We made it to the bottom.
The final stretch was particularly grueling -- 100 hours on a bus without stopping to spend the night anywhere just transfers, bus terminals and one nice walk through downtown Buenos Aires.
The final stretch all started in La Paz. We drove out of the smog encapsulated city at 7pm on an 18 hour overnight bus that we hoped would have a bathroom. It didn´t.
From the border we took a 36 hour bus to Buenos Aires, and from Buenos Aires a 36 hour bus to Rio Gallegos, which ended up being 3 hours late. Only by a stroke of good luck(well just enough good luck to level out the bad luck of the original bus being late) the bus to Ushuaia was also late and arrived shortly after our bus did. From Rio it was only a short 12 - 14 hour bus ride to Ushuaia.
Ushuaia was gorgeous. Not a lot else to say. We mostly wandered around eating, drinking and doing the touristy shopping thing.
Now I´m back in Buenos aires and will fly back home shortly.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Van Stops Here
But I have to say that I´m proud of it for making it this far 17 503km (not including boat rides) from Pense to Nasca, Peru where we had to leave it. On the plus side because it died we weren´t in Chile during the earthquake, and the Hostel Owners of Roma in Nasca were incredibly helpful. They found someone to buy the vehicle from us, and we were able to donate all of the belongings to the hostel -- the lady, who knew pretty much everyone in town, would distribute our items to the people who needed them.
Since then we have taken buses from Nasca to Bolivia. Unfortunately we arrived at the Bolivian border when they were having a 48 hour general strike. This meant that the bus could not cross the border and drive us directly to Copa. And the cab drivers had set up a road block / football match on the highway, so we had to walk the 8km from the border to Copa. Luckily it was an absolutely perfect day, and we found a guy with a bike-cart to transport our big backpacks. The only problem with the walk was when a dog bit a hole in Vilosheni´s pants, otherwise idyllic.
After the strike ended we were able to catch a bus from Copa to La Paz. The trip ended up taking a little longer than usual as the highway was occassionally blocked by mobs of thousands of people with stone cold stares, and we were diverted on to kilometer sections of partially washed out dirt roads.
We´re heading to Argentina on an 18 hour bus today that may or may not have a bathroom.
Wish us luck.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Screens, Guitar, Bulls, Volcanoes, Borders, Astro
It's been awhile since my last post.
Now that I have the obvious stated, I can begin on things that you actually may not be aware of. One of the reasons for my dirth of posts is that I accidentally broke the screen on my laptop.
It happened at The Camino Real. We had just picked up my parents from the airport in Managua and arrived safely back at the hotel. Vanessa and I had a bottle of Flor De Cana rum waiting and ready for my dad, so we all had a few drinks in their room and then went to bed. I didn't realize I was tired, so I started watching a movie on my laptop, which was propped up on my belly kinda like how otters eat clams. Well, I ended up falling asleep with my laptop on my belly and woke up a short time later to find it still on my belly unbroken. Even in my groggy state I thought this was dangerous because I could knock it off the bed onto the ground, so I decided to move it off the bed altogether. I set it on the ground beside the bed, but a second later it registered that this was also dangerous, so I picked it up and put it in my daypack, and promptly fell asleep. I woke up early in the morning to use the washroom. It was dark in the room and I stepped on/tripped over my daypack on the way to the washroom. I didn't realize it was broken until the next time I turned it on to use the internet in the lobby.
After Pochomil we stayed another couple weeks at The Voodoo Bar in Granada. Not too much of note happened. We won second place at trivia at O'sheas two weeks in a row (20 pounds of free laundry). I tried to learn guitar. I switched to an open door policy in my room, where I kept all of the windows and one door open, so that anything that got into my room could easily fly/scurry out -- better to be a road/flightpath than a bottleneck.
However, we did go on one trip to Ometepe, which is an island formed by two volcanoes in Lake Nicaragua. The boat ride to the island was a little rough, and a few people jetisoned their food stores. Once on the island we stayed one night at the port city drinking and then moved to Balgue, which is at the base of the smaller volcano. Luckily we caught the last two days of the rodeo at Balgue.
We saw Nicaraguan bullfighting, which consisted of cowboys dragging a reluctant bull from the pen into the main arena, pulling it to the ground around a post. Once the bull was on the ground they wipped it a few times to make it angry and one guy (anyone could try for 20 cords $1) would then get on the bull just before they released it. The guy would ride on the bull while others tried to entice the bull to charge with red flags, while the bull tried to figure out the best way to get back to its pen. Occasionally others either from the groups of young men milling in the arena or the crowd would make daring dashes past the bull their courage as unflinching as their gelled hair.
What may have help sustain the courage of the mad dashers is the fact that they, like everyone else involved, were drunk. Some were Sunday afternoon tipsy, but many others were full on New Years Eve staggeringly inebriated. One of the flag wavers dropped while waiting for the next bull; a couple guys tried to take his flag, but he would have none of it and successfully matadored for the rest of the night. I also noticed a very drunk cowboy and since his horse was controlled by applied pressure it was staggering all over the place, and some of the less innebriated cowboys occasionally reined up beside him to keep him in line. At least I think that's why the horse was staggering. I guess a scarier thought would be that the horse was also drunk. Regardless when I saw him later that night he was almost asleep on the saddle and someone else had jumped up on the horse with him and was steering it home.
A couple days later Adam and I decided to climb Madera (the smaller of the 2 volcanoes) against the advice of the hostel owners. Apparently we also needed a guide to climb it, but both of us being money conscious(cheap) decided to go it alone. It was a grueling hike, especially since I had my first bought of food poisoning and hadn't eaten anything (or at least kept it in my stomach) for a day or so, but we made it to the top.
The next day we left the island, when the wind died down and it was safe for the ferries to run.
We stayed in Granada for a few more days and then took off towards Costa Rica. Here is our story about leaving the country.
First off we found out that the custom agent at the border coming into Nicaragua wrote down the wrong date for when our insurance expired, while we were trying to get our car inspected so we could leave Nicaragua. It had expired the day before.
The inspector told us that we needed to pay a fine, so he took our paperwork walked into the custom office and gave it to a nice old lady in uniform. She promptly looked at it lifted up a pile of papers and set it underneath of this pile, put the pile back down, and then sat there doing nothing. The guy told us to wait, in no particular line because there really wasn't a line for what we needed. So we waited in the general vicinity watching nothing happen. Eventually this nothing was followed by more nothing, so we kept waiting until the point when something wasn't happening. Ben then walked up to the lady who had our papers, and whom had not moved or done anything during the entire time when something wasn't happening, and asked what we needed to do. She promptly smiled and said nothing. He asked again, and again nothing was replied to.
Ben walked back to our area of the general vicinity. Eventually when somebody emerged at the Caja where we would need to pay I went and tried to explain what we needed or I thought we needed to do. She sort of understood and I led her to our papers with my broken Spanish and hand gestures, kind of like how Lassie used to lead people to a kid trapped in a well. They never really understood what he was getting at, but he just seemed so damn adamant that they followed anyways.
She went and retreived the papers from under the pile, carefully looked them over and then found a computer. She typed a few things into the computer, while Ben and I stared rapt by the progress. After awhile she moved across the room back to the Caja and printed off a couple tickets that we needed to go pay at the bank. We gathered the tickets found the bank and started waiting in line. After some interesting line waiting we paid the tickets got the stubs and stamps required and briskly walked back to the Caja. She took the stubs and receipts, stapled some things, stamped others and then informed us that we needed 5 copies of it all, and that the photocopier was outside of the building and across the park.
We set off on our newest quest, found a large patch of grungy grass, assumed it was the park and crossed it. We didn't see it at first, but eventually we found a small building wedged in the sea of semis. It did photocopying. We got our 5 copies and returned to the Caja. The lady took them, I think more stamping was involved, and then she passed them on to another lady who set them underneath another pile. At this point more than nothing was happening and we were standing in the wisp of an actual line (more an assortment of lost souls all hoping to be realeased from purgatory). We watched more than nothing happening to other peoples papers for awhile, and eventually stared with jubilation as something other than nothing happened to our papers. We received the original papers back, while many of the copies were draped over the leaning piles of papers stacked against the off-white walls. Ben then walked back to the lady who had initially placed them under the pile and warrily handed them back to her. She looked at them, again I think stamping may have been involved, and cheerily informed him that the we were good to go (apparently the inspector to save time had marked off that he had inspected the vehicle -- the only ladder in this game of snakes and ladders).
We now needed to get the form signed by a police officer, so we left the building and tracked one down, who was in the middle of a conversation with a taxi driver. We waited until the conversation died down, and the officer took our papers glanced at them and signed the bottom. We returned to the customs building and Ben began waiting in another line; a proper line this time, orderly, cohesive and consistent -- not at all like the other lines we had been in that day, which were hardly lines at all. Probably the best line I had come across in Nicaragua. Anyways he stood in this magnificent line for some time and we were then finally able to leave Nicaragua and start going through the Costa Rican customs.
Costa Rican customs were much better, but we did run into a few issues. One of which involved the customs agent putting Vanessa's passport number in the box for our plate number and us having to turn back into Nicaragua for the second time. I rarely see Vanessa yell in English and have never seen her yell in Spanish, but she let them know that they were "culpable". And in no time the guy who had messed up emerge from the back and printed off a new form (without saying anything at all).
We made it into Costa Rica.
Now that I have the obvious stated, I can begin on things that you actually may not be aware of. One of the reasons for my dirth of posts is that I accidentally broke the screen on my laptop.
It happened at The Camino Real. We had just picked up my parents from the airport in Managua and arrived safely back at the hotel. Vanessa and I had a bottle of Flor De Cana rum waiting and ready for my dad, so we all had a few drinks in their room and then went to bed. I didn't realize I was tired, so I started watching a movie on my laptop, which was propped up on my belly kinda like how otters eat clams. Well, I ended up falling asleep with my laptop on my belly and woke up a short time later to find it still on my belly unbroken. Even in my groggy state I thought this was dangerous because I could knock it off the bed onto the ground, so I decided to move it off the bed altogether. I set it on the ground beside the bed, but a second later it registered that this was also dangerous, so I picked it up and put it in my daypack, and promptly fell asleep. I woke up early in the morning to use the washroom. It was dark in the room and I stepped on/tripped over my daypack on the way to the washroom. I didn't realize it was broken until the next time I turned it on to use the internet in the lobby.
The computer still works, but there is a growing blob of darkness that is slowly creeping across the screen.
Christmas in Pochomil was fantastic. We stayed in a large house drank a lot of rum, played pool, played in the pool with coconuts, and generally lounged. Vanessa tried to stage an underwater rendition of "Dirty Dancing", I tried to avoid boogie boarding into the garbage tides that floated up and down the beach -- life was good.After Pochomil we stayed another couple weeks at The Voodoo Bar in Granada. Not too much of note happened. We won second place at trivia at O'sheas two weeks in a row (20 pounds of free laundry). I tried to learn guitar. I switched to an open door policy in my room, where I kept all of the windows and one door open, so that anything that got into my room could easily fly/scurry out -- better to be a road/flightpath than a bottleneck.
However, we did go on one trip to Ometepe, which is an island formed by two volcanoes in Lake Nicaragua. The boat ride to the island was a little rough, and a few people jetisoned their food stores. Once on the island we stayed one night at the port city drinking and then moved to Balgue, which is at the base of the smaller volcano. Luckily we caught the last two days of the rodeo at Balgue.
We saw Nicaraguan bullfighting, which consisted of cowboys dragging a reluctant bull from the pen into the main arena, pulling it to the ground around a post. Once the bull was on the ground they wipped it a few times to make it angry and one guy (anyone could try for 20 cords $1) would then get on the bull just before they released it. The guy would ride on the bull while others tried to entice the bull to charge with red flags, while the bull tried to figure out the best way to get back to its pen. Occasionally others either from the groups of young men milling in the arena or the crowd would make daring dashes past the bull their courage as unflinching as their gelled hair.
What may have help sustain the courage of the mad dashers is the fact that they, like everyone else involved, were drunk. Some were Sunday afternoon tipsy, but many others were full on New Years Eve staggeringly inebriated. One of the flag wavers dropped while waiting for the next bull; a couple guys tried to take his flag, but he would have none of it and successfully matadored for the rest of the night. I also noticed a very drunk cowboy and since his horse was controlled by applied pressure it was staggering all over the place, and some of the less innebriated cowboys occasionally reined up beside him to keep him in line. At least I think that's why the horse was staggering. I guess a scarier thought would be that the horse was also drunk. Regardless when I saw him later that night he was almost asleep on the saddle and someone else had jumped up on the horse with him and was steering it home.
A couple days later Adam and I decided to climb Madera (the smaller of the 2 volcanoes) against the advice of the hostel owners. Apparently we also needed a guide to climb it, but both of us being money conscious(cheap) decided to go it alone. It was a grueling hike, especially since I had my first bought of food poisoning and hadn't eaten anything (or at least kept it in my stomach) for a day or so, but we made it to the top.
The next day we left the island, when the wind died down and it was safe for the ferries to run.
We stayed in Granada for a few more days and then took off towards Costa Rica. Here is our story about leaving the country.
First off we found out that the custom agent at the border coming into Nicaragua wrote down the wrong date for when our insurance expired, while we were trying to get our car inspected so we could leave Nicaragua. It had expired the day before.
The inspector told us that we needed to pay a fine, so he took our paperwork walked into the custom office and gave it to a nice old lady in uniform. She promptly looked at it lifted up a pile of papers and set it underneath of this pile, put the pile back down, and then sat there doing nothing. The guy told us to wait, in no particular line because there really wasn't a line for what we needed. So we waited in the general vicinity watching nothing happen. Eventually this nothing was followed by more nothing, so we kept waiting until the point when something wasn't happening. Ben then walked up to the lady who had our papers, and whom had not moved or done anything during the entire time when something wasn't happening, and asked what we needed to do. She promptly smiled and said nothing. He asked again, and again nothing was replied to.
Ben walked back to our area of the general vicinity. Eventually when somebody emerged at the Caja where we would need to pay I went and tried to explain what we needed or I thought we needed to do. She sort of understood and I led her to our papers with my broken Spanish and hand gestures, kind of like how Lassie used to lead people to a kid trapped in a well. They never really understood what he was getting at, but he just seemed so damn adamant that they followed anyways.
She went and retreived the papers from under the pile, carefully looked them over and then found a computer. She typed a few things into the computer, while Ben and I stared rapt by the progress. After awhile she moved across the room back to the Caja and printed off a couple tickets that we needed to go pay at the bank. We gathered the tickets found the bank and started waiting in line. After some interesting line waiting we paid the tickets got the stubs and stamps required and briskly walked back to the Caja. She took the stubs and receipts, stapled some things, stamped others and then informed us that we needed 5 copies of it all, and that the photocopier was outside of the building and across the park.
We set off on our newest quest, found a large patch of grungy grass, assumed it was the park and crossed it. We didn't see it at first, but eventually we found a small building wedged in the sea of semis. It did photocopying. We got our 5 copies and returned to the Caja. The lady took them, I think more stamping was involved, and then she passed them on to another lady who set them underneath another pile. At this point more than nothing was happening and we were standing in the wisp of an actual line (more an assortment of lost souls all hoping to be realeased from purgatory). We watched more than nothing happening to other peoples papers for awhile, and eventually stared with jubilation as something other than nothing happened to our papers. We received the original papers back, while many of the copies were draped over the leaning piles of papers stacked against the off-white walls. Ben then walked back to the lady who had initially placed them under the pile and warrily handed them back to her. She looked at them, again I think stamping may have been involved, and cheerily informed him that the we were good to go (apparently the inspector to save time had marked off that he had inspected the vehicle -- the only ladder in this game of snakes and ladders).
We now needed to get the form signed by a police officer, so we left the building and tracked one down, who was in the middle of a conversation with a taxi driver. We waited until the conversation died down, and the officer took our papers glanced at them and signed the bottom. We returned to the customs building and Ben began waiting in another line; a proper line this time, orderly, cohesive and consistent -- not at all like the other lines we had been in that day, which were hardly lines at all. Probably the best line I had come across in Nicaragua. Anyways he stood in this magnificent line for some time and we were then finally able to leave Nicaragua and start going through the Costa Rican customs.
Costa Rican customs were much better, but we did run into a few issues. One of which involved the customs agent putting Vanessa's passport number in the box for our plate number and us having to turn back into Nicaragua for the second time. I rarely see Vanessa yell in English and have never seen her yell in Spanish, but she let them know that they were "culpable". And in no time the guy who had messed up emerge from the back and printed off a new form (without saying anything at all).
We made it into Costa Rica.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Xela to Nicaragua
Xela was a great break from constant movement, and it's tough not to learn Spanish when you take 5 hours of 1 on 1 classes a day, but I "unintentionally" put up a good fight. Although I was slowly improving, I still found myself making mistakes and oblivious to the nuances of the language to the amusement of my teacher Ana. Here is one such conversation that seemed normal to me. It started when we got on the subject of food and cooking.
Me (in my poor Spanish)- "I like my chili. It's really the only thing that I'm proud of. What? It's actually really good. Why are you laughing? It's the best thing that I can make."
At this point Ana was on the verge of tears and told me that chile (pronounced "chili") is slang for Penis. She also found my explanation of chili competitions in Canada and the States to be absolutely hilarious. "People come from all over the continent to compare their chili's. There's even different groupings for spicy and non-spicy chilies."
After our two weeks in Xela were up, we drove down to the border and crossed over into Al Salvador. I don't know what I was expecting, but a calm decended upon me as we drove into the new country. Maybe it was the well maintained and pot hole free roads, the fact that there were road signs in the towns and on the highways or that the women seemed to be more beautiful, but I felt safe in Al Salvador.
We drove for awhile in the dark (about 1/3 of the country) and eventually found a sign that said hostel -->. It was poorly placed, but within seconds of stopping we had 2 people helping us out and directing us to the hostel which only cost $6/night. 3 delicious pupusas were only $1 and the national beer "Pilsner" was cheap and much better than Gallo -- sorry Guatemala.
We decided to stay one more day and learn how to surf. I was actually able to get up quite a few times on the surf board, but only with the help of the instructor. Unfortunately the only shirt they had turned into a belly shirt on me, leaving a well defined sunburn belt that I'm still nursing.
Honduras wasn't quite as nice... More than four hours to get across the border into it. Getting ripped off by the guys who pestered us until we agreed to their help. Most expensive vehicle insurance. And we got shaken down by the cops. Apparently you need to have a traffic cone in the vehicle at all times. We played dumb for awhile, pretending not to know really know Spanish (it was sad how easy it was for me). It seemed like the younger cop was learning the ropes from the wiley veteran. However, unlike most detective movies it wasn't how to read a suspect or interpret a crime scene, but how to leverage your authority to get money from gringos. Eventually the older cop went back to directing traffic, leaving the younger more nervous cop on his first shakedown -- part of a right of passage. We ended up paying $26 american to the cop before he gave us a nervous shaky hand-shake and gave me back my license.
From that point we were just searching for the first cheap hotel we could find. More difficult than it sounds in Honduras. Two were too pricey, and it seemed like something terrible happened at the third hotel we stopped at in a small town just before the border.
The outer entrance of the third hotel was only partially lit, and as we walked through it into the main courtyard we could hear a large dog barking -- trapped in one of the small rooms of the entrance. The main courtyard was a fully lit restaurant/bar with hammocks strung up on the outskirts and a myriad of white plastic tables and chairs evenly spread out in the center. Some of the chairs had been knocked over and were laying on their sides besides the tables. At the far end there was a bar set up with huge speakers beside it. Past this we could see an apartment like building with light sneaking out of its windows. Only one of the windows had the blinds puled back, and we could see a living room with a old flower pattern couch, old lamps with tassels, 70s faux wood paneling and several paintings of the Virgin Mary. We knocked on the door and waited. At one point we thought we heard talking, but nobody answered the door. We looked across the courtyard to were the rooms were and saw light sliding under the door of the room closest to the entrance. We walked across and knocked on the door, but as we did we realized there was a padlock on the outside locking anyone, if there was someone, inside. We looked down the row of rooms and notice that the light was on in the farthest room and for some reason the door was also wide open -- oddly enough we did not notice this before when we were looking across the courtyard. We walked over to the room and looked inside. There were 3 beds perfectly made up and the bathroom looked as though it had just been cleaned. It was a nice room, however, we still decided to look for another place to stay.
We eventually made it to Granada, and now I am reunited with my little sister. We live in a house that used to be the Voodoo Bar. Today we are going to Managua to pick up my parents. Times are good, except for the shake downs from the cops. My new strategy (inspired by David Stewie) is to only speak French until they get so frustrated that they will take a smaller bribe -- my last one was only $4.
Me (in my poor Spanish)- "I like my chili. It's really the only thing that I'm proud of. What? It's actually really good. Why are you laughing? It's the best thing that I can make."
At this point Ana was on the verge of tears and told me that chile (pronounced "chili") is slang for Penis. She also found my explanation of chili competitions in Canada and the States to be absolutely hilarious. "People come from all over the continent to compare their chili's. There's even different groupings for spicy and non-spicy chilies."
After our two weeks in Xela were up, we drove down to the border and crossed over into Al Salvador. I don't know what I was expecting, but a calm decended upon me as we drove into the new country. Maybe it was the well maintained and pot hole free roads, the fact that there were road signs in the towns and on the highways or that the women seemed to be more beautiful, but I felt safe in Al Salvador.
We drove for awhile in the dark (about 1/3 of the country) and eventually found a sign that said hostel -->. It was poorly placed, but within seconds of stopping we had 2 people helping us out and directing us to the hostel which only cost $6/night. 3 delicious pupusas were only $1 and the national beer "Pilsner" was cheap and much better than Gallo -- sorry Guatemala.
We decided to stay one more day and learn how to surf. I was actually able to get up quite a few times on the surf board, but only with the help of the instructor. Unfortunately the only shirt they had turned into a belly shirt on me, leaving a well defined sunburn belt that I'm still nursing.
Honduras wasn't quite as nice... More than four hours to get across the border into it. Getting ripped off by the guys who pestered us until we agreed to their help. Most expensive vehicle insurance. And we got shaken down by the cops. Apparently you need to have a traffic cone in the vehicle at all times. We played dumb for awhile, pretending not to know really know Spanish (it was sad how easy it was for me). It seemed like the younger cop was learning the ropes from the wiley veteran. However, unlike most detective movies it wasn't how to read a suspect or interpret a crime scene, but how to leverage your authority to get money from gringos. Eventually the older cop went back to directing traffic, leaving the younger more nervous cop on his first shakedown -- part of a right of passage. We ended up paying $26 american to the cop before he gave us a nervous shaky hand-shake and gave me back my license.
From that point we were just searching for the first cheap hotel we could find. More difficult than it sounds in Honduras. Two were too pricey, and it seemed like something terrible happened at the third hotel we stopped at in a small town just before the border.
The outer entrance of the third hotel was only partially lit, and as we walked through it into the main courtyard we could hear a large dog barking -- trapped in one of the small rooms of the entrance. The main courtyard was a fully lit restaurant/bar with hammocks strung up on the outskirts and a myriad of white plastic tables and chairs evenly spread out in the center. Some of the chairs had been knocked over and were laying on their sides besides the tables. At the far end there was a bar set up with huge speakers beside it. Past this we could see an apartment like building with light sneaking out of its windows. Only one of the windows had the blinds puled back, and we could see a living room with a old flower pattern couch, old lamps with tassels, 70s faux wood paneling and several paintings of the Virgin Mary. We knocked on the door and waited. At one point we thought we heard talking, but nobody answered the door. We looked across the courtyard to were the rooms were and saw light sliding under the door of the room closest to the entrance. We walked across and knocked on the door, but as we did we realized there was a padlock on the outside locking anyone, if there was someone, inside. We looked down the row of rooms and notice that the light was on in the farthest room and for some reason the door was also wide open -- oddly enough we did not notice this before when we were looking across the courtyard. We walked over to the room and looked inside. There were 3 beds perfectly made up and the bathroom looked as though it had just been cleaned. It was a nice room, however, we still decided to look for another place to stay.
We eventually made it to Granada, and now I am reunited with my little sister. We live in a house that used to be the Voodoo Bar. Today we are going to Managua to pick up my parents. Times are good, except for the shake downs from the cops. My new strategy (inspired by David Stewie) is to only speak French until they get so frustrated that they will take a smaller bribe -- my last one was only $4.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Into Guatemala
I guess last time I left off as we got into Belize.
As we neared the Guat border we randomly pulled off the highway and booked a room in a nice hotel. It was the first room that had that proper hotel room smell of just-been-cleaned. It also had cable, so we made the most of it by watching He-Man in Spanish.
We seemed to be pretty much the only guests at the hotel, but as we were eating supper in the restaurant/bar a tour group walked in to the hotel, and by chance we had met one of the girls in San Cristobal a couple days earlier. Their guide was nice and not only invited us to go out drinking with the group, but wrangle us a couple free drink coupons for the bar. After the bar we offered everyone rum partially out of kindness and partially because it was Campari (Belizean rum) and we wanted to get rid of it. Campari is one of the few drinks that tastes worse going in than it does coming out, and coke is powerless to cover up its flavour. At the same time I just couldn't bring myself to waste it.
The next morning we drove into Guatemala, having a bit of trouble at the border because we didn't have enough currency on us. Luckily it was Guatemala, so a cab driver drove me across the border to an atm and then back to Belize.
After the border we drove straight to Tikal and set up camp. The first night it poured and we ended up wandering in the rain at night looking for some place to eat. Luckily the closest restaurant was nice enough to open up for us. The next day we lounged around, saw the ruins, a crocodile, and I wandered off on what I thought was a short hike. I must have gotten off the short loop at some point and ended up wandering the jungle by myself convinced that a Jaguar was stalking me.
Flores was nice and we ended up staying at a great hostel called "Los Amigos". Amazing vegetarian cuisine. Some of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten, and they didn't even have meat in them. We stayed a couple of days in the hostel and were able to get our first passenger. We originally planed to drive down to Rio Dulce, but the when we tried to leave in the morning the sliding door would not close (different problem than before) and we needed to drive into town to find a mechanic.
I stopped at the first place I saw, and was waiting in line when one of the other customers started talking to me. It turns out that he was from Las Vegas and back in Guatemala opening up a new business. He found us a good mechanic, translated for us and let us hang out at his new business which consists of a soccer field, a children's play area complete with trampolines, a restaurant/discotheque and the only limo in Peten. He also gave us advice about Guatemala. Here is an exact quote from him when I went with him to pick up his truck we were driving back, "If you ever kill someone in Guatemala just drive because the police will send you to church for life." You can imagine that I looked a little confused half thinking to myself (That's what happens?) before he corrected himself, "I mean jail." It was a curious mental association. He then told me how he one a drag race a week ago with this truck and proceeded to burn out and fish tail down the street laughing that the other drivers were scared of his wildly fishtailing driving. At that point I wanted to buckle up, but didn't want to offend him since he had been so helpful, so I just prayed that we wouldn't hit someone and be sent to church for life. I know I'm making him sound unstable, but he really was a nice guy.
All the help that I have been getting on this trip has set me way back on the Karma meter. I might need to nurse a leper back to health after this trip just to get back to normal.
Anyways the van was fixed (welding involved)for less than $50 Canadian, but it was too late to leave that day and we had decided to go to Coban, so we wouldn't have to drive through Guatemala City. We wandered back to the hostel to stay another night. The next day we left for Coban and Ofri still decided to come with us even if we weren't quite as reliable as a bus, considering the date of departure and destination changed.
We spent a day in Coban I saw some orchids, and we left in the morning for Xela. Unfortunately we heard reports that part of the highway to Xela had been destroyed by rock slides. Some said it was impassable while others thought we could make it. And whenever they asked why we didn't take the other highway, all we would have to say is that we did not want to go through Guatemala city and they would understand. It was normal to choose rock slides over the capital.
The road was a little rough to say the least, but we made it to Xela alive.
As we neared the Guat border we randomly pulled off the highway and booked a room in a nice hotel. It was the first room that had that proper hotel room smell of just-been-cleaned. It also had cable, so we made the most of it by watching He-Man in Spanish.
We seemed to be pretty much the only guests at the hotel, but as we were eating supper in the restaurant/bar a tour group walked in to the hotel, and by chance we had met one of the girls in San Cristobal a couple days earlier. Their guide was nice and not only invited us to go out drinking with the group, but wrangle us a couple free drink coupons for the bar. After the bar we offered everyone rum partially out of kindness and partially because it was Campari (Belizean rum) and we wanted to get rid of it. Campari is one of the few drinks that tastes worse going in than it does coming out, and coke is powerless to cover up its flavour. At the same time I just couldn't bring myself to waste it.
The next morning we drove into Guatemala, having a bit of trouble at the border because we didn't have enough currency on us. Luckily it was Guatemala, so a cab driver drove me across the border to an atm and then back to Belize.
After the border we drove straight to Tikal and set up camp. The first night it poured and we ended up wandering in the rain at night looking for some place to eat. Luckily the closest restaurant was nice enough to open up for us. The next day we lounged around, saw the ruins, a crocodile, and I wandered off on what I thought was a short hike. I must have gotten off the short loop at some point and ended up wandering the jungle by myself convinced that a Jaguar was stalking me.
Flores was nice and we ended up staying at a great hostel called "Los Amigos". Amazing vegetarian cuisine. Some of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten, and they didn't even have meat in them. We stayed a couple of days in the hostel and were able to get our first passenger. We originally planed to drive down to Rio Dulce, but the when we tried to leave in the morning the sliding door would not close (different problem than before) and we needed to drive into town to find a mechanic.
I stopped at the first place I saw, and was waiting in line when one of the other customers started talking to me. It turns out that he was from Las Vegas and back in Guatemala opening up a new business. He found us a good mechanic, translated for us and let us hang out at his new business which consists of a soccer field, a children's play area complete with trampolines, a restaurant/discotheque and the only limo in Peten. He also gave us advice about Guatemala. Here is an exact quote from him when I went with him to pick up his truck we were driving back, "If you ever kill someone in Guatemala just drive because the police will send you to church for life." You can imagine that I looked a little confused half thinking to myself (That's what happens?) before he corrected himself, "I mean jail." It was a curious mental association. He then told me how he one a drag race a week ago with this truck and proceeded to burn out and fish tail down the street laughing that the other drivers were scared of his wildly fishtailing driving. At that point I wanted to buckle up, but didn't want to offend him since he had been so helpful, so I just prayed that we wouldn't hit someone and be sent to church for life. I know I'm making him sound unstable, but he really was a nice guy.
All the help that I have been getting on this trip has set me way back on the Karma meter. I might need to nurse a leper back to health after this trip just to get back to normal.
Anyways the van was fixed (welding involved)for less than $50 Canadian, but it was too late to leave that day and we had decided to go to Coban, so we wouldn't have to drive through Guatemala City. We wandered back to the hostel to stay another night. The next day we left for Coban and Ofri still decided to come with us even if we weren't quite as reliable as a bus, considering the date of departure and destination changed.
We spent a day in Coban I saw some orchids, and we left in the morning for Xela. Unfortunately we heard reports that part of the highway to Xela had been destroyed by rock slides. Some said it was impassable while others thought we could make it. And whenever they asked why we didn't take the other highway, all we would have to say is that we did not want to go through Guatemala city and they would understand. It was normal to choose rock slides over the capital.
The road was a little rough to say the least, but we made it to Xela alive.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Ants Go Marching On
Driving into San Cristobal was interesting. Narrow streets that can be both one ways and two depending on how far along the street you are, and the fact that we didn’t have a map of the city ended up with me driving through a market. But we made it to the hostel Las Palomas.
The hostel was mostly dead, but there were still quite a few interesting travellers that we spent a couple nights drinking with. The second night of drinking involved watching “G.I. Joe” with Ben and a few of the other backpackers. It wasn’t a movie any of us took seriously, and spent most of the time making fun of it, which is pretty much all you can do with a movie like that. But the Martin from Poland couldn’t even dredge comedy out of the bad. I have never seen anyone with so much disdain or disgust for a movie. He looked like he was in physical pain watching it. And if you were to ask him about the movie his only response would be a simple, “No”. Can't say that I blame him. He eventually shut it off and took the DVD out of the player.
After the movie a few of us went out drinking. The first bar was a nice sit down place with live music. Eventually we ended up at a Mexican night club that was dead when we first got in. Dead enough that they were giving us free shots. Eventually the bar got busier and we ended up dancing with the locals. My rhythm needs work; I don’t think I was doing it right, but I tried, and it was fun.
The morning we left San Cristobal, we met another couple who are driving an old beat up VW rabbit down to Argentina and back. We swapped stories and they told us about the mecanical problems they have been having. We bid farewell, but as we were talking to hostel owner we saw the rabbit die perfectly in front of the door. We burst out laughing and then helped them push start it.
We then headed towards Palenque and past another couple shake downs, one involving homemade spike-strips. The military has also taken more of an interest in us, and the searches have became more thorough, which is annoying. However my only real gripe with the military is that they left my day pack open when they searched it. In normal cases this wouldn't have been a big deal, but our circumstances were not normal.
Based on the title you might have thought that I was referring metaphorically to Ben and I travelling southward (in a cheesy manner), but I was actually referring to the ants that live in our Van. We started seeing a few crawling around about a week ago, since then the colony has been thriving. We're not 100% sure what they are eating. One theory is that they go out at night to forage and are safely back in the van each morning, since they know we avoid driving in the darkness. Luckily they're just small black foraging ants that don't bite, so we haven't been too concerned about the situation. Besides they're really the only ones that have been cleaning our van, so we let it be. However, when the military did not close my backpack the ants moved their nursery into it during the drive to Palenque. It was annoying trying to sweep all of the ants and their eggs out of my backpack, but I think I dealt a swift blow to the colony. The ants have not been as prominent in the van lately, but the Queen is still at large. Maybe the vents?
We stayed at Palenque for a couple days, went a bit hippy and saw the ruins.
From Palenque we drove to Chetumal and drove around looking for a cheap place; we found one. It looked like a place where criminals would go after they were realeased from prison and trying to reincorporate themselves into society, but it was nice enough for one night. In the morning I went down to the lobby in order to use the WIFI. As I was on the internet it started pouring and Ben came down the stairs half naked and soaking wet. He was doing yoga on the roof (where are room was) when the wind blew the door shut. The owner gave us a spare key, but unfortunately it didn't work. After trying to break into the room with the leatherman without succes, I tried with a spoon and was able to break in within a minute -- maybe not the most secure accomodations.
This set us back a little, but we still made it to the border fairly early. We stopped at the Mexican immagration office so Ben could cancel the insurance for the vehicle. At the same time the power window panel on the drivers side stopped working and we couldn't close it. The fuse was fine, so we went to the next logical step -- Ben started pulling off the door panel. We tried to push it up manually, as well as a multitude of other things that people, who are not mechanically inclined, would try. I even spit on the connection points of the wires where they intersect with the panel controls. Nothing. But shortly after when we gave up and were driving to Belize they worked (maybe the spit completed the circuit?).
Now we're just before the Guatemalan border -- about 2 hours from Tikal.
The hostel was mostly dead, but there were still quite a few interesting travellers that we spent a couple nights drinking with. The second night of drinking involved watching “G.I. Joe” with Ben and a few of the other backpackers. It wasn’t a movie any of us took seriously, and spent most of the time making fun of it, which is pretty much all you can do with a movie like that. But the Martin from Poland couldn’t even dredge comedy out of the bad. I have never seen anyone with so much disdain or disgust for a movie. He looked like he was in physical pain watching it. And if you were to ask him about the movie his only response would be a simple, “No”. Can't say that I blame him. He eventually shut it off and took the DVD out of the player.
After the movie a few of us went out drinking. The first bar was a nice sit down place with live music. Eventually we ended up at a Mexican night club that was dead when we first got in. Dead enough that they were giving us free shots. Eventually the bar got busier and we ended up dancing with the locals. My rhythm needs work; I don’t think I was doing it right, but I tried, and it was fun.
The morning we left San Cristobal, we met another couple who are driving an old beat up VW rabbit down to Argentina and back. We swapped stories and they told us about the mecanical problems they have been having. We bid farewell, but as we were talking to hostel owner we saw the rabbit die perfectly in front of the door. We burst out laughing and then helped them push start it.
We then headed towards Palenque and past another couple shake downs, one involving homemade spike-strips. The military has also taken more of an interest in us, and the searches have became more thorough, which is annoying. However my only real gripe with the military is that they left my day pack open when they searched it. In normal cases this wouldn't have been a big deal, but our circumstances were not normal.
Based on the title you might have thought that I was referring metaphorically to Ben and I travelling southward (in a cheesy manner), but I was actually referring to the ants that live in our Van. We started seeing a few crawling around about a week ago, since then the colony has been thriving. We're not 100% sure what they are eating. One theory is that they go out at night to forage and are safely back in the van each morning, since they know we avoid driving in the darkness. Luckily they're just small black foraging ants that don't bite, so we haven't been too concerned about the situation. Besides they're really the only ones that have been cleaning our van, so we let it be. However, when the military did not close my backpack the ants moved their nursery into it during the drive to Palenque. It was annoying trying to sweep all of the ants and their eggs out of my backpack, but I think I dealt a swift blow to the colony. The ants have not been as prominent in the van lately, but the Queen is still at large. Maybe the vents?
We stayed at Palenque for a couple days, went a bit hippy and saw the ruins.
From Palenque we drove to Chetumal and drove around looking for a cheap place; we found one. It looked like a place where criminals would go after they were realeased from prison and trying to reincorporate themselves into society, but it was nice enough for one night. In the morning I went down to the lobby in order to use the WIFI. As I was on the internet it started pouring and Ben came down the stairs half naked and soaking wet. He was doing yoga on the roof (where are room was) when the wind blew the door shut. The owner gave us a spare key, but unfortunately it didn't work. After trying to break into the room with the leatherman without succes, I tried with a spoon and was able to break in within a minute -- maybe not the most secure accomodations.
This set us back a little, but we still made it to the border fairly early. We stopped at the Mexican immagration office so Ben could cancel the insurance for the vehicle. At the same time the power window panel on the drivers side stopped working and we couldn't close it. The fuse was fine, so we went to the next logical step -- Ben started pulling off the door panel. We tried to push it up manually, as well as a multitude of other things that people, who are not mechanically inclined, would try. I even spit on the connection points of the wires where they intersect with the panel controls. Nothing. But shortly after when we gave up and were driving to Belize they worked (maybe the spit completed the circuit?).
Now we're just before the Guatemalan border -- about 2 hours from Tikal.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Pilgrimage Continues
We left the RV park just north of Acapulco early in the morning and headed south. We circled around Acapulco for a bit, but eventually got on the 200 south of the city. This is were we saw about 8-10 Federali trucks with at least 4 officers each in full swat gear refueling at a Pemex. We decided to stop at the next gas station. Haven`t heard anything about it in the news so far -- maybe they all just happened to need gas at the same time?
There also seemed to be a higher concentration of military checkpoints along the way, and we had to stop more than once to have the van searched -- it was the first time they actually checked the roofpod or asked for our passports. They are all still quite friendly though, and I think they got a kick out of a tall pale freckled shirtless Canadian. Especially when I misheard a question and told them that I was from Mazatlan -- somehow I don't think they believed me.
We also encountered our first Federali checkpoint. On this occasion I was again driving shirtless to avoid decimating another shirt with sweat. They all just laughed as we pulled up, and let us go through after only a couple questions.
Puerto Escondido looks like a pirate cove that slowly and grudgingly became a tourist town, not because it wanted to, but as a last ditch effort to adapt to the changing times. It`s now a great surfer / beach bum town and I truly feel at home here. Mainly because it is the place that has the highest ratio of chin straps that I have ever seen. The first night we got there it seemed like every 2nd or 3rd guy was chin strapped. I may no longer be sporting chin strap (I'm now just a normal beardy), but I still feel a sense of kinship with them. It also had a good pizzeria that was empty. Pizza isn't big in Mexico, and we saw a few Mexicans wander in looking for tacos and being shocked and walk off when the waitress told them they didn't have them.
We lazed about the town for a couple days and I revelled in being clean for the first time in awhile, and not driving for a full day. We had been on the move for the last 5 days and it was nice to relax for a bit and a break from the pilgrimage to Tierra Del Fuego.
After Puerto Escondido we had our first shakedown since coming to Mexico. You can read all about it in Ben's blog http://www.thebestbenandshaneblog.blogspot.com/ .
There also seemed to be a higher concentration of military checkpoints along the way, and we had to stop more than once to have the van searched -- it was the first time they actually checked the roofpod or asked for our passports. They are all still quite friendly though, and I think they got a kick out of a tall pale freckled shirtless Canadian. Especially when I misheard a question and told them that I was from Mazatlan -- somehow I don't think they believed me.
We also encountered our first Federali checkpoint. On this occasion I was again driving shirtless to avoid decimating another shirt with sweat. They all just laughed as we pulled up, and let us go through after only a couple questions.
Puerto Escondido looks like a pirate cove that slowly and grudgingly became a tourist town, not because it wanted to, but as a last ditch effort to adapt to the changing times. It`s now a great surfer / beach bum town and I truly feel at home here. Mainly because it is the place that has the highest ratio of chin straps that I have ever seen. The first night we got there it seemed like every 2nd or 3rd guy was chin strapped. I may no longer be sporting chin strap (I'm now just a normal beardy), but I still feel a sense of kinship with them. It also had a good pizzeria that was empty. Pizza isn't big in Mexico, and we saw a few Mexicans wander in looking for tacos and being shocked and walk off when the waitress told them they didn't have them.
We lazed about the town for a couple days and I revelled in being clean for the first time in awhile, and not driving for a full day. We had been on the move for the last 5 days and it was nice to relax for a bit and a break from the pilgrimage to Tierra Del Fuego.
After Puerto Escondido we had our first shakedown since coming to Mexico. You can read all about it in Ben's blog http://www.thebestbenandshaneblog.blogspot.com/ .
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