He woke with the sound of canned laughter exiting from the box. Yet another re-run of 'Friends.' The all to familiar feeling of an aching neck was the side-effects of sleeping on an aging couch. His bed had become home to bed bugs. The couch was the alternative. It took a while to remove himself from the couch. The couch, as he, had seen better days. Her intestines were flowing out & her once proud shoulders were collapsing. Her striking complexion was fading with every new dawn. He made his way to the bathroom, passing by the pool table that had become his midnight mistress. Many nights were spent in her embrace. The water came spluttering out the shower head as it had done for the last few weeks. The warmth from the shower head cloaked his body triggering an automatic smile from his face. His hair had for a while now decided to follow a different beat. It would continue to march to a different tune. He was resigned to that. He threw on his old size nines for the umpteenth time. His jeans were tattered & bruised. Only time can do that. He turned left heading up Avenue Lima. The round about was busy as the day before & the day before that. The sun was screaming down at an alarming rate of decibels for this early in the day. He crossed the chaos that encircled the round about, & headed up San Martin. 'The 'Bobbys' were out in all there regalia. 'Nigel walking the beat, keeping the peace.' He kept walking up San Martin passing the street performers who, as had become the norm, offered him drugs. They had done that for the last few weeks without success, it didn't stop them trying. He gave them the usual smile & wave. They were nice enough, no harm no foul. The road's incline tilted slightly up a few degrees. He passed the laundrette he had been using for the last few weeks, the owner gave him a gentle knod. The tree lined streets that marked Sam Martin was replaced by a walking boulecard that was Avenue Sucre. He stopped of at his usual pastry shop to pick up some 'pan dulce.' 'Something for my coffee later.' He lit up another Hamilton & continued on his way. The noise from the nearby schools bounced playfully of the walls. The constant honking from the taxi's chasing there next meal, whispered in the background. Misti looked on from the distance, emperious, her beautiful snow capped peak masking her undenying power. He took a right onto Palacia Viajo, he's new home would be there soon. Home, he had forgotten what that meant. He thought of dropping into 'Cusco coffee shop,' but decided against it. He watched as the crowds entered & left the musuem where the famous 'Ice Princess' resided. Frozen in time, enclosed in a giant fridge, she was popular with tourists. For all the fuss made about her, she always kept her cool. The whisper had become a scream. He crossed another cobbled road & headed towards the Plaza. The birds were out in full force entertaining there audience. They soaked up the attention. Zooming in from the surrounding rooftops, they paraded around. Chest's all puffed out, proper diva's indeed. He passed by the impressive cathedral. That's all he could say regarding the cathedral. They do all look the same after a while. He turned right into yet another walking boulevard. He felt as if he were swimming against the current, the malee of people heading towards him confirmed that. He had been doing that most of his life. He reached 'Starbucks.' 'Frapachino, por pavor.' The frequency of his attendance allowed him to memories the playlist. It was his 'Rain man' moment. He had to finalise his lesson for the afternoon. 'Starbucks,' had become his study. Arequipa, had unknowingly become his home.
Until that day ...
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Numero 14- Always look on the bright side of death
'The Abyss,' was a movie he had watched back in the 80's, when going to the drive-in was still all the rage. The plot, as he recalled, surrounded a rescue operation in deep sea to recover a stricken nucleal sub. It ended up with the lead character played by Ed Harris, going down to depths never before explored. Going to a level most would not return from. The back & beyond of human limits, the point of no return, The Abyss.
On his return to Lima, he was to fall into his own personal Abyss. He remembered being back in Mexico all those months ago. He remembered sitting on abandoned desert roads with the deafening sound of silence as his only companion. He remembered the brothers Gallagher immortalize themselves into his mind while he walked in the mid-day blaze. He remembered the black beaches of El Zonte. He remembered 'The Bridge' in Costa Rica, the sit down with Bobby Escobar. Those memories where now being shelved into the back, replaced by the engulfing darkness of his Abyss. He always knew this day would eventually arrive. The day the smiles stopped. He was so close, but yet so far from his ultimate dream. The means of achieving that dream had filtered away. From the darkness he could not see the light that was his dream. Everyone at some point in there life arrive at this destination. When all attempts, all solutions, all alternatives are met with responses that where not wanted. 'How did I get here? How could it have all gone so pear-shaped so quickly?' At that point even the strongest of the strong find it hard to put there one foot in front the other. His feet felt like they had cement shoes on. He thought he was made of tougher stuff. We all think that. When the situation arrives to test that resolve, only then do we see what we really made of. It was another gloomy day in Lima that greeted him as he woke. All the days seemed the same now. The gloom reflected his thoughts to the tee. He took the short walk to his private sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean all scruffy & cold. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future. he could care less. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails from pets given breathing space from there keepers, he could care less. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love released venom from his eyes that he sent in there direction. He sat & watched. He loved his new family he worked & stayed with though. But these moments of solitude which he cherished so much, had become polluted, polluted by dread & despair. The late afternoon joggers came cantering by, that was the signal to return to the madness. It was also his signal to return to the man everyone knew. He would put the mask on everyone wanted to see. He would become the voice everyone wanted to hear. 'The show must go one.' The fun times ticked over, & the fun times were epic times. Foot races at 3am where classic, but watching fellow runners going down in a heap after pulling hamstrings, now that just was pure comedic GOLD. Seeing on coming traffic turn around swiftly at the sight of the blue ribbon event coming charging there way, was one for the ages. Late night laughter, getting a room full of men doing there rendition of Uma Thurman & John Travolta's famous dance scene out of Pulp Fiction & even getting time to do an interview *, was all part & parcel of his time in Lima. He met really good people during his stay. It's not often that one can say you meet people you would genuinely want to stay in contact with for years to come. Yea, people say that, but how often do we actually get in touch with these 'amazing' people we meet on our journey's. The once constant messages inevitably fade into a haze of 'Pokes' & ' hope you having an amazing birthday.' But there are those rare, very rare occasions you meet people who add substance to your life & you add to there's similar stimulants. Those are the people who will be there to crack the shits & giggles with when you 60. Good things are rare. The darkness weighed heavy on his once sculpted shoulders. He chatted away one night with one of those people. It was strange, he was usually the one that others confided there dreams & fears to. Was he changing. The man who confidently proclaimed to be an island, was allowing visitors to he's once isolated shores. They spoke well past the witching hour. He went to bed with a weird feeling, that feeling would come calling in the morning as well. He woke up on Wednesday with that strange feeling, but there was something extra that was added. Something that he hadn't expected to see. Something was happening. He went about his normal business. He had his spit & polish followed by the normal terrible breakfast. Something was different though. The breakfast was still shite, but something was different. Outside things got even crazier. The sun had decided to pay him a visit as well. 'What the ....' Something strange was definitely happening. Maybe it was the new voices in the compound that had reaffirmed his faith, the old voices of loved one's * from back home telling him, to not just do it for himself but for them as well, maybe it was the bird making bumble bee from Swansea, maybe it was the boys from 'Monty Python' telling him to 'Always look on the bright side of death,' or maybe it was that voice in side him that came alive, telling him to 'Live without regrets.' To 'Not die wondering.' Nobody said it would be easy, 'You will never be here again. Live the MYTH.' 'YOU will NEVER be here again. Those words echoed throughout that sun drenched day in Lima. 'The sweet is never as sweet without the bitter.' The plot indeed had thickened. It would take him to Arequipa. The road would take yet another unexpected twist. Lima had done it's job in more ways than he could possibly have imagined. He would always remember Lima. He went once more, one last time to his sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean, all majestic & beautiful. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future, it was music to his ears. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails from pets that were given breathing space from there keepers, he rolled around in the grass with some of them. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love drifted through his sanctuary, he smiled. 'You will make this work. Hell or high water, you will make this work.' 'WE will never be here again. Live the MYTH.'
Until that day ......
On his return to Lima, he was to fall into his own personal Abyss. He remembered being back in Mexico all those months ago. He remembered sitting on abandoned desert roads with the deafening sound of silence as his only companion. He remembered the brothers Gallagher immortalize themselves into his mind while he walked in the mid-day blaze. He remembered the black beaches of El Zonte. He remembered 'The Bridge' in Costa Rica, the sit down with Bobby Escobar. Those memories where now being shelved into the back, replaced by the engulfing darkness of his Abyss. He always knew this day would eventually arrive. The day the smiles stopped. He was so close, but yet so far from his ultimate dream. The means of achieving that dream had filtered away. From the darkness he could not see the light that was his dream. Everyone at some point in there life arrive at this destination. When all attempts, all solutions, all alternatives are met with responses that where not wanted. 'How did I get here? How could it have all gone so pear-shaped so quickly?' At that point even the strongest of the strong find it hard to put there one foot in front the other. His feet felt like they had cement shoes on. He thought he was made of tougher stuff. We all think that. When the situation arrives to test that resolve, only then do we see what we really made of. It was another gloomy day in Lima that greeted him as he woke. All the days seemed the same now. The gloom reflected his thoughts to the tee. He took the short walk to his private sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean all scruffy & cold. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future. he could care less. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails from pets given breathing space from there keepers, he could care less. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love released venom from his eyes that he sent in there direction. He sat & watched. He loved his new family he worked & stayed with though. But these moments of solitude which he cherished so much, had become polluted, polluted by dread & despair. The late afternoon joggers came cantering by, that was the signal to return to the madness. It was also his signal to return to the man everyone knew. He would put the mask on everyone wanted to see. He would become the voice everyone wanted to hear. 'The show must go one.' The fun times ticked over, & the fun times were epic times. Foot races at 3am where classic, but watching fellow runners going down in a heap after pulling hamstrings, now that just was pure comedic GOLD. Seeing on coming traffic turn around swiftly at the sight of the blue ribbon event coming charging there way, was one for the ages. Late night laughter, getting a room full of men doing there rendition of Uma Thurman & John Travolta's famous dance scene out of Pulp Fiction & even getting time to do an interview *, was all part & parcel of his time in Lima. He met really good people during his stay. It's not often that one can say you meet people you would genuinely want to stay in contact with for years to come. Yea, people say that, but how often do we actually get in touch with these 'amazing' people we meet on our journey's. The once constant messages inevitably fade into a haze of 'Pokes' & ' hope you having an amazing birthday.' But there are those rare, very rare occasions you meet people who add substance to your life & you add to there's similar stimulants. Those are the people who will be there to crack the shits & giggles with when you 60. Good things are rare. The darkness weighed heavy on his once sculpted shoulders. He chatted away one night with one of those people. It was strange, he was usually the one that others confided there dreams & fears to. Was he changing. The man who confidently proclaimed to be an island, was allowing visitors to he's once isolated shores. They spoke well past the witching hour. He went to bed with a weird feeling, that feeling would come calling in the morning as well. He woke up on Wednesday with that strange feeling, but there was something extra that was added. Something that he hadn't expected to see. Something was happening. He went about his normal business. He had his spit & polish followed by the normal terrible breakfast. Something was different though. The breakfast was still shite, but something was different. Outside things got even crazier. The sun had decided to pay him a visit as well. 'What the ....' Something strange was definitely happening. Maybe it was the new voices in the compound that had reaffirmed his faith, the old voices of loved one's * from back home telling him, to not just do it for himself but for them as well, maybe it was the bird making bumble bee from Swansea, maybe it was the boys from 'Monty Python' telling him to 'Always look on the bright side of death,' or maybe it was that voice in side him that came alive, telling him to 'Live without regrets.' To 'Not die wondering.' Nobody said it would be easy, 'You will never be here again. Live the MYTH.' 'YOU will NEVER be here again. Those words echoed throughout that sun drenched day in Lima. 'The sweet is never as sweet without the bitter.' The plot indeed had thickened. It would take him to Arequipa. The road would take yet another unexpected twist. Lima had done it's job in more ways than he could possibly have imagined. He would always remember Lima. He went once more, one last time to his sanctuary. From his vantage point he could see the ocean, all majestic & beautiful. He sat & watched. His sanctuary was filled with the laughter & tears of the future, it was music to his ears. He sat & watched. There was wagging of tails from pets that were given breathing space from there keepers, he rolled around in the grass with some of them. He sat & watched. The sight & sound of young love drifted through his sanctuary, he smiled. 'You will make this work. Hell or high water, you will make this work.' 'WE will never be here again. Live the MYTH.'
Until that day ......
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Numero 13 - Hamilton & Hunters
'We can be dreamers & make it in this real world. But there's always those other voices screaming at us to toe the line, to get a real job.' He had read that line from a distant poem & in this moment of awkwardness it came to the fore. 'It comes to us all,' he thought as he waited for the hostel to open up. He had arrived earlier in Mancora & needing a cheap honest place to stay, stumbled upon 'The Point Hostel.' Snuggled into the beach, a short 15 min walk from the town center, 'The Point' would offer something strangely familiar & unfamiliar at the same time, stability. He wasn't about to 'toe the line' but he was in need of a dream inside his dream. Volleyball, vegetating in the sun, being really bad at pool & recklace leisure is what he longed for. Mancora would offer that in sun drenched amounts. He needed to answer his own personal demons. They wanted him to have that 'real job,' to have that 'white house on the hill,' to have that 'over-priced under utilised' German 4 door, to have that 'pretty wife,' to have that 'PERFECT LIFE.'
Pool with 'Take That'at 3am cheers Gazza.
Why was all those things & one's own level of success equated to each other. Why should it, more importantly why are we so intent on connecting the two. 'So where to from here? South.' That had always been his line of thinking, but he was slowly starting to alter his answer. Peru would alter his answer. The bonfires help make the nights slip by. The sandy pool table, bad facial hair & stoner volleyball, sent the days down the same path. He met some crazy Viking looking English & Aussie boys (good lads indeed), amber haired leggy Dutch women & an odd looking American who hibernated during sunlight like some confused 80's short-wearing vampire, & chased 'the dragon' at night. Mancora was endlessly summer. The days became night, the nights became day. Sleeping with the ocean serenading the stars at night would never get old. He even had time to throw some weights around at the local weight room. 'I could stay for a while. I could even get used to this.' Mancora was nothing special in terms of what to see & do, but it had something about it, something that made you want to stay longer than what you thought you would. He wasn't the only one who thought that way. So he allowed the days to blend into nights & nights into days. He allowed himself to get swept up in the sand & sea. With all travelling, the 'cycle' of people you bump into on your own 'cycle' makes the journey. And when that 'cycle' turns over, it's a good time to turn your 'cycle' over as well. And so it was that he turned over his 'cycle.' Mancora had given him the recharge he so craved. Lima would hold something he would never had expected. A temporary home. He arrived with the intention of staying for a few days, maybe pick up some part time employment & stay for 2 weeks. Little did he know it would be close on 2 months later that he would still be there. She had the feel of a big town / small city about her. You could do all you wanted & needed, but at the same time, she could be simple. Like the sexy librarian. Crazy at seducing you, but as down to earth as the woman you mom always wanted for you. He thus found resting in her chest, comforting & sexy at the same time.
For my next trick, I will sign passports
As with all comforts you find solitude, & the concept of time becomes irrelevant. He met some really amazing people during his stay. Too many to name, but too little to ever forget. The days where spent visiting the world famous catacombs & the night's, oh the night's, where spent having laughs in abandoned parks at 3 in the morning, taking part in dance comps at Hunters, the dodgiest place but yet most charming place in Lima, playing pool, smoking Hamilton ciggies & listening to way too many 'Take That' songs (cheers Gazza) till the birds started up & enjoying each other's stories over kebabs & shesha at Instanbul. There was also the odd crack head & ketamine overdose that's pretty standard with all adventures. Without which no story would be complete. Cooking up crack in the toilets became pass & parcel of the first few nights. Taking people on a merry work down to the casino's in there misguided hope of getting free bolognaise at 7.30 in the morning was gold. The stupid response, 'were you guys just taking the piss,' was met with uncontrollable laughter. Bless. Taking genuine friends down to the taxi as they departed left him feeling, in the words of one of his Aussie mates, Glenn, 'always the bridesmaid, never the bride.' So after a month, he set off for Cusco & Machu Picchu. The air suddenly squeezed his chest. The altitude can even bring the toughest of travellers to grabbing there knees. He bumped into some of his Lima clan once again. They were all on the same 'cycle.' He set off for Aguas Clientes, the town at the foot of the famous Inca city. He would set off at 4 in the morning. He felt though that Aguas Calientes had to have more to it than just the base for Machu Picchu. 'What do the locals do?' What they do was sing bad kareoke in kareoke coffee shops. So as it would have been rude not to, he howled out a few spanish classics accompanied by his best efforts at moving his hips. The crowd went while, if 6 people makes a crowd that is. More out of sympathy that adulation if one has to be honest. It was all the same. 'If only they had 'Take That.' He set off up the famous path that many had walked before. The mini head lamps lined the path like fire flies leading you to some mysterious land. He soaked it all in. After 10min he was soaked with more than emotion. He shredded some of his extra layers, that in hind-sight were never required. It took 90min to reach the entrance. 90min too many for his anticipation & fullfillment of a life long dream. He lined up anxiously with the rest of the travellers that were there to fullfill there own personal achievements. As the gates opened, the fog that had shadowed him all the way up the mountain, remained a constant presence. It added to the scene of this play that had been his journey. Walking through these ruins, was not just a walk through ruins. It was more than that. And in the moments of silence that he stole amongst all the other processions that went by, he realised how lucky he was to be right there, right now. In those moments he could actually envisage what it would have been like to be part of the great empire that once called Machu Picchu home.
Bliss
In those moments it was as if he could actually feel the city come alive. In those moments, even the droplet of moments which they were, he felt absolutely contempt & at peace. 'One for the deathbed,' he thought. All the pictures in the world wouldn't be able to capture 'that' moment. The train ride & subsequent bus ride back to Cusco, was one that needed know words. Anything said would only ruin the experience. Sometimes the sound of silence says more than any words could possible say. Cusco would be left the next day. Lima would be the next destination. Why? He had without knowing entered into an abyss. One that even he might not be able to get out.
Until that day ......
Pool with 'Take That'at 3am cheers Gazza.
Why was all those things & one's own level of success equated to each other. Why should it, more importantly why are we so intent on connecting the two. 'So where to from here? South.' That had always been his line of thinking, but he was slowly starting to alter his answer. Peru would alter his answer. The bonfires help make the nights slip by. The sandy pool table, bad facial hair & stoner volleyball, sent the days down the same path. He met some crazy Viking looking English & Aussie boys (good lads indeed), amber haired leggy Dutch women & an odd looking American who hibernated during sunlight like some confused 80's short-wearing vampire, & chased 'the dragon' at night. Mancora was endlessly summer. The days became night, the nights became day. Sleeping with the ocean serenading the stars at night would never get old. He even had time to throw some weights around at the local weight room. 'I could stay for a while. I could even get used to this.' Mancora was nothing special in terms of what to see & do, but it had something about it, something that made you want to stay longer than what you thought you would. He wasn't the only one who thought that way. So he allowed the days to blend into nights & nights into days. He allowed himself to get swept up in the sand & sea. With all travelling, the 'cycle' of people you bump into on your own 'cycle' makes the journey. And when that 'cycle' turns over, it's a good time to turn your 'cycle' over as well. And so it was that he turned over his 'cycle.' Mancora had given him the recharge he so craved. Lima would hold something he would never had expected. A temporary home. He arrived with the intention of staying for a few days, maybe pick up some part time employment & stay for 2 weeks. Little did he know it would be close on 2 months later that he would still be there. She had the feel of a big town / small city about her. You could do all you wanted & needed, but at the same time, she could be simple. Like the sexy librarian. Crazy at seducing you, but as down to earth as the woman you mom always wanted for you. He thus found resting in her chest, comforting & sexy at the same time.
For my next trick, I will sign passports
As with all comforts you find solitude, & the concept of time becomes irrelevant. He met some really amazing people during his stay. Too many to name, but too little to ever forget. The days where spent visiting the world famous catacombs & the night's, oh the night's, where spent having laughs in abandoned parks at 3 in the morning, taking part in dance comps at Hunters, the dodgiest place but yet most charming place in Lima, playing pool, smoking Hamilton ciggies & listening to way too many 'Take That' songs (cheers Gazza) till the birds started up & enjoying each other's stories over kebabs & shesha at Instanbul. There was also the odd crack head & ketamine overdose that's pretty standard with all adventures. Without which no story would be complete. Cooking up crack in the toilets became pass & parcel of the first few nights. Taking people on a merry work down to the casino's in there misguided hope of getting free bolognaise at 7.30 in the morning was gold. The stupid response, 'were you guys just taking the piss,' was met with uncontrollable laughter. Bless. Taking genuine friends down to the taxi as they departed left him feeling, in the words of one of his Aussie mates, Glenn, 'always the bridesmaid, never the bride.' So after a month, he set off for Cusco & Machu Picchu. The air suddenly squeezed his chest. The altitude can even bring the toughest of travellers to grabbing there knees. He bumped into some of his Lima clan once again. They were all on the same 'cycle.' He set off for Aguas Clientes, the town at the foot of the famous Inca city. He would set off at 4 in the morning. He felt though that Aguas Calientes had to have more to it than just the base for Machu Picchu. 'What do the locals do?' What they do was sing bad kareoke in kareoke coffee shops. So as it would have been rude not to, he howled out a few spanish classics accompanied by his best efforts at moving his hips. The crowd went while, if 6 people makes a crowd that is. More out of sympathy that adulation if one has to be honest. It was all the same. 'If only they had 'Take That.' He set off up the famous path that many had walked before. The mini head lamps lined the path like fire flies leading you to some mysterious land. He soaked it all in. After 10min he was soaked with more than emotion. He shredded some of his extra layers, that in hind-sight were never required. It took 90min to reach the entrance. 90min too many for his anticipation & fullfillment of a life long dream. He lined up anxiously with the rest of the travellers that were there to fullfill there own personal achievements. As the gates opened, the fog that had shadowed him all the way up the mountain, remained a constant presence. It added to the scene of this play that had been his journey. Walking through these ruins, was not just a walk through ruins. It was more than that. And in the moments of silence that he stole amongst all the other processions that went by, he realised how lucky he was to be right there, right now. In those moments he could actually envisage what it would have been like to be part of the great empire that once called Machu Picchu home.
Bliss
In those moments it was as if he could actually feel the city come alive. In those moments, even the droplet of moments which they were, he felt absolutely contempt & at peace. 'One for the deathbed,' he thought. All the pictures in the world wouldn't be able to capture 'that' moment. The train ride & subsequent bus ride back to Cusco, was one that needed know words. Anything said would only ruin the experience. Sometimes the sound of silence says more than any words could possible say. Cusco would be left the next day. Lima would be the next destination. Why? He had without knowing entered into an abyss. One that even he might not be able to get out.
Until that day ......
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Numero 12 - Expect the unexpected
They say, that we all trying to find that special place, that special one, that special moment. They say, that our relentless pursuit of perfection blinds us to the obvious. That sometimes, just sometimes, the thing we've always wanted was right in front of us. Arriving in Quito, he had that similar feeling. Besides the Galapagos, Ecuador usually receives little or no mention. Not quite the ugly duckling of the brood, she has had to live in the shadows of her more flirtatious & flamboyant sisters Colombia, Peru & Brazil. Thus on arrival in Quito, he was struck by what he didn't expect, something unexpected. The first night, was to say the least an eventfull one. Getting to the hostel, he discovered that they ran a really tight ship. He thus, after just having checked in, checked out & moved up the road. At this point, the witching hour had approached. The new digs would surely be sufficient, he hoped. Wishful thinking. After checking into the 2nd hostel he realised that all this running around had made him hungry. So off he went in search of food. The La Mariscal area would give him what he needed. The La Mariscal area would also give what he never expected, a nicer accomodation option. The night had moved swiftly onto 2am. 'This was crazy,' he thought. 'Surely I couldn't possibly be considering moving again.' At first he was, & then after a cab ride back, he was getting ready to actually do it. So an hour after he had moved into his new hostel he was on the move again. 'I'm gonna have a good laugh in the morning,' he thought. At 3am, he moved into his 3rd & final hostel. The La Mariscal area was bustling with tourists all coming or going onto there next adventure. He sat sipping away on his first descent cup a coffee in over a month watching the procession go by. After contemplating for a day, he decided on doing a short excursion to Otavalo. 2hrs north of Quito, Otavalo is world renowned for it's markets. Saturday being the big day out, when acquiring anything & everything is possible. The rain decided to visit the market as well. That however, would not stop the masses of stalls from being erected at day break. The animal market was one of the highlights of his trip. Given advice from some fellow travellers, you could even purchase live stock for the right price. He could barely take care of himself, never mind another breathing, living being. Not even he was that crazy. Back to Quito he went for another nerve jangling experience. This time in the form of his beloved football team playing in the cup final. He would encounter more misery, as old 'Big Ears' was to be taken to Catalunya. 'Please don't talk to me,' was his response to fellow travellers for the remaining part of the day. He was really impressed & surprised with how much Quito looked nothing like his dreams. The fancy cars, posh multi-level malls, to name but a few, were chalk & cheese to what he thought he'd find. He could easily have got caught up in the lifestyle, & nearly did. Once more the road beckoned & one of the pre-trip highlights awaited. Banos. Named for the Church of the Virgin of the Holy Water, Nuestra Senora del Agua Santa, Banos is famous for it's gothic influenced church, which was built from volcanic rock from the turn of the previous century. It's also famous for it's hot thermal baths. His first night at the turkisk influenced baths, was to say the least, pretty interesting. The sight of heaps of over-weight Ecuadorian men in way too tiny speedo's made entering the bath, which was one big pool in reality, as big an adventure as he has had on the entire trip. The soothing mineral's in the water, he hoped it was minerals that was caressing his body, was what he needed after all the months on the road. It would feel even better after the day that was to follow. He had purposely planned Banos into the trip because of it's close proximity to the number of waterfalls in the area. Since he had seen Iguazu a few years back, he had become fascinated with these magistic feats of nature.
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The plan.
He had decided to hire a mountain bike to cycle the 75klm round trip route. The morning of the trip, he woke up early filled with excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning. Looking out his hostel window, he was greeted by grey skies, that siffed out water from the clouds, leaving a sheet of water across the road, that gave it the complexion of a freshly polished shinny mable table.
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Steel wheels keep on turning.
The opening few lines in the song, 'He aint heavy,' sprung to mine when he started the ride. 'The road is long, with many a winding road, that leads us to who know's where, who know's where,' & indeed it would be. The scenery was amazing. Although initially covered in a layer of mist & fog, when it eventually lifted, it needed know words. He was as happy as he had ever been on this trip. The comfort of solitude has always been his favourite past time. Feeling the icey air streaming & filling his lungs, & the sound of the bike cranking over through the gears, was total bliss. On reaching the first few waterfalls, which were shroaded in mist, giving them a mystical appearance, like something out of a J.R.R Tolkien novel. He thought, 'This will be a good day.'
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Riding blind through tunnels, always fun.
The 'Show stopper' was to be reached shortly after midday. El Pailon del Diablo, the 'Devils Cauldron,' was all he imagined. Reaching her, required patience. Trekking down the countless number of 'stairs,' he could feel her spray gentle kissing his brow. She was still not in view, with the curtains of leaves & over growth hiding her charm. He had just recently watched 'The Mission,' starring Jeremy Irons & Bobby De Niro & felt like he was in a scene from the 1986 classic. All he needed now was Ennio Morricone's haunting soundtrack to finish his own 'Mission.' On reaching 'The Cauldron,' he realised how important the $1 raincoat was. Trying to have a look at her beauty meant showering yourself in her beauty as well. It was well worth it.
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Wearing the standard hiking gear as normal.
He was always, 'the road less travelled,' guy & so it would prove on the way back. The next 2 hours back would be some of the best (& muddiest) off road riding he had ever done. It was made all the more interesting due to the fact, that his steel horse decided that she didn't need her other gears (oh dear indeed). So, the terrain would be taken using only one gear. 'Horseshit !!!' But exhilarating non the less.
One last visit to the famous thermal baths were more than deserved. Guayaquil was just down the road. The road unfortunately was another bone rattling experience. The commercial heartland of Ecuador was as the rest of the country, an expected surprise. Situated on the banks of the Rio Guayas, Guayaquil was slowly starting to slip out of the shadows of her more illustrious & famous sister in the north. He found a lovely hacienda type hostel, the name of which he funnily forgot as soon as he got told. He was also chuffed to find the company of like-minded individuals. He had enjoyed the mindless ramblings of his previous encounters, but had also missed the chatter of conversation that contained more than just reflections of nights filled with sex, drugs & rock & roll. The next week was a much needed encounter. Peru was looming large, & the Rio Guayas, Banos, La Mariscal, 3 hostels in one night, would be added shortly to his memory. An unexpectedly fond memory.
Until that day .....
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He had decided to hire a mountain bike to cycle the 75klm round trip route. The morning of the trip, he woke up early filled with excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning. Looking out his hostel window, he was greeted by grey skies, that siffed out water from the clouds, leaving a sheet of water across the road, that gave it the complexion of a freshly polished shinny mable table.
The opening few lines in the song, 'He aint heavy,' sprung to mine when he started the ride. 'The road is long, with many a winding road, that leads us to who know's where, who know's where,' & indeed it would be. The scenery was amazing. Although initially covered in a layer of mist & fog, when it eventually lifted, it needed know words. He was as happy as he had ever been on this trip. The comfort of solitude has always been his favourite past time. Feeling the icey air streaming & filling his lungs, & the sound of the bike cranking over through the gears, was total bliss. On reaching the first few waterfalls, which were shroaded in mist, giving them a mystical appearance, like something out of a J.R.R Tolkien novel. He thought, 'This will be a good day.'
The 'Show stopper' was to be reached shortly after midday. El Pailon del Diablo, the 'Devils Cauldron,' was all he imagined. Reaching her, required patience. Trekking down the countless number of 'stairs,' he could feel her spray gentle kissing his brow. She was still not in view, with the curtains of leaves & over growth hiding her charm. He had just recently watched 'The Mission,' starring Jeremy Irons & Bobby De Niro & felt like he was in a scene from the 1986 classic. All he needed now was Ennio Morricone's haunting soundtrack to finish his own 'Mission.' On reaching 'The Cauldron,' he realised how important the $1 raincoat was. Trying to have a look at her beauty meant showering yourself in her beauty as well. It was well worth it.
He was always, 'the road less travelled,' guy & so it would prove on the way back. The next 2 hours back would be some of the best (& muddiest) off road riding he had ever done. It was made all the more interesting due to the fact, that his steel horse decided that she didn't need her other gears (oh dear indeed). So, the terrain would be taken using only one gear. 'Horseshit !!!' But exhilarating non the less.
One last visit to the famous thermal baths were more than deserved. Guayaquil was just down the road. The road unfortunately was another bone rattling experience. The commercial heartland of Ecuador was as the rest of the country, an expected surprise. Situated on the banks of the Rio Guayas, Guayaquil was slowly starting to slip out of the shadows of her more illustrious & famous sister in the north. He found a lovely hacienda type hostel, the name of which he funnily forgot as soon as he got told. He was also chuffed to find the company of like-minded individuals. He had enjoyed the mindless ramblings of his previous encounters, but had also missed the chatter of conversation that contained more than just reflections of nights filled with sex, drugs & rock & roll. The next week was a much needed encounter. Peru was looming large, & the Rio Guayas, Banos, La Mariscal, 3 hostels in one night, would be added shortly to his memory. An unexpectedly fond memory.
Until that day .....
Biking made fun, one gear needed.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Now for something different. 'The Accountant'.
The road, was a mish mash of cobbled stones, dirt & fallen branches from the surrounding trees. It twisted & turned on a continuously ascending gradient. We eventually arrived at the front gate. The gardener let us in & as I waited in the drive way I was surprised by the simplicity of the place. It had once been the headquaters of a multi-billion dollar industry. It just looked like an ordinary house now, would have known. Finally, a half hunched over middle aged man, dressed in an unassuming blue pants & tired looking white shirt approached. As he got closer he removed his glasses to remove dust from the lense & in so doing, he exposed the damage done to his eyes by a failed letter bomb attack from a few years earlier. I was introduced by the interpreter & received a handshake that had been given too many times to be bothered to be done more assertively. We entered his home that had become a living musuem. Photo's of his infamous brother graced the walls. After a short tour, we eventually sat down in what was once a study. Before we got going he insisted on putting his brothers famous hat on. He couldn't get comfortable & twisted in his chair like a kid would do when pulled into the principles office for smoking. After receiving some water from his assistant, we finally got going.
How did it all start?
What most people fail to realise about my brother is that he was very smart. He knew what would work & make money. So when he saw the opening in the market he took it. He knew someone eventually would, so why couldn't it be him.
What was your role?
I was mostly doing the 'clean' jobs. Setting up meetings, finding new routes, the logistics. I was the 'real' brains of the operation ( laughs ).
During the height of the cartel wars, when people where getting killed, many of which were just innocent bystanders. Did your conscience not haunt you at night.
When it's all happening, you don't get a chance to see it that way. You living in the moment, living day to day. You don't have the time to think that way.
If you had the chance, would you do anything differently.
It's not an easy question to answer. Back then we could justify our actions by pointing out the schools, houses & football fields we built. I won't sit here & say that we never had good lives, cause that would be a lie. We lived really good, comfortable lives. We had everything you could possibly want. So it's not an easy questions to answer.
How would you like the world to see your brother.
His image has been changed so many time to accomodate certain organizations. It's sad, cause who my brother 'really' was, the world will never know. I don't think they want to know. To many he was a saint & provider. To others he was a monster. To me, he was just my brother.
At this point I was told that I had to stop.
We hung out for a while. Getting shown some old family photo's. Eventually though, as the sun changed the complexion of the city, it was time to leave. His farewell handshake was as the first, without much emphasis. I was left feeling slightly odd by the last few hours. A once powerfull man had now become a musuem or tour feature. Reduced to nothing more than some sort of novelty attraction. The worst part of it all, he knew that as well.
How did it all start?
What most people fail to realise about my brother is that he was very smart. He knew what would work & make money. So when he saw the opening in the market he took it. He knew someone eventually would, so why couldn't it be him.
What was your role?
I was mostly doing the 'clean' jobs. Setting up meetings, finding new routes, the logistics. I was the 'real' brains of the operation ( laughs ).
During the height of the cartel wars, when people where getting killed, many of which were just innocent bystanders. Did your conscience not haunt you at night.
When it's all happening, you don't get a chance to see it that way. You living in the moment, living day to day. You don't have the time to think that way.
If you had the chance, would you do anything differently.
It's not an easy question to answer. Back then we could justify our actions by pointing out the schools, houses & football fields we built. I won't sit here & say that we never had good lives, cause that would be a lie. We lived really good, comfortable lives. We had everything you could possibly want. So it's not an easy questions to answer.
How would you like the world to see your brother.
His image has been changed so many time to accomodate certain organizations. It's sad, cause who my brother 'really' was, the world will never know. I don't think they want to know. To many he was a saint & provider. To others he was a monster. To me, he was just my brother.
At this point I was told that I had to stop.
We hung out for a while. Getting shown some old family photo's. Eventually though, as the sun changed the complexion of the city, it was time to leave. His farewell handshake was as the first, without much emphasis. I was left feeling slightly odd by the last few hours. A once powerfull man had now become a musuem or tour feature. Reduced to nothing more than some sort of novelty attraction. The worst part of it all, he knew that as well.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Numero 11- The night's of Marlboro's & 'trade workers.'
He stumbled into the bathroom after his rude awakening from the alarm. The flurry of hair gave him the appearance of Slash, he even had the t-shirt. His beard was scruffier than what he had realised. He's once strong shoulders & firm mid-section was something of the past, like that distant dream you try to recall but can't. His eyes were bloodshot from a late night on the terrace & his skin tone had changed a few shades. Too many days in the sun. 'Damn I'm tired.' He muttered in a voice more gravelled than before. That's all he could muster between the clearing of his throat from a night of Marlboro blanco's. His only joy came from the single room he slept in. 'Onward & upward.' His body may have changed, but his mind's compass was still set on one place, South. He arrived in Turbo after a quick sojourn in Capurgana. The first port of call in Colombia, Capurgana was where you got your passport stamped on entry & would be where he would say goodbye to the guys from the 'Desdomona.' After a 2hr speed boat ride from Capurgana he reached the mainland & Turbo. Most people would leave immediately. There's not much to see in places like Turbo. He enjoyed those places. The smell of rotting food, the sight of decaying boats, the sense of unease, the streams of polluted water flowing down the streets. The madness on the streets he had only seen with last minute Christmas shoppers 5min before the shops close on Christmas Eve. He somehow saw the charm in this place. Countries ain't all 'rainbows & butterflies.' There's the real people & places as well. He stayed the afternoon to walk the streets. His demeanor & appearance allowed him to blend in. Allowed him to be there, but not. Anonymity is underrated. He basked in his ghostly presence, he was in his element. He found a cheap hotel just off the main street. The stairs made painfull aching sounds, like the sounds of the old work horses that dominated the Turbo landscape. The room's walls were covered in blank patches where paint had once resided. Those days were long gone though. He didn't mind. It was cheap & had a soft bed, that's all that mattered. The fact that there were 'trade workers' at the front desk also didn't bother him. There conversions would be surprisingly refreshing later in the evening. He didn't seek out there company, but as the only thing on his t.v was a black screen, there tales of interesting clientele proved good entertainment. Who needs HBO. Business was slow, so he sat on the terrace listening them well past the witching hour. As tired as his body was, his mind was fresh & excited for the new day ahead. Rain had fell the night before & caressed the streets with cool air. 'Leave now before the madness resumes.' Medellin layed in wait. Once a major exporter of gold & still presently coffee, it's main claim to fame was for something much stronger than coffee & at one point more valuable than gold. 'Old slow hand' famously mused about it, it caused the destruction of millions of lives & made one man from Medellin one of the most powerfull men in the world. 'She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie; COCAINE. Coke, blow, nose-candy, yayo, jack up, jelly beans, c, flake & charlie, are just some of the names to describe the white powder obtained from the leaves of the coca plant. In the 80's & 90's Medellin became infamous as the Drug capital of the world & the one man who ruled this world was Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria. Drug lord of the Medellin cartel, the city at one point supplied 70% of the world's cocaine supply. So if you ever used it back the 90's, it probably came from here. 'El Patron,' was once listed as 7th on Forbes rich list. Robin Hood to some, a murderous thug to others, he once famously said, ' sometimes I am God, if I say someone dies they die the same day.' In the early nineties he tried to prove that fact. In 1991 the violent murder rate was over 20 000. After his death in 1993, Medellin made a concerted effort to shake off that tag.
The scene of 'El Patron's' last stand
Before he became 'The Accountant.'
After hours on the road from Turbo, He arrived at 'Hostel Pit Stop.' Situated in the Poblado district in Medellin, it had a real party feel about it. It would no disappoint. Crazy Irish & Australians made early nights impossible. The hostel would gain the nickname, 'The Compound.' Since nobody ever left it, EVER. He did make time to go on the Escobar tour to meet Roberto Escobar, Pablo's brother. He even got the chance to do a five min interview with the man labelled 'The Accountant.' Five days flew by & Cali was calling. Famous for it's Salsateca venues, he would give the famous dance a go. 'It would be rude not too.' He had been called many names in his life, 'someone with rhythm,' was not one of them. He found himself in a place filled with would-be salsa champs. The hostel even offered free salsa & yoga classes. It also had a make shift gym. His body hadn't felt the strain of weights on it in a while. He would give the Salsateca a good crack. He reached the venue which seemed to be a resort by day, at round 11pm. The place was heaving with the passion of sweating bodies closely held to one another. The pro's glided elegantly across the floor like swans across a glass like lake. There movement was truly art in motion. He didn't feel intimidated by the poetry before him. He felt strangely confident. The poetry & art he had witnessed was as far removed from what he would display to the audience as possible. It didn't matter one bit though. 'Never die wondering.' He had as good a time as could be imagined. The next morning would prove his final in Colombia. He climbed into the weights once more. Another strange feeling swept across his body. The feeling of pain screaming through his muscles, 'I haven't heard that in a while.' He welcomed the pain. It was comforting, it reminded him of how things use to be. Before the flurry of hair, before the scruffy beard, before the hoarse voice from a night's of Malboro's & 'trade workers.'
Until that day ...
After hours on the road from Turbo, He arrived at 'Hostel Pit Stop.' Situated in the Poblado district in Medellin, it had a real party feel about it. It would no disappoint. Crazy Irish & Australians made early nights impossible. The hostel would gain the nickname, 'The Compound.' Since nobody ever left it, EVER. He did make time to go on the Escobar tour to meet Roberto Escobar, Pablo's brother. He even got the chance to do a five min interview with the man labelled 'The Accountant.' Five days flew by & Cali was calling. Famous for it's Salsateca venues, he would give the famous dance a go. 'It would be rude not too.' He had been called many names in his life, 'someone with rhythm,' was not one of them. He found himself in a place filled with would-be salsa champs. The hostel even offered free salsa & yoga classes. It also had a make shift gym. His body hadn't felt the strain of weights on it in a while. He would give the Salsateca a good crack. He reached the venue which seemed to be a resort by day, at round 11pm. The place was heaving with the passion of sweating bodies closely held to one another. The pro's glided elegantly across the floor like swans across a glass like lake. There movement was truly art in motion. He didn't feel intimidated by the poetry before him. He felt strangely confident. The poetry & art he had witnessed was as far removed from what he would display to the audience as possible. It didn't matter one bit though. 'Never die wondering.' He had as good a time as could be imagined. The next morning would prove his final in Colombia. He climbed into the weights once more. Another strange feeling swept across his body. The feeling of pain screaming through his muscles, 'I haven't heard that in a while.' He welcomed the pain. It was comforting, it reminded him of how things use to be. Before the flurry of hair, before the scruffy beard, before the hoarse voice from a night's of Malboro's & 'trade workers.'
Until that day ...
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Numero 10- Keep the wind at your back & the sun on your face.
The skies once again painted itself in a shade of grey, like that of the face of a Geisha after she's done painting it. The jungles emerald dress looked even more saturated. Her secrets still secret, the stories she could tell. She looked over the small bay that formed Portebello. Stuck up against a mountain side over looking the Caribbean, Portebello had once been home to the Spanish & more infamously to a host of different privateers. That's what they called themselves anyway. The world simple know's them as pirates. Blackbeard, Morgan & Drake, all made Portebello home at sometime. Legend goes that Drake himself is buried on one of the surrounding islands. His booty also calls Portebello home, if the legend is to be believed.
After a short stop in Panama City, he made his way down to Portebello. He met some treasure hunters. It seems everyone is in search of adventure. And so it was that he arrived in Portebello, the next step to his adventure. Sailing the same seas as Drake had done all those years ago, was an adventure as grand as anything he had done before. The San Blas Islands laid waiting. The 'Desdemona' would give him that adventure. He stayed at the appropriately named 'Captains Jacks' hostel. Among the array of old sea dogs, he met Captain Jeff, skipper to the 'Desdemona'. At only 29, he was young compared to the raggedy old sea captains that sat around 'Jacks'. As the rum flowed, so the stories came streaming out. The nights went deep, with only creatures better left undiscovered singing away in the darkness. After celebrating his football teams wrapping up of the title, he wrapped up his bags & set-off to the dock. He was greated by grey skies yet again. His spirits were high though. He boarded & met the crew. Phil (aka George) & Robbie (aka Cookie Robinson Esquire the 3rd).
Cpt Jeff, George, Elton John & Cookie
The others on the boat were a young Australian couple & an American brother & sister. There sibling relationship was unlike his ever experienced. Foot massages & sensual back rubs were foreign to him. 'Too each his own' he thought. He eyes were filled with visions of the open seas. He would soon be seeing it up close. As they slowly cruised out of the bay, he fixed his eyes on one place, the horizon. The first night came in quickly. The sea started acting up. Like a petulent kid, she started throwing her toys. Like that kid she would make it her goal to make life unbearable for everyone around. He wasn't going to give into this brat. The others would & one by one went to the side to empty there stomachs. They vanished below soon after, he would only see them in the morning. He would not budge though & stayed top side. The 'Desdemona' bobbed & weaved her way through the punches of salt water like Mayweather. He would have approved. She fought well & at 5am the fight was over.
They reached the first island. The names of the islands are not important. All he know's were that they were SPECTACULAR! The days were spent moving between the islands. Snorkelling with sharks, eating fish caught a few hours earlier, swinging away in hammocks & reading. That became par for the course. The American kid even attempted to crack some coconuts on the nearby island. Accompanied by his sister's cheerleading, 'come on champ, you the man!' All they needed was wine, they were providing the cheese. The coconuts fell to the ground on a regular basis. Like suicide fruit, they plummeted to there demise. The highlight would be having lunch with a local Kuna tribe.
Kuna
Having a meal in there hut, playing football on the island, playing in the rain with the kids. Know words needed. The islands charm & beauty is easy to fall for. Like the coconuts falling from the trees, you fall for the island without choosing. In the end it was never your choice to make. Soon enough the sails would be lowered & the anchor dropped for the last time. The final day came faster than what he thought. 'Where did those 5 days go?' 'They went so fast.' The best days usually do. The last night was the best one. Sleeping up top, swinging away in a hammock, the gentle splashing against the bow & watching the stars, one by one light up the black canvas of the Caribbean sky. He thought to himself, 'what do I need right know?' 'Absolutely nothing.'
Until that day ...
After a short stop in Panama City, he made his way down to Portebello. He met some treasure hunters. It seems everyone is in search of adventure. And so it was that he arrived in Portebello, the next step to his adventure. Sailing the same seas as Drake had done all those years ago, was an adventure as grand as anything he had done before. The San Blas Islands laid waiting. The 'Desdemona' would give him that adventure. He stayed at the appropriately named 'Captains Jacks' hostel. Among the array of old sea dogs, he met Captain Jeff, skipper to the 'Desdemona'. At only 29, he was young compared to the raggedy old sea captains that sat around 'Jacks'. As the rum flowed, so the stories came streaming out. The nights went deep, with only creatures better left undiscovered singing away in the darkness. After celebrating his football teams wrapping up of the title, he wrapped up his bags & set-off to the dock. He was greated by grey skies yet again. His spirits were high though. He boarded & met the crew. Phil (aka George) & Robbie (aka Cookie Robinson Esquire the 3rd).
The others on the boat were a young Australian couple & an American brother & sister. There sibling relationship was unlike his ever experienced. Foot massages & sensual back rubs were foreign to him. 'Too each his own' he thought. He eyes were filled with visions of the open seas. He would soon be seeing it up close. As they slowly cruised out of the bay, he fixed his eyes on one place, the horizon. The first night came in quickly. The sea started acting up. Like a petulent kid, she started throwing her toys. Like that kid she would make it her goal to make life unbearable for everyone around. He wasn't going to give into this brat. The others would & one by one went to the side to empty there stomachs. They vanished below soon after, he would only see them in the morning. He would not budge though & stayed top side. The 'Desdemona' bobbed & weaved her way through the punches of salt water like Mayweather. He would have approved. She fought well & at 5am the fight was over.
They reached the first island. The names of the islands are not important. All he know's were that they were SPECTACULAR! The days were spent moving between the islands. Snorkelling with sharks, eating fish caught a few hours earlier, swinging away in hammocks & reading. That became par for the course. The American kid even attempted to crack some coconuts on the nearby island. Accompanied by his sister's cheerleading, 'come on champ, you the man!' All they needed was wine, they were providing the cheese. The coconuts fell to the ground on a regular basis. Like suicide fruit, they plummeted to there demise. The highlight would be having lunch with a local Kuna tribe.
Having a meal in there hut, playing football on the island, playing in the rain with the kids. Know words needed. The islands charm & beauty is easy to fall for. Like the coconuts falling from the trees, you fall for the island without choosing. In the end it was never your choice to make. Soon enough the sails would be lowered & the anchor dropped for the last time. The final day came faster than what he thought. 'Where did those 5 days go?' 'They went so fast.' The best days usually do. The last night was the best one. Sleeping up top, swinging away in a hammock, the gentle splashing against the bow & watching the stars, one by one light up the black canvas of the Caribbean sky. He thought to himself, 'what do I need right know?' 'Absolutely nothing.'
Until that day ...
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Numero 9 - Island of the Sirens
With an all mighty splash, he made his arrival into Bocas Del Toro. After the previous few week’s turmoil, he had decided that at the first opportunity he would go clothes & all into the ocean. Mission accomplished. He checked into the ‘Coconut’ hostel. The town’s capacity had doubled in the last few days. The Easter weekend had attracted not only tourist, but locals taking advantage of the extra few days off from work. Discoverer by Columbus back in the 1500’s while searching for a passage to the Pacific, it was for many years called Isla de Drago. In essence a fishing town, it had exploded into a tourist hub in the last few years. With plenty of activities ranging from scuba diving, surfing, boat trips to see the endangered red frog & if all you wanna do is lounge around on the beach, it has that too. Bocas has something for everyone. Getting around the island was just as simple. For a few dollars more, you could get an old school cruiser. So feeling a little too much like Jessica Landsbury, he set off on his steel horse to discover this jewel of the Caribbean. With all the chaos of the last few days, he hadn’t had the time to appreciate the fact that he was actually on a Caribbean island. A Caribbean fucking island! Who would’ve thought? As with the gringo trail, if you on it long enough, you bound to bump into the same faces & same accents. So it turned out. He had met these faces back in Nicaragua. It was fun seeing familiar faces after a few countries. Catching up & getting to discuss & share similar experiences. That’s what travelling is all about. The ‘Coconut’, wasn’t as crowded as the other hostels. Its staff & owners were really laid back & that approach rubbed off on the hostel. One of the co-owners was even nice enough to invite him & a few others on a boat trip.
Bird island great for snorkelling
It was a nice change from the craziness of the town. Off they set. Like Hemmingway’s character in ‘The old man & the sea’, they took off in an old skiff. The weather was spectacular though & 45min into the ride they anchored for the first of three stops. The snorkelling conditions were perfect. The array of fish even included a nurse shark. She just sat there in all her grace. Just majestic on the ocean floor while the world past by. It was a fantastic moment indeed.
The island had some interesting residents & he met quite a few during his stay. John Smith was all the images you have of an old sea dog rolled into one 55 yr old guy. He came fitted with shaggy dog grey hair & a leathery face from too much time in the sun & sea. However he also had eyes that you just knew had seen more than most people should be allowed to see in there lifetime. He also seemed to know the most obscure facts for a guy from Connecticut. Like the origin of the Scottish emblem & even the amount of food & champagne that was to be used at the royal wedding. CRAZY! While doing his Jessica Landsbury, happened onto an old school bus that had been reconverted into a café. Chatting to the owner, he discovered that a year or so back, the bus was found abandoned on a nearby beach. Bought for a $100, it had now become one of Bocas favourite spots.
$100 bus
The big night spots were filled with scenes out of some b-rate American college movie. After a few days, seeing people strewn out on the sidewalk like leftover fast food became run off the mill. At ‘Coconut’ he had opted for a tent. It was kinda like having a private room, but for the same price as a dorm. This would lead to some interesting evenings. The tent as cosy as it was, was definitely only made for one person, unless you like drowning in your own sweat. He had unfortunately befriended a few of the b-rate college students. So when they ended up like those cold French fries you bin at 4 in the morning, they inevitable ended up at his doorstep looking for shelter. He hadn’t the heart to turn them away, so for 3 consecutive nights he spent drowning in his sweat. Bocas, like San Juan del Sur before, had the ability to steal you away. He met many that had taken up short term labour as a means of staying. Like the ‘island of the Sirens’ in Homer’s ‘The Odyssey,’ Bocas would capture you & not let you go if you gave in to her singing. So on his last night, he changed to the climate friendly hostel ‘Casa Verde'.
It had air-conditioning. A good night it would be. Besides the fact he didn’t have any stray to take home, he bumped into some fellow countrymen & women. It was rare to find them down this neck of the wood. He really enjoyed having his moment of familiarity. It was a good night. The next morning he allowed himself a sleep in, the ferry of the island only left in the afternoon. He took one last cruise by all the spots he had become a local at.
He even got offered a chance to stay, bar work was offered his way. He knew he had to keep moving, so refused the chance to even contemplate that offer. At 2pm he set off for Panama City. His obsession with sailing the Caribbean would soon take over his thoughts.
The island had some interesting residents & he met quite a few during his stay. John Smith was all the images you have of an old sea dog rolled into one 55 yr old guy. He came fitted with shaggy dog grey hair & a leathery face from too much time in the sun & sea. However he also had eyes that you just knew had seen more than most people should be allowed to see in there lifetime. He also seemed to know the most obscure facts for a guy from Connecticut. Like the origin of the Scottish emblem & even the amount of food & champagne that was to be used at the royal wedding. CRAZY! While doing his Jessica Landsbury, happened onto an old school bus that had been reconverted into a café. Chatting to the owner, he discovered that a year or so back, the bus was found abandoned on a nearby beach. Bought for a $100, it had now become one of Bocas favourite spots.
The big night spots were filled with scenes out of some b-rate American college movie. After a few days, seeing people strewn out on the sidewalk like leftover fast food became run off the mill. At ‘Coconut’ he had opted for a tent. It was kinda like having a private room, but for the same price as a dorm. This would lead to some interesting evenings. The tent as cosy as it was, was definitely only made for one person, unless you like drowning in your own sweat. He had unfortunately befriended a few of the b-rate college students. So when they ended up like those cold French fries you bin at 4 in the morning, they inevitable ended up at his doorstep looking for shelter. He hadn’t the heart to turn them away, so for 3 consecutive nights he spent drowning in his sweat. Bocas, like San Juan del Sur before, had the ability to steal you away. He met many that had taken up short term labour as a means of staying. Like the ‘island of the Sirens’ in Homer’s ‘The Odyssey,’ Bocas would capture you & not let you go if you gave in to her singing. So on his last night, he changed to the climate friendly hostel ‘Casa Verde'.
It had air-conditioning. A good night it would be. Besides the fact he didn’t have any stray to take home, he bumped into some fellow countrymen & women. It was rare to find them down this neck of the wood. He really enjoyed having his moment of familiarity. It was a good night. The next morning he allowed himself a sleep in, the ferry of the island only left in the afternoon. He took one last cruise by all the spots he had become a local at.
He even got offered a chance to stay, bar work was offered his way. He knew he had to keep moving, so refused the chance to even contemplate that offer. At 2pm he set off for Panama City. His obsession with sailing the Caribbean would soon take over his thoughts.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Numero 8- ' Glorious mistakes are anxiously waiting to be made...'
Would he have thought as he crossed into Costa Rica on that Sunday morning, that 3 weeks later he'd still be there. How & when did it all get so messed up, so fucking messed up. He felt like a scene out of one of his favourite movies, 'In Bruge'. Colin Farrell's character gets stuck in the small Belgium town, not out of choice. 'And i'm still in fookin Bruge!' It all started so promising when he reached Tamorindo on the Northern Pacific coast. The town itself he found hard to define. Not a classic surfer town, not a holiday resort town. Amongst all the glitzy Hotels & over-priced shops, there where shitty roads & even shittier hostels. For some odd reason, he choose on of those hostels. That's where it all started. 'Coral Reef' seemed pleasant enough on the outside, after 3 days in which he had his phone, camera, clothes & even his peanut butter & mosquito spray stolen, pleasant was the last word he would think of using to describe hostel 'Coral Reef'. He had decided to go out one night & foolishly thought, since he was the only one in the dorm, he would leave his phone in his bag. The bag that wasn't locked up. He had done it loads of times on the trip thus far without hassle. Who would steal from a fellow traveller. Everything he has with him he has because he needs it. Who would steal from a fellow traveller. He wouldn't. Returning back a few hours later, his worst nightmare would be waiting. Every travellers worst nightmare. Knowing that someone had rummaged through you most valuable possessions. Hard to think of anything worse. The feeling was even more worse, since only certain things where taken, the rest left in peace. Knowing thus, that the bastard had meticulously gone through his goods, taking his time to pick & choose what he wants & what he doesn't. It was enough to boil the blood & turn his stomach in equal measures. His vision of what was around was perminantly impaired. He had to keep moving. And when the opportunity arouse to go all the way to Panama, he took it. He knew he would miss out on an entire country, but it was perminantly impaired. Little did he know what was waiting. Months earlier during his preparation he had been informed that his countries visa laws with Panama had changed. It was a welcome surprise. He would save money. How that delight would turn into anger once he got to the border. The border crossing at Sioxaola was straight out of a movie scene. Rickety bridge, liquorice men (all sorts of men) & dodge officials all waited. The bridge, 150 meters in length, held together by a combination of rusted steel & loose wooden beams, would become a walk he would do way to often. As has been the norm, the sweat trickled down his back. On reaching immigration, the normal documents were filled in promptly. Name, surname, country, occupation & profession. He had seen it all before. There would be a twist though. 'No paise.' Was a response he hadn't heard before. 'Como?' 'No paise, senor. No visa, no paise.' This was indeed a shitfuck moment. The trickle had become a shower. He tried to explain that the rule had changed. 'Senor! No visa no paise'. 'Shitfuck! The computer system that had never seen someone from his country before was thus not updated. The light was fading as fast as what his temper was shortening. Puerto Viejo was a beach town an hour down the road. He would lose this battle he thought, but the war would continue in the morning. He had heard about 'Rocking J's' from a host of different vagabonds. The hostel had the option of sleeping in hammocks for 5 bucks. He was sold. '5 bucks, hell yea!' The property was bigger than any other hostel he'd seen before. Maybe the vision wasn't perminantly impaired after all. The rain poored. It was personally refreshing for him. With his temper boiling, the Caribean rains was much needed. The staff were friendly & helpfull. The other occupants were not much bother. His temper was cooling with the continued rains, but he wasn't yet ready for small talk. His stay in Puerto Viejo would be short, he needed to get back to San Jose to sort his problem out. Flying was not an option. Going back was not an option. Back he went to San Jose. He thought that maybe the travelling Gods were conspiring against him as his arrival in S.J was over a long weekend meaning embassies would be shut. As had been his philosophy, 'accept, ignore, work through & move on.' He was moving on. Sometimes things happen for a reason. His stay in S.J coincided with a Shakira concert. He bought a ticket from some scalpers for 15 bucks. He had also bumped into some mates from his adventure in Ometepe a few days earlier. She was heading home in 2 days. One last party was appropriate, one last time with feeling. Never having been a big fan of 'hips don't lie' Shakira, he was blown away by her performance. She even did a cover of 'Nothing else matters' by Metallica. Who would have thought. Lars & the boys would've been proud. With 'Waka Waka' fresh in mind he headed off to the embassy the following day. They were as shocked as he was by the border immigrations refusal to allow him in. 'If you have problems, here's all the contact details you will need.' With renewed optimism, he headed back south. Round 2. Arriving at 'Check Point Charlie,' the looks from the Costa Rican official's told a story which he should off read. He wasn't in the reading mood. You should always make time for reading.
Bridge over troubled waters
Once more he took the walk over to Panama. He had built up a familiarity with the custom officials & the various other 'liquorice men' who milled around the crossing. Arriving at the immigration window, the words that he had come to despise was uttered again. 'The computer say's no.' He felt like Phil Connors now, Bill Murray's character in 'Groundhog Day.' Sioxaola had become his Punxsutawney. He has contact details though. That surely would be his saving grace. Amazingly he got through to immigration head office. Maybe he was not Phil after all. The official told the officer at the border post no visa was required anymore. His smile was short lived. 'The computer say's no. No paise senor.' 'Hi my name is Phil Connors.' The other antogonist in the peace was about to enter stage left. While his frustration was falling on deaf ears, the night had slowly closed in. With desperation etched on his face he made his ways back to the Costa Rican post. He should have read that story earlier. 'No paise senor'.
Was this really happening. Was this really happening AGAIN. All the nightmare's he had had about Central American border crossings had become a reality. 'You cannot pass. Go back to Panama, NOW !' How could he, did they really think he was enjoying this. Any further attempts at pleading his case was extinguished as the burly army guard with rusty assault rifle was summoned over to escort him over to Panama. He had literally become a man with no country. He had become the urban myth, the story of the guy stuck on a bridge between 2 countries. All the time the other antagonist had taken position front & center on stage. The sun was a thing of the past. With it's disappearance, the darkness had settled in. A weird sense of calm had suddenly flowed over him. The realisation that his current situation was inevitable, he consigned himself to the fact that he would be sleeping on a bridge. Sleeping on FUCKING bridge. It was really happening. Even in this moment he could find the time to smile. 'It could always be worse,' he thought. As he settled in for the night, a voice. 'What's the problem my maan.' The voice was laden thick with an unquestionable Jamaican slang. 'You need help my maan.' His situation, crawled up on a bridge trying to battle away the swarms of mosquito's & other nameless invaders, answered that question. Elias, was the name behind the voice. His Jamaican voice was accompanied by a raggedy head of dreads that were slowly falling out. The missing top front teeth & child like physique, masked the fact that he had been around for many more summers than his appearance let on. After a few words with the burly gun welding guard he was allowed back into C.R.
So with little more than a passing strangers word, he set off to find solitude in Sioxaola. He had done what so many before had done & so many more would do. He entered a country illegally. The night was filled with various thoughts & even self doubt about his current situation & undertaking. 'What am I doing?' With the rising sun, as with so many times before, his mood rose. Excited by new adventures that were waiting to be taken on. After many hours of negotiating between the various parties; Panamanian immigration, Costa Rican immigration & himself, they finally allowed him back into C.R. Legally this time. Back to Puerto Viejo, yet again. Something had to be done. One last desperate S.O.S was sent out to the Consulate General of Panama. 'Please sir. All I ask of you is an official letter stating that relations between our respective countries had changed & that I thus no longer require a visa to enter your country. Regards.' He didn't hold out much hope, so decided to enjoy his stay at Rocking J's. Indulge. By indulging in his surrounds, he became overly familiar with the owner of Rocking J's. He discovered in his time there, that 'J' enjoyed the company of young tourist girls. Never having been a prude, he didn't mind that one bit. Not even the the fact that the said young girls where just that, 'girls.' J on the other hand had been to the rodeo a few times. What was of a bigger concern was how he managed to lure the girls up to his 'house on the hill.' He used his own girlfriend, who herself had just been out of diapers when 'J' was probably starting up his hostel. She would use the old line of 'come up for free drinks.' That old one still works apparently. If that didn't work, a night of free punch definitely would. Some would get caught, the others unfortunately would be collateral damage. 'J' also believed that a tsunami was close by and thus decided to build an ark. Enough said. 3 days into his stay something strange happened. Like being stuck on the open ocean with no wind. The feeling of being totally reliant on factors out of your control. Then suddenly the wind changes & your sails are stiffened with life & renewed hope. His sails had just been stiffened. The letter he had so long dreamt of had arrived. 'SUCCESS'. He would take advantage of the wind. 'Once more into the breach,' he thought. Arriving for the third time at the border post he was greeted by one & all with a familiarity that bemused & confused all the other traveller's that were making the crossing. 'If they only knew.' With letter in hand, he made his was across the bridge. It would be his last such trip. The letter had done the job. His face was devoid of any emotions. He just couldn't muster any. It had all seemed like such a horrible dream & now on just another ordinary Wednesday morning, it was all over. A taxi pulled up. 'Where you wanna go my maan.' 'Just get me out of this fucking border.' 'Bocas Del Toro for you then me brother.' 'Bocas Del Toro indeed.'
Bocas Del Toro. #SUCCESS
Until that day.......
Once more he took the walk over to Panama. He had built up a familiarity with the custom officials & the various other 'liquorice men' who milled around the crossing. Arriving at the immigration window, the words that he had come to despise was uttered again. 'The computer say's no.' He felt like Phil Connors now, Bill Murray's character in 'Groundhog Day.' Sioxaola had become his Punxsutawney. He has contact details though. That surely would be his saving grace. Amazingly he got through to immigration head office. Maybe he was not Phil after all. The official told the officer at the border post no visa was required anymore. His smile was short lived. 'The computer say's no. No paise senor.' 'Hi my name is Phil Connors.' The other antogonist in the peace was about to enter stage left. While his frustration was falling on deaf ears, the night had slowly closed in. With desperation etched on his face he made his ways back to the Costa Rican post. He should have read that story earlier. 'No paise senor'.
Was this really happening. Was this really happening AGAIN. All the nightmare's he had had about Central American border crossings had become a reality. 'You cannot pass. Go back to Panama, NOW !' How could he, did they really think he was enjoying this. Any further attempts at pleading his case was extinguished as the burly army guard with rusty assault rifle was summoned over to escort him over to Panama. He had literally become a man with no country. He had become the urban myth, the story of the guy stuck on a bridge between 2 countries. All the time the other antagonist had taken position front & center on stage. The sun was a thing of the past. With it's disappearance, the darkness had settled in. A weird sense of calm had suddenly flowed over him. The realisation that his current situation was inevitable, he consigned himself to the fact that he would be sleeping on a bridge. Sleeping on FUCKING bridge. It was really happening. Even in this moment he could find the time to smile. 'It could always be worse,' he thought. As he settled in for the night, a voice. 'What's the problem my maan.' The voice was laden thick with an unquestionable Jamaican slang. 'You need help my maan.' His situation, crawled up on a bridge trying to battle away the swarms of mosquito's & other nameless invaders, answered that question. Elias, was the name behind the voice. His Jamaican voice was accompanied by a raggedy head of dreads that were slowly falling out. The missing top front teeth & child like physique, masked the fact that he had been around for many more summers than his appearance let on. After a few words with the burly gun welding guard he was allowed back into C.R.
So with little more than a passing strangers word, he set off to find solitude in Sioxaola. He had done what so many before had done & so many more would do. He entered a country illegally. The night was filled with various thoughts & even self doubt about his current situation & undertaking. 'What am I doing?' With the rising sun, as with so many times before, his mood rose. Excited by new adventures that were waiting to be taken on. After many hours of negotiating between the various parties; Panamanian immigration, Costa Rican immigration & himself, they finally allowed him back into C.R. Legally this time. Back to Puerto Viejo, yet again. Something had to be done. One last desperate S.O.S was sent out to the Consulate General of Panama. 'Please sir. All I ask of you is an official letter stating that relations between our respective countries had changed & that I thus no longer require a visa to enter your country. Regards.' He didn't hold out much hope, so decided to enjoy his stay at Rocking J's. Indulge. By indulging in his surrounds, he became overly familiar with the owner of Rocking J's. He discovered in his time there, that 'J' enjoyed the company of young tourist girls. Never having been a prude, he didn't mind that one bit. Not even the the fact that the said young girls where just that, 'girls.' J on the other hand had been to the rodeo a few times. What was of a bigger concern was how he managed to lure the girls up to his 'house on the hill.' He used his own girlfriend, who herself had just been out of diapers when 'J' was probably starting up his hostel. She would use the old line of 'come up for free drinks.' That old one still works apparently. If that didn't work, a night of free punch definitely would. Some would get caught, the others unfortunately would be collateral damage. 'J' also believed that a tsunami was close by and thus decided to build an ark. Enough said. 3 days into his stay something strange happened. Like being stuck on the open ocean with no wind. The feeling of being totally reliant on factors out of your control. Then suddenly the wind changes & your sails are stiffened with life & renewed hope. His sails had just been stiffened. The letter he had so long dreamt of had arrived. 'SUCCESS'. He would take advantage of the wind. 'Once more into the breach,' he thought. Arriving for the third time at the border post he was greeted by one & all with a familiarity that bemused & confused all the other traveller's that were making the crossing. 'If they only knew.' With letter in hand, he made his was across the bridge. It would be his last such trip. The letter had done the job. His face was devoid of any emotions. He just couldn't muster any. It had all seemed like such a horrible dream & now on just another ordinary Wednesday morning, it was all over. A taxi pulled up. 'Where you wanna go my maan.' 'Just get me out of this fucking border.' 'Bocas Del Toro for you then me brother.' 'Bocas Del Toro indeed.'
Until that day.......
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Numero 7- 'I can resist everything, except temptation.'
After hours on all sorts of different transport, he eventually reached Granada. A quint colonial town resting on the banks of Lake Nicaragua. The city was once home to the notorious William Walker from America. Will's, an early version of the modern day mercenary, had the bright idea of taking over the ENTIRE Central America from his Granada base. He actually managed to become president of Nicaragua before his ultimate demise & execution by the Honduran goverment in 1860.
He had been on the road for 5 weeks now. By choice, he had always enjoyed the solitude of the open road. However, when the opportunity for relaxing with fellow vagabonds presented itself, he decided to accept. Although we travel to disappear, the thought of engaging in things familiar can prove to much of a temptation. As Oscar Wilde put it, 'I can resist everything, except temptation'. He had long held the theory that travelling in groups would weigh him down, inhibit his natural inclination to dissolve into the local fabric. He allowed himself just this once to swerve of his chosen path, just once he promised himself. So he followed the herd, & silently allowed himself to enjoy the ease & simplicity. Granada was worth the 3 days spent, he even got some Spanish classes under the belt. He knew that although he's Spanish was good, good may be a strong term in this instance, having a better understanding & larger vocabulary would only benefit him in the long run. San Juan del Sur was the next stop. Only 1hr from Granada & situated on the Pacific coast line, San Juan had gained a reputation for making travellers change there schedules due to staying longer than they planned. Many conversations would inevitably include, 'I came for 3 days & I stayed for 3 weeks.' With her care free anything goes lifestyle, I could see why that line was mentioned constantly. Her beach, although not much, reflected the mood of the guests. Warm, welcoming, hot. With boats moored in the bay & cafe's lining the waterfront, it would have been an insult not to take it all in. Even Jesus was in presence. Situated above the town, he was pointing to something. What exactly, we don't know. Maybe he was warning people too go, before it was to late. Too late, to stop themselves from falling in love with this place. And we all know, never fall in love on the Jersey Shore. Many did, 'we came for 3 days & stayed for 3 weeks.' The hostel Pacha Mama would be his home for the next few days. Those days felt more like a constant dream. Images of watching the breaking dawn on nameless beaches with crazy Australians, giving refuge to homeless traveller's, catching rides in overloaded jeeps & going days without running water. It all seemed to have been blended together, like his favourite smoothie he would enjoy every morning at the beach front restraurant. Another name he had forgotten. It was the only one that had water. He had started to indulge himself in the comforts of others. He even went on a island trip with his new companions. Ometepe, derived from the Nahuatl words ome (two) & tepetl (mountain), is the largest volcanic island inside a fresh water lake. With his new companions in toe, they hired scooters to explore this hour glass of an island. They would eat up the road on there new steel hogs. They even wore bandanas to complete there motor gang attire. This first night found them arrive at a hostel that had mosquito's intent on eating them alive. They decided that even if it meant driving in the dark for a while, they would find safer harbor. With a new day & some good food had, they set off to see what the island had to offer. Besides the volcanoes, the islands long stretches of open flat roads allowed for the bikes to be opened up. He felt as if he were taking part in the 'Isle of Man' TT race. Not quite Giacomo Agostini, but he could dream. With wind sweaping his face & local farm life wandering around, he was in his element. He even put on some music. Freedom at that point, had never felt so good. Little did he know, this would be one of the last times he would be able to listen to music. He wouldn't stay long though, 2 nights was all he allowed. The reputation of San Juan was no false one. He found himself going back for one last night. Only one he promised. The night in question also coincided with a beach fiesta. The entire place had come alive, even for San Juan. He thought of New Year's eve when he was young. Parents & there kids all just out to enjoy the night. There smiles were infectious. He had regained his focus though & would keep his promise. He had broken a bigger promise though. Never go back to a place. Never. His experience should have shown. He lied to himself in believing that going back, even for one night would be ok. Things are never the same, once you leave a place you should never return. Having this romantic idea that things will continue as if you had never left is for fools. When travelling, it's best to have fleeting moments of pure pleasure. Trying to chase down that feeling will prove a fruitless exercise. And so it would prove. It wasn't the same, not even close. The circus he had entered was uncanningly similar, but also uncanningly strange & unfamiliar. His fleeting moment had come & gone, as he should have done. Silly boy indeed. The border to Costa Rica beckoned. Costa Rica was always going to be an expensive excursion. As he crossed the border, little did he know just how expensive it would be.
He had been on the road for 5 weeks now. By choice, he had always enjoyed the solitude of the open road. However, when the opportunity for relaxing with fellow vagabonds presented itself, he decided to accept. Although we travel to disappear, the thought of engaging in things familiar can prove to much of a temptation. As Oscar Wilde put it, 'I can resist everything, except temptation'. He had long held the theory that travelling in groups would weigh him down, inhibit his natural inclination to dissolve into the local fabric. He allowed himself just this once to swerve of his chosen path, just once he promised himself. So he followed the herd, & silently allowed himself to enjoy the ease & simplicity. Granada was worth the 3 days spent, he even got some Spanish classes under the belt. He knew that although he's Spanish was good, good may be a strong term in this instance, having a better understanding & larger vocabulary would only benefit him in the long run. San Juan del Sur was the next stop. Only 1hr from Granada & situated on the Pacific coast line, San Juan had gained a reputation for making travellers change there schedules due to staying longer than they planned. Many conversations would inevitably include, 'I came for 3 days & I stayed for 3 weeks.' With her care free anything goes lifestyle, I could see why that line was mentioned constantly. Her beach, although not much, reflected the mood of the guests. Warm, welcoming, hot. With boats moored in the bay & cafe's lining the waterfront, it would have been an insult not to take it all in. Even Jesus was in presence. Situated above the town, he was pointing to something. What exactly, we don't know. Maybe he was warning people too go, before it was to late. Too late, to stop themselves from falling in love with this place. And we all know, never fall in love on the Jersey Shore. Many did, 'we came for 3 days & stayed for 3 weeks.' The hostel Pacha Mama would be his home for the next few days. Those days felt more like a constant dream. Images of watching the breaking dawn on nameless beaches with crazy Australians, giving refuge to homeless traveller's, catching rides in overloaded jeeps & going days without running water. It all seemed to have been blended together, like his favourite smoothie he would enjoy every morning at the beach front restraurant. Another name he had forgotten. It was the only one that had water. He had started to indulge himself in the comforts of others. He even went on a island trip with his new companions. Ometepe, derived from the Nahuatl words ome (two) & tepetl (mountain), is the largest volcanic island inside a fresh water lake. With his new companions in toe, they hired scooters to explore this hour glass of an island. They would eat up the road on there new steel hogs. They even wore bandanas to complete there motor gang attire. This first night found them arrive at a hostel that had mosquito's intent on eating them alive. They decided that even if it meant driving in the dark for a while, they would find safer harbor. With a new day & some good food had, they set off to see what the island had to offer. Besides the volcanoes, the islands long stretches of open flat roads allowed for the bikes to be opened up. He felt as if he were taking part in the 'Isle of Man' TT race. Not quite Giacomo Agostini, but he could dream. With wind sweaping his face & local farm life wandering around, he was in his element. He even put on some music. Freedom at that point, had never felt so good. Little did he know, this would be one of the last times he would be able to listen to music. He wouldn't stay long though, 2 nights was all he allowed. The reputation of San Juan was no false one. He found himself going back for one last night. Only one he promised. The night in question also coincided with a beach fiesta. The entire place had come alive, even for San Juan. He thought of New Year's eve when he was young. Parents & there kids all just out to enjoy the night. There smiles were infectious. He had regained his focus though & would keep his promise. He had broken a bigger promise though. Never go back to a place. Never. His experience should have shown. He lied to himself in believing that going back, even for one night would be ok. Things are never the same, once you leave a place you should never return. Having this romantic idea that things will continue as if you had never left is for fools. When travelling, it's best to have fleeting moments of pure pleasure. Trying to chase down that feeling will prove a fruitless exercise. And so it would prove. It wasn't the same, not even close. The circus he had entered was uncanningly similar, but also uncanningly strange & unfamiliar. His fleeting moment had come & gone, as he should have done. Silly boy indeed. The border to Costa Rica beckoned. Costa Rica was always going to be an expensive excursion. As he crossed the border, little did he know just how expensive it would be.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Numero 6 - El Zonte, 'Empire of the Sun'.
Waking up, the smell of another night of perspiration was think in the air. The cold shower was needed. With dollars being the currency of choice in El Salvador, I was glad there was an exchange bank at the border. If you were that way inclined, you could also buy a fridge at the same bank amongst all the other electric appliances on offer. The border crossing went smother than what I had been told. I didn't even have to stamp my passport.
Border control
The smog from the armada of long haul trucks that lined up on the border, made the place feel very eerie,almost ghost town like. The heat at 8 in the morning was unrelenting though. I had just crossed over so decided to gulp some water while planning my route south. A van pulled up with a pool table attached to the roof. A pony-tailed guy & dreadlocked chica emerged. They seamed pleasant enough, so with sweat sliding down my brow, I approached the chica. After some normal border chat I discovered she was German but back down here to catch some waves. The pony-tailed guy was her mate who she had been travelling with from Gautemala City. He had been up there to buy a pool table for his place in El Zonte, which he was looking into converting into a beach bar. They were more than willing to give me a ride. The ride to El Zonte climbs through hills & some tunnels. The air was much cooler now, the coast was approaching. El Zonte has a reputation of being a sleepy surfer retreat. Not as popular as the world famous Ponta Roca which is 30min further up the road towards La Libertad, my originally planned stop off. Fate & the travelling gods had other intentions for me though. Fate in this case, could not have played me a better hand.
El Zonte
El Zonte, finds itself nestled in a cove, one that allows for waves that are effortlessly consistent. The cool sun, laid back almost island lifestyle & ocean breeze, makes for picture postcard living. Throw in cheap food, that's also very good & you have a receipe for Utopia. The days seem to fade into one another without much fuss & you have the sense that you 'Walking on a dream'. The inhabitants were made up of locals & a myriad of different nations. Germans, Dutch, Canadians, French, Americans, Swiss & that chico from South Africa, scattered the surf landscape. A surfers haven to many, it still had place for the land lovers as well.
Carol, one of Central America's finest.
Initially, only to be used as a spring board to San Salvador, I got swept up in the El Zonte life. Trust me, it's REALLY hard not to. The city eventually called. In Utopia, they forgot to place any decent atm machines. So off we went to San Salvador, which was just an hour down the road. For 50cents, you can catch the famous 'Chicken Bus'. Popular throughout Central & South America, they unmissable with there kaleidoscope of colours adorning there skin. The thing with Central American or with any capital city is, once you've seen one, you've seen them all. San Salvador does have the reputation of being one of the poorest & most dangerous cities in the world. The former, was visable from the get go. With people literally past out against & on pavements, & in some cases even in the street. The streets also had litter sprayed all over the place, as if it were confetti at a wedding. The night eventually came to claim the city & with it I expected so would the gangs. When the markets shut, I expected the inevitable precession of undesirables to come crawling out. They didn't disappoint. However, they did disappoint when it came to there hardcore reputation. I bumped into some from the notorious MS gang. There reputation had rapidly increased since being featured in an episode of Ross Kemp's book & BBC show 'Gangs'. They however where as laid back as most guys you & I would know, with the exception of the gangs tatoo's all over the bodies & even the heads. Funnily enough, they were surprisingly more afraid of me than me of them. They actually thought I was some heavy gangster. Who would have thought. Once we got pass that misunderstanding we had a fantastic night which went well into the early hours of the next morning.
The allure of El Zonte was calling though & in the morning I was heading back to 'The empire of the Sun'. I decided I would have one more visit. The timing was perfect as that night would be full moon. I think the lonewolf in me knew that. I had received so much kindness & friendship from the locals & felt one last hurrah with them was justly appropriate. Meno & Ela, the guys who had given me a ride from the border had really been more than just a ride. They had given me fantastic friendship as well.
Meno, cutting it up.
Fire Jugglers
The next morning brought with it sadness at having to leave but plenty of excitement at the new adventure that layed before me. I got to have one more laugh with Meno & Ela. Was a good way to end, as it all started with them a few days earlier. Ela even knitted me a woolen hat for Antarctica.
Until that day ........
The smog from the armada of long haul trucks that lined up on the border, made the place feel very eerie,almost ghost town like. The heat at 8 in the morning was unrelenting though. I had just crossed over so decided to gulp some water while planning my route south. A van pulled up with a pool table attached to the roof. A pony-tailed guy & dreadlocked chica emerged. They seamed pleasant enough, so with sweat sliding down my brow, I approached the chica. After some normal border chat I discovered she was German but back down here to catch some waves. The pony-tailed guy was her mate who she had been travelling with from Gautemala City. He had been up there to buy a pool table for his place in El Zonte, which he was looking into converting into a beach bar. They were more than willing to give me a ride. The ride to El Zonte climbs through hills & some tunnels. The air was much cooler now, the coast was approaching. El Zonte has a reputation of being a sleepy surfer retreat. Not as popular as the world famous Ponta Roca which is 30min further up the road towards La Libertad, my originally planned stop off. Fate & the travelling gods had other intentions for me though. Fate in this case, could not have played me a better hand.
Initially, only to be used as a spring board to San Salvador, I got swept up in the El Zonte life. Trust me, it's REALLY hard not to. The city eventually called. In Utopia, they forgot to place any decent atm machines. So off we went to San Salvador, which was just an hour down the road. For 50cents, you can catch the famous 'Chicken Bus'. Popular throughout Central & South America, they unmissable with there kaleidoscope of colours adorning there skin. The thing with Central American or with any capital city is, once you've seen one, you've seen them all. San Salvador does have the reputation of being one of the poorest & most dangerous cities in the world. The former, was visable from the get go. With people literally past out against & on pavements, & in some cases even in the street. The streets also had litter sprayed all over the place, as if it were confetti at a wedding. The night eventually came to claim the city & with it I expected so would the gangs. When the markets shut, I expected the inevitable precession of undesirables to come crawling out. They didn't disappoint. However, they did disappoint when it came to there hardcore reputation. I bumped into some from the notorious MS gang. There reputation had rapidly increased since being featured in an episode of Ross Kemp's book & BBC show 'Gangs'. They however where as laid back as most guys you & I would know, with the exception of the gangs tatoo's all over the bodies & even the heads. Funnily enough, they were surprisingly more afraid of me than me of them. They actually thought I was some heavy gangster. Who would have thought. Once we got pass that misunderstanding we had a fantastic night which went well into the early hours of the next morning.
The allure of El Zonte was calling though & in the morning I was heading back to 'The empire of the Sun'. I decided I would have one more visit. The timing was perfect as that night would be full moon. I think the lonewolf in me knew that. I had received so much kindness & friendship from the locals & felt one last hurrah with them was justly appropriate. Meno & Ela, the guys who had given me a ride from the border had really been more than just a ride. They had given me fantastic friendship as well.
As the moon rose in all it's orange glamour, some locals went for a night time surf. I will admit, I pulled softon that one. I may have scared the infamous MS gang, but the Pacific had my number. The bonfire got going & I enjoyed my last papusa, a local meal. Filled with cheese & topped of with chilli sauce & coldslaw, it had become the dinner of choice for the past few nights. And I still believe it's even better the morning after. With the fire jugglers going threw there repetoire of moves, & with Jack Johnson & Bob Dylan serenading the new moon, my last night could not have been scripted better.
The next morning brought with it sadness at having to leave but plenty of excitement at the new adventure that layed before me. I got to have one more laugh with Meno & Ela. Was a good way to end, as it all started with them a few days earlier. Ela even knitted me a woolen hat for Antarctica.
Ela, camera shy.
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