Nicaragua
Not too much to say about my last few weeks. I went into Nicaragua traveling alone, and had a great time. Nica is different than Southern Costa Rica or Panama, the air is dryer and the coastal jungle not as thick. The lake provides offshore winds all day and the surf is about fun as it gets, surfable on both tides. Nica is a little tougher on travel without a car, buses don't run everywhere, especially to the coast, and once there your options for markets/food are limited. I don't have much else to say but I would like to talk about stranger kindness.
The Nica/Costa border crossing is like time traveling. Asphalt turns to muddy paths and informational signs turn to old men in chairs, pointing fingers. Luckily due to my scattered steps and wide-eyed look, Raul from my bus waited and told me to follow him. A Nican who lives in Liberia, he lead me to get my immigration stamp, there were no customs, and brought me through the little wooden door into the market place where we grabbed a collective taxi with 2 old women. We got off in Rivas, where his family lives, but instead of dropping me off he got out with me, walked me through the larger and more chaotic marketplace, and helped me find his friend that takes shuttles out to the coast. Then he walked home.... After Guasacate, I went into San Juan del Sur as a last stop to surf and hopefully sell my board. My second night I was eating at a little Peruvian place and I was the only customer besides an old man who walked in after me. He said without hesitation that we were the only people eating here, so he asked if he could join me. His name was Hector Sanchez, and he carried a little water bottle full of rum. He told me all about his business trips to California although he doesn't speak a lick of English. He told me all about his hotel he started on Playa Remansa, and how he was the first one to start selling lottes (lots) in Southern Nicaragua. Got me thinking about the prospect of cheap land and good surf. I saw him around town the next few days, he always insisted I sit and have a beer with him and whomever he was eating with... Waiting for the bus in Las Salinas, I met an awesome Japanese couple who Im looking forward to visit after my stint in Korea. They had all sort of surf advice and as they were going through their photos they had a little series of me surfing. They said they will email them over. As we were waiting for the school bus and old man with a huge smile wandered over and sat next to me. He liked my little guitar and bobbed along as I played it. After awhile he asked for dollar (as seems to be customary) so I told him only if I could take his photo. He used the dollar to buy an ice cream and then sat with us till our bus came, he walking off down the road. |
Nightlight Volcano Climbing
Turned out we were awake 27 hrs straight, 4hrs travel of boat and bus, hiked 14km each way, climbing 6,000 ft and then descending it, and had 2 flasks of rum for breakfast at sunrise. Boquete is a cool little mountain town, fresh air and low humidity, and a different feel than the rest of Panama. By that, I mean a lesser humidity,it's semi-mountainous, and is one of the top spots for expats to retire(?), the difference is there is a little bit of infrastructure in the small town. Volcan Baru lies just outside the town, and at the center of the 100 mile wide country of Panama. The main point of the hike is to summit by sunrise, so we thought, might as well get at it. It was Tilden, Carson, German George and I and the trudge through the dark was not the difficult part. Slowing down so we don't summit to early was the challenge. Standing in the pitch dark, cold and wet, and just waiting.
We finally had enough waiting and decide to just get to the top. It was an eerie setting, like a scene from Aliens or some other monster filled slasher pop-out-at-ya-in-the-dark-from-a-decrepit-building. We walked a bit trying to get our bearings, and found the small path that lead to the peak, but having steep slants on either side, 2ft of visibility in the fog and 50mph winds, we weren't that brave. We found a wall that did little, but at least it helped a bit to block the cutting wind, and we buried our heads between our legs.
We finally had enough waiting and decide to just get to the top. It was an eerie setting, like a scene from Aliens or some other monster filled slasher pop-out-at-ya-in-the-dark-from-a-decrepit-building. We walked a bit trying to get our bearings, and found the small path that lead to the peak, but having steep slants on either side, 2ft of visibility in the fog and 50mph winds, we weren't that brave. We found a wall that did little, but at least it helped a bit to block the cutting wind, and we buried our heads between our legs.
As the sun rose the fun began. Hiking up the little ridge as wind and clouds are fighting us off. We never got a clear shot of the view, clouds parting for a second, us yelling for them to leave as the sun shown its glimpse, and then mockingly marching up the valley and into our faces. We were tired but didn't quite know it, and the breakfast rum kept us warm with a new (short lasted) energy.
The 14km down were longer than we remember. For every tree we thought we remembered, there were 5 more. The signs to the bottom changed from 10km to 7 km to 6 km to 7 km to 5 km to 6km. My friends from school know my propensity for falling asleep: watching movies, in the car, and especially class. I have to say, I've topped the charts by following asleep mid-stride, walking one second then sliding down the dirt on my butt then next. Exhausted and tired, but sitting with the Panamanian gods for sunrise was well worth it. |
Bocas Del DragoMy Aunt April and Uncle David lived in Costa Rica for a number of years, so when I contacted them for contacts, I was lucky that his brother Jim and wife Elaine lived on a backside of the Isla Colon. Carson stayed for a dive school, and Tildon and I didn´t know what to expect as we took the bus across the island and out to Bocas del Drago. Jim picked us up a few miles from the destination and drove us the last few miles out to their place, along a coral laden driveway. There aren't too many words that aptly describe paradise...so enjoy the pictures
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-We kayaked the few mile trek out to Bird Island, refuge for the endangered blue footed bobby, frigits and all sorts of winged creatures.
-Cut down pipas(young green coconuts) by the group and hacked away for coco nut milk -Sat on their front porch watching the howler monkeys scramble through the branches each evening -And listened as the howlers yelled to wake us up each morning -Swam in the fresh water spring in the day, and went with headlights to see the caymans along the shore at night -Learned to cut banana bunches, then cutting the tree so it could regrow -Dove around the reef that lie right in front of their house -Played loads of fetch with the insatiable Boomer |
Basimientos Bat Caves
Great events often unfold unknowingly while traveling, Yea sounds fun, usually being the first thing out of your mouth. Making pancakes our first morning in Bocas del Toro, Sergio el Spaniard cruises through our hostels and says to Carson, Tildon an I ¨You guys want to explore a cave and then go spearfishing?¨ Half hour later we were on a boat, cruising around the islands and into the mangroves. Antwon drove the boat, originally from the Island of Basimientos, where they don´t speak spanish but a dialect similar to Jamaican English, they took us through an hour long weave of overgrown and shallow mangroves, a place you could easily make a wrong turn an disappear all together. The cave is ¨maintained¨by the local Indians, and one walked us through the cacoa grove, sloths overhead getting high by eating the cacoa leaves in the canopy. We entered the cave at a large dark opening sunk in the jungle floor, walking over smelly guano and into the water, bats flying in front of your face and pooping on your back. We weaved and dipped and dove for two hours, climbing through small caves, swimming sections wide enough for your shoulders but too deep to touch, and had to swim through water tunnels under stalagmites that had closed off sections of the cave. Apparently no one has ever found the end of the cave, and the longest anyone has ever spent searching for the end or where it may dump into the ocean was 8 hrs Antwon told us. We were all ready to spend all day in there.
POP MÚSICA
There´s one thing you can depend on the bus rides here in Panama. They all have a TV and blast Panamanian music videos your entire drive. Gelled up and white sunglassed latin machismo at its finest, usually singing on a roof or empty lot at night, lights of the city in the background. And of course they all have one or two gelled up friends who don´t sing or talk, just sway and have a face of pure emotion or grimace, hard to tell. The song always is about a perfect girl (and always the most beautiful girl I´ve ever seen each video) and how one of them messes it up, they fight, and it hurts soooo much. Option 2, the girls popular, the guys a buff gelled nerd, and she ignores him till the ugly duckling gets kissed by the frog´s princess and BAM, they walk off hand in hand.
Juan Luis Guerra has been the appreciated break amongst these videos. Playing merengue\bachata type songs and having cool videos that make you want to join in.
Juan Luis Guerra has been the appreciated break amongst these videos. Playing merengue\bachata type songs and having cool videos that make you want to join in.
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Sing to meEstoy enamorado, mi esposa y de mi
tu me pide que te olvide pero tengo un corazón que por ti la tiendo sigue es perfecto es mi amor necesito que me sigue que por ti estoy sufriendo por favor Cornelio staggered up our steps asking if he could pick a lime off our tree. When he saw me playing guitar he said he had a song he had to sing as I played. Once through and I made him repeat acapella, writing down his lyrics, still struggling to find a beat but Cornelio knew it well. Being a small town with not much industry, activity or much else for that matter, Santa Catalina has a booze dependancy amongst a few of its citizens. It is sad to see, the search for beer coins, and the monotonous days decapping Balboas (Panamanian cervezas). Paja flaco (skinny straw) is another transplant in town of five years now, Louis estimated. He runs errands for people in town for Beer money. Everytime our paths cross he always asks for a cigarette, and every time I reminded him we do not smoke. And like clock work he´d get a clever look in his eye and say, "then friends lend me a cigarette?" He claimed to have planted the lime tree years ago so one day we could all enjoy great limes... |
Coiba Island
We heard it was the "Galapagos Island" of Panama, but turns out it actually was part of the Galapagos hot zone and moved with the shifting plates of the earth millions of years ago. We spent a day exploring and diving around Coiba, a national park off the coast of Panama, a few of the 40 islands that surround this section of coastline. We started pulling up to a tiny Island, an ideal scene for any stranded on an island scenario. Rocks on one side, clean beach on the other, and a a palm tree in the middle. A swim around the island and we have seen the diversity of a few oceans in one. Coral Reefs, schools of fish, 2ft spotted sting rays, sea turtles bigger than shannon rae, colorful parrot fish, schools of tuna, black, blue, yellow, and beige puffer fish, white tipped reef sharks, but the best part was the sound. Thought I was going insane as Tilden and I swam around the point, hearing, "weooooooh wooooeeeoohh", before realizing it was the humpback whales in the depths.
For 85 years, until 2005, Coiba was a prison for the most extreme criminals of Panama. Kept there in cells, they were allowed to work the land, and those with good conduct were allowed dogs to hunt with. Some still live and work on the Island, now employed by the government as they are the ones that know the islands the best.
For 85 years, until 2005, Coiba was a prison for the most extreme criminals of Panama. Kept there in cells, they were allowed to work the land, and those with good conduct were allowed dogs to hunt with. Some still live and work on the Island, now employed by the government as they are the ones that know the islands the best.
Town Holidaze
When there is a good days catch the Cantina near us gets going. Loud Panamanian tunes and anywhere from 8-12 people drinking Balboa Beers. Luis told us sometimes fisherman will find kilos of coke the cartels dump on any one of the islands, either for pick up or on the run. Then the town parties for a week.
The soles of my feet feel strange against my mosquito net, a dull sensation. Like letting your hair hang and brush along the table, feeling the act more than what's being felt. I guess it's good for my feet, toughen up, man up. I always thought I had tough feet too, but the locals, ....., make me feel like a man wearing UGG boots. All have a thick calloused sole, self grown and widened by years of walking with no arch. Years ago, back when Luis's property was nothing but 5 acres of pasture land on a hill, he lived in a little bamboo hut. He'd leave to make money, and return to construct. One day while walking to the local phone, he stepped on an old tractor gear shaft that shot straight into his heel. Being nothing but a dirt road out of Santa Catalina, he was bed ridden in his hut, and was brought meals by a local man, if he remembered. Immunities gave way to infection, and he eventually was flown back to his native Portugal, where the doctors had to cut off his entire calloused sole, just to reach the infection within. Toughen up, man up, but watch your step.
ps...thanks for the banana grams shannon, we have been playing nightly.
ps...thanks for the banana grams shannon, we have been playing nightly.
Growing up in California, it's strange to enter the ocean and find warmth and comfort. Like clockwork, the 3pm rains hit like a broken damn, comin sideways because they can. It was Carson's first day here and it made for a chilly walk out to the point, and for the first time in Panama, I was cold. The Ocean? solved that mess though. It'd be a lie if the paddle out was anything positive. Half a mile, rough and choppy, caught in a saltwater slinky. Set against lightning flashes on a dismally grey sky. Thinking about winter while sitting in a bathtub.
Teak Tree Cash Money
Luis planted around 20 teak trees 12 years ago, taking up less than a quarter of an acre on his property. Being one of the fastest growing hardwoods, he received several offers from lumber contractors for them to "cut and take away" the trees. (we found out after they cut the trees at the base, allowing them to fall where they may, taking out fences, and then leaving branches and brush everywhere. Business standards are different) Eventually he got a pretty good offer and accepted.
The yelling started as we were hauling branches of a long-thorned limon tree and throwing them down a hill. A teak tree being cut on the edge of the restaurant, finished just two years ago, wasn't following the falling direction the workers thought it would. We ran over and started pushing, feeling the weight come our way, while 3 more workers were pulling on a rope and using every Spanish cuss word they knew to get the tree to cooperate. The rope snapped and the vocabulary increased. The tree sprang are way, but luckily still stood, us pushing and the guys trying to throw another rope around a top branch, raining dirt, branches and spiders down on our heads. After 30 min of holding the tree, guys jumping on ropes, ropes upon ropes, and chain saws hacking away the base, the tree finally fell towards the guys and not the restaurant.
The yelling started as we were hauling branches of a long-thorned limon tree and throwing them down a hill. A teak tree being cut on the edge of the restaurant, finished just two years ago, wasn't following the falling direction the workers thought it would. We ran over and started pushing, feeling the weight come our way, while 3 more workers were pulling on a rope and using every Spanish cuss word they knew to get the tree to cooperate. The rope snapped and the vocabulary increased. The tree sprang are way, but luckily still stood, us pushing and the guys trying to throw another rope around a top branch, raining dirt, branches and spiders down on our heads. After 30 min of holding the tree, guys jumping on ropes, ropes upon ropes, and chain saws hacking away the base, the tree finally fell towards the guys and not the restaurant.
Yost is a fitting name for a robust bald man, with a thick Dutch accent, and a voice that thunders as if it's in a cave. We first met him our first night in Panama City, at a bar in the Luna Castle hostel. Five days later. two bus rides and seven hours north, Tildon and I paddled out at the local beach break in Santa Catalina. It was 7-8ft and the wind was on it, closing everything out, you felt like a forgotten quarter in a washing machine. Sure enough, sitting on the outside on an 8ft soft top, foam board was Yost, laughing cause it was only his fourth time surfing. I caught a wave and was paddling back out when I say the Dutchman flying straight down a solid 10ft face and trying to get up as the whitewash cleaned him out straight from behind. Tildon had told me later, that Yost had stopped mid-conversation and said with a heavy accent, "this one looks good", flipped his board around and se fue. Ignorance beats fear?
Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm sorry but it may be awhile before I'm back for good, be it Latin America or where else. I arrived with a feeling of comfort, no doubt, little skepticism, and a smile that's content. The 85 degree weather at 90% humidity feels great, and everyone sits with a layer of sweat, moisture, grime across their face. But instead of fighting it, desensitizing the skin with A/C, they just let it shine.
There are two guys that man every bus, the driver, putting his pedal to the metal to keep the overloaded carriage going, and the collector, who leisurely collects money at his own pace. There is no need to slow down the bus, fumbling over coins as you enter, hop on, cram in, he'll get the money when's convenient. After all your locked in their cage?
The driver stops and picks up people on the side of the road, drops people off on the side of the road, and turns down the occasional driveway cause the girl with the hurt foot should not have to walk too far. The bus is crammed, standing room only, but no fear either, as faith and respect are mutually acknowledged between driver/passenger. Children climb in and sit on peoples' laps to save room. Old/young, Gringo/local, the kid sits tranquilo, relaxed and smiling, because it does make more room in the bus.
The one lane road winds past flowers: pink, red, orange, yellow. The world is green. We pass the cop station, which doesn't have a car so you have to pick them up if you need them. We arrive at Sol y Mar, a beautiful Cabana style open air hotel/restaurant Luis has built himself over the last 20 years. The restaurant is perched on the knoll of a hill, and has view of a few of the 40 surrounding Islands and the surrounding coast. We first drive to check the surf, then help his wife serve dinner to the group of the 27 Panamanian highschoolers on a school vacation. We played endless ping pong and set up our little cottage. It'll be home for the next month.
There are two guys that man every bus, the driver, putting his pedal to the metal to keep the overloaded carriage going, and the collector, who leisurely collects money at his own pace. There is no need to slow down the bus, fumbling over coins as you enter, hop on, cram in, he'll get the money when's convenient. After all your locked in their cage?
The driver stops and picks up people on the side of the road, drops people off on the side of the road, and turns down the occasional driveway cause the girl with the hurt foot should not have to walk too far. The bus is crammed, standing room only, but no fear either, as faith and respect are mutually acknowledged between driver/passenger. Children climb in and sit on peoples' laps to save room. Old/young, Gringo/local, the kid sits tranquilo, relaxed and smiling, because it does make more room in the bus.
The one lane road winds past flowers: pink, red, orange, yellow. The world is green. We pass the cop station, which doesn't have a car so you have to pick them up if you need them. We arrive at Sol y Mar, a beautiful Cabana style open air hotel/restaurant Luis has built himself over the last 20 years. The restaurant is perched on the knoll of a hill, and has view of a few of the 40 surrounding Islands and the surrounding coast. We first drive to check the surf, then help his wife serve dinner to the group of the 27 Panamanian highschoolers on a school vacation. We played endless ping pong and set up our little cottage. It'll be home for the next month.
I've had five jobs this last year, working in
two different houses with autistic men, singing and playing children
songs to toddlers who probably don't even like music on Friday mornings, running an eye
clinic for low-income and uninsured residents in Santa Barbara, and
being a bar-back. I stretched myself thin at times, but I also had
plenty of fun.
Tilden approached me with Santa Catalina early in 2012, a tiny town in the Jungle with some of the most consistent swell in the world. We emailed hotels, selling our labor for a room and some food. We got the ok, creating gardens on their three acre property and serving in their little restaurant at night. I put in my two-weeks, three different times, with a smile that could make a watermelon slice look sad. I sold my mo-ped, my desk, my bike, my bed, anything I could think of in my head. I was a craigslist slave. Lastly I sold my truck, and all I have left to my name is a box of pack rat memorabilia I'm convinced I will one day want. A box of winter clothes and camping gear I will need in Korea. A travel backpack, 2 skateboards and 4 surfboards.
I sit picking through clothes. I hate packing. I will miss anyone reading this, friends, family, roommates, pets.
But I’m going to Panama :)
Tilden approached me with Santa Catalina early in 2012, a tiny town in the Jungle with some of the most consistent swell in the world. We emailed hotels, selling our labor for a room and some food. We got the ok, creating gardens on their three acre property and serving in their little restaurant at night. I put in my two-weeks, three different times, with a smile that could make a watermelon slice look sad. I sold my mo-ped, my desk, my bike, my bed, anything I could think of in my head. I was a craigslist slave. Lastly I sold my truck, and all I have left to my name is a box of pack rat memorabilia I'm convinced I will one day want. A box of winter clothes and camping gear I will need in Korea. A travel backpack, 2 skateboards and 4 surfboards.
I sit picking through clothes. I hate packing. I will miss anyone reading this, friends, family, roommates, pets.
But I’m going to Panama :)