Straight away. How could I resist? there were opshops all around and I had some GREAT finds, the best of which was easily my new 100% italian leather knee high riding boots for $10 USD!! I immediately felt better. Retail therapy does wonders, people.
Nicaraguans are also a relatively friendly people, iīm happy to report. Nobody really went out of their way to befriend me, but the ones I did have a chat with were very jolly and curious about where I came from. It never ceases to amaze people that Iīm a chinese person born in the US, and no matter how much I insist Iīm American they continue to ask me questions about China and what life is like over there. Itīs good that Iīve at least been a few times or else Iīd be fumbling to tell them anything.
Besides shopping in Matagalpa I ventured out on a little walk in the cloudforest nearby. even though this cloudforest covers a large portion of the surrounding land, a lot of it is privately owned by coffee farms, etc. so walking routes are rare apparently. I had to take a chicken bus (american schoolbuses repainted and spruced up for public transport in c. america) towards Jinotega and asked the driver to drop me to get to the Black Forest.
The moment I stepped out I was faced with an old, rusty tank and a sign indicating a path towards a hotel. Unsure of if this was the right way I simply decided to hoof it a few km and see how it went. Luckily this walk was extremely pleasant with really lush greenery about and offshooting paths onto private coffee farms so I could get an upclose look. There was something very magical and charming about the cloudforest there. It was something about the combination of a mountainly breeze with the fluttering sounds and glimpses of hummingbirds...I just felt very content. After my walk I turned around and headed back to the main road and ended up waiting at least an hour or more for a bus that wasnīt totally full. I nearly decided to hitch a ride back again, but reminded myself it wasnīt the middle east. So instead I waited patiently with an elderly Nicaraguan woman thinking to myself "itīs okay, weīre in this together!" only to watch her half an hour later try to catch a ride in a truck and pretty much jumped into the back of the car without a word to me to come along. We were no longer friends after that.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Where i purchase a hammock
I am starting to feel like my blogs are becoming increasingly more and more boring. Iīm not really sure if itīs because I just havenīt really been putting myself out there and really "backpacking", and rather have been sort of going through the motions, or if itīs just something else. either way, I apologize!
Unfortunately, this is another one of those blogs where I try to find a different word for "picturesque" or "cute" or "adorable" to describe a colonial town. Not to take away from Granada at all (which is, naturally, a picturesque, adorable colonial town), but Iīm definitely feeling like Iīm on major repeat. But still, I arrived in good spirits and enjoyed the hustle and bustle of a bigger town after the laid back days at the beach. I will always love walking down streets where there is all sorts of action going on, from women trying to sell apples, to the men that repair shoes out on the sidewalk.
The downside was the unbearable heat, so we spent the afternoon recuperating at the hostel and later on met up with Edwin (who was at a diff hostel) and some people from his hostel for some pizza dinner. This turned out to be a really amusing night, mostly due to a specific australian named James. It was, as I was informed, australia day that day and in true form, all of the australians were drinking themselves into oblivion. James was no exception and was absolutely SMASHED out of his gourd. I have not seen anybody that messily drunk in awhile (not since the infamous canadian in mancora), so it was pretty amusing for most of the night. I spent most of dinner prompting him to eat and moving his beer glass away from the edge of the table, trying to hold conversation with him without laughing outright in his face. When it came time to pay the bill I even had to pull out his wallet and count out his money for him, then stop him from trying to pay again because he had forgotten in his drunken state. Then on the way home, he made a few sloppy attempts to grab my hand, told me i was "soooooo cute" and then proceeded to ask if he could kiss me. I politely trying to disengage my hand and demurely said no, all the while thinking that, of course, ONLY australians would have such gall!
such wonderful memories Iīm going to have by the end of this trip.
The only other notable events of granada was heading out to the nearby town of Masaya, home to allegedly the best craft market of the country. It was very densely packed and reminded me just a little bit of the awesome markets in the middle east, but i was devastated when i realized my camera batteries were dead! so instead I just shopped around trying to take it all in mentally, hoping that I would remember the random assortment of things they had in there (frogs taxidermied into sexual positions anybody?). Eventually I walked out of there with my very first hammock. I bought a shorter version hoping it would be lighter with less material, but Iīve realized itīs just damn small, so I hope I donīt regret the purchase later.
Unfortunately, this is another one of those blogs where I try to find a different word for "picturesque" or "cute" or "adorable" to describe a colonial town. Not to take away from Granada at all (which is, naturally, a picturesque, adorable colonial town), but Iīm definitely feeling like Iīm on major repeat. But still, I arrived in good spirits and enjoyed the hustle and bustle of a bigger town after the laid back days at the beach. I will always love walking down streets where there is all sorts of action going on, from women trying to sell apples, to the men that repair shoes out on the sidewalk.
The downside was the unbearable heat, so we spent the afternoon recuperating at the hostel and later on met up with Edwin (who was at a diff hostel) and some people from his hostel for some pizza dinner. This turned out to be a really amusing night, mostly due to a specific australian named James. It was, as I was informed, australia day that day and in true form, all of the australians were drinking themselves into oblivion. James was no exception and was absolutely SMASHED out of his gourd. I have not seen anybody that messily drunk in awhile (not since the infamous canadian in mancora), so it was pretty amusing for most of the night. I spent most of dinner prompting him to eat and moving his beer glass away from the edge of the table, trying to hold conversation with him without laughing outright in his face. When it came time to pay the bill I even had to pull out his wallet and count out his money for him, then stop him from trying to pay again because he had forgotten in his drunken state. Then on the way home, he made a few sloppy attempts to grab my hand, told me i was "soooooo cute" and then proceeded to ask if he could kiss me. I politely trying to disengage my hand and demurely said no, all the while thinking that, of course, ONLY australians would have such gall!
such wonderful memories Iīm going to have by the end of this trip.
The only other notable events of granada was heading out to the nearby town of Masaya, home to allegedly the best craft market of the country. It was very densely packed and reminded me just a little bit of the awesome markets in the middle east, but i was devastated when i realized my camera batteries were dead! so instead I just shopped around trying to take it all in mentally, hoping that I would remember the random assortment of things they had in there (frogs taxidermied into sexual positions anybody?). Eventually I walked out of there with my very first hammock. I bought a shorter version hoping it would be lighter with less material, but Iīve realized itīs just damn small, so I hope I donīt regret the purchase later.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Surfing: I suck.
We headed straight for san juan del sur, luckily only a wee hour away, and after a quick perusal around down we went to go find Linden, AKA Edwin, one of the aussie guys we hung out with back in Medellin, Colombia. He introduced us to two more aussies (Phil and Nick) and an alaskan (matt), and between the 6 of us we formed a tightknit impromptu group for the following four nights. I liked how I immediately felt comfortable with them and accepted, as if I was a vital personality to the group. Just 2 hours after having met the boys Nick told me an inappropriate joke, and immediately followed it up with a "what?? too soon?". I laughed and knew we'd get along well.
San Juan doesn't really have that much to DO perse, it is much like another backpacker beach town just not half as flashpacker-y (yes, i totally just made that word up) and CHEAP. Sarah and I were delighted to be paying only 5 bucks a night for our own private room with ensuite bathroom.
We easily fell into a daily habit which I will describe to you now.
7AM -- wake up grumpy and groggy. Dress in swim togs and stumble over to the boys' hostel
7:30 AM -- realize boys still arenīt ready to go, even though they told us to be ready to go by then
8:00 AM -- pack surfboards onto the car. rather, watch boys pack surfboards onto the car while i apply sunblock.
8:12 AM -- drive to Madeiras, a local surf beach.
8:30 to 11:30 AM -- get abused by waves. feel shame about being shit at surfing. go swimming or boogie boarding instead.
12:30 PM-- lunch at the mercado! taste everybodyīs banana smoothie.
1:15 PM -- walk to the local bakery and buy donuts.
1:30-6:30 PM-- everybody splits up, either to lay in hammocks at the boys' hostel, use the internet, shower, read, or nap. We would also lay around postulating what we might do the next day (but really secretly knowing weīd do the same exact thing the next day) or what we might cook for dinner.
6:30-8:00 PM -- watch somebody cook dinner and complain aboutIīm starving. Suffer through more jokes about how "little one" gets grumpy when she doesnīt get meals on time.
8:00 PM -- eat, hang out more in the hammocks, sleep early.
I know it doesnīt seem terribly interesting to you passing 4 days like this, but thatīs one of the problems with blogging, you can never really quite capture the feeling or an atmosphere in the way that you want to. I liked being a part of something, even if it was just for a short period of time, and I loved how we had all these inside jokes almost immediately. We were ALWAYS laughing, and because of those guys I will always think fondly of san juan del sur.
San Juan doesn't really have that much to DO perse, it is much like another backpacker beach town just not half as flashpacker-y (yes, i totally just made that word up) and CHEAP. Sarah and I were delighted to be paying only 5 bucks a night for our own private room with ensuite bathroom.
We easily fell into a daily habit which I will describe to you now.
7AM -- wake up grumpy and groggy. Dress in swim togs and stumble over to the boys' hostel
7:30 AM -- realize boys still arenīt ready to go, even though they told us to be ready to go by then
8:00 AM -- pack surfboards onto the car. rather, watch boys pack surfboards onto the car while i apply sunblock.
8:12 AM -- drive to Madeiras, a local surf beach.
8:30 to 11:30 AM -- get abused by waves. feel shame about being shit at surfing. go swimming or boogie boarding instead.
12:30 PM-- lunch at the mercado! taste everybodyīs banana smoothie.
1:15 PM -- walk to the local bakery and buy donuts.
1:30-6:30 PM-- everybody splits up, either to lay in hammocks at the boys' hostel, use the internet, shower, read, or nap. We would also lay around postulating what we might do the next day (but really secretly knowing weīd do the same exact thing the next day) or what we might cook for dinner.
6:30-8:00 PM -- watch somebody cook dinner and complain aboutIīm starving. Suffer through more jokes about how "little one" gets grumpy when she doesnīt get meals on time.
8:00 PM -- eat, hang out more in the hammocks, sleep early.
I know it doesnīt seem terribly interesting to you passing 4 days like this, but thatīs one of the problems with blogging, you can never really quite capture the feeling or an atmosphere in the way that you want to. I liked being a part of something, even if it was just for a short period of time, and I loved how we had all these inside jokes almost immediately. We were ALWAYS laughing, and because of those guys I will always think fondly of san juan del sur.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A country in a day
Crossing an entire country in one day is exhausting, even one as small as costa rica. One of the things I was looking forward to the most in central america were the shorter bus times, but Sarah and I ended up doing a big 15 hour day crossing from the very bottom southeast corner to the very top northwest corner of costa rica. We arrived at 11 in the evening and decided it wouldn't be safe to do the border crossing so late, so we checked into a very basic hostel that felt sort of like a jail. I kept hearing funny noises in the hallway but every time I looked out there was nobody there, so I deemed it haunted and locked us up inside for the night.
Bright and early the next morning Sarah and I headed blindly for the border. Most border crossing are pretty straightforward, but for some reason this one was completely disorganized, mostly because the footpath WAS the road (or was the road the footpath?) and there were huge mac trucks driving in every which direction. There wasn't really any signage indicating which direction to go, and we ended up vaguely meandering towards nicaragua not really knowing what was going on. I did enjoy the nicaraguan immigration officer, though. Even though there was a fat ass line behind us he took the time to look through all my stamps and smile approvingly at each place I'd been to.
Bright and early the next morning Sarah and I headed blindly for the border. Most border crossing are pretty straightforward, but for some reason this one was completely disorganized, mostly because the footpath WAS the road (or was the road the footpath?) and there were huge mac trucks driving in every which direction. There wasn't really any signage indicating which direction to go, and we ended up vaguely meandering towards nicaragua not really knowing what was going on. I did enjoy the nicaraguan immigration officer, though. Even though there was a fat ass line behind us he took the time to look through all my stamps and smile approvingly at each place I'd been to.
Monday, January 25, 2010
flashpacker overload
There are a lot of beach towns overrun with backpackers--if you remember we opted to stay in Santa Marta rather than Taganga in Colombia, just so we could avoid all the other gringos.
Bocas del Toro was a huge disappointment. I have met many a backpacker that really enjoyed their stay there, and as usual the only reason I could see people really liking it was because there are just so many western amenities there and a big party scene. People go there so they can feel like they're at home while being in another country, and while i admit this is sometimes nice (especially when you're gone for a long time) it generally just annoys me having to be surrounded by these "flashpackers".
Don't get me wrong, it was a cute little place and I enjoyed the concept of having to get everywhere via boat. Even to go to the other islands you take water taxis. I also enjoyed our low budget accommodation which wasn't anything more than a shack on top of the water, but it was nice to wake up in the morning and have the water just there, or to hear the water lapping underneath the floorboards while you fell asleep. I lay in a hammock one afternoon overlooking the water and thought to myself that this must be what people wish they were doing back home instead of work.
So to my even greater disappointment, my next stop (across the border into costa rica) of Puerto Viejo was almost exactly the SAME THING. Except they had beaches.
We were staying at a weird hostel in Puerto Viejo called Rocking Js, which seemed to have very few dorm rooms, but a plethora of tents and hammocks lined up around the compound. I even had my very own little one person tent with a mattress inside, which I ended up being quite fond of after a few days. It was nice just having your own imagined space, even though in reality the next person was probably only sleeping a few feet away.
To our horror (i totally didn't remember how expensive costa rica was) living expenses there were extremely high. So high that we actually couldn't do anything, not even eat out. So we spent a few days making plans for the next few weeks (skip the rest of costa rica and head directly for nicaragua), doing yoga, and trying to fill our empty bellies with bread and sandwiches.
Bocas del Toro was a huge disappointment. I have met many a backpacker that really enjoyed their stay there, and as usual the only reason I could see people really liking it was because there are just so many western amenities there and a big party scene. People go there so they can feel like they're at home while being in another country, and while i admit this is sometimes nice (especially when you're gone for a long time) it generally just annoys me having to be surrounded by these "flashpackers".
Don't get me wrong, it was a cute little place and I enjoyed the concept of having to get everywhere via boat. Even to go to the other islands you take water taxis. I also enjoyed our low budget accommodation which wasn't anything more than a shack on top of the water, but it was nice to wake up in the morning and have the water just there, or to hear the water lapping underneath the floorboards while you fell asleep. I lay in a hammock one afternoon overlooking the water and thought to myself that this must be what people wish they were doing back home instead of work.
So to my even greater disappointment, my next stop (across the border into costa rica) of Puerto Viejo was almost exactly the SAME THING. Except they had beaches.
We were staying at a weird hostel in Puerto Viejo called Rocking Js, which seemed to have very few dorm rooms, but a plethora of tents and hammocks lined up around the compound. I even had my very own little one person tent with a mattress inside, which I ended up being quite fond of after a few days. It was nice just having your own imagined space, even though in reality the next person was probably only sleeping a few feet away.
To our horror (i totally didn't remember how expensive costa rica was) living expenses there were extremely high. So high that we actually couldn't do anything, not even eat out. So we spent a few days making plans for the next few weeks (skip the rest of costa rica and head directly for nicaragua), doing yoga, and trying to fill our empty bellies with bread and sandwiches.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
DANGER girl
With the ants down to three (Sarah, Ben P, myself) we left early the next day for Boquete in the local choice of bus, yellow school buses from the US. A small town up in the mountains, we mostly went for the ongoing festival of flowers. We figured it would be a great way to get a glimpse into panamanian local life as well as experience something a little different.
The weather there was a welcome respite from all the heat we've been experiencing. I couldn't even remember the last time I wore pants or needed a sweater. I was so excited to pull out my grey jacket and jeans. It was an adorable little town and we were immediately charmed by it.
The flower festival was also quite charming. I enjoyed their little flower setups (in the shape of christmas trees, small dutch looking windmills, very bright colors) with typical small timey fair food and games like popcorn, fairway games, and bumper cars. The most impressive bit was them setting up two temporary outdoor clubs, complete with pounding pop music and flashing lights. It was hard to sleep at night with the music carrying all throughout the valley, but it was still impressive.
But surely the most memorable part of visiting boquete was my very first scootering adventure. Yes, that's right people, somebody actually let me on a scooter!! And then I promptly careened straight into a pole. sigh.
I looked up to see 4 australian guys gaping open mouthed at me and I shamefacedly picked myself up and tried to laugh it off all the while secretly burning with embarrassment inside. To be fair though, it wasn't completely my fault. The scooter was really tall (even ben said so, and he's a motocross junkie so i figure he knows what he's talking about) so I was having trouble propping myself up without falling over, and my hands were too small to grip the brakes properly. The guy who rented us the bikes insisted that we ought to use both brakes, so as I was flying towards the pole in those first 5 seconds, I immediately went to grip both brakes, and with the right hand I DID hit the brake but also thenrolled the accelerator at the same time. This is apparently key to smashing into poles.
But then a few minutes later sarah took a slow turn and somehow got herself pinned underneath the scooter, so I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one who was having some difficulty. She was saved immediately by a local panamanian man hefting a large sack of hay, and when Ben and I finally reached her we were relieved to find that she was uninjured.
The rest of the scootering was fantastic, at least. I opted for the most part to ride on the back of ben's bike, but later on ventured another scoot and found it to be incredibly easy except for when i had to brake really hard down gravelly bits. The scenery was beautiful, and I felt really happy riding along on the back roads with the wind flapping through my hair like some movie set in the countryside of italy. We stopped a few times, including a small shop that specialized in strawberries and cream, avoided anymore accidents and all returned in one piece, myself having high hopes for future vespa purchases.
The weather there was a welcome respite from all the heat we've been experiencing. I couldn't even remember the last time I wore pants or needed a sweater. I was so excited to pull out my grey jacket and jeans. It was an adorable little town and we were immediately charmed by it.
The flower festival was also quite charming. I enjoyed their little flower setups (in the shape of christmas trees, small dutch looking windmills, very bright colors) with typical small timey fair food and games like popcorn, fairway games, and bumper cars. The most impressive bit was them setting up two temporary outdoor clubs, complete with pounding pop music and flashing lights. It was hard to sleep at night with the music carrying all throughout the valley, but it was still impressive.
But surely the most memorable part of visiting boquete was my very first scootering adventure. Yes, that's right people, somebody actually let me on a scooter!! And then I promptly careened straight into a pole. sigh.
I looked up to see 4 australian guys gaping open mouthed at me and I shamefacedly picked myself up and tried to laugh it off all the while secretly burning with embarrassment inside. To be fair though, it wasn't completely my fault. The scooter was really tall (even ben said so, and he's a motocross junkie so i figure he knows what he's talking about) so I was having trouble propping myself up without falling over, and my hands were too small to grip the brakes properly. The guy who rented us the bikes insisted that we ought to use both brakes, so as I was flying towards the pole in those first 5 seconds, I immediately went to grip both brakes, and with the right hand I DID hit the brake but also thenrolled the accelerator at the same time. This is apparently key to smashing into poles.
But then a few minutes later sarah took a slow turn and somehow got herself pinned underneath the scooter, so I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one who was having some difficulty. She was saved immediately by a local panamanian man hefting a large sack of hay, and when Ben and I finally reached her we were relieved to find that she was uninjured.
The rest of the scootering was fantastic, at least. I opted for the most part to ride on the back of ben's bike, but later on ventured another scoot and found it to be incredibly easy except for when i had to brake really hard down gravelly bits. The scenery was beautiful, and I felt really happy riding along on the back roads with the wind flapping through my hair like some movie set in the countryside of italy. We stopped a few times, including a small shop that specialized in strawberries and cream, avoided anymore accidents and all returned in one piece, myself having high hopes for future vespa purchases.
Gorging and Goodbyes in Pcity
Panama City was a surprise for me. In fact, all of Panama was a surprise for me. I'm not sure, but it may end up being my bolivia of central america, meaning I had zero expectations of it and it ended up being one of my favored countries. Initially I was unexcited because I had heard of it being covered with american tourists, as well as upon landing I realized the landscape looked exactly like Colombia.
Our boat group whittled down as we arrived in Panama City, the three of us girls, ben p, stretch, and janna checked into the same hostel, but all with plans to separate at least a day or two later. I was pleasantly surprised as I stepped out of the taxi and took in the surroundings. It just LOOKED like what panama should look like. It looked exactly what i imagined highrise apartments to look there. Sort of old and stylish with palm trees dotting the street and everybody wearing light, airy clothing. The entire place oozed of coolness, and I kept discovering more and more things I liked about it. It had a great energy, and I found myself saying (for only the third time on my trip) that I could see myself living there.
Since Annie and Stretch were leaving the next day, we all hightailed it for the panama canal immediately after checking in. It was sort of far to get to, but once in we caught the last boat going through and found the whole canal "experience" pretty fascinating. It was slow at best, but the man on the loudspeaker was spouting stats and facts, while Stretch answered any excess questions we had about the canal. I also enjoyed waving at the crewman who were taking photos of the tourists and nearly walked out of there with a cheezy panama canal pen where the boat floats up and down as you tilt it.
Afterwards we managed to cram 6 people into one single taxi on the way to Casco Viejo, the old town of Panama City. Since i was the shortest (which occurs more often than I would like, no longer the tall one when surrounded by white people) I was elected to be the one perched on top of everybody else, which meant I was very awkwardly and acrobatically folded on top of sarah and annie for about 20 minutes. We did this again on the way back, this time gently folded half onto Stretch's lap and half on the gear shift. Casco Viejo was even more surprisingly a loooovely area. Beautiful old colonial buildings with heaps of trendy shops and fine restaurants. We walked around taking photos in the fading sunlight, and then ate cheap, crappy chinese food from a local joint.
We bade our goodbyes early the next morning. It was a tragic parting for me, seeing as Annie is the only other person I've travelled with for a long time besides sarah (i don't even want to think about when i have to say goodbye to sarah). All in we calculated we had spent 1 month together backpacking, which translates to approximately 3 to 4 months in real time. I felt genuinely sad to see her go, and wanted nothing more than for her to continue on with us. I teared up a bit, and before I knew it she was in the elevator with her pack and the door was shutting closed while I clutched dramatically to Sarah. I really hate saying goodbye to people I really like. Sometimes I feel like it gets easier to do it over and over, but sometimes I feel like the more I travel, the more tragic it gets each time.
So to cheer myself up (and becuase I just wanted to) I made plans to leave the next day and then spent the rest of the afternoon spoiling myself. I went to a fancy restaurant with Janna and paid 20 dollars for a THIRTEEN COURSE meal. THIRTEEN!! It was incredible and will probably never repeated again unless someday I become amazingly rich or marry into some crazy money! I could easily go over each dish with you all right now, but I will refrain. Just keep in mind that it was probably one of the most amazing meals i've ever had.
p.s. i also splurged on gourmet ice cream.
Our boat group whittled down as we arrived in Panama City, the three of us girls, ben p, stretch, and janna checked into the same hostel, but all with plans to separate at least a day or two later. I was pleasantly surprised as I stepped out of the taxi and took in the surroundings. It just LOOKED like what panama should look like. It looked exactly what i imagined highrise apartments to look there. Sort of old and stylish with palm trees dotting the street and everybody wearing light, airy clothing. The entire place oozed of coolness, and I kept discovering more and more things I liked about it. It had a great energy, and I found myself saying (for only the third time on my trip) that I could see myself living there.
Since Annie and Stretch were leaving the next day, we all hightailed it for the panama canal immediately after checking in. It was sort of far to get to, but once in we caught the last boat going through and found the whole canal "experience" pretty fascinating. It was slow at best, but the man on the loudspeaker was spouting stats and facts, while Stretch answered any excess questions we had about the canal. I also enjoyed waving at the crewman who were taking photos of the tourists and nearly walked out of there with a cheezy panama canal pen where the boat floats up and down as you tilt it.
Afterwards we managed to cram 6 people into one single taxi on the way to Casco Viejo, the old town of Panama City. Since i was the shortest (which occurs more often than I would like, no longer the tall one when surrounded by white people) I was elected to be the one perched on top of everybody else, which meant I was very awkwardly and acrobatically folded on top of sarah and annie for about 20 minutes. We did this again on the way back, this time gently folded half onto Stretch's lap and half on the gear shift. Casco Viejo was even more surprisingly a loooovely area. Beautiful old colonial buildings with heaps of trendy shops and fine restaurants. We walked around taking photos in the fading sunlight, and then ate cheap, crappy chinese food from a local joint.
We bade our goodbyes early the next morning. It was a tragic parting for me, seeing as Annie is the only other person I've travelled with for a long time besides sarah (i don't even want to think about when i have to say goodbye to sarah). All in we calculated we had spent 1 month together backpacking, which translates to approximately 3 to 4 months in real time. I felt genuinely sad to see her go, and wanted nothing more than for her to continue on with us. I teared up a bit, and before I knew it she was in the elevator with her pack and the door was shutting closed while I clutched dramatically to Sarah. I really hate saying goodbye to people I really like. Sometimes I feel like it gets easier to do it over and over, but sometimes I feel like the more I travel, the more tragic it gets each time.
So to cheer myself up (and becuase I just wanted to) I made plans to leave the next day and then spent the rest of the afternoon spoiling myself. I went to a fancy restaurant with Janna and paid 20 dollars for a THIRTEEN COURSE meal. THIRTEEN!! It was incredible and will probably never repeated again unless someday I become amazingly rich or marry into some crazy money! I could easily go over each dish with you all right now, but I will refrain. Just keep in mind that it was probably one of the most amazing meals i've ever had.
p.s. i also splurged on gourmet ice cream.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Puking over boats and the blue lagoon
Somehow through our endless charm and badgering Sarah and i convinced Annie to come with us on our boat trip to Panama. She was originally going south and flying out of bogota for Buenos aires, so it was a big deal for her to be going the opposite way. Though all we really had to do was show her some pictures of the Sanblas islands, which I would recommend for you to look up online right now. Take note you may drool and then be filled with a raging jealousy.
We carted ourselves back to cartagena and hung out there for a few days arranging our boat trip with the "Hard Winer" (not a typo...i myself thought it was meant to be hard winner), owned by Henrik the danish captain. On the 7th we said our goodbyes to colombia and excitedly climbed aboard the large trimaran for a 5 day cruise to Panama.
The players
Sarah, Annie, and myself
Ben P from Australia
Ben C, Jess, and Nate from Canada
German one and German two, unnamed and possibly in the porn industry
Stretch (casimir) from the Netherlands
Janna from Germany
The captain Henrik, Denmark
Armin, 1st mate from Germany
Raisa, the cook and Henrik's girlfriend from Venezuela
All in all, we were a good group. Everybody was nice and laid back, although the german guys kept to themselves and actually ended up leaving a day early. I never saw them more happy than when they were hefting their huge rolling suitcases onto a tiny dinghy and waving goodbye to us. It took awhile for everybody to warm up to each other, although whether this was from everybody being seasick during the first 36 hours of sailing or because we all started in small subgroups as it was, I'm not sure.
The first few days were quiet on the boat. We were sailing in open waters, and I felt a little nervous looking out and seeing nothing but water. I lay still for most of those 36 hours because even with seasickness tablets I felt a bit queasy sitting up or moving at all. Ben P caught a fresh tuna fish and Henrik made us sashimi (delish!) and I watched sarah violently puke over the side of the boat. Repeatedly.
But the islands themselves were a-ma-zing. They are the closest thing I've seen to sheer, untouched paradise! We were landing on tiny little islands that you could walk around in 5 minutes with nothing more than some foliage and a some lone palm trees. All the water was an intense shade of blue, and completely crystal clear. I could seriously float about and look down to see my toes clearly! These islands were straight out of The Blue Lagoon, and after a few days I fancied myself a bit like brooke shields (hah! i wish!) with all that salt in my tangly hair and a raging tan to boot. We spent three days navigating the islands and doing things like going for swims, cracking up coconuts, having bbqs on the beach, and eating fresh caught shark/octopus/conch. Janna and I even swam to one of the nearby islands, although it was one of those weird optical illusions that made the second island seem really close, so halfway there I looked up and cursed myself when i realized i was then really far from the boat AND the island and had no choice but to continue swimming.
We spent our last night on a large, windy island that housed 2 or 3 Kuna indian families. It was fascinating to get a glimpse into their way of life, and I fell in love with the style of dress all of the women embraced. They sew special brightly patterned textiles called "mulas" (unsure of my spelling on that one), and each woman would wear one tightly around the waist in combination with mismatched print on another brightly patterned print until somehow it just worked.
We carted ourselves back to cartagena and hung out there for a few days arranging our boat trip with the "Hard Winer" (not a typo...i myself thought it was meant to be hard winner), owned by Henrik the danish captain. On the 7th we said our goodbyes to colombia and excitedly climbed aboard the large trimaran for a 5 day cruise to Panama.
The players
Sarah, Annie, and myself
Ben P from Australia
Ben C, Jess, and Nate from Canada
German one and German two, unnamed and possibly in the porn industry
Stretch (casimir) from the Netherlands
Janna from Germany
The captain Henrik, Denmark
Armin, 1st mate from Germany
Raisa, the cook and Henrik's girlfriend from Venezuela
All in all, we were a good group. Everybody was nice and laid back, although the german guys kept to themselves and actually ended up leaving a day early. I never saw them more happy than when they were hefting their huge rolling suitcases onto a tiny dinghy and waving goodbye to us. It took awhile for everybody to warm up to each other, although whether this was from everybody being seasick during the first 36 hours of sailing or because we all started in small subgroups as it was, I'm not sure.
The first few days were quiet on the boat. We were sailing in open waters, and I felt a little nervous looking out and seeing nothing but water. I lay still for most of those 36 hours because even with seasickness tablets I felt a bit queasy sitting up or moving at all. Ben P caught a fresh tuna fish and Henrik made us sashimi (delish!) and I watched sarah violently puke over the side of the boat. Repeatedly.
But the islands themselves were a-ma-zing. They are the closest thing I've seen to sheer, untouched paradise! We were landing on tiny little islands that you could walk around in 5 minutes with nothing more than some foliage and a some lone palm trees. All the water was an intense shade of blue, and completely crystal clear. I could seriously float about and look down to see my toes clearly! These islands were straight out of The Blue Lagoon, and after a few days I fancied myself a bit like brooke shields (hah! i wish!) with all that salt in my tangly hair and a raging tan to boot. We spent three days navigating the islands and doing things like going for swims, cracking up coconuts, having bbqs on the beach, and eating fresh caught shark/octopus/conch. Janna and I even swam to one of the nearby islands, although it was one of those weird optical illusions that made the second island seem really close, so halfway there I looked up and cursed myself when i realized i was then really far from the boat AND the island and had no choice but to continue swimming.
We spent our last night on a large, windy island that housed 2 or 3 Kuna indian families. It was fascinating to get a glimpse into their way of life, and I fell in love with the style of dress all of the women embraced. They sew special brightly patterned textiles called "mulas" (unsure of my spelling on that one), and each woman would wear one tightly around the waist in combination with mismatched print on another brightly patterned print until somehow it just worked.
