Mexico

My first stop was in Palenque to see the ruins. Again, completely mesmerized and completely drenched throughout my entire visit. I'm guessing October is rainy season in Central America... I'm pretty amazed that after seeing so many Mesoamerican ruins, I'm still impressed at every one. They're all so completely unique. Palenque has a Ruin that the Spaniards called "Palacio de los Cruces" or something like that. This was built somewhere around 730 AD before European contact and is filled with crosses built into the walls. That Jesus guy really got around apparently. Who knew. Palenque was extremely well preserved from what I could see. There were even reliefs in the temples showing Mayan Heiroglyphs still intact (unless they were renovated to look intact which would be dissapointing)

 I didn't go much out in the actual town of Palenque save for getting food 3 times a day from across the street..it was just raining so much and I had a guitar and tacos de pastor, what could I do? I'm just blown away at what crossing a simple arbitrarily drawn geographic line can do for culinary stylings. As I've ranted about before, food here...hasn't been that great. It started getting better and more authentic in Central America but was still nothing to write home about. However,  going to a simple Taqueria in Mexico gets you an amazing meal under $5. So Mexico, you might have one of the most corrupt police forces, governments and armies on the face of the planet, you might have a drug war that's threatening to destabilize and topple the country, you might make faulty electronics and bad guitars, people might say that your habit of fitting 8 people into a VW bug from 1972 is in bad taste but I say that your taste in music and food? Pretty..pretty pretty alright.

I bought a ticket to go to San Cristobal de las Casas which is closer to my exit point of Veracruz. After waiting for the 9:30 bus for 30 minutes, I finally asked someone what time it was and was told 11:00. Apparently I forgot to turn my clock ahead when I got into Mexico. In any case, I ended up having to take two shuttles instead of one and still got into San Cristobal, no problem.

My taxi driver obviously had no idea where he was going and dropped me in front of something that looked like a hostel on a random street near to the address I had written down. It was definitely not my hostel but luckily turned out to be a different hostel with overtly sexual art on the walls run by a nice girl from Oregon. I set myself down and went out to explore. San Cristobal is a small town nestled in the Mountains similar to Antigua, Guatemala I suppose. The streets are clean and full of nice restaurants serving international cuisine (even though tacos were hard to find for some reason, it was easy to get a crepe). I went with a bus to see some of the local villages around. It really feels like Peru around there. Alot of people in the town we visited, Chamula, don't speak spanish, only Tzotzil. It's nice to see that the Europeans didn't indoctrinate everyone. In fact, the Maya here have their own form of religion. A strange form of Catholicism similar to Santeria. A church we visited had statues of the saints with mirrors on their chests and has a floor blanketed with pine needles instead of pews.  It's a somewhat chaotic scene with people speaking in tongues and little kids weaving through your legs. I walked up to the altar and caught a glimpse of two men trying their hardest to break a chicken's neck for some kind of ritual. It was bizarre.  The Maya here are superstitious and have that belief that when someone takes a picture of you, they steal your soul. We couldn't take pictures in the church and even in the plaza when a woman in my group took out a camera to take a picture of a bunch of women, several of them hastily covered their faces with their coats to avoid western soul stealing. Unfortunately for them I got some DL photos with my camera phone since it apparently was beyond suspicion...even the Maya think it's too crappy to take pictures. Regardless, To all the women in the plaza whose souls I now have in my camera: sorry. 

I'm waiting for my bus to Veracruz at 9:45pm. It's hard to believe that this'll be the last overnight bus I take in Latin America. They've become so much a part of my existence that I'll probably have to take them to arbitrary destinations in America just to cope for a few months when I get back

Semuc Champey, Tikal and the rest of Guatemala

I got out of Antigua as soon as possible. Not so much because it was boring and expensive but because two Americans that I met in my hostel got robbed by a trannie. However, they helped the Guatemalan police catch the guy (?) and were then stuck waiting in Antigua for the things that were stolen as well as to give testimony....for 3 weeks. I'm strangely relieved that I'm not the only one relegated to having strange stories about transexuals. It makes me feel better. Anyway, the Americans suggested a hostel to stay in near Semuc Champey. I grabbed a bus to a town called Lanquin which is near Semuc Champey (a natural limestone formation).

Someone started this hostel called the Zephyr which is in the middle of a valley with a river nearby in the Guatemalan highlands. Completely cut off and beautiful. It was the first time in awhile that I've stayed in a hostel for more than two nights. Semuc Champey is a natural "bridge" that goes over an underground river. On top are these amazing pools that you can swim in and also a system of caves. You can walk thru one of the systems lighting your way with a candle. This might seem easy enough but there were a few problems. 1) It's pitch black. 2) The caves have a river running thru them. There are areas so deep where you have to tread water to get thru. Have you ever had to tread water while moving forward with one hand and using the other hand to keep your only light source above your head out of the water? You have? Well then, you know how hard it is. 3) It's not a nice, gently flowing stream. There were areas of whitewater rapids and whirlpools where its hard to walk. I saw my life flash before my eyes a few times. Regardless, it was a ton of fun except for the bats...which still scare the bejesus out of me. No matter how many times people tell me that they're just like rats with wings I can't help think that the only thing more terrifying than the concept of a rat that flies is a great white shark that flies...and who wants that?



Anyway, I met some really cool Swedish dudes who proved to further embarrass me and cement my opinion of American education. These guys probably spoke better English than me (ok, definitely spoke better English than me) and most of them were atleast trilingual at the age of 21. They also were good musicians and some of the smartest people I've met on this trip so far. We need to clean up our act or I need to marry a Swedish person and move there. Or both. Yes, I admit it to my friends who have always called me a closet European. Europeans are in fact better than us in almost every way. Except for the fact that we had Motown...like in the 60's.

I left for Tikal which is on this cool little island in Northern Guatemala. Got a cheap room right on the water for next to nothing. Tikal itself was a great experience. It was raining almost from the moment I got there and I didn't bring any rain gear but the rain made the ruins almost completely deserted and really, well, a true spiritual experience. Like Machu Picchu where it was raining too, I felt like I saw the ruins as they were supposed to be seen. The land of Tikal available to walk around is pretty massive and I was privy to see alot of immense pyramids and temples without a soul around. Climbing to the top of Temple IV too, you can see why George Lucas used it for a scene in a Star Wars movie. I'd definitely go again. I'm going to try and dry my clothes before going to Mexico tomorrow but deep down I know...that's not going to happen.

Copan to Antigua

Went to Copan two days ago to check out the ruins. Definitely on a smaller scale than any other highly touted ruins in Mesoamerica but definitely worth a visit. That's all I can think of to say. Although the town of Copan itself (1 km from the actual ruins) is full of tourists, which makes sense since the ruins are its mainstay, it's a nice little town nestled into a valley. Honduras is EXPENSIVE. Atleast compared to Nicaragua. A private room in a hostel in San Pedro Sula was $42 which I haven't seen anywhere. I'm finding that I like impoverished countries alot better. Not only because I can buy cheap combs and batteries but also because, well, they're not as nice and developed. People my parents' age (no offense Mom, I love you) eating in nice restaurants with napkins made of actual cloth eating off of porcelain plates in a town is a sure sign that its been westernized and too culturally paved for my comfort. Antigua, Guatemala (a 5 hour shuttle ride over the border) is much the same. A really pretty town actually, beautiful old churches and clean streets. I can see why aging retirees love it here so much. It's a safe, clean bubble to experience a country from. There's not actually much to do or even see here that you can't see in about a 2 hour stroll around the town is the thing. Antigua exists because of tourism, not the other way around. I can't imagine what you would do here if you weren't taking spanish classes or doing a homestay. It's kind of like Sucre, Bolivia...just more expensive, without as may things around it to see, more tourists and with a McDonalds and Burger King. I like much more having the chance to run into a native Guatemalan on the street rather than another person from my own city. Call it cultural anonymity...I don't know. I'm going to take a shuttle up north to Lanquin which is a lot less developed to see a natural formation called Semuc Champey. More to come later...

Honduras

The past week has been spent in a farm called Bonafide, also on Ompetepe. Bonafide has a completely different feel than Inah Inta. It's run by an American named Chris who experiments with different tree and plant species to see which ones are cultivatable for use by locals on the island. It's a much more academic experience than any farm I've ever been in. There is a big emphasis on Permaculture which is essentially the concept of how to live and work with the land in your immediate surroundings. The people here know alot of information about the subject and its a pretty consistent topic of conversation. After a month of being filthy and covered with sandflies though, I'm ready to get back to the real world of crappy Central American hostels and drunk Australians. I guess it's no news now that I leave for the States in less than a month which is a surreal feeling.
I had the most painless border crossing ever into Honduras. I just gave my passport and entry fee to the bus driver and he did everything on both sides. Everyday should be like this. Honduras is actually alot more expensive and developed than I thought. An hour within getting into San Pedro Sula (a city in the upper northeastern corner of the country) I was sitting in a Wendy's eating a double cheeseburger and watching American Football. I don't feel guilty about doing this anymore. I've been eating rice, beans and fried plantains for over a month now. I'm entitled. Anyway, if you're going to kill yourself with oversalted, high fat food I still contest that their is no better way to do it than with American fast food. We're good at what we do. I am, however, still unsure about what the implications are that a Wendy's Cheddarlover's Hamburger tastes exactly the same in Honduras as it does in Chicago.... Regardless, the effects of Globalization are not lost on me. The further north I go, the more things look like, well, America. I wouldn't even know I was in a foreign county here actually unless it wasn't full of short Mayan looking people. Literally every business is American and this isn't relegated solely to food. From my fat assed seat at Wendy's I was staring out at a Payless Shoe Store right next to a Goodyear. I'm not sure if American companies are really just the most efficient and business saavy or if people here demand American products more? Either way, I'd rather not be in a place like this. It's so much more expensive and all the local culture seems to have been blasted off the face of the planet a la San Jose, Costa Rica style. Tomorrow I leave for the Copan Ruins for a few days and then into Guatemala anyway so it'll be a limited experience....

Hippies and Mosquitoes

I decided to save some money WWOOFing again. I found a farm called Inah Inta which was back on Ometepe Island. It was going back south in the country which usually is a cardinal sin for me but since Ometepe is great and I needed to save cash, I backtracked thru Grenada and Managua again to get to Inah Itah.

Walking there was like something out of a dream. The road leading to Inah Intah was lined with mango trees, which were littering the ground. I found a good one and ate while I walked. Words can't describe what a mango fresh off the tree tastes like. As I came into higher ground, I could see the lake and volcanoes in the distance. Really beautiful. Inah Itah itself is located on a higher part of the island with great views of everything. It turns out that it's more of a "spiritual community" than a farm. The owner, a New Yorker, refashioned herself with the name "Gaia" and started it with her german partner, Paul.  As soon as I got my stuff down, I got a splitting migraine and went around looking for Tylenol. A french girl there asked me what was wrong and I told her I get migraines sometimes and didn't know why. She told me, "Oh, yes. This place has a very strong energy. It's that" I looked at her blankly for a bit and said, "Yeah...that's probably it." I didn't mention that it was probably because of the fact that the last hour getting to the place was comprised of me walking uphill in full sun with a 60 pound pack on my shoulders. I don't like spoiling peoples' fun.

Everyday commences with meditation, then breakfast, work and then Yoga. As meditation began at 5:30, it was rarely something I got up for. Doing Yoga was great. I can honestly say that I didn't know my body could move in such a way. I'm not being sarcastic at all when I say that I could see myself doing Yoga when I get back. However, I also say that I want to start putting more time into studying quantum physics when I get back too...the outlook seems dubious. Every Tuesday consisted of a "sharing circle" where people are encouraged to get their thoughts and feelings out. It essentially turned into a bitch session where people aired their grievances with other people in the community over food preparation, taking breaks during work, etc...and it got quite intense actually with alot of crying and yelling. I didn't have a problem with anyone yet so I stayed quiet and just watched in awe. Some of the people and things I've come to see at this place were one of a kind.

I also took part in my first real sweat lodge. The whole process itself was a ritual; collecting the wood, stones, building the structure, covering it with blankets, starting a fire and finally getting into the dark cave. Now, I have to preface this all by saying that while moving some rocks out of a hole minutes before the sweat, I was stung by a scorpion on the hand. To my surprise, I didn't die or go into paralyis as I was led to believe by most Indiana Jones movies. It was one of the most intense pains I've felt in my life and my finger swelled but nothing else. However, Paulo told me that scorpion stings are usually accompanied by some kind of halucenogenic feeling...this might have painted the experience for me. Apparently the sweat lodge I did when I was 12 at Boy Scout summer camp did not prepare me for a real sweat lodge. When I showed up mostly everyone was buck naked. I wore my underwear, I'm still not ready to make that type of leap.  Everyone there had done sweat lodges before and were used to it but I felt like I was going to pass out after about 10 minutes. Sharing my feelings was something I only half remembered since I think I was hallucinating but I'm sure I talked about how I got picked on when I was a kid...maybe. Anyway, after the first 25 minute session of trying to get comfortable and failing (due to being surrounded by 8 other people in complete darkness and sliding off of myself since I was dripping in sweat) I burst outside, made up an excuse about not being able to do the second round because of the experience being just "too emotionally heavy" and almost ran back to my tent to eat crackers. Turns out I was just hungry. This was probably because we have nothing else to eat here but salad.

It's been a great experience though. I opened myself up to alot of new ideas and practices (look up "tantric breathing" it'll change your world). I'm leaving today to go to another farm on the island than make the move into Honduras finally.

Volcano Boarding and the Pacific

I'm desperately looking for an urban center that I like in Nicaragua, I came to Leon. It's, again, more of the same but definitely the most charming city in Nicaragua so far. There's a ton of churches and also a really great art museum. Somehow it owns a few original Picasso sketches..I don't know how, guess the owner had alot of money. The main reason for coming to Leon though was to hike up and board down an active volcano. Cerro Negro is a relatively new volcano that last erupted in 1999. It's the second I've hiked up but the most volcaney looking volcano that I've been up. All blackened volcanic rock and sulphur clouds. Once you get to the top, they give you a penitentiary style orange jumpsuit, safety goggles and a "Board." My jumpsuit was of course too small and came to about 6 inches below my knees. The guide said it was supposed to fit like that...but then why did everyone else's come to below their ankles? Anyway, I decided to go first against a german guy. One side of the volcano is eroded so that it's more sand-like than the other faces but still pretty much just rocks. You sit toboggan style on the board and they just push you down. You're supposed to put your feet out and use them in a braking type style to steer the board. Easier said than done when you're going 40mph down a volcano on a piece of wood. It took about 20 seconds until I did a face plant on the volcano and my board went careening down the volcano ahead of me. I caught up to it eventually but lost the race. The damned suit left my legs exposed so now I have gashes up and down the side of my left calf. Not to mention that I'll probably be finding volcano dust in my stool for the next week after eating about a pound of it.

Afterwards, myself and some other people from the trip got a bite to eat and a girl with us got her bag with her passport taken right out from under her chair. We were all sitting there...it was like a ghost took it, truly incredible. We went with her to report it. The police station in Leon looks more like a place where you would get robbed than to report a robbery. I waited outside while they got the woman to take our report since I didn't want the roof to collapse on my head. When we were giving our account of what happened, I couldn't help but notice a pile of AK47s just leaning against the cabinet like they were nothing more than envelopes. I probably could've stolen one but I can't take anymore weight in my pack.

I was going to go to Honduras the next day but it would've taken too long to get there by the time I got up. I saw a sign in the hostel bathroom for "Rancho Tranquilo" which was owned by a Californian named Tina. Tina's place was as far out of the way as you can get. Nestled on a little peninsula jutting out into the Pacific ocean, it was perfect. I swam and boogie boarded mainly.

Tina's boyfriend is involved with a sea turtle rescue project which I volunteered with for a bit. I spent the nights stalking the beach with a flashlight looking for mothers laying eggs. The idea was to take these eggs and put them in an artificial nest (vivero) to protect them from poachers and also to supply ideal hatching conditions. The problem is that the fishing stock in the ocean is nearly gone and so out of work fisherman turn to poaching sea turtle eggs and then selling them in town for a quick buck.  Sea turtle eggs are a kind of spanish fly around here and local men do shots of them to increase sexual potency.  It was a frustrating experience because at night when the turtles usually lay their eggs (probably to use the darkness to protect their eggs?) you are searching the beach along with 15 other poachers looking for the same thing as you...and they're way better at it. The poachers always find them first. You can buy the eggs from the poachers but they won't sell unless you give them the same price that they could get in town and since the project is operating with basically no money, we can't afford to buy them. Noel, a local kid helping with the project said that only 5 years ago, you could walk on the beach for 5 minutes anytime after nightfall and almost trip over a turtle laying eggs. Now you're lucky if you walk for 6 hours and find even one. The whole experience for me was like watching extinction happen in real time right before your eyes. If you have any spare money, you can donate money here:

http://seaturtlerescue.org/how.html

I can't think of a better way to use your money...unless you need it for your mortgage payment and in that case, shame on you, who has a mortgage in this economy?

I'm back in Leon today. Leaving tomorrow for Ometepe again. I'm going to work on a farm again...

Little Corn Island-The Shark hunt

After Ometepe...things got kind of garden variety. We got over to Grenada, stayed only for a little bit and then went to Managua (the capital city). As far as ¨Colonial¨cities go, Nicaragua has definitely not put the cash into preserving it like Colombia has. Both Grenada and Managua were ugly messes of decaying buildings and garbage. I looked for some kind of charm in both but couldn´t do it...mainly because I was worried about getting foot mouth disease in Grenada. The second day we were there, they had some kind of horse parade and the streets were blocked with horses at every intersection. We almost got trampled trying to cross the street to eat and definitely stepped in shit getting there. Managua is what I imagine L.A to be like, if L.A was in Nicaragua. The city is a sprawling monstrosity with no recognizable downtown area. You need to take cabs to every point even to the stores to buy batteries. Luckily, we only had to go to Managua to get a plane to Little Corn island which is an island off the Caribbean coast of Nicargua (much like when we went to San Andres island in Colombia)

Little corn is the most remote island I´ve ever been to. There are no hotels just small hospedajes and there is no road so the only option to get around is to walk, use a bike or to get pushed in a wheelbarrow. We rented a little cabina at this place called Carlito´s which was on the other side of the island. Renting at Carlito´s was good for many reasons. One, not many people go to Carlito´s since the restaurant isn´t that great and it´s not a place to party. Two, it´s super isolated because people don´t want to walk all the way to the other side. Three, I heard Carlito served 10 years in a United States federal jail for being caught running cocaine into the United States. This, to me, made the place safer from others since we were already in the arms of the criminal underbelly of Nicaragua. Unsound logic? Maybe, but I bet that if anybody came to mess with his guests and disrupt business, Carlito would probably come out in his khaki shorts and penny loafers brandishing a shotgun. He seemed the type.

I caught up on a 6 year hiatus of diving and snorkeling too (I only went once in San Andres). I quickly became obsessed with the idea of swimming with a hammerhead shark since they hang out around the island. 3 dives and 2 snorkel trips later though, there were none to be found. We saw a lot of nurse sharks, sea turtles, a pack of 5 eagle rays(which is amazing and beautiful in it of itself) and I also got to finally scuba dive with Dolphins. This trumped the Hammerheads anyway. Dolphins are incredibly smart and you know that they are constantly messing with you. They show up out of nowhere, and jump out of the water. You stop the boat dead in the water, everyone frantically gets their stuff on and you jump in and swim after the pod. It´s only after about 10 minutes of swimming that you realize the dolphins are exactly the same distance in front of you...they let you catch up and then swim away. Those things are real tricksters...never trust one with your money.

We got back to Managua and Neesy Bean had to go back to New York so I´m travelling solo again. I guess Leon is next. I´m looking into how to get into Honduras next but currency is not looking so hot these days, someone send money...fast.

Nicaragua

Traveling in Central America is great...everything is so close together. It's like going to Wisconsin to get to another country. 2 buses and 2 hours from Monteverde, we were crossing the border for Nicaragua and what a difference it is. Nicaragua, finally, is what I expected South America to be over a year ago when I got here. Traveling is done in chicken buses and they're hilarious. If you remember the Bluebird yellow school buses that we took to 5th grade circa 1992, then you now can know what happens to those things when Americans are tired of using them; they send them to Nicaragua and then they're covered with house paint and used to transport people all over the country. After about 2 of these and a ferry crossing we got to Ometepe Island on Lago Nicaragua.

The island was formed by two competing volcanoes (the Nahuatl words ome (two) and tepetl (mountain), meaning two mountains) that sprouted up on either side. It has a small bustling population spread along the coast of the island. It's pretty beautiful and unspoiled since it's not incredibly easy to get to. We rented a motorcycle to be able to transport ourselves around since we wanted to stay on the outskirts of the island on a beach. We spent our time hiking up the largest of the volcanoes Concepcion and almost dying, swimming and walking around the reserve. I finally got to see wild monkeys (Capachins and howler monkeys) as well as a super strange looking bird with a ponytail called a white throated magpie (huge bird but fast, I wish I had a good picture).

Learning to drive a motorcycle was...interesting. It was only a 125 CC'er so not hard to handle. It only fell on me once. I had a hard time getting the hang of moving from idle to 1st gear and actually getting going since I never learned how to drive stick. I stalled out in the middle of a farm and couldn't get it started again. I spent 5 minutes trying over and over again to move without stalling out again in front of a Nicaraguan farmer who was obviously having a good time watching me. Denise tried it and moved forward on the first try. It was emasculating. However, by the end of the three days I'm now pretty sure I could go cross country in a Harley. The last day when we had to return the bike in the main town of Moyagalpa, we strapped our daybacks to the rear with bungies and took off for town.

When we stopped for gas 20 minutes later, I noticed something missing from the back; my bag. We frantically drove all the way back towards the beach peering in ditches, scrutinizing villagers looking for my bag and found nothing. I had no idea when it flew off and it was probably instantly scavenged by any Nicaraguan passing by so it was pointless to look for. And so goes the last of my remaining electronics; camera, ipod and some chargers. Luckily, I didn't have my computer in the pack. This is the last item that gives me any kind of comfort in this rough life as an international backpacker, I think I'd just weep and fly home if it was stolen or lost. My only solace is that a group of 10 year old Nicaraguans are sitting around my iPod in this moment watching old episodes of Family Guy and laughing at jokes they don't understand.

Losing the bag put a pallor on things but I guess I'm used to losing things at this point and, plus, now I have less weight to carry. Traveling is all about looking for silver lining in crap colored clouds sometimes. We got another bus to Granada two days ago. Granada is...well, it smells like horse excrement and it's full of Texans smoking cigars. I'm very confused.

Panama thru Costa Rica

Panama City, Panama:
Cool, very similar to Cartagena. Well maintained because there is supposed to be a huge influx of gringo retirees moving into Panama City during this decade (this is projected by the government atleast, I don't know how they decide these things) Very safe feeling and, like Cartagena, there are two distinct parts of the city. A new part with tons of skyscrapers which I didn't spend much time in and the old part, Casco Viejo, which had some run down Colonial buildings. I have a shot of the dichotomy between the two from a bridge in Plaza Fracia. I also have a few shots of an American Christian youth group that set up shop in the middle of Plaza Francia and did a play. I watched most of the play...I was so captivated by the idea of it and by the audacity of American new age Christians. I also had to go to the Panama Canal which was what you'd expect; a giant canal with huge ships passing thru it from the Pacific to the Caribbean side. The canal museum was probably the most interesting part of the whole affair. I saw the biggest mall of my life and watched Captain America with some Canadians too..did I mention that?

San Jose, Costa Rica:
Denise was meeting me here so I got on a bus with Gee and Natalia (the Belgian/Mexican couple from the plane in Puerto Obaldia) and went to San Jose. I stayed in a pretty cool little house turned hostel called Pension de la Cuesta. San Jose is not much. It's got a ton of American food chains ( I hadn't seen a Wendy's in over a year) so I guess you can go there for that. We only stayed for a day and then left for more northern parts the next day.

Monteverde, Costa Rica: Some disenfranchised Quakers left the states and started a conservation project in Costa Rica up in the hills and called it Monte Verde. Soon the government caught on and turned it into a National Reserve. Now Monteverde is an American Disneyland selling eco themed tours. We did a night tour (saw nothing) and a hike thru the reserve (saw nothing) and decided to leave the country. Costa Rica is the most expensive place I've been to in 13 months (worse than even Chile or Argentina.) I will have only stayed here for only 5 days and am fine with that. We're getting the out of here and going to Nicaragua tomorrow.

Panama

It was raining when I woke up in Capurgana and waited on the dock to get the lift for Puerto Obaldia. The 6 of us finally left on a small boat for the 45 minute ride. It was actually really beautiful along the way and seeing the Panamanian flag flying from a mountaintop when we entered Panamanian waters was like something out of a dream..mainly because I thought I'd be rotting in a Colombian jail by now and never see it.

The immigration procedure there was pretty easy and straightforward. I just needed to find that AirPanama "building" which was pretty much just 4 walls with a desk and a scale. When I got there they were weighing everyone's things..and their bodies which is when I realized this was going to be a different type of flight. When I put my bag on the scale, I found out that it was indeed 60 pounds and that, with my small bag and guitar, I was carrying a total of 75 pounds. The limit per person was 25 pounds. Usually in a situation like this you pay some kind of fee for your overage and then you're good to go. However, they kept calling this plane an "avioneta." It literally could not carry more than a certain amount of weight because doing so would be dangerous and possibly cause my tragic, untimely death. Myself and the other people waiting for the plane were told that we had to leave all of the excess baggage there in Puerto Obaldia and that it would come on the next plane out of Colombia on Tuesday. This caused chaos and a screaming match between the Mexicans that were trying to get on and the Puerto Obaldians working the desk at Air Panama. It soon became clear that I might not get out of Colombia (again) if I didn't do it since homegirl was not budging on the weight thing. I packed my small daypack with the essentials and resigned myself to the throes of fate..hoping to see my big backpack again. I also found out that I weigh 198 pounds apparently. I've lost 12 pounds since being here and eat nothing but crap every day. South America: The Diet of Lazy People.

The plane, of course, didn't leave until 1:30 (it was supposed to leave at 9:40 am) and so I had to make myself at home in Puerto Obaldia. Thank god I was only there for a few hours. Puerto Obaldia literally is nothing. A few shacks, one restaurant, one tienda and a ramshacle building that was the headquarters for Air Panama. Good news came when we were about to leave. The plane wasn't full, none of the passengers were obese and so there was weight left for all of our bags which definitely reduced the tension among everybody.

The plane showed up and it looked like the one that Ritchie Valens died in in La Bamba. I told this to the Colombian next to me. He said "Oh, don't worry, if the plane falls, they can find it." Not mentioning the fact that we'd probably be dead when they found it I said, "oh, well That's good news." The flight turned out fine of course and we went thru one of the most complex Immigration procedures ever to enter a country. Two interviews and 3 different entry points until we got to the place we needed. The Colombian guy with us (me, the two mexicanas, a belgiumer and an american and argentian couple) directed us onto a system of buses and taxis and we finally found a place to stay at Hospedage Casco Viejo in the city's old sector. I've been speaking nothing but Spanish all day and I think my brain is about to implode. I definitely need to be doing this more.

The Road to Panama: Day 2

Navigating the dock scene in Turbo was as chaotic as I thought. I was hustled into line with other people and it was like getting the last helicopter out of Saigon or something. People rushing to get on boats, shouting in a foreign language I didn’t understand (whoever said Colombians speak the clearest Spanish in South America are delusional) and lots and lots of pushing. An immigration official asked me for my passport. Turns out that I was 4 days over my 60 day time limit to stay in Colombia, something I missed on the embassy website and was definitely not told by the immigration guy when I checked in. Anyway, he makes me take all of my stuff off the boat, I miss my ride and I go with him to the office. I was dead certain about what was going to happen next.

I’m taken to an empty office. The official leads me to his desk, takes his giant gun out of his pocket very deliberately and lays it on the surface next to him so that I can see it. Conversation goes something like this, complete with stage direction:

DAS Douche: You can stay in Colombia only for 60 days. You got here on the 25th of May, so you’re 4 days over. You have to pay a multa (fine).

Me: I didn’t know any of this. No one told me when I came over. I need to leave Turbo today and have a plane ticket from Puerto Obaldia tomorrow, what can I do?

DAS Douche:: You have to get the stamp and pay the fine in Monteria or Medellin (6 and 13 hours, respectively, in the opposite direction)

Me: What?! Really?

DAS Douche:: Yes

Me: I have no more money to travel, what can I do? Can I pay the fine here and leave today?

DAS Douche:: So you want to know if there’s a way that you can leave today?

Me: Yes

DAS Douche: -strokes chin and looks thoughtful- Let me call my boss -takes huge pistol, puts it in his belt and walks out to talk to his boss. Returns a few seconds later with Supreme DAS Douche. Both contemplate me thoughtfully-

DAS Douche:: You can pay the fine here. It’s $100 US.

Me: -laughing- OK. I don’t have that much. Guess I have to go back to Monteria. Are there buses today?

DAS Douche: -Looks at Supreme DAS Douche- Um…How much do you have?

Me: -Takes out 3 wadded up, sweaty, 20 mil notes and slams it on table- This

DAS Douche and Supreme DAS Douche: -Laugh- Ok go ahead. There are still boats going, You can, uh, pay the fine there in Capurgana.

I’ve been tacitly asked to bribe officials so many times now in Colombia that it doesn’t phase me anymore, which is good because I’m sure there’s more to come. The whole Colombian bribe shtick is pretty funny actually.  They always act as if they’ve never thought about a tourist paying a fine outside of the official offices before and that you paying them is a special situation never attempted before in immigration history. It’s funny but I still despise them with a fury that melts faces.

It’s interesting being in this area of the country because not a single white person travels here. I was the only non Colombian on the boat and I was like some kind of circus oddity. A tour group of family and friends filled my small boat and kept yelling at me to pass them water since I was last one in because of the interrogation and had to sit in the front. They also wanted me to take drinks from their cup of Scotch and water. It was 10:30 in the morning, but I only did it to fit in so don’t think I’m some kind of closet drunk. Everyone of them kept asking me if I was in the DEA or CIA. I’m glad my country’s reputation proceeds me. Thank you School of the Americas.

After getting into Capurgana, which is not really as nice as I read but still pleasant, I checked into a hospedaje called Uvito and got a way nicer room than the one in Turbo. There’s not much of a town here or anything to see or do but I did take care of some business (like getting my exit stamp out of Colombia. The guy knew I was over my time limit, scolded me but still gave me the stamp without a bribe. I guess not all Colombian officials are slimy) I leave tomorrow for the last part of this and should be in Panama City by noon. …but I think we all know that won’t happen.

The Road to Panama: Day 1

For anyone stupid/desperate/adventurous enough to do it, here’s how to get to Panama the cheap way from Colombia.

-Cartagena, CO-Monteria, CO
-Monteria, CO-Turbo, CO
-Turbo, CO to Capurgana, CO
-Capurgana, CO to Puerto Obaldia, PA
-Puerto Obaldia, PA to Panama City, PA

I Left the hostel in Cartagena bright and early this morning at about 6:15 to catch my 7 am bus. It turns out that the bus station is not anywhere near Cartagena (like most bus stations here. Travel on the Caribbean coast is….interesting) and so the ride took over 30 minutes. Luckily, everything is 20 minutes late in Colombia so there were no worries. For the first time in 2 months I was too cold because of the damned AC on the bus…I need to start carrying a sleeping liner or something.

Once you get to Monteria, the real fun starts. There are only two bus lines that transport you to Turbo so there’s not much leg work to do; one is expensive and the other is less expensive. I think you know which I picked. The problem is, there’s a bridge 2 hours before Turbo that’s broken and has been broken for months apparently (the guy trying to sell me the ticket showed me the newspaper clipping as proof). This means you pay for only a partial journey (until you get to the bridge) and then have to walk across the bridge and pay for different transport on the other side of the bridge. The bus to the broken bridge was your usual crappy South American chicken bus blasting way too loud reggaeton. Once we got to the bridge, people madly scrambled over a crazy Indian Jones style pedestrian rope bridge filled with children and motorcycles to try and get a ride on the other side. The problem is there are no buses on the other side, only mototaxis and 4 x 4 jeeps. I didn’t get on the 6,000 peso one so had to talk another guy into taking me for 18,000. Why I had to pay triple, I’m not sure…it might have to do with the fact that transporting me with my huge backpack (which is now literally bigger than a midget and weights nearly 60 pounds) is like the weight of two normal people.

We waited almost 30 minutes for the jeep to fill up and then left. It soon became obvious that this was going to be the most uncomfortable ride of my life as they put 4 full grown men into a space meant for 2 people and we booked it down a basically unpathed dirt path towards Turbo. We stopped several times because the road was blocked by trucks stuck in the mud and one time I was sure that it would just be better to camp in the wilderness near the road since we got stopped for 30 minutes once. I don’t know how but we finally got to Turbo, I got the heck out of the jeep as quickly as possible, hopped on a mototaxi and got dropped off at a hospedaje I heard about called Residencial Florida. I hadn’t stayed in anything this bad since…well, actually ever. I almost slipped on a cockroach on my way back to the communal sink and my room looked like something out of a murder scene photo montage. Regardless, it was only for a night and the owner told me he’d wake me up the next morning for the lancha (speed boat) that was going to Capurgana so that was nice. I think my bed had a mortar filling.

Cock fights, Surfing and...the end? of Colombia

After getting back to Santa Marta, Denise went to a yoga retreat in Tayrona for 3 days, ZeeCee went to a little ecolodge with an Australian girl Wattle that we met in Minca and I stayed in Santa Marta to contemplate my existence. After debating for days on what to do, I finally decided to go with the girls on one last trip to a beach a little further north east of Tayrona to surf...but not before I saw a Colombian tradition; the cock fight. Jack, an Australian guy that ZeeCee met was renting an apartment in Santa Marta and taking spanish lessons from an old Colombian guy named Roberto who promised to take him to a cock fight. I have issues with these sorts of things..but not so much that I won't go to one to see what it's actually like.

Roberto, Jack, me and ZeeCee got into a cab which dropped us off at the first cockfighting ring. I say first because after staying there for an hour drinking and not seeing a single rooster enter the joint, the owner told us to follow him to another ring where there was definitely something happening. We hopped into the back of a truck with 6 colombians and a guy holding his poor rooster that was most likely headed to its doom since it had never fought before. 5 minutes after leaving, we suddenly stopped and were informed that we couldn't get by the police as we were (it's illegal to ride standing up in the back of a pickup truck thru the city center holding a rooster as it turns out) The guy with the rooster tucks it under his shirt and bolts across the street as the rest of us crouch in the bed like immigrants while the truck goes the rest of the way to the barrio where the cock ring was. When we got there, we realized how out of our environment we were. The "ring" is a decrepit building in the middle of this straight up poor Colombian barrio. Entering revealed a refrigerator for beer, cages for holding the next -up rooster gladiators and a crowd of people gathered under a TV watching what looked like cock fight highlights. Literally, they have videos of this. Luckily, there were none for purchase because I might have bought one as a souvenir. The owners gather in the middle of the ring holding their roosters up to eachother, they do a quick pecking of eachother and then go back to their corners. The bell rings and the roosters lunge at eachother. A cock fight usually consists of pecking, feathers flying around and people yelling. Out of nowhere, the first fight ended and I was told that the losing rooster got a talon thru the lung and was done for (they outfit the back toe on the roosters with a tortoise shell spike which is used for kill shots apparently) The loser was put into his cage and we watched as he slowly crumpled into the corner. It was like re-watching that scene in Bambi where his mom dies...but 1,000 times worse. Eventually, there were either no roosters left alive or people willing to bet so everyone just ended up filing out. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly relieved.

The next day we left to surf. Costeño Beach is a little plot of land on the beach that two Canadian brothers bought and turned into a surfing refuge. The Caribbean, in general, is not really known for having good waves. Luckily, I'm not known for being a good surfer so it was fine. After an hour drive on a bus out of Santa Marta Me, ZeeCee, Jack, Wattle and her boyfriend Jasper got to the beach. The next few days were lazily spent in hammocks and in the water trying to learn how to surf. It was pretty much an abysmal failure but I'll have enough bruises and salt water enemas to keep me satisfied on surfing for a bit.

After going back and forth about what options were best after surfing (we wanted to go to Punta Gallinas in the northern most part of Colombia), Denise lost her wallet with everything in it thus pretty much deciding that going BACK to Cartagena was the best and only option since it was the place we all needed to leave from. Denise for Medellin and me for Panama.

Now Panama is a tricky pickle because of the Darien Gap. The Darien Gap is essentially the bit of land between Colombia and Panama and, effectively, the border between South and Central America. It's a boggy forested area that neither government has built a road thru for several reasons, most of which being the engineering nightmare it would be and the fact that it's protected land. Because of this, you have to take a boat around this patch of land or a plane over it if you want to get to Panama. There are several boats you can charter which do tours of the San Blas islands which are apparently amazing but I don't want to pay the extra money. A flight is also too expensive directly from Cartagena so I guess I'm doing the cheaper overland route. This involves me waking up tomorrow, taking buses for 10 hours to a town called Turbo, staying there a night, taking a boat to another town called Capurgana, staying there a night, then taking a boat to Puerto Obaldia (the first actual town in Panama) and taking a short flight from there to Panama City. I know it'll be a nightmare before even leaving...which means it'll be even worse in reality. Here's to not getting kidnapped by FARC.

Minca

After getting back from San Andres I decided to go back to Minca with the girls. The plane took us back to Barranquilla anyway which meant we were close, I heard Minca was great and so I decided to go with them. We found a cabby in the airport who told us that he would take us directly to the hostel we wanted to go to in Minca (Casa Loma). Usually, you have to get the bus station from the airport, then take a cab to Santa Marta and then take another cab to the hills of Minca. We hoped to avoid the transfers and make it convenient by taking a cab the whole way. Everything was fine until we got near Minca. As it turns out, our cab driver knew nothing about Minca nor did he know anything about the hostel we wanted. He tried to drop us off several times along the road thinking we were in Minca but was rebuffed by other townspeople who told him he needed to go further up to reach it, it's a tiny place with no signs. This is when it started getting weird.

He started complaining to himself and on the way up, his struggling cab broke down in the middle of the mountains. I should have known it was going to happen since he had to stop every hour and a half to refill his fluids on the way there. Our trip with this guy effectively ended there...but the experience didn't. A truck luckily drove by us on the road. I explained the situation to the driver and he was the only one who happened to know where or what Casa Loma was. He also explained that he was their competitor who had a far better hostel a little closer to town. He said that we could stay there for a night, and if we wanted go to Casa Loma later, we could. What was better was that he had room to take the girls to his hostel with all of our bags. The girls hopped in and I was left to settle the business with the cab driver.

We were still 20 minutes away from even the outskirts of the town of Minca, so I explained that obviously we were going to pay the fare but not everything. After some intense conversation with the cabby about prices, a passing motorcyclist told me he'd take me the rest of the way for a crazy $15,000 COP. I then offered $10,000 less to the cabby than what we agreed on since I had to pay extra to the moto guy. Our driver wasn't having it, he seemed to feel that we should pay everything since we were kind of close. After trying to argue rationally with him, I threw the amount minus $10,000 at him and just got on the back of the reved up motorcycle. The cabby then walks over, reaches over to the other guy's bike and turns it off telling him that I needed to pay him or else I wasn't leaving. At this point, I lost my temper and screamed at the guy that I wasn't paying for the whole cost. It was in the midst of this that I begin to realize that I'm surrounded by a crowd of other Colombians who had stopped to witness the scene. It must have been something to see a sweaty, red faced white guy yelling at a cab driver in spanish in the middle of the mountains. The townspeople, obviously on the Colombian's side, started yelling for him to call the police since I wasn't paying, the cabby guy was getting more agitated and getting in my face and the moto taxi guy was telling me that he was going to leave me unless I got on right then since it was going to rain and it was getting dark. I eventually paid him for the entire trip minus $5000 and scooted away amidst him calling me a "gringo duro" and calling my actions "sucio". I curse his family.

I was seeing red on the way up to Minca knowing I had just gotten screwed again in Colombia and was powerless to stop it. I like the country of Colombia itself but the people on the Coast leave a bad taste in my mouth after the month and a half I've been here. I'm just sick of everybody constantly breathing down my throat trying to sell me drugs and boat rides, giving me wrong information, begging for money and giving me inflated prices for everything since I'm a white guy. I feel constantly like I have to scrutinize every minute detail of every situation, transaction and conversation to avoid being taken advantage of. It's exhausting and making me loathe my experience here which is even worse. I realize it's not nice to generalize but at this point I don't care; people on the coast are scheisters. I need to get out of here.

Regardless, Minca itself was nice. It's not as much a city but a small collection of houses and tiendas that has sprung up because of its awesome views of the Sierra Nevadas and nearby waterfalls. Electricity and running water were intermittent at best and most meals and hanging out were done either by moon or candlelight. El Mirador hostel was the only pleasant mistake of the whole trip. Fernando (the guy who picked up the girls on the way) had a great little family run house in the mountains and we had super rico breakfasts in the mornings. It ended up being way better than Casa Loma which was hard to get to, cramped, full of tourists, more expensive and had no views to speak of. Really enjoyed my time there and even saw wild Toucans which was amazing. The area around Minca has 623 known species of birds and is great for birdwatching. The girls were going to a surf camp all the way back near Tayrona and so we got in the bed of a pickup truck that was going back to Santa Marta 3 days later. I can't believe I'm going back to Santa Marta...god help me.

Cartagena to San Andres

Got back to Cartagena again with the explicit plan of finally taking care of this Panama issue (to be talked about later) and get the hell out of South America. As will be explained, this never happened.
On the shuttle from Santa Marta to Cartagena, as per the gringo trail rule, we met 3 guys we were on the Lost City Trek with. Navin, an English guy and Charlie and Grant, two Americans. After getting dropped off, we all decided to meet up the next day for the infamous Cartagena Mud Volcano. Now the Mud Volcano is basically a big mound of earth about 60 feet high. You climb a rickety, muddy staircase to the top of this mound and are faced with a soupy, mud hole filled with people laughing and throwing mud at eachother. You wait your turn, climb in and are instantly grabbed by a Colombian in the hole who starts slapping and sliding mud all over your body. It was uncomfortable. I don't think another man sliding a muddy hand all over your body could be anything but that though. What makes matters worse is that by letting him grab me and touch me while laying in the mud awkwardly, I was tacitly agreeing to a $3000 COP "massage." It was the worse massage of my life. Anyway, it turns out that this is a true geological feature. El Totumo Volcano is the surface eruption of rotting vegetation pushed to the surface and apparently the hole goes down about 1,100 meters or something. Not like there is any danger of sinking. The mud makes you more bouyant than a cork top.
While in Cartagena, we went to a great beach on Playa Blanca which is one in a long string of islands known as the Rosario islands. Stayed for a few days doing the usual Caribbean Coast beach things; drinking, eating, making fires, killing mosquitoes, sleeping in hammocks. We also met up with Eduardo and Laura again for the usual awesome dose of Eduardo's historical knowledge. Cartagena, like I've said before, is a really amazing city and Eduardo enlightened us on some things you wouldn't have known about before.
I was eventually convinced to go to the San Andres islands with some New Yorkers, ZeeCee and Denise, that I met. They were going with some Danish guys and I really wanted to Scuba Dive so I went. San Andres is an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea about 470 miles from the Colombian mainland. How it came to be Colombian territory while being so far away is similar to how Easter Island came to be a part of Chilean territory. San Andres is interesting because it's a completely unique amalgamation of the plethora of European countries that were fighting for control of it. Because of this, the indigenous population speaks English and Spanish. It was the home to tons of pirates like the infamous Captain Henry Morgan and you can imagine what the tiny island must have looked like 200 years ago.
We got a house right across the beach and spent our days scuba diving, on the beach or riding around in a rented scooter, which we rented from a guy who called himself "The General" a 60 year old rastafarian who lived in a burned out house and rented scooters (and also sold pot as he told us). I'd really like to be his friend. I've never been so relaxed and had such a great time. I only ended up going on two dives since my wallet hurt me and I got a weird fever for the last few days that kind of incapacitated me. However, 5 days here is nowhere near enough. I'd go back in a heart beat.

South America: 1 year

Well...I woke up groggily this morning, looked at my watch, saw it was July 2nd and realized that I've been here for exactly 1 year. I haven't updated in over a month and I'll fill in the blanks later but I'd like to celebrate this momentous occasion with a look back at some of the things that have made this trip so special to me:

1) Empanadas in Chile.The only good food that exists in this country. Ingredients: Salt, Cheese, Salt, Bread, Salt.

2) Valparaiso.The Tranny parties in this rough and tumble seaport town are the best that I've found anywhere in the world. I haven't been to many, but I'm sure this claim will remain unchallenged.

3) Teaching at Divina Maestra. Well, at the end of the day, my kids still couldn't say "Hello. How are you?" in English and I spent most of my time in the corner doing Spanish flashcards while the students cut out shapes into paper, then crumpled them up and threw them at eachother. However, I think that it was worthwhile...if for no other reason than living with Manuel, Giannina and Giovanna in their wonderful home and having a maid to do my laundry, clean my room and cook for me

4) Machu Picchu. Contains the first archaeologically documented Royal Bathroom that I've seen.

5) Working on the farm in Northwestern Argentina. I definitely learned why people usually get college degrees and don't go into farm work. Not to say that Martin and Elizabeth weren't educated....just crazy. It's a tough existence. This was probably the healthiest and most physically demanding 3 weeks of my life and I look fondly on it. It also made me realize that without water in ready supply, life can really suck. Also, Elizabeth, if you're reading, I'm sorry if you thought I was a complete idiot. I tried my best.

6) Buenos Aires. I had a good time with alot of good people while simultaneously losing 10 pounds in water weight from the disgusting, hell's mouth type heat. I never learned Tango but I feel confident that I could dance it if presented with the opportunity in a Tango hall....after flying there on my unicorn with a Leprechaun riding shotgun.

7) Bolivia. Spanish lessons, living with a lovely Bolivian family, crazy Oruro Carneval, Lake Titicaca, La Paz and Ruta 36, Death Road, the Puma Reserve and the Germans. Living in Bolivia was so cheap that I felt bad...like I was living for free. I also think I had a stomach Amoeba most of the time from the street Silpancho but this is of no consequence. I'd do it all over again.

8) Working the bar in Loki. Lima is one of the most boring cities in Peru but I still had a great time working here with the other gringos and occasional non gringo. It showed me that I am actually likeable and can fake my way thru being a bartender. It also taught me a few other things about personal safety that I'll get into once I'm back.

9) Beaching along the coast thru Peru and Ecuador. All I can say is that I've got my beach body back. I sent the best pictures of myself to National Geographic, realized it was the wrong magazine and then promptly resent them to Teen Beat magazine. Still waiting for a reply.

10) The Colombian Coast. Tayrona National Park has the most amazing picturesque beaches that I've ever been to and the coast here in general is just amazing. Nevermind the fact that I've been involved in bribing Colombian Police two times in a week so that I didn't go to jail. I know that corruption and bribery are important ingredients in any healthy bureaucracy....I've lived in Chicago most of my life.

Here's to another 1-6 months of madness!

Ciudad Perdida

After my Birthday and the tear filled departure of Kitty and Fiona, we went to Ciudad Perdida (Lost City) for the trek that every gringo here does. Basically, in the 1970s, a bunch of Archaeologists rediscovered an ancient city that was buried in the mountains for the last 2,300 years (even older than Machu Picchu) and started excavating. People started trekking there in the 1980's. You sign up with an organization (for a crazy sum of about $360. The Colombian government raised the price for entrance...3 days before we signed up) then take a jeep to a certain point and start walking.

Now I'm sure everybody is familiar with how fit I am. Because of this, I decided to really challenge myself by doing the entire 5 day trek in nothing but aqua socks that I bought off of a street vendor for 5 dollars. What was my reasoning for doing it in Aquasocks and not trainers or actual boots made for trekking like 99% of the other people who do the Lost City? Want a good reason? Want 4 good reasons? Bam:

1) Hiking boots are for girls and French people.

2) Aqua Socks are made of neoprene which is comfortable on the skin, form fitting and durable yet dries quickly which is good for the wet environment of jungle trekking.

3) While having a sole on the bottom that allows you to cling to wet river rocks like a Salamander, Aqua Socks also give you the opportunity to really commune with the Earth by allowing you to feel the intricacies of literally every single rock, branch and pebble that you walk over on the trail.

4) I left my good shoes in Chicago and on a cargo boat in Paraguay because I wanted to make room for the Camp Stove in my backpack that I've never used.

The trek consisted of a graduated time of walking from 3-8 hours a day. You would stop each night in a designated spot with hammocks where you would get surprisingly good food made for you and rest. The trek itself is just amazing looking, like most of the coast of Colombia, and we had a cool group of people. Eduardo and Laura were two Colombians that were with us. It just so happened that they both spoke perfect English and Eduardo happened to be a University Professor of Architecture in Bogota who also had a degree in Anthropology and an extensive knowledge of the area we were walking in..what are the chances? We got alot of great information thru him and our guide Jose who was great. Saw a few snakes that are apparently extremely poisonous. Jose wanted to machete everyone he saw...after hearing that his sister died of one of their bites I was inclined to let him do whatever the hell he wanted because there was no way I was dying in the middle of the mountains.

We also crossed a river that some French man died in a week prior. Based off of years of playing Oregon Trail, when you do a river crossing, rain can cause the water level to literally rise 3 feet in a minute and just carry you away...which is what apparently happened to this guy. Dude should have hired an Indian guide. Anyway, we took the metal box attached to a cable across the river and were pulled across by Jose. I don't know why they didn't do this a week ago thus preventing the death but I also don't know why you turn the doorknob towards the doorpane to open doors here so I'm fine with that.

The lost city itself is great but it's really the trek itself that you come for. I personally think it was really interesting, not Machu Pichhu standards since there are no buildings left just stone terraces, but the views from the top are amazing. We swam in this place called the Fountain of Youth which is a little pool close to the city. There's an army base on the top to control Para Military and Guerrilla presence in the area and the soldiers all go to this pool to swim. When swimming, one of them asked me and the other American dude Grant how to say attractive girl in English and I told him "Hottie." I'm not sure if the kids still say that but he seemed satisfied with the answer and gave me a 9mm bullet as a present. I was looking for it today and I guess I lost it though..some other Cop probably would have confiscated it anyway and made me bribe him for having it so maybe that's for the best.

It rained every day like clockwork at about 2 pm so it turns out we were soaking every day anyway thus making my Aquasocks useless since they never dried. I promptly threw them out as soon as I got back into town. All in all, I was completely satisfied with the whole trek and proud that I completed it without crying or peeing myself.

Pirates of the Caribbean

There are two options to get into Tayrona National Park from Taganga. You can take a $7 bus from Taganga to the other side of the park (hour trip) and then pay about $16 for entrance….OR you can take a speed boat directly to the closest and best beach which is on Taganga’s side for $20 and avoid the entrance fee by being dropped off directly at the beach. We opted for the speed boat…because we’re cheap and lazy. Being dropped off on the Cabo San Juan beach is like something from a novel. Tayrona contains breathtaking jungle but also some of the best beaches I’ve ever seen. Completely unspoiled and devoid of any commercial development since it’s a protected area. It was kind of like being on the set of Lost….minus Hurley eating everything in sight.

Seconds after being dropped off we were hit with our first dash of reality. In the middle of the beach stand two Colombian police officers checking peoples’ bags. They immediately found the two bottles of Rum that we had brought to the island since we heard there was nowhere to buy alcohol. This was not true since there is a small kiosk that sells beer and wine in the park. Regardless, the officer told us that he was going to take us to Santa Marta to jail and that we were kicked out of the park for bringing prohibited items in. Eventually it came out that we could escape this fate if we paid the “fee” in cash with him. I’ve never really bribed anybody before but for the hell of it I asked him how much the “fee” was and he whispered to me $200,000 COP ($120). Fiona didn’t really have a choice since he saw her purse and knew she had the cash. We agreed and Fiona starting dumping money into her hat until he was satisfied. He smiled, let us keep one of the bottles of Rum and sternly told us that if we told anyone what he had just done that he’d take us to jail. I’m not angry at the fact that we had to bribe somebody, it’s how a lot of things operate out here. I’m angry that the people who are supposed to be protecting everybody are actually more dangerous than the people they're protecting us from.  The only times I've felt nervous in Colombia are when there are cops around.

As it turns out, this wouldn’t be the first time that I’d be asked to bribe somebody. I went back to Tayrona with Anahita later a second time and we started an amazing fire on the beach. 5 minutes later two cops came, kicked it out and told us to come with them. Once at their police beach lodge, they told us that fires were illegal because they distract the sea turtles from nesting. I now personally believe that no sea turtles would ever come to the Colombia Coast for fear of being charged an entrance fee and tourist charge for every egg they laid on the beach but apparently that’s not true. Anyway, the guy told us that we could never come back to the park again or any park in all of Colombia and that we were kicked out of the park and being taken to jail, blah blah blah. He finally got to the bribing part and amazingly he asked for the same amount that the other dudes did. It’s like they have some kind of weekly extortion and graft meeting
, drink beers and sit around talking about how much the going bribery charge should be for tourists. However, when they asked for the money this time we literally had nothing to give since we were leaving the next day and had just enough to get back. He then frantically searched everything in my bag looking for something of value in disbelief. He found Paraguyan pesos, Peruvian Soles and once finding out they were more worthless than Chucky Cheese money settled on the $10 he found in my other wallet. Disappointed, he told us that we could go, that we should enjoy the park and to not make fires. Anahita gave him and his silent companion a cigarette and we were gone. It was unbelievable.

Regardless, Tayrona was still amazing. We were with some friends that we met before and we hung out with them for the night. We slept in hammocks with mosquito nets under a giant shelter on the beach. Between my two trips there, I probably spent about 4 nights. We walked back along the different beaches to the other end to take the bus back. Again, just amazing. The photos can’t do it full justice but it’s the most perfect place I’ve been to yet. The coast of Colombia has changed my mind about the country in general. Medellin was a pretty place but I’ve already grown bored of big cities and am going to try to avoid them as much as possible from here on out. I'm still pretty livid about the bribing thing but I guess I have to live with the fact that most humans are idiots. Anyway, check out the pictures….

The Coast

We arrived in Cartagena to a shock of blazing heat. It’s literally worse than Chicago in the middle of August, and that’s saying something. We checked into Hostel Viajero and explored a bit. Cartagena was once a strategic port city for the Spanish on the Caribbean coast. All the gold “procured” from the Incas in Peru and Bolivia was moved upwards overland thru South America and into Cartagena. When it got to Cartagena, it was moved onto ships and carted off to Spain. Because of this, it was a major spot for people like Francis Drake and other government sponsored pirates from competing nations to sack. After getting screwed one too many times, the Spanish surrounded the city with a giant wall and had enormous cannons outfitted every 50 meters or so. It became pretty impenetrable and is impressive to look at even now. The city has preserved the walls and cannons so it’s cool to walk around and imagine what Cartagena must’ve looked like 250 years ago. However, we wanted to get to Tayrona National Park ASAP which was further east along the coast so left after one day. I’ll be coming back anyway on my way back towards Panama so can explore then.

We had a shuttle pick us up at the hostel in Cartagena and take us to Taganga which is kind of a port of entry for Tayrona Park. Once arriving in Santa Marta (the main city that Taganga is outside of) the shuttle driver all of a sudden made us get out and get our bags. When protesting that we were supposed to be going all the way to Taganga, he said that he couldn’t find any gas so that he couldn’t go that far. He hailed us a cab, hustled us inside it and had a guy take us the rest of the way to Taganga. Taganga was described as a small fishing village with pristine beaches… this wasn’t exactly the case. We ended up staying in Casa de Felipe which was one of the coolest hostels I’ve been in yet in S.A. However, Taganga…has kind of changed apparently. It’s dirty, full of gringos and the beach is an ecologist’s nightmare…super expensive too. We’ll be setting up shop here for a few days but then going to Tayrona later to experience what we really came here for. More to follow.

Bitty, Betty, and Batty do the Land of Fincas to the Land of Escobar

Bogota: Bogota started becoming a little too drizzly, seemingly dangerous and boring in the hostel so we decided to leave. I honestly think that, like Quito, I may have been there at the wrong time but there was just not alot making me want to stay in Bogota. One, the city has a huge problem with urban sprawl. Everything is incredibly hard to get to and the places that everyone was telling us to go to were 40 minutes by cab ride and $30. Two, we heard a story about a group of gringos that were having a rousing conversation with a Colombian that they had befriended when, amidst a lull in the conversation, said Colombian takes a knife out, calmly places it on the table in front of them and says "Ok, guys, now we go to the ATM." I'm sure not all Colombians are like this but....one is enough.

Salento: FiFi and Kitty had heard about some farm that people could stay at in a town further north called Salento. 6 hours north of Bogota we got to Armenia where we had to take a cab to Salento (its too tiny to have a bus station which is great.) The "farm" ended up being a really nice ranch style house outside of town which had pigs, cows and horses. We made three attempts on 3 separate mornings to get up at 4am to milk the cows...again, I'm terrible at farming but so are Katherine and Fiona apparently so it's alright. Collectively, we're the three laziest people on the face of the planet. Salento is home to the tallest Palm Trees in the World too I guess. We never saw them because you had to get up early to get a cab up there and no one took responsibility for the alarm...but I hear they're lovely. I'm sure you can find a picture of some in the internet. However, we did have the energy to do horseback riding and go to some surrounding Coffee Fincas (farms). Salento is the region where a huge majority of Colombia's Coffee exports come from but here's some interesting facts. Coffee within Colombia is not that great. They export 90% of it out of country so keep literally none for themselves. Also, contrary to popular belief, Colombia only supplies some 12% of all coffee in the World. I attribute this to all those creepy commercials from the early 90's where Juan Valdez was hiding in someone's closet trying to give them coffee when they woke up. I don't think most people are keen to a Colombian and his horse breaking into their houses in the wee mornings of dawn, even if it is to serve them delicious roasted coffee. This most likely served to weaken Colombia's share in the market.

Medellin: A pretty cool city. It's called Ciudad de la Primavera Eterna because the weather is temperate year round.
This was Escobar's home turf and where alot of gnarly stuff went down. He poured alot of money into the place and because of this it's one of the few cities in South America besides Santiago and Buenos Aires that has an extensive Metro train system that can take you most places. Went to the Museum of Modern Art which is pretty great. Fernando Botero is a Colombian and so alot of his "fatty" sculptures are outside of the museum as well as in it. I like his paintings too...looking at an obese Jesus Christ on the cross is just too sacrilegious to pass up. Everybody should see it. Going out in Medellin is fun too. I was duped into going to a gay club again. I don't know how these things happen. Not like there's anything wrong with gay clubs, most of the time they're fun but this place was in the middle of a creepy warehouse district outside of Medellin, and had a bunch of uninterested Men dancing around. Me and the Irish dude I was with hightailed it out of there as soon as we could.

We've only spent 4 nights here but I think it's time to go. Next stop: La Costa.

Quito to Bogota: Hell's Wrath

Not much to write home about on Quito. I guess I didn't give it a fair chance but weather wasn't that great when I was there, I felt kind of sick and the hostel we were in was pretty bad. There was alot of speculation on how I was going to get to Bogota to meet Fiona and Katherine by the 25th. There were not alot of options. A plane was $300 minimum and the bus ride was a minimum of 28 hours. If the bus option was going to be direct, that wouldn't be a big deal but it soon became obvious that there were no direct options to Bogota. I chose to go for it...I chose wrong. Everything started out fine. I got a bus to Tulcan which is the border city with Colombia. I fell asleep which was the first problem. After waking up an hour later I soon began to realize that things from my bag were missing...first the Kindle...and then the external hard drive....and then my dad's leatherman. All nicked. I've never been properly robbed here so I guess it was my travel karma taking its fee. I think I'm giving up on owning a kindle here. It's just too much of a damned liability...and I don't really need anymore things calling attention to me. My hair does the trick just fine.

Anyway, after getting a cab to the border station from Tulcan I instantly had a Colombian latch onto me asking if I needed a ride across the border to the bus station. Maybe it was the fact that I was tired, maybe it was because I was grieving over the loss of my electronics or maybe it was because he was wearing a Yankees hat but I took him up on his offer and then was taken for a ride, literally and figuratively. I was instantly shuffled into a cab with another dude driving and Edgar (Yankees Cap) talking a little over 200 words per second in spanish at me. I asked how much it cost for the 5 minute ride and I couldn't really understand what he said. I ended up paying 40,000 pesos for the cab fare and Edgar's "tip." Which is around $22 I found out. I mean, I wasn't going to argue and risk being stabbed and getting blood on my remaining important possessions so it was kind of unavoidable. Ironically, Edgar was the one that told me that Colombia was a changed place and that gringos don't get ripped off anymore. Bastard. I curse his family.

Luckily from Ipiales (the border town in Colombia) there were direct buses to Bogota which I was told was a 22 hour bus ride. That didn't happen. First of all, we were stopped at 4 in the morning by a police checkpoint. Usually, they do a cursory glance at the people and maybe check a few bags but Colombians are thorough. Maybe it's because of them trying to rid themselves of the cocaine trafficking reputation but they searched every bag in the bus which took around an hour. Then, in some small town we were stopped by a blockade of people protesting about something in the street which added another hour onto the trip. When I finally got to the hostel in Bogota I think the total trip time clocked in at about 30 hours. Luckily Fiona and Katherine were there to give me a warm welcome. We went to a club with some others form the hostel even though I felt like I was floating. Rum helped to sort that out though.

Bogota is...ok. We've been hearing alot of stories of muggings which has kind of put us off of going out at night. I mean it can't be worse than Lima but I think everybody is spooked. I walked around today with some people and there are some parts of Bogota which are quite nice but it's cold here. I'm having flashbacks of Chile and then I remembered its winter in about a month in S.A. We're leaving tomorrow for more northern parts of Colombia.

Ecuador...

We got into Montañita early this morning after a front row bus ride across the border. It could have been one of the most sleep filled bus journeys that I've had here since we were in the front row and for the first time in my life I had enough leg room in a bus.... if it hadn't been for the fact that we were in the front row and woken up every 10 minutes by a street vendor coming onto the bus and yelling "Pollo Seco!!!!" into our faces. I don't know what the hell that is anyway....it doesn't make sense...it's not even dried chicken.

Ecuador is a currency enclave for the U.S dollar which means, basically, that the government decided its own currency was such shite that it would be better to adopt U.S money as its national currency. What's funny is that it was impossible for me to find any dollars in the town. No one would change my Peruvian Soles and my card didn't work at the one working ATM in the town. Luckily Anahita let me borrow money.   Montañita is a cool little town and, to me, better than Mancora. Surfing here is great...I wish I surfed. Instead, I just jump into the waves like a Salmon over and over again until I get tired. It's really the simple things in life that give you pleasure. Met up with some Israelis who we knew from Mancora and had a good time. Literally, every other day is some kind of Israeli holiday so one night they made us all this dish called Shakshouka which was delicious and then went to a bonfire. We were the only Goys in the place but it was cool since they were all super welcoming. I love Israelis...they're the only ones that party harder than Americans. It's impressive...and kind of unsettling at the same time.

After Montanita, we went to Baños, Ecuador. Baños is a small town in the Ecuadorian Highlands that has become famous because it has an active volcano looming over it that allows the people who live there to take a dip in naturally heated pools of varying temperatures and thus the name. It's the main social activity so you just enter thru the gates and can lounge around in different pools with Ecuadorian old men and families. Oh, and it's also right next to a waterfall since its outside. I know waterfalls are gay and everthing but I have to say it was one of the coolest things I've done here. We rented this small buggy and drove outside of Baños to its surrounding waterfalls which was also a ton of fun. It wasn't as impressive as Iquazu Falls but the scenery was great, especially when you see it out of a buggy that's too small for you. The last waterfall was el Pailón del Diablo and you can get right next to it after hiking for a bit. It was pretty overwhelming to see the raw power of a waterfall that close. After almost being able to not start the engine in the buggy (their was a problem with the alternator since the engine wasn't even kicking on, we got some Ecuadorian to help us. He literally stuck a Sacajawea dollar coin into the terminals and got it to start, it was awesome) we had a pretty good meal at a local Swiss restaurant and then left for Quito. I here Quito is a pit so I'm not exactly looking forward to it but I have to see it and Anahita has a tour that leaves from there so it's a must.

The Beach

After finally getting the heck out of Lima after working my last week at the bar, I went to meet with friends in Mancora, Peru for what promised to be more madness so I had to stop in Huaraz, Peru to get some alone time. Huaraz is known as the "Switzerland of the South" because of its amazing views of the Andes. It's in the middle of a valley surrounded by mountains so it's pretty great. I talked to an American from Virginia who was probably the first legitimately crazy person that I've met in South America. You begin to see alot of people like this when you travel. Old Expats that are single, usually in their mid 50s and just wandering aimlessly around South America. I may not know what I want to be when I grow up but meeting this guy made me know what I DON'T want to be. I didn't do any trekking but I went to some old ruins, only stayed for a day and a half though because I was ready for somewhere warm.

Mancora, Peru is a small beach town that's lately been flooded with tourists. Not much to do there besides drink and hang out on the beach. I met some Aussies and some others in Lima who were also there in Mancora with the promise of them renting a house on the beach (which never really materialzed). 5 minutes into meeting up with them, we were playing Bar Jenga which is, well, just a giant Jenga set with 2 x 4s and that has dares that you have to do on each plank you take out...and 5 minutes after starting, someone was running naked around the pool table. I'm glad I didn't get that one. I just had to get a girl to give me her bra...which is harder than it sounds. I tried begging, asking really nice, trading my underwear for her bra as collateral but it all failed miserably. Promising a woman alcohol usually gets her to do almost anything though in my experience and in the end, that's the strategy that won out.
I ended up renting a private cabana on the beach to sleep in which was pretty cheap actually and meeting my friends at nights at the party hostel for the fun...which there was too much of. I'm leaving tonight with a friend for Montañita, Ecuador which I hear is another great beach town. I also heard that the last person who crossed the border was tricked into illegally trafficking a baby into Ecuador. This is actually true since child trafficking is a big deal in Ecuador. Fuuuunnnnnn...