Monthly Archives: May 2008

Another Party To Ruin My Plans

March 14, 2008
Day 898

I took a short bus ride to Managua this afternoon and headed straight for the Tica Bus terminal to buy my ticket to Honduras. I knew that traveling during Semana Santa (the week leading up to Easter) would be difficult because it was a vacation week for most people. Still, I was shocked to learn that the bus was already sold out for the next six days! I looked at the only other company with buses to Tegucigalpa (the capital of Honduras), but they were sold out several days in advance as well. So since I came to Central America six weeks ago, my travel plans have been disrupted first by carnaval in Panama City, then the local festival in Liberia, Costa Rica, and now Easter. It's times like this that you wonder when these people actually do work.

I finally found an international bus going to El Salvador via Honduras, and I bought a ticket to get dropped off at a city near the border with Nicaragua. I'll have to catch a couple extra buses from Honduras and probably waste a day in the process, but it's certainly a better option than having to hang out in Managua for the next several days.

The Little City that Could

March 11-13, 2008
Days 895-897

A lady crossing the street.

My next stop was the small city of Granada, which, like Ometepe Island, was on Lago Nicaragua, the largest lake in Central America. Granada was an important trade center from its founding, so much so that the French, English, and the liberals from Leon constantly fought for control throughout its turbulent history. That all came to a dramatic end when American William Walker, who had briefly controlled the city, was forced to abandon it and had it burned to the ground in 1856.

The city was mildly interesting with an old church with a lookout tower where one had a great view of another church, a few nice parks, and a crafts market in nearby Masaya. Again, the people were friendly, but it was a very poor place where horses were still being used as often as cars. I didn't feel like staying long, but I found out too late that the bus to Honduras left from Managua (the capital) early in the morning, and I didn't feel like spending any time there, so I had to stay in Granada another day.

The photo album for this entry is here.

The Forgotten Island

March 8-10, 2008
Days 892-894

A howler monkey making its roar.

Ometepe Island was just a hop, skip, and a jump from San Juan del Sur, and was, in fact, visible from the main highway when I first entered Nicaragua. However, the large island that was made from two volcanoes wasn't a very touristy place for some reason. Unlike San Juan del Sur, it was totally devoid of nightlife. It was so dark I needed a flashlight to walk around, even when we weren't experiencing one of the frequent blackouts. And there were warnings of water shortages, despite being located on the biggest lake in Central America. It was my kind of place.

One day I rode buses around the island. Life moved very slowly and traditionally with farmland taking up most of the flat area surrounding the volcanoes. There were lots of hiking trails to check out the wildlife and bits of remaining original swampland. Just the thought of a volcanic tropical island located on a huge lake sounded exciting, and the culture and wildlife made it even more worthwhile. I couldn't understand why more tourists didn't visit it.

My Ometepe challenge was to climb the Concepcion Volcano. Several people warned me to take a guide because of the high chance of getting lost for days. I didn't see how you could get lost on a volcano because you just walk back down if you can't find the trail, but I caved and hired one. Indeed, the trail was easy to follow, but it was still nice to have a guide to point out the animals and plants of the forest covering the volcano.

Along the way, we saw lots of wildlife, especially howler monkeys. Sometimes they would surround us in the trees, staring at us with their beady eyes, screaming at the top of their lungs and swinging around the branches to intimidate us without any sign of fear. Mixed in with the monkeys were birds the color of the Nicaraguan flag making several varieties of beautiful calls. A huge tree had been chopped down illegally with an axe so as not to attract the attention of the authorities. Some of it had been hauled away to build a house, but most of it was left to rot. I could tell conservation was a priority, until it meant that a human couldn't have a dwelling for himself.

I was told I couldn't climb all the way to the top because the volcano was in the middle of spewing out noxious fumes. Indeed, when we got to 1000 meters, I began to smell the sulfur. However, we ran into a large group of disabled Europeans who had ridden to that level on horses and had been camping there and filming a documentary for the last five days. They were continuing higher on a rope, but that's where I had to stop. I didn't mind too much, though, because the cloud cover got too thick to see anything at that point and the view from where we were was spectacular.

My other big news is that my shirt collection is officially rockin'. Not too long ago, I only had two shirts, and life isn't very interesting when you're wearing half the clothes you own on any given day. But then I scored a shirt from some hippies in Colombia, I won a dressy shirt in a poker game in San Juan del Sur, and I completed my collection on Ometepe by buying a Hawaiian classic from a guy in the street who had gotten it off the Goodwill ship, fresh from the United States. Now my shirt collection is five strong and life couldn't get much better.

The photo album for this entry is here.

The Sunset Sail that Wasn't

March 4-7, 2008
Days 888-891

A beach near San Juan del Sur.

I ran into English Richard from the Corcovado National Park once again in Liberia. Just when I thought he had gone back to England long ago, there he was next to me getting ready to head into Nicaragua for the last part of his trip. I've learned many times during my trip that if you don't think you'll ever see someone again, you'll definitely run into each other, but if you actually plan to meet somewhere, it won't happen.

Richard, me, some Canadians, and a crazy Finnish alcoholic with ADHD headed to Nicaragua together. As soon as we crossed the border, I could tell the difference from Costa Rica. Burly men were hauling wood and food around in horse drawn carts, bicycle taxis were more common than the ones with engines, and many people were trying to eek out a living by selling a few onions or a pack of gum on the streets. This was obviously a much poorer country than the one we had left. We all got some local money and headed to San Juan del Sur in an overstuffed taxi with no radio, seat belts, or turn signals, and a trunk that was overflowing with all our worldly possessions and was being held halfway open by a few strands of rope.

Hele, Dustin, Nathan, and Tai enjoy the sunset sail.

San Juan del Sur was a small beach town on the Pacific Coast. It was packed with tourists, but they were of a different breed than those of Costa Rica. High-rise five-star hotels were replaced with small hostels with twenty beds to a room, McDonald's was replaced with the local sodas selling equally unhealthy food, and the loud, fat Americans the color of bathtubs were replaced with laid-back, tanned Aussies, there to catch some waves. The few actual Nicaraguans in town seemed to tolerate the gringo explosion quite well, especially considering their country's turbulent history.

The US government has severely damaged many countries I have visited, but none quite as badly as Nicaragua. Back in the early twentieth century, the US manipulated politics in Nicaragua to the point that if a non-favorable president was elected, the US marines came in and kicked his ass right out of power. This was all done so no other country could build a canal across Nicaragua, even though the US already had its eyes set on Panama for the building of the canal. The Somoza family later took over the country with the support of the US government and installed puppet leaders using fraudulent elections when they themselves were not in power. Anastasio Somoza Garcia was a brutal ruler who killed anyone who got in his way and eventually his family and friends owned most of the property in Nicaragua, while the rest of the people remained desperately poor. But we continued to support him because he let us use his land to launch a revolution in Guatemala and to invade Cuba. Franklin Roosevelt said of Somoza, "He may be a son of a bitch, but at least he's our son of a bitch." And of course let's not forget the Reagan years, when fear of communism led us to sell weapons to Iran illegally at inflated prices and siphon the extra money to thousands of Nicaraguan Contras in order to overthrow the democratically-elected government. And this is just scratching the surface of what we've done to Nicaragua. I was really surprised at how friendly the local people were and how quick they were to forgive.

Even though the fighting in Nicaragua has ended, I could see another disturbing invasion brewing around town. Every American I talked to seemed to be either a real estate agent or someone looking to buy land here. All of the nice houses along the coast were already owned by Americans, and even the older places were being bought out because the locals didn't realize how much money the land would be worth in a few years. It's the same thing that has already happened in Costa Rica, except it's only in its beginning stages. I'm surprised the government is allowing this subtle invasion of their country to happen, but they're probably also getting a piece of the action, if you know what I mean.

Our sailboat.

The beaches around San Juan del Sur were bordering on paradise with fine tan sand and crystal-clear water. A few of the more turbulent beaches were packed with surfers, but many others were devoid of human life. One day I went with a few people from my hostel on a French-owned sailboat for a "sunset sail." When we got out of the harbor, our comandante driver cut the engines, put up the sail, and we drifted to a beach that was inaccessible by land. Dolphins followed us through the water, we did some snorkeling, and played lots of Frisbee. The problem was that the crew all got themselves in a big hurry to leave and were pushing us along to a smelly boat taxi and on the shore to a truck to take us back to the hostel well before sunset. A couple of us stayed behind and watched the disk of the sun give us its final farewell of the day on the horizon, while everyone else was too busy hurrying back to the hostel. Even in a place as laid-back as San Juan del Sur, some people just can't live in the moment.

The photo album for this entry is here.

Party Time Is No Fun

March 2-3, 2008
Day 886-887

My room was next to the road and when the fireworks went off at 5:00 AM, I thought someone was trying to kill me. Later in the day, I must have looked like they nearly succeeded because I had barely gotten any sleep by the time I rolled out of bed at 6:00 to catch the early bus out of the country.

When I walked to the bus station, I got delivered the bad news: At least 200 others had also decided to leave the country and were in line before me. The bus came and the pandemonium ensued as the young men started pushing away the little old pregnant ladies with no regard for their wellbeing. If the driver hadn't broken up the fight for seats, someone very well may have been trampled to death. The driver maintained order, but he still wasn't above taking advantage of the passengers by suddenly tacking on a $2 "service charge" for each checked bag, which of course went directly into his pocket. The bus ended up getting packed to the point that the last few passengers had to stand in the stairwell and nobody even had enough room to fart. Looking back, it was probably a good thing I didn't make it aboard.

Most countries have a simple system for getting on buses. You buy a ticket from the ticket booth, where you receive your seat number. When the bus shows up, you board it and sit in your assigned seat. That's it, it's really that simple. But so far in my travels, I have now encountered only two countries where the system doesn't work that way, and a fight to the death occurs when you want to get on a bus: Costa Rica, and The United States of America.

I walked back to my hotel and figured out my options. Buses to the border left Liberia roughly every two hours, but the hotel desk employee assured me that the chaos boarding the buses would only get worse as the day progressed. When I asked why there were so many people, he replied, "fiesta." I asked him how long the fiesta would last, and he told me, "All of February." I pointed out that it was, in fact, March, but he just shrugged his shoulders and told me, "I guess it lasts through the beginning of March, too." So my only chance of getting on one of the public buses to the border was to act like a five-year-old who had eaten one too many pixie sticks.

I figured I had two other options: Try to cross into Nicaragua at the other border crossing, or take the international bus, which I had just found out existed. The first option would involve catching three buses at just the right times, and maybe a fifty-fifty chance of making it near the other crossing by the end of the day. The other option of taking the international bus wasn't any better because it was booked solid for two days. I decided to minimize the risk and bought a ticket for the international bus, but that meant having to hang out in Liberia's February fiesta for two March days. Then again, when in Liberia...

Orchids and Accidents

March 1, 2008
Day 885

An Orchid.

This morning I met a retired guy named Rick from Maine, and he introduced me to the orchid museum next to my hostel. I never really paid attention to flowers before, but the guided tour was actually interesting. There was the orchid that only lived one day, the colorful butterfly orchid, and a bunch of others that used various sneaky tricks to get insects to pollinate them. The Canadian kids in my group weren't so interested, and resorted to burning stuff with their magnifying glasses to pass the time.

My bus finally left in the afternoon and dropped me off at the intersection with the main highway. While I was waiting for another bus to pick me up, a motorcycle with two people on it pulled up to the busy intersection and began turning left amidst lots of traffic. Just as the driver was easing into his lane, a car started turning left from the other direction, but didn't see the motorcycle and smashed into it. The driver flipped through the air and landed on the car's hood. It looked pretty bad, but he was able to walk to the side of the road under his own power.

The emergency response was impressive. Within one minute, twenty people surrounded the passengers to see if they were okay. Within five minutes, a police car showed up. Within ten minutes, the ambulance was there. And after fifteen minutes, the passengers were on their way to the hospital and the road was completely cleared of debris. The driver, who was wearing a helmet, broke his nose, and the passenger, who was not, didn't look injured. It was scary to watch, but at least there were no major injuries.

A few minutes later, my bus to Liberia showed up, and the scene of the accident was left behind in my memories. Liberia was a small city about 80 KM from the border with Nicaragua. A big party with loud fireworks was going all night, but I went to bed early so I could get on the first bus out of the country tomorrow.

The photo album for this entry is here.

Bobbing and Weaving the Price Gougers

February 28-29, 2008
Day 883-884

I took yet another bus to the town of Arenal, which sat on the Arenal Lagoon with a view of, you guessed it, the Arenal Volcano. It was a pretty area, but there wasn't a lot to do because the roads were set up for motor traffic only, and the consequently the lagoon wasn't very accessible by foot. Still I had to stop there for a night because there weren't any more buses that could take me through this region to the place I wanted to go.

The next day I took two more buses to get to Santa Elena. It looked close to Arenal on the map, but I still wasn't able to get there until late afternoon. That didn't much matter, though, because it was probably the biggest tourist trap I had seen in Central America so far. Basic necessities like restaurants and the Internet were three times more expensive than anywhere else I had been in Costa Rica, and even the grocery store did its best to gouge the tourists.

I was sure this place wasn't for me I met an English girl who said she had just gotten back from walking through the forest. She went without a guide, so I figured the experience would be cheap, or possibly even free. But when she showed me her entrance ticket for $15, I decided to leave the first chance I got. I could somewhat understand it when people paid $75 for a full-day guided tour, but $15 just to walk through a forest on your own for a few hours? Absolutely ridiculous. I calmed my nerves, called it an early night, and planned to leave tomorrow before my mildly good impression of the country turned really bad.

Where Your Mouthwash Comes From

February 26-27, 2008
Days 881-882

Mary and her mom waiting for the bus.

A few days ago, I met a girl named Mary on one of my bus rides. She was studying computer science at a university on the Caribbean coast, and through a scheduling miracle of sorts, managed to take off for a few weekdays to visit her family. She invited me to visit her family in San Rafael de Guatuso, and soon I was introduced to her mom, brother, adopted brother, and a bunch of extended family members. They were a jovial bunch, and we had a good time exchanging the stories of our cultures that first night.

The next day, we took a four-wheel-drive truck up a long, unpaved hill to the Rio Celeste. On the way, we stopped at the Arbol de la Paz, which was probably the biggest tree I had ever seen. The river got its name from its mouthwash color, which was a result of the natural mixing of various minerals from the mountains. During our long hike, we stopped at hot springs, a lookout point, a swimming hole, and of course, a waterfall. It was a beautiful place and still largely a secret kept only by the locals.

My visit with Mary and her family changed my opinion of the Costa Rican people. I had thought they were a bit jaded from all of the tourism, which resulted in them being treated like servants by thousands of Americans per year, but Mary's family was very nice and just happy to meet a foreigner, despite having already met thousands before. The people of Guatuso were every bit as hospitable as those whom I had met elsewhere on my travels.

The photo album for this entry is here.

A Volcanic Culture

February 25, 2008
Day 880

The town of La Fortuna, with Arenal in the background.

I got out of the big city today and took a bus to La Fortuna. It was a nice little town with a quaint church and a flowery plaza, but the highlight was clearly the nearby 1633 meter Arenal Volcano. Every businesses in town had a volcanic theme to it, including at least three hotels called "Hotel Volcano." I would have liked to have climbed Arenal, but it was illegal because some tourist got killed by lava and ruined it for everyone, so I had to settle for viewing it from afar.

The photo album for this entry is here.

The Psychological Analysis Of San Jose

February 21-24, 2008
Day 876-879

Steve and Miriam at their home.

It was a long bus ride to San Jose. Despite the small size and good roads of Central American countries, it still takes a full day to go halfway across the country because of frequent bathroom breaks, multiple flat tires, and engine breakdowns in the middle of a busy urban highway. It was still dark when I left the jungle this morning and almost dark again by the time I got to the capital.

I had told myself that I wouldn't visit any of the capitals in Central America due to a lack of interesting stuff to do, but when I was in Boquete and a fellow hostel-goer named Steve invited me to visit him, I couldn't pass it up. Steve was a psychologist from Chicago married to Miriam, a Tica (a Costa Rican woman) from San Jose. They were living in San Francisco for over a decade, but a few years ago they retired and moved back to her hometown.

I think the psychologist in Steve constantly had him playing mind tricks on me. He assured me that he was brilliant, and when I informed him that every brilliant person I had ever met didn't feel the need to inform others of their brilliancy, he told me that he was, in fact, so brilliant that he had no need to be humble. We spent a lot of time in coffee shops talking about travel, and Miriam spent most of her time rolling her eyes at Steve's highly intelligent remarks.

We also got to meet some of the most upstanding members of Costa Rica's ex-patriot community. Steve's friends (actually, he referred to them as 'acquaintances') were mostly single American men in their sixties with a surprising lack of American women at their sides. Steve told me that virtually all of the Americans living in Costa Rica were societal outcasts, whether running from the authorities or their ex-wives, or simply being unable to handle the pressures of a "normal" life back home. Steve, however, assured me that unlike the rest of them, his closet was free of skeletons.

Street performers.

Besides the Americans living in San Jose, who were easily distinguishable because they hung out in the same haunts every afternoon, there were a lot of normal tourists meandering the city as part of their week-long vacations. I wondered why they chose Costa Rica when there were so many other places in Latin America with equal, if not better, sights and amenities, and lower prices. Steve explained that when people researched Costa Rica as a possible vacation destination, they only read about the good stuff. The country abolished its military back in 1949 after a civil war left the government in shambles. There are rain forests, volcanoes, and beaches withing easy reach of the capital. There is a large middle class and generally a high standard of living, including a free social health care system. At first glance, Costa Rica looks like a gem surround by other Latin American countries that are marred with problems.

However, the level of violent crime in San Jose was as high as anywhere I had seen. Reading the local newspaper, I discovered that a few days ago, two immigrant engineers working outside got robbed at gunpoint of thousands of dollars worth of equipment by several men. The police caught the assailants but they were inexplicably released after a night in prison. That sparked a wave of vigilante justice, in which scores of frustrated citizens pummeled a man who was known as a thief, yet who had nothing to do with the robbery, nearly to death. The message was clear: The police won't protect us, so we'll take the law into our own hands. Steve also told me several stories of people and businesses, including a jewelry store just last week, being robbed in broad daylight in the supposedly safe downtown area with hundreds of people around. Of course, the robbers never got caught in those stories. He also warned me of the increasing problem with street gangs with nothing to lose in Honduras and El Salvador. I missed the days of traveling through South America when all I had to worry about was high altitude, hungry jaguars, and drug cartels.

The photo album for this entry is here.