I did one for the US and was planning on doing one for each reason (USA, Mexico, Caribbean and Central America, Brazil, West South America, North South America and South South America). 6 Regions and this is on the cities alone, not who I met there in case itcauses any offense lol.
I figured I would reedit with my reasons.
1. Guanajuato (This is just quite frankly one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and for a city of 60,000 to top my list you know its amazing)
2. Zacatecas (Also a stunning city, this has a whirlwind nightlife and I enjoyed it a lot)
3. Guadalajara (Here come the big guns and this city is the prettiest, including the people in Mexico)
4. Monterrey (Spectacular mountain setting and Yoana probably caused this to punch slightly above its weight even though I said that would not affect things)
5. Mexico City (Big, bad, beautiful. So much to do and such a good city)
6. Morelia (Pretty and small. Not quite the most beautiful city in the world as LP says, but it is beautiful, cosy and so are the people)
7. San Cristobal De La Casas (Every tourists favourite, its pretty and has history, but its only the 4th best of the small colonials)
8. Chihuahua (Cool cowboy town and the entrance to the best thing in Mexico. Far better than the other end)
9. Oaxaca City (Overrated but enough cool things surrounding it to make the list)
10. Campeche (Very pretty coastal town, but looks a little dull)
Though you have to visit the northern cowboy towns ands the Copper Canyon is by miles the best thing in the country. I love the north and especially the north east towards Texas. I will be back there in this region in my 6 months break between Argentina and New Zealand.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Guatemala Part 8
I was back in Guatemala again. In the Garifuna town of Livingston. A rasta dude took us up to immigration and then steered us to stay in a place called Africa House. This place was like Belize in Spanish. Africa House was a cool white castle place that looked like something out of a mini camelot (or Hearst Castle). We could not get the turret room, but I shared with the Costa Rican dude. He was only staying one night as he had to head to a Guatemalan music festival, but the owner let me have the room to myself for the same price I had paid as a half the first night. The Costa Rican guy went to smoke a joint and the rest of us went and got some food. At this point I was struggling financially to get under the months budget and I think I will be short by about 2 days. Still close enough as my interest on my savings arrived end of March (Just in time for Colombia :-) ) I found a good cheap bakery with bread for 1 Quetzal. I would live off mainly bread and water with a bit of banana for the next 2 days. My bank as not fucking open when I rang them. Bastards. They still need to change my address and give me back the 100 pound of fraud. May ring them tomorrow morning before I head to Nicaragua.
Back at the hotel we met a couple of Guatemalan guys from down south and a local guy who was a freestyle rapper and very drunk. The Costa Rican guy joined us and we headed to the Garifuna cultural centre for the evening. This place was very funny. We arrived and got very weak two for one cuba libres. One of the Guatemalans told me he just wanted to dance witha black girl and had not been able to. I told him to go to Dominican Republic. We were treated to some drunkend banging of instruments that was supposed to be traditional music. They only played for tips (I was in the toilet when the hat went round so did not have to contribute). It was a ridiculous scene. The guy from earlier was kicked off an instrument for being too drunk and the main guy playedthe drums while singing a Bob Marley medley. Traditional Garifuna? I don't think so. Bob was Jamaican and came sometime after the Garifunas were dumped on this coast by the British navy. The moment we left they stopped playing. An Aussie girl who as with us got accosted by the drunken freestyle singer of earlier and the rest of us went back tod rink at the castle. One of the Guatemalan guys kept buying us drink and I learnt from the Costa Rican guy and Californian girl that you can harvest weed in october in Humboldt county California and earn about $12,000 for a month and a halfs work. Damn good pay. May have to look into that to fund one of my future trips. You work long hours and prune the trees. You are usually paid by the weight of weed you successfully manage to cut. Interesting. We sort of ended up hanging out for the next few days, even though we had kind of been thrown together and I don't think any of us had a real affinity for the others. Davidthe Costa Rican guy left in the morning.
He had woken me up early on and we had a good chat before he left. I decided to head on over to the Siete Altares (Seven Altars), a series of second rate Semuc Champey pools but quite pleasant. Saw a lot of sea birds on the 90 minute walk along the beach. Saw plenty of Garifuna culture (mainly fishing and tourism) and met a few locals and avoided buying weed very dextrously. The town appeared to be some sort of cartel. I tried to find a cheaper boat up to Rio Ducle, but they all charged 125 Quetzals (despite painted signs saying 80 Quetzals). They really should scrub those off before they jack stuff up. Everyone looked terrified to tell me where the locals took boats from. I found out the morning one was a tour. I did not want the tour. The afternoon one was direct, but apparently the same price. If I asked a local where they were headed with their boats they said "no se". Fucking liars. God damn it, this country leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Oh yeah the pools are nice and head up the river to get to the really deep one with the wooden bridge over it. Over the bridge appears to be just a trickle of a stream over the rocks. After exhausting my faculties and patience I bit the bullet and paid the 125 Quetzals with Happy Fish restaurant and at least got a breakfast and some free internet time thrown in.
I joined the boat tour in the morning and made friend with a Californian couple, some English old people from Alderney (who had sailed round the world) and we set off down river. We went through some canyons, that looked like a sub par Parque Los Haitises but pretty enough. Then we dropped off some Aussies and picked up a French couple at some 'jungle retreat' for the gringos. Then we were taken to some tourist hellhole of a place designed to sell shit to us. We wasted time there and then reboarded the boat. Luckily the skies opened up and cained don with rain so we had to abandon the rest of the tour. How terrible. We were handed some rain macs to protect the bags (it was here that my bag got mullered and my shorts got tie-dyed red, white and blue from leaking pens. I looked like Darren`s Captain USA). A German guy started scaling the side of the boat and almost toppled us. The Englishman took great pleasure from his discomfort after that. We were kind of on a boat with pleasant but cranky old people. The only interesting bit was at the artesans place. I thought a dead spider was walking along (weird) until I realised it was being carried by a tiny ant. Reminded me of all the mental army ants I had seen in Cockscomb, clearing absoultely everything in their path. Jamie and Olonga left for Antigua from Rio Dulce when we arrived. That was kind iof a relief as the tension had been a little awkward.
I stayed under the bridge in a backpacker/orphanage place. Very cheap and cool although I slept on a bed with no sheets in the middle of an open room. Still it was cheap and I had later decided to get the 3am bus to Guatemala City so it was only going to be shotgun sleep anyway. I walked off round the lake to the castle and its a pleasant place. The view from the bridge down the Rio Dulce and over Lago Izabal are both impressive. I shot over my budget again due to that stupid boat price, so in the evening I ended up having an expensive lasagne and starwberry licuado as I needed some real food. The place also rents a Kayak for 10 Quetzals an hour (Just over $1). I had been talking with the Californians about how cool the south was in the morning and I had found out Minneapolis was on the Mississippi, so I could fly into Chicago and head for the source. It had resurrected my belief that I could kayak the Mississippi and spend a lot of time in the south. I still want to do it, so I took out the kayak to see how hard it was. Man I sucked. I struggled to kayak through the waves (both natural and from wanker speedboat types) and at one point was just spinning round and round as my tail was constantly broadsided. Damn I was going to need more practice and to read some instructions if I was going to take this trip on. I seemed to make some headway through sheer bloodymindedness and after this fuck up was more than ever determined to try it. I was leaning more and more towards heading to the US for those random six months between Argentina and New Zealand. I just love southern girls too much. I got a few bruises and burns bringing the kayak back as I fell off the side of the getty bringing it up and had to save myself and the kayak, which stretched my body a bit. That evening I got chatting with an odd German guy (who seemed to get agitated and aggressive when stressed, so I kept the conversation simple. I also met a Yankee from Denver who had been friends with Chris (the guy in Xela we had played the ladle game with). Facebook is great for discovering these random coincidences. I also met an Aussie Yoga teacher (who I may see again in BA) and some Canadian kids. Most of them had been volunteering at the orphanage down the road and I felt like a travelling joy rider as I was just spending and enjoying myself. Still the Mississippi would be cool. Maybe I could do it for charity. Just need to find some other people who want to take it on.
I snatched a small amount of sleep and at 2am woke and grabbed the bus to the capital. I wanted to meet Peter and Paulina for lunch, but Peter was still in Xela and it never happened with Paulina as I ended up having to push on for the border. The bus ride had only been 4 hours, not the 6 I was told and that left me stranded in the capital before anything was open. I eventually found a bus for Chiquimula and set off for the frontier. A one legged man told me it wa 25 Quetzals for the border. Lying git, the bus driver had said 10. Then I found someone to take me for 15. I paid him for the border, but he dropped me off in some random town and said I needed another bus and that it was included in the price. It was not, but I refused to pay the other man because of what the first had said and so he gave me a ticket for free. I felt bad ripping off the honest man, but hopefully he kicks the shit out oft he other guy for losing a fare. Just before this incident I had been musing over how Guatemala and Dominican Republic were the only countries that consistently tried to rip me off. Everyone else was fair. And then this happened and left an even bitterer taste in my mouth. I got chatting with a Guatemalan couple and arrived at the border with Honduras. I had been told by another guy in Chiquimula that there were ATMs at the border and I did not know there were border taxes. I had only 10 Quetzals. That was good enough to get out of Guatemala. But I needed 3 dollars to enter Honduras. Shit I had no money. They would not let me enter. But I had already exited Guatemala and could not afford to go abck in. Catch 22, I was destined to live on this border post until I starved to death, like Tom Hanks in the airport film. Eventually the womn realised I really did not have any money and I was not just trying to not pay and we had to solve the problem. Eventually she agreed tostamp my passport and I would have to ride with her boss to Copan Ruinas (for free) to draw out money and pay the $3. Probably saved that on the 13km ride and chatted in Spanish with the guys once they realised I could speak it. they had been dissing me before assuming I could only speak English. Oh well some things never change, but at least I was in Honduras (country number 38)
Back at the hotel we met a couple of Guatemalan guys from down south and a local guy who was a freestyle rapper and very drunk. The Costa Rican guy joined us and we headed to the Garifuna cultural centre for the evening. This place was very funny. We arrived and got very weak two for one cuba libres. One of the Guatemalans told me he just wanted to dance witha black girl and had not been able to. I told him to go to Dominican Republic. We were treated to some drunkend banging of instruments that was supposed to be traditional music. They only played for tips (I was in the toilet when the hat went round so did not have to contribute). It was a ridiculous scene. The guy from earlier was kicked off an instrument for being too drunk and the main guy playedthe drums while singing a Bob Marley medley. Traditional Garifuna? I don't think so. Bob was Jamaican and came sometime after the Garifunas were dumped on this coast by the British navy. The moment we left they stopped playing. An Aussie girl who as with us got accosted by the drunken freestyle singer of earlier and the rest of us went back tod rink at the castle. One of the Guatemalan guys kept buying us drink and I learnt from the Costa Rican guy and Californian girl that you can harvest weed in october in Humboldt county California and earn about $12,000 for a month and a halfs work. Damn good pay. May have to look into that to fund one of my future trips. You work long hours and prune the trees. You are usually paid by the weight of weed you successfully manage to cut. Interesting. We sort of ended up hanging out for the next few days, even though we had kind of been thrown together and I don't think any of us had a real affinity for the others. Davidthe Costa Rican guy left in the morning.
He had woken me up early on and we had a good chat before he left. I decided to head on over to the Siete Altares (Seven Altars), a series of second rate Semuc Champey pools but quite pleasant. Saw a lot of sea birds on the 90 minute walk along the beach. Saw plenty of Garifuna culture (mainly fishing and tourism) and met a few locals and avoided buying weed very dextrously. The town appeared to be some sort of cartel. I tried to find a cheaper boat up to Rio Ducle, but they all charged 125 Quetzals (despite painted signs saying 80 Quetzals). They really should scrub those off before they jack stuff up. Everyone looked terrified to tell me where the locals took boats from. I found out the morning one was a tour. I did not want the tour. The afternoon one was direct, but apparently the same price. If I asked a local where they were headed with their boats they said "no se". Fucking liars. God damn it, this country leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Oh yeah the pools are nice and head up the river to get to the really deep one with the wooden bridge over it. Over the bridge appears to be just a trickle of a stream over the rocks. After exhausting my faculties and patience I bit the bullet and paid the 125 Quetzals with Happy Fish restaurant and at least got a breakfast and some free internet time thrown in.
I joined the boat tour in the morning and made friend with a Californian couple, some English old people from Alderney (who had sailed round the world) and we set off down river. We went through some canyons, that looked like a sub par Parque Los Haitises but pretty enough. Then we dropped off some Aussies and picked up a French couple at some 'jungle retreat' for the gringos. Then we were taken to some tourist hellhole of a place designed to sell shit to us. We wasted time there and then reboarded the boat. Luckily the skies opened up and cained don with rain so we had to abandon the rest of the tour. How terrible. We were handed some rain macs to protect the bags (it was here that my bag got mullered and my shorts got tie-dyed red, white and blue from leaking pens. I looked like Darren`s Captain USA). A German guy started scaling the side of the boat and almost toppled us. The Englishman took great pleasure from his discomfort after that. We were kind of on a boat with pleasant but cranky old people. The only interesting bit was at the artesans place. I thought a dead spider was walking along (weird) until I realised it was being carried by a tiny ant. Reminded me of all the mental army ants I had seen in Cockscomb, clearing absoultely everything in their path. Jamie and Olonga left for Antigua from Rio Dulce when we arrived. That was kind iof a relief as the tension had been a little awkward.
I stayed under the bridge in a backpacker/orphanage place. Very cheap and cool although I slept on a bed with no sheets in the middle of an open room. Still it was cheap and I had later decided to get the 3am bus to Guatemala City so it was only going to be shotgun sleep anyway. I walked off round the lake to the castle and its a pleasant place. The view from the bridge down the Rio Dulce and over Lago Izabal are both impressive. I shot over my budget again due to that stupid boat price, so in the evening I ended up having an expensive lasagne and starwberry licuado as I needed some real food. The place also rents a Kayak for 10 Quetzals an hour (Just over $1). I had been talking with the Californians about how cool the south was in the morning and I had found out Minneapolis was on the Mississippi, so I could fly into Chicago and head for the source. It had resurrected my belief that I could kayak the Mississippi and spend a lot of time in the south. I still want to do it, so I took out the kayak to see how hard it was. Man I sucked. I struggled to kayak through the waves (both natural and from wanker speedboat types) and at one point was just spinning round and round as my tail was constantly broadsided. Damn I was going to need more practice and to read some instructions if I was going to take this trip on. I seemed to make some headway through sheer bloodymindedness and after this fuck up was more than ever determined to try it. I was leaning more and more towards heading to the US for those random six months between Argentina and New Zealand. I just love southern girls too much. I got a few bruises and burns bringing the kayak back as I fell off the side of the getty bringing it up and had to save myself and the kayak, which stretched my body a bit. That evening I got chatting with an odd German guy (who seemed to get agitated and aggressive when stressed, so I kept the conversation simple. I also met a Yankee from Denver who had been friends with Chris (the guy in Xela we had played the ladle game with). Facebook is great for discovering these random coincidences. I also met an Aussie Yoga teacher (who I may see again in BA) and some Canadian kids. Most of them had been volunteering at the orphanage down the road and I felt like a travelling joy rider as I was just spending and enjoying myself. Still the Mississippi would be cool. Maybe I could do it for charity. Just need to find some other people who want to take it on.
I snatched a small amount of sleep and at 2am woke and grabbed the bus to the capital. I wanted to meet Peter and Paulina for lunch, but Peter was still in Xela and it never happened with Paulina as I ended up having to push on for the border. The bus ride had only been 4 hours, not the 6 I was told and that left me stranded in the capital before anything was open. I eventually found a bus for Chiquimula and set off for the frontier. A one legged man told me it wa 25 Quetzals for the border. Lying git, the bus driver had said 10. Then I found someone to take me for 15. I paid him for the border, but he dropped me off in some random town and said I needed another bus and that it was included in the price. It was not, but I refused to pay the other man because of what the first had said and so he gave me a ticket for free. I felt bad ripping off the honest man, but hopefully he kicks the shit out oft he other guy for losing a fare. Just before this incident I had been musing over how Guatemala and Dominican Republic were the only countries that consistently tried to rip me off. Everyone else was fair. And then this happened and left an even bitterer taste in my mouth. I got chatting with a Guatemalan couple and arrived at the border with Honduras. I had been told by another guy in Chiquimula that there were ATMs at the border and I did not know there were border taxes. I had only 10 Quetzals. That was good enough to get out of Guatemala. But I needed 3 dollars to enter Honduras. Shit I had no money. They would not let me enter. But I had already exited Guatemala and could not afford to go abck in. Catch 22, I was destined to live on this border post until I starved to death, like Tom Hanks in the airport film. Eventually the womn realised I really did not have any money and I was not just trying to not pay and we had to solve the problem. Eventually she agreed tostamp my passport and I would have to ride with her boss to Copan Ruinas (for free) to draw out money and pay the $3. Probably saved that on the 13km ride and chatted in Spanish with the guys once they realised I could speak it. they had been dissing me before assuming I could only speak English. Oh well some things never change, but at least I was in Honduras (country number 38)
Belize
Hey not sure where I got up to exactly with this thing. The border post with Belize was called Melchor de Menthos. Sort of like some fantastical wizard. I really should look back but I am far too lazy. Had cold pizza in the morning. Will have to utilise these two for one deal with Pollo Campero and may well get some tonight in Honduras.
Hmm the day was valentines day. These days just blur into nothingness when you are on the road. I would use it to write up what you read last time. The border had hassles as there were taxes to pay in and out of Belize. Though to exit Belize by land or air you have to pay a tax of around $14 but by boat you pay nothing. It made me laugh and meant I would head south to Punta Gorda to leave the country to avoid the tax. Some Aussie guy was getting frustrated with the border officials against the taxes. I assisted him with a bit of Spanish and walked across the divide. Then I accidentally annoyed the Belize guard by trying to write at his table and constantly talking to him in Spanish. Took a couple of days to stop doing that to people and get back into English. Not that they speak English here. Its a patois machine gun dialect thats ok one to one, but very difficult to decipher when they are firing off sentences at each other.
On the other side I was told it would cost $10 to get to San Ignacio by taxi. Fuck them. Its 13km. I can walk that. Staying under budget here was going to be difficult. I set off pacing the highway and had gone 500m before a tour operator picked me up in his jeep and gave me a free ride into town. I resolved to use something of his while there but ended up using none of it. Sad really. The town of San Ignacio was very small and expensive (like all of Belize). About 13,000 people so its probably the second or third biggest town. Even Belize City is only 50,000. Thisplace is not a real country. You can´t haver your capital smaller than Watford and expect to be a country. It was lots of small villages dependent on tourism and Menonites growing oranges. Guatemala really should absorb it and put it out of its misery. That being said its a pleasant country and noone ever rips you off (mainly because the actual prices are so ball bustingly expensive they dont have to). The first hotel was full and so I checked into the Hi-Et Guesthouse. A nice little house with funky owners. I was waiting for Mike (one part of our boyband) to arrive in town to book onto the ATM tour. The guy earlier had haggled us down to $65 each, so I thought without Mike (who did not show up) I was going to have to pay $130 and that was way out of my range. I ended up spending the evening writing and then fell asleep reading `The Red Badge of Courage'. There was a funky line that read "There was a portion of the world's history which he had regarded as the time of wars, but it, he thought, had been long gone over the horizon and had disappeared forever". Interesting this was a US civil war novel and I think those sentiments are still shared by a lot of people and are still naive. But then again I am listening to Rage Against the Machine while I write this.
In the morning I woke up and noticed someone had taken the final vacant room. Ah it must be Mike. I waited for the door to open and out walked a Menonite in full weird Amish gear. Hmm Mike had changed a bit. Damn he had not arrived. I chatted with the Menonite for a while and then sauntered round to the tour office. The guy said he coiuld do it for $70 which was lucky and enabled me to go. I had budgeted for $80 so no doubt I would waste that etra $10 on something pointless. I always do. There were a few others on our tour. This was only my second tour and again I was forced into it. A couple of Aussie guys had paid $60 each and a Canadian who had paid $75. He seemed overly eager to please everyone. There was a Canuck couple who spoke to noone, some young Canuck kid who was shy and an old American vietnam war veteran hippy who had sailed all over the world (really cool guy). He like me liked Guatemala City and we both thought it odd that people didn't visit it. Me, the Canadian and the Aussies chatted a lot on various things on the way there and then we hiked with our guide to the entrance. We were given a crach course in herbalism and they really do work. Made a mental note that the next time I am based somewhere I want to study some herbalism stuff to help in the wilderness. We also ate termites straight off a log. They tasted like carrots. I presume thats the taste of the wood they have consumed.
Once we got to the entrance we had to swim through a pool and then for 3 hours we were wading through waste high water and rocks through the caverns. Really cool stuff. Kind of like the Zion river fording combined with Carlsbad in Texas. At one point the guide made us turn off all our lights and we had the person in fronts shoulders while we walked into the pitch black underground for about 10 minutes with no light at all. Its remarkable how sharp your other senses get. I managed to work out the vague shape and dimensions of the cave system purely from listening to water droplets. When they turned the lights back on it was weird to see by hearing alone I had worked that out fairly accurately. We worked together as a group, passing back instructions on any potential hazards and it felt quite adventurous. Eventually you come to a turnoff where we had to scale a rock wall. I had not anticipated having to deal with my vertigo several hundred metres underground. Was a funny wake up call. I struggled up the rock face and then we had to remove our shoes. The Candian stated that this was the moment when Indiana Jones would tell you not to touch anything. We proceeded into a vast underground cavern, where the walls and floors were covered with Mayan pottery and skeletal remains. Was interesting and the guide gave us some good stories. We had to be careful not to step on any artefacts and then we scrambled over the last set of boulders to see the skeletal remains of a 14 year old girl (though at 5'3" that seemed awful tall for someone of that era. Think they should carbon date the body). On the scramble back down, me and the 18 year old kid found the path and led the others down. The guide reconed we were the first group to transverse it so far, but then I have a semi photographic memory so following routes is not a problem for me. After 1 day in a city I can sketch a map from memory. Throughout all of this I had been wearing my shitty shoes. How on earth they repeatedly withstood these tests I don't know but they were clinging on to remain part of the original items. My pad of paper really is falling apart. I think I need to pick up a new one. When we got back I grabbed dinner with the Canadian by accident and when I got back to my hotel they told me Mike was in town somewhere. I set off looking for him and found him with some Swedes and a Canadian girl they had been travelling with. The 5 of them had packed into 2 beds in a different hotel and the couple had gone back to the hotel for some alone time. The 4 remaining of us went for drinks with some locals and then ended up playing a lot of fussball, which I suck at. Mike and the local girl were really good and they cained everyone else. The table was fucked up though so I could removed my midfield men from the side of te table and march them up and down the table like freelance players. Was a good laugh anyway, though I broke my no drinking if I pay for accomodation clause. I tried to suggest they come down to Cockscomb Wildlife Basin but they decided they would join me the day after next.
In the morning I set off on a bus relay. First to Belmopan (which is apparently the capital). It looks like a shack town in the middle of nowhere and does not even have a supermarket. What kind of cuk up country is this. I then grabbed some food and took another bus to Dangriga as I needed food and cash. The biggest town in the south of the country has 8,000 people. Some people have more facebook friends than Dangriga has people. Its a chilled seaside town with only one main street. A bit like Cabarete before tourists arrived I imagine. I got some food (a ridiculous amount of food for two days as I heard the Sanctuary has none, but it stocks fanta and snickers) and set off south to Maya Village. This is the town closest to the basin and a 10km hike along the entrance road. I was beginning to think that a 10km hike with full baggage and shopping was too much (I did not want a taxi as it was $12 and I had already spent $20 on food and my daily budget is around $24. Fucking pound). Luckily in the town they have accomodation and I paid $10 a night. They even have some shops and restaurants so you don't have to bring everything with you if you stay here. Though most of the jaguar sightings are at night on the entrance road to the visitors centre and thats a long dark walk at night. I walked a little of the route towards the park and saw a huge dead snake, some parakeets, other birds and a very bright dark red snake. The internet place was down and so I asked if there was anywhere else. It was still weird talking to Mayan people and hearing them use Jamaican patois. Dislocation. I walked round to this other place and it was just a few houses on stilts. Shit. Which one. I thought I might be shot if I approach a place randomly so I asked some passer by and it turned out it was in her house. Cool. Was quite cheap but very slow. I settled down for the night looking out over the Menonite orange fields and killed a fly with a towel after hunting it around the room. I had a dorm room but was the only person in it for both days. You can pick up a ticket for the park at the Mayan women's centre but they only open at 7.30am so you can purchase a day in advance. They don't seem to keep the gate open at night and the visitors centre is unobservant so if you enter by foot you can probably go for free.
I woke up at dawn and set off down the road to the park. Took me around 100 minutes for the 10km, but I average 6km an hour comfortably over flattish terrain. My big water was leaking so I had to take it from the backpack and carry it in my hands. I creeped through the gate (no security or barriers) and was in the reserve. I wanted to get to the visitors centre before doing any of the trails along the way, but one led to a Plane Wreck. Cool. It felt like Lost as I wandered 200m into the jungle and saw the remains of a small research plane that had crashed into the jungle. I wanted to go inside, but the potential snakes and spiders discouraged me sufficiently. The guy at the visitor centre gave me a lowdown of the trails and with the exception of climbing the mountain (27km away) I figured I could do all of them in one day. I stormed off up Bens Bluff (4km hike to a waterfall and steep ascent to a viewing point). On the way I passed some Yankee school kids and when I got to the top and was eating my laughing cow and bread they rocked up again. It was mainly a girl's group from New York state (Syracuse). Some were quite cute, but I thought they were young (the others reckoned 17). Man maybe I am just too old to tell now lol. Anyway I was chatting with them for a while and the teacher did not look impressed. I looked at the Outlier. Its a 7km trail each way and apparently takes 7 hours. Bullshit. Thats 2km an hour. I eventually did it in just over 4 hours but it took a lot out of me. I set off on that one and met some Scottish old man who was the portent of doom. He insisted leaving at 10am was too late, I could not make it and I was already out of breath (I did not inform him I had already done nearly 20km that morning, but I was determined to proove him wrong). It took me 40 minutes to cover the first 3.5km, another 50 minutes to the campsite (quite tough) and 40 minutes more to the top (fucking tough and near vertical). Luckily I had bought some hardcore mints and they were good for unblocking the airways and enabling me to hike it. Left them somewhere in Copan though sadly. This was a tough treck but then I did nearly manage it in half time. Some parts are near vertical and require arm climbing and take their toll as you are ascending 1,800 feet over 1.5km. I was so far away from the other tourists though that I saw some wildlife. They say you can't hike it alone and its dangerous, but I was not with anyone else so I did it anyway. I saw a small gery and black snake that refused to move off the path. I had to traverse it. I would see another snake later and some monkeys. I heard some wild pigs but did not see them. On the way up I put my hands on some tree for balance and yelped in pain. Fucking thing was covered in spikes and my right hand was mangled. On the way down I forgot and did the same with my left hand, before falling on my arse down the hill. Twice I fell on my arse as logs or bits of ground gave way underneath me. UIts a tough climb. I even fell offthe side of the mountain. Jumpin onto what I thought was ground, but was actually leaves, I slid off the edge and had to grab a tree. I think it helped with the vertigo. I had always been afraid of falling over the edge and now that I had, it did not seem as bad. Just have to make sure there are some trees nearby. The view from the top was spectacular and I collapsed into devouring my lunch of also laughing cow and bread. I saved the sausages for the way down as I suspected they might be crap like the chicken/pork hybrids I had fed to the dogs the night before (they weren't or mayeb I was just starving). On the way down I kept an eye out for that impudent snake and then the whole brush came alive. A 5 foot long black snake moved about 20 foot in front of me and flew across the forest floor like Usain Bolt. Fuck me that was fast. My eyes widened. That snake could have fucked me up. I would struggle to run with it on flat land. Up here I was a dead man if it was poisonous. I found out later it was not and is a rat catcher. Poor rats. Now that it has gone I had hoped it was the deadly Fer De Lance, but not when it was still there. The trail was so overgrown at the top that you can tell not many people take it on, but its a good walk and if you want some strenuous exercise, thats the walk for you. I ahd managed to see more snakes in 24 hours than in the rest of my life combined.
When I got back to the visitors centre I took on another walk and it was 2.30pm and I had hiked most of the trails. Fuck you Scottish old man. Then I met two of the Swedes. They had arrived. We walked past the Yankee girls going to do some river tubing in their swimming costumes (I am glad I was not staying overnight in Camp Lolita). The guys cooked me some Macacroni Cheese so I did the washing up and then we decided to rent some tubes as it was only $2.50. Most trips in this country are around $50. We all set off as it was nearing dark and so two of them had flashlights. Ah fuck. How was I getting back home with no flashlight. Could fumble around in the dark. Agua Azul flashed through my mind. Oh well. We got in teh tubes (I went in my clothes and carried my shoes as I ahd no change of clothes). We floated down river. Its kindof chilled and nice. Though if there was an obstacle in the water I hit it. Every single one. I even got beached on the stones that were pounding our arses through the tube and sucked into a dead end. Emily drifted off at one point down some random tributary and reemerged later after Mike had gone to look for her. As we approached the end Ieven got a huge puncture tear and sank in the river. I could see air gushing out and Heather was laughing as I sunk into the tree part and bounced along the base of the river. I had to carry my tube round the corner and all the way back. Thank god the owners had gone home. What with this and the golf club in Dominican Republic I can understand why companies take insurance guarantees from people. We'd had some interesting conversations before and Heather had grown up home schooled on a farm in Alberta. One sister had converted to orthodox Judaism and married a rabbi in Jerusalem, while the other was a lesbian. Who says twins don't diverge in their life paths. I was now dripping wet and had no light. Heather lent me her torch and I promised to drop it off with the Mayan women. I set off in the pitch black down the 10km trail. I saw a Gibnut and a big spider the Lolitas had found. I had alwasy wanted to see a jaguar in the park, but as with the grizzlys in Yellowstone, now it was dark and I had a light with a penetration of 2m I really did not want to see one. I could barely see anything and the jungle noises were amplified. I felt like Samuel L Jackson in Jurassic Park. Shit it was unnerving, but I pressed on. Luckily a guy from my place in town who was dropping off food for the Yanks stopped and gave me a ride home. The woman who owned my hotel had thought I was eaten or something. I grabbed dinner in the restaurant and then weirdly all the staff left and so I had to pay in the morning.
In the morning I grabbed a bus down to Punta Gorda, through more pointless places. I found out there was an afternoon ferry and decided to get out of this expensive country while I could. Though the ferry was $25. Fuck sake. They even rape you as you leave. And no bastard in town would sell me a bolsa de agua. I had to do creative accunting again and pay the captain in part Quetzals. I got chatting with a girl from california, travelling with a Dutch girl and a Costa Rican couchsurfer I had recognised from online. We took the boat over to Livingston Guatemala and I had left the expensive non-country behind. Nice place. Its not real though.
Hmm the day was valentines day. These days just blur into nothingness when you are on the road. I would use it to write up what you read last time. The border had hassles as there were taxes to pay in and out of Belize. Though to exit Belize by land or air you have to pay a tax of around $14 but by boat you pay nothing. It made me laugh and meant I would head south to Punta Gorda to leave the country to avoid the tax. Some Aussie guy was getting frustrated with the border officials against the taxes. I assisted him with a bit of Spanish and walked across the divide. Then I accidentally annoyed the Belize guard by trying to write at his table and constantly talking to him in Spanish. Took a couple of days to stop doing that to people and get back into English. Not that they speak English here. Its a patois machine gun dialect thats ok one to one, but very difficult to decipher when they are firing off sentences at each other.
On the other side I was told it would cost $10 to get to San Ignacio by taxi. Fuck them. Its 13km. I can walk that. Staying under budget here was going to be difficult. I set off pacing the highway and had gone 500m before a tour operator picked me up in his jeep and gave me a free ride into town. I resolved to use something of his while there but ended up using none of it. Sad really. The town of San Ignacio was very small and expensive (like all of Belize). About 13,000 people so its probably the second or third biggest town. Even Belize City is only 50,000. Thisplace is not a real country. You can´t haver your capital smaller than Watford and expect to be a country. It was lots of small villages dependent on tourism and Menonites growing oranges. Guatemala really should absorb it and put it out of its misery. That being said its a pleasant country and noone ever rips you off (mainly because the actual prices are so ball bustingly expensive they dont have to). The first hotel was full and so I checked into the Hi-Et Guesthouse. A nice little house with funky owners. I was waiting for Mike (one part of our boyband) to arrive in town to book onto the ATM tour. The guy earlier had haggled us down to $65 each, so I thought without Mike (who did not show up) I was going to have to pay $130 and that was way out of my range. I ended up spending the evening writing and then fell asleep reading `The Red Badge of Courage'. There was a funky line that read "There was a portion of the world's history which he had regarded as the time of wars, but it, he thought, had been long gone over the horizon and had disappeared forever". Interesting this was a US civil war novel and I think those sentiments are still shared by a lot of people and are still naive. But then again I am listening to Rage Against the Machine while I write this.
In the morning I woke up and noticed someone had taken the final vacant room. Ah it must be Mike. I waited for the door to open and out walked a Menonite in full weird Amish gear. Hmm Mike had changed a bit. Damn he had not arrived. I chatted with the Menonite for a while and then sauntered round to the tour office. The guy said he coiuld do it for $70 which was lucky and enabled me to go. I had budgeted for $80 so no doubt I would waste that etra $10 on something pointless. I always do. There were a few others on our tour. This was only my second tour and again I was forced into it. A couple of Aussie guys had paid $60 each and a Canadian who had paid $75. He seemed overly eager to please everyone. There was a Canuck couple who spoke to noone, some young Canuck kid who was shy and an old American vietnam war veteran hippy who had sailed all over the world (really cool guy). He like me liked Guatemala City and we both thought it odd that people didn't visit it. Me, the Canadian and the Aussies chatted a lot on various things on the way there and then we hiked with our guide to the entrance. We were given a crach course in herbalism and they really do work. Made a mental note that the next time I am based somewhere I want to study some herbalism stuff to help in the wilderness. We also ate termites straight off a log. They tasted like carrots. I presume thats the taste of the wood they have consumed.
Once we got to the entrance we had to swim through a pool and then for 3 hours we were wading through waste high water and rocks through the caverns. Really cool stuff. Kind of like the Zion river fording combined with Carlsbad in Texas. At one point the guide made us turn off all our lights and we had the person in fronts shoulders while we walked into the pitch black underground for about 10 minutes with no light at all. Its remarkable how sharp your other senses get. I managed to work out the vague shape and dimensions of the cave system purely from listening to water droplets. When they turned the lights back on it was weird to see by hearing alone I had worked that out fairly accurately. We worked together as a group, passing back instructions on any potential hazards and it felt quite adventurous. Eventually you come to a turnoff where we had to scale a rock wall. I had not anticipated having to deal with my vertigo several hundred metres underground. Was a funny wake up call. I struggled up the rock face and then we had to remove our shoes. The Candian stated that this was the moment when Indiana Jones would tell you not to touch anything. We proceeded into a vast underground cavern, where the walls and floors were covered with Mayan pottery and skeletal remains. Was interesting and the guide gave us some good stories. We had to be careful not to step on any artefacts and then we scrambled over the last set of boulders to see the skeletal remains of a 14 year old girl (though at 5'3" that seemed awful tall for someone of that era. Think they should carbon date the body). On the scramble back down, me and the 18 year old kid found the path and led the others down. The guide reconed we were the first group to transverse it so far, but then I have a semi photographic memory so following routes is not a problem for me. After 1 day in a city I can sketch a map from memory. Throughout all of this I had been wearing my shitty shoes. How on earth they repeatedly withstood these tests I don't know but they were clinging on to remain part of the original items. My pad of paper really is falling apart. I think I need to pick up a new one. When we got back I grabbed dinner with the Canadian by accident and when I got back to my hotel they told me Mike was in town somewhere. I set off looking for him and found him with some Swedes and a Canadian girl they had been travelling with. The 5 of them had packed into 2 beds in a different hotel and the couple had gone back to the hotel for some alone time. The 4 remaining of us went for drinks with some locals and then ended up playing a lot of fussball, which I suck at. Mike and the local girl were really good and they cained everyone else. The table was fucked up though so I could removed my midfield men from the side of te table and march them up and down the table like freelance players. Was a good laugh anyway, though I broke my no drinking if I pay for accomodation clause. I tried to suggest they come down to Cockscomb Wildlife Basin but they decided they would join me the day after next.
In the morning I set off on a bus relay. First to Belmopan (which is apparently the capital). It looks like a shack town in the middle of nowhere and does not even have a supermarket. What kind of cuk up country is this. I then grabbed some food and took another bus to Dangriga as I needed food and cash. The biggest town in the south of the country has 8,000 people. Some people have more facebook friends than Dangriga has people. Its a chilled seaside town with only one main street. A bit like Cabarete before tourists arrived I imagine. I got some food (a ridiculous amount of food for two days as I heard the Sanctuary has none, but it stocks fanta and snickers) and set off south to Maya Village. This is the town closest to the basin and a 10km hike along the entrance road. I was beginning to think that a 10km hike with full baggage and shopping was too much (I did not want a taxi as it was $12 and I had already spent $20 on food and my daily budget is around $24. Fucking pound). Luckily in the town they have accomodation and I paid $10 a night. They even have some shops and restaurants so you don't have to bring everything with you if you stay here. Though most of the jaguar sightings are at night on the entrance road to the visitors centre and thats a long dark walk at night. I walked a little of the route towards the park and saw a huge dead snake, some parakeets, other birds and a very bright dark red snake. The internet place was down and so I asked if there was anywhere else. It was still weird talking to Mayan people and hearing them use Jamaican patois. Dislocation. I walked round to this other place and it was just a few houses on stilts. Shit. Which one. I thought I might be shot if I approach a place randomly so I asked some passer by and it turned out it was in her house. Cool. Was quite cheap but very slow. I settled down for the night looking out over the Menonite orange fields and killed a fly with a towel after hunting it around the room. I had a dorm room but was the only person in it for both days. You can pick up a ticket for the park at the Mayan women's centre but they only open at 7.30am so you can purchase a day in advance. They don't seem to keep the gate open at night and the visitors centre is unobservant so if you enter by foot you can probably go for free.
I woke up at dawn and set off down the road to the park. Took me around 100 minutes for the 10km, but I average 6km an hour comfortably over flattish terrain. My big water was leaking so I had to take it from the backpack and carry it in my hands. I creeped through the gate (no security or barriers) and was in the reserve. I wanted to get to the visitors centre before doing any of the trails along the way, but one led to a Plane Wreck. Cool. It felt like Lost as I wandered 200m into the jungle and saw the remains of a small research plane that had crashed into the jungle. I wanted to go inside, but the potential snakes and spiders discouraged me sufficiently. The guy at the visitor centre gave me a lowdown of the trails and with the exception of climbing the mountain (27km away) I figured I could do all of them in one day. I stormed off up Bens Bluff (4km hike to a waterfall and steep ascent to a viewing point). On the way I passed some Yankee school kids and when I got to the top and was eating my laughing cow and bread they rocked up again. It was mainly a girl's group from New York state (Syracuse). Some were quite cute, but I thought they were young (the others reckoned 17). Man maybe I am just too old to tell now lol. Anyway I was chatting with them for a while and the teacher did not look impressed. I looked at the Outlier. Its a 7km trail each way and apparently takes 7 hours. Bullshit. Thats 2km an hour. I eventually did it in just over 4 hours but it took a lot out of me. I set off on that one and met some Scottish old man who was the portent of doom. He insisted leaving at 10am was too late, I could not make it and I was already out of breath (I did not inform him I had already done nearly 20km that morning, but I was determined to proove him wrong). It took me 40 minutes to cover the first 3.5km, another 50 minutes to the campsite (quite tough) and 40 minutes more to the top (fucking tough and near vertical). Luckily I had bought some hardcore mints and they were good for unblocking the airways and enabling me to hike it. Left them somewhere in Copan though sadly. This was a tough treck but then I did nearly manage it in half time. Some parts are near vertical and require arm climbing and take their toll as you are ascending 1,800 feet over 1.5km. I was so far away from the other tourists though that I saw some wildlife. They say you can't hike it alone and its dangerous, but I was not with anyone else so I did it anyway. I saw a small gery and black snake that refused to move off the path. I had to traverse it. I would see another snake later and some monkeys. I heard some wild pigs but did not see them. On the way up I put my hands on some tree for balance and yelped in pain. Fucking thing was covered in spikes and my right hand was mangled. On the way down I forgot and did the same with my left hand, before falling on my arse down the hill. Twice I fell on my arse as logs or bits of ground gave way underneath me. UIts a tough climb. I even fell offthe side of the mountain. Jumpin onto what I thought was ground, but was actually leaves, I slid off the edge and had to grab a tree. I think it helped with the vertigo. I had always been afraid of falling over the edge and now that I had, it did not seem as bad. Just have to make sure there are some trees nearby. The view from the top was spectacular and I collapsed into devouring my lunch of also laughing cow and bread. I saved the sausages for the way down as I suspected they might be crap like the chicken/pork hybrids I had fed to the dogs the night before (they weren't or mayeb I was just starving). On the way down I kept an eye out for that impudent snake and then the whole brush came alive. A 5 foot long black snake moved about 20 foot in front of me and flew across the forest floor like Usain Bolt. Fuck me that was fast. My eyes widened. That snake could have fucked me up. I would struggle to run with it on flat land. Up here I was a dead man if it was poisonous. I found out later it was not and is a rat catcher. Poor rats. Now that it has gone I had hoped it was the deadly Fer De Lance, but not when it was still there. The trail was so overgrown at the top that you can tell not many people take it on, but its a good walk and if you want some strenuous exercise, thats the walk for you. I ahd managed to see more snakes in 24 hours than in the rest of my life combined.
When I got back to the visitors centre I took on another walk and it was 2.30pm and I had hiked most of the trails. Fuck you Scottish old man. Then I met two of the Swedes. They had arrived. We walked past the Yankee girls going to do some river tubing in their swimming costumes (I am glad I was not staying overnight in Camp Lolita). The guys cooked me some Macacroni Cheese so I did the washing up and then we decided to rent some tubes as it was only $2.50. Most trips in this country are around $50. We all set off as it was nearing dark and so two of them had flashlights. Ah fuck. How was I getting back home with no flashlight. Could fumble around in the dark. Agua Azul flashed through my mind. Oh well. We got in teh tubes (I went in my clothes and carried my shoes as I ahd no change of clothes). We floated down river. Its kindof chilled and nice. Though if there was an obstacle in the water I hit it. Every single one. I even got beached on the stones that were pounding our arses through the tube and sucked into a dead end. Emily drifted off at one point down some random tributary and reemerged later after Mike had gone to look for her. As we approached the end Ieven got a huge puncture tear and sank in the river. I could see air gushing out and Heather was laughing as I sunk into the tree part and bounced along the base of the river. I had to carry my tube round the corner and all the way back. Thank god the owners had gone home. What with this and the golf club in Dominican Republic I can understand why companies take insurance guarantees from people. We'd had some interesting conversations before and Heather had grown up home schooled on a farm in Alberta. One sister had converted to orthodox Judaism and married a rabbi in Jerusalem, while the other was a lesbian. Who says twins don't diverge in their life paths. I was now dripping wet and had no light. Heather lent me her torch and I promised to drop it off with the Mayan women. I set off in the pitch black down the 10km trail. I saw a Gibnut and a big spider the Lolitas had found. I had alwasy wanted to see a jaguar in the park, but as with the grizzlys in Yellowstone, now it was dark and I had a light with a penetration of 2m I really did not want to see one. I could barely see anything and the jungle noises were amplified. I felt like Samuel L Jackson in Jurassic Park. Shit it was unnerving, but I pressed on. Luckily a guy from my place in town who was dropping off food for the Yanks stopped and gave me a ride home. The woman who owned my hotel had thought I was eaten or something. I grabbed dinner in the restaurant and then weirdly all the staff left and so I had to pay in the morning.
In the morning I grabbed a bus down to Punta Gorda, through more pointless places. I found out there was an afternoon ferry and decided to get out of this expensive country while I could. Though the ferry was $25. Fuck sake. They even rape you as you leave. And no bastard in town would sell me a bolsa de agua. I had to do creative accunting again and pay the captain in part Quetzals. I got chatting with a girl from california, travelling with a Dutch girl and a Costa Rican couchsurfer I had recognised from online. We took the boat over to Livingston Guatemala and I had left the expensive non-country behind. Nice place. Its not real though.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Guatemala Part 7
Hmm there are becoming a lot of parts for Guatemala. I keep having to break some small due to lack of time. And there will be at least one more too. The pound had begun to enact a swandive again after briefly rallying. Can the dollar hurry up and die please. It will probably die when it does not matter any more, once I get to Colombia (which Tim may now be joining me in part). Would be good. I got a bus at 5.30 am to Guatemala City (evil times). Once I arrived in the city I was surrounded by taxi drivers like hawks. Its only a 30 minute walk downtown from Tres Bol once you know where it is. I found an internet cafe, discovered there were ATMs in San Ignacio and that I would miss the shuttle launch in French Guyana (sucky, but then my odds had been long). I hopped on another bus to Coban and once I arrived in town I eventually found a minivan to take me to Lanquin. By this point I had been travelling all day and was knackered. Dan will be amused to know that even I struggle to sleep on chicken buses. Most Guatemalans I know don't even use them and Mercedes thinks they are muderers. The minivan had involved some shuffling around which saw two guys climb out the window and one lost his seat and had to stand. It pissed down with rain on the way there, but it is beautiful down that dusty and bumpy track. Once we got to town, they tried to take me to their hotel, but I wanted to stay in the cheap one in town so I jumped out of the window. Kindof cool. The hotel was cheap but it did not have any showers. Only a toilet. No showers in the jungle. Shit. Its quite a quiet town so I went to sleep early and caught up on some of the lost sleep.
In the morning I went to the local shop and met Senor Chris. Then I grabbed some stuff and walked 10km to Semuc Champey. Its a long walk and a fair bit of it is up stiff hills. Not as much as the way back though, which was ball breaking. Especially as I had not drank any water for 4 hours and had walked about 15km when I headed back. Its a very pretty walk and took me less than 2 hours, so I still believe I can comfortably cover 5km an hour over any terrain. Eventually when I descended to the final valley I caught up with a family from Oregon (father a firefighter, mother a nurse, two kids). Chatted with them for a while and hung out with them for an hour before leaving them some family time. One of the kids was commentating how he wished he'd travelled as much as me. Given he is eight, he has time. The entrance guard at Semuc Champey did not have change for a 100 quetzal note so I had to carry a bit of paper (effectively a promisory note) with me everywhere. Semuc Champey is achingly beautiful. A collection of limestone pools you can swim in (especially cool and refreshing when you don't have a shower and have just walked 10km). I swam around for a while and then climbed up to the vantage point. Its a brisk uphill climb. They say 1.15 hours. It took me 20 minutes. I reckon its a half hour walk. Spectacular view from the top though. You can see the pools as if you were in a helicopter. One the way down I chatted with some Germans and then went to look at the underground river. The river plunges in a mist of white foam violently into an underground cave. I asked the guard if it was possible to pass through the tunnel and he said in brusk Spanish that if I entered there I would die. Pretty clear. So I walked around the other side to see the mouth where it exits the cave. I noticed the Germans all had motorcycle helmets and I was not sure if thats because they are ultra cautious on Guatemalan roads or because they were going through the cave. I need to check if its possible to go through as that would be cool. On the walk back it was brutal. No water and steep climbs meant I was in agony and slow. Eventually I found a shop in a field that sold me my precious bag of water. That revitalised me and I blasted back to town. Around 30km of walking and plenty of swimming later I was back in town. My fitness was quite good now. Mainly in the lower half of my body though.
I managed to grab some cheap chicken dinner that I wolfed down. I only realised the following night in Flores that that was the only meal I had eaten in 48 hours as I had skipped dinner the day before. So that was 30km of walking after 24 hours with no food. On the way back I had also met a quite clearly mad man who would not let go of my hand (like mr shakey hands man) and another guy who simulated a gun action and someone falling over the side of the road. I think he wanted to show me where someone had been shot, but either way I was not stopping to chat with him. I finished up Anna Karenina and then went to the internet place. Noone for a while has had a microphone so I can't phone my dad like I suggested I would. Hopefully will find somewhere before the end of this week when he goes in for his operation. The ending to Anna Karenina was a little disappointing, but I don't think I have had a book that has wrenched me around emotionally in my own life as much as that one did before. I went back and not having time to doodle some philosophy I decided to write a letter out for Ana in Spanish clarifying what I was thinking. That took about 2 hours as I wanted to say specifically what I was thinking and my Spanish is not good enough. Thank god for the dictionary.
The next morning I overslept, having no alarm as I was preserving battery. I took a bus for 15 quetzals the 10km to the main road, but as a word of warning its not the real main road. After being an object of interest for a local school for 40 minutes a bus eventually picked me up and took me on a bone shattering 6 hour plus ride to Sayixche. Man this was a long way round. It looped 57km in 4 hours (I can cycle faster even on that terrain) and went through every tiny village and loads of great scenery. I may be one of the only gringos to ever take that bus as everyone stared at me like I was bigfoot. Noone wanted to sit near me as I was obviously some big freak thing. It was so long and tiring (and cost 50 quetzals when the maximum on the ticket is 40) that I fell asleep and accidentally headbutted an old woman. This amused her family, but I was mortified. I clearly was not going to make Belize that night and eventually was transferred to another minivan that went to Flores and this time crossed the river on a giant floating platform (cool). It cost another 20 and I had saved 40 quetzals on the shuttle price (it would at least pay for most of my dinner). Arriving in Flores I realised the skeleton building 2 months ago was now a burger king. Man they are fast at building. I ate a load in Pollo Campero because I had eaten only once in 48 hours. When your mind is elsewhere you forget to eat. I even got a double pizza and bagged some for later. I went online and wrote Ana the Spanish letter that I am sure requires much editing. Then I went to the island, but the hostel I stayed in last time only had space on the couch and I needed sleep for the next day. The other hotels were eye wateringly expensive so I found a sidestreet motel on the way to the bus station. It was dingy but did the job, albeit for a bit more than I wanted to pay. At least it did not have a huge cockroach and had a shower unlike the other place. Its remarkable how your tolerance for cold showers is inverse to how dirty you are. If you have washed in the last 48 hours you won't touch one, if not then they seem heaven sent. I grabbed a shower, slept through my alarm in the morning 3 times (so slept some more), ate the cold pizza and headed onwards for Belize in the morning. Was slightly overcharged but I made it across by 10am after having to pay some arbitrary 20 quetzals exit charge and helping the Aussie. Man it was weird to be speaking English again. Lets see what Ana says. Ominous to write a letter in between valentines day and friday 13th lol.
In the morning I went to the local shop and met Senor Chris. Then I grabbed some stuff and walked 10km to Semuc Champey. Its a long walk and a fair bit of it is up stiff hills. Not as much as the way back though, which was ball breaking. Especially as I had not drank any water for 4 hours and had walked about 15km when I headed back. Its a very pretty walk and took me less than 2 hours, so I still believe I can comfortably cover 5km an hour over any terrain. Eventually when I descended to the final valley I caught up with a family from Oregon (father a firefighter, mother a nurse, two kids). Chatted with them for a while and hung out with them for an hour before leaving them some family time. One of the kids was commentating how he wished he'd travelled as much as me. Given he is eight, he has time. The entrance guard at Semuc Champey did not have change for a 100 quetzal note so I had to carry a bit of paper (effectively a promisory note) with me everywhere. Semuc Champey is achingly beautiful. A collection of limestone pools you can swim in (especially cool and refreshing when you don't have a shower and have just walked 10km). I swam around for a while and then climbed up to the vantage point. Its a brisk uphill climb. They say 1.15 hours. It took me 20 minutes. I reckon its a half hour walk. Spectacular view from the top though. You can see the pools as if you were in a helicopter. One the way down I chatted with some Germans and then went to look at the underground river. The river plunges in a mist of white foam violently into an underground cave. I asked the guard if it was possible to pass through the tunnel and he said in brusk Spanish that if I entered there I would die. Pretty clear. So I walked around the other side to see the mouth where it exits the cave. I noticed the Germans all had motorcycle helmets and I was not sure if thats because they are ultra cautious on Guatemalan roads or because they were going through the cave. I need to check if its possible to go through as that would be cool. On the walk back it was brutal. No water and steep climbs meant I was in agony and slow. Eventually I found a shop in a field that sold me my precious bag of water. That revitalised me and I blasted back to town. Around 30km of walking and plenty of swimming later I was back in town. My fitness was quite good now. Mainly in the lower half of my body though.
I managed to grab some cheap chicken dinner that I wolfed down. I only realised the following night in Flores that that was the only meal I had eaten in 48 hours as I had skipped dinner the day before. So that was 30km of walking after 24 hours with no food. On the way back I had also met a quite clearly mad man who would not let go of my hand (like mr shakey hands man) and another guy who simulated a gun action and someone falling over the side of the road. I think he wanted to show me where someone had been shot, but either way I was not stopping to chat with him. I finished up Anna Karenina and then went to the internet place. Noone for a while has had a microphone so I can't phone my dad like I suggested I would. Hopefully will find somewhere before the end of this week when he goes in for his operation. The ending to Anna Karenina was a little disappointing, but I don't think I have had a book that has wrenched me around emotionally in my own life as much as that one did before. I went back and not having time to doodle some philosophy I decided to write a letter out for Ana in Spanish clarifying what I was thinking. That took about 2 hours as I wanted to say specifically what I was thinking and my Spanish is not good enough. Thank god for the dictionary.
The next morning I overslept, having no alarm as I was preserving battery. I took a bus for 15 quetzals the 10km to the main road, but as a word of warning its not the real main road. After being an object of interest for a local school for 40 minutes a bus eventually picked me up and took me on a bone shattering 6 hour plus ride to Sayixche. Man this was a long way round. It looped 57km in 4 hours (I can cycle faster even on that terrain) and went through every tiny village and loads of great scenery. I may be one of the only gringos to ever take that bus as everyone stared at me like I was bigfoot. Noone wanted to sit near me as I was obviously some big freak thing. It was so long and tiring (and cost 50 quetzals when the maximum on the ticket is 40) that I fell asleep and accidentally headbutted an old woman. This amused her family, but I was mortified. I clearly was not going to make Belize that night and eventually was transferred to another minivan that went to Flores and this time crossed the river on a giant floating platform (cool). It cost another 20 and I had saved 40 quetzals on the shuttle price (it would at least pay for most of my dinner). Arriving in Flores I realised the skeleton building 2 months ago was now a burger king. Man they are fast at building. I ate a load in Pollo Campero because I had eaten only once in 48 hours. When your mind is elsewhere you forget to eat. I even got a double pizza and bagged some for later. I went online and wrote Ana the Spanish letter that I am sure requires much editing. Then I went to the island, but the hostel I stayed in last time only had space on the couch and I needed sleep for the next day. The other hotels were eye wateringly expensive so I found a sidestreet motel on the way to the bus station. It was dingy but did the job, albeit for a bit more than I wanted to pay. At least it did not have a huge cockroach and had a shower unlike the other place. Its remarkable how your tolerance for cold showers is inverse to how dirty you are. If you have washed in the last 48 hours you won't touch one, if not then they seem heaven sent. I grabbed a shower, slept through my alarm in the morning 3 times (so slept some more), ate the cold pizza and headed onwards for Belize in the morning. Was slightly overcharged but I made it across by 10am after having to pay some arbitrary 20 quetzals exit charge and helping the Aussie. Man it was weird to be speaking English again. Lets see what Ana says. Ominous to write a letter in between valentines day and friday 13th lol.
Guatemala Part 6
I arrived in Xela and went to my old internet cafe and the place where I had lunch last time before leaving. I really am more nostalgic for old places I like than I realised when I set off on this trip. That cafe really does do a great coffee though. I was knackered and a little ill at this point. A sort of sickness in the pit of my stomach. Was not sure if it was food or the pain of departure. I eventually arrived in Panajachel. Lago Atitlan looks spectacular from the top of the hill and is even more breathtaking when you see it up close. That crystal clear water with the volcanoes casting their shadow over the lake. Superb. I see why Lonely Planet says lakes don't come this good that often. I met Cristina (an NGO worker from Peru) and went back to her place. She was living with a woman named Merceded from the Basque region of Spain and we chatted for a bit before hitting a bar. This bar had a game where you rolled dice for a free drink. If you got a double, you doubled your drinks effectively. I'm good at these and got doubles again. Bit like Newcastle wheer I had got free, free, free, two for one and got 5 for 1 or where I called tails successfully 4 times in a row to get a four pint pitcher for 1 dollar in Boulder. Yes, my luck was back. About time too. I was missing coasting through life. I was a little tired so went to bed early. These two days would be spent speaking more Spanish than English for sustained periods.
In the morning we got out of gringo town and Cristina took me across the dry river to an artist's commune on the other side. This was the side of Panajachel they socialised with. We saw a great beach and got a phonecall from Mercedes. She was up in a lakehouse with her Norwegian filmmaking man. He was a short film maker, musician and variety of other things. Very interesting man. We toured back through a Mayan graveyard (multicoloured and they have professional painters who paint a mural illustrating your lifelong profession on your grave) . Would have to be a collage now in western countries. I have had 8 jobs of various types already. Then I met the most prominent feminist journalist in Guatemala and those who work on the local magazine. Aftewards we joined Mercedes and John. The house was owned by a Swedish filmmaker and had spectacular views right on the lakeside but high up. He was back in Nicaragua because he had made a film about the Sadanistas and now with Ortega back in power had been summoned to appear at a trial claiming he was a CIA agent (braver man than me to appear). We chatted for a while and John told me all about his trips and living in the States, climbing in Tibet and working in film. Afterwards I took a boat across the lake accompanied by a couple of Germans who spoke minimal English. It felt weird to have better Spanish command than a European. They usually murder us. Got ripped off on the boat again as normal in Guatemala. In San Pedro I decided to walk around the lake for a while to San Juan de la Laguna as I wanted to do some thinking. Its a very picturesque village. Better than San Pedro. It had many murals and reeds growing along the waterfront. It was only marred by a couple of guys stopping and watching me with motorcycle helmets on as I walked past. All dark and blocked out from light. A little odd for a day over 30 degrees. Hmm but they did nothing. You could probably circumnavigate the lake by bicycle in one day with an early start but I had been told some parts are dangerous, which was why I was wary of the motorcyclists. On the dock to go back I was treated to banal shit from some American hippies. God they piss me off. 'Oh yeah and the energy was like energy, it was so intense, you have to give to receive the energy'. Ah fuck off. I have never heard so many people speak so much, while saying so little. If I had a gun I would have shot them then and there. It did make me realise that it was not a mistake when I ruled out spending some time at the funky pyramid yoga centre on the lake. I think I would have exploded.
Back in the land of the sane I bumped into Mercedes and we went shopping for the remaining stuff needed for dinner that night. Mostly we spoke Spanish which was good, but she is so rapid in movement and speech (typically Spanish ball of energy, which I love) that is was tough and tiring but fun. Afterwards we grabbed some coffee at a local coffee place they have nicknamed 'gringo loco' because it is run by a crazy Yankee from New York. Had fun chatting with him (he has more energy than me) and we agreed to swap writing, as he was heading to South Africa for a bit and going to write it up. We got back to the house and settled down to a nice dinner party, with the food cooked by a Brazilian guy. It was a spruced up version of an old Brazilian slave meal. Very nice. The conversation was mainly in Spanish as the guests were me, John, Mercedes, Cris, the Brazilian, a Cuban artist, the feminist writer and her husband and an eccentric Argentinean from Buenos Aires. Though he had moved to Lago Atitlan 29 years ago and it was interesting listening to his stories of how he had to escape capitalism, how the lake had changed, his disgust as locals no longer dressing traditionally and how he had successfully bread an afghan plant with local stuff to form some ultimate weed. After much eating, drinking and conversation, everyone eventually faded away and myself and Cris stayed chatting until I was knackered and had to turf in. Had to get a bus at 5am to get to Lanquin and I was depriving myself of too much sleep at the moment. One funny thing had been Cristina's prejudice against the English. She had assumed we were all like those English you find in Spain and was not going to host me until Andrea had told her that Pampa had hosted and liked me. Quite amusing. I knew our reputation was as bad in Spain as that of the Americans is in Mexico.
In the morning we got out of gringo town and Cristina took me across the dry river to an artist's commune on the other side. This was the side of Panajachel they socialised with. We saw a great beach and got a phonecall from Mercedes. She was up in a lakehouse with her Norwegian filmmaking man. He was a short film maker, musician and variety of other things. Very interesting man. We toured back through a Mayan graveyard (multicoloured and they have professional painters who paint a mural illustrating your lifelong profession on your grave) . Would have to be a collage now in western countries. I have had 8 jobs of various types already. Then I met the most prominent feminist journalist in Guatemala and those who work on the local magazine. Aftewards we joined Mercedes and John. The house was owned by a Swedish filmmaker and had spectacular views right on the lakeside but high up. He was back in Nicaragua because he had made a film about the Sadanistas and now with Ortega back in power had been summoned to appear at a trial claiming he was a CIA agent (braver man than me to appear). We chatted for a while and John told me all about his trips and living in the States, climbing in Tibet and working in film. Afterwards I took a boat across the lake accompanied by a couple of Germans who spoke minimal English. It felt weird to have better Spanish command than a European. They usually murder us. Got ripped off on the boat again as normal in Guatemala. In San Pedro I decided to walk around the lake for a while to San Juan de la Laguna as I wanted to do some thinking. Its a very picturesque village. Better than San Pedro. It had many murals and reeds growing along the waterfront. It was only marred by a couple of guys stopping and watching me with motorcycle helmets on as I walked past. All dark and blocked out from light. A little odd for a day over 30 degrees. Hmm but they did nothing. You could probably circumnavigate the lake by bicycle in one day with an early start but I had been told some parts are dangerous, which was why I was wary of the motorcyclists. On the dock to go back I was treated to banal shit from some American hippies. God they piss me off. 'Oh yeah and the energy was like energy, it was so intense, you have to give to receive the energy'. Ah fuck off. I have never heard so many people speak so much, while saying so little. If I had a gun I would have shot them then and there. It did make me realise that it was not a mistake when I ruled out spending some time at the funky pyramid yoga centre on the lake. I think I would have exploded.
Back in the land of the sane I bumped into Mercedes and we went shopping for the remaining stuff needed for dinner that night. Mostly we spoke Spanish which was good, but she is so rapid in movement and speech (typically Spanish ball of energy, which I love) that is was tough and tiring but fun. Afterwards we grabbed some coffee at a local coffee place they have nicknamed 'gringo loco' because it is run by a crazy Yankee from New York. Had fun chatting with him (he has more energy than me) and we agreed to swap writing, as he was heading to South Africa for a bit and going to write it up. We got back to the house and settled down to a nice dinner party, with the food cooked by a Brazilian guy. It was a spruced up version of an old Brazilian slave meal. Very nice. The conversation was mainly in Spanish as the guests were me, John, Mercedes, Cris, the Brazilian, a Cuban artist, the feminist writer and her husband and an eccentric Argentinean from Buenos Aires. Though he had moved to Lago Atitlan 29 years ago and it was interesting listening to his stories of how he had to escape capitalism, how the lake had changed, his disgust as locals no longer dressing traditionally and how he had successfully bread an afghan plant with local stuff to form some ultimate weed. After much eating, drinking and conversation, everyone eventually faded away and myself and Cris stayed chatting until I was knackered and had to turf in. Had to get a bus at 5am to get to Lanquin and I was depriving myself of too much sleep at the moment. One funny thing had been Cristina's prejudice against the English. She had assumed we were all like those English you find in Spain and was not going to host me until Andrea had told her that Pampa had hosted and liked me. Quite amusing. I knew our reputation was as bad in Spain as that of the Americans is in Mexico.
Guatemala Part 5
I arrived back in Guatemala City and as I had heard nothing from anyone in Antigua and it was late I checked into a hotel in zone 1. I decided to go to the cinema and walked to zone 10 taking only the bare minimum with me. I watched Seven Pounds the new Will Smith film. Rosario Dawson really is incredibly good looking. I liked the film, but did not see where it was going for a while and the ending left a very bad taste in my mouth. Not that its wrong. It just jarred with me and my thoughts in the parts preceeding it. It got bad reviews. I think that harsh. I think it just slaps you in the face at the end. I shuffled back from the cinema and read some more under the very nice and warm blanket they provided. I had not been able to get hold of Ana this night, so figured I would not have got to meet her (would have been a tragedy). Everyone says I should be worried about being mugged in the city, but I wore my bobble hat and everyone crossed the roads to avoid me. I enjoy that effect. Makes me safer, though its amusing. I only had 0.40 Quetzals anyway (3p or so) so they would have been very disappointed muggers.
In the morning I grabbed a half shower and bought some new socks. Its an awesome feeling having new socks. They are so much silkier than old stuff you have washed. Never realised some new socks can have such a profound effect, but now I had real socks and shoes for the rest of this trip. I got hold of Ana with my last attempt. My luck was keeping up again. Though I had a fiasco escaping from Guatemala City. The original bus station in my old Lonely Planet had long since closed down and the transport police told me it was in some mythical place called Tres Bol. I thought I had worked out that it was the central bus station. So I hiked over there. No it wasn't and everyone I asked was talking about this Tres Bol. It sounded like some mythical land where buses could be found roaming the fields and enjoying their freedom. Some old man packed me into the back of some pick up and then buried me and another old man under some woman's preposterous amount of shopping. What was she feeding? The Spartan army. It meant we had to stand and practically truck surf. Which is actually kind of cool at 40 mph or more and felt a little like windsurfing. Try to hang on and don't get flattened by the wind. I was beginning to think this Tres Bol was like me using TCR (Tottenham Court Road) to anyone who was not from London. A ridiculous acronym. Anyway we helped the woman unload at a bus stop. It was like 2 tons of food. Noone could load that on a bus. Took 5 of us 10 minutes to unload it. Oh well. Nevermind. The driver tried to send me to Huehuetenango, because he could not understand me when I tried to pronounce Retalhuleu (Its fucking hard for an Englishman and still can't do it properly, which made many difficulties). Eventually he dumped me in the middle of nowhere (despite me paying him 5 Quetzals to get to the bus) and sent me over an overpass. Good job I understand some Spanish. Eventually I found the buses, but got herded onto one for Matzetenango. I was informed I could get an onward bound bus to Retalhuleu, but I was already running a little late. Dammit. Hmm halfway along the way there appeared to be a volcano erupting around Lago Atitlan with a perfect cloud just hanging there in the air. Very cool. Yet another local woman (after Comitan) decided to breastfeed her kid in the middle of the bus and the driver decided to go off road onto a part of the highway that had not been constructed yet, then bounce past that and round a truck carrying logs. Fuck V-Rally. Someone needs to make a computer game called Guatemalan Truck Driving or at least make a virtual machine for it. Better than most rollercoasters, because in your heart of hearts you know you will survive a rollercoaster. These trucks you can't be so certain on. Some random guards got on and gave our backs a tender squeeze. Yep that definitely proved there is nothing bad in those bags. We rolled into the suburbs of Mazatenango and I see a sign for Plaza America. Ah maybe it was this Plaza America I needed. I got off just in case and after ringing Ana found out it was indeed Mazatenango I was supposed to meet her at. Ah this was phenomenal news. My luck, that had deserted me badly in Dominican Republic was now back. I had got on the wrong bus that had actually ended up being the right bus. Beautiful.
Speaking in that vane I met Ana outside the shopping centre. Her first impression of me was apparently that I looked like a 'cute' Nazi. Its not the best first impression I have made lol. We started off in Spanish and once Ana realised I did not know that much we switched to a mix but mainly in English. I did get to talk a lot with her family in Spanish though. Her sister was possibly off to Rwanda soon and I said I would use the home office website to see what the situation was there at the moment. We went for a walk round the town in the evening and had a good chat in the evening, though both of us were tired and packed in early. All of her family were incredibly nice to me. They refused to let me pay for anything, even my exhorbitant gringo price for the archaeological site. The dog Fanny was crazy and spent too much time drinking from the sink water collector. Her niece was full of energy, but obviously a little uncertain of me at first, but it meant she behaved well lol. I think she has too much energy, in the same way that I apparently did as a child. Bodes well for her future. Both of the parents made me feel at home and I even had a few good conversations on travel with Ana's dad as best I can in my Spanish. Though these 3 days and the following 2 would unleash my Spanish to the next level. Now I have to fervently devour vocabulary and then go back to improving my grammar. It does not matter how beautifully your gun works, if you have no bullets to fire from it. Her sister Heidi wanted to practice English so we utilised a Spanglish construct of a little bit of both lol. Her dad tried to assure me that people in Europe would give the same reception to him if he visited. Once again I was confonted by the shame that we really don't have a clue how to host or create a community. When did we lose this? Was it our religion? Is that why we have no inherent dance traditions? Because protestantism was hostile to them. We have many good traits in England, but we have a lot of fucked up ones and they are the cause of our general national misery. We have lost track of whats important and how to find it. How many more glaring problems at home was this trip going to reveal to me. At least I was gathering all those different perspectives and insights I wanted for when/if I return home. I am even going to bore everyone with some philosophical musings soon as well lol. Call it tails from the trail.
In the morning we went shopping in Mazatenango. I met Ana's friend Paola and we chatted for a while in Spanish before I found out she studied in Texas and was much better at English than I was in Spanish. I stupidly paid for some stuff that cost 10 quetzals with a 100 quetzal note, thinking it was a ten. The woman clearly realised, but it took me 5 minutes to realise and by then when i asked she denied it and said I had used a ten. What a waste of 90 quetzals. Should have been paying attention. In the evening Ana and I chatted for till 1am and I realised that we got on very well and even that I was starting to quite like her. When my mind starts flashing images of certain Bodegas barmaids across my vision in this circumstance I realise something is tapping into something beyond my actual grasp. I realised that time was passing very well and I did not want to actually ever call an end to the conversation.
In the morning we got to pass along half of the route in the south west of Guatemala that Ana was trying to promote for her thesis to complete her qualifications in architecture and tourism. One direction we could not see because it was dangerous at that point, but the other way is very picturesque. It looped up through small mountain towns like Ruta de las Flores did, but it had the backdrop of two volcanoes. One taller and half white from all the volcanic ash the littler active one had spewed onto it. We then went past a theme park designed around the countries of the world and into the archaeological site of Abaj Talik. The foreigner price is ridiculous and Ana's dad tried to joke that I was their son lol. We walked around and took a guided tour, while I got to prove my reading of Spanish is better than my speaking. Its a small archaeological site but pretty and interesting in the bits I can understand. When we got back we sat in the lounge for a while. I entertained the niece with some face pulling games and also with a small bit of paper. She is 1 year old and was kept entertained by having to guess which hand it was in. We played this for a while. Sometimes I did not put the paper in either hand. That frustrated but delighted her. Always 'otra vez' lol. Then Ana and I went up for our nightly chat. Found out she loved 80s music and English rock. I think she'd fit in very well with my group of friends, considering at least 2 of them are stuck in the 1980s. Bit like San Francisco but even more tragic. We talked for a long time and I felt we obtained a very strong bond. By this point I liked her a lot and we'd talked on many things and on many ideas. This was going to be the sadest goodbye yet and then in one conversation about futures she seized both my hands so suddenly that a bolt shot right up me. Not had that kind of feeling for a long time. I think I was almost blown away by it and at that moment she was the most attractive I had seen her as. It still left a very powerful affect on me a few days later and I woke up startled in Panajachel as a clear image shot before my eyes of her. I can sort of imagine how people think they have a vision from god now. That image was so strong and so vivid from my subconscious that it knocked me awake. I ended up writing out a letter in Spanish clarifying my thoughts the day before yesterday in Lanquin and sent it yesterday. Was genuinely torn about moving on. Some of these goodbyes were getting tough and I don't even know if she had any interest or not outside of me looking like a 'cute' Nazi lol. I am trying to open myself up entirely on paper now. Its got to be the last fear. To conquer your own fears is personal. To allow your friends to see yours is chosen and selective. To put yourself entirely out on print is risky and intimidating, but I made a promise to myself to do it as best I can. I envy the fictional authors. You can give everything of yourself and hide behind it being a character. The irony is that factual authors have nowhere to hide and so its more emotionally honest if they can overcome the fear. I genuinely think Ana is one of the best people I have ever met and I know a lot of good people. I was sad to see the end of the night and even sadder to depart in the morning.
In the morning her dad gave me some silver coins from the year before his birth as a token of friendship. I was touched and also fearful. I had to keep these items safe for one year on me, when i had successfully lost virtually everything I started with. There weren't many originals left outside of clothes. Will have to see whats made it all the way. Ironically my knackered black trainers are still with me. I figured they would be long gone. That vivid image dream of Ana was like the one of England and I am worried my slumber has become disconnected from my reality. Maybe thats why my sleep has suffered a bit, because my body has lost track of where it is. I think I have discovered that you need an anchor while you are travelling. I don't really have one and although you can pilot through chaos for so long, I imagine you can slip away from a sense of reality. Maybe thats what happens to all the oddballs in hostels. Thankgod I have couchsurfing to plug me back in to the humdrums and wonderful things you overlook in everyday life. These people have their anchors and it helps. Anyway the dad gave me a lift to the bus station and we discussed religion and his duaghters wedding to his English son in law. I got on a bus for Xela and left the region.
In the morning I grabbed a half shower and bought some new socks. Its an awesome feeling having new socks. They are so much silkier than old stuff you have washed. Never realised some new socks can have such a profound effect, but now I had real socks and shoes for the rest of this trip. I got hold of Ana with my last attempt. My luck was keeping up again. Though I had a fiasco escaping from Guatemala City. The original bus station in my old Lonely Planet had long since closed down and the transport police told me it was in some mythical place called Tres Bol. I thought I had worked out that it was the central bus station. So I hiked over there. No it wasn't and everyone I asked was talking about this Tres Bol. It sounded like some mythical land where buses could be found roaming the fields and enjoying their freedom. Some old man packed me into the back of some pick up and then buried me and another old man under some woman's preposterous amount of shopping. What was she feeding? The Spartan army. It meant we had to stand and practically truck surf. Which is actually kind of cool at 40 mph or more and felt a little like windsurfing. Try to hang on and don't get flattened by the wind. I was beginning to think this Tres Bol was like me using TCR (Tottenham Court Road) to anyone who was not from London. A ridiculous acronym. Anyway we helped the woman unload at a bus stop. It was like 2 tons of food. Noone could load that on a bus. Took 5 of us 10 minutes to unload it. Oh well. Nevermind. The driver tried to send me to Huehuetenango, because he could not understand me when I tried to pronounce Retalhuleu (Its fucking hard for an Englishman and still can't do it properly, which made many difficulties). Eventually he dumped me in the middle of nowhere (despite me paying him 5 Quetzals to get to the bus) and sent me over an overpass. Good job I understand some Spanish. Eventually I found the buses, but got herded onto one for Matzetenango. I was informed I could get an onward bound bus to Retalhuleu, but I was already running a little late. Dammit. Hmm halfway along the way there appeared to be a volcano erupting around Lago Atitlan with a perfect cloud just hanging there in the air. Very cool. Yet another local woman (after Comitan) decided to breastfeed her kid in the middle of the bus and the driver decided to go off road onto a part of the highway that had not been constructed yet, then bounce past that and round a truck carrying logs. Fuck V-Rally. Someone needs to make a computer game called Guatemalan Truck Driving or at least make a virtual machine for it. Better than most rollercoasters, because in your heart of hearts you know you will survive a rollercoaster. These trucks you can't be so certain on. Some random guards got on and gave our backs a tender squeeze. Yep that definitely proved there is nothing bad in those bags. We rolled into the suburbs of Mazatenango and I see a sign for Plaza America. Ah maybe it was this Plaza America I needed. I got off just in case and after ringing Ana found out it was indeed Mazatenango I was supposed to meet her at. Ah this was phenomenal news. My luck, that had deserted me badly in Dominican Republic was now back. I had got on the wrong bus that had actually ended up being the right bus. Beautiful.
Speaking in that vane I met Ana outside the shopping centre. Her first impression of me was apparently that I looked like a 'cute' Nazi. Its not the best first impression I have made lol. We started off in Spanish and once Ana realised I did not know that much we switched to a mix but mainly in English. I did get to talk a lot with her family in Spanish though. Her sister was possibly off to Rwanda soon and I said I would use the home office website to see what the situation was there at the moment. We went for a walk round the town in the evening and had a good chat in the evening, though both of us were tired and packed in early. All of her family were incredibly nice to me. They refused to let me pay for anything, even my exhorbitant gringo price for the archaeological site. The dog Fanny was crazy and spent too much time drinking from the sink water collector. Her niece was full of energy, but obviously a little uncertain of me at first, but it meant she behaved well lol. I think she has too much energy, in the same way that I apparently did as a child. Bodes well for her future. Both of the parents made me feel at home and I even had a few good conversations on travel with Ana's dad as best I can in my Spanish. Though these 3 days and the following 2 would unleash my Spanish to the next level. Now I have to fervently devour vocabulary and then go back to improving my grammar. It does not matter how beautifully your gun works, if you have no bullets to fire from it. Her sister Heidi wanted to practice English so we utilised a Spanglish construct of a little bit of both lol. Her dad tried to assure me that people in Europe would give the same reception to him if he visited. Once again I was confonted by the shame that we really don't have a clue how to host or create a community. When did we lose this? Was it our religion? Is that why we have no inherent dance traditions? Because protestantism was hostile to them. We have many good traits in England, but we have a lot of fucked up ones and they are the cause of our general national misery. We have lost track of whats important and how to find it. How many more glaring problems at home was this trip going to reveal to me. At least I was gathering all those different perspectives and insights I wanted for when/if I return home. I am even going to bore everyone with some philosophical musings soon as well lol. Call it tails from the trail.
In the morning we went shopping in Mazatenango. I met Ana's friend Paola and we chatted for a while in Spanish before I found out she studied in Texas and was much better at English than I was in Spanish. I stupidly paid for some stuff that cost 10 quetzals with a 100 quetzal note, thinking it was a ten. The woman clearly realised, but it took me 5 minutes to realise and by then when i asked she denied it and said I had used a ten. What a waste of 90 quetzals. Should have been paying attention. In the evening Ana and I chatted for till 1am and I realised that we got on very well and even that I was starting to quite like her. When my mind starts flashing images of certain Bodegas barmaids across my vision in this circumstance I realise something is tapping into something beyond my actual grasp. I realised that time was passing very well and I did not want to actually ever call an end to the conversation.
In the morning we got to pass along half of the route in the south west of Guatemala that Ana was trying to promote for her thesis to complete her qualifications in architecture and tourism. One direction we could not see because it was dangerous at that point, but the other way is very picturesque. It looped up through small mountain towns like Ruta de las Flores did, but it had the backdrop of two volcanoes. One taller and half white from all the volcanic ash the littler active one had spewed onto it. We then went past a theme park designed around the countries of the world and into the archaeological site of Abaj Talik. The foreigner price is ridiculous and Ana's dad tried to joke that I was their son lol. We walked around and took a guided tour, while I got to prove my reading of Spanish is better than my speaking. Its a small archaeological site but pretty and interesting in the bits I can understand. When we got back we sat in the lounge for a while. I entertained the niece with some face pulling games and also with a small bit of paper. She is 1 year old and was kept entertained by having to guess which hand it was in. We played this for a while. Sometimes I did not put the paper in either hand. That frustrated but delighted her. Always 'otra vez' lol. Then Ana and I went up for our nightly chat. Found out she loved 80s music and English rock. I think she'd fit in very well with my group of friends, considering at least 2 of them are stuck in the 1980s. Bit like San Francisco but even more tragic. We talked for a long time and I felt we obtained a very strong bond. By this point I liked her a lot and we'd talked on many things and on many ideas. This was going to be the sadest goodbye yet and then in one conversation about futures she seized both my hands so suddenly that a bolt shot right up me. Not had that kind of feeling for a long time. I think I was almost blown away by it and at that moment she was the most attractive I had seen her as. It still left a very powerful affect on me a few days later and I woke up startled in Panajachel as a clear image shot before my eyes of her. I can sort of imagine how people think they have a vision from god now. That image was so strong and so vivid from my subconscious that it knocked me awake. I ended up writing out a letter in Spanish clarifying my thoughts the day before yesterday in Lanquin and sent it yesterday. Was genuinely torn about moving on. Some of these goodbyes were getting tough and I don't even know if she had any interest or not outside of me looking like a 'cute' Nazi lol. I am trying to open myself up entirely on paper now. Its got to be the last fear. To conquer your own fears is personal. To allow your friends to see yours is chosen and selective. To put yourself entirely out on print is risky and intimidating, but I made a promise to myself to do it as best I can. I envy the fictional authors. You can give everything of yourself and hide behind it being a character. The irony is that factual authors have nowhere to hide and so its more emotionally honest if they can overcome the fear. I genuinely think Ana is one of the best people I have ever met and I know a lot of good people. I was sad to see the end of the night and even sadder to depart in the morning.
In the morning her dad gave me some silver coins from the year before his birth as a token of friendship. I was touched and also fearful. I had to keep these items safe for one year on me, when i had successfully lost virtually everything I started with. There weren't many originals left outside of clothes. Will have to see whats made it all the way. Ironically my knackered black trainers are still with me. I figured they would be long gone. That vivid image dream of Ana was like the one of England and I am worried my slumber has become disconnected from my reality. Maybe thats why my sleep has suffered a bit, because my body has lost track of where it is. I think I have discovered that you need an anchor while you are travelling. I don't really have one and although you can pilot through chaos for so long, I imagine you can slip away from a sense of reality. Maybe thats what happens to all the oddballs in hostels. Thankgod I have couchsurfing to plug me back in to the humdrums and wonderful things you overlook in everyday life. These people have their anchors and it helps. Anyway the dad gave me a lift to the bus station and we discussed religion and his duaghters wedding to his English son in law. I got on a bus for Xela and left the region.
El Salvador
Hmm some tea like substance seems to have eaten through half of my notes. I am assuming it is the heat from the remaining pizza after I ate a two for one at Pollo Campero on my own simply because I can.
After sleeping with the guards overnight I was eventually kicked out when I had overslept the 5am wake up time I had promised them. Stumbling through the car park in the twilight, surrounded by incessantly loud, but kind of cool birds screeching and singing, I went in search of a bus. Having eventually found one (very cheap, less than $1) and having saved on the taxi I was whisked off to San Salvador. Being used to the habit in Guatemala and Mexico of dropping you off in the middle of nowhere when you arrive in a town, I was a little disorientated to be dropped off only one square from the centre of town. Now apparently this is a dangerous town as well. Did not feel it. I have begun to suspect that travellers and hippy bums fear anywhere that has more than 2000 people as inherently deadly. Maybe they are just forced to confront reality a bit. Still confirmed to me that the major difference in the world is between the city dwellers and the rural folk. I have more in common with someone from Buenos Aires, Tokyo or Kigali than I ever would with someone from some random village in Cornwall.
I walked around for an internet cafe to contact my potential surfer. Though I was knackered and sick so ended up not calling them. I ate breakfast at a 'bigger' and walked across town to another neighbourhood to find a guesthouse with $7 a night rooms. It was $9 for hot water but I was aiming to stay on budget. To this end for the next few days I would buy a lot of baguettes with tubs of cream cheese as they provided a cheap way to stay on budget. My guesthouse was accessed by an alleyway that according to Lonely Planet can be highly dangerous, but looks like the kind of alley you would use to duck through the park near my house. In the hostel was a Northern Irish girl and some quiet Candians who had come to assist with English teaching. All of them were too lazy to walk anywhere so I left them behind. Met an Aussie in the internet cafe who persuaded me it might be possible to do a bit of the Mosquito Coast in Honduras. I am still weighing this up now and depends what happens for my third Guatemala visit. That day I spent writing up the last part of the blog and every 14th day seems to be half sucked out by writing now. Oh well saves some money and gives me a rest day. In the evening I went to see Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Really enjoyed this film. It made me want to go back to New Orleans and the South for a bit when I finish in Buenos Aires. At least before I head to New Zealand anyway, but then another option is to backpack around Europe again. Ah too many options. Will see where I am but at least I am forming options. Its tough when the whole world is your oyster. The sicko pound means it really costs like an oyster as well. Hmm this new Bruce album is not bad. Those southern accents really are sexy as well. I firmly believe any southern woman can have me at the word y'all. There was a Danish surfer (a literal one. Everyone seems to have a board in El Salvador) in my room when I returned. He had a couple of good stories. He'd once been detained with his girlfriend on the Nicaraguan border and been ordered to pay $350 each for overstaying his visa. He got away with $110 but was detained at the station speaking no Spanish for many hours. Never once did he think to call the embassy. Made me realise how useful the basics of a language are. This morning I had to deal with Guatemalan border officials in Spanish and then assist an Australian who was having many problems. Cleared everything up with one simple sentence. It also had me shitting myself when the border guards crossing from El Salvador to Guatemala refused to give me a passport stamp as the central 4 countries seem to have a mini Schengen. Luckily my Spanish got me through easily. If anything its difficult for me to switch back to English in Belize. I keep saying everything basic in Spanish. Not that I understand a word they are saying here anyway. This Patois/Creole is difficult because only every other word is real English. The other story he had was about an Argentine he had met. He had crossed through the Darien Gap over the period of 2 weeks with drug traffickers and had been assured safe armed passage as long as he carried a huge bag of drugs with him. Hmm I think I will stick to the fishing boat. Apparently he had not been entirely sure what he was signing himself up for at the time.
In the morning I was feeling sick, so I decided to head out to the town of Suchitoto and the lake out that way. Its a pretty little town (with not much to do) next to a very beautiful reservoir (which you can walk to and back in around an hour). I did not have much energy so headed back home and got accosted in Spanish by a hotel owner on the bus. When I am sick and when I am tired, Spanish is very difficult for me. On the plus side I was managing to find two papusas (local El Salvadorean equivalent of a taco) and a bag of water for less than $1. Quality cheap eating, even if I don't like Papusas that much. I found out we had resigned Robbie Keane on deadline day as well. We really need to get moving up the table. Back at the hostel I met an Israeli guy who had just completed 3 years military service. Shit thats a long time. Much longer than the 1 year for the Swedes. Still not sure why we don't have that again or some form of communal service where you go and work in a third world country to develop some sense of self sacrifice and community. I had some more cheap food for dinner and went out with the Israeli to find some stuff. He also told me an interesting story of how he had once been robbed at gunpoint while having sex with a Swiss girl on the beach of Costa Rica. I am beginning to think my book could just be an anthology of other people's stories. Getting quite a few good ones on this trip. I got raped again by the flies in the evening. Its a terrible sensation in that hostel roof. You just drift off to sleep, when a loud buzzing wakes you. You try to fend off the attacker, but you cant see him and more of your blood goes. Its like this all night long. The fly just abusing you and although you hear it, you can't do anything about it. Scary stuff.
My third day in San Salvador saw me go on a customary long walk to see the monuments, sites and some random suburbs. I was well under budget for most of my first 2 weeks back on the mainland. Saved 2 days to go with the 2 saved from february being a short month. Would utilise most of the saved cash for ATM caves. I like San Salvador and by the time I left I liked El Salvador a lot. It creeps up on you unconsciously. Firstly there are no main attractions. Then you realise that San Salvador has so many modern city utilities. Everything you could want. Then you realise they never try to rip you off. Ever. Then you realise living standards are good. Then you realise that noone is hassling you or forcing crap items down your throat. Then you realise its peaceful and beautiful. Finally you realise the people are really friendly and will say hello on your walks and you only hear the word gringo once in 5 days. Its a creeper and a relief compared to Guatemala's incessant hounding. I got some bread and water for breakfast (learned from the Swedes and prisons everywhere) and it looks like I have written Tom Petty. Because I have no mp3 player and I don't know what he looks like, I imagine I actually wrote town pretty. The ethnography museum was a little expensive and you realise what you really like when you have to budget lol. So I went to the modern art gallery, that initially thought was closed and wandered round that. I had received nothing back from the couchsurfer that evening, so wandering round some neighbourhoods near the university I came across some areas with lots of security cameras and barbed wire tops. This spoke to worse times or fear of crime in some parts of the city. All those security trappings say to me is 'Please rob me, I have something worth stealing'. Far better to leave minimal protection and then people assume you have nothing worth robbing. I thought about seeing Yes Man but it was in Spanish, so I arranged drinks with Georgina for 2 days time in Guatemala City and chilled in the evening.
The next morning I woke and grabbed some eggs and papusa breakfast before grabbing a bus off to the west and the Ruta de las Flores. It starts in a town of Sonsonate. I took a bus looping up to Juayua, a main (relative) town halfway along the route. It is undoubtedly pretty and there are flowers, but not as many as the name of the route suggests you are likely to find. I had realised both the internet places the day before had undercharged me. Hey my luck was resuscitating. I found out from Gigi she was too sick to make drinks and from Sean that Tom had been buried and was a Watford fan (I remembered him as a Manchester United fan). The hotel had no dorms left, only a private room for $15. Nasty thump out of my budget. Its a really pretty mountain town. I liked this region a lot. Tranquil and beautiful. I hiked out to a local waterfall and hydroelectric plant that required some skillful negotiating of rushing waterfalls over the pathways. It also involved trekking down dutbowl tracks through coffee fincas. Very pretty, but the wind was strong and whipping up dust tornados like sandstorms in the desert. Whipped my eyes. Afterwards I got on a bus and headed to the town of Apaneca. You have three trails here. Two to different lakes and one to a viewpoint. I thought I could make 2 in the remaining time so opted for the right hand lake (Green lake, lago verdes) . Its a steep windy road past many friendly locals and you get some spectacular views. The right hand lake is much higher than the left and subsequently at the top you can see the other lake. You also get a great view of the valley. So if, like me, you only have time for one, opt for the right hand lake. Was very peaceful up here. Got a lot of time to think and smile like a moron. I love walks in the wilderness and was loving my freedom again. My happiness had jacked back up to where it normally sits again. The winds had picked up to an almost gale like velocity by the time I got back to Juayua. I bumped into the Northern Irish girl again (last time I saw her she had invited me to a strip club. Oh yeah shame the Cardinals lost to the Steelers in the final) and could not be bothered with conversation. Had my first really hot shower for ages and read a bit before falling asleep. The wind sounded like it would knock down the building. Had a freaky dream that night. A very vivid one of home for the first time. Still dreaming in England, so everytime I wake up confused as to where I am and annoyed I would have to spend so much on a flight to rejoin my trip. Also why had I gone home. Then I realise where I am. In the morning I chatted with some random Aussies/Yanks/Brits and took a bus to the frontier, where I got lost in the almost border town and the guards refused to stamp my passport causing me to worry. I had come back to Guatemala and entered the 3rd of what would be 6 unique border crossings I would use on this trip.
After sleeping with the guards overnight I was eventually kicked out when I had overslept the 5am wake up time I had promised them. Stumbling through the car park in the twilight, surrounded by incessantly loud, but kind of cool birds screeching and singing, I went in search of a bus. Having eventually found one (very cheap, less than $1) and having saved on the taxi I was whisked off to San Salvador. Being used to the habit in Guatemala and Mexico of dropping you off in the middle of nowhere when you arrive in a town, I was a little disorientated to be dropped off only one square from the centre of town. Now apparently this is a dangerous town as well. Did not feel it. I have begun to suspect that travellers and hippy bums fear anywhere that has more than 2000 people as inherently deadly. Maybe they are just forced to confront reality a bit. Still confirmed to me that the major difference in the world is between the city dwellers and the rural folk. I have more in common with someone from Buenos Aires, Tokyo or Kigali than I ever would with someone from some random village in Cornwall.
I walked around for an internet cafe to contact my potential surfer. Though I was knackered and sick so ended up not calling them. I ate breakfast at a 'bigger' and walked across town to another neighbourhood to find a guesthouse with $7 a night rooms. It was $9 for hot water but I was aiming to stay on budget. To this end for the next few days I would buy a lot of baguettes with tubs of cream cheese as they provided a cheap way to stay on budget. My guesthouse was accessed by an alleyway that according to Lonely Planet can be highly dangerous, but looks like the kind of alley you would use to duck through the park near my house. In the hostel was a Northern Irish girl and some quiet Candians who had come to assist with English teaching. All of them were too lazy to walk anywhere so I left them behind. Met an Aussie in the internet cafe who persuaded me it might be possible to do a bit of the Mosquito Coast in Honduras. I am still weighing this up now and depends what happens for my third Guatemala visit. That day I spent writing up the last part of the blog and every 14th day seems to be half sucked out by writing now. Oh well saves some money and gives me a rest day. In the evening I went to see Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Really enjoyed this film. It made me want to go back to New Orleans and the South for a bit when I finish in Buenos Aires. At least before I head to New Zealand anyway, but then another option is to backpack around Europe again. Ah too many options. Will see where I am but at least I am forming options. Its tough when the whole world is your oyster. The sicko pound means it really costs like an oyster as well. Hmm this new Bruce album is not bad. Those southern accents really are sexy as well. I firmly believe any southern woman can have me at the word y'all. There was a Danish surfer (a literal one. Everyone seems to have a board in El Salvador) in my room when I returned. He had a couple of good stories. He'd once been detained with his girlfriend on the Nicaraguan border and been ordered to pay $350 each for overstaying his visa. He got away with $110 but was detained at the station speaking no Spanish for many hours. Never once did he think to call the embassy. Made me realise how useful the basics of a language are. This morning I had to deal with Guatemalan border officials in Spanish and then assist an Australian who was having many problems. Cleared everything up with one simple sentence. It also had me shitting myself when the border guards crossing from El Salvador to Guatemala refused to give me a passport stamp as the central 4 countries seem to have a mini Schengen. Luckily my Spanish got me through easily. If anything its difficult for me to switch back to English in Belize. I keep saying everything basic in Spanish. Not that I understand a word they are saying here anyway. This Patois/Creole is difficult because only every other word is real English. The other story he had was about an Argentine he had met. He had crossed through the Darien Gap over the period of 2 weeks with drug traffickers and had been assured safe armed passage as long as he carried a huge bag of drugs with him. Hmm I think I will stick to the fishing boat. Apparently he had not been entirely sure what he was signing himself up for at the time.
In the morning I was feeling sick, so I decided to head out to the town of Suchitoto and the lake out that way. Its a pretty little town (with not much to do) next to a very beautiful reservoir (which you can walk to and back in around an hour). I did not have much energy so headed back home and got accosted in Spanish by a hotel owner on the bus. When I am sick and when I am tired, Spanish is very difficult for me. On the plus side I was managing to find two papusas (local El Salvadorean equivalent of a taco) and a bag of water for less than $1. Quality cheap eating, even if I don't like Papusas that much. I found out we had resigned Robbie Keane on deadline day as well. We really need to get moving up the table. Back at the hostel I met an Israeli guy who had just completed 3 years military service. Shit thats a long time. Much longer than the 1 year for the Swedes. Still not sure why we don't have that again or some form of communal service where you go and work in a third world country to develop some sense of self sacrifice and community. I had some more cheap food for dinner and went out with the Israeli to find some stuff. He also told me an interesting story of how he had once been robbed at gunpoint while having sex with a Swiss girl on the beach of Costa Rica. I am beginning to think my book could just be an anthology of other people's stories. Getting quite a few good ones on this trip. I got raped again by the flies in the evening. Its a terrible sensation in that hostel roof. You just drift off to sleep, when a loud buzzing wakes you. You try to fend off the attacker, but you cant see him and more of your blood goes. Its like this all night long. The fly just abusing you and although you hear it, you can't do anything about it. Scary stuff.
My third day in San Salvador saw me go on a customary long walk to see the monuments, sites and some random suburbs. I was well under budget for most of my first 2 weeks back on the mainland. Saved 2 days to go with the 2 saved from february being a short month. Would utilise most of the saved cash for ATM caves. I like San Salvador and by the time I left I liked El Salvador a lot. It creeps up on you unconsciously. Firstly there are no main attractions. Then you realise that San Salvador has so many modern city utilities. Everything you could want. Then you realise they never try to rip you off. Ever. Then you realise living standards are good. Then you realise that noone is hassling you or forcing crap items down your throat. Then you realise its peaceful and beautiful. Finally you realise the people are really friendly and will say hello on your walks and you only hear the word gringo once in 5 days. Its a creeper and a relief compared to Guatemala's incessant hounding. I got some bread and water for breakfast (learned from the Swedes and prisons everywhere) and it looks like I have written Tom Petty. Because I have no mp3 player and I don't know what he looks like, I imagine I actually wrote town pretty. The ethnography museum was a little expensive and you realise what you really like when you have to budget lol. So I went to the modern art gallery, that initially thought was closed and wandered round that. I had received nothing back from the couchsurfer that evening, so wandering round some neighbourhoods near the university I came across some areas with lots of security cameras and barbed wire tops. This spoke to worse times or fear of crime in some parts of the city. All those security trappings say to me is 'Please rob me, I have something worth stealing'. Far better to leave minimal protection and then people assume you have nothing worth robbing. I thought about seeing Yes Man but it was in Spanish, so I arranged drinks with Georgina for 2 days time in Guatemala City and chilled in the evening.
The next morning I woke and grabbed some eggs and papusa breakfast before grabbing a bus off to the west and the Ruta de las Flores. It starts in a town of Sonsonate. I took a bus looping up to Juayua, a main (relative) town halfway along the route. It is undoubtedly pretty and there are flowers, but not as many as the name of the route suggests you are likely to find. I had realised both the internet places the day before had undercharged me. Hey my luck was resuscitating. I found out from Gigi she was too sick to make drinks and from Sean that Tom had been buried and was a Watford fan (I remembered him as a Manchester United fan). The hotel had no dorms left, only a private room for $15. Nasty thump out of my budget. Its a really pretty mountain town. I liked this region a lot. Tranquil and beautiful. I hiked out to a local waterfall and hydroelectric plant that required some skillful negotiating of rushing waterfalls over the pathways. It also involved trekking down dutbowl tracks through coffee fincas. Very pretty, but the wind was strong and whipping up dust tornados like sandstorms in the desert. Whipped my eyes. Afterwards I got on a bus and headed to the town of Apaneca. You have three trails here. Two to different lakes and one to a viewpoint. I thought I could make 2 in the remaining time so opted for the right hand lake (Green lake, lago verdes) . Its a steep windy road past many friendly locals and you get some spectacular views. The right hand lake is much higher than the left and subsequently at the top you can see the other lake. You also get a great view of the valley. So if, like me, you only have time for one, opt for the right hand lake. Was very peaceful up here. Got a lot of time to think and smile like a moron. I love walks in the wilderness and was loving my freedom again. My happiness had jacked back up to where it normally sits again. The winds had picked up to an almost gale like velocity by the time I got back to Juayua. I bumped into the Northern Irish girl again (last time I saw her she had invited me to a strip club. Oh yeah shame the Cardinals lost to the Steelers in the final) and could not be bothered with conversation. Had my first really hot shower for ages and read a bit before falling asleep. The wind sounded like it would knock down the building. Had a freaky dream that night. A very vivid one of home for the first time. Still dreaming in England, so everytime I wake up confused as to where I am and annoyed I would have to spend so much on a flight to rejoin my trip. Also why had I gone home. Then I realise where I am. In the morning I chatted with some random Aussies/Yanks/Brits and took a bus to the frontier, where I got lost in the almost border town and the guards refused to stamp my passport causing me to worry. I had come back to Guatemala and entered the 3rd of what would be 6 unique border crossings I would use on this trip.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Haiti/Departure
The more observant will realise that unless I illegally crossed the border into a country in which we have no embassy, I must have received an affirmative to my previous question. Well not right away. I got up in the morning and gave the passport office the requisite hour or so I figured they would need to receive the passport from DHL. Eventually I rock up and its not there. Fucking hell. Apparently it does not always arrive until after the embassy shuts for the day. At least the girl at the counter was willing to check delivery time if I could bring her the DHL code. I turned to get this and walked right into DHL. Fucking bastards, but at least it had arrived probably. The woman confirmed it was my passport, I kissed the new passport and set off to catch a bus to Dajabon.
As Lonely Planet does not cover this border crossing I will do a play by play for the important parts. The bus to Dajabon cost 280 pesos and this border town appears to have only one hotel, but direction to it are plastered everywhere and on all the walls. The route passed through some nice farmland and mountain scenery. The hotel was 500 pesos for the night and is a good place with cable and a powerful shower. I headed out for an internet place and all the computers were full, seemingly of people playing the card game patience. The first computer to be free broke down and this place strained my patience. I ate an ok dinner in the hotel restaurant. The place is called Super Hotel Brisol. In the evening I began to fear crossing the border the next day. I think if it was a Spanish speaking or English speaking country with the reputation that Haiti has I would be less intimidated but I spoke no French.
I had $100 of Dominican Pesos for the border and drew another 3,000 pesos as backup (I ended up using 500 pesos of this, though I think the trip can be done on $100). Change up your cash beforehand as the border exchange rate is not good. The border also opens at 9am Dominican time, 8am Haitian. I paid one guy 100 pesos to help me through all the procedures, but that is not necessary if you follow this. Make sure you have $46 in US dollars as it is $25 to leave the Dominican Republic, $1 to enter Haiti, $10 for a Haitian card and $10 to return to the Dominican Republic. This has to be paid in dollars as well. When you go through the gate, the exit formalities are done on the left. Then walk across the bridge and through the UN throngs (the other side of the river is quite muddy and there is a border market there). Go through the hustle of the market and 200m further on is a hut. Left room does the $1 formalities, the room to the right is where you pay the $10. This is all doable yourself. I found I used 70% Spanish and 30% English in Haiti so French is not needed but you may want some Spanish if you don't speak it. I then paid 50 gourdes (Its almost 1:1 exchange rate) for a motoconcho (yes I finally used one) to get to the buses for Cap Haitian. You don't have to do this as its a 1km walk round the road into town until you get where they depart from so its up to you. Its walkable but not close, but I was testing it.
The bus I was loaded into was a van with standing on the back, but I got a place in the cabin. It should cost 75 gourdes to Cap Haitian. The drive is really pretty, passing through some small towns and scenic countryside, past the ubiquitous white UN vehicles. It was not as decrepid as I was led to believe. After an hour and a half we arrived in Cap Haitian. I was not sure if that was it and when you get to a place you may think is it, it is it. Once they dropped me off I was carted into a taxi that charged me 150 gourdes to get to the downtown and Hotel Nacional. You should not pay more than 25 gourdes, but I had no map and did not know where I was. If you don't want to pay anything you get to the old town by crossing the bridge in front of you and turning right. Thats road A and the city is on a grid system. Go about 500m and you will find yourself in old town. They go 1 to 25 perpendicular to the seafront and A through at least L parallel to the sea. Hotel National I paid 750 gourdes for the night, although as a two it will be cheaper and its on B and 17 I think from memory. Cap Haitian itself is a funky rabble city. Its got mountains on one side and the sea on the other. Its dusty and dirty, but also pretty, A river cuts through it with boast strewn up like I imagine south east asia to look and the buildings are French colonial style (like New Orleans but with more rough edges). Safety is not a problem here. I never felt threatened even at night when I came back from the Citadelle and it was dark. Many Haitians said only Port Au Prince after dark is really dangerous.
The taxi driver who had ripped me off offered to take me to the Citadelle and back for $80. He can fuck off. I ended up negotiating my room in Spanish. I used Spanish a lot due to the lack of French and it is more commonly spoken than English. To protect my depleted Gourdes I eventually settled on a price of 500 Dominican Pesos and 300 Haitian Gourdes after persuading him I did not need a tv or air conditioning. Afterwards I grabbed a taxi to the taptap stop for Milot (All the taptaps go from the same place as the initial one from the border drops you off, so again there is no need once you know this). He charged me 5 Haitian dollars (the correct fair. One Haitian dollar equals 5 Gourdes, but I fucked up thinking it was 25 and paid him 125 gourdes. A 400% tip. Ah well. You live and learn). The tap tap to Milot was 15 gourdes each way (So much for his $80 offer). It was less than a coke each way and very cheap. The road is bumpy as hell though and you will ricochet all over the place.
Once you are dropped off in Milot, you just keep walking up the highstreet until you reach Sans Souci (the remains of a palace once as grand as Versailles). Its interesting but not amazing. Kind of cool to have bits of the landscape growing through the ruins though. Guides will pounce on you from all sides and want $35 for entrance and visit. The entrance is only 200 gourdes ($5) and eventually when I said I did not have much money they offered to take me for $10 so you can really haggle down. I settled for 300 gourdes and got a tour of Sans Souci but did Citadelle myself. The guide was friendly and his name was Jean Jacqueline 38300940. Thats his phone number. You will need the code. There was a guy on the way back down named Jackson and he seemed cool (He had broken his foot and had to stope guiding for a month and no he did not ask for money). Really friendly, really funny. I reckon he would be the best guide. The path for the Citadelle starts at the back of Sans Souci and is pretty straight forward. It is however a real bitch. 5km of constant 30-40 degree climbing is tough going. Took me just over an hour, but was exhausting. I got accosted many times by kids with the phrases 'oi blanco, give me some money' and its 50-50 between those who want money and those who want to chat generally. A group of school kids grabbed me halfway up and kept holding my hand and wanting my bottle. Never had to watch my pockets though. Got chatting with one 14 year old kid in Spanish and he guided me round the fort in the end though I had told him I had no money. His mate arrived and thought I was Spanish because thats what we were using. Nice compliment for my improvements in the language, but most people said they preferred Spanish so I stuck to it. On the whole the Haitians seem less likely yo rip you off than in Dominica and less pushy with tourists. Begging is more common in Haiti though. It seems most locals are keen to dispel the reputation that their country has.
Despite the path up being brutal it is spectacularly rewarding and worth it. Look up images on google. Its breathtaking at the top. The views are awesome for miles in every direction and the fort itself is as impressive as a UNESCO building usually is. I think UNESCO must be the best stamp of quality outside of Time Out. At the top were misty views and you an climb all inside the fort. On the roof I was literally in the clouds and the whole view was white. I doubt this fort could have been stormed easily. We spent some time up there in awe of the view and then descended down a quick back way that was steep. Got some coke and bread on the way down, before bantering in 3 languages with people all the way down the hill. At the bottom Jean took me to see Maurice who runs Lakou Lakay. His numbers are 36676070 and 36142485. Its in Lonely Planet but the numbers have changed. He will do a double room for 1,500 gourdes though I think you can haggle him down with numbers and they supply a lunch with music etc for $10 per person.
On the way back to Cap Haitian I was crammed into a van and ended up with a Haitian lady sitting on my lap, which prompted much mirth for the locals, but it was in French so I only got bits of it. Some guys were hanging off the back of the truck as normal and was an amusing ride. I got back in late and found a Creole restaurant. Was almost out of Gourdes but the guy fucked about with prices and would not give me change until I ate, but I refused to eat until I got change as needed 65 gourdes for the bus the next day (I was wrong it was 75). After arguing for a while stupidly, I got some Creole fish dish, with a malt drink and rice gravy (fucking superb as all Creole food always is). I miss New Orleans. Then I headed to the hotel for an early night and counted at least 3 power cuts in the middle of the night.
In the morning, covered in bites, I headed to the taptap place with my 65 gourdes. Only halfway to the border did they tell me it was 75. Shit. I thought they would chuck me off, but I must instead be the only foreigner in history to pay less than the locals did. At the other end I fended off motoconcho riders who did not believe I had no money and got back across the border. Grabbed a bus from Dajabon at 1pm (were stopped by immigration police but noone was arrested this time) and arrived in Santo Domingo. Met Jose and headed back to his. Some thoughts on the French language. Oo a looks stupid, but the counting is moronic. Four twenties and a ten. Why don't they just invent words for seventy, eighty and ninety like every other normal country. It was on the bus back that I decided to shift my plans as well. I would not fly to Cancun as that entailed another $25 entrance tax and more travel in an expensive country. Could not be bothered with more beaches in Playa Del Carmen and Cancun, plus I had heard Tulum was overrated. Looked into Guatemala City and it was cheap. San Salvador was cheaper though and I could loop back up into Guatemala, so I decided to head for El Salvador and country number 36.
In the morning I got up and walked two hours into town to meet Laura for lunch. We had a good 3.5 hour lunch that just flew by and then I headed back with Jose to prepare for leaving drinks. Jose fell asleep for longer than he anticipated though so we only ended up heading out around quarter to eleven. We met the Colombians at Hard Rock Cafe (as overpriced here as it was in Texas) and Mathias later on. Laura sadly did not make it because we rang her too late and four of us ended up drinking in Parque Duarte in front of my old hotel where it had all started and where the man lived who was my proof to the world through my passport that I was who I say I am. What a ridiculous situation. Mathias even got a shut shop to open for more beer. Eventually we got back and crashed. Tomorrow I leave the island after all the good times and the hassles. Felt kind of weird but I was reinvigorated for the travel after the enforced break and normalcy of being in one place for two weeks.
The next day the taxi driver arrived at 1pm after Spurs were beaten by a late goal after a wasted comeback against Bolton. Really struggling at the moment. It was the night before taxi driver's uncle, who turned out to be Jose's old landlord. Jose's sister cooked a really good final meal and I was very indebted to the whole family. The uncle took me to the airport via some random dirt track to avoid paying the toll. I arrived at the airport, bought Foreign Policy and had more food (I had been informed the 1000 pesos I had for departure tax was irrelevent as its included in the flight) and changed up the remainder of my money. I was the only person going through security so it was the fastest ever. The airports were fucking expensive with $10 for a Lindt bar. On the first flight to Panama City (I had deliberately avoided flying through the US because I lost a 10 year visa and have to do a proper report which I have not done and I feared detention and missing my connection. Will sort it now I am safe on land) I was stuck with a man who kept sneezing on me, a deaf girl exhasperated because I could not understand her Spanish and she could not lip read my accent and a drunk woman who kept abusing everyone. Not good company for a bumpy flight that frayed my nerves a bit. The pilot also sucked with a poor approach and landing. That had me rattled for the second flight where I was sat next to a big, fat sweating man and tried to sleep through it. Eventually I arrived in San Salvador (It was dark so I had not managed to catch sight of the Panama Canal sadly. Also seemed odd I would be travelling back through past that airport in 2 months or so). I landed and went through customs. The bus in the morning would be 73 cents, the taxis wanted 25 dollars. So I opted to sleep at the airport, but apparently that was illegal and I had to report my passport into security before being allowed to sleep behind the security desk. At least I had first class security for my sleep and I was now in El Salvador.
As Lonely Planet does not cover this border crossing I will do a play by play for the important parts. The bus to Dajabon cost 280 pesos and this border town appears to have only one hotel, but direction to it are plastered everywhere and on all the walls. The route passed through some nice farmland and mountain scenery. The hotel was 500 pesos for the night and is a good place with cable and a powerful shower. I headed out for an internet place and all the computers were full, seemingly of people playing the card game patience. The first computer to be free broke down and this place strained my patience. I ate an ok dinner in the hotel restaurant. The place is called Super Hotel Brisol. In the evening I began to fear crossing the border the next day. I think if it was a Spanish speaking or English speaking country with the reputation that Haiti has I would be less intimidated but I spoke no French.
I had $100 of Dominican Pesos for the border and drew another 3,000 pesos as backup (I ended up using 500 pesos of this, though I think the trip can be done on $100). Change up your cash beforehand as the border exchange rate is not good. The border also opens at 9am Dominican time, 8am Haitian. I paid one guy 100 pesos to help me through all the procedures, but that is not necessary if you follow this. Make sure you have $46 in US dollars as it is $25 to leave the Dominican Republic, $1 to enter Haiti, $10 for a Haitian card and $10 to return to the Dominican Republic. This has to be paid in dollars as well. When you go through the gate, the exit formalities are done on the left. Then walk across the bridge and through the UN throngs (the other side of the river is quite muddy and there is a border market there). Go through the hustle of the market and 200m further on is a hut. Left room does the $1 formalities, the room to the right is where you pay the $10. This is all doable yourself. I found I used 70% Spanish and 30% English in Haiti so French is not needed but you may want some Spanish if you don't speak it. I then paid 50 gourdes (Its almost 1:1 exchange rate) for a motoconcho (yes I finally used one) to get to the buses for Cap Haitian. You don't have to do this as its a 1km walk round the road into town until you get where they depart from so its up to you. Its walkable but not close, but I was testing it.
The bus I was loaded into was a van with standing on the back, but I got a place in the cabin. It should cost 75 gourdes to Cap Haitian. The drive is really pretty, passing through some small towns and scenic countryside, past the ubiquitous white UN vehicles. It was not as decrepid as I was led to believe. After an hour and a half we arrived in Cap Haitian. I was not sure if that was it and when you get to a place you may think is it, it is it. Once they dropped me off I was carted into a taxi that charged me 150 gourdes to get to the downtown and Hotel Nacional. You should not pay more than 25 gourdes, but I had no map and did not know where I was. If you don't want to pay anything you get to the old town by crossing the bridge in front of you and turning right. Thats road A and the city is on a grid system. Go about 500m and you will find yourself in old town. They go 1 to 25 perpendicular to the seafront and A through at least L parallel to the sea. Hotel National I paid 750 gourdes for the night, although as a two it will be cheaper and its on B and 17 I think from memory. Cap Haitian itself is a funky rabble city. Its got mountains on one side and the sea on the other. Its dusty and dirty, but also pretty, A river cuts through it with boast strewn up like I imagine south east asia to look and the buildings are French colonial style (like New Orleans but with more rough edges). Safety is not a problem here. I never felt threatened even at night when I came back from the Citadelle and it was dark. Many Haitians said only Port Au Prince after dark is really dangerous.
The taxi driver who had ripped me off offered to take me to the Citadelle and back for $80. He can fuck off. I ended up negotiating my room in Spanish. I used Spanish a lot due to the lack of French and it is more commonly spoken than English. To protect my depleted Gourdes I eventually settled on a price of 500 Dominican Pesos and 300 Haitian Gourdes after persuading him I did not need a tv or air conditioning. Afterwards I grabbed a taxi to the taptap stop for Milot (All the taptaps go from the same place as the initial one from the border drops you off, so again there is no need once you know this). He charged me 5 Haitian dollars (the correct fair. One Haitian dollar equals 5 Gourdes, but I fucked up thinking it was 25 and paid him 125 gourdes. A 400% tip. Ah well. You live and learn). The tap tap to Milot was 15 gourdes each way (So much for his $80 offer). It was less than a coke each way and very cheap. The road is bumpy as hell though and you will ricochet all over the place.
Once you are dropped off in Milot, you just keep walking up the highstreet until you reach Sans Souci (the remains of a palace once as grand as Versailles). Its interesting but not amazing. Kind of cool to have bits of the landscape growing through the ruins though. Guides will pounce on you from all sides and want $35 for entrance and visit. The entrance is only 200 gourdes ($5) and eventually when I said I did not have much money they offered to take me for $10 so you can really haggle down. I settled for 300 gourdes and got a tour of Sans Souci but did Citadelle myself. The guide was friendly and his name was Jean Jacqueline 38300940. Thats his phone number. You will need the code. There was a guy on the way back down named Jackson and he seemed cool (He had broken his foot and had to stope guiding for a month and no he did not ask for money). Really friendly, really funny. I reckon he would be the best guide. The path for the Citadelle starts at the back of Sans Souci and is pretty straight forward. It is however a real bitch. 5km of constant 30-40 degree climbing is tough going. Took me just over an hour, but was exhausting. I got accosted many times by kids with the phrases 'oi blanco, give me some money' and its 50-50 between those who want money and those who want to chat generally. A group of school kids grabbed me halfway up and kept holding my hand and wanting my bottle. Never had to watch my pockets though. Got chatting with one 14 year old kid in Spanish and he guided me round the fort in the end though I had told him I had no money. His mate arrived and thought I was Spanish because thats what we were using. Nice compliment for my improvements in the language, but most people said they preferred Spanish so I stuck to it. On the whole the Haitians seem less likely yo rip you off than in Dominica and less pushy with tourists. Begging is more common in Haiti though. It seems most locals are keen to dispel the reputation that their country has.
Despite the path up being brutal it is spectacularly rewarding and worth it. Look up images on google. Its breathtaking at the top. The views are awesome for miles in every direction and the fort itself is as impressive as a UNESCO building usually is. I think UNESCO must be the best stamp of quality outside of Time Out. At the top were misty views and you an climb all inside the fort. On the roof I was literally in the clouds and the whole view was white. I doubt this fort could have been stormed easily. We spent some time up there in awe of the view and then descended down a quick back way that was steep. Got some coke and bread on the way down, before bantering in 3 languages with people all the way down the hill. At the bottom Jean took me to see Maurice who runs Lakou Lakay. His numbers are 36676070 and 36142485. Its in Lonely Planet but the numbers have changed. He will do a double room for 1,500 gourdes though I think you can haggle him down with numbers and they supply a lunch with music etc for $10 per person.
On the way back to Cap Haitian I was crammed into a van and ended up with a Haitian lady sitting on my lap, which prompted much mirth for the locals, but it was in French so I only got bits of it. Some guys were hanging off the back of the truck as normal and was an amusing ride. I got back in late and found a Creole restaurant. Was almost out of Gourdes but the guy fucked about with prices and would not give me change until I ate, but I refused to eat until I got change as needed 65 gourdes for the bus the next day (I was wrong it was 75). After arguing for a while stupidly, I got some Creole fish dish, with a malt drink and rice gravy (fucking superb as all Creole food always is). I miss New Orleans. Then I headed to the hotel for an early night and counted at least 3 power cuts in the middle of the night.
In the morning, covered in bites, I headed to the taptap place with my 65 gourdes. Only halfway to the border did they tell me it was 75. Shit. I thought they would chuck me off, but I must instead be the only foreigner in history to pay less than the locals did. At the other end I fended off motoconcho riders who did not believe I had no money and got back across the border. Grabbed a bus from Dajabon at 1pm (were stopped by immigration police but noone was arrested this time) and arrived in Santo Domingo. Met Jose and headed back to his. Some thoughts on the French language. Oo a looks stupid, but the counting is moronic. Four twenties and a ten. Why don't they just invent words for seventy, eighty and ninety like every other normal country. It was on the bus back that I decided to shift my plans as well. I would not fly to Cancun as that entailed another $25 entrance tax and more travel in an expensive country. Could not be bothered with more beaches in Playa Del Carmen and Cancun, plus I had heard Tulum was overrated. Looked into Guatemala City and it was cheap. San Salvador was cheaper though and I could loop back up into Guatemala, so I decided to head for El Salvador and country number 36.
In the morning I got up and walked two hours into town to meet Laura for lunch. We had a good 3.5 hour lunch that just flew by and then I headed back with Jose to prepare for leaving drinks. Jose fell asleep for longer than he anticipated though so we only ended up heading out around quarter to eleven. We met the Colombians at Hard Rock Cafe (as overpriced here as it was in Texas) and Mathias later on. Laura sadly did not make it because we rang her too late and four of us ended up drinking in Parque Duarte in front of my old hotel where it had all started and where the man lived who was my proof to the world through my passport that I was who I say I am. What a ridiculous situation. Mathias even got a shut shop to open for more beer. Eventually we got back and crashed. Tomorrow I leave the island after all the good times and the hassles. Felt kind of weird but I was reinvigorated for the travel after the enforced break and normalcy of being in one place for two weeks.
The next day the taxi driver arrived at 1pm after Spurs were beaten by a late goal after a wasted comeback against Bolton. Really struggling at the moment. It was the night before taxi driver's uncle, who turned out to be Jose's old landlord. Jose's sister cooked a really good final meal and I was very indebted to the whole family. The uncle took me to the airport via some random dirt track to avoid paying the toll. I arrived at the airport, bought Foreign Policy and had more food (I had been informed the 1000 pesos I had for departure tax was irrelevent as its included in the flight) and changed up the remainder of my money. I was the only person going through security so it was the fastest ever. The airports were fucking expensive with $10 for a Lindt bar. On the first flight to Panama City (I had deliberately avoided flying through the US because I lost a 10 year visa and have to do a proper report which I have not done and I feared detention and missing my connection. Will sort it now I am safe on land) I was stuck with a man who kept sneezing on me, a deaf girl exhasperated because I could not understand her Spanish and she could not lip read my accent and a drunk woman who kept abusing everyone. Not good company for a bumpy flight that frayed my nerves a bit. The pilot also sucked with a poor approach and landing. That had me rattled for the second flight where I was sat next to a big, fat sweating man and tried to sleep through it. Eventually I arrived in San Salvador (It was dark so I had not managed to catch sight of the Panama Canal sadly. Also seemed odd I would be travelling back through past that airport in 2 months or so). I landed and went through customs. The bus in the morning would be 73 cents, the taxis wanted 25 dollars. So I opted to sleep at the airport, but apparently that was illegal and I had to report my passport into security before being allowed to sleep behind the security desk. At least I had first class security for my sleep and I was now in El Salvador.
Dominican Republic Part 5
We arrived back and went to help with an AISEIC meeting. Despite not being a member, myself and Mathias (this is the link for his photo website of Dominican Republic by the way www.dominicansights.com) decided to do some recruting and collecting of e-mails for ourselves along the way. We managed to collect 70 odd e-mails for the organisation and a couple for ourselves so it was a job well done. As it was a posh university, so Jose informs me (a lot of very good looking people) we were able to do the selling in English. Afterwards we went to a neighbourhood that was supposedly quite rough (but looked ok) and dropped off a letter for Jose's aunt regarding his hopeful upcoming internship.
The next day I went back to the Passport Office for D-Day 2. It turned out I was still a German, as I was defeated again and the useless fucks still would not give me any more information. So after sorting out my card fraud I phoned the Mexico City UK embassy to find out what was happening. The guy was really efficient (unlike his colleagues) and found out it had been printed 5 days ago (but noone had bothered to post it). Fucking useless. I would then find out they only posted it the next day in the evening once the same guy eventually gave me the DHL tracking number for the parcel. DHL even managed to miss the plane the passport was intended for (fuckwits) and with the wednesday and the following monday bank holidays, it would have to arrive on friday for me to go to Haiti over the weekend. For some reason it missed a plane and then went to Wilmington, Ohio (I thought it was in Delware). What it was doing up there is anyones guess, but it stayed there for a day. Must be a good place to hangout. So after Mexico City took 6 days to post it, DHL missed a plane, got stuck in Ohio and then was scuppered by a bank holiday and a weekend. It would be 13 days now minimum with no guarantees. Good to see DHL took 6 times as long as UPS. I know who I will use from now on. One saved me from starving, the others are fuckwits of the highest order. After sorting this crap I listened to Obama's inauguration speech (which was much better when read than when listened too). I thought it did what it needed to and have been quietly happy with the new administration so far. Just been reading Foreign Policy magazine and they had a special on think tanks. Think I will apply to go and work for one of them at some point in the future. Especially if they have one in a funky US state. I found an English bookstore, but it only sold baby books and sex books. Obviously we have a prolific island expat community. You figure they don't need the latter if they have a need for the former, or maybe the latter has been so successful the former was created as a follow up. We did some more AISEIC work in the evening and then headed to La Venezuela where one of the Colombian dudes was sick after smoking and we did some more drinking before the burger salesman tried to charge me just under 6 quid for a burger. Retard.
I woke up in the afternoon the next day. My days were spent now meandering around town and sorting stuff out and the evenings were spent drinking. Went to the supermarket and picked up a copy of Anna Karenina (reading now) and 4 american classics (includes huck funn which I have already read, but I love Twain so may reread it). We went to a couchsurfer names Alina'a place for drinking and a Mexican themed night. Was a good crowd. Laura had invited me and we clicked well. There was a lot of tequila drinking, philosophy and I ended up in a strong debate on women's rights, immigration and politics with the chef for the evening. It was a good night that flew by in the drinking and debating. Joe turned up, then Alina's sister (who had just been at a poker game with Joe an hour earlier). Alina's other sister had been interviewed by us for AISEIC a few days back as well. Santo Domingo really was a small place.
I popped into the embassy to be told I had no passport again (This was when I got hold of the DHL tracking codes). Also I was having a few problems with the local language. I kept speaking Spanish to the locals and they kept not understanding anything I had said. Very frustrating. We helped out at AISEIC again and then went to Joe's place and had dinner there. Guantanamo to be closed inside a year. Good news. Found an Englishmans blog for getting through the northern border into Haiti as Lonely Planet has nothing on it. Seemed doable and I was only going to have a couple of days left now. Wanted to see the north more than Port Au Prince. The G7 were to discuss the weak pound. Great maybe they can execute Gordon Brown. Since then it has revived from 1.36 to 1.46 as at the time of writing. Come on!!! Its the revival we've all been waiting for. The pound rolling on the ropes like Ali, before it comes back to knock Frazier dollars block off.
The morning came and the parcel was still in Ohio. It would be tuesday now. I had walked into town and was killing time now as I seemed to walk the same road past the same buildings every day. We met Jose's uncles for some drinks and I struggled through with the best Spanish I could muster. In the evening we met Laura for her friends birthday in a posh bar in the middle of town. The beers were 3 pounds each for a small one (London prices) and the bald bouncer would not let me approach the bar (even though everyone else did later). Laura had the thankless task of teaching me merengue (I sucked appropriately) and we stayed drinking before turfing in for the night.
We woke up really late again and headed out to meet Alina and Laura at Nubar but it was shut due to poor plumbing. The bank informed me they want to speak to me. Turns out they won't change my address or sort out the fraud without proof of address, so had to organise that through my dad on the other side of the Atlantic. We grabbed some cheap cocktails in TGI Fridays and then went for some Mexican food, where Juan joined us as well as Alina's Russian friend. Afterwards we all headed for the bar Doubles in the old town. Jose's brother was there as well and treated the crowd to one of the renditions they used to do from the hotel work over in the east. Jose ended up bump and grinding with the Belarussian girl, I danced with Laura with a variety of styles (most of which I was not impressive in) and a few groups of us merged together for a good night of dancing and drinking. On the way back Jose's brother stopped off at a burger place where we grabbed some food before calling it a night.
I made a note of the bands Aventura and Omega as they seemed to play the best of the local Dominican stuff. We woke up late again and piled into a rammed Carro de Publico. We headed out to one of the beachses east of the city to join Alina, Laura and Elena (Alina's sister). We hung out in the water for a while and then went back to Alina's briefly where we played ball with the dog. Then we headed into the city centre for a falafal bar (but I dont really like falafals that much so opted not to eat). Back in Jose's neighbourhood his team had successfully won the baseball championship and so the whole neighbourhood was out celebrating. Music blaring everywhere, people dancing, flags waving and cars and bikes ploughing through the streets with corregated iron slates and oil drums tied to the back for effect. Around the street celebrations we headed to a pool hall. I lost twice to Jose's brothers friend and then between us we cained everyone else we played, because most of the other players sucked. Most of them could pot, but almost noone could position. A fault that Judas used to point out in my game.
In the morning we got up and headed out to a hotel that had its own pool. We played some water volleyball (Dominicans v Colombians/British). We won the first game and were robbed by some dodgy officiating in the second one lol. It was a good time though and then we played many games of UNO in Spanish. In the evening I decided I fucking hated tostados (well didn't like them anyway) and tomorrow would be D-Day 3. Well probably 5 by that point, but only 3 had been officially recognised. Would I finally get a passport?
The next day I went back to the Passport Office for D-Day 2. It turned out I was still a German, as I was defeated again and the useless fucks still would not give me any more information. So after sorting out my card fraud I phoned the Mexico City UK embassy to find out what was happening. The guy was really efficient (unlike his colleagues) and found out it had been printed 5 days ago (but noone had bothered to post it). Fucking useless. I would then find out they only posted it the next day in the evening once the same guy eventually gave me the DHL tracking number for the parcel. DHL even managed to miss the plane the passport was intended for (fuckwits) and with the wednesday and the following monday bank holidays, it would have to arrive on friday for me to go to Haiti over the weekend. For some reason it missed a plane and then went to Wilmington, Ohio (I thought it was in Delware). What it was doing up there is anyones guess, but it stayed there for a day. Must be a good place to hangout. So after Mexico City took 6 days to post it, DHL missed a plane, got stuck in Ohio and then was scuppered by a bank holiday and a weekend. It would be 13 days now minimum with no guarantees. Good to see DHL took 6 times as long as UPS. I know who I will use from now on. One saved me from starving, the others are fuckwits of the highest order. After sorting this crap I listened to Obama's inauguration speech (which was much better when read than when listened too). I thought it did what it needed to and have been quietly happy with the new administration so far. Just been reading Foreign Policy magazine and they had a special on think tanks. Think I will apply to go and work for one of them at some point in the future. Especially if they have one in a funky US state. I found an English bookstore, but it only sold baby books and sex books. Obviously we have a prolific island expat community. You figure they don't need the latter if they have a need for the former, or maybe the latter has been so successful the former was created as a follow up. We did some more AISEIC work in the evening and then headed to La Venezuela where one of the Colombian dudes was sick after smoking and we did some more drinking before the burger salesman tried to charge me just under 6 quid for a burger. Retard.
I woke up in the afternoon the next day. My days were spent now meandering around town and sorting stuff out and the evenings were spent drinking. Went to the supermarket and picked up a copy of Anna Karenina (reading now) and 4 american classics (includes huck funn which I have already read, but I love Twain so may reread it). We went to a couchsurfer names Alina'a place for drinking and a Mexican themed night. Was a good crowd. Laura had invited me and we clicked well. There was a lot of tequila drinking, philosophy and I ended up in a strong debate on women's rights, immigration and politics with the chef for the evening. It was a good night that flew by in the drinking and debating. Joe turned up, then Alina's sister (who had just been at a poker game with Joe an hour earlier). Alina's other sister had been interviewed by us for AISEIC a few days back as well. Santo Domingo really was a small place.
I popped into the embassy to be told I had no passport again (This was when I got hold of the DHL tracking codes). Also I was having a few problems with the local language. I kept speaking Spanish to the locals and they kept not understanding anything I had said. Very frustrating. We helped out at AISEIC again and then went to Joe's place and had dinner there. Guantanamo to be closed inside a year. Good news. Found an Englishmans blog for getting through the northern border into Haiti as Lonely Planet has nothing on it. Seemed doable and I was only going to have a couple of days left now. Wanted to see the north more than Port Au Prince. The G7 were to discuss the weak pound. Great maybe they can execute Gordon Brown. Since then it has revived from 1.36 to 1.46 as at the time of writing. Come on!!! Its the revival we've all been waiting for. The pound rolling on the ropes like Ali, before it comes back to knock Frazier dollars block off.
The morning came and the parcel was still in Ohio. It would be tuesday now. I had walked into town and was killing time now as I seemed to walk the same road past the same buildings every day. We met Jose's uncles for some drinks and I struggled through with the best Spanish I could muster. In the evening we met Laura for her friends birthday in a posh bar in the middle of town. The beers were 3 pounds each for a small one (London prices) and the bald bouncer would not let me approach the bar (even though everyone else did later). Laura had the thankless task of teaching me merengue (I sucked appropriately) and we stayed drinking before turfing in for the night.
We woke up really late again and headed out to meet Alina and Laura at Nubar but it was shut due to poor plumbing. The bank informed me they want to speak to me. Turns out they won't change my address or sort out the fraud without proof of address, so had to organise that through my dad on the other side of the Atlantic. We grabbed some cheap cocktails in TGI Fridays and then went for some Mexican food, where Juan joined us as well as Alina's Russian friend. Afterwards we all headed for the bar Doubles in the old town. Jose's brother was there as well and treated the crowd to one of the renditions they used to do from the hotel work over in the east. Jose ended up bump and grinding with the Belarussian girl, I danced with Laura with a variety of styles (most of which I was not impressive in) and a few groups of us merged together for a good night of dancing and drinking. On the way back Jose's brother stopped off at a burger place where we grabbed some food before calling it a night.
I made a note of the bands Aventura and Omega as they seemed to play the best of the local Dominican stuff. We woke up late again and piled into a rammed Carro de Publico. We headed out to one of the beachses east of the city to join Alina, Laura and Elena (Alina's sister). We hung out in the water for a while and then went back to Alina's briefly where we played ball with the dog. Then we headed into the city centre for a falafal bar (but I dont really like falafals that much so opted not to eat). Back in Jose's neighbourhood his team had successfully won the baseball championship and so the whole neighbourhood was out celebrating. Music blaring everywhere, people dancing, flags waving and cars and bikes ploughing through the streets with corregated iron slates and oil drums tied to the back for effect. Around the street celebrations we headed to a pool hall. I lost twice to Jose's brothers friend and then between us we cained everyone else we played, because most of the other players sucked. Most of them could pot, but almost noone could position. A fault that Judas used to point out in my game.
In the morning we got up and headed out to a hotel that had its own pool. We played some water volleyball (Dominicans v Colombians/British). We won the first game and were robbed by some dodgy officiating in the second one lol. It was a good time though and then we played many games of UNO in Spanish. In the evening I decided I fucking hated tostados (well didn't like them anyway) and tomorrow would be D-Day 3. Well probably 5 by that point, but only 3 had been officially recognised. Would I finally get a passport?
Dominican Republic Part 4
Hmm would have been useful if I actually wrote something before I posted this blank entry. Oh and I appear to have muddled up the numbers system. Well, not too bad. At least I am on firm mainland again, sitting in San Salvador and doing nothing but writing for the day. Last time I left off, I was heading back into Santo Domingo for my bank card, a poor, hobo, with no identity and many mountin problems.
The three of us left the bus and shuttled down to where Jose had told us to meet him. Was some random mushroom shaped seats that I would end up using as the regular spot to meet him over the coming weeks. Now my phone was not working either so had to get some officeworker to open up her premises and let me use their phone for free. When Jose met us he informed me the package had arrived. Thank fuck for that. I was now with the means to get money again, I had my lonely planet and I could prove to Panama that I'd had shots jabbed in me for Yellow Fever. Though the odds of getting Yellow Fever were not uppermost in my mind. We picked up some stuff at the mall and piled into a Carro de Publico. It was my first time in one of these, though they kind of seem natural now. Basically four people pile into the back of the car and two more take the seat next to the driver. So they can pack in 6 people to a normal ford escort size car and the third person in the back always has to squish in somewhat precariously. Still its a very cheap way to travel and is kind of fun depending on whether the person squished onto you is a cute girl or a fat sweaty man. We arrived at Jose's place and collected the package. His mum cooked us a really good meal and I would end up staying with Jose for 13 nights in total. His family was exceptionally good to me on the road and he effectively saved my arse in receiving the package and giving me a base while I waited for the painfully slow embassy to get moving on my passport. Jose ended up signing up for couchsurfing along with Joe and I think both of them will get a lot from it, as Jose effectively hosted me for 2 weeks and showed me around areas of the country and city I would otherwise have missed. I owe you one big time in Buenos Aires, London or wherever you need it. In the evening the four of us joined Joe over in the neighbourhood 'La Venezuela' where I bought a round of Presidentes now I had money back. We were also treated to some random stripping on the bars and it felt like I had staggered into an English stag do in full blown campery.
The morning came around and it was D-Day for the passport. I was due to fly tomorrow for Canada and so I would see if they managed to turn it round in time. On the way to the embassy I was gripped with that fear that cloys you when you have to take an exam. Weird. I approached, said hello to the security guard (by the end of this ordeal, me and him just started laughing each time we saw each other) and approcahed the desk with trepidation. Did they have it? Did they bollocks. Can they check on it? No. Can they give me any indication? No. When should I come back? Next tuesday. That killed off Canada. My mum still wanted me to fly out the week afterwards, but I had a feeling nothing could be guaranteed. They would prove fucking useless all process long. Now I was weighing up my many options, but it was difficult because I had no ideas what would happen, but I decided to head to Jarabacoa for a couple of days because I had missed it with the Swedes. I spent the rest of the day writing up the blog up to this point and then headed back to Joses. My mum was considering flying down but canned the idea a few days later. Looks like I was going to Haiti anyway, but for how long I did not know. I also found out they were making thundercats the movie and Spurs were still sucking. And somehow the Arizona Cardinals were on course for the superbowl. How did that happen? They suck arse. They may even win the thing tonight. I kind of hope they do now they have made it.
In the morning I grabbed a bus up to Jarabacoa. I was fucking shattered by this point. All the stress had worn off (from when I was moving on stress along) and had crashed my health with a heavy cold as so often happens. The city is nice and pretty in the mountains. I finished up reading Crime and Punishment here as I read the last 260 pages in one day. Really good book. Was looking to Marie-France for a pick for a new book. Interesting me and Dostoyevsky see eye to eye that you need something bigger than yourself in your life to find any kind of purpose or happinness. Its why all the philosóphers are miserable. The next day was warpping some ideas around in my head on another 20km plus hiking day and came up with the phrase 'that if you follow the logic of the philosphers you disappear up your on arse so far that all you can see of life seems pointless and shit'. Hmm I liked it more when I conjured it than I do now. Anyway as I jumped off the bus some guy offered to help me out with a hotel and internet and tours for free. I was too knackered to resist, so I allowed him to show me to all the places I needed and then ignored him when he asked for money, reminding him he had said it was free. Stupid people. You can't guilt me into giving you money. I have no guilt unless I think I have done something wrong and he clearly said he was offering the service for free. Sometimes I like playing deliberately stupid. It has its uses. Which is more than can be said for this computer's speaker systems. They suck.
In the morning after 14 hours sleep I got up and set off for the waterfalls. It was a 7.1km walk to Salto de Jimenoa Uno, which was used in Jurassic Park. The ticket included a non-existant guide (I think virtually everyone comes here on a tour so that makes sense, except for those of us who walk). It was nice to get out in the mountains, away from the beach for a bit and get to do some walking and hiking and some downtime. The first waterfall was pretty impressive but a very steep climb down and up. Shredded my energy and I was knackered when i got back up. Walking back realised another waterfall was on the way (Salto de Baiguato). Its meant to be shit but I went anyway to complete the set. After circumnavigating a huge puddle of water through creative walking and skipping past the derelict bombed out hut that I assume used to be the entrance I trekked to the second falls. I actually thought they were prettier and more interesting than the first one, but the view is kind of obscured on the walk around. I went off across town in search of the third one, but I think i went up the wrong road and ignoring the motorconcho man who told me I was going in the wrong direction (correct) and that there was no third waterfall (wrong), I succeeded in only finding a petrol station. I got pissed on by the rain and returned to the hotel to sleep.
In the morning I missed the bus to Santo Domingo and this computer just froze and threw me off it. Pile of pooh. My phone had been auto resetting the time to whatever it felt like and so it was either ontime or 45 minutes in one direction. It made it very difficult to time anything right, because I never knew which one I was getting. This time it cost me dearly and I had to grab a guagua to La Vega. In La Vega the driver refused to take me to the Caribe Tours terminal and pointed me in the right direction. A motoconcho driver told me it was the wrong way, this time I listened to him and ended up walking in circles before someone with a brain told me I was on the right track in the first place. I missed another bus and ended up getting eaten by flys before eventually making it back to Santo Domingo. I met Jose and his cousin and we took a bus out to Barahona to see Bahia De Las Aguillas, where we had planned to go on that original weekend.
The place we stayed had a cool little pet parrot, that was friendly though had had its wings clipped. The place was spacious and the people friendly. Although I did not warm to them too much. The old guy Luis was telling me about the ability of Haitian women to clamp your penis and about his 14 year olds who wanted to sleep with him. Bear in mind he's 59 and he was reminding me of Svidrigailov. His nephew and him took us out to a club where I watched people dance and we drank there for a while. There was one amusing dancer who looked like he was in between making love and having a shit. It was an interesting dancing style.
In the morning we headed out to Bahia De Las Aguillas and had struck a deal to only have to pay for the petrol. Although we paid more than the petrol, they discounted some of the price due to the drinking we had done the night before. I was realising as we travelled that I was going to function with just the one bank card now until Brazil, as Helen would have to bring the replacement card out to me. The nephew started off the first off his two bottles of rum as we drove down to the beach. He would get steadily drunker and more hostile to tourists and Haitians. I don't think he realised I could understand more Spanish than he thought I did. That happened to quite a few people on this trip. We managed to have a minor bump in the car, tapping another car as it passed. My second minor traffic incident on the trip. These bastards have now started playing incredibly loud crap music in the internet cafe so I cant hear what I am listening to through the speakers. We saw some cenotes, stopped for some scenery and eventually arrived at the bay. It is incredibly pretty down in this part of the country. The government does not allow anyone to build on or develop the land so its pristine and the colours are impressive. Bright red/oranges of the sand, clear blue/green water (you can see the bottom a long way out), contrasting with the brown cliffs and green scenery. The nephew even found and caught a snake (they are all non poisonous here) and we swam out in the waters for an hour or so. We had to abandon the car part way to the beach though, because the steep drop was worse than San Francisco on a pot holed dirt track. You need a really good 4x4 or a truck to take that on and even with a truck I almost fell out of the back of it on the return journey. We grabbed some lobster dinner on the border with Haiti and then headed back in the dark, while the driver continued to rant to noone in particular. Once we returned to the hostel I found out I had been the victim of 100 pounds worth of credit card fraud in Onnus bar where the cards were taken (fucking heavyweight drinkers they must be). Still need to contact the bank to sort that out. Also found out that an old school mate Tom Sawyer had been killed by a roadside explosive in Afghanistan. That kind of puts everything in perspective when I am worrying about a missing passport.
The next morning we headed back to Santo Domingo and I would have another date with the passport office. I had decided at this point to go to Haiti for only a few days, because I had spent a little bit more money that I thought.
The three of us left the bus and shuttled down to where Jose had told us to meet him. Was some random mushroom shaped seats that I would end up using as the regular spot to meet him over the coming weeks. Now my phone was not working either so had to get some officeworker to open up her premises and let me use their phone for free. When Jose met us he informed me the package had arrived. Thank fuck for that. I was now with the means to get money again, I had my lonely planet and I could prove to Panama that I'd had shots jabbed in me for Yellow Fever. Though the odds of getting Yellow Fever were not uppermost in my mind. We picked up some stuff at the mall and piled into a Carro de Publico. It was my first time in one of these, though they kind of seem natural now. Basically four people pile into the back of the car and two more take the seat next to the driver. So they can pack in 6 people to a normal ford escort size car and the third person in the back always has to squish in somewhat precariously. Still its a very cheap way to travel and is kind of fun depending on whether the person squished onto you is a cute girl or a fat sweaty man. We arrived at Jose's place and collected the package. His mum cooked us a really good meal and I would end up staying with Jose for 13 nights in total. His family was exceptionally good to me on the road and he effectively saved my arse in receiving the package and giving me a base while I waited for the painfully slow embassy to get moving on my passport. Jose ended up signing up for couchsurfing along with Joe and I think both of them will get a lot from it, as Jose effectively hosted me for 2 weeks and showed me around areas of the country and city I would otherwise have missed. I owe you one big time in Buenos Aires, London or wherever you need it. In the evening the four of us joined Joe over in the neighbourhood 'La Venezuela' where I bought a round of Presidentes now I had money back. We were also treated to some random stripping on the bars and it felt like I had staggered into an English stag do in full blown campery.
The morning came around and it was D-Day for the passport. I was due to fly tomorrow for Canada and so I would see if they managed to turn it round in time. On the way to the embassy I was gripped with that fear that cloys you when you have to take an exam. Weird. I approached, said hello to the security guard (by the end of this ordeal, me and him just started laughing each time we saw each other) and approcahed the desk with trepidation. Did they have it? Did they bollocks. Can they check on it? No. Can they give me any indication? No. When should I come back? Next tuesday. That killed off Canada. My mum still wanted me to fly out the week afterwards, but I had a feeling nothing could be guaranteed. They would prove fucking useless all process long. Now I was weighing up my many options, but it was difficult because I had no ideas what would happen, but I decided to head to Jarabacoa for a couple of days because I had missed it with the Swedes. I spent the rest of the day writing up the blog up to this point and then headed back to Joses. My mum was considering flying down but canned the idea a few days later. Looks like I was going to Haiti anyway, but for how long I did not know. I also found out they were making thundercats the movie and Spurs were still sucking. And somehow the Arizona Cardinals were on course for the superbowl. How did that happen? They suck arse. They may even win the thing tonight. I kind of hope they do now they have made it.
In the morning I grabbed a bus up to Jarabacoa. I was fucking shattered by this point. All the stress had worn off (from when I was moving on stress along) and had crashed my health with a heavy cold as so often happens. The city is nice and pretty in the mountains. I finished up reading Crime and Punishment here as I read the last 260 pages in one day. Really good book. Was looking to Marie-France for a pick for a new book. Interesting me and Dostoyevsky see eye to eye that you need something bigger than yourself in your life to find any kind of purpose or happinness. Its why all the philosóphers are miserable. The next day was warpping some ideas around in my head on another 20km plus hiking day and came up with the phrase 'that if you follow the logic of the philosphers you disappear up your on arse so far that all you can see of life seems pointless and shit'. Hmm I liked it more when I conjured it than I do now. Anyway as I jumped off the bus some guy offered to help me out with a hotel and internet and tours for free. I was too knackered to resist, so I allowed him to show me to all the places I needed and then ignored him when he asked for money, reminding him he had said it was free. Stupid people. You can't guilt me into giving you money. I have no guilt unless I think I have done something wrong and he clearly said he was offering the service for free. Sometimes I like playing deliberately stupid. It has its uses. Which is more than can be said for this computer's speaker systems. They suck.
In the morning after 14 hours sleep I got up and set off for the waterfalls. It was a 7.1km walk to Salto de Jimenoa Uno, which was used in Jurassic Park. The ticket included a non-existant guide (I think virtually everyone comes here on a tour so that makes sense, except for those of us who walk). It was nice to get out in the mountains, away from the beach for a bit and get to do some walking and hiking and some downtime. The first waterfall was pretty impressive but a very steep climb down and up. Shredded my energy and I was knackered when i got back up. Walking back realised another waterfall was on the way (Salto de Baiguato). Its meant to be shit but I went anyway to complete the set. After circumnavigating a huge puddle of water through creative walking and skipping past the derelict bombed out hut that I assume used to be the entrance I trekked to the second falls. I actually thought they were prettier and more interesting than the first one, but the view is kind of obscured on the walk around. I went off across town in search of the third one, but I think i went up the wrong road and ignoring the motorconcho man who told me I was going in the wrong direction (correct) and that there was no third waterfall (wrong), I succeeded in only finding a petrol station. I got pissed on by the rain and returned to the hotel to sleep.
In the morning I missed the bus to Santo Domingo and this computer just froze and threw me off it. Pile of pooh. My phone had been auto resetting the time to whatever it felt like and so it was either ontime or 45 minutes in one direction. It made it very difficult to time anything right, because I never knew which one I was getting. This time it cost me dearly and I had to grab a guagua to La Vega. In La Vega the driver refused to take me to the Caribe Tours terminal and pointed me in the right direction. A motoconcho driver told me it was the wrong way, this time I listened to him and ended up walking in circles before someone with a brain told me I was on the right track in the first place. I missed another bus and ended up getting eaten by flys before eventually making it back to Santo Domingo. I met Jose and his cousin and we took a bus out to Barahona to see Bahia De Las Aguillas, where we had planned to go on that original weekend.
The place we stayed had a cool little pet parrot, that was friendly though had had its wings clipped. The place was spacious and the people friendly. Although I did not warm to them too much. The old guy Luis was telling me about the ability of Haitian women to clamp your penis and about his 14 year olds who wanted to sleep with him. Bear in mind he's 59 and he was reminding me of Svidrigailov. His nephew and him took us out to a club where I watched people dance and we drank there for a while. There was one amusing dancer who looked like he was in between making love and having a shit. It was an interesting dancing style.
In the morning we headed out to Bahia De Las Aguillas and had struck a deal to only have to pay for the petrol. Although we paid more than the petrol, they discounted some of the price due to the drinking we had done the night before. I was realising as we travelled that I was going to function with just the one bank card now until Brazil, as Helen would have to bring the replacement card out to me. The nephew started off the first off his two bottles of rum as we drove down to the beach. He would get steadily drunker and more hostile to tourists and Haitians. I don't think he realised I could understand more Spanish than he thought I did. That happened to quite a few people on this trip. We managed to have a minor bump in the car, tapping another car as it passed. My second minor traffic incident on the trip. These bastards have now started playing incredibly loud crap music in the internet cafe so I cant hear what I am listening to through the speakers. We saw some cenotes, stopped for some scenery and eventually arrived at the bay. It is incredibly pretty down in this part of the country. The government does not allow anyone to build on or develop the land so its pristine and the colours are impressive. Bright red/oranges of the sand, clear blue/green water (you can see the bottom a long way out), contrasting with the brown cliffs and green scenery. The nephew even found and caught a snake (they are all non poisonous here) and we swam out in the waters for an hour or so. We had to abandon the car part way to the beach though, because the steep drop was worse than San Francisco on a pot holed dirt track. You need a really good 4x4 or a truck to take that on and even with a truck I almost fell out of the back of it on the return journey. We grabbed some lobster dinner on the border with Haiti and then headed back in the dark, while the driver continued to rant to noone in particular. Once we returned to the hostel I found out I had been the victim of 100 pounds worth of credit card fraud in Onnus bar where the cards were taken (fucking heavyweight drinkers they must be). Still need to contact the bank to sort that out. Also found out that an old school mate Tom Sawyer had been killed by a roadside explosive in Afghanistan. That kind of puts everything in perspective when I am worrying about a missing passport.
The next morning we headed back to Santo Domingo and I would have another date with the passport office. I had decided at this point to go to Haiti for only a few days, because I had spent a little bit more money that I thought.
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