Let's Get Lost...

Western world: two weeks later

2008-03-01T09:34:00.001Z

I have been in London for two weeks and I start to miss the ease of human contact I experienced in Latin America. I usually smile when I am walking in the street and I look at the people around me trying to meet their eyes, but I fail. They are always looking elsewhere, most of the time they walk staring at the ground, even when the sky above is beautifully blue. They look too busy, burdened with worries. They might have high, ego-driven personal ambitions, but their human ambition remain at ground level.
Last Thursday I was in Norway for a business meeting. I had to spend a few hours at the Oslo airport waiting for my flight and I experienced exactly the same feeling of isolation, despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. They stare at plasma TV screens, write SMSs, make endless phone calls. And when the battery goes flat they feel lonely and helpless, as if today the only possible contact between humans were the virtual one, through electronic devices.
How did we get to this stage? Is it inevitable? Will Latin Americans lose their warmth and become scared and depressed zombies like us? I am afraid of the answer.... :-))))

Epilogue

2008-02-19T23:28:00.001Z

I finally made it back to London, where my journey started three months ago.

Unexpectedly, the departure tax at the Bogotá airport was only $5. After paying it I converted the pesos left in my pocket back into US dollars. The immigration police were nice to me and everything went smoothly. At the gate they only searched my backpack once, as they did with the hand-held luggage of all the other passengers.
Heading to New York, we flew over the magnificent Bahamas Archipelago. I landed at Newark around 4:30 pm, two and a half hours before the scheduled departure time of my flight to London. The connection flight left New York with one and a half hour delay because they made a mistake and loaded the wrong luggage into the aircraft. I landed at London Gatwick on Monday 19, a few minutes after 8 am and I arrived home two hours later. The chilly temperature of the London morning (-4 degrees Celsius) meant thermal shock for my body, still used to tropical temperatures ;-)). I took a hot shower and went to work.

I'm quickly getting over the jet lag and reverting to a "productive" existence ;-). I still have not readjusted completely to the Western customs, though. For example: every time I go to the toilet I have the reflex to look for the paper basket, instead of dropping the toilet paper in the WC!

What can I say about the whole journey? Well, it was simply fantastic. The number one highlight is definitely Colombia, the best kept secret in Latin America. Guatemala is a close second. These two countries offer a variety of sights/activities that can satisfy even the most demanding traveler. I also loved the Solentiname Archipelago in Nicaragua, despite the bad weather and the difficult journey to get there. Honduras and Panama also have some fine places. The country that I did like the least is Costa Rica: it has gorgeous parks, but it doesn't have much to offer apart from ecotourism. On top of that, it is expensive compared with its neighbours.

With the benefit of the hindsight, if I had to do this trip again, I would leave around mid January, to avoid the rain. The rainy season, notably on the Caribbean coast, tends to last until the end of January. During my five weeks in Colombia I got rain only one afternoon in Bogotá, at the end of my trip.

I will close this blog (at least for now ;-) with the lyrics of a songs that often comes to my mind when I am travelling. It is called "Foreign Affair" and it was written in 1977 by Tom Waits, an American songwriter that I like very much:

When travelling abroad in the continental style
It's my belief one must attempt to be discreet
And subsequently bear in mind your transient position
Allows you a perspective that's unique
And though you'll find your itinerary a blessing and a curse
Your wanderlust won't let you settle down
And you'll wonder how you ever fathomed that you'd be content
To stay within the city limits of a small midwestern town
Most vagabonds I knowed don't ever want to find the culprit
That remains the object of their long relentless quest
The obsessions in the chasing and not the apprehending
The pursuit you see and never the arrest

Without fear of contradiction, bon voyage is always hollered
In conjunction with a handkerchief from shore
By a girl who drives a rambler and furthermore
Is overly concerned that she won't see him anymore
Planes and trains and boats and buses
Characteristically evoke a common attitude of blue
Unless you have a suitcase, a ticket and a passport
And the cargo that they're carrying is you
A foreign affair juxtaposed with a stateside
And domestically approved romantic fancy
Is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances knowing
It will only be parlayed into a memory

Bogotá

2008-02-14T22:24:00.000Z

Bogotá is cloudy and the temperature is cold, which is normal for a city at 2600 meters of altitude. After La Paz and Quito it is the highest capital in Latin America. The climate here is helping me to readjust to the weather I will find in London. ;-)))

One week before arriving in Bogotá I booked a bed at the Platypus, one of the most popular hostels in South America. It is located in the historic suburb of La Candelaria. Their web page has interesting links to articles and reports about the damage that the cocaine trade does to both Colombian environment and society. It is interesting reading. This hostel is not the neatest I have stayed at and the showers leave a lot to be desired, but the international travellers who gather here make it an interesting place. German, the owner, speaks several languages and is a gold mine of information and travel advices.

At the Platypus you can meet all sots of people, each one with a different story to tell: from Charles, a fifty year old Californian who was the double of the violinist in the movie Titanic, to the young Chinese woman who was a non-citizen until she was 12 because her parents exceeded the quota of children established by the Chinese government. I met again George, a crazy German who was robbed of his money and passport while crossing the border from Ecuador into Colombia and managed to hitchhike a lift to Cali on a fruit lorry. In Bogotá he eventually received a credit card mailed by his Thai wife in Berlin and purchased a laptop to chat with her in Skype. One evening at the hostel we were playing around with Google Earth: he has travelled almost to every country on this planet. It's fascinating to hear him talking about his time as a monk in Myanmar or when he went on a cruise on a Russian ship in the Antarctic...

On Thursday morning I took the funicular (cable car) to Cerro de Monserrate to see the city from above: terrific view and an admonisment about world population growth and its pressure on the environment. The roar coming from the city below spoils the silence of the surrounding mountains. On my way back down I stopped at La Quinta de Bolívar, the mansion where the Libertador spent his time in the capital. It contains furniture of the early XIX century and some of his belongings.

After a mouth-watering bistek a caballo at the fine restaurant Fulanitos I strolled to Plaza de Bolívar, boasting some of the finest architecture in the city. Later I visited the Casa de la Moneda (the former mint, now a museum) and the adjacent Donación Botero, a permanent exhibition of works of art donated by Fernando Botero. The collection includes more than a hundred Botero's own works plus several paintings and sculptures by European artists such as Picasso, Matisse and Monet, just to name a few.

The five days I have spent in Bogotá gave me the impression that it is the most dangerous place I have visited in Colombia. The Candelaria neighborhood is unsafe too: in the hostel I keep on hearing stories about tourists mugged in the streets at night. On Wednesday night one Norvegian guest was attacked in the Zona Rosa, beaten up and robbed of his watch. To be completely fair, he was inviting trouble, walking around alone and half drunk at night. Meanwhile, an Australian tourist was robbed of his shoes. From bad to worse: on the following night a group of four guests were attacked by eight youngsters with knives. They stabbed a Canadian girl in the arm to steal her backpack. She lost two passports, money, credit card, iPod and camera. I was just about to go to bed when I saw her walking back to the hostel around one in the morning leaving a trail of dripping blood in the street... :-(

On Friday morning Charles asked me to go with him to the town hall to speak to the mayor's representative about the increasing security issues in the neighbourhood. The Canadian girl and a British couple staying at the Platypus joined us. Our small delegation was received with by Coronel Rodriguez, liaison officer between the Mayor and the law enforcement. After listening to us he invited in the room half a dozen tourist police officers who assured us that they are taking this issue seriously and will increase police presence in the area. They also contacted the Canadian embassy in order to speed up the issuance of provisional passports for the victims. They were all very apologetic for what had happened and discussed with us for almost two hours. Let's hope that the situation improves soon.

La Candelaria is a very lively area with a lot of students, owing to the many universities located here. It is also the oldest part of the city, where most historical buildings and museums are. Hence it is the area where most foreign travellers stay when visiting Bogotá. This, in turn, attracts thieves looking for easy money. The majority of restaurants in La Candelaria are closed by 8 pm and, after dark, few people linger in the streets of the centre.

On Friday afternoon we went to visit the Police Museum: we had an interesting but way too long mandatory guided tour. The nice guide did his best, but I struggled to follow his broken English (alas, most people in the group didn't speak Spanish).

It's Saturday afternoon and it is raining in Bogotá. I just left the handsome gilded interiors of the Iglesia de Santa Clara and found shelter from the rain in a cybercafé. I will walk back to the hostel as soon as the rain stops. Tonight is my last night in Colombia. Time to pack up and say goodbye to this beautiful country. I'm catching a flight to London tomorrow at 10 am.

Cali

2008-02-11T17:10:00.000Z

On Friday 8, at 4 pm, I arrived in Cali, the southernmost Colombian city I visited in my journey. At the bus terminal I caught a taxi to Iguana Guesthouse where I had reserved a bed in the dorm a few days before. After three minutes, the driver stopped another taxi and told me that I had to change vehicle due to some unspecified problem. I complied, but this second driver attempted to overcharge me, dismissing the recommended fare I got from the taxi line as "last year's". The Iguana is very popular with international backpackers and booking in advance is highly recommended, especially on weekends. It is located near "La Sexta" a central street where most salsa nightclubs and bars belong.

Cali has a significant share of black population and poverty is apparent, even downtown. Police presence is scarce. It is not unusual to see homeless people sleeping in the streets and there is a lot of prostitution. After sunset, groups of transvestites (or transexuals?) take over the sidewalks in the centre. They are the walking proof of how advanced Colombia is in plastic surgery. They proudly flash their fake boobs and asses to potential clients. They do look like very attractive women until you hear their voice and suddently realise that they sound more like Manolo or Braulio.... :-O

The temperature in Cali is hot all year and there is not much to see or do. The city is popular for its nightlife, something that doesn't interest me much. The deafening music coming from the clubs along La Sexta didn't really contribute to lure me in. And besides, there is nothing in the Cali nightlife that I could not experience in London (paying four times as much of course! ;-)))

I took advantage of this three-night stop to chat with the other guests, update my blog and take it easy, for the first time since I started this journey.

Personally, one of the highlights of Cali is the ice cream I had at Diva's, a heladeria on Avenida 9.
On Friday afternoon, the ambiguous but nice waiter served me two balls of divine ice cream: the flavours of my choice were coconut and chocolate. It tasted like the real thing. I later got to know that the Colombian owner went to Italy to practice the fine craft of ice-cream making, and it shows! On top of that, the place is also an art gallery, with sculptures of feminine figures on display.

Naturally, being a gelato-addict, I returned for more. To my frustration and dismay the place closed on Friday, never to open again (at least until I left), arghhh! I checked the place out daily, but it was hopelessly closed. Victim of a profound injustice, I was left with the crave. :-(((

The San Antonio hill has a park that affords a beautiful view of the centre. From the top I took a few pictures of downtown Cali at sunset.

On Monday evening I had dinner at the Argentinian restaurant opposite the guesthouse. I ate juicy beef with a salad, before grabbing my backpack and heading for the bus terminal. There I got on the first night bus to Bogotá, 10 hours away. On the next post I will write about the capital of Colombia, where I am at present. Un abrazo.

Two organic coffee farms around Salento

2008-02-09T03:26:00.001Z

On Thursday 7 February I left the Plantation House with some of the guests with whom I hiked the Cocora Valley a day earlier. The programme for the afternoon was to visit two organic coffee farms in the mountains around Salento. After one hour walking on a dirt road we got to Finca Don Elias. The founder and owner Don Elias himself welcomed us and took us on a tour around the plantation.

He showed us the two types of plants Arabica and Colombiana, their white flowers. The difference between the two plants is the colour of the ripe grains (red or yellow) and the life span. Arabica plants yield fruits for 30 years while Colombiana for 9 years only. Both types are harvested together and mixed. Once the outer skin has been removed, the greenish beans are indistinguishable.

In its natural environment, coffea grows under the shade. Banana and plaintain, with their large leaves, are often the trees of choice to provide the shadow in organic farms. We also found other plants growing alongside coffee, such as lemon, orange, pineapple and lulo.
No pesticides or chemicals are used in these plantations, only natural products coming from the composting process. Don Elias explained us that he makes good business at the moment, since the price of coffee is rising. He is a nice man and very passionate about his work.

He hires five seasonal pickers to help him harvesting the beans from the plants. Two harvests take place every year: the first from March to May and the second in October-November. A machine operated manually removes the skin, exposing the beans, before they are placed in the greenhouse to dry. The natural drying process can take from ten days up to one month, depending on the weather. At the end of the visit Don Elias grinded some beans that he had roasted beforehand and his wife prepared coffee for all of us. The smell of the coffee powder was most inviting. Hi wife candidly revealed us that she has around ten cups of coffee per day, even before going to sleep.... :-O

We bade farewell to this charming family to pay a visit to the next-door Finca El Ocaso, bigger and more automated. Javier, an employee, gave us a tour across the large plantation before showing us the machinery that performs the bean extraction, washing and drying operation.

Our tour ended in the greenhouse where beans are left to dry when the amount of harvested coffee exceeds the capacity of the hot-air owen used as drying machine. The white beans are shipped in bags to the importing countries where they are roasted and turn to the familiar "coffee" colour! We had another courtesy cup of coffee before leaving at sunset to catch a bus back to Salento. :-))

I was looking forward to this visit, since I missed the opportunity in northern Nicaragua. I was not disappointed. Both farms were interesting and gave me insights into the art of organic coffee production.

On Friday morning I left Salento on a bus heading to Armenia where I caught a connection to the city of Cali, four hours south.

Zona Cafetera: Armenia, Filandia and Salento

2008-02-02T18:02:00.001Z

In the morning of Monday 4 February I left Medellín on a bus to Armenia, at the heart of the Zona Cafetera (Quindío department), the region producing nearly half of Colombian coffee. During the six hour trip I had the privilege of DVD entertainment: the latest Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. What a treat! :-(((
The city of Armenia isn't attractive in itself, but it makes a good base to explore the surrounding coffee region. It practically only has modern architecture, for a reason: a third of the city centre was destroyed by an earthquake in 1999.
From the bus terminal I took a taxi to the hotel Quijote, recommended by my book. The fare I had to pay was calculated by a clerk in a booth by the taxi line. They offer this service free of charge to prevent taxi drivers from overcharging customers. Remarkable initiative.
I strolled around the centre in the late afternoon to acknowledge that there isn't much to see in this city. Police presence is much lower here than in Medellín. I tried not to linger alone in the streets at night and went back to the hotel after dinner. BTW, everything shuts down after 9 pm, so there isn't any reason to linger...

The next morning I took a bus to Filandia, a charming village located one hour from Armenia. Its brightly painted houses and the church make it a fine destination for a half-day trip.

On Wednesday morning, after two nights spent in Armenia I decided to move on to Salento, another attractive village in the mountains, one hour from the city. I was recommended to stay at The Plantation House, a good choice. The British owner is friendly and has plenty of information to share. Salento is a nice and quiet place to stay and it attracts hosts of Colombian visitors on weekends. It is also the right place to explore the nearby Valle de Cocora and to visit organic coffee farms. As pretty much everywhere in Colombia, people are helpful and friendly and will reply ¡A la orden! (You're welcome!) when you thank them. Another popular expression is ¡chévere!, which means "good!".

Literally after dropping my bags at the reception I was asked if I wanted to join a group of guests who were leaving in 5 minutes to explore the Cocora Valley. I hopped on the "Willys", an old jeep model still in use in this region, and off we went. The group was composed by three Australians, three Americans, a Greek woman and myself. The jeep dropped us at the beginning of the uphill trail leading to Finca Acaime through the valley. We agreed with the driver that he would come and pick us up at the same place at 4:30 pm, six hours later.

Valle de Cocora is a surreal place: the landscape would look like the Alps, but there is an exotic elements that we definitely lack in Europe: wax palms. The lush hills are covered with these tall trees creating a unique view. The region is covered in clouds and mist, creating a light/shadow contrast that enhance the dreamlike appearence of this place.

After one hour of march, we entered the cloud forest portion of the trail. We had to cross several foot bridges before finally making it to the Acaime farm. There we met the nice Doña Gladys, who served us chocolate santafereño (hot chocolate with cheese) while we gazed at the hummingbirds flying around and sipping nectar from the bottles fitted around the farm.

We left the farm and hiked a different trail that took us to a second farm called Finca La Montaña. From there it was all downhill until we reached the road where we agreed to meet the jeep driver.

Back to Salento, hungry after the long hike, we had trout at the restaurant Super Patacon on the square. I do not know for sure, but I suspect that the cheese at the farm gave me a strong stomachache in the evening. Among eight people, I was again the lucky one who got food poisoning. After spending the whole Thursday morning resting in bed I decided that I felt good enough to go and visit two organic coffee farms, one hour walking from the village.

El Peñol and Guatapé

2008-01-30T23:05:00.001Z

On Friday 1 morning I got on a bus to El Peñol, two hours from Medellín. It is a 200-metre-high stone with a mirador on top of it. 715 steps of a concrete staircase built in a crack of the stone take the visitor to the summit. The 360 degree view from the top is amazing. The whole area was flooded years ago to create a reservoir. The original village of El Peñol was covered in water. When the water level decreases, it is still possible to spot the roof of the old church tower emerging from the lake. Today, 35% of Colombian energy is produced here.

I spent nearly an hour in the mirador, admiring the astonishing panorama offered by the lake and the many islands. This is definitely one of the most impressive sights I experienced in Colombia. Words are not enough to describe it.

Around noon I left the stone and walked back to the main road where some kind Colombians working in the army offered me a lift to the nearby village of Guatapé. I offered to pay for the ride, but they declined. Guatapé is a village with some colorful houses and a handsome church. The main square has a circular fountain that enhances its charm.

I asked around for a suggested restaurant and was sent to a place named Vaso 'e leche, on the lake shore. Good tip indeed. I had a filling dish of comida corriente (set meal) and a beer.

After lunch I strolled through the streets of the village, taking pictures and observing the slow pace of life. In one of the most picturesque cobbled streets I watched a man laying down blankets full of white coffee beans, to dry them in the sun.

I caught the 3:30 pm bus back to Medellín. In the evening I had dinner with Colin, an American traveller from Portland, Oregon who is living in San Diego. We were sleeping in the same dorm at the Black Sheep. He spent part of his holiday working as an English teacher for free at a local school in Medellín. We had a pizza and a Peroni beer at Il Forno, an Italian restaurant in the Zona Rosa. In light of the coming elections in the USA we discussed about the current political and social landscape in the States and in the word, a theme that is dear to me. We agreed on many points. Most travellers I meet, Americans or not, are open-minded people who seem to have a view of the world that diverges from that proposed by the mainstream media. If only people travelled more and spent less time in front of the nefarious TV set... wishful thinking!! ;-)))

On Saturday afternoon Camilo took me on his Vespa to Santa Elena, where we spent the night with a dozen friends at Daniel's finca, a cottage in the mountains. Every guest contributed some money to buy food and rum. We played football, listened to music and most people smoked dope, before firing up the BBQ. We had pork sausages, beef, salad and arepa. The temperature was cold, therefore we picked up wood to make a campfire outside and light up the fireplace inside the house. Luckily Camilo brought an extra sleeping bag for me. I slept like a baby. :-)))

On Sunday afternoon I went to a multiplex cinema to watch a new Colombian movie called Paraíso Travel, after reading positive reviews. Well, I do not recommend it. Stereotypical plot/actors as well as poor acting are the main reasons to give it a miss.

In the evening I had yet another BBQ at the hostel. This is a weekly social event organised by the owner. It was nice to meet and chat with the other travellers, all foreigners.

In the morning of Monday 4 February I left Medellín on a bus to Armenia, at the heart of the Zona Cafetera, the region producing nearly half of Colombian coffee. More about this in the next post!

A week in Medellín

2008-01-28T17:31:00.001Z

Medellín, capital of the Antioquia department, is a modern city with a population of 2.5 millions, the second largest in Colombia after Bogotá. I arrived here on the morning of Tuesday 29 January. I managed to rest on the coach bus by sedating myself into sleep, after leaving the Bogotá terminal. The drug worked so well that the driver had to shake me back into consciousness once we got to Medellín, nine hours later. I caught the metro to the Poblado station and walked to the Black Sheep, a recommended hostel.

Most Europeans still tend to associate Medellín with drug cartels, but that's old news. In the centre there are policemen at every street corner and in every metro station. At the moment this city is as safe as most large urban centres in Latin America and there is definitely more to Medellín than cocaine trade and Pablo Escobar's legacy. Paisas (as Antioquia people are named) are known for their entrepreneurial spirit as well as for their warmth and hospitality. The year-round temperate climate earned Medellín the nickname of "City of Eternal Spring". The city is the main producer of flowers in Colombia and the Feria de las Flores held every year in August is a very spectacular festival where people and carts adorned with flowers parade along the streets.

The city gave birth to Fernando Botero, the painter and sculptor famous for his obese figures. Plazoleta de las Esculturas, close to Parque Berrío, contains several sculptures donated by the artist. Medellín also boasts an efficient two-line metro, above the ground, as well as two cable car lines (Metrocable) to reach the poorest neighborhoods on the mountains sourrounding the city. The cable car shows an affort to connect the poorest areas to the centre in order not to exclude them from the city. A public library with computers and modern facilities was also built in Santo Domingo to attract kids, educate them and possibly keeping them away from the streets.

On Wednesday morning I went to visit the University of Antioquia and the interesting Cementerio de San Pedro. The peculiar feature of this cemetery is the decoration of some of its tombs. Apart from the usual flowers, people come and stick banners, teddy bears, football team emblems, poems and religious images on the tombstones.

In the evening at the hostel I met again Camilo, the student from Medellín I met in Panama City. He took me to a restaurant in the Zona Rosa where I had the bandeja paisa, the typical dish with carne molida, arroz, chicharrón, aguacate, huevo and arepa. He had mondongo soup, another popular choiche in this region. Zona Rosa is the area where most posh clubs and restaurants are. It is a 15-minute walk from the hostel, in the Poblado neighbourhood.

On Thursday morning I caught the cable car to barrio Santo Domingo for a spectacular view of Medellín from above. Most houses in the slum are made of bare bricks and have metal roofs kept in place by bricks or other heavy objects, to prevent the wind from carrying them away.

Later in the morning, from the north terminal I caught a bus to San Felix and asked the driver to drop me at Estadero El Voladero, a place recommended by the hostel for a paragliding tandem flight. After paying $42 and walking to the flying camp I met Jaime, the instructor. The camp, one hour from central Medellín, is located on a hill affording an impressive view of the city and the surrounding mountains.

While waiting for my airborne lift I fooled around with the nice policemen who were at the flying ground. I impersonated an Italian drug smuggler arrested by the Colombian police. To make it all the more real, one of them handcuffed me with the esposas (literally "the wives") he was carrying, before a colleague took a picture of us. We laughed a lot. :-)))

The thirty-minute flight was smooth and easy, although I have to admit that I felt airsick most of the time. I think my sickness was not related to vertigo or stress, but rather to the continual motion we were subject to in order to find ascensional currents. The bird's-eye view and the silence surrounding us were simply breathtaking.

Despite the sickness I am happy I did it. I am sure that it's like driving a car on a winding road instead of being a passenger: If I were to steer the fly instead of simply being a payload I would probably feel less sick. :-)))

I was given a lift back to Medellín by Isabel and Juan, two students I met at the flying ground. Isabel too had the paragliding experience and felt as sick as me. To ease our sickness we both had a glass of lemon juice from the bar at the parking lot, before leaving in Juan's car :-)). I told them that I intended to visit the Museo de Antioquia in the centre and they were so kind to drop me right next to it. I spent two hours visiting the exhibitions in the three floors. The top floor hosts a collection of paintings and sculptures donated by Fernando Botero, 92 made by him and 22 made by other artists.

To reply to those among you who inquired about my return to Europe: I am flying back to the London winter :-( on Sunday 17 February from Bogotá, via New York.

Into the mountains: Tunja and Villa de Leyva

2008-01-26T21:27:00.000Z

Tunja is a pleasant mountain town, boasting colonial churches with the interiors among the finest in Colombia. My fleece proved again very useful here, as the temperature is cold in the evening. My intended destination was the town of Villa de Leyva, forty-five minutes by bus from here. I decided to spend Saturday night in Tunja because Villa de Leyva is a favourite tourist destination for Colombians on weekends. As a result, it is harder to find a bed and hotel prices rise. The friendly hotel Hostería San Carlos, occupying a two-storey hold house, was my pick for my short stay.

On Saturday afternoon I went to visit the two most important colonial mansions in Tunja: Casa del Fundador Suárez Rendón and Casa de Don Juan de Vargas. In the latter, the nice woman who showed me around allowed me to take pictures of the outsanding paintings adorning the ceiling of two rooms. They show a variety of motifs coming from different traditions: mythology, religion, animals and plants, among others. They are a unique example of this kind in Latin America. They are in excellent state of conservation thanks to the fact that they remained hidden by a lower ceiling for more than a century. I also inspected a few churches and Plaza de Bolívar (it looks more attractive at night) before leaving for Villa de Leyva on Sunday 27 morning.

Villa de Leyva is yet another fine example of colonial-style town, declared national monument in the 50's. The centre has been subject to thorough restoration. The result is there to see: whitewashed walls, a huge main square with a Mudejar-style fountain in the middle and the omnipresent churches.

I made the hotel Hospedería Colonial my base in this town, where practically no modern architecture exists. Some museums are open on weekends only, when most visitors are around.

A few inhabitants wear traditional ponchos as they walk the cobbled streets of the centre. Some old mansions have been restored and turned into malls hosting handicraft shops and restaurants.

On Sunday afternoon I went to enquire about horseback riding trips and was proposed a deal to leave straight away on a three-hour tour with a personal guide: a 16-year-old kid named Carlos. We set out at 3 pm heading for a tiny desert right in the outskirts of the town. I was about to start singing "I've been through the desert on a horse with no name..." by America when I found out that my young female horse (should I say mare?) was named chispa (spark). We got along wery well. After elegantly negotiating the desert (no rattlesnakes there) we got to a spot with some blue water pools in the middle of the countryside. While the horses rested I dived into the refreshing element. The heat and the wind outside dried me shortly after leaving the water. The third stop was a site called El Fósil, the seven-meter-long fossil of a baby kronosaurus discovered here in the 70's. Millions of years ago the whole region was covered by the sea.

Last but not least we rode to the archeological park, also known as the Muisca observatory. It was used by the natives to determine the planting seasons, by measuring the shadows cast by cylindrical stones sunk vertically in the ground, at regular distances. The park also boasts a peculiar display of giant stone minchias (phalluses), symbol of life and fertility in the Muisca religion.

We got back to town at sunset. Needless to say, my ass was sore for the whole following week, but it was worth it. :-)))

On Monday morning I took an early stroll to the mirador overlooking the town. My book seemed to suggest that it was a short walk to get there. It turned out top be a 30-minute uphill hike along a very steep trail. I underestimated the challenge by skipping breakfast to get there before the sun. It was though, but the view from the top rewarded the effort. I could see as far as the desert and the water pools I had visited on horseback the day before. Back to the centre the calm, compared to the previous day, was noticeable. As expected, most tourists had left on Sunday evening. I took advantage to visit the Casa Museo de Antonio Nariño. Born in 1765, Antonio Nariño was a champion of human rights and a leader of the independence movement. He spent several years in prison as a subversive, also for translating Thomas Paine's Rights of Man into Spanish. The house where he died is now a museum devoted to his life and work.

I left Villa de Leyva on Monday at 5 pm on a bus to Tunja. There I caught the first coach to Bogotá where I got a connection to Medellín leaving at 10 pm. Nine hours later I was in Medellín, the second largest city in Colombia.

Sports and colonial heritage: San Gil and Barichara

2008-01-25T18:36:00.000Z

The town of San Gil boasts a 300-year-old square with impressive giant ceibas and the 18-century stone Catedral Santa Cruz. It is also a popular destination for ecoadventure tours: rafting, paragliding, rappeling, kayaking, etc... The climate is hot in the daytime and pleasantly warm in the evening.

In the morning of Thursday 24 I joined a rafting trip managed by Colombia Rafting, an established tour agency based in San Gil. The $65 fee includes transportation, insurance, training, two-hour rafting on the river, food and the assistance of three professionals with experience in rafting and kayaking. The payload was composed of a British couple, an Irishman, a Slovenian and an Italian (me! :-). None of us had had any previous rafting experience. César, our captain, coached us for 15 minutes on commands and emergency procedures before landing the raft on water. Prior to departure I vounteered to be the guinea pig for a rescue drill, by simulating to fall off the raft into the river. My mates succesfully dragged me back aboard. A lot of fun! :-))
The Suárez river has rapids up to grade 4+/5, making the experience challenging and exciting. Néstor and his assitant operated as a rescue tandem in kayak, preceding us on the rapids, ready to intervene in case of danger. They also filmed and took pictures of us on a quiet portion of the river, where their availability was less critical.

It was definitely a good team-building exercise. All of us reacted promptly to César's instructions, averting any hazardous situation (luckily nobody fell off the raft). After the first two-meter wall of water hit me in the face I was "baptised" and set for the ones to come. I enjoyed the experience thoroughly and I found myself laughing out loud while paddling frantically in the middle of strong rapids.
Before the lunch break we reached a tranquil sector of the river. There we dived from the raft with our helmets and life vests, quietly drifting downstream for a few minutes. Later we got ashore and had lunch on fruits and cheese.

By 3:30 pm we were back to San Gil, glad to have made it unscathed through the wild rapids of Río Suárez!

Later in the afternoon I went to visit Parque El Gallineral, ten minutes on foot from the town centre. This protected park houses a few gigantic trees whose branches are adorned with "barbas de viejo" (old man's beard), long silvery fronds of a plant that grows on them. I joined a family from Bogotá in a guided tour where we learned about plants as well as past indigenous culture and rituals.

On Friday morning I took an early bus to the village of Barichara, a fourty-minute ride from San Gil. This is definitely one of the most beautiful and peaceful colonial towns I have seen in my journey. Lovely stone streets, picturesque houses, churches and small gardens, nice people, almost no traffic. Even the cemetery was charming! The absence of noise made it possible to hear the birds singing. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with this place.

Around 10:30 in the morning, having completed my visit to the lovely centre of the village, I decided to walk an old but well-maintained trail to the neightbouring village of Guane. The sun was already hot and the shadow scarce, but luckily the trail was mostly downhill. Silence was a welcome travel mate as I gazed at the fine panorama. I reached Guane in one hour and a half, just in time to acknowledge that there was not much to see there and catch the bus back to Barichara.

In the evening I had pechuga de pollo (a set meal based on chicken breast) at the comedor El Mejor, right opposite the hotel. That was the best dinner I had in the three nights I spent in San Gil. The previous two I made the mistake to walk into empty restaurants, recommended by random people I met. I was clueless as my guide was short of suggestions on places to eat. The outcome was bad food or poor value for money. The set meal only costed me $4.50 and was delicious. I should have listened to the hotel attendant who recommemnded this obvious choice on the first night!

Saturday 26 I left San Gil at 6:30 am on yet another fridge-bus to Tunja, capital of the Boyacá department. It is also the highest and coldest departmental capital in Colombia, at almost 3000 meters of altitude.

Bucaramanga and Girón

2008-01-23T15:41:00.000Z

Bucaramanga is a city with all the facilities one would expect, but very little to see. I took advantage of this stop to visit Bancolombia and change a few traveller's cheques.

On Wednesday morning at 7 am I left my hotel to catch a bus to the charming town of Girón, 9 kms from Bucaramanga. This place is known for its whitewashed old houses and cobbled streets, as well as half-a-dozen small stone bridges. Two lovely small squares complete the picture.

At the end of my self-guided tour I walked into a panadería on the main square to pick up something for breakfast and discovered the delicious pan de yuca (yucca bread).

The centre of Girón can be visited in two hours. By 10:30 am I was back to Bucaramanga, ready to resume my journey to San Gil, further south. A city bus dropped me at a place where the driver assured me I would be able to catch a bus faster than at the bus terminal. He was right: as soon as I set foot on the ground a couple of guys tried to grab my backpack, yelling "San Gil!" and dragging me towards a bus nearby. In vain I attempted to explain them that I could walk on my own. The friendly driver offered me the front seat, next to his, to take advantage of the spectacular views afforded by the journey. I returned the courtesy by sharing with him my mandarins.

We drove trough the Chicamocha Canyon and then up along the winding road reaching an altitude of almost 3000 mts before sloping down again. The driver generously dispensed stories and cultural insights as we crossed villages, coffee farms and other landmarks. He knew every turn of that scenic road that he had been driving on daily for the past fifteen years. Taking advantage of his extensive knowledge I dared inquire about the legendary hormiga culona (literally big-ass ant), a fried ant prized as a culinary speciality in the Santander department. I had read about it in my guide. He confirmed his appreciation for it and managed to pull over at a roadside stall to get me a tiny bag of ants for $1. I had one and I must say that they make a fine snack. I'll try to take a few home, in case anyone is interested in sampling them... ;-))
We discussed about Colombia's reputation in Europe and he was pleased to hear a positive feedback on my trip in his country. I shared my impression that Colombia is as safe as most countries in Latin America and that the bad publicity mostly comes from people who have never set foot here. The media, always keen to cover the gory side of the story, forgot to report that, safety-wise, the situation has greatly improved in the last three years.

We arrived in the town of San Gil in the afternoon. I found a room at the hotel Centro Real and took a stroll around. San Gil is a pleasant mountain town (elevation 1110 meters), popular for the wide range of extreme sport opportunities. In the next post I will write about my white-water rafting adventure on Río Suárez!

The lowlands of Colombia: Mompós

2008-01-21T15:49:00.000Z

On Sunday morning I left Santa Marta on a Copetran freezer-bus heading south to Bucaramanga (can anyone explain me why they have to keep the air-conditioning at full power day and night on these damn buses?) After one hour, on the east I could spot the snowcapped twin peaks of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta (5775m). The bus drove past the town of Aracataca, the birthplace of Gabriel García Márquez. The area is called Zona Bananera for a reason: the land is covered with banana plantations as far as the eye can see, yet another legacy from the United Fruit corporation (do you remember my post on northern Honduras?). I asked the driver to drop me at El Burro where I caught a pickup connection to La Oreja at around 1:30 pm. One hour and fifteen minutes later I got to La Oreja where I boarded a speedboat to El Banco (15 minutes). At El Banco I was told that no public transport run to Mompós on Sundays and my only option was a motorbike ride! After a brief haggling session I put on a hemet and sat behind an adolescent named Charlie, my chauffeur for the adventurous two-hour journey. The scenery in this region is swamplands crossed by the Río Magdalena.

Charlie dropped me at Hotel La Casona, a nice colonial-style mansion converted into a hotel. After removing two kilograms of dust from my body and the backpacks I walked in and picked a room with three beds and a ceiling fan. I almost always opt for the fan instead of the air conditioning for a specific reason: the turbulence it creates keeps mosquitos at bay. That spares me a coat of unhealty repellent. Being surrounded by swamplands, this town is a mosquito festival. They are so nasty that they manage to bite me through my socks and long trousers! The temperature is hot but there is no pleasant sea breeze in the evening like on the coast. :-(((
Mompós (or Mompox, as they spell it here) seems to come straight from a Gabriel García Márquez's book. As a matter of fact, he set his famous novel Crónica de una muerte anunciada (Cronichle of a death foretold) in this town.
On Monday morning, after walking along the river and wandering the cobblestone streets of the centre, I made a detour to the cemetery, containing arrays of old tombs in different styles.

Two things I could not find in Mompós (despite trying very hard): a bicicle for rent and a 1.5 liter bottle of water. The only bicicle rental closed down a while ago (but I could see herds of bicicles around!) and shops sell water in either 600ml bottles or plastic bags.

Mompós boasts several colonial buildings as well as half a dozen fine colonial churches. Iglesia de Santa Barbara is particulary interesting, owing to its peculiar octagonal Moorish-style bell tower featuring a balcony. I also visited the Museo de Arte Religioso, hosted in a fine mansion where Simón Bolívar spent a few days. It features a small collection of religious artworks, objects and clothes.

Mompós is renowned for its furniture and notably for its rocking chairs, ubiquitous in the living room of every house. After sunset, it is common to meet small groups of people outside their doorstep in their rocking chairs, chatting and enjoying the cooler evening temperature.
Unfortunately the traditional rocking chairs are being increasingly replaced by ugly plastic chairs, lighter and easier to carry outside.

On Monday I had lunch at Comedor Costeño, a colorful restaurant run by the lovely Doña Mery. The walls are full of dedications by happy customers. I ate Bocachico sudado (steamed fish) with yucca bars, fried plaintain and rice.

In the evening I had dinner at Dely Bross where I met Jo, a broker living in Camden Town, London. She was one of a handful of foreigners I saw in two days. The rest of the time I felt once again like an alien, observed by the locals.

On the next morning I left on a van without air-conditioning for another long and painful journey to travel back to the main road to Bucaramanga. It was even longer and more frustrating than the one two days earlier. After two lousy buses and a barge I had to wait one hour and a half under a tree for the arrival of a new bus, because the intended one was diverted to a different destination...
Would I do it again? No. Mompós is a exquisite place, but the twelve-hour detour on dusty and bumpy roads is probably not worth it, although I have to acknowledge that its isolation greatly contributes to its charm.

I left Mompós at 11 am and arrived in Bucaramanga at 10:30 pm. What's more, in the bus I had to put up with six hours non-stop of Vallenato, a very popular music from the Caribbean coast. Colombians adore it but, to me, it's all tacky rubbish with trivial lyrics of love affairs gone sour. What should I expect? After all, the majority of folks who like vallenato are probably the same who spend their evenings in front of the TV set to watch telenovelas (soap operas). ;-)))
My intended destination was San Gil, but my exhaustion and the late hour forced me to spend the night in Bucaramanga, at the Hotel Balmoral.

Andrea, I know that in Portuguese buseta has another meaning but, even if Brasil is not far away, I can assure you that here in Colombia this word means simply and innocently "minibus". :-)))

Tayrona National Park

2008-01-19T15:02:00.001Z

In the morning of Wednesday 16 I left Santa Marta to venture alone in the Tayrona National Park, one of the most picturesque and popular protected areas in Colombia. It stretches along the Caribbean coast from Taganga to Río Piedras, 35 kilometers to the east, with a scenery ranging from arid hills to rainforest and misty mountains.
I only carried my small backpack with the essential: some food and water for the hike, insect repellent, sunscreen, a torch and my camera.
A forty-five-minute bus ride left me at El Zaino, the main access to the park in the east. The entrance fee for foreigners is 23,000 pesos ($12), while Colombians pay 8,000. You are given a bracelet that you are supposed to wear for as long as you stay in the park. A further ten-minute jeep ride took me to Cañaveral, five kilometers from the entrance, where the main trail begins.

From Cañaveral I started to hike the trail to Arrecifes, the first camping site. On the narrow trail I came across several tourists and I had to yield to people with mules and horses, coming from the opposite direction. Forty-five minutes later I was in Arrecifes. The scenery is breathtaking: verdant jungle sloping down to meet the Caribbean sea at white sandy beaches. In a word: a wild paradise. The shore is practically a string of coves separated by small rocky capes.

It was late morning when I got to Arrecifes and, after having a look around, I decided to walk on along the coast to the next landmark: La Piscina. This is a natural pool formed by the rocky reef that act as a wave-breaker. As a result, the water is calm but still dangerous, due to strong currents. They claim that snorkeling is possible in Tayrona but my experience suggests that it is too dangerous to swim even 20 meters off the shore, due to the relentless waves and currents. Many careless people drown every year in these waters. :-((

After a refreshing swim at La Piscina I resumed the hike to my final destination for the day: Cabo San Juan de la Guía. This is the most popular coastal resort in the park, offering fully-equipped camping facilities: showers, toilets, a restaurant, a small soccer field, hammocks and tents. Some visitors sleep on the beach in their sleeping bags. Most bring their tent/hammock or rent one. They had run out of hammocks when I arrived, so I bargained a small tent for $16 and set out to explore the fine beaches nearby.

The park is extremely popular in Colombia and January is the high season. Some people come on a day trip, others stay for weeks. Yet, it's possible to find quiet beaches in the least visited portions of the park, because the vast majority of tourists remain within the Cabo San Juan - Arrecifes strip, where the most spectacular shores are located.

Further west along the coast from Cabo San Juan there is a fine naturist beach called Playa Nudista. To be precise, it is not a nudist beach but rather a clothing-optional beach, since 60% of the people there wear swimming costumes. Nevertheless I find it encouraging that even in a conservative country like Colombia they are giving naturism a chance. Even more so if you consider that the majority of people practicing naturism on this beach are from Latin America, since Western tourists are a minority in Colombia.
How could I resist the temptation to expose my chiappe chiare (white buns!) to the lovely early morning Caribbean sunbeams?!? No way! ;-)))

On Thursday afternoon I left the camp site to walk to Pueblito Chairama, a Tayrona hamlet that can be reached by hiking inland for one hour from Cabo San Juan. This Indiana Jones-style trail is mostly uphill, but the dense foliage of the jungle provides an appreciated shelter from the sun. I had to pay special attention not to tread on the many leafcutter ants crossing the trail in orderly lines, carrying bits of leafs to their ant house. Apart from some birds I could not spot any animal, but it was a very rewarding trip nevertheless.

A small Tayrona community inhabits the village, in their traditional round wooden houses. Some platforms, walls and causeways typical of the Tayrona architecture are also present. Both men and women wear white dresses and have long black hair.

On both nights I spent in the park I had dinner at the camp restaurant right after sunset. The pleasant sea breeze ensures a mosquito-free environment, at least in the evening. :-))
The two mattresses in the tent were way too thin, it almost felt like sleeping on the ground. On top of that, the tent was as hot as a greenhouse in the evening, but it got colder as the dawn set in. As a result, my sleep was very poor. The torch proved very useful in a few occasions, since there is no electricity outside the restaurant area.

On Friday morning I left my tent at 6 am to admire the marvelous sunrise from the mirador (viewpoint) on top of the cape overlooking the camp. The mountain ridges at different distances take on different hues when hit by the low sunbeams, while the sea is still in darkness.
I left Cabo San Juan around 11 am to walk back to Cañaveral and have a second look at the handsome scenery I had seen two days earlier.
In Cañaveral, while waiting for the jeep, I walked Sendero Las 9 Piedras (Trail of the 9 stones). It is a Tayrona-themed loop through the jungle leading to a mirador that affords a gorgeous view of the shore below. After reaching the beach, a bridge on the ciénaga (swamp) provides easy access to the trail that leads back to the departure point.

I arrived in Santa Marta in the late afternoon of Friday and got a room at Hotel Las Vegas, for a pleasant cold shower and a well-deserved rest on a normal bed!!

Santa Marta and Taganga

2008-01-19T14:18:00.000Z

Santa Marta is a popular tourist destination on the Northern coast of Colombia. There is not much to see there, but it has beautiful beaches and makes a convenient base to organise trips to Taganga, Ciudad Perdida and the Tayrona National Park.

The Tayronas were highly-developed indigenous people that inhabited this area before the arrival of the Spaniards. By the end of the 16th century, most Tayronas had been slaughtered by the conquistadores and their fine gold objects plundered to be shipped back to the Spanish Crown. Ciudad Perdida (Lost City) is the largest Tayrona settlement ever discovered. It attests the cultural and architectural advance of this civilisation and can be reached only by a six-day trek in the jungle, departing from Santa Marta.

Some examples of colonial architecture are visible in Santa Marta as well, but to a much lesser extent than in Cartagena. The Museo del Oro (Gold Museum) at Casa de la Aduana has a very interesting display of Tayrona objects, mainly pottery, clothes and gold.

El Libertador Simón Bolívar died in this town in 1830 after liberating six countries (by today's geography) from the Spanish rule. The farm where he died is today a museum.

The temperature feels even hotter here than in Cartagena. Therefore I tried to make the most of the early morning, in order to spend the hottest hours indoors, possibly under a fan or air conditioner. Since I tend to go sightseeing before cafés open, I buy fresh fruits in the streets as well as pan de mantequilla and pan con arequipe (sweet bread) at the panaderia (bakery), so that I can have them for breakfast while I am on the move. If I am not hiking, I try to sit down and enjoy a cup of tinto con leche (coffé with milk).

On Tuesday morning I caught a buseta (minibus) to the charming fishing hamlet of Taganga, five kilometes northeast of Santa Marta. It lies in a horseshoe-shaped bay and its harbour is packed with boats.

A scenic trail follows the coast and leads to several small beaches, after the larger and popular Playa Grande. Parts of the shore are off-limits to swimmers, being occupied by fishing nets.

I walked along the coast for two hours before the heat and the rough terrain got the upper hand and forced me to go back. The landscape there is arid, with light-brown hills and cacti. I later realised that I had practically reached the western boundaries of the Tayrona National Park. A plunge into the blue water was a refreshing reward.

In Santa Marta I had dinner every night at the Merkabar Restaurant, one of the best values in town. Apart from the usual camarones (shrimps), I had a memorable filet mignon in Stroganoff sauce, for two nights in a row. Their jugos naturales (fresh fruit juices) are legendary: 1$ earns you a bucket (literally!) of delicious juice or milkshake. That was a welcome break from the Aguila beer that I drink almost at every meal. Another good choice in the centre worth mentioning is La Sartén Dorada, but it is open for lunch only.

The day I got stuck in the mud: Volcán de lodo El Totumo

2008-01-15T20:23:00.000Z

On Sunday 13 I bought a half-day trip to the mud volcano El Totumo from the hostel Casa Viena, one of the best source of tourist information in Cartagena. The tour, departing the next morning, included transport, entrance to the volcano and lunch, for 33,000 pesos ($17). José decided to join me, after I explained him that I intended to catch a bus to Barranquilla from the volcano, instead of coming back to Cartagena like all tourists do, thus saving at least three hours and 100 kilometers of route.

The tourist bus picked us up at our hostel at 8:30 am and got to the volcano around 10. El Totumo is a fifteen-meter high miniature volcano. Its crater is filled with lukewarm mud with the consistency of cream, which is believed to have therapeutic properties.

We didn't think twice before joining the line of visitors waiting for their turn to have a dip in the crater. A platform and a ladder facilitate the immersion, no need to dive!!! The mud feels warm in the sun, less so in the shadow. The human body naturally floats in the mud, but you need your fellow mudman's help to move around the crater, since you do not feel any bottom with your feet. Just ask, and people will gently drag or push you to whatever direction you want to go. The crater is a square of 5x5 meters, crammed with people. All around it stand observers who do not dare to roll in the mud like jolly pigs, but prefer to watch and take pictures instead. :-))

Since this has become a popular tourist attraction, some men in the pool will attempt to drag you to a corner and massage you. Others will take pictures of you with your own camera or with an instant camera. They all operate in exchange for an undefined "voluntary tip".

We remained soaked in the volcano for thirty minutes, before leaving our place to other visitors eager to get their share of gray viscous bliss. On our way out, a man manually removed the bulk of the mud from our body. It all went back to the crater (and possibly into some people's eyes!) through a drain grid below our feet. They carry out this operation to save the precious mud, I reckon.

We left the volcano descending by a side stairway and went to bathe into the lagoon nearby, to remove all that healthy mud from our bodies. What a pity! We would have relished having lunch in our new gray attire, but our request was declined...

After lunch (deep fried fish and a bottle of Coke :-( ), before heading back to Cartagena the bus dropped us at a crossroads nearby where we could catch a connection to Barranquilla. There José's frustration peaked while he had to drag and load/unload his huge 25-kilo orange suitcase on and off the buses to get to the terminal and board the bus to Santa Marta. These are the situations where I truly appreciate travelling with a 9-kilo backpack.

Barranquilla is the largest city on the Caribbean coast of Colombia. There is little to see there, apart from its famous four-day Carnaval held in February, second only to the one in Rio de Janeiro.

We got to Santa Marta in the late Monday afternoon and found a cheap room to share at Residencial Meda, in the centre. Santa Marta and the lovely pueblo of Taganga will be part of the next issue.

More tales from Cartagena

2008-01-14T21:41:00.000Z

On the day of my arrival at Manuel's I met José, a Swiss-Spaniard from Geneva. He doesn't speak much Spanish, so we switched to French almost instantly and remained on that channel. We agreed to go and visit Playa Blanca, reputedly the best beach in the Cartagena area, on Isla Barú. We left our shelter on Thursday morning on a taxi to the port. Yes, José is more of a taxi person (also due to the size of his luggage), while I am a bus enthusiast. The bloody colectivo boat was supposed to leave at 9 am. It left at 10:20. I tried to rally the passengers around me in a mutiny effort, with little success. The captain was waiting for goods to be carried aboard and didn't seem to care much, addressing every complaint with the vague and usual "we leave ahorita" bullshit.
Looking at the bright side of it, I had all the time in the world to take and re-take (if needed) pictures of the fish market excitement, only a few steps away.

The greedy pelicans perching from the roof of the stalls were not bothered by the indiscreet eye of my camera. They were too focused on the plentiful banquet opportunities given by the fish leftovers.

It took roughly one hour to reach Playa Blanca on Isla Barú, sailing South across Bahía de Cartagena through the Bocachica strait. There are no hotels on Playa Blanca (literally "white beach"), only hammocks and tents. After setting foot ashore we were met by locals who proposed to rent us hammocks fitted with mosquito nets for $2.50 apiece. We did not look further. After my wet experience in Nicaragua I was a bit reluctant to spend another night in a hammock, but the steady dry weather of Northern Colombia in January convinced me.

Apart from catching sunbeams and swimming in the turquoise water, there is very little else to do in this place. There is only one restaurant, serving the fresh catch of the day. The beach gets very crowded in the early afternoon, where a horde of people disembark the tourist boats coming from Cartagena on a day trip. Apart from this busy slot, the rest of the time it is peaceful. Even more so after sundown, when it gets dark and there is no electricity to power up the TV set ;-))) The starry night is spellbinding.

After a night of little sleep and a morning spent snorkeling along the rocky portion of the shore we were set to make our way back to Cartagena. We took advantage of a thirty-minute stop at Bocachica to explore the Fuerte de San Fernando, a fort built in the 18th century at the Southern tip of Isla de Tierrabomba to protect the strategic access to the bay of Cartagena.

On Saturday I went to visit the Convento y Iglesia de San Pedro Claver and the Palacio de la Inquisición in the old town of Cartagena. San Pedro Claver was a Spanish monk who devoted his life to ministering to the slaves brought from Africa. The convent where he lived and died is now a three-storey museum.

The Palace of the Inquisition today hosts the Historical Museum of Cartagena as well as an exhibition of instruments of torture used by the Holy Office to exact confession from "heretics" (freethinkers) before sending them to death in a public auto-da-fé.

On Sunday afternoon José and I went to Bocagrande, the hotel district, to join a tour in a chiva, a colorful traditional bus. In three and a half hours they drove us about to see the following landmarks: Convento de la Popa (the highest point in the city, with a remarkable view), Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas (the mother of all the forts) and the old town. The tour includes a guide in Spanish.

The Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas is the greatest and strongest fortress ever built by the Spaniards in their colonies. It holds a complex system of tunnels that were used to distribute provisions and to facilitate evacuation.

I almost forgot to say that I treated myself to a superlative ice cream at Heladeria Brianzola, in the heart of the old town. I had an average of two cones of ice cream per day, for one week. A most welcome refreshment in this torrid climate! I was certain that the suspiciously North Italian name would not let me down. :-)))

Colombia: welcome to Cartagena de Indias

2008-01-10T22:27:00.002Z

I finally made it to the last destination of my trip, the country of novelist Gabriel García Márquez and painter Fernando Botero: Colombia!
On Monday 7 January I landed at the Cartagena airport after a short flight from Panama City. The view from the aircraft while approaching the Colombian coast was awesome. I could spot the archipelago of Islas del Rosario with the little white sandy beaches, a trademark of the Caribbean shores.

I took a bus to the Getsemaní neighbourhood in the old town and headed for Casa Viena, a recommended hostel, only to find out that it had no vacancies. Ronald, the friendly owner, explained me that it was still very high season and lots of Colombians were still on holiday from Christmas. He made a call and fixed me a bed at Manuel's, a student dorm on Plaza de la Trinitá, a few blocks away.

Every stone in the old town of Cartagena overflows with history. It was founded in 1533 by a Spaniard settler named Pedro de Heredia and a wall was progressively built around it to thwart the attacks of British and French buccaneers.

Getsemaní used to be (and to a certain extent still is) the lower-class neighbourhood. Most buildings are still dilapidated but it offers the best value for accommodation and food. El Centro and San Diego were dwelled by upper and middle class and look in perfect shape. In the XVII century Cartagena increasingly became a strategic centre for slave, gold and emerald trade. This wealth and power is still reflected today in the splendour of its architecture. There are enough colonial mansions, churches, balconies, museums and forts to keep the visitor busy for one week. It is listed as a Unesco World Heritage and I have to admit that strolling through its cobbled alleys is a pleasure for the eyes.

I spent the first two days aimlessly wandering the streets of the old town, to get a feel of it. Cartagena is the tourist destination in Colombia par excellence, even to Colombians themselves. Hence I was prepared to dodge an army of necklace vendors, beggars, dope peddlers and pimps. It's a small price to pay for beauty, isn't it? :-))

On Tuesday afternoon it took half an hour of paperwork to change my traveller's cheques into pesos at Bancolombia. The teller took my index fingerprint as well. This seems to be common practice in banks and casas de cambio.

As I expected, Colombians are nice, helpful and welcoming. They also like to party. The population along the coast is of Black-Caribbean descent, a legacy of the slave trade. I noticed several policemen patrolling the old town, enhancing the sense of security. As a matter of fact, the centre is generally safe, even at night.

The average temperature in Cartagena is 28 degrees Celsius, but it can easily attain 38 degrees around midday. A most welcome see breeze makes the evening strolls pleasant and mosquito-free.

I arrived in Cartagena during a music festival that featured a concert every other night, in front of the Iglesia de San Pedro Claver. I had the opportunity to listen to a few notes of Brazilian music plus a Finnish violinist with orchestra, before crash-landing on my bed. No need for a lullaby to fall asleep after a day spent walking.

During my stay in Cartagena I had dinner several times at the award-winning Coroncoro restaurant in Getsemaní. Outstanding value for money. A delicious dinner with meat or fish costs around $5. I didn't meet many gringos there. Most tourists opt for the fancier and more expensive restaurants in El Centro or San Diego.

On the next post I will write about my trip to Isla Barú, as well as a nice discovery tour in a chiva, a colorful tradional bus.

Bernd, your comment is beautifully written and very much appreciated. I didn't expect anything less than that from you. ;-))) And no, I'm not in London (yet), but I admit that keeping a blog going is a very time consuming task. I do it with as much dedication as I can, both for myself and for those among you who still read it.

¡Hasta pronto!

The Panama Canal

2008-01-10T22:03:00.000Z

On Sunday 6 morning I went to visit the Miraflores Locks of the Panama Canal with Camilo, Jean-Bernard and a German couple that I met at the hostel during breakfast. It is a fifteen-minute bus ride from Plaza Cinco de Mayo in the city centre.
Ships that enter the canal from the Pacific side sail under the impressive Puente de las Americas, in the outskirts of Panama City.

Only boats up to the Panamax class can transit through this engineering marvel of the twentieth century. Twenty-two thousands men died in the first attempt to build the canal led by the French at the end of the nineteenth century, mostly due to malaria and yellow fever. A few years later the Americans took over and successfully completed the construction in11 years, building on the lessons learned from the French failure. The first ship sailed through the canal in 1914. The USA relinquished control of the canal to Panama on December 31st 1999. Panamanian staff have been successfully operating the canal ever since.

Miraflores are the closest locks to the capital and feature a modern four-storey visitor centre at the top of which one can observe the ships slowly advancing from one chamber to the next. Six Mitsubishi electric "mules" drag and steer the ships through the narrow canal (33.5 meters). The crossing takes an average time of eight hours. Plans have been approved to expand the capacity of the canal, by adding two extra fligths of locks by 2016.

After visiting the interesting museum and watching a ten-minute film on the history of the canal we went back to the city centre and had lunch at the Ristorante Pizzeria Napoli, where I had spaghetti with seafood and one bootle of ice-cold Atlas, a Panamanian beer. :-))

In the afternoon we hired a taxi for a couple of hours to show us around the capital. We visited the administration building of the canal and the Calzada (causeway), a strip of land built with the material coming from the canal excavation and connecting four former islands to the continent. It is a place where Panamanians like to stroll, jog or ride their bicicles early in the morning or on weekends. It is currently being developed as a major tourist centre with many North American style malls, hotels, nightclubs, and restaurants.

On Monday morning I bade farewell to my temporary travel mates and caught the one-hour bus to the Tocumen international airport for the usual $0.25 fee. The thirty-minutes taxi ride would have costed exactly one-hundred times more. I got there around 11:30 am. My flight to Colombia was taking off at 3:15 pm, leaving me almost four hours for a nice brunch while watching the crowd of passengers walking about the airport. I purchased my one-way ticket on the Copa Airlines website for $288 when I was in David. Definitely not cheap for a forty-five-minute flight!

Some tourists cross from Panama into Colombia (and vice versa) by boat. It's a five-day cruise departing from the San Blas Archipelago that can be either very good or very bad, depending on the boat, the weather, the sea, the crew and the captain. It costs as much as the flight. On the web I read mixed reviews from people who embarked on this journey. I decided not to take the risk on account of the ugly weather that I found on the Caribbean coast. It's probably safer from February, when the rainy season is really over. The overland crossing is not an option: the Darién Gap is one of the most dangerous regions in Latin America, infested by paramilitary, guerrilla, drug smugglers and robbers of all sorts. On top of that, the area is a blend of jungle and swampland and the odds to get lost are high.

Panama City

2008-01-08T19:00:00.000Z

I arrived in Panama City on a night bus leaving David at midnight. It was a sleepless six-hour journey (as I expected). At the station I met Jean-Bernard, a crazy Parisian waiter who was also coming from Bocas del Toro. After two fruitless attempts at more popular hostels, we found a room at the Hostal Balboa Bay in the central Bella Vista neightborhood. The place is not safe (guests were robbed during the two nights I spent there) and the owners are not particulary helpful or well-organized, but we did not know it at the time. We shared a room with a ceiling fan (indispensible in this sultry climate) and air conditioning (always welcome :-)) with Camilo, a student from Medellin.

On Friday afternoon Jean-Bernard and I went to visit the colonial Casco Antiguo (Old Town), the most interesting part of the city. It has a bad reputation for unsafety and I saw many policemen there, even mountainbike patrols. They are all very nice and keen to help. There is a clear effort to improve the situation and restore the visitors' confidence in safety. Buildings are a mix of run-down and restored ones, both possessing a distinctive charm. It reminded me of Ortigia in Siracusa or the old streets of Palermo in Sicily. This area is surrounded by walls built by the Spaniards to keep pirates at bay. Among the finest buildings are many colonial churches, the theathre and the presidential palace. The old town can be comfortably visited in three hours, on foot.

On Saturday morning I went to the bank to waste the usual hour in paperwork to change traveller's cheques into Balboas. Jean-Bernard attempted to change Euros, without success. Unfortunately, in most Latin American countries, the only accepted currency is the US dollar.

The capital of Panama is a modern city with a lot of towers and skyscrapers. They are building condos and business premises at a staggering pace. The views from La Calzada (the Causeway) and the Casco Antiguo resemble the New York skyline I know from movies.

All over Panama City is very common to see airbrush-decorated local buses. The images can range from Biblical or mythological characthers to Al Pacino's face straight from "El Padrino" (The Godfather). The fare is $0.25, regardless of the distance.

The Bocas del Toro Archipelago

2008-01-05T03:33:00.001Z

I spent 30 and 31 December in David, where I found a room at the hotel Iris, overlooking the central square. There is actually nothing to see or do here, but it is a strategic town to/from Costa Rica and the Caribbean coast. The temperature is hot and tropical, even in the evening; a noticeable rise compared with Costa Rica. Air conditioning is prevalent and the termic shock from cold to hot takes a while to adjust to.

My next destination was Archipiélago de Bocas del Toro, but I reckoned that going to such a popular Caribbean destination on New Year's Eve without a reservation was too risky. In David malls abound and, to kill the time, I updated the blogand bought a new cotton t-shirt to make up for the loss of the two I left at the laundry in Alajuela. It took a while to find an S size in shops with heaps of L and XL garments. The shop attendant confirmed that people eat too much here. :-)))

Streets were filled with all sorts of stalls, mostly of firecrackers vendors, exploiting the business opportunities created by the imminent celebrations.

Having developed an allergy to mass rituals, on the 31st I went to sleep around 10 pm, with brand new plugs firmly stuck in my ears. I wanted to get a good rest to make an early start on the 1st and get to Almirante as early as possible. Predictably, on New Year's Day at 8 am the streets of David were almost deserted. After checking out from the hotel I walked to the station and got into the minibus to Changuinola. The four-hour drive to Almirante is a scenic route through villages and mountains of the Cordillera de Talamanca. Almirante is the departure port for boats to Bocas del Toro, the main town of the archipelago, on Isla Colón. After a 30-minute ride on the boat I made it, under the usual welcoming rain, to the pier of Bocas. There I caught a lancha connecting to Isla Bastimentos. It's a ten-minute journey.

People with a drink in their hand where celebrating the New Year with loud music and firecrackers. The population of 250 is mostly black Caribbean and they speak their own language, plus Spanish and English. I chose to stay in Bastimentos because there are no roads, only a concrete foothpath, as opposed to Bocas, which has roads and a parade of 4WD veichles.

I followed two Canadians who had reserved a room at the Beverlys Hill and found one there as well. It is a nice place with wooden cabins in a lush garden, run by Simon from Brighton, UK.
On the island people listen to the radio at very high volume in their picturesque wooden houses, in a sort of who-shouts-the-loudest competition. In the three days I spent there I saw people drinking, partying, dancing and hanging around but I did not see a single man working. Those who do, drive a taxi boat. Perhaps it's the holiday season or maybe they do not need to work. They fish for food and they enjoy a simple life. Asians control the only two food shops on the island, open until 10 pm. They seem to speak Spanish, but not English.

To reach beaches and other islands one needs a boat, the only useful mean of transportation. The only exception is Playa Wizard, accessible through a 15-minute trail full of mud. It is still raining in early January. On the second day only I was so lucky to have sun from 11 am till sunset that I took advantage to walk to Wizard Beach and further towards Red Frog Beach. They are beautiful, but strong currents and waves demand caution.

In the evening I had dinner at a seaside restaurant called Pelicano, run by Marco, a Sicilian from Messina. (These teroni are everywhere, isn't it Andrea? ;-)))

On Thursday 3 January I had breakfast at Tio Tom, run by a German couple who serve good food but have a rotten sense of humour. From Germans one would expect neither good food nor sense of humour, so I guess I was lucky. ;-)))

I later moved back to Bocas, undecided whether to stay or not. On the Pier I met Samuel, the Israeli I befriended in Costa Rica. He was leaving the archipelago. After chatting with him and looking at the sky I decided to stay. I dropped my lugguage at the hostel Heike and rented the lousiest moutainbike I have ever rode in my life (alas, the only one available). It was an orange piece of junk, about to fall apart at every turn of pedal. I miracoulously made it to the beaches North of Bocas on Isla Colón. The road was so flooded that I had to leave the bicycle at a house by the beach and walk on, knee-deep in the mud at times. I strolled on the shores with Adam, a sporting Californian salesman who came kayaking across the bay. At the end of our walk we started to smell smoke. Right in front of the gorgeous beach we found a landfill with a community of black vultures. The by-products of holidaymakers and residents' consumption are hidden in a place where tourists do not normally venture. This keeps alive the illusion that, once we throw it, it magically disappears...

I left Bocas on the next morning, heading back to David to catch a night bus to Panama City.

A final note on the currency. In Panama you pay with the Balboa, a homage not to Rocky :-)) but to Vasco Núñez de Balboa, one of the first Spanish settlers. As a matter of fact it is the US dollar with a different name. Coins come as Balboas or American coins, but the notes look exactly like the "buck". Along with El Salvador, Panama is the other Central American country that switched to the US dollar.

Crossing the border with Panama

2007-12-31T19:34:00.001Z

On Sunday 30 December in the morning I took a bus from Sierpe back to Palmar Norte and another one for the border town of Paso Canoas, where I arrived in the early afternoon after a two-hour journey. I easily obtained a stamp out of Costa Rica, unaware of the troubles awaiting me at the Panamanian immigration. After inspecting my passport the officer at the counter asked me for a ticket out of Panama, which I did not have. He said that the possession of a valid outward ticket was a requirement by the government. It was no use showing him my plane ticket from Bogotá and explaining him that in order to get to Bogotá by mid February I had to leave Panama before. Faced with my vigorous protests he suggested that I buy a bus ticket from Panama to Costa Rica at the office nearby. Swearing at him, I walked back to the Costa Rican side to locate the office, which was closed on Sunday. Apart from the time lost, this rule exposes tourists to a series of dangerous scams perpetratede by shady profiteers operating at the border. At the peak of my frustration I was approached by a boy who claimed that this impasse is frequent and knew an easy way out: bribery of the immigration officier. With a $20 note and my passport he claimed he could accomplish the miracle and open the doors of Panama to me. I did not fall for the trick (that would have costed me my passport and the money), but some gullible tourists might and this makes me mad. After declining the young thief's help offer I decided to give it a last try before throwing in the towel and go back to Costa Rica. I walked to the officer and announced him that the bus company office was closed. He suggested to find a ticket vendor nicknamed "El Chino" and buy a passage from him. So I did, spending $12.50 for a David-San José ticket that I will never use.
I suspect that the immigration officers operate in cahoots with the bus company employees to extort money from tourists through the sale of expensive tickets. When I told El Chino that a ticket to Neily (first town after the border in Costa Rica) would be enough, he countered that the Panamanians would not accept anything different than San José as a destination (much further, hence more expensive).
Had I known about this law before getting to the border I would have forged a plane ticket, by replacing Bogotá with Panama City in the HTML code of my real ticket and then printed it. This should suffice to fool the pedantic officers. A nonsensical rule like this, meant only to swindle tourists of their money, requires little effort to circumvent, with great gusto.

I have never seen anything like this enforced by any other country before, simply because it is preposterous: even a moron understands that a ticket out of Panama doesn't guarantee that the holder will actually leave the country. I can only hope that the Panamanian government will soon stop policing it. I will buy my plane ticket to Colombia whenever I fell like doing it, plainly and simply. This is not the only stupid rule policed by the Panamanians: they also require that the visitor carries sufficient funds in cash or traveller's cheques. Words fail me on this one, so I will stop here. Panama is trying to sell the image of a modern and efficient country to attract foreign capitals, but I think there is a lot of room for improvement.

Some travellers I met were not harassed at all, others were. It seems to either happen randomly or different rules (levels of corruption?) apply at different border crossings.

After losing one hour as well as my temper, I got on the bus to David, the main town after the border. I hope that the people of Panama are friendlier to foreigners than their immigration staff, otherwise I will not stay long in this country.

Bahía Drake and Parque Nacional Corcovado

2007-12-31T01:50:00.001Z

Costa Rica is one of the most expensive countries in Latin America. Many Ticos (Costa Ricans) use cars and pickups and most tourists use taxis and travel agency vans. As a result, public transport is the worst among all the countries I have visited in this trip. Buses are scarce and overcrowded. People have to stand regularly, owing to lack of seats. This country does not have to offer as much as other Central American neightbours in terms of colonial heritage or indigenous culture but it is has become a prime destination for eco-tourism and boasts plenty of parks with tropical rain forest. Lots of Ticos, especially those working in the tourism business, speak English. This has made the country a favourite destination of North Americans, who are investing money and buying property here.

I arrived in Sierpe on Thursday afternoon with Jan, a Tico of Polish origins coming from San José. After an unsuccesful attempt to haggle a price for a boat ride to Bahía Drake we decided to spend the night in Sierpe and try again the next morning. We shared a room at the Hotel Margarita. Sierpe is a small village with no particular appeal. Since there is a PC with Internet connection at the local tourist agency I spent my free time there to update this blog.
On Friday morning we gave it another go at the pier and managed to get a lift on El Gordo's lancha for $10 each. The one-hour trip through Río Sierpe is breathtaking: the water in the lagoon is a mirror and the river banks are covered in different type of mangroves.

As soon as we reached the delta where the river meets the sea, the waters got much more turbulent taking a toll on our backs and buttocks. Until five years ago Bahía Drake was a village without electricity, unknown to tourism. Today it has become a top destination in Costa Rica, for Ticos and foreigners alike. Needless to say, prices have gone to the stars and everything is controlled by tourist agencies. Since the rainy season is still on, roads and trails are very muddy.

I left Jan on the beach with its tent and walked to the village to find a shelter. After failing to find a room at 4 different hotels I started to get pessimistic about my prospects. Luckily a woman that I met at the doorstep of her house took pity on my plight and was kind enough to call a friend that had vacancies and found me a room. What I did not know is that this place was 1 Km up in the mountain, following a steep dirt road. The owner, named Mayra, sent a friend with a car to pick me up. The place is called La Perla and is very peaceful and green, surrounded by a nice open garden.

I started to inquire about prices for a boat trip to the Corcovado National Park. From Bahía Drake the park can only be reached by boat. Unfortunately very few people travel there alone, and transport-only prices have to be negotiated through local agencies. The village is filled with North American families and groups, who fuel this kind of industry and make independent travellers' life difficult as well as causing a costant increase in prices. A half day trip to visit the Corcovado National Park starts from $80. Mayra managed to find me a tourist boat to San Pedrillo, the nearest ranger station in the park, for $30. All the other passengers purchased the full tour with guide and meal from an agency called Rancho Corcovado. We left on Saturday morning, around 7 am.

The Parque Nacional Corcovado occupies a large share of the Osa Peninsula, on the Southern Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. It is very big and cannot be fully explored in one day. From the ranger station, the three-hour circular trail I followed led me to see some magnificient trees and vines and a few animals: tucans, pelicans, white hawks and monkeys.

After reaching a waterfall I managed to walk away from the tourist groups and visit some deserted beaches that can only be reached by some climbing and walking on the rocks that interrupt the stretches of sand. I swam in some tidal pools I found, protected from the dangerous waves and currents that sweep the coast.

I then continued on the trail till I got back to the ranger station, around half past noon. We left at 2 pm to sail back to the village. Corcovado and its sourroundings is probably the most beautiful place I have seen in Costa Rica. The trips to reach Bahía Drake and the park are extremely rewarding.
After a day spent walking in the mud and under the rain, my clothes were filthy. Mayra washed them and, on Sunday morning, served me a filling breakfast before I left on the boat back to Sierpe, naturally under the rain.

Thanks to all the readers who keep on posting comments. I really appreciate it.

I wish you all a fear-free 2008. :-)))))

Quepos: Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio

2007-12-28T16:09:00.001Z

In Jacó I took the bus to Quepos, two hours South-East along the coast. There I walked to the Wide Mouth Frog hostel, known by locals as "La Rana Bocona", recommended by Samuel in Alajuela. It is very popular with international backpackers and located at a stone's throw from the bus station. On Christmas the whole town was shut down. I had dinner with a French couple from Brittany at the only open restaurant, opposite the bus station. Gordon, a Franco-American man who turned the page and is now trying to start a new life in Costa Rica, joined us. They were all staying at the Wide Mouth Frog. Casado de pescado, my latest addiction, and a fruit milkshake were the reward for yet another day on the move.

In the early morning of the 26th I caught the bus to Manuel Antonio, a village 7 kilometers from Quepos, to visit the smallest national park in Costa Rica. The beach that leads to the entrance of Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio is called Playa Espadilla and gives a foretaste of the beauty that awaits the visitor inside this park.

Considering its size, it is astonishing the variety of animals that one can see there: sloths, iguanas, snakes, monkeys, coatis, raccoons and plenty of birds. I walked along the park trails with three other travellers that were staing at my hostel in Quepos: a young man from Quebec and two girls from Israel and the USA.

It's easier to see wildlife early in the morning, before a noisy multitude of tourists arrive and scare the animals away. Joining a tour can help too, because guides have portable telescopes on tripods and know where to spot animals. The entry fee for the park is $7, but a two-hour tour can cost up to $50 per person, a bit overpriced in my opinion. Prices are skyrocketing in this country due to the high-end tourism imposed by North Americans. Indipendent travellers are struggling to find affordable options, since the tourism here seems to be increasingly controlled by greedy operators catering only for big pockets who want to see all of Costa Rica in short-time all-inclusive packages.

The beaches inside the park are very attractive as well, but the smallest and more secluded disappear at high tide, reclaimed by the sea for a few hours. One of the trails leads to a mirador above Playa Puerto Escondido that affords spectacular views over the peninsula of Punta Serrucho.

Not far from the park entrance, following a very muddy and entangled trail, we got to a small waterfall, forming a water pool large enough for a person to sit and enjoy the refreshing cold water. By 11 am we were leaving the park, still flooded with tourists. We got back to the hostel just in time to check out, but we had to wait until 3:30 pm before the departure of the next bus to Dominical. The 3 fellow backpackers that visited the park with me stopped at Dominical while I caught a connection to Uvita, again under the rain. I wanted to reach the Tucan Hotel, yet another Samuel's recommendation. After checking in, I gave my AA batteries to the helpful owner to get them charged (I routinely do this for I left the charger at home). After I found out that the cook was Italian I asked her to serve me some proper tagliatelle with fish and capers, to revert to my former pasta addiction, at least for one night!! ;-)))
On the next morning I left on the 11 am bus to Palmar Norte, connecting to Sierpe, the springboard to venture into the Osa Peinsula to explore the magnificent Corcovado National Park and its surroundings. Stay tuned.

The Nicoya Peninsula: Montezuma and Cabo Blanco

2007-12-27T14:56:00.001Z

I left Alajuela on Sunday morning on a bus to Puntarenas. Since it broke down halfway I had to wait by the roadside thirty minutes for the next one. In Puntarenas, at noon, I boarded a big ferry for cars and passengers headed to Paquera, a village port on the South coast of the Nicoya peninsula. During the one hour trip across the Gulf of Nicoya we sailed by some fine little islands, such as Isla Caballo and Isla San Lucas. From Paquera, a two hour bus ride took me to Montezuma, one of the most popular beach resorts in this region of Costa Rica. This is an extremely tourist hamlet, where every building is either a hotel, a shop or a tourist agency. I dropped my luggage at Pensión Jenny and went for a stroll on the beach to watch the sun setting behind the peninsula. I had dinner at the restaurant of Hotel Moctezuma, overlooking the beach. The village was oveflowing with tourists and necklace sellers' stalls. Everybody was getting set for yet another full moon party on the beach. I lost count of how many of these I have missed in my life while travelling, but I decided to give that one a miss as well.... :-)))

On the next morning around 7 am I left the village walking South along the coast. My plan was to hitch-hike a lift to Reserva Natural Absoluta Cabo Blanco, a protected park at the Southmost end of the peninsula. After one hour I was picked up by a friendly couple of tourists, Kenneth and Tanya. They were driving to the Cabuya Island, taking advantage of the low tide, to snorkel and visit the cemetery there. I decided to postpone my visit to the park and join them.

The low tide allowed us to walk to the island and visit the small cemetery on top of it. The water was surprisingly warm, but too cloudy for snorkeling. The visibility underwater was one meter at most. There is no sand on the island, just rocks. At around 11 am we decided to try to visit the park nearby. Kenneth drove us to the entrance where we found a closed gate and a panel saying that the park is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. We decided to give it a go and enter anyway. We walked to the visitor centre, which was closed. We followed the only trail that leads to the shore, after crossing a dense jungle, very hot and humid. Water and insect repellent are a must. The vegetation is typical of the tropical wet forest. In a carved tree we could spot some cute bats, hanging head down of course! :-))

We also saw a squirrel (brown fur and grey tail), birds, pelicans and white face monkeys. We heard the mono congo (howler monkey), but could not see it. Some trees along the trail have been entangled with other trees and vines, creating science fiction shapes.

We gladily immersed our sweaty bodies into a welcome stream of fresh water that was crossing the trail. After two and a half hours of hiking we reached the deserted beach. Well it was not completely deserted. There were plenty of little hermit crabs walking on it...
After one hour spent relaxing on the shore we started to walk back to the car, which we reached tracking the same trail backwards, with a little detour through an alternative path.

To celebrate the rewarding day we had a dinner in a restaurant in the nearby village of Cóbano. I had casado de pescado (fish with rice, vegetables, fries, beans and cheese) while fireworks were being fired to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Kenneth is an American social artist and Tanya is a Russian linguist. They live in Chicago and are the kindest and most interesting foreigners I have met so far. Kenneth has travelled extensively in the past and has lived in several countries. During the day we spent together he provided compelling insights on different countries and cultures. In three different occasions he stopped to aid people/animals: a guy on a veichle stuck in the river, a woman who hurt herself by falling off her mountain bike, a cat who had been run over by a car. I nicknamed him the good-deed man.

In the early morning of Christmas Day I went to visit the nearby waterfalls before catching a speed boat to Jacó, a village South of the Nicoya Peninsula along the Pacific Coast. This one-hour ass-breaking fast journey on the ocean costed me $30. The point was to avoid to go back to Puntarenas by following a different and faster route. The only drawback was the seat: a stiff plastic bench. If I ever repeat the experience I'll make sure that I can sit on one of the very few padded seats available on these boats....

Crossing the border with Costa Rica

2007-12-26T00:34:00.001Z

On Friday morning I left San Carlos on the usual boat to Los Chiles, the first town after the Costa Rican border. After a quick inspection of my luggage, I got a stamp on my passport and I was Southbound to Ciudad Quesada. The landscape reminded me of Switzerland: hilly meadows with a host of grazing cows. There I got on on a bus hoping to get to Puntarenas, but I had an argument with a rude and stupid driver who could not or did not want to tell me where the bus was going. "El Naranjo!" he kept on shouting, ignoring my request on further details on whether this bloody Naranjo was on the way to Puntarenas or not. There was no trace of this town on the map in my guide. I decided to stay on the bus and try my luck. One nice passenger told me that the bus was heading for the capital, San José and that I would be able to get a connection to Puntarenas in Alajuela or El Naranjo. I decided to spend the night in the former where I found, by sheer chance, a pleasant and welcoming hostel called Trotamundos.

There I met a young German man named Manuel, who can speak Italian with Livornese accent. His parents are both from Livorno, in Tuscany. He was travelling with a German young woman called Verena and his brother. I also made the acquaintace of a friendly Israeli called Samuel who gave me plenty of tips on places to visit and accommodations on the Pacific Coast. He practically provided me with a full schedule for my next 7 days in Costa Rica.

On Saturday morning I took some of my clothes to the laundry round the corner from the hostel and managed to lose 2 cotton t-shirts out of the 3 I had. Lesson learned: never trust the old woman at the laundry to give you back all the garments you handed her earlier. I found out about the missing items on Saturday night, and I was leaving the next morning.... bye bye shirts!

A Californian man called Justin joined us for a dinner at an excellent marisquería recommended by the friendly owner of the hostel. We would part on the next morning, each one heading to a different destination in Costa Rica, while Justin was flying back to the US for his holidays were over.

There is not much to see in Alajuela, so I decided to leave for the Nicoya Peninsula on Monday morning.

The Solentiname archipelago

2007-12-23T00:27:00.001Z

On Tuesday 18 December I wrote my name on the passenger list for the boat (panga) to San Fernando, one of the islands of the Solentiname archipelago in the South of Lake Cocibolca. I was the nineteenth passenger and the column "Nationality" of the previous eighteen in the list read "Nicaragua". We left at 1:30 pm, under the rain. The journey took two hours, due to the limited speed of the panga.
Solentiname is an archipelago of 36 islands, 17 of which are inhabited. The larger islands are four: Mancarrón, San Fernando, La Venada and Mancarroncito. There is public transport to and from the islands only on Tuesdays and Fridays. As a result, careful planning is required unless one is ready to spend a lot of money to hire a tourist boat. Most visitors choose either Mancarrón or San Fernando, owing to the lack of hotels on the other islands. I picked San Fernando after a conversation with Alfonso, a local guide that I met during the long wait at the San Carlos pier. He told me that San Fernando has more to offer and is quieter. There are no roads and no cars, only trails that get very muddy during the rainy season.

I put down my backpack in a room at the Hotel Cabañas Paraiso, overlooking the lake and a few neighbouring islands.
San Fernando has a population of 250 and only three accommodations for turists. The two hotels offer packages of room plus three meals for around $30 per day. As a matter of fact there are no restaurants apart from the hotel ones and after sundown one needs a torch to walk around in the complete darkness. That means that most guests have meals at their hotel.

On the next morning, after a nourishing breakfast with Gallo Pinto and tostadas (slices of toasted bread) I hiked across the island. I would be soon confronted with the heavy tropical rain. I managed to make it to the mirador (viewpoint) only seconds before the first shower started. I fastened my hammock to the poles of the hut at the top of the hill and observed the sourrounding panorama until the rain stopped.

Shortly after resuming my walk I was caught in the heavy rain again. By the time I reached a house on the other side of the island I was soaking wet. A woman living there with her two children gave me shelter from the rain. Under the metal roof of the porch we talked and waited more than one hour for the rain to subside, while the kids were playing with some broken toys. The house was made of wood, without windows. These people are clearly very poor and lead a simple life. In spite of this, they are very hospitable.

After bidding farewell I resumed my trip along the muddy trails by the coast, asking the very few locals I met for directions when I got lost. I could spot several birds, amog which the yellow-tailed Oropendolas, white Garzas and Woodpeckers. I managed to swim in the lake before I made it back to the hotel in the afternoon to dry and rest.

In the evening I met an Italian archaeologist named Patrizia, from Bologna. She was working as a teacher to coach a group of a dozen Nicaraguans on the petroglyphs that are being found on the islands. She knows Solentiname quite well, since they have trips to different islands practically every day. We had dinner with one of her pupils, a young woman living in El Castillo, two hours from San Carlos by boat.

After the sunset the wet trails of the island become the playground of toads. There are so many that one has to be careful not to step over them! Glow-worms gracefully adorn the meadows, dancing and glittering in the darkness. I had not seen this creatures in probably fifteen or twenty years. Nature here is very much unspoilt. You fall asleep with the sound of the crickets and wake up with the birds singing every morning. The only noise is made by the occasional boat driving by and the rain falling loudly on metal roofs. When the sky is clear, the starry night affords an awesome show.

On Thursday Alfonso gave me a lift in his panga to Mancarrón, five minutes away. There I saw one of the loveliest churches ever, with simple, colorful images of flowers, animals and houses painted on the white walls: the exquisiteness of minimalism.

Mancarrón is renowned for its community of sculptors and painters. They carve and paint animals in balsa wood. To avoid deforestation and achieve sustainability they use wood from balsa trees grown for this purpose. I walked into the local cooperative of artisans where I could watch a woman at work, painting a green fish. I purchased two birds: a toucan and a peacock.

On Thursday afternoon I had a guided tour at the museum of San Fernando, where I could learn about the history, geology, wildlife, culture and crafts of the dwellers of the islands.

I left Solentiname on the 4:30 am panga to San Carlos, on Friday morning. There, after visiting the immigration office I took another boat to Los Chiles, the closest town after the Costa Rican border.

My book says that the rainy season ends in November. It's the end of December and I cannot see any sign of this happening. It's either bad luck or climate change, but out of the three days spent in the Solentiname I had four hours of sun. The rest was either clouds or pouring rain. If you ever decide to visit this lovely and peaceful place still unspoilt by tourism do not come before mid January, to be on the safe side. :-)))

Ferry from Granada to San Carlos: a wet night

2007-12-22T21:58:00.000Z

On Monday afternoon I left my hostel in Granada to get to the pier where the ferry to San Carlos was scheduled to depart at 1:30 pm. There are only two ferries per week on this route, on Monday and an Thursday. The trip takes 14 hours, with three stops to load and unload goods and people. The ferry is small and due to the high season it gets filled quickly. I got onboard at 12:30 to have a better chance to set up my hammock for the long journey.

The economy class is on the lower level while the "first" is above. The deck is not larger than 40 square meters and is covered by a plastic roof. Here first class passengers can suspend their hammocks. By the time I secured mine to the metal poles it was a knot fiesta of multicolor ropes and hammocks.

The ferry left a partially sunny Granada around 2 pm, heading for the first stop: Ometepe Island. I admired the sun setting behind the mountains and volcanoes on the coast while the waves and the lake breeze were gently rocking my hammock.

We arrived in the village of Altagracia around 6:30 pm, when it was already dark. People from the harbour joined forces with the ferry staff to carry aboard all sorts of goods: clusters of plaintains, a variety of baskets and even the wooden frame of a bed.

After one hour we were on the move again, sailing through the dark night of Nicaragua. I attempted to rest, in vain. I have a very light sleep: both the noise of the engine and the swinging of the hammock didn't help. At some point it started to rain on the deck. I watched the people hastily leaving their hammocks to rush inside the cabin for shelter. I decided to remain where I was, wear my waterproof jacket and cocoon myself in the hammock. Being nothing more than a sheet of plastic, it partially sheltered me from the rain, but my backpacks got wet. It rained almost all night, no-stop, and the rain reached the deck on three occasions.

I got to San Carlos on Tuesday at 5 am, tired and wet. The books in my backpack were in really bad shape. I would not repeat the experience, not much for the hammock (it saved me from becoming seasick), but for the rain. As you can imagine, being in a hammock under the rain is no fun, especially when it gets cold. :-)))
Connections in this part of the country are extremely poor and scarce. It often happens that one has to wait several hours (if not days) before the connection departs. I had to wait eight hours, until 1:30 pm, before I could leave on a panga (launch) to the island of San Fernando in the Solentiname archipelago, under the rain. This will be the subject of the next post. Bye for now.

Back to Granada

2007-12-18T17:16:00.001Z

Apologies for the prolonged silence, but lately I was in places where internet left much to be desired in terms of reliability. I'll resume my travelogue straight away from where I stopped last time. I arrived in Granada on Sunday afternoon from Jinotega, after changing 4 buses. I found that the town has changed compared to 2004, in some ways for the better and in others for the worse. There are more hotels, more cars and more beggars. The cathedral has been restored and the outside is now very beautiful. Three years ago it was covered with scaffoldings and still white. Now it is yellow and white, with a red roof.

After I got down the bus from Masaya I headed immediately for the Bearded Monkey hostel, a backpacker's favourite. I still remember how to get there. I was given bunk bed number 11 in one of their dorms. Nothing has changed much, apart from the price, which has doubled. On the picture below you can see a hammock laid out on my bed. I'll talk about this later...

Granada has a wide range of fine colonial architecture, colorful buildings and churches. Many houses have an inner courtyard with a garden. I wandered around the centre in the late afternoon and on Monday morning to take some pictures. When the weather is sunny the temperature can get very hot (30 degrees or more). Surprisingly, I didn't experience any mosquito bite. Mosquitoes love me, therefore I am a good detector for the little blood suckers.

On Sunday afternoon I walked the steps to the top of the bell tower of Iglesia de La Merced to enjoy a beautiful view of the town centre. From up there one can see as far as Lago Cocibolca and the Momotombo volcano. The sky got very cloudy as a storm was approaching. Shortly after leaving the church it started to rain heavily. I took advantage of the wet weather to wash my clothes in the lavadero provided at the hostel, hoping that the hot morning would dry my garments.

On Sunday I went to a travel agency to get information on ferry connections to San Carlos, a town at the Southern tip of Lago Cocibolca. I found out that one was leaving the next day. I took a taxi to the harbour to buy my first class (!) ticket ($7) and was told that I could bring my own hammock to sleep outside on the deck if I came early enough to get a place to hang it. It seemed a much better alternative than the wooden benches inside, so I headed for the market and bought a hamaca de saco, a cheap hammock made of plastic and two ropes. Back at the hostel I assembled it on my bed and stored it in my backpack.

On the next post you will read more about my sleepless night with my orange hammock on the ferry to San Carlos. Meanwhile, I wish you a Christmas full of joy and free from pointless consumerism. :-)))

The mountains of Northern Nicaragua: Estelí, Jinotega and Matagalpa

2007-12-18T15:18:00.001Z

After leaving Ocotal on Friday morning I got to Estelí, after a short journey. This is a mountain town, larger than Octotal, in a region where grains and tabacco plantations abound. I found a room at the nice Hotel Nicarao and in the early afternoon I stood on a crammed bus for 25 minutes to reach Salto Estanzuela, a 25 meter high waterfall that forms a deep pool of rather cold water where I dived. Later I decided to walk back to the town along a pleasant country road where I took a few pictures of Estelí and the sourrounding mountains.

In the evening, at the Cuban restaurant El Rincón Pinareño, I had once again one of my favourite dishes: camarones al ajillo. I think I am losing my addiction to pasta and developing one to garlic prawns. ;-)))

On the same evening at a cybercafé I met Murray and Corry from New Zealand. We agreed that I would join them the next morning to visit a cigar factory nearby. Juanita from England, who has lived in Nicaragua for several years, was our guide. She owns a fine new hotel called Luna, where Murray and Corry were staying. We got to the Nicarao Cigar factory on Saturday morning by taxi only to find out that nobody there was working, due to a staff celebration. A supervisor still kindly showed us around and explained the process that gives birth to a cigar. We also saw the smoked chamber where cigars age for several months.

It would have been more interesting to see the expert hands of workers rolling cigars live in front of us but, alas, we picked the wrong day.

Estelí has some colorful murals attesting the political engagement of this town during the Sandinist struggle against the US-backed dictatorship of the Somoza dynasty. This town was heavily bombarded during the war and many civilians were killed.

I left Estelí on Sunday afternoon on a chicken bus that took me to Jinotega, after a four and a half hour ride on bumpy and dusty road, through the town of San Rafael del Norte. The scenery is nice, but very similar to the Italian mountains, therefore not very exotic to me.

Jinotega is smaller than Estelí and sourrounded by mountains. I spent the night at the Hotel Sollentuna Hem, a few blocks from the church. The only guests there were Nicaraguans. I did not meet anyone that I could identify as tourist in town. I had the worse dinner of my trip, so far, at the restaurant La Colmena, recommended by a woman I met at the tourist office. The service was dreadful: it took 45 minutes to get a lousy steak in a practically empty place. I got mad at the waiter, who didn't seem to be bothered and brought me a beer that I didn't order instead. If you happen to travel to Jinotega don't ever set foot in this restaurant.

On Sunday morning I moved on to Matagalpa, two hours away by bus and from there I caugth a connection to Tipitapa, on the route to Granada. Leaving Matagalpa I could see large areas of land covered in white coffee beans drying in the sun. Coffee plantations abound in this region of Nicaragua. On the bus, unfortunately fitted with a TV set, I was entertained willy-nilly with an Enrique Iglesias Greatest Hits DVD. Amen.

At the bus station of Matagalpa I took a few pictures of the very colorful buses that one can see travelling throughout the country. These are the classic North American school buses that have a second life in Central America. Some of them are still yellow, others are much more colorful. I do not know if they were new when they got delivered here, but now they look and sound as if they were about to fall apart. The amount of exhaust they emit is appalling.

I eventually got to Granada on Sunday afternoon, after a ridiculously slow journey through Masaya, on crammed buses that still stopped every 200 mts to pick people up. On the next post I will tell you more about my return to the nice colonial town of Granada.

Random thoughts on Nicaragua and El Salvador

2007-12-17T04:42:00.001Z

Nicaragua is the poorest among the Central American countries. It is also quite dirty because people dump litter everywhere. The typical example is the bus: the passengers throw all their litter through the windows instead of keeping it with them and binning it later. The population is young and the level of education is very low. To me it looks like a nation of peddlers. You are more likely to find kids selling in the streets than in school. Most of the products they sell are imported. Industry is small. Scary stuff: a bottle of Coca Cola is cheaper than a bottle of water. The main production is coming from agriculture (coffee, bananas, sugar, tobacco). Managua like most capitals is dirty, polluted, unsafe and noisy. Leon, Granada, Isla de Ometepe, Laguna de Apoyo, Parque Nacional Volcán Masaya and San Juan del Sur are among the most visited destinations. Except from Granada I will skip them all, for I saw them in 2004.

I almost forgot to mention El Salvador. My initial plan was to go there, but mostly geographical constraints compelled me to skip this country. The impression I got by speaking with other travellers is that people are the main charm of El Salvador. In terms of places there is not much there to see that one cannot see elsewhere. Due to past repression, indigenous culture is not as openly displayed as in Guatemala, for instance. The legacy of war is still strong. There are still a lot of weapons around. If I come back to Central America I will definitely try to go there and see for myself.

It has taken more than twenty years and hundreds of thousands of deaths but eventually they are starting to get it: I'm increasingly seeing campaigns fostering the use of condoms in Central America. Better late than never. It may sound obvious to educated people, but in a continent plagued by ignorance, preconceivd opinions and the pernicious dogma of the Catholic church, this is a huge leap forward. Poverty and ignorance make fertile ground for religion and Nicaragua is no exception. On the bus I had to listen to preposterous admonitions yelled for thirty minutes by an improvised preacher. He was shouting so loud that I could still hear him through my earplugs, the engine noise and the radio. :-)))

Changing money at a bank can become a farcical experience (not only in Nicaragua). Every morning, thrirty minutes before the opening time I see a long line of people standing outside the entrance. Sometimes customers spend ages at the counter, while wads of cash are counted and re-counted before changing hands. I spend little time in each country, therefore I am forced to change small amounts of dollars into the local currency, which becomes as valuable as toilet paper once I cross the border. Due to the fact that the coyotes are a too risky option (I explained why in a previous post) I am relying on banks more often than not. Picking the right one is a mix of careful assessment and luck. By right I mean the one where you will be able to change $50 cash in less than half an hour. I see a large unexplored potential for payment cards here.

At least in Honduras and Nicaragua taxis are more like colectivos than exclusive taxis like in Europe. This means that they will stop and take more people if their destination is on their route. I find it a good idea, because it is in the spirit of sharing and optimising and it's usually cheaper (if you inquire about/haggle the fare before you sit down). The few minutes you may lose by sharing are insignificant compared to the time you will spend in traffic jams anyway.

People are slender and fit until the early twenty. Then junk food, pregnancies and sedentary lifestyle start to take their toll and both men and women inflate like balloons. By the time they turn thirty it is a festival of big bellies, fat asses and triple chins. Folks here have tons of fatty, salty and sugary food. They also drink plenty of sugary and fizzy beverages, referred to with the general term of gaseosas. I struggle to find fruits at kiosks in the streets of countries that have a predominantly agricultural production. But Pringles and fried plaintains are never far away.

In Latin America you do not throw the toilet paper in the WC. You wipe whatever you have to wipe and then you drop the paper into a separate bin. I still have not investigated the issue, but I believe that they do not have proper cesspits, so they treat the human waste and the paper separatedly. I'll let you know if I dare asking the question. :-))

Interlude

2007-12-17T04:39:00.001Z

Ode to my French trekking sandals, reliable on every sort of ground

Crossing the border with Nicaragua

2007-12-15T00:05:00.000Z

On Thursday morning I left Comayagua at 9 am on a bus to Tegucigalpa. I did not intend to stop there and, once I got to this city, even more so. The capital of Honduras is, in a nutshell, a huge traffic jam. It took two hours to reach the capital and two more to drive across it to reach the Discua Litena bus station to continue my onward journey. Try to picture this: thousands of veichles moving at a snail pace in every direction, buses reversing in the middle of the street, almost no traffic lights, unbearable pollution and noise. The moment I got there I started to wish I were elsewere. This city is one of the Central American centres of gang crime, in the form of organised groups called Maras, responsible for weapon and drug smuggling. Different factions control different areas of the city. They are at war with one another, and the bodies pile up.

By the time I finally made it to the bus station the direct bus to the border had already left, so I boarded the first available bus out of this ugly chaos. It was one heading to the next town only, yet very welcome. I had to change two more times before making it to the border at 5 pm at Las Manos. The coyote there tried to give me a false note when I changed my residual Lempiras into Córdobas. I didn't fall for the old trick. I just told him that the note (worth $5) didn't have "buena pinta" and asked for a more worn-out one. :-)) Eventually I got to Octotal (the first Nicaraguan town after the border) after sundown, at 6 pm. The whole journey for the day was: Comayagua - Tegucigalpa - Danlí - El Paraiso - Las Manos - Ocotal.

I took a reinvigorating cold shower at the welcoming and perfumed hotel El Viajero (after dodging their snarling bitch). The owner recommended the nearby restaurant La Yunta for a delicious dinner. Olive oil appeared on my table for the first time in three weeks. I was moved. I had a filling filete de res a la Yunta (grilled beef fillet) with a bottle of Toña, the most popular Nicaraguan lager.

Ocotal is a quiet town, surrounded by mountains. Some streets outside the centre are unpaved. All the ads and signs on the walls are hand-painted, like murals. The same holds for the logos of well-known brands and the names of most businesses. This is a trademark of Nicaragua.

On the next post I will share more impressions on this country, to which I am returning after almost four years. I came here for the first time in March 2004 to visit the colonial cities and the most popular tourist destinations. This time I will try to see other places, off the beaten track.

Comayagua: the former capital of Honduras

2007-12-12T00:32:00.001Z

I arrived in Comayagua on Tuesday afternoon after a four-hour ride on a Cristina bus from La Ceiba. This nice town is the Antigua of Honduras, but not nearly as crammed with tourists. As a matter of fact I didn't see any tourist around at all for the two days I spent here. It used to be the capital during the colonial period, before it was transferred to Tegucigalpa. It boasts several fine churches and a richly decorated cathedral.

On the next morning I walked to the Iglesia de San Sebastian and found out that it was closed for works. Upon suggestion of a woman who was sitting on the steps I rang the doorbell of the nearby convent.
Father Miguel from Limerick (Ireland) opened the door and welcomed me. After inquiring about my origins he revealed that he studied 4 years in Rome and was regretful that he didn't learn Italian. He lived in El Salvador before taking the head of this Franciscan community and mentioned the work of archbishop Oscar Romero, champion of human rights gunned down in San Salvador in 1980 by death squads trained at the notorious School of the Americas. He was very kind to let me in the church and gave me a quick guided tour before bidding farewell.

In the early afternoon I visited the Museo Arqueologico Regional, attracted by the beautiful internal garden while I was strolling on the sidewalk, seeking shelter from the hot sun. To my surprise Angel, a security guard, gave me a free tour through the rooms of the museum, detailing the origin and usage of the different tools and items on display. He later explained me that he learned all that information from the official guides in the museum and that he has a sound interest in the subject. I believe that the very limited amount of turists in this town might explain the outstanding hospitality and warmth of the people here. Let's keep it a secret.

In the afternoon I had yet another token of the kindness and hospitality of the people of Comayagua. I was allowed to enter the clock tower of the cathedral to admire one of the oldest clocks in the world. This Moorish iron clock, 800 years old, was manufactured by an Iraqui artisan and used in the Alhambra palace in Granada, before the king of Spain decided to ship it to Honduras in the sixteen century. It is powered by gravity through a system of pulleys and weights and it has to be manually charged every 36 hours, like a wrist watch. Don Antonio from Esquipulas (Guatemala) entertained me with more than one hour worth of anecdotes and tecnical details about the clock. He is the relojero artesanal (vintage clock craftsman) in charge of the restoration of this jewel. He has worked painstakingly for more than five months to bring this clock to its original splendour. With the help of his assistants he took it apart, polished every cog, rectified every tooth and removed the inaccuracies introduced by previous restorations. They also replaced the wooden frame that supports the clock. This fascinating gem of mechanical engineering will be accessible again for the public by Christmas. From the tower I could take some fine pictures of the town with the surrounding mountains.

I left the tower conscious of what a privilege I had to meet such an interesting man, truly passionate about his work. His passion is contagious. I found beauty and inspiration in Don Antonio's dedication to his craft.

The whole month of December is a continuous celebration in Comaygua. Every evening the parque central is full of people enjoying live concerts and plentiful Honduran food from stalls around the square. On Wednesday evening I attended a brilliant performance by one of the most reputable marimba orchestras in the country, Marimba Usula International, straight from San Pedro Sula.

I am seeing everywhere unmistakable signs of the approaching Christmas: adorned trees, lights and Mangers. I still feel a bit confused, because I associate Christmas with cold weather and snow, and here in Central America I have 30 degrees Celsius and I go to the beach.... :-O

The Bay Islands: Roatán

2007-12-08T19:53:00.001Z

On Saturday morning I left Tela on a chicken bus to La Ceiba, where I arrived two and a half hour later. A taxi took me to the harbour, where I had to wait 6 hours to catch the 4:30 pm ferry to Roatán, the larger of the Bay Islands. To kill the time I worked at my blog in the only available cybercafé. The Galaxy Wave is a quick but expensive ($45 round-trip) shuttle between La Ceiba and Coxen Hole, on Roatán. On the ferry I made the acquaintance of Andrés and Ezequiel, two Argentinian auditors living in Buenos Aires. After collecting our luggage, we shared a taxi to West End Village with Eliane (Franco-Nicaraguan) and Frederika (German). West End is where most tourists go, since it is close to West Bay, the best beach of the Bay Islands. The five of us found shelter at the SeaBreeze Hotel, one of the many accommodations available in this part of the island. On the sandy streets of the village, I couldn't help noticing more than one massive pickup, as well as a Hummer, clear signs of gringo activity. As far as the Bay Islands are concerned, this place is as tourist as can be. Prices are much higher here than elsewhere in mainland Honduras.

Wisely, in Tela I had purchased the indispensible insect repellent Off!. Mosquitos and sand flies are merciless on these islands and adequate protection is vital to minimise the risk of malaria and dengue fever. Early December is still rainy season here and we had our share of daily showers. Every morning is pouring rain until 10 am (at least). It can also rain briefly during the afternoon.

On Saturday night we had not-so-tasty spaghetti con camarones (prawns) at an allegedly-Italian restaurant. We later went out to sample the exciting Caribbean nightlife, only to find out that there was no nightlife at all. The few open clubs/bars were empty. We had a beer at the liveliest joint we could find (live music and 3 patrons) and called it off for the day.

On Sunday morning, after the rain decided to move elsewhere, we set out for an hour walk to West Bay, the classic white sandy gorgeous beach that one would expect from the Caribbean. The trip revealed the unpleasant sight of quite a lot of litter on the shore between West End and West Bay. So much for the Caribbean paradise, as soon as one moves away from the tourist spots... At West Bay, a one-hour snorkeling session allowed me to admire the magnificient coral reef and the life underwater: corals and fish of all shapes, sizes and colours in crystal-clear water. Some corals have the shape of a human brain. Simply beautiful. Those bold enough to attain the edge of the reef can peer into the mystical and frightening abyss: le grand bleu.

On our way back to West End we stopped to gaze at the mesmerising Caribbean sunset. The rewarding dinner at the oustanding Chalet Suizo was home-made tagliatelle in lobster sauce. Amazing food, with the customary licuado de papaya (Swiss-style this time) for my pleasure.

On Monday morning we repeated the West Bay experience, leaving at around noon, owing to the rain. We played frisbee on the beach and, in the late afternoon, we sipped the sunset marvel through a cocktail festival (happy hour!!) at a bar on the shore. Nice music, delightful sea breeze, and the colour show that only Nature can stage.

The lancha trip back to the hotel under a ravishing starry night suggested me that this was the right time to leave, for perfection cannot be repeated. I would have liked to see Utila, a smaller island close to Roatán. Unfortunately (and quite stupidly I must say) there is no ferry service between the islands. That means that I should have gone back to La Ceiba and caught yet another ferry to Utila, wasting one extra day and money. Or, if you are in a group, you can possibly hire a boat to take you there. Next time, maybe. I left my sleeping friends on a 6 am taxi to Coxen Hole on Tuesday morning, to catch the 7 am Galaxy Wave back to La Ceiba. Next destination: Comayagua, the former capital of Honduras. It will be the subject of my next post. ¡Hasta pronto!

PS: Ruggero, I am pushing your massive memory card to the edge ;-)))) Thanks again for lending it to me!

Caribbean coast of Honduras: Tela

2007-12-08T00:52:00.000Z

The vast banana plantations in North-West Honduras established by the American corporations Standard and United Fruit earned this country the the name of Banana Republic. The famous Chiquita brand was born here.

Last Thursday afternoon I arrived at Tela on a Hedman bus from Copán, after a change in San Pedro Sula. Tela is a village on the Caribbean coast of Honduras, a region popular for its Garífuna culture. The Garífuna, originally black African slaves, spread to this area after a revolt on the British island of St. Vincent. Their language is a blend of different languages and they have their own religion, dance, music and food. I found very few tourists here. That made my explorations more difficult and expensive, since I had to rely on Garífuna Tours, a local tourist agency. My initial plan was to rent a mountain bike and roam around, but I soon found out that it is difficult to explore the nearby protected parks and villages on one's own, due to the distances and security concerns. On top of that, most protected areas are lagoons or peninsulas that can only be reached by boat.

On Friday morning I joined a tour (the only one available with the agency) booked by four Poles. We set off at 9 am to visit Laguna de los Micos, a protected park off Miami, a Garífuna hamlet as old as myself, dwelled by 250 souls. We got here after a 30-minute off-road drive in a jeep. Hurricane Mitch worked havoc here in 1998 and some palm trees still bear the sign of that devastation. There is still no electricity in the village. Houses are made of wood, with straw roofs and every five years they have to be replaced. People live a stress-free life, they fish a little, rest on hammocks and play cards and domino.

After a short visit in the village we boarded a lancha to explore the lagoon, home to a variety of birds, monkeys and crocodiles. Our guides showed us many birds but we couldn't see any monkey or crocodile. At the end of our trip we left the lagoon and steered the boat towards open sea where we spotted some dolphins. In the early afternoon we dived in the sea, before making our way back to Tela.

In the evening I had camarones al ajillo (shrimps in garlic sauce) at the excellent and inexpensive restaurant Luces del Norte, run exclusively by women.

The nearby Parque Nacional Jeanette Kawas is also worth a visit, but no tours were scheduled due to lack of demand. It was named in honour of Jeanette Kawas, an environmental activist murdered in 1995 for her effort in keeping big-money developments out of the park.

Ode to a brave coconut, about to dive into the Caribbean Sea...

Mayan ruins of Copán

2007-12-06T04:00:00.000Z

On Wednesday morning I walked to the ruins of Copán, 10 minutes from the town centre. I decided to first explore a site called Las Sepulturas, 2 Kms from the main complex. There is not much to see there. It used to be a residential area at the heyday of the Mayan civilisation in this valley, around 700 AD. Today only a few walls and basements of houses remain. The walk along trails in the cool shadow of the forest is pleasant. Copán in this season is cool at night, but it gets hot and sunny during the day.

One hour later I got back to the main entrance where I visited the museum. It hosts several stelae and sculpures coming from the main archeological site. They were replaced by replicas and the originals were moved here to preserve them. The highlight is a true-scale replica of the Rosalila temple, discovered in 1989 underneath Temple 16. The original cannot be visited, due to its inaccessibility.
Before seeing the main ruins I took a pleasant Maya-themed stroll along the Sendero Natural (Natural Trail). I could admire and hug a few massive ceibas (giant tropical trees), read panels about Mayan culture and rituals and get some free mosquito bites. :-)))
I tried to delay my visit to the ruins as much as I could (they close at 4:45 pm) in order to get the lowest possible light for the pictures. What I did not know is that most ruins are surrounded by tall trees. Therefore, when I finally walked in at 3:30 pm, most buildings were already in the shade.

The Ball Court (Juego de Pelota) and the Hieroglyphic Stairway are among the most interesting elements. The Ball Court here is second in size only to the one in Chichen Itzá (Mexico). The ritual ball game had an important role in the Mayan civilisation and symbolised the struggle between light and darkness. In the most important games, the defeated team used to be sacrificed to the gods. Can you imagine doing the same today with multi-millionaire football players? :-)))

The Hieroglyphic Stairway (63 steps) is made of thousands of glyphs bearing the history of the royal house of Copán. A giant tent shields the precious glyphs from rain and sun.
At the main site there are some tunnes dug by archeologists that can be visited for an extra fee, but the general consensus is that they are not good value for the $15 they charge, so I skipped them.
Leaving the ruins I noticed half a dozen of parrots sitting on a fence. A guard explained me that they are Guacamayas, the bird symbol of Honduras. Their can live up to 70 years and are monogamous. It seems that the Maya drew inspiration from their colorful feathers for their garments.

I have to acknowledge that my meeting with the ruins was slightly disappointing. After seeing other important Mayan sites I probably had high expectations. Copán is not as large or impressive as Tikal in Guatemala or Palenque and Chichen Itzá in Mexico. Its temples are not as well maintained and, in most places, what you see resembles more a pile of stones than a temple. All in all, what makes Copán unique is the sculpure, the glyphs and the stelae.

After a whole day spent walking I was starving. In the early evening I walked to the Comedor y Pupusería Mary (a locals' favourite) to get the only food available: chicken dish with French fries and a pupusa (tortilla filled with frijol and melted cheese). I washed it all down with a bottle of Imperial, a popular Honduran beer. ¡Buen provecho!

From Cobán (Guatemala) to Copán (Honduras)

2007-12-05T01:20:00.000Z

I left rainy Cobán on Tuesday with a Monja Blanca coach at 8 am. After 2h30 I got to El Rancho where I caught a connection to Chiquimula. There I had a scrumptious parrillada (grilled beef, chicken and sausage) for lunch, spending my residual Quetzales before catching yet another bus to El Florido (the Honduran border town). All looked good until the driver decided to drop me at a village 30 minutes from the border, because I was the only passenger left onboard heading for El Florido. That meant a change of veichle and, what's more annoying, a 30 minute wait to get more passengers onboard. As I explained you in my previous post, buses only leave when they are full. However long the wait is, drivers leave the engine running, generating pollution and noise as well as wasting money in petrol. I got to the border at around 4:30 pm, discovered that they do not stamp passports any more after the first entry point and changed 10$ into 180 Lempiras with a coyote (street money changer). I then sat on the minibus and waited yet another 30 minutes to leave for the quiet town of Copán Ruinas, 10 minutes from there. Before 6 pm I was ringing the doorbell at the outstanding Iguana Azul, one of the best hostels I have experienced in my travels. This place is spotless, friendly, cheap ($4) and packed with useful information: an independent travellers' paradise. The showers are the best I have found so far in all Latin America: hot water after 5 seconds, functional and immaculate. A dream. If you have ever backpacked in one of these countries you will know what I am talking about. The owner Howard is from New York and has lived here with his Honduran wife Angela for 12 years.

A few answers to your questions/comments:

Wil, unfortunately my video camera still refuses to load any tape.... I haven't tried in the last few days. I have made up my mind to doing without it for this trip.

Frank, it is good to know that the training I am getting here is preparing me to cope with the Turkish bus drivers as well! :-))) As to the route, I have some places that I want to visit, but speaking with other travellers I get new ideas. Transportation issues also affect my route. A recent example: after Copán I intended to cross into El Salvador, but in order to do that I should have gone North and then South, which is impractical. I will then head North to the Caribbean coast of Honduras and decide about El Salvador later.

On the next episode I will tell you all about my visit to the Mayan ruins of Copán.

Cobán, Lanquín and Semuc Champey

2007-12-03T18:35:00.001Z

On Saturday morning I left Nebaj at 5 am and reached Cobán at 9:30 driving through a very scenic route of mountains and valleys. This town is the capital of the Alta Verapaz department. There is not much to see here, apart from an interesting exhibition of orchids, held at the Convento de Santo Domingo, adjacent to the church. Among many others, I could admire a few specimens of Monja Blanca (white nun), the flower symbol of Guatemala. The wet climate here seems to favour the growth of certain kind of orchids. I found a room at the nice, but slightly musty, Hotel Casa d'Acuña. In the evenings it was pouring rain again. Here it rains often. I had dinner at their nice restaurant, by the fireplace, in the hope to dry my wet bones.

On Sunday morning I left on a minibus to Lanquín, a small village two and a half hours North-East of Cobán. I found a bungalow at the fine El Retiro Lodge, also known as Gringolandia, for its popularity among Western backpackers. This resort is set by the river in a quiet and idyllic lush valley. In the early morning the surrounding mountains are shroud in mist, enhancing the charm.

The young guests gather at the bar for drinks during the happy hour and every night have a set-menu group dinner at the restaurant at 7 pm. Every day of the week the menu changes: on Sunday it was fish (tilapia, with lots of spines...).

Why did I come here? The reason is that I wanted to go and see Semuc Champey, 12 Kms from Lanquín, and its natural wonder: a 300 meter limestone bridge on top of which is a stepped series of pools of water, excellent for swimming. Underneath the bridge runs the Río Cahabón. This attractive place and the tropical forest around are a protected park, visited daily by many locals and tourists.

A 20 minute walk uphill takes to the mirador, where visitors can behold the beauty of the whole set of natural pools and their different colours.

The point where the river goes underground in Spanish is called sumidero and is quite impressive and frightening: a sort of massive drain!

Three hundred meters further downstream the water reemerges and forms a normal river again, Río Cahabón.

Some thoughts about travelling with local transportation
In the last week I have not met a single gringo in the minibuses I use to move around. I only travel with locals. It is a nice and inexpensive way to travel, if you are not in a hurry and do not mind being squeezed like canned sardines. When asked about the departure time the driver will assure you that he will leave ahorita, which can mean anything from "now" to "in one hour". If the van is full of people and goods the odds are that he will leave soon, otherwise he will loop endlessly around the village while his assistant screams the destination to attract clients. A useful strategy if you do not want to spend half of your trip waiting for veichles to leave is not to enter the first one that claims that will leave ahorita, but rather stand at the side of the road and catch the first that looks at least partially full. The vehicle stops several times along the route to drop and pick up passengers, which slows down the progress even further. Most passengers are local people travelling between villages. They are nice and smiling and I found myself sharing my food with them and chatting during the countless trips. Drivers and assistants occasionally try to overcharge the gringo. A golden rule to prevent this is to ask other passengers how much the fare is and pay the assistant only that amount of money. :-)) If the veichle is empty I try to sit next to the driver, often the only seat with a head rest and seat belts (when they work, here nobody uses them!).

Nebaj: the wet highlands of Guatemala

2007-12-02T04:25:00.001Z

In the late morning of Thursday I left Chichicastenango on a minibus to Santa Cruz del Quiché where I caught a connection to Nebaj, two and a half hours North. This town, at 1900 mts of altitude is a good base to hike the beautiful sourroundings and visit the Ixil villages nearby. The landscape reminded me of the mountains back home in Italy, with pine woods and winding roads. I found a room with hot water and TV set at the Hotel Shalom. Despite the climate being rather cold, hot water is a luxury here (not all the hotels have it) and the heating...well, forget it!

Not many tourists venture here, even if the state of the roads has improved dramatically in the last five years. Those who do, use this town as a stopover to/from Cobán, my next destination. Most streets in Nebaj are still unpaved and everything closes down after 8 pm.

On Friday morning, after a failed attempt to get hold of a map, I decided to join a five-hour hike organised by a local agency. Nicolas, a local guide, took me and Matt from Cardiff to the hamlet of Cocop, where we could lunch with a family. When we entered their house the women were weaving, the baby was sleeping in the hammock and the cat was taking a nap by the fireplace.

They cooked sopa de frijoles (bean soup) and tamales, a steam-cooked corn dough wrapped in plaintain leaves. One of the women grinded chili on a stone and we later added it to the soup. They had lunch with us. It was a joyful occasion. I enjoyed this simple food, prepared with healthy ingredients.

We left the house in the early afternoon under the llovizna (light rain) typical of the Guatemalan highlands. The trail proved to be extremely muddy and I really struggled to enjoy the pretty scenery because I was too focused trying to stand in the slimy mud! Despite my efforts I fell down in one occasion and soiled my trousers completely. To add insult to injury, the rain intensified. My trainers were obviously not the proper shoes to wear for such a trip. Nicolas cut out a wooden pole with his machete to help me stand on the most slippery slopes. After two hours of struggle we got to the main road where we got a lift back to Nebaj.

The stress and the frustration for the abundant mud spoiled the return leg of this otherwise pleasant trip. If you ever go hiking in the the Guatemalan highlands do not forget to bring proper trekking gear and be prepared to swim in the mud. Back at the hotel I spent one hour at the lavadero in the yard, hand-washing trainers and clothes in my underwear, under the damn incessant llovizna. And the worst part is that, with no heating, in such humid climate nothing ever dries. Therefore I had to wear my semi-wet trousers in the evening to dry them...what a bliss! BTW, they are not very generous with the blankets here, considering the total lack of heating. At every hotel I have to ask for an extra blanket.

And the cerise sur le gâteau, on that night I had dinner with Matt, by far one of the least interesting people I have ever met in my travels. He spent most of the meal with his eyes glued to the TV set, watching the NBA (how sad is that?!? :-O).

I thought that I had enough of the highlands and set my alarm clock at 4:20 am to catch the 5 am direct minibus to Cobán, under the rain, of course. :-))))

One early morning at the Chichicastenango market

2007-12-01T19:59:00.001Z

From Xela I moved on to Chichicastenango, a town in the mountains renowned for its open air market, held twice a week: on Thursday and Sunday. People here are famous for their adherence to pre-Christian religious beliefs and ceremonies.

I got here on Wednesday afternoon with the intention to madrugar (wake up early) and enjoy the pre-market atmosphere before the first tourist buses arrive. At dawn the town is sourrounded by mist. I left my beautiful room at Posada El Arco at 6:30 am and walked to the square to see all the merchants setting up their stalls. This odd feeling of being an alien pervaded me once again. I would be the only gringo in sight for more than one hour :-)).

Most of the interesting action happens on the steps of the Iglesia de Santo Tomás. I sit there watching this weird world revolving around me: the incense spread by a woman at the portal, the offerings for the gods burned on the steps, vendors with colorful bundles and flowers, Mayan priests with a silver wand kneeling down at the entrance of the church. The mesmerizing sound of a funeral drum and a trumpet enhances the mystical atmosphere of this place. The unpleasant sensation of being an intruder takes hold of me every time I grab my camera and point it, but the desire to document these instants feels compelling.

Inside the church pictures are not allowed. Walls, wooden altars and statues are blackened by the smoke of hundreds of candles burning in arrays laid down on wooden platforms along the main aisle. Men on long wooden ladders apply a coat of white paint to the walls. Petals and leaves are scattered around the candles and worshippers pour spirits on these altars as offerings to the gods. This is a very interesting blend of Christian and Mayan cult that I already witnessed in Chiapas (Mexico) a few years ago. It is widespread throughout Latin America. The priest celebrating the mass (in Spanish) has an ordinary Western-style attire and the Mayan priests that I saw at the entrance are sitting at the side of the altar.

After 8 am I spot the first turists pouring into the square, mostly in pairs or groups. I sit down again on the steps for a while, watching the watchers. I wonder how the majority of people in this continent managed to give up their gods and traditions deeply connected with natural cycles to embrace this fear & guilt-ridden worship of the only God and truth of Christianity.

I walk into the Alcaldía Indigena (indigenous town hall) through which the natives have their own representation in the local council. They display pictures and articles of ongoing activities to preserve the Mayan identity.

By 8:30 am most of the initial magic is lost: vendors start to yell and tout and it soon becomes yet another colorful market. I make my way back to the hotel to pack up and leave. ¡Adios Chichi!

Mayan villages around Quetzaltenango

2007-12-01T00:34:00.000Z

On Monday morning I took a lancha from San Marcos La Laguna back to Pana and got on the bus to Quetzaltenango (know by the locals as Xela). During the two and a half hour trip I made the acquaintance of Marit from Frankfurt. I found a bed in the dorm of Casa Argentina and went out for a vegetable minestrone in the hope to help my stomach to recover. Xela is a nice town but, apparently, the coldest place in Guatemala. As a matter of fact, evenings were chilly and I wore all the clothes I am carrying (not many!). On the next morning Marit joined me to explore San Andrés Xequl and San Francisco El Alto, two Mayan villages 10 Kms from Xela. Despite the short distance, owing to road works and continual stops to get more people aboard, it took more than one hour to reach the first village. Here we found a church sporting a very peculiar yellow facade with tigers, monkeys and climbing vines, as well as a lively market.

In San Francisco El Alto we witnessed a wedding parade in front of the alcaldía (town hall). The people in the procession were carrying gifts for the marrieds.

In the early afternoon we travelled to Zunil to pay a visit to San Simón, a Mayan deity revered throughout the Guatemalan highlands. Before meeting him we had to locate him: we asked around and a woman took us to the statue for a small tip. He was housed in a small and dark garage at the Cofradía de San Simón, one of the seven neighborhoods the town is diveded into. Every cofradía (religious brotherhood) takes turns hosting, dressing and protecting the holy statue for one year.

As you can see from the pictures, San Simón is draped in colorful scarves and wears hat, tie, black gloves, leather boots and sunglasses. He has a cane in his right hand and a basket in his lap where visitors can drop money. The janitor explained me that they change his clothes every three days. He asked for a small fee (15Q) to take pictures and claimed that all the money go to worthy causes in the village. He went on to say that they routinely remove the foulard covering his mouth to offer him cigarettes and spirits. Locals bow and touch the statue, asking for favours and good fortune. Evangelists and Catholics, cela va sans dire, disapprove of this parallel cult and in the past someone attempted to set fire to our Ray-Ban cowboy. Obviously, being a god, he survived without a scatch (¡Qué viva San Simón! :-))).
To an atheist like me San Simón is as good as any other god, but I have to admit that I liked this funny totem. I found it more accessible and reassuring than the bloody representations of Christ, too often conveying an image of pain and fear.

On the main square of Zunil we hired a pick up truck that took us to Fuentes Georginas, allegedly the prettiest natural spa in Guatemala. Here, three pools of different temperatures are fed by hot sulfur springs and framed by a high wall of tropical vines and flowers. The water is pleasantly hot and this place makes a relaxing stopover after a heavy day spent travelling on cramped chicken buses. I sat on a rock in the hottest pool and indulged in meditation.

The trip to/from Zunil affors scenic views on a variety of cultivated fields and terraces with their efficient irrigation network. A beautiful sunset on the mountains above Zunil completed a rewarding day, where I started to realise to what extent I am increasingly depending on the help of the people around me in order to succeed in my quest. I find myself continually asking for directions and information on places and timetables to get to my destination. It is an enriching and, at the same time, humbling human experience.

A final note to reply to Davide's question about windowless rooms. In Latin America some budget accommodations are really nothing more than a concrete room, without windows. In a hostel some rooms can be better than others, so it is worth checking out what is available before taking a pick. On my first night in the capital I didn't have much of a choice. I made a reservation from London, I got there at 11 pm and took what was available (pas de fenêtre! :-))).

More villages around Lake Atitlán

2007-11-29T00:12:00.000Z

Last Saturday morning, while walking on the shore in Pana looking for a place for breakfast, I noticed a host of people forming a circle around a kind of priest at the delta of the Panajachel river. A vendor who was standing by explained me that this is a recurring ritual on weekends. The ceremony, which is a sort of open-air mass, unfolds in Cakchiquel, the local Mayan language.

Later in the morning Gustavo, the owner of Villa Lupita, with his tuk-tuk dropped me and my backpack at the pier where I boarded a lancha to San Marcos La Laguna, another village on the lake shore. It is much quieter than Pana, because the very narrow streets do not allow for the transit of any veichle. It has a meditation center and several places offer different types of massage as well as yoga, tarot reading, etc... After checking in at the nice Hostal La Paz and making a reservation for the evening sauna, I strolled through the village and to the beach. There I made a four-legged friend that walked me along the shore to show me some houses and gardens.

Back to bungalow number 5 at the Hostal La Paz I met Jan, a young Czech doctor from Brno, Shimon from Israel and Gitti from Austria. In the evening we had a sauna in a sort of pyramid-shaped concrete bunker with an eye on the tiny glass door. Instead of hot stones we poured water on a little stove fuelled by wood fire. It was pleasant and relaxing.

The next morning we had breakfast and we set out for a walk to adjacent villages. When we got tired we hopped on a colectivo (a pick-up truck full of locals) to get to the village of San Jorge. Here we took the last lancha at 5 pm back to San Marcos. On that evening I felt increasingly sick in the stomach and threw up twice in one hour. I was shivering and had temperature. Jan kindly lent me his sleeping bag to keep me warm. I had a rough night, with very little sleep, sipping small amounts of water from the bottle to get rehydrated. I suspect food poisoning, but I do not know the source. I am careful with what I eat and drink, but I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. :-)

Greetings from Lago de Atitlán

2007-11-24T22:26:00.000Z

My friend and Spanish professor Luis Fernando from Guatemala is right: Lago de Atitlán is a magic place indeed. It is a caldera (collapsed volcanic cone) filled with shimmering waters and surrounded by colorful hills and three volcanoes: Tolimán, Atitlán and San Pedro.
Let's start from the beginning: I arrived here 3 days ago with a shuttle I hired in Antigua for $6. By sheer luck I was alone in the 12-people van, so I could chat with Pedro and César, the two brothers sharing the driving. We left Antigua at 4 pm and got to Panajachel (Pana) two hours later, driving through a winding road in the mountains. Beautiful misty scenery at sundown.

I found accommodation at Villa Lupita in a room with a real window (for the first time), but without bathroom for 40Q ($5).
Pana may well be a convenient base to explore the neightbouring villages but it has a decadent feel: Calle Santander, its main street, is an endless string of tourist shops, restaurants and hotels. In the 60's and 70's this village used to attract hippies who enjoyed to lay back by the lake: some are still here... It deserves its nickname Gringotenango (the Place of the Foreigners). The most impressive building is the church, especially at sunset.

For my first breakfast in Pana I had Ensalada de frutas con miel, yogurt y granola. Yummy! On top of that I also had a continental breakfast. I needed energy to pedal on the mountain bike I rented for the day. At the rental shop I realised that I didn't have any ID on me (not even the photocopy that I usally carry with me. I wanted to offer the shop owner some money as guarantee but he refused and instead accepted my word that I would return the bike (not sure that this could happen in London :-O). I rode South-East along the coast towards 2 villages: Santa Caterina Palopó and San Antonio Palopó. These look more authentic than Pana. Mayan dialects are the first language here, Spanish a distant second. Nevertheless at the first village I felt the urge to stop by the roadside to chat with an old woman who was supervising the work of her grandaughters at the loom. I asked her if I could take some pictures and she agreed.

She explained me that it takes around 2 months of work to weave one of the scarves that were on display at her workshop. She told me that it easy to identify women from different villages because they dress in different colours. As you can see, their dresses are most beautiful.

After leaving Pana in the late morning I noticed that suddenly there were no gringos (foreigners) around. At the first slope I understood why: the road is very hilly and on the toughest slopes I had to dismount and push the bike. I guess that sitting at a desk all day long doesn't qualify me as fit. But riding into Pana at sunset with 20 Kms in my sore legs I was proud of myself for having made it back alive relying only on my (alas, very limited) strength. The price to pay for my poor shape: tomorrow it is going to be sore-ass, sore-wrists, sore-everymuscle time!

I almost forgot: I dived into the lake! The water is not cold (but not very warm either). Unfortunately most of the shore seems to be private property (or at least is inaccessible). Only a few public beaches are available on the 10 Kms of coast that I explored. The coast is full of villas and houses of wealthy foreigners and Guatemalans.
I walked along Calle Santander in the early morning to reach the lake shore. At 7am tourists sleep, the village wakes up, street vendors set up their stalls for the day and the first lanchas (small fiberglass boats) arrive ashore with their load of people from other lakeside villages. The sky is clear in the early morning and the water looks like a mirror. By noon, clouds set in and ripples appear on the surface of the lake.

In the evenings I had dinner at Ricassoli Pizza Steak House twice in a row. Don't be fooled by the name: I found this good value-for-money diner by following the locals. The nice waitress even managed to get me a bottle of Cabro, a seemingly hard to find Guatemalan beer (not on their list of available beers). Other popular picks are Gallo (lager) and Moza (dark). I sampled them all already. :-) I had Plato típico Panajachel, a delicious typical meal of chicken, beef, beens, guacamole, watermelon, cheese, rice and the omnipresent fried plaintain. The second drink (in the picture) was a fantastic licuado de papaya con leche (papaya milkshake)!!

I've been away from London for one week and I feel as though I had been away for months. The old sensations and reflexes of solo travelling have come to meet me once again rapidly. I find myself looking at people and smiling. Most smile back. Some smile and greet me first. It's an odd feeling: I know that I do not belong here, nevertheless I feel almost at home. Speaking Spanish helps a lot I guess. One feels much more engaged. Other times I feel like an exotic animal, notably when I am surrounded by Mayan people.

After one week the jet lag has disappeared. I still wake up at 5am, but at least in the evenings I do not feel as sleepy any more. I have other anecdotes to share about the lake, but now I'll go to slee....Zzzzzz.... :-)))

A few more images from Antigua

2007-11-24T21:37:00.000Z

I have a few extra pictures of Antigua to share before I move on to the next topic. This place is really beautiful at dawn! Here you can see the 3 volcanoes that surround the town:

And here a few more colonial buildings and streets in the centre:

I do not know how to add captions to the pictures I post with Blogger, but I have named them so that you can read what they are when you click on the thumbnails. :-)

And now the good news of the day: my video camera decided to die on me on Wednesday afternoon, during my visit at the Convento de Santa Clara. Before leaving this world she uttered a long strident adieu and, shortly after, a worrisome F05 appeared on the display (Failure number 5 ?!!?). Since then, her tray refuses to pull in any tape I feed her (grève!!). I think she simply got tired after 7 years of loyal services and decided to retire. Unless a miracle resurrects her, this unfortunate event puts a tombstone on my intention to make a documentary of this journey (after only 3 days from my departure.... aaaaaargh!!! :-((().

Here are the replies to some of your your questions:

The weather in Guatemala in this season (early summer) is hot and sunny during the day, but cold at night. I'm often wearing my fleece in the evening, but during the day t-shirt, shorts, sandals and sun lotion are my friends.

Frank, you should have come with me: in Antigua I found a vacancy for a taxi driver fluent in Turkish and German. I´ll be your referee, if you need one ;-) Joking aside, I am sure you would like it here. And, if no taxis are available, you could always drive a boat :-)).

I am a bit behind schedule with my story. I have so much to tell, but I have to spend hours in the internet cafés to write, resize pictures, page my posts, etc.... Sometimes PCs and internet connections are reliable, sometimes they are not. I´ll tell you more about the people in my next post. I promise it will be interesting. :-))

Here I am in Antigua Guatemala

2007-11-22T02:12:00.002Z

I was foreseeing troubles with the US immigration, but the Americans were nicer to me than the Brits! At Gatwick airport I was searched twice and they even took me to a special room where they scanned individual items of my luggage repeatedly. They scanned and inspected my shoes twice and they questioned me about the journey. Why are you going to Guatemala? Why so little luggage for a three-month trip? And so forth. The most ridiculous part: before the first thorough search, an officer put 2 stickers at the back of my passport probably to label me as a "potential terrorist". Fair enough, but I made the mistake not to remove them after they let me go. As I result I was searched again at the gate, after another officer noticed them !! Here I got to know that they must search "randomly" at least 10% of the passengers, but they clearly wasted the opportunity to find a real terrorist by searching me twice ;-). Entering the US they scanned my two index fingers (and the big toes too!.....no, just kidding!) and they took a picture of me with their web cam. The officers at Newark didn't smile much, but they only scanned my luggage once and later, in Huston, it was smooth and easy.

A personal note about the lousy profiling techniques adopted in our airports: if I were to hijack a plane alone I would dress in suit and tie and fly business class to an ordinary destination or fly economy and bring a partner, pretending that I am going on holiday. I have the impression that authorities always go for the easy and obvious choices because they operate in CYA (Cover Your Ass) mode, but the bad guys know this and can quickly adjust to avoid fitting in the profile security agents were trained to look out for. That's why true random searches are a much better deterrent than this media-driven security theatre.

I landed at Guatemala City airport on time and I felt immediately welcome. People were smiling, even the immigration officers. I took a taxi to my hostel and there I met the nice owner, Hector who was sleeping on a mattress by the entrance. He showed me my room. I woke up at 6 am and, on Hector's suggestion, went out for a rich breakfast at Cafeteria Blanqui, a few blocks from the hostel. Here I met again the familiar taste of huevos revueltos (scrambled eggs), frijoles (mashed beans), platano frito (plaintain fried in butter), cheese, corn tortilla and café con leche. All this for 12 Quetzales ($1.50).

The short stroll in the capital and the rainy weather were enough to convince me to leave the same morning. Guatemala City is much less interesting than the former capital Antigua Guatemala. This is due to a lack of ancient history (it was funded at the end of the eighteenth century) as well as traffic and pollution typical of every big city in a developing country. I only took a walk in the Plaza Mayor to see the outside of the Palacio Nacional and the Metropolitan Cathedral.

I bade Hector farewell and, after a 30-minute ride in a colorful bus I was in Trevol, a place in the outskirts of Guatemala City where the buses to Antigua depart. A further 45-minute bus ride and I was in Antigua! This colonial town of 30000 inhabitants is nestled between 3 volcanoes: Agua, Fuego and Acatenango. At the beginning I truly got lost because not all the buildings have street names at crossroads. After wandering around for 30 minutes I found a room at the Posada Refugio, a shitty and noisy place but I really wanted to put down my backpack. I then went to change money in one of the numerous banks and headed for the Tourist Office to get a map. There I met a group of tourists that were about to leave for Cerro de la Cruz and decided that that was a better option than having lunch, so I joined them. In the group I met a Guatemalan Spanish teacher named Sandra and her pupil Renée, an American teacher from San Diego. Many foreigners come here to take Spanish classes and there are many language schools in town. Cerro de la Cruz (Hill of the Cross) is a panoramic point offering fine views over Antigua and Volcán Agua.

Antigua is a very nice place, with cobblestone streets and colorful colonial buildings, but there are way too many cars around! By 9 am you find them parked everywhere and they really do spoil the place. To enhance its charm they should restrain traffic in the centre.

Most churches and buildings were seriously damaged during earthquakes in the 18th and 19th centuries and they were not rebuilt or restored partly because the capital was moved to Guatemala City. After Unesco added Antigua to its long list of World Heritage sites, major restoration works have started on some historical buildings and they are still underway.

The next morning I left the hotel at 6:30 to take a stroll before the town wakes up. I managed to take pictures of some streets and churches at sunrise, with less vehicles around. In the early morning the air is chilly and reinvigorating but, as soon as the sun rises, it warms up very quickly. By 10 am my first trip was over and I had breakfast. Later I resumed my explorations and visited plenty of ruins, convents, squares, inner courts and roamed around the centre. In Antigua every street has its charm!

In the evening I had dinner at La Escudilla, a restaurant with a nice atmosphere and good food. Walking out of the restaurant I noticed how poorly lit the streets are. As a result, you can hardly come across anyone lingering after 10 pm, even in the centre (I am not attempting to compare it to London, but this place is THE tourist destination in Guatemala... :-)).

I'll stop here for today. I am sure I forgot to mention something. If I did and it is important, I will include it in the next post. Internet cafés are widespread in Antigua! Thanks to those who posted comments to this blog. That keeps my storytelling motivation high! Please don't be shy and feel free to ask questions. I'll post my replies in the blog. It would be funny to make it interactive at times, if you like the idea (well, to be honest, if there are still readers left after the first week I will still consider it a success! ;-))).

Un abrazo desde Antigua.

Today my blog is born

2007-11-18T13:57:00.000Z

I have created this blog to share my experiences and thoughts with people interested in cultural and human discovery, in the hope that it might inspire them to seek spiritual enrichment in the beauty and the diversity of the world. I have been lucky enough to be able to take unpaid leave from work and travel alone for three months through Latin America. The aim of this journey is, as the title of this blog suggests, to get lost. Not much in the geographical sense (although this might occasionally happen :-)), but more in a human sense. To be lost, to me, is an essential condition to reconsider my stance, question myself and my beliefs and start seeking in new directions. In order to achieve this I do not necessarily have to be alone, but it helps a lot :-)

I'm departing from London Gatwick tomorrow morning, headed to Guatemala City. I'm flying Continental Airlines with two connections in the States: Newark and Huston. I'm carrying one item of luggage only: a backpack weighting 9 kilograms. I hope to make it through the US immigration unscathed!

To kill the time during this long journey I have the book "Brave New World", by Aldous Huxley, which materialised on my desk last Thursday, most appreciated gift from a very nice colleague!

If everything goes as planned, I should land at Guatemala City airport around 10 pm local time. I'll try to find a taxi that drops me at my first shelter in the New World: Posada Meza in Zona 1, where most basic accommodations belong. Since Tuesday morning it is going to be improvisation as usual.

Enough writing. It's time to get lost now....