Roads Unknown :: Blog

random Brazilian differences

Brendon — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 03:00:00 -0700

Often while traveling, I enjoy noting the differences between the way life functions in the country or city I am visiting compared to back home. Here is a collection of various things I've noticed over the past few months in Brasil.

Drive downtown in any major city in the United States and you are sure to find a parking meter. Even more likely you will find a ticket on your car because you didn't feed enough quarters into the machine. In many third-world countries, although I have yet to drive vehicle, you can park for free just about anywhere you want, no tickets. That does not however mean your wallet will be left undamaged from petty theft to keying, your car is a symbol of wealth and will reap the consequences. In Nicaragua, to help prevent vandalism, little boys often hang around popular areas and offer to "watch" your car for you. Whether or not they actually protect the vehicle, or just watch someone break into it, is up for debate. I like the way Brasil does it. Instead of machines or adolescents, men are payed wages by the city governments to monitor parking areas, assist in parallel, and collect tariffs. Cars are protected, people are employed, and the meter never runs out. Win, win, win.

Credit or debit? I think that question is asked to me more than any other. In restaurants, bars, grocery stores, shopping malls, everywhere accepts a cartão. Not just credit, debit. Punch in your pin number and no signature is necessary. And better yet, the whole transaction is done at your table, right in front of you via wireless card readers. For those geeks out there like me, they can connect directly to the card transaction networks via cellular service.

Although the United States is considered a very "service" minded country, we took a step backwards in one industry decades ago by removing the man at the pump. For as lazy as we can be or for as busy as we make ourselves, it seems odd to me that full-service gasoline stations have gone the way of the dinosaurs. Drive up, pop the fuel latch, request the grade, run the card, drive away without ever leaving the vehicle. Only thing missing is a way to pee without getting out.

Hot vs. Cold. I've always stood by the idea that at least in cold weather, you can put on more clothes, but in hot weather, there is only so many you can remove. Well, at least here it is acceptable for men to take of one additional item, the shirt and walk into just about any establishment without question. None of this no shirt, no shoes, no service crap.

Malls are huge. If not at the beach on a sunny day, cloudy days Cariocas spend shopping. In my few short years I have lived on this planet, I have been to many malls around the world, but Brazilian malls are quiet impressive. On top of that, the food court rocks. Sure you can find McDonald's and related fast-food junk, but more popular is eating or drinking at one of the many nice, upscale restaurants or botecos. And forget about 9pm closing time, I left the mall at midnight one night after downing a few pints of beer (however lost inside the corridors wondering if a Terminator was going to bust out of a wall at any moment).

If you cannot find time in your busy (not really) lifestyle to make it to the mall for your fast-food fix, McDonald's delivers. So does everyone else. Drugs, food, groceries, you name it. Anything a farmácia carries including: prescription drugs (which you do not need a prescription for), tylenol (for that killer hangover you cannot get out of bed for), soap (if stuck in the shower), condoms...you get the idea. Did I mention many are open 24 hours a day? Not having a car, the grocery entragar option was great. While this is finally starting to catch on in the US, it's not just ordering online. Just show up, fill up your cart, pay the bill, drop your address, and an hour (or a few) later you have saved yourself a taxi ride or lugging 50 lbs. of bags up a hill. No time to shop, 99% of restaurants deliver.

Speaking of food, pizza in Brasil beats out any other place in the world, including Italy and most of the United States. You can order just about anything on a pizza if at the right place. Of course delivery is an option, but the best deal is the rodizio. Where we have "buffets", the Brazilians improve with table service. I can stuff myself with unlimited supplies of pizza without ever getting up as the servers bring around pie after pie, including dessert pizzas for less than $10. Now if I can just figure out why someone would ruin it with packets of ketchup and mustard.

Now if you ate too much and are having trouble crossing the street before a car hits you, just pound feverishly on the hood, it is well within your right and proper etiquette. I'm not sure what this is compared to, but I wanted to note this.

That's about all I have for now, I am sure there will be many more of these types of lists in the future...

the "tourist bus"

Brendon — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 04:53:00 -0700

Only once, in Dublin, Ireland, have I boarded a "tourist bus", but my couch surfing host suggested it as a good way to see most of the city of Salvador since he was busy working. For U$15, Salvador Bus is cheaper than cabs and buses between the spread out metropolis.

I arrived at the mall to catch the bus around 9am while people were already busting down the doors to get in on a Wednesday morning. Barely awake, I trolled the mall for the ticket counter, even though I knew I could buy one on the bus directly. At the same time, I scoured for a coffee joint, with cold drinks. I never found either.

Standing outside waiting, I thought I'd failed on the bus too, but it was just a few minutes late and I boarded as the only passenger. We picked up a few more as we stopped at hotels along the way to our first tourist sight, Farol de Barra. A lighthouse on the tip of the Salvadorean peninsula, it looked cool from the outside. Unfortunately, these bus trips only give you 10 minutes at stops, not enough time to pay the entrance fee and look around. I suggest 25 minute stops, that's about all I ever need to look at anything.

The bus drove around town, talking out of speakers about the town, in both English and Portuguese, but I was too tired to understand either. We stopped at the Praca Municipal for lunch, except my brochure said lunch was at the Mercardo Modelo. After some broken language barriers were overcome, I found out I was to meet the bus after lunch at the market, which was apparently underneath us. Turns out it wasn't exactly underneath, but there was an elevator for 5 centavos dropping us to another level of the city where I found the market and much required food with a nice view.

The rain started just after lunch and at the point I realized it was better to be on a bus, even if it stood out around town like a sore thumb and smelled of gringos. At least I was partially dry. Between the large, overpriced, but good lunch, the rain, and the movements of the bus, I began slipping into sleeps.

The next and last major attraction, the Igreja do Donfirm went like this for 10 quick minutes: bus stops, people clamor out, up the church steps, flash flash flash, scamper up the aisle, flash flash flash, back on the bus. I almost faked a genuflection because no one else did. But the guilt of pulling out my own camera, flash off, disappeared being in the company of heathen tourists. Or maybe the guy selling beer outside the was the sign that anything is allowed.

The last 10 minute stop was for ice cream. It is either the oldest or most famous or best or something sorvette in Salvador so despite not being a big ice cream fan, I indulged with a scoop of graviola and mihlo verde, or green corn. Yes, you read that correctly. I first tried this flavor in Saquerema back in March, delish. It is actually yellow though. Of course there were 30 other odd flavors to choose from (see album soon), all better than Baskin Robins.

I continued to nod off and woke up thinking I missed my stop, but not. Following the crowd outside of the mall to the main bus station across a few overwalks, I waited on the platform while bus after bus pulled in and out, in and out. No sign of "Praia do Flemengo". Then it came, opposite side of the station, I ran through the crowd, dogging like the best, not alone in my pursuit. To day dreams again I went, waking up on occasion and scared I'd missed my stop. I always think I've missed my stop. Finally I asked for assistance, confused where we were, thinking I was going to be backtracking. But again, thankfully wrong.

the first couch

Brendon — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 00:33:00 -0700

I arrived in Salvador to meet up with my first couch surfing experience on Tuesday evening. Walking out of the airport baggage terminal, Victor was already waiting, 30 minutes early and recognized me immediately. Car parked on the curve 5 steps away, I tossed my bags and we went off to grab some grub. Salvador is a seaside city full of seafood dishes so he ordered up some boiled oysters and shrimp pastries to compliment the beer. A good start to my first couch surfing experience if you ask me.

A good, interesting, half un-American conversation later, we headed to his apartment literally 1-block from the beach, palm trees and all. Both having to wake up early, it was quick to bed. Or not. I struggled. And struggled. At first it was the mosquitoes, I'd forgotten I had return to a summer, humid, bug filled environment and came very unprepared so I put as many clothes back on as possible without dying from heat exhaustion and tried again. No real luck. Combined with being in a new place and having my sleep schedule used to 4am, I think I finally wondered into dreamland by the time Victor woke up that morning, scoring myself all of 2 hours of sleep.

It's 7:30am, today is going to be a long day...

2 weeks and counting

Brendon — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 14:45:00 -0700

The day go by. It's hard to believe 3 months ago I was moving into this house I will now be leaving in 2 weeks time. Seems like just yesterday, but Carnaval seems like forever ago. I guess that's what happens when you spend the majority of your days working and sleeping and saving.

I imagine the next less than 14 days will disappear even quicker. While I am sad to be leaving an amazing city and good friends, I am also quite stoked to get back on the road. Itching for the experiences, I will be heading out alone, but sure to hook up with travelers along the gringo trail up into northeastern Brazil.

Following my excursion into a very different side of this great country, I will head back into the Amazon (via boat again, ug!) and up into Venezuela with a stop at Victoria Falls hopefully. Quickly crossing the country, I plan to arrive back in Bogota, Colombia where I will be meeting up with David at the beginning of August. More on that later.

In the meantime, I have many many stories to write, and I'm hoping to shoot some video footage of Rio de Janeiro before my departure. Already visited a few musuems/galleries last week and plan on a few more next. Other than that, I am just counting down the days...

P.S. As I have had a few days of spare time with little work left to do, I've updated the site in various places. Mostly behind the scenes, but you will notice a few improvements on the outside (except for Maps which I actually broke). Plus, there is an updated schedule on the Join Us page and a few additional contributors on the Support page. Thanks again to all for your prayers, wishes of luck, and support!

My Carnaval, Not Everyones

Brendon — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 06:20:00 -0700

The closest thing I can think of to relate what Carnaval (in Portuguese, everywhere else, Carnival) here in Rio de Janeiro was for me like is to go back to my small town semi-roots: "street dance". If you are unfamiliar with the term, "block party" might be more adequate, but I cannot imagine many of these go on these days with all the laws regarding underage drinking, liability litigation, etc.

These two ideas come to mind in attempting and failing to describe Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro: "street dance" and "block party". Essentially they are the same thing, but for people from different places. If you are from the middle of nowhere Nebraska, the former term rings true to your roots. If you are from the big city, perhaps the later is more to your liking. But this holiday really is not just one, not just the other. It's both. It's bigger. It's bigger than bigger. It is people from both walks of life, from country to city, from slums to mansions, together, in harmony, at the largest party on Earth.

Now what entails a good party? For the 11 million inhabitants of this city along with the 2+ million estimated tourists, it can mean so many different things. But I selected to be apart of where "the people" go. And they go to the street. Called a "bloco", some 100+ variations exist starting weeks before the official celebrations and even a few, including the largest, ending weeks after.

A few ingredients go into making a bloco. The already mentioned 1,000's of people are important. Next a party must have music. In the majority of cases this consists of a two story bus, specifically designed for Carnaval, to carry a multi-piece band, singers, etc. on its roof along with camera crews, reporters, and VIPs. Because buses move (that's right, this party moves down the streets, like a parade, but you are in it), surrounding it by 5 feet on 3 sides is a rope held taut by requiredly huge Cariocas (imagine the burns keeping out the 10s and 20s of people pushing on it simultaneously every 10 feet). Another 50 feet of caution taped area in front of the bus, a marching band huddles to perform an incredibly drumtastic array of original beats and compositions commissioned solely and specifically for this bloco, interspersed with traditional chants from around the country.

With great music, there is dancing. Another key part. While I have always considered myself the tall white guy who sticks out like a sore thumb at the disco club, who always requires copious amounts of alcohol to even get out onto the dance floor, and then continues his downward spiral for the night by actually believing he can move, I was not this person at the bloco. Not that any of the above did not happen on a few occasions, I found the following to be true of dancing during Carnaval. I'm not the biggest or goofiest looking person dancing. I'm not self-impossed to finish 10 drinks before starting. I'm not require to have any skill whatsoever. What a relief it was to realize these facts and be able to partake in one of the many things Brazilians love: dancing!

Of course, just because it was not necessary, does not mean liquids were not flowing from all corners of the streets, into mouths, and out of urinary organs back onto the corners.

Imagine going to a 4th of July celebration. Every family brings a nice, huge styrofoam cooler to pack enough food and beer for 25 guests. Remove food, replace with, more beer. Put cooler on shopping cart (remember: moving). Stash extra 12 packs underneath. Now imagine the families only 2 feet apart. Limitless, endless, infinite. All good words to also describe the flow into the mouths of young and old. Next imagine that $1 = 1 beer or $2 = 3 beers. No piggy is killed. Finally, imagine a party without port-a-potties, which are not quite as portable as their name might imply (remember: moving). So back onto the street corners the flow eventually returns and in parts of the city hosting multiple blocos over multiple weeks, the smell of piss permeates the air until the next big rain. (Don't imagine that, it's not pretty, but it is the Carioca way I was told and who doesn't want to fit in?)

In review, we have 1) people, 2) music, 3) dancing, 4) booze and lastly: 5) giant dudes in pink tutus. More specifically, costumes. Bloco parties each have their own theme and sometimes this includes dressing up. One of the most popular and hilarious is the "cross dressing" themed event. I was quite literally traumatized by many, but the saying around here basically says you can and should do anything, and no one, not anyone can hold against you because, well, "It's Carnaval."

End story. Want more? There can be more, but this is what I did for 2 weeks. Rio de Janeiro offers so many additional forms of entertainment from big costume parades in the Sambadromo to private anything-you-want-to-imagine parties to special club events. These events however are not what the people, the Cariocas, born and raised here do. They party and dance and drink in the streets. And its Marvelous!

road construction ahead

Brendon — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 05:29:00 -0700

Being on the road is quite simply, amazing. It provokes a different way of thinking for a new kind of life. Good and bad, not all is always well, but life is always swell. At 6 months into this journey, I have experienced so much in so little time. From people, new friends and old friends. To places, rich in heart and poor in pocket. To cultures, changing sides and staying past. There really is no where to start or way how to write an epic summary trip launch-to-date blog, but I figured I owed to it readers out there to give an update, a look into the future. (For the past, see the archives.) In short, I'm taking a sabbatical from my sabbatical and will get back "on the road" in a few short months, continuing this journey down roads unknown, but until then I will be living the life of carioca in Rio de Janeiro. Since I've already summarized what I want to say next, here are excerpts reprinted from my personal blog:

"I've been on the road for exactly 6 months now. October 1 until April 1st. Crazy. What to think about that? Europeans I've met along the road travel upwards of 12 months before returning, but as far as Americans, it's rare. Since our culture likes to set anniversaries for things, I figured something would happen at this point in time. I assumed it might be some sort of realization, maybe a random change in itinerary, perhaps a friend joining, or an epiphany of small magnitude. I did not however imagine being solo. Ironic it is our trip, this road we were on, has taken a twist of unknown proportions today."
...
So what's next, then? I'm placing the backpack back in the closet and temporarily settling in to a new, short life here in Rio de Janeiro while I [work] to continue onward. During my anti-sabbatical, I will be hoping to further document life here in "The Marvelous City".
...
At large [the itinerary] has not changed. [I will return] to Colombia, perhaps via Venezuela and follow up with Ecuador, Peru, Chile and Bolivia [before] eventually landing in Argentina. I'll search for that boat to cross the Atlantic to South America in time for the World Cup 2010 [then] crossing African and cutting into Asia. [This] goal to see the world I am sincerely committed to and hope to finish successfully with the continued support of friends and family."

--excerpts from blog titled "Transitions and Ambitions", April 1, 2009

Perhaps that does not answer so many questions still lingering out there, so feel free to ask. Again, thank you to all who have and will continue to support this adventure and remember, the offer is still out for anyone to join, for any period of time, anywhere in the world! Wish luck, say prayers, or give karma. Obrigado...

service without a smile

Brendon — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 04:38:00 -0700

If you have ever traveled outside the United States, you always miss this one thing we Americans pride ourselves upon: Service. Until a few weeks ago when we arrived in Brasil, this thing called service has been more or less non-existent. Even with a fake smile, nothing really compares to the culture of service we have created in the U.S. Here in Rio de Janeiro we have however been re-introduced to quality in the restaurant, both in food and help. But before I write that story, here's one from a few months ago while traveling in Panama.

If I ever need to be reminded I'm in Central America, I just walk into a restaurant. Hospitality, by and large, for the most part, generally and specifically speaking, considering all others, fucking sucks. Blows balls. Esta mierda. Ever been to Europe, maybe specifically London and wondered what you got for 10%? Whatever it was, it was a hell of a lot more than here.

So I'd just eaten not too many hours ago, but it was dinner time and my stomach was habitually growling. Cheap sounded good, but raining I passed on the street vendor sandwich guy for cover and ended up in the Chinese restaurant in Bocas del Torro. Walking in, I saw down and the menu was quick to be delivered. I needed no time to consider, if its just Chinese, I most always go with a fried rice. Typically slow, the masera (server), returns for the order. Drinks always come late. Never quickly. Sometimes with food, something after. Fortunately fried rice takes about 2 minutes to cook up so my simple order of water came with.

I eat quickly. I know this. There were a few other tables who received food before, but close to my time, so I timed off their completion. Not that hungry, I figured I'd take half home, remember I'm eating Chinese, its take-out friendly. Fifteen minutes post consumption, I'm still waiting for a return visit. Good thing I wasn't thirsty for a second drink. The ladies pretending to work sat up front talking. I gave "the glance", nothing. Twenty minutes, one comes out and cleans off ta table that left. Glance, no vocal, no arm waving. Its not "accepted" here. Another table is cleaned off. Twnety five minutes. Now I'm just starring into space, but directly at one of the ladies. I actually here her call something across the restaurant like, "What da ya want?" in a uneducated, we are lazy bs and why are you here, tone of voice. I just want a box. I've figured out by now you get up to pay the check. I'm not however going to get up, plate in hand, go to the counter and ask for it. If I was in the States, it was one of those times you just walk out 45 minutes later without paying, but the only way not past the cs was off the dock into the ocean.

I half started to respond, shape a box with my hands, and said screw it not wanting to yell across the restaurant now completely empty. It was only $2 worth of food. I walked out, dropping $5 on the counter, not even waiting for my change. I had no where to be, no one to see, but I'd have rather stood in the rain eating a sandwich. Street vendors are super nice, super hospitable, super cooks. Sounds backwards? Welcome to Central America.

hammocking

Brendon — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 04:10:00 -0800

Sleeping in a hammock for 3 straights days isn't all its cracked up to be. Sleeping next to a cute Brazilian girl who dresses like she's hitting up the non-existent club every day on the boat however, is. The 200 other people crowded in next to you within a space of 25sq meters, not. Listening to the humming of the engine in between the peaceful bliss of the Amazonian waters, sign me up. Cold showering once every other day in the toilet slash shower, think again. Reading 2 good books while sipping on maracuca (passion fruit) filled with vodka, wonderful. Regreting eating lunch and sharing the lou with two chickens who've already disposed of theirs, never again. Attempting to communicate with a super-friendly couple who shares any fruits, cookies they are eating with you, unforgetable. Arriving on solid ground, swearing to never sleep in a hammock again, relief despite the rain and cold.

Leaving Central America

Jason — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 11:17:00 -0800

For me Central America has come with its ups and downs lefts and rights and just about any other direction that one can think of. A part of me is happy that I am leaving C.A. and another part of me is already missing it. I feel like after four plus months I should have some great insight for you but I really don't think I do. So as I walk across the border I have thought of a list of observations, experiences, or random musings that you prolly don't want to ponder but have crossed my mind more than once. So without further ado....

It has been weird being gone for this long and not really knowing anybody. I have been out of the states longer but always with a certain group of people that you spend every day with. I ended up hating most of these people or just knowing them in passing. Traveling for me has one downfall (or it could be an upside depending on my mood). You never really get to know anybody. Everybody you meet turns into a disposible friend that you use as entertainment until you part ways. It may be one hour it may be two weeks but you know that the chances of you seeing them again are slim. Don't get me wrong I have met wonderful people that I know I will see again and know for a very long time but these are few and far between. Of the hundreds that I have met I can count these people on two hands max. I have however started a fairly decent facebook friend collection. Maybe that can define my personal happiness.
Outside of my family and friends I can truly say that the only things I really miss are Mac & Cheese, Sushi, Grilled Cheese, & Tomato Soup. I know people should miss things like hot showers, sorority chicks, and all the other conveniences that living in the states brings... Yeah I miss food.
Jaywalking is an art that must be mastered in Latin America. The unfortunate part is that the learning phase can easily have deadly consequences. It is, however, a necessity.
Service in C.A. is def not what I would call "top notch". In fact one learns very quickly that holding your hand up and whistling is not an unacceptable way of getting the server's attention. In fact it is expected. I am strangly ok with this. I will trade the service for the slower paced lifestyle. That and it completely opens up my dinner hours (notice the plural) for my second favorite hobby. People watching.
At first being in a foreign country bothered me. I like being out of my conmfort zone but it was difficult for a part of me to get used to the crowds and complete lack of control of my surroundings. After four months I am still a little nervous without cause but I have for the most part gotten over it. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Most of me loves every step further out of my comfort zone but a small part of me worries where it leads.
I think that if I total it up I have spent the better part of three weeks on a bus. This just isn't normal.
I love the culture and the people around C.A. The vast majority of the people have been nothing but wonderful to us in any situation. I hate that there are the few that make me distrust many. I can't decide if I am more angry at these few or at myself for falling into the trap of distrusting so many people.
In order to travel like this you have to get used to and embrace the idea that you can't control everything. In fact you control pretty much nothing. Hopefully things go your way but they will not all the time.
Perhaps the best hug that I got was from the owner of the corner store on Christmas day. It brightened my day a thousand fold.
It pains me to see the poor and transient populations of the world. I want to give a quarter every time I walk past one but it comes down to a problem of numbers. What saddens me more is that this population is pushed aside, pushed around, and pushed to the background by communities and governments in favor of the flashy tourist industry.
People are diffent from me. They have lived completely different lives, have completly different ambitions and expectations, and understand about as much about me as I do them. This is what makes travel interesting and difficult at the same time. Finding that line between your quest for experiences and respect for those around you.
I have always been a fairly prompt person. I did not fully realize this until lately. It does drive me a little crazy when people are not on time or I am late for something. This, however, is part of the culture here. 30 minutes late is right on time.
Hostel living isn't easy. I am tired of the same lines. The "get to know you" conversations get old when you have to have them every single day. It seems to me that the where-are-you-from-where-are-you-going-how-long-are-you-traveling conversations seem to turn into a type of competition between travelers of who has gone the most places or playing the longest. I can only take it so long before I seclude myself and hide from them.
HIPPIES-enough said
It really sucks when the incredibly hot chick sleeping above you speaks absolutely no English. It makes me sad.
I like the random experiences you get when you least expect them. In Granada at the circus Joslyn randomly paid for a family of four to get into the circus. One of those gestures that you do without any hope of getting anything out of it. The next morning I was standing in the market while everybody waited for the bus and the mother grabbed me and told me not to move until she got back with breakfast for the two of us. I have never seen a complete stranger so excited to buy anybody else anything. It made me really happy.
I like sailing. Brendon makes fun of me for this alot.
I feel like I might have misspent some of my time in Central America. Part of this is because of the short time we really could stay places another is because I was using C.A. as a school for my Spanish but while it was probably one of the best times of my lie I would have liked more from it. I am making that my goal for South America. Stay places longer that don't revolve around gringos, get involved in the local scene, do some real volunteer work, and immerse myself more in the local culture altogether.

Bocas on the Wagon

Brendon — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 09:03:00 -0800

I sit here as sober thoughts enter my head. I write and many find themselves on paper. The rest do not. Where do they go? Why can I not record them all? These other thoughts, these other memories. Gone. If I wasn't on the wagon, I would understand. Booze stole them away. But Jack, Jim, Jose, and James are not here.

~~~

I sit here on a Friday night in an island town full of gringos, locals alike ready, some already starting to party. I'm reading Jack Kerouac, On the Road. He talks about a crazy life, with crazy friends often ready, most already partying. And I'm on the wagon.

~~~

The "Chinos" are back! This is a good thing. Nicaragua had none. Therefore no Asian food. Mexico did. Guatemala did. Even Belize! And now in Panama. And just like in Belize, they own all the grocery stores in town. Which also sell liquor for cheap. But I'm on the wagon.

~~~

These French might be stupid. I'm not making fun because they are French. I thought the point of a balcony, as designed, as shaped was to sit in a line watching the people, the traffic walk by. Not arrange half the chairs in a semi-circle, in the middle, blocking the sides including the door so I cannot leave without awkwardly stepping over them. It's not a deck. It's not a living room. I need to get off the wagon.

~~~

Tonight I ate dinner at the nursing home. Reason why? It's one of the least non-expensive restaurants in Bocas serving "Asian Fusion". Of course it was no where near the price range of Zengo's, but definitely out of the price range of backpackers. So I'm surrounded by the cruising aged crowd instead. Daily budget gone, good thing ATMs like me, better thing I'm on the wagon: more more expensive dinners.

~~~

It just dawned on my why there are an overwhelming number of girls, attractive ones at that, here in Bocas. Backpackers are cheap asses. I'm reading the local whats-up-around-town-at-night-where-are-you-going-to-party-we-hope-with-us magazine, flyer thing. Every night there is a ladies night. Sometimes multiple said nights at the same place. With this being the case, guys only need to by themselves booze and girls drink for free. Too bad, so sad I'm on the wagon.

~~~

So those are some random wagon stories I wrote while not indulging myself in one of the largest party towns in Panama. There are more randoms to follow. I spent 4 days walking around, sleeping, reading, and not drinking leaving plenty of time for writing not so important, odd, weird, boring, entertaining stories.

The Slums of Panama City

Jason — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 08:32:00 -0800

You show up in Panama City and from the word go the modern nature of the city is in your face. You look at the skyline and see the high-rises with apartments starting at a quarter of a million dollars. Anywhere you look it seems you can find an upscale shopping mall to pander to all your materialistic needs. Apple stores are about as common in the city as ATM's. You can see the massive amount of construction that is making these structures multiply. Anywhere you look it is easy to be deceived by the amount of money that has been poured into the city itself. Once you are off the beaten path you begin to realize that there is a much different side to the city itself.

Casco Viejo has a history within Panama City. It is the second of three rebuilds that the city has gone through and possibly holds the most colonial culture in the city itself. Way back when after the Spanish decided that they were going to rape and pillage as much of Central and South America as humanly possible Panama City was established as a major artery to bring the plunders of their conquests to Spain from South America. The first of the cities was Panama Viejo. Panama Viejo now stands as stone ruins on the north side of the modern city. The cathedral tower stands as a monument to a city that was sacked an destroyed in its entirety by Henry Morgan in 1671. The ruins are now protected by the government and are a huge tourist attraction.

After picking up the pieces Panama City was moved to what is known as Casco Viejo. This place is the colonial heartbeat of the city to this day but for a time was basically abandoned by the affluent for the allure of the modern city. Casco Viejo quickly slid into a series of slums that were dangerous and a threat to the developing tourism industry of Panama.

Casco Viejo became one of the worst and run down parts of the city until the government realized the cultural and tourist gems that dotted this peninsula. Two years ago they started a very ambitious rejuvenation project that was aimed at bringing it back into the limelight of the tourism industry. Rightly so too, the entire area is littered with magnificent churches, governmental buildings, colonial architecture, convents, museums, and much more. It likely contains the most heritage in all of Panama City. The Colonial buildings mark the last that have been spared by the expansion of the modern city. The Churches stand in defiance to the years of neglect, the neoclassical meets colonial, and of course like any tourist attraction the poor are being pushed out to make room for a playground.

This is the downside of this area. Once considered a slum it was heavily populated by people that make less than minimum wage and worry constantly about being able to eat their next meals. They lived in one of the oldest, most densely populated, and dangerous neighborhoods of Panama City. There is a distinct line that separates the barrio from what is now a major tourist attraction. One side of the street is restored buildings and the next block is run down shanties. This is the area that the hotel tells you not to walk even during the day (I walked). People sleep in the streets and the buildings are collapsing. This is a place that represents the war zones of the Eastern Bloc that you see on TV.

The question I pose here is at what point does tourism begin to become detrimental to an area. In this case Casco Viejo has been recovered for the benefit of a huge industry at a very large price to the government. They have effectively pushed all of the poor and lacking population to an even smaller part of the city. Population density in these areas has shot up and crime is an every day ordeal. At what point do you start thinking about the least fortunate demographic of a city and not about the people that want to see a church on their holiday? It is the same in any city in the world that attempts "Urban Renewal." Ambitious policies like the Broken Window policy don't stop crime or reduce it. They simply move it to a different place. The poor neighborhoods get poorer and more dangerous because people cannot afford the cost of living in their old areas and are required to move and continue the vicious cycle.

Now I realize better than anybody that we don't live in a perfect world and projects such as these are an important part of economies around the world but at what point can a city that badly needs the tourism take a serious look at the impacts that it has on their least acknowledged demographic.

ducharing

Brendon — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 09:38:00 -0800

I knew before I left which things I would miss the most. Possibly at the top, hot water. I love my showers. Whether its to wake up in the morning or relieve a splitting hangover. I'm a fan.

Here in Central America and probably the majority of the world (I'll let you know), hot showers, hot water in general is a luxury. I've been spoiled the last few weeks in Nicaragua, we might have been the only people I knew with one.

Cold showers. This is how it goes. You put your left arm in, rinse it all about. You put your right leg in soap is all about. Except unlike the hokey pokey, there are more appendages. You put your armpits in, damn cold. You put your...You get the idea. If any guys out there still banking for delay, start thinking cold showers instead. Funciona.

So instead of 20 minutes of water wasted and a half clean me, it's conservation of a declining world resource and more smelly me. Cake on the Axe, ladies here I...Or not.

Crossing the Border to Hell

Jason — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 12:29:00 -0800

Alright you have to excuse me while I put a little rant down on paper. As the namesake implies it is about border crossings and how they are the incarnation of an idea formulated by the devil himself. Now I like to think of myself as a patient and levelheaded person but these things make me want to lose my mind. Personally I believe that they are the worst part of traveling aside from getting all your stuff stolen out from under you (now that would suck) and I would also like to believe that this isn't the case everywhere but as far as Central America is concerned I think it is the norm. Now there are three things that make a border crossing pure hell: the officials, the helpers, and the tourists.

The Officials

Now I understand that they are just doing their jobs, albeit extremely inefficiently, but seriously. Did 75 percent of these guys ride the short bus to school?? Even the most simplest of tasks for them seems to be brain surgery. I admit that part of this may be my fault because of the language barrier so I cannot lay all the blame on them but why must you spend 30 minutes and six phone calls wondering why I don't have a Nicaragua stamp in my passport. The CA-4 is not a new thing and this is your full time job. How is it possible that you cannot figure out that one stamp covers all four countries and I don't need one for every single country that signed the treaty. Like I said it is your full time job. You should know this.

The "Helpers"

Everybody at the border wants something from you. These guys just happen to want your money in exchange for walking you around the clearly marked offices. Now I am not saying that they don't have a purpose. When it becomes necessary to make that bribe to a border official they are good people to have on your side but when things are going smoothly they are just a pain in the ass. They constantly yell, grab, threaten, smooth talk, or flat out ask you for money for nothing. Annoying? Yes.

The Tourists

I like to think that I am not one of these people but I prolly am albeit not as bad as some. Example. Standing at the Panama border there were two girls sitting at the window throwing a 15 minute fit in three different languages about having to have a return ticket out of Panama for entry. Now it wasn't the statement "I knew it was a rule but I didn't think they would actually enforce it" that bothered me. It was in fact that the other 100 people in line had to sit there and watch her thow this fit. Seriously??? You took a chance and it didn't work out. Now either pay the man off, buy a bus ticket, or stay in Costa Rica. Just don't stand there complaining another 15 minutes. Deal with it.

Now I of all people know that border crossings can be frustrating there are tourist cards, visas, entrance fees, exit fees, return tickets, time restrictions, and about another thousand things that can go wrong and you have to deal with it. Such is life. But damnit I am still going to complain. And please please if you are a traveler don't start screaming at the man that just squeezed in to talk to his buddy, the official at the window, don't bitch about things that you can't change (ok this one is flexible but don't do it so loudly that I have to listen to it), and please please don't get all huffy when I pay somebody off to not stand in the three hour line. It just isn't polite.

the waters of Isla Bastimentos

Brendon — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 07:14:00 -0800

I woke up again at 8am for the second third straight day in a row. And I'm going to do the same tomorrow, maybe even earlier! This morning it was partly cloudy, partly sunny. It was going to be a good day in the deep blue sea.

Maybe not so deep, this is Carribean and I am on an island, but definately blue. I'd booked a dive trip with a company on the main island where I'm staying, but cancelled at the last minute because no one else was on the roster. Instead, I headed out on a water taxi across the bay to Isla Bastimentos to dive with Rob who runs The Dutch Pirate. I liked the name better, arr!

Ended up being quite a few people on the first boat ride out, 8 in total including Rob and his new instructor/Dive Master. The first couple was from Berlin. Being "older" they had many more years experience diving in Egypt, Southest Asia, and the Galapagos Islands. The second boy/girlfriends were from Germany too I think and had just completed the first course. Every tourist around here seems to be from Germany or Holland. Everyone was fun. I buddy teamed up with a French guy who I think said he flys/flew jets (or something like that). His girlfriendish was still studying for her Open Water Diver certification. He was a Divemaster in another life.

Having only been out in the scuba gear back in Belize, I was glad to be paired up with an experienced diver. The first go round we hit about 60 feet or so and it wasn't too exciting. We navigated down a trench, Chiquita Channel, where the banana boats come through on their way to/from the mainland. It was sandy, maybe you'd call it dirty, but its the ocean so I'll go with dusty. All the coral was covered in dusty sand. I tried to dust a few off. It was going to take awhile so I quit.

After 45 minutes underwater, we surfaced and headed back to the dock for our interval time where I suddenly came down with an amazingly nice set of pregnant woman cramps. Rob said it was fine, just go slower on the next round if I went into labor. I didn't. The dive at Donkey Dunk wasn't dusty, visibility better and we lost the group. Awesome. French guy had his own computer and compass so it wasn't an issue. We just swam around in a big circle anyways. Caught a great view of a huge stingray, but mostly just fish. What type of fish? The types you see in the salt water aquarium at Pets Mart.

Resurfacing at 50 minutes we found the boat 20 meters away, everyone else on board waiting. The weather had turned overcast in the past few hours, so much for the idea diving with the sun, and it started raining on the 15 minute trip back.

Now I'm exhausted. Underwater takes it out of you. Dehydrates body, impels sleep. I'm going to sleep well tonight and head main/inland tomorrow to relax in a waterfall...

the sides of Isla Carenero

Brendon — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 07:26:00 -0800

I woke up this morning planning to hit the ocean in scuba gear, under the water with the fishies. But at 8am, yes I woke up this early, the skies were completely overcasted from the rains the night before still so I returned to my top bunk. I don't like the top bunk but it was cooler, fans blowing all night. I actually used my sheet.

I woke up to half assed sunshine and after checkout time so I headed downstairs to pay for my extra night and find some food before I decided what to do with my day. Yesterday I explored the other side of Isla Colon, i.e. Baco del Drago where I found half a beach, a beer, a chicken, and docks to catch up on my sun at. Normally the trip out there takes about 25 minutes, but the road is still being repaired after a quite disastrous storm hit back in November and so it took 45ish.

The people here at Hostel Heike are super nice which I cannot exactly say for everyone I've not really met here yet. After paying one of the owners asked where I was headed, I had no idea, I needed food first, but I'd half figured on going to Isla Carenera. He confirmed my decision for me and I headed out there after comida.

I was dropped off more or less in the center of the populated side of the island and walked right. There are no roads. Maybe paths? My journey took me past new houses, old houses, some sort of a corral/fighting ring, and eventually I found the "beach". By beach, it implies sand instead of concrete walls and docks. The local kids were jumping off the end of the dock and the water was not that amazing, so continued to jaunter along the coastline, paths ending. I eventually reached another sorta beach and sat down on a palm tree jutting out over the water. Two more months in a hostel and my back would have thought it comfortable. Beautiful still, I figured on lounging, but the sand flys were infinitesimal.

I returned to a burm a few meters back and climbed up to take some amazing pictures. It was grassy green so I laid down the towel, pulled out the book, suncreened up, and bite. Apparently sand flies don't just exist in the "sand". Not wanting to end up polka-dotted in red, I assumed the standing position and headed back the way I came. This time I went left and found the road, err sidewalk leading through the shanty island village. I felt odd and put my camera away for a few seconds. It wasn't the nicest of places. New meaning to dilapidated. I won't start on the trash. I kept walking. It was like starting in Downtown Denver and walking west/east on Colfax, only worse. I passed multi-million dollar sailboats docked at the "sailboat lodge" only 200 meters away and eventually turned around in front of a $675,000, 2-story, 3-bed, 3-bath, office, etc. beautiful island home for sale. There was an open-house today, but I was probably too sandy to walk inside. Pictures once posted will give the full light of the various sides of this island and instead of going into a diatribe about it, I'll let you make up your own at that time.

I eventually returned to the original dock, unable to find the "bar" I was looking for. What is it about signage in third world countries. I was seriously looking. I ended up having a few beers at the dock I'd unloaded early and a Thaimargerita. Wow, talk about sweet. Tequila, triple sec, pinapple juice, coconut milk, glass rimmed in sugar. I figured its the Carribean, why not. I'm going to the dentist tomorrow. I read more in "On The Road" and got even more stoked about randomly going places, traveling without money. I'll talk more about that later. I moved tables into the sand out front near the water. Dumb. Sand Flies v. Me. I lost. But I'm here, where are you? I couple hours passed and I hailed a water-taxi. Really, I just stood at the end of the dock, thumb out, yelling "Bocas". We passed the bar I couldn't find earlier, good thing, it was full of friendly looking fun people and I'm on the wagon. No need for temptation.

Five minutes later I jumped back onto the main big island, paid my dollar fare and walked inside to write this story before the buzz set in and I forgot anything...

many more

Brendon — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 09:32:00 -0800

just a little update...I'm down in Bocas del Toro...Jason is I have no idea...I've written two blogs on paper in the past 24 hours but with internet at $2/hour and broken keyboards and white sandy beaches and cute surfer girls, I'll wait til I'm back in the city...plus Jason has a number to write, I have a summary Nicaragua expose, and there are many more pictures to go up...one day videos might even make it too, we'll see...i have a cold beer waiting for anyone who wants it on an island of the Caribbean coast of Panama.

back to borders

Brendon — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 06:18:00 -0800

So there I was in what is probably the dumpiest, sketchiest place I've stated in, yet (and perhaps ever). I went for the single bed as time again has proven bunk beds to be mostly noise. I switched in the middle of the night, proven wrong. Plus there weren't springs stuck in my back anymore. I was forced to pee on my tippy toes in socks for fear of the over zealous fungi. Three times that night. The thought was to chug a few beers and pass out peacefully in the sty half pissed. Not so much. The guy renting the rooms was odd enough for me to not bother asking for sheets, hell I couldn't imagine them being any cleaner than the multi-stained pad for a mattress. I was leaving first thing in the morning anyway, no second thought. It was that kind of hostel. But how did I end up here?

The original plan was to head to the southern side Costa Rican-Panamanian border and end up in David, the second largest city in Panama, for the night. The original original plan was for Jason and I to take a bus straight out of the San Jose capitol to the Panama City capitol, but he switched up plans of his own at the last minute. I'm not actually sure where he went, gone before I woke up in the morning. One bus left at 7:30am and another at 11pm. Both 9 hours via the Pacific route into Panama. I liked the idea of 10:30am and went instead via the Carribbean coast. Lonely Planet said 5 hours and compared to the former 9, I liked my new plan. I arrived at 8pm. Damn math. Damn buses. No wait, damn borders.

That, borders, was another reason I selected to go east rather than west. The border is easier to cross so says Lonely Planet. I'm walking on wooden planks, split by a railroad, that shudder when a small car goes by, much less a semi. There was a pedestrian bridge though, it lasted for the first 50 meters. The book also mentions at every border crossing you "may", keyword "not really ever" be asked for proof of onward travel (out of the country). This I actually had, out of Panama City in less than 10 days, just not on me. Of course that didn't stop random border crossing guy who wants a tip to explain that I needed to buy a return boat ticket to Costa Rica. As I attempted to explain I had but didn't have a ticket to the immigration official, homeboy behind me is continuing to babble and I cannot concentrate, much less communicate. She says what he says. I say no. Where is the ticket? It's electronica. I need the ticket. Want to buy a boat ticket? Alright fine. Donde esta The Internet? Yes, even border towns have The Internet. Homeboy escorted me of course, whatever, fuck it, I'll have to tip him anyways for saying "Hi, I don't want your help." No really I'm fine. "Thanks for not listening and continuing to follow me." Friend. Amigo. High five. Shake shake. Slap slap.

One dollar, 75 cents printed me out a copy of my itinerary. I copied and pasted into Notepad. I could have typed it up myself, but then it might have looked too legitimate. Returning to the border, I bought my $5 tourist card and walked back next door to see my now friendly immigration official. The only problem leaving Costa Rica I had was a double take from immigration because I'd only been in the country for 2 days. He said nothing, just stamped.

Then the fun began. In the 6 hours before, I'd read the border closes early and my fear had been getting across before that happened. Now that I was over, I found out the last boat leaves at 6:30pm. The town of Chinganola was only a 10 minute cab ride away though, so no big deal. Until, I was informed the docks were closed due to heavy rains and the requirement to re-trench the river. I called bullshit at first, but another homeboy confirmed for me. Whatever, how much to Almirante? $35. Yeah right. I started at $10. I moved to $20. We were at a standstill. I could catch a bus, but the bus left in another 30 and took 45 and it was 5:30pm, leaving no time to catch the last boat. On top of that, I wasn't so stoked about getting on another two buses, chicken ones at that. Traveling alone however did not help my cause for bartering down the cost of the taxi. I had number to compare legitimate fares with, but it was for the closest town, not the second. By this point I had two homeboys not really helping. Number 2 kept checking cell phone and delaying to the last minute waiting for more people to come. They never did. We left for an agreed $21.

It wasn't even his cab. Dumbass me. Whatever, I was moving again. Unofficial tour guide who spoke English got out at the end of town and I continued onward. We negotiated traffic and came up to the turn for Almirante and the cabby pulled over. "We cannot make it in time. Too much traffic. Too many trucks." WTF? No, I told the other guy I was paying extra to guaranty I would make it. All in broken Spanish. My stay in Nicaragua had deroded my schooling in Guatemala. "Ok, ok. We try." He took off, we were stuck behind several large semi trucks. The switchbacks were worse than Hwy 6 over Loveland Pass, but the road scenic and relatively free of potholes. My window was rolled down, sucking in diesel exhaust fumes looking for when we might be able to pass. I was pointless.

Twenty minutes later I'd admitted to sleeping in someones boathouse when the cabby called another operator and assured me we would make it. Phew. I pulled my head inside and relaxed, still wishing there wasn't a giant truck or two in front. I have issues with that, but this was the only safe driver in Central America and refused to pass haphazardly. Arriving at 6:45pm, the 6:30 boat had left, but there was another. 9pm. What? Whatever, at least I was going to make it to the island and the taxi made his full fare. Then he sped into reverse and pulled over at another boathouse, 7pm launch. Sweet. I had a few extra Costa Rican Colons so I tipped him with that. Not any good to me anyways anymore. $10. Odd, there were no money changers at the border. A kid ran up and grabbed my only bag. Fifty cent tip and it didn't go but 25 steps.

I paid the $4 boat fee and got onboard. The sun gone. The realization hit. I'm hungry. Only 45 minutes to go, no problem. The bad thing about travel days and bus rides, you eat breakfast and cookies. Never a big solid meal. Who wants to take the chance of a sudden bowel disturbance? The solo meal consisting of a salami sandwich at 10am, followed by two mini-packs of Oreos and a Snickers hungry why wait had starved off the stomach as long as possible. The boat launched and made it 50 meters. Thud. Clunk. Die. It was a nice big motor, looked newish. Now it had a trap, cage, something stuck to its propeller. Thank someone for bringing cell phones to rural fishing villages in Panama, El Capitan dialed up for help. Another 30 minutes later, we were moving, out into the open waters of the Carribbean towards Bocas del Toro.

Apparently it's a rather busy little island destination. Jumping ship as soon as docked, I first wanted to drop my bags before eating. Hostel #1, no one home. Hostel #2, full. Hostel #3, dump. I'm hungry remember, long day, whatever. Asking how much I swear I was told four dollars and dropped by bag. The weird old man gave me a confused look when I only pulled out a 5 spot. It was $8. When I'd entered the hostel, by my own accord, homeboy number three for the day ran up behind me and translated what didn't need to be translated for me. He wanted a tip now. What the hell is up with these people? I argued for a second, "You didn't do anything..." before I realized I didn't want my stuff to get jacked while I searched for food. $0.75. And that's were this story started.

$1.25 sandwich, $2.75 cookies, $10 bus ride, $1.75 internet/printer, $5 tourist card, $3 homeboy #1 tip, $0.50 bano, $21 taxi, $10 leftover tip, $0.50 baggage tip, $4 boat ride, $8 room, $0.75 what for homeboy #3 tip. My math sucks. You add it up while I relax away on an island in the Carribean. Totally worth it, but borders (and travel days): suck!

Granada (The Second Time)

Jason — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 04:06:00 -0800

Granada for me has always been one of those places that has draw. Yes, I like sitting on the beach soaking up the rays. Yes, I like the life of knowing a great number of people in the town that you live in, but a part of me has always been drawn to cities and as such Granada fills that void that cannot be filled by random beach towns and surfers. While not a big city, it has an incredible colonial feel to it that I can personally walk around and just enjoy for hours on end.

Last time we were here Brendon and I took the tour of the islets on the lake. The tour was suppose to include a boat trip around forty islets that make up a random mixture of houses, forts, boatyards, and monkey habitats. We got ripped off. I am pretty sure that it cost us about twice as much and was about half of what we should have seen. Personally, I think that it was because the dude's boat wouldn't go faster than walking pace but maybe that was just me. Well I decided that I would meet Joslyn in Granada. Her tour was going through there and she told me well before hand that she wanted to see the islets. I conceded to another agonizingly slow boat ride and headed for the docks with her. I was pleasantly surprised at the result of our hour long walk to the docks by a boat that was not only cheaper, but had the potential to go much faster around the lake.

This time I most certainly did get my full hour and forty islands as well as a tour guide. We stopped at the old colonial fort (again), saw the vacation house of the owners of Flor de Cana, and the boat yard. If anybody wants to buy an island in Granada let me know and I will watch after your vacation house while you are not there. I think it could work out great. But I digress. The best part for me was the Monkey Island. There were monkeys (obviously), but I don't know how you can beat a monkey in your lap eating gallo pinto. I probably have lice now, but highly entertaining. I would have to say that it was money well spent. Good company, good guide, and at least one monkey eating out of my hands.

While the random tourist attractions were fun I have to say that I most enjoyed the clowns and midgets at the circus. I kid you not, we went to a circus. Proper tent, extremely uncomfortable seats and everything else. Until the animals came out (think abused and skittish), the show was excellent! Trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, jugglers, and of course circus midgets. You know all the things you expect from a third world circus. It was ggggrreeeaaattt!

How to Lose a Fight with a Volcano

Jason — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 00:17:00 -0800

I left the next day. Sad I know, but the city of Granada, boat tours, and a wicked cool circus with a bottle of rum wore me out and made me think of other things that I should do. Like physical activity and hiking volcano. Totally not the right thing for my lazy ass. I am more in shape for drinking beers on the beach than any sort of hiking, but I am stubborn.

The next day we made the chicken bus ride to Isla Ometepe. Sitting about 20 km off the shore of San Jorge in Lake Nicaragua, Ometepe is the home to two volcanoes. Maderas and Conception create a beautiful island that is basically cut off from the rest of Nicaragua. Sometimes you can hike both and I was all about hiking the taller one, Conception. Well someday the cards are stacked in your favor and this was one of those days. Conception was closed. This is a good thing people. They would probably still be looking for my body. At 400M taller than Maderes, I am pretty sure it would have killed me.

We decided that we would hike Maderas instead. Not smart, but smarter. Now if you are a hiking person you are probably going to call me all kinds of names about how much of a wuss I am and that may be true. Fortunately, I am not a hiking person and don't care. Five hours straight up, four hours straight down, a foot of life sucking mud, and a transition between tropical rain forest (hot as hell) and cloud forest (cold) made this hike one of those things that you remember. In fact, I did remember, about a third of the way up, why I swore to myself that I would never hike this volcano again after the first time I did it (two years ago). Chalk another one up to not smart. Well just as I did two years ago, I summoned all the stubbornness I could muster and managed to be the second one to the top (behind the guide). There I was treated to one ham and cucumber sandwich. Notice the "one" in there. I am a growing boy that is walking for eight hours straight here people. Throw me a bone.

With lunch done and pictures of the crater lake taken, we were on our way down. The guide said four hours, I called bullshit. Joslyn (whom I bribed into coming) and myself, maybe, the rest of the clan: no way in hell. Long story short we went down. I fell. I fell a lot. I fell on the really flat parts.

Finally after eight agonizing hours I saw the sign. The sign that was telling me I was at the end. It was large and had a giant Tona bottle on it. I have never had a beer or chocolate cake taste so good nor been so happy to walk around a bar barefooted.

As I went to sleep that night and pondered whether or not I was going to wake up in the morning (and if I did it was for sure that I was not going to be walking), I decided that I was glad I had done the hike. It was stupid and painful, but cool nonetheless.

I need to work out more.

it's time to go

Brendon — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 06:53:00 -0800

Now we need to leave, for real this time. The plan over the weekend was to celebrate our departure of Nicaragua this morning, but today I feel like I spent the last 48 hours in Vegas on a whirlwind tour of food, booze, and fun when I passed by the local casino (i.e. store full of slot machines).

Next time I'm having breakfast at 8am on the beach (Coquito's), having recently exited the last bar at 6am (Mache's) with beers to go, where I ended up at after the dance club (The Crazy Crab) at 3am I don't really enjoy going to, but the popular bar (Los Iguanas) closes at 2am, please tell me to go to bed. But those words did not come until later that night after said breakfast of whiskey filled coffees, orange juice and rums, and transitional beers. Nor were those words mentioned before getting on a boat at 12pm with beers, run, ginger ale, and no food (a reoccuring sailing mistake). Not until after a dinner of fish and chips and another beer (Republika) followed by an interuption of others' dinners at El Pozo where we'd started the night before with filet minon, yellow fin tuna, arugala and goat cheese salad, jumbo garlic prawns, bread pudding, chocolate tarts, and a bottle of wine, were those words finally enforced into my ears at 10pm, 28 hours later: "Go to bed!".

And so I listened. And this morning I woke up at 8am to realize there would be no getting on a bus and no crossing of a border. No new town, just not yet. So tomorrow we'll try again and tonight I will not require anyone's help. I will be in bed, where I've been most of the day enjoying the air conditioning and cable television and the relative peace and quite on the streets the day after a big party weekend in San Juan del Sur.

Christmas (Just a Little Late)

Jason — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 03:28:00 -0800

So the days leading up to Christmas were weird. Every year that I spend away from my family puts me into a sort of funk. I come from one of those very close knit families that it is an unwritten law that you just don't miss Christmas. I have missed three.

In Guatemala, we decided that we would make our way down to San Juan del Sur and spend the Christmas season with the Powell family. You have all heard of them. We said that we were going to do something good for all of us for Christmas. Originally the intention was that we were going to spend the day at an orphanage in Jinotepe, but that really didn't work out (The kids go home over the holidays). Fortunately, we met Bill.

Bill is a Canadian. He is the local talent for an organization that provides help to the communities surrounding San Juan. They build roads, schools, libraries, and infrastructure for the communities that have absolutely nothing. Generally being a better person than people like myself could ever imagine.

One of the things that he does once a year is go to Managua and buy upwards of 500 Christmas presents for the children of these communities. When you are talking about people that spend their whole life with nothing, no electricity, running water, or access to any services, a simple tiara or Tonka toy goes a long way. He was nice enough to invite us to the festivities and to take part in them. And of course while the kids may not realize it, the Christmas presents are just the icing on the cake for a community in need.

When we got there we got the opportunity to meet the mayor of San Juan who came out for the festivities and was the one that did all the actual giving of presents. He showed up with two pinatas and the days events went from exciting to insane. I am not totally convinced that there are dangerous animals compared to 150 Latin American kids under a pinata. Chaos does not even begin to explain it. Finally, the adults of the group decided that the two or three pieces of candy falling out of the pinata at a time were not sufficient enough to keep the kids at bay so they started throwing it into the crowd by the handful. More chaos ensued, but injuries were fortunately kept to a minimum. It was obvious that everybody was having a great time.

In the end it was a wonderful day for me personally. I got to meet the incoming mayor of the city, watch the fights for candy, the adults truly enjoying the entertainment, and in the end I got to see a hundred and fifty kids with the purest of smiles. That one that kids get when they just got the impossible.

Giving and Receiving

Brendon — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 07:37:00 -0800

As I'm about to embark on yet another wild and crazy night here in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua, I figure I ought to get a few of the ideas from the past few weeks out of my head before they disappear in the celebration of a New Year. But, it's not quite a new one for me. Many people around these holidays spend time with family and friends, contemplating about the past 12 months of their lives while predicting the next twelve. I cannot. My nuevo ano, my new life started 3 months ago and so while I attempt this reflection, my mind only goes back that far. And my future only goes a few days (sometimes weeks) ahead...

We've been living in San Juan del Sur now for almost 3 weeks and I'll admit I have my up and down days about this small, growing tourist yet still Nica town, but all in all, spending days on end at the beach is quite enjoyable. We've made many new friends and spent time with old ones we now consider family (it's uncle Jason and Brendon, according to Freja). We've surfed, we've swam, we've eatin and we've drankin, we've shared and we've experienced many aspects of life here with everyone from the local bartenders to the new mayor, the expats and the tourists, sailboat owners, real estate agents, drug dealing ladrons, and more.

But the most important people I've had the pleasure to receive friendship from are those of the local children in a village 45 minutes south via bumpy dirt roads the VW could barely make it up while we chanted "I think I can, I think I can". It was Christmas Day and Bill the Canadian had loaded up a truck full of toys he purchased in Managua. The new mayor of the town showed up with pinatas, we ate ham and cheese sandwiches in the back of the van, our sobrinas played with the kids on the playground, we chatted up Keith from Minnesota about his expatriation and beautiful Nica girlfriend, and together we all took part in the festivities of handing out toys.

Although I'm not a big Christmas fan, but I've always been a big fan of giving. Sometimes it's just a beer to a stranger, other times an extra tip to the waitress, randomly it's an unexpected gift to a friend or family member, but less often than it should be, it's my time. I'm also not a big fan of New Year resolutions either, but next year in South America, I want to spend more moments like this past Christmas sharing myself with those who are, cliche to follow, less fortunate than I.

And that's it for 2008. Hope everyone had a Happy Christmas and have a Merry New Year!

slowing down

Brendon — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 02:37:00 -0800

One of the reasons for this trip, for me personally, is to find "that place". The place where I could envision myself hanging out for a few years. In reality right now, I cannot at all imagine this working out successfully for me, but I figure if I fall in love with the culture, food, people, etc. I would make a go at it. I could just end up back in the States just as well, I could find more than one place, who knows, no se.

Traveling at a fast pace I'm not convinced really allows you to see the true colors of a town or country. So just like we did in Guatemala, where we stayed in Xela for a month and might have stayed in Antigua for longer if we'd had the time, we're going to stay here in Nicaragua. Last trip down here 2 years ago we enjoyed the place thoroughly, and it is catching on with many other travelers, ex-pats, gringos, etc. So we figure, lets see if we like it. Lets rent an apartment and stay for a month.

So finally, after 3 days of searching, false leads and drying up hopes, we found a place that's perfect. It's less than a block from the beach, two decent-sized rooms, full-sized beds, A/C, shower with heat (we think although its not necessary here), cable tv/dvd, and highspeed internet. For $500/month, it's quite expensive by Nica standards (average 2-bed $300), but its the holidays and there isn't a casa or apartamento to be found in-town in San Juan del Sur.

We'll spend the holidays here and decide what to do next when the time comes. Meanwhile we might learn to surf, maybe dance the salsa, contribute a little volunter work, and spend large amounts of time on the beach turning our gringo skinned bodies into lobsters. Oh and of course, write a few stories and post a few pictures...

firsts in Guatemala

Brendon — Sun, 07 Dec 2008 07:27:00 -0800

the following blog is a mish-mash of fun, excitement, boredom, but most importantly random events that either deserved their own blog (and got one) or those that did not. some of these stories were written weeks ago and never published, others i will try to make up (and remember) as i go along. the central idea is first evers, either for me, for us, or for them. enjoy...

Thanksgiving
Jason wrote this story, appropriately, since he had more at stake for missing Thanksgiving than I did. I'm not a big "holiday" person, but I have to say this was one of the best I've had. Maybe it was the idea of sharing it with another culture (or 5), or maybe because I never expected to celebrate it abroad, or maybe it was the bottles of rum that flowed afterward. Either way, I stuck to my normal managerial self and "supervised" the cooking taking a break to buy (contribute) my part of the festivities, the wine. As Jason mentioned, it was the schools first ever.

Whiskey and Coffee
My teacher and I were having a conversation the other day. It was a typical one. We say this slang phrase, do you have one like it? I was referring at the time to the idea of doing something, just for the "hell of it". Another popular variation is for "shits and giggles". Sometimes our actions are purely out of curiosity and sometimes out of boredom. Other times we say or do things just to see others reactions. Being my Spanish was only in week one phase, I couldn't seem to get the point across that I put whiskey in my coffee just to tell a story about it later. Although it was typically Jason's signature drink before a Bloody Mary after a long night out on the town during college, I'd actually never had one myself not being a big coffee drinker and all. Apparently, I am the first student and perhaps the last to do so at the school. I'm okay with that. On a side note, how fun is a school that actually has whiskey in the cupboard at 10am in the morning. Especially in a country that doesn't really drink the stuff.

The "Other" School
After studying for weeks together, Matty, Shona, Jason and I were all leaving. David, our young 19-year-old "student" of debauchery wanted one last lesson so we willingly obliged being the good "teachers" we are. The night started with a fun game of football at the concha, followed by a mini-concert by Matty at the escuela. By the time we got downtown it was late, leaving little "official" time for the training session. As we walked back to our hostel, determined to have another beer, we were rejected by the kid who watches the place at night: "I don't want to put up with you tonight." In Xela everything shuts down at 1am, but David and I had passed a bar playing a little music still with the doors slightly cracked open. I knocked, couldn't hurt. It worked. David's eyes lit up as he ran back to tell the boys the good news and I made 4 new friends. In summary, the following classes were held: 1) How to Knock Over Beer Bottles 101 (twice in two minutes by David), 2) How to Sing Bad Kareoke with Guatemaltecas, 3) How to Dance Ungracefully (Matty, dancing by himself, suddenly topples over taking out 3 tables), 4) How to Piss Off Your Wife 400 (Matty crashed our floor forgetting to tell his wife he would not be home until morning). First self-made after party. First kareoke.

Small World Experience
We arrived in Antigua two nights ago. The plan was to leave today, no more time allowed except for going just to say we've gone. Yesterday morning morning we set about town to take the obligatory pictures, visit the market, etc. and found ourselves sitting in the park going what next. The guidebook mentioned a bar with Guinness and we figured "what the hell". Two shots of Jameson later, a girl walks in and sits down next to me. I said "what the hell" are you doing here, after recognizing her a split second later. I'd first met the American named Jocelyn in Merida, Mexico on the street looking for food during a festival. This isn't the first time we've met fellow travelers, but she isn't one of those, instead looking for a new job. Yet here she was, having found employment as a tour guide only two days after meeting us. First small world story, first round of Jameson, but not the whole story, see the last last for the next round or ten of shots...

4 Bottle Night
What more of a explanation does one need? They sell rum by the bottle around here, in the bar, not just the clubs. And it's cheap, $10 for the good stuff, 12 years aged. Sound like a bad night? Try a bad next few days. The first part, no other group of students has finished off 4 in a single night. Go us!

Banditos
Another story that deserved more than a wrap up. My first (and everyone else but our driver's and director's) eyewitness account of two thieves holding up a car with a shotgun and a pistol. I love Guatemala!

Foreign "Club"
They say curiosity killed the cat. Fortunately, they have more than one life, and hopefully, we do too. Call it that or "shits and giggles" again (see Whiskey and Coffee), we were convinced one night after many turned down requests to experience our "first" foreign club. We finally decided to kill the little furball, Jason is allergic anyways. I'll admit, I've never been a fan, and I can't say I am yet. No one ever cares about the details on these types of "adventures" so I'll leave most of them out. Although no dancing was technically paid for, to continue conversations initiated by staff, you are requested to buy drinks as a courtesy (at 3x the normal cost, or $5), and the idea, of course, is to upsell you. I tried and failed miserably, at talking (I'd only been in class a week). Anthony was better, Jason just didn't talk.

Football Game
Xelaju is the local team and who recently won their way into the semi-finals here in Guatemala. We got a chance to watch a game and enjoyed it thoroughly. Although there were no riots like those we witnessed in London years ago, I do have video that will eventually be posted showing the large amounts of confetti spewed across the field not to mention fireworks set off, mini hot air balloons let fly, and flares lit up. First game of the trip, it was a warm up for the real action that starts in 2010. Join us for your first!

Finlandia
So I can't find my book of sayings by Tom. I have a tape of many, but haven't wanted to go through the excruciating pain of re-listening to them. What am I talking about? Trust me, you don't want to know. I'm not sure even I want to remember. Tom or "Finlandia" as we called him, either suffers from massive head trauma or not seeing the sun for 3 months a year really screws with your mentality. Once I find or listen, Tom might just deserve his own blog...

Cops
Twelve hours, an entire chocolate cake, a Van Gogh painting, and (no Guinness?!) later, I found myself leaving the "after" party at 4am with two local girls, Andrea and Maria, and a dude from an island near Iceland. The idea was to "find" my hostel, but the cops found us first. I hit the Icelander-ish guy next to me saying "don't say anything", but he was already passed out. Maybe it was the fact the girls were cute, maybe it was because they don't really mess with gringos anymore, maybe it was because its Antigua, or maybe they were very nice cops. Maybe we shouldn't have been driving the wrong way down a one way either. They directed the girls where to find my hostel without citation. The directions didn't help, but eventually I realized where we were via landmarks and found my bed. I'm not so sure the hostel worker was happy to answer the door at 5am, but really, this is Antigua, little America Guatemala. And, I actually enjoyed it!

Thanksgiving in Xela

Roads Unknown — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 01:03:00 -0800

From Thanksgiving

So this is me Madre in Xela. Flory runs the school in which we studied for four weeks. From what I know she loves her job and as with any good educator makes sure that her students enjoy/learn the most from their time in her school. Thanksgiving was no different for us. It was an odd request in Guatemala: we wanted to throw a Thanksgiving dinner (i.e. party) in the school. Apparently, it was the first Thanksgiving meal that was cooked in the school and I have to say that it was an incredibly good time.

Everybody pitched in to buy the food and do the subsequent cooking. I have to say that even though the turkey had to have felt quite molested by the time that Carlos and Anthony were done with it, it turned out wonderfully. Yours truly made the gravy of the gods and everybody else pitched in with all the fixings. It was a day of cooking, slacking in classes, and eating until our eye balls were full.

When dinner actually came around, the crowd leveled somewhere around thirty people. There were English, American, Scottish, Guatemalan, Finnish, and Canadians present. My father used to tell me every Thanksgiving and Christmas that having the knowledge to carve a turkey was essential to being an adult because some day I would meet a girl for a holiday with her family. He is way smarter than I am 'cause I never believed him, but I learned the skill anyway. And as usual, he was right. It wasn't at the home of some girl that I was interested in however that the skill came in essential, rather a small school in Zone 3 of Quetzaltenango with six different cultures standing on while I carved a turkey and speeches were given concerning the origins of the holiday.

First went the American (no not Brendon) in two languages. He spoke of the history of the holiday and the importance of the holiday in current context. A time to welcome and thank friends and family from anywhere the speeches continued. Our new friends spoke in English (proper English), Spanish, Finnish, Scottish, and I even think there was a little French thrown in there.

Then we ate.
And ate.
And ate some more.
Did I mention we ate?

Coming from a good sized family with an even larger Thanksgiving tradition, I get a little homesick every time I miss a Thanksgiving. For me, the joy is always being able to see the people that you hardly ever get to see and catch up on a years worth of activities. This year was no different in that I started the day a little homesick when I called the family, but without the opportunity to spend it with my entire family, it was nice to share it with all our friends in Xela. Obviously never replacing the real thing this night came in a close second. Thank you all for a wonderful night, wonderful food, and letting me show off those skills that father thought so important (and rightly so).