Well, I just finished my last nights sleep here in Bogota.
Yesterday was a pretty lazy day, as Ive been partying pretty hard over the last three days of my trip. During the day, I bummed around the hostel and organized my things for the flight home, and last night I had dinner with Santiago and his sister, Andrea.
Over the last week, Ive been brainstorming ways to tie this monstrosity of a blog all together. Theres so much I could say, theres so much Id like to say, and it just seems like a daunting task to attack.
That being said, I decided that the only logical solution is to procrastinate.
My flight home leaves in just over three hours, and Im gonna save the final post for when I touch down in the States.
Id just like to thank everyone who has been reading for coming along on this wild ride, and Im really looking forward to seeing you all when I return.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Bogota, D.C.
Yesterday was just all around amazing.
Santiago met me at the hostel bright and early, and after a hearty breakfast we set off on my tour of Bogota. We walked through the Candelaria, which is the area surrounding the center of the city, and then we met up with Luisa and headed over to the national museum where there was a great exhibit commemorating Colombias recently celebrated bicentennial anniversary.
In the afternoon, Santiago had class, and I tagged along. Santiago and his friends are fourth year university students studying industrial design. For me, it was more of a Spanish class than a design class, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
After class, we headed over to the mall, and after the mall we headed back to Santiagos house where I was introduced to his mother and sister--two extremely warm and wonderful people.
Then, last night, we all went out and had a blast.
Santiago met me at the hostel bright and early, and after a hearty breakfast we set off on my tour of Bogota. We walked through the Candelaria, which is the area surrounding the center of the city, and then we met up with Luisa and headed over to the national museum where there was a great exhibit commemorating Colombias recently celebrated bicentennial anniversary.
In the afternoon, Santiago had class, and I tagged along. Santiago and his friends are fourth year university students studying industrial design. For me, it was more of a Spanish class than a design class, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
After class, we headed over to the mall, and after the mall we headed back to Santiagos house where I was introduced to his mother and sister--two extremely warm and wonderful people.
Then, last night, we all went out and had a blast.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Ants, Buses, and Final Destinations
Well, I throughly enjoyed my time in San Gil, and my last day there was quite memorable.
In the morning, I woke up really early and took a short bus ride out to a small colonial town called Barichara, which is known for its small artesan shops, quaint architecture, and the local specialty, Hormigas culonas. (For those of you who are yet to have done your homework, "hormigas culonas" more or less translates to "fat-assed ants.")
It was recommended by the hostel that I check out one restaurant in particular, El Color de Hormiga.
So, in need of a hearty lunch before embarking on a two hour hike, I marched right into the restaurant, set down my bag, looked straight at the waiter, and said:
"Look here. I want two large pieces of filet mignon. I want them wrapped in bacon. I want yuca, rice, and a salad on the side. I want the meat to be smothered in ant sauce. I want an army of fried ants sprinkled on top. And I want it all for around ten dollars."
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay."
It was surprisingly delicious, and just the fuel I needed for my afternoon hike to a town called Guane.
Guane was an even smaller colonial town, perhaps the size of a bloated pickle jar. It was a friendly little town. Everyone I encountered was more than happy to chat it up with the only Gringo there, and I got the impression that the little trinket I bought from one of the artesan shops was the first item the shop owner had sold in days.
Then, when I arrived back in San Gil, I had every intention of arranging my belongings and packing everything up for an easy exit in the morning.
Yeah right.
One of the great things about jumping from hostel to hostel is that youre always meeting swarms of interesting new people who are loads of fun. The downside, though, (if it can be called a downside) is that when all of these great people realize that youre leaving the next day, they tend to want to sit around till four in the morning drinking beer with you.
Ive had a number of less-than-clean exits from hostels throughout my trip, and my exit from San Gil was up there on my ever-growing list entitled, "Filthy Exits."
I sat around drinking beer with a delightful Irish couple till the wee hours of the night, stumbled out of bed the following morning on minimal sleep, haphazardly threw my shit in a bag, and rushed off to the bus terminal to catch a morning ride to Bogota.
Not surprisingly, the bus ride sucked a fat one.
I was able to cope, though, since it was to be the last monumental bus ride of my journey. And seven hours later--after stopping to pick up passengers at every street corner--we arrived at my final destination:
Bogota, D.C.
Last night, after taking a much needed nap, a Swiss girl from the hostel and I went into the Zona Rosa--the bar, restaurant, and club area of Bogota--polished off a bottle of Aguardiente, and taught the Colombians a thing or two on the dance floor.
This morning, Santiago, Sebastian, and Luisa, three of the students I met in Cartagena, are meeting me at the hostel and taking me on a personal tour of Bogota for the day.
And tonight we gonna party like its 1999.
In the morning, I woke up really early and took a short bus ride out to a small colonial town called Barichara, which is known for its small artesan shops, quaint architecture, and the local specialty, Hormigas culonas. (For those of you who are yet to have done your homework, "hormigas culonas" more or less translates to "fat-assed ants.")
It was recommended by the hostel that I check out one restaurant in particular, El Color de Hormiga.
So, in need of a hearty lunch before embarking on a two hour hike, I marched right into the restaurant, set down my bag, looked straight at the waiter, and said:
"Look here. I want two large pieces of filet mignon. I want them wrapped in bacon. I want yuca, rice, and a salad on the side. I want the meat to be smothered in ant sauce. I want an army of fried ants sprinkled on top. And I want it all for around ten dollars."
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay."
It was surprisingly delicious, and just the fuel I needed for my afternoon hike to a town called Guane.
Guane was an even smaller colonial town, perhaps the size of a bloated pickle jar. It was a friendly little town. Everyone I encountered was more than happy to chat it up with the only Gringo there, and I got the impression that the little trinket I bought from one of the artesan shops was the first item the shop owner had sold in days.
Then, when I arrived back in San Gil, I had every intention of arranging my belongings and packing everything up for an easy exit in the morning.
Yeah right.
One of the great things about jumping from hostel to hostel is that youre always meeting swarms of interesting new people who are loads of fun. The downside, though, (if it can be called a downside) is that when all of these great people realize that youre leaving the next day, they tend to want to sit around till four in the morning drinking beer with you.
Ive had a number of less-than-clean exits from hostels throughout my trip, and my exit from San Gil was up there on my ever-growing list entitled, "Filthy Exits."
I sat around drinking beer with a delightful Irish couple till the wee hours of the night, stumbled out of bed the following morning on minimal sleep, haphazardly threw my shit in a bag, and rushed off to the bus terminal to catch a morning ride to Bogota.
Not surprisingly, the bus ride sucked a fat one.
I was able to cope, though, since it was to be the last monumental bus ride of my journey. And seven hours later--after stopping to pick up passengers at every street corner--we arrived at my final destination:
Bogota, D.C.
Last night, after taking a much needed nap, a Swiss girl from the hostel and I went into the Zona Rosa--the bar, restaurant, and club area of Bogota--polished off a bottle of Aguardiente, and taught the Colombians a thing or two on the dance floor.
This morning, Santiago, Sebastian, and Luisa, three of the students I met in Cartagena, are meeting me at the hostel and taking me on a personal tour of Bogota for the day.
And tonight we gonna party like its 1999.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
San Gil
It may seem as though in the past week or so, my posts have become fewer and father in between.
Thats because my activites have become fewer and farther in between.
And thats because my budget is now tighter than a pussycats asshole.
Papa Isaacson just voluntarily offered to deposit a little extra fuel in the tank, though, which will most likely be used for two purposes:
1) To buy him a souvenir
2) To pay the exit tax at the airport
San Gil is a gorgeous city, and Im almost glad that I havent partaken in any of the extreme sports, because to do so would mean to miss out how beautiful the area really is.
My first day here, I hitched a ride to Chicamocha canyon with a group of extreme sporters who were going paragliding. Chicamocha is the Colombian version of the Grand Canyon, and its quite a site.
Yesterday, I took a trip out to a series of waterfalls called Pescadarito, where there are a number of natural waterslides and swimming holes. Good cheap fun.
And today, Ill take a trip to a small colonial village for a photo-op and some lunch.
Oh, and I am still yet to indulge in the local specialty, Hormigas Culonas, which I will certainly do this afternoon.
(I think its probably best if you Google "Hormigas Culonas" on your own.)
Originally, I was going to checkout of the hostel here in San Gil this morning, store my bags here during the day, and catch a midnight bus to Bogota to avoid paying for lodging tonight. Now, with the extra fuel from Papa dukes, I think Ill spend the $15,000 pesos ($8.10 USD) for an extra night, and leave in the morning.
Thats because my activites have become fewer and farther in between.
And thats because my budget is now tighter than a pussycats asshole.
Papa Isaacson just voluntarily offered to deposit a little extra fuel in the tank, though, which will most likely be used for two purposes:
1) To buy him a souvenir
2) To pay the exit tax at the airport
San Gil is a gorgeous city, and Im almost glad that I havent partaken in any of the extreme sports, because to do so would mean to miss out how beautiful the area really is.
My first day here, I hitched a ride to Chicamocha canyon with a group of extreme sporters who were going paragliding. Chicamocha is the Colombian version of the Grand Canyon, and its quite a site.
Yesterday, I took a trip out to a series of waterfalls called Pescadarito, where there are a number of natural waterslides and swimming holes. Good cheap fun.
And today, Ill take a trip to a small colonial village for a photo-op and some lunch.
Oh, and I am still yet to indulge in the local specialty, Hormigas Culonas, which I will certainly do this afternoon.
(I think its probably best if you Google "Hormigas Culonas" on your own.)
Originally, I was going to checkout of the hostel here in San Gil this morning, store my bags here during the day, and catch a midnight bus to Bogota to avoid paying for lodging tonight. Now, with the extra fuel from Papa dukes, I think Ill spend the $15,000 pesos ($8.10 USD) for an extra night, and leave in the morning.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
And yet another bus
Well, my stay in Bucaramanga was short lived.
This afternoon, I checked out of the hostel and caught a bus from Bucramanga to a town two hours south called San Gil.
Originally, I had wanted to travel directly from Medellin to San Gil, but there were no direct routes. Bucaramanga was a nice city--with buildings, parks, and the like--but, perhaps a bit burnt out from the previous bus ride, I was all building-ed and park-ed out.
So, I took a day and a half to rejuvenate, watched some Criminal Minds and CSI Miami episodes, and moved on.
This particular bus ride was actually the most pleasant Ive had in Colombia for a number of reasons.
First, the buses in Colombia are usually fridigly cold--as I have certainly learned from experience--and this bus was mildly temperate, which was a nice change.
Second, the bus rides in Colombia are notoriously long, and this one took only two hours and change.
And third, since all of my other bus rides have been at night, everyone has been sleeping for the most part. Since this ride was during the day, I was able to strike up a conversation with the cute Colombian girl sitting next to me.
Since Im not 100% confident with my Spanish, I wasnt initially sure how to go about striking up up a conversation. But eventually I figured it out. I had my Spanish-English dictionary on my lap, and when I noticed her glance over at it, I turned to her and said, "Es mi biblia."
Its my bible.
That got things rolling.
Jenny is a 27-year old social worker, born and raised in Colombia, with dual citizenship in Venezuela--her father is from Venezuela, and her mother is Colombian. (Sadly, Torrenay, I didnt get a chance to ask her if she likes beer.) She was heading to a town three hours south of San Gil for work. Its actually a shame that we werent headed to the same place--or that we dont live in the same hemisphere--because she was smart, cute, and quite enjoyable to talk to.
Ah, well. I guess I found my self a new facebook friend.
My plan is to spend a few days here in San Gil before heading on to Bogota, my final destination. As the adventure sports capital of Colombia, I suppose Ill engage myself in some sort of adventure sport in the next day or so.
(Itll have to be a reasonably priced adventure sport, because the funds are running low.)
This afternoon, I checked out of the hostel and caught a bus from Bucramanga to a town two hours south called San Gil.
Originally, I had wanted to travel directly from Medellin to San Gil, but there were no direct routes. Bucaramanga was a nice city--with buildings, parks, and the like--but, perhaps a bit burnt out from the previous bus ride, I was all building-ed and park-ed out.
So, I took a day and a half to rejuvenate, watched some Criminal Minds and CSI Miami episodes, and moved on.
This particular bus ride was actually the most pleasant Ive had in Colombia for a number of reasons.
First, the buses in Colombia are usually fridigly cold--as I have certainly learned from experience--and this bus was mildly temperate, which was a nice change.
Second, the bus rides in Colombia are notoriously long, and this one took only two hours and change.
And third, since all of my other bus rides have been at night, everyone has been sleeping for the most part. Since this ride was during the day, I was able to strike up a conversation with the cute Colombian girl sitting next to me.
Since Im not 100% confident with my Spanish, I wasnt initially sure how to go about striking up up a conversation. But eventually I figured it out. I had my Spanish-English dictionary on my lap, and when I noticed her glance over at it, I turned to her and said, "Es mi biblia."
Its my bible.
That got things rolling.
Jenny is a 27-year old social worker, born and raised in Colombia, with dual citizenship in Venezuela--her father is from Venezuela, and her mother is Colombian. (Sadly, Torrenay, I didnt get a chance to ask her if she likes beer.) She was heading to a town three hours south of San Gil for work. Its actually a shame that we werent headed to the same place--or that we dont live in the same hemisphere--because she was smart, cute, and quite enjoyable to talk to.
Ah, well. I guess I found my self a new facebook friend.
My plan is to spend a few days here in San Gil before heading on to Bogota, my final destination. As the adventure sports capital of Colombia, I suppose Ill engage myself in some sort of adventure sport in the next day or so.
(Itll have to be a reasonably priced adventure sport, because the funds are running low.)
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Mad rush
So, I´m here in Bucaramanga.
And I´m a bit surprised, too, because my exit from Medellin was a bit loco, to say the least.
Every morning in Medellin, Javier and I would discuss who would take the keys to his apartment depending on our schedules for the day. If all of his obgligations for the day would be over before before mine, then he would take the keys, and vice-versa if I would be the one to finish my day first.
Yesterday, my only obligations were the final two salsa lessons that I had signed up for. The first was from 9:30 - 11:30 in the morning, and the second was from 5:00 - 7:00 in the evening.
So, since Javier had to work until only 4:00 in the afternoon, he took the keys.
The day started off extremely smooth. I attended my morning class, and then I headed over to the local mall for some lunch.
After lunch I decided to catch a movie to pass the time.
This time, though, I was sure to ask the attendant if the dialogue would be fed to me in English in some form or another. And of all the movies being shown, "Agent Salt," with Angelina Jolie, was the only one that was offered in English, with Spanish subtitles.
Sounds great. I´ll have that.
The movie was absolutely ludicrous--with a plot containing more holes than 50-Cent has gunshot wounds--but it was sufficiently entertaning. After the movie, I made a quick stop at the cleaners to pick up a shirt that I had dropped, and I headed back to the dance studio for my evening class.
(I can´t believe I just said, "...and I headed back to the dance studio.")
After my class, the real fun began.
My plan all along was to head back to the apartment after class, collect all of my junk, and make my way over to the bus station.
¨Part One¨ was to head back to the apartment, so when I got out of class just after 7:00 I headed straight for the Metro station. I still had plenty of time, though, because my bus didnt leave until 9:00, and Javier´s apartment was just one stop away.
Well, let me rephrase that.
Javier´s apartment WOULD have been just one stop away had I boarded the train that was going in the proper direction.
It wasn´t until just after the first stop that I realized I was headed the wrong way, which means it was two stops before I switched trains to go back in the proper direction, and I was now three stops from my desired destination.
I´ll be fine. It´s a quarter after seven. Still plenty of time.
Now, I haven´t done enough research to understand the logic behind this next part, but apparently at certain times in the evening, the Metro train only stops at the Ayura station--the station I needed--going in one direction.
And it wasn´t my direction.
So, I stood there helplessly as the train whizzed by my stop, and I was forced to switch trains once again and head back in the other direction.
I arrived at the proper station at about 7:30 and, after nearly a twenty minute walk, I arrived at Javier´s apartment just before eight.
Ring, ring.
No answer.
RING, RING.
Still, no answer.
Fuck.
Javier wasn´t home, I didn´t have the keys, and my bus left in just over an hour from a terminal that was a twenty minute metro ride away.
I jogged over to a pay phone, and it wasn´t until the third pay phone that I found one that would make calls to a cellular phone.
¨Hello?¨
¨Yeah, Javier, this is Brandon.¨
¨Hey, Brandon, what´s up?¨
¨Oh, you know, nothing much. Where are you?¨
¨I already went out for the night. Where are you?¨
¨Oh, just standing here outside the apartment, you know?¨
¨Well, I already went out for the night. I´ll call the landlord to let you in.¨
¨That would be great, Javier.¨
¨No, problem. Oh, and I checked for you today. The bus leaves at nine.¨
¨Much obliged, Javier. Gotta run.¨
So, I got into the apartment just after 8:00 PM. I rushed to gather up my things--which thankfully I had already semi-packed in the AM--and I hightailed it out the door.
The landlord´s (hot) daughter told me if I took a taxi back to the metro terminal, I´d be fine. She said that the ride to the bus station shouldn´t take more than twenty minutes, and that it was just a five minute walk from there.
I grabbed a taxi back to the metro station, purchased a ticket, and hurried down to the ramp to wait for the next train.
And I waited...
And waited...
And waited.
No train.
I was probably only waiting for a total of five minutes. But it was already just before 8:30. If I boarded a train in the next minute, that would place me at my desired metro terminal at approximately 8:50. Then, from there, according to the landlord´s (hot) daughter, it was a five minute walk to the bus station.
Assuming it all went down flawlessly, that would leave me with five minutes once I arrived at the bus station to find the proper window, buy a ticket, and find the proper gate of departure.
The numbers just weren´t adding up in my head.
I knew that even if the metro ride did in fact take twenty minutes, there was no chance in hell that the walk from the terminal to the bus station would take me five minutes.
Five minutes was the quote for someone who knew where they were going.
I knew that I would have to ask for directions at least three times before I understood exactly where the bus station was. Then, once I arrived at the station, I knew that I´d probably have to ask for directions at least three more times to find the proper ticket window, and I´d probably need another three sets of directions to find the right gate.
Stay with me, now:
The bus was scheduled to leave at 9:00 PM. It was now 8:30 PM. A twenty minute metro ride would put me at my desired stop at 8:50 PM. From there--according to you know who--I would have ten minutes to complete a five minute walk, find the proper ticket window, purchase the proper ticket, find the proper gate, and solicit at least nine sets of directions.
No chance in hell.
At the last moment, as I heard the train roaring down the tracks, I made the decision to forfeit the metro ticket I had just purchased, book it back out the street, and take a taxi directly to the bus terminal. (I figured that this decision would cut out at least five minutes of walking and three sets of directions.)
I got into a taxi at 8:35, and the driver told me that we would be there in approximately fifteen minutes.
He made it in fourteen.
That left me eleven minutes to solicit six sets of directions, purchase a ticket, and find the proper gate.
I did it all in two sets of directions, and boarded the bus with three minutes to spare.
(At some point during this whole mad rush, I realized that I had left my freshly laundered button-down shirt at the salsa place. I decided, though, that although it´s one of my favorite shirts, going back for it just wasn´t worth losing a whole day of travel. So I sent the school an e-mail this morning asking them to donate it to a charity of their choice, or to use it as kindling.)
And I´m a bit surprised, too, because my exit from Medellin was a bit loco, to say the least.
Every morning in Medellin, Javier and I would discuss who would take the keys to his apartment depending on our schedules for the day. If all of his obgligations for the day would be over before before mine, then he would take the keys, and vice-versa if I would be the one to finish my day first.
Yesterday, my only obligations were the final two salsa lessons that I had signed up for. The first was from 9:30 - 11:30 in the morning, and the second was from 5:00 - 7:00 in the evening.
So, since Javier had to work until only 4:00 in the afternoon, he took the keys.
The day started off extremely smooth. I attended my morning class, and then I headed over to the local mall for some lunch.
After lunch I decided to catch a movie to pass the time.
This time, though, I was sure to ask the attendant if the dialogue would be fed to me in English in some form or another. And of all the movies being shown, "Agent Salt," with Angelina Jolie, was the only one that was offered in English, with Spanish subtitles.
Sounds great. I´ll have that.
The movie was absolutely ludicrous--with a plot containing more holes than 50-Cent has gunshot wounds--but it was sufficiently entertaning. After the movie, I made a quick stop at the cleaners to pick up a shirt that I had dropped, and I headed back to the dance studio for my evening class.
(I can´t believe I just said, "...and I headed back to the dance studio.")
After my class, the real fun began.
My plan all along was to head back to the apartment after class, collect all of my junk, and make my way over to the bus station.
¨Part One¨ was to head back to the apartment, so when I got out of class just after 7:00 I headed straight for the Metro station. I still had plenty of time, though, because my bus didnt leave until 9:00, and Javier´s apartment was just one stop away.
Well, let me rephrase that.
Javier´s apartment WOULD have been just one stop away had I boarded the train that was going in the proper direction.
It wasn´t until just after the first stop that I realized I was headed the wrong way, which means it was two stops before I switched trains to go back in the proper direction, and I was now three stops from my desired destination.
I´ll be fine. It´s a quarter after seven. Still plenty of time.
Now, I haven´t done enough research to understand the logic behind this next part, but apparently at certain times in the evening, the Metro train only stops at the Ayura station--the station I needed--going in one direction.
And it wasn´t my direction.
So, I stood there helplessly as the train whizzed by my stop, and I was forced to switch trains once again and head back in the other direction.
I arrived at the proper station at about 7:30 and, after nearly a twenty minute walk, I arrived at Javier´s apartment just before eight.
Ring, ring.
No answer.
RING, RING.
Still, no answer.
Fuck.
Javier wasn´t home, I didn´t have the keys, and my bus left in just over an hour from a terminal that was a twenty minute metro ride away.
I jogged over to a pay phone, and it wasn´t until the third pay phone that I found one that would make calls to a cellular phone.
¨Hello?¨
¨Yeah, Javier, this is Brandon.¨
¨Hey, Brandon, what´s up?¨
¨Oh, you know, nothing much. Where are you?¨
¨I already went out for the night. Where are you?¨
¨Oh, just standing here outside the apartment, you know?¨
¨Well, I already went out for the night. I´ll call the landlord to let you in.¨
¨That would be great, Javier.¨
¨No, problem. Oh, and I checked for you today. The bus leaves at nine.¨
¨Much obliged, Javier. Gotta run.¨
So, I got into the apartment just after 8:00 PM. I rushed to gather up my things--which thankfully I had already semi-packed in the AM--and I hightailed it out the door.
The landlord´s (hot) daughter told me if I took a taxi back to the metro terminal, I´d be fine. She said that the ride to the bus station shouldn´t take more than twenty minutes, and that it was just a five minute walk from there.
I grabbed a taxi back to the metro station, purchased a ticket, and hurried down to the ramp to wait for the next train.
And I waited...
And waited...
And waited.
No train.
I was probably only waiting for a total of five minutes. But it was already just before 8:30. If I boarded a train in the next minute, that would place me at my desired metro terminal at approximately 8:50. Then, from there, according to the landlord´s (hot) daughter, it was a five minute walk to the bus station.
Assuming it all went down flawlessly, that would leave me with five minutes once I arrived at the bus station to find the proper window, buy a ticket, and find the proper gate of departure.
The numbers just weren´t adding up in my head.
I knew that even if the metro ride did in fact take twenty minutes, there was no chance in hell that the walk from the terminal to the bus station would take me five minutes.
Five minutes was the quote for someone who knew where they were going.
I knew that I would have to ask for directions at least three times before I understood exactly where the bus station was. Then, once I arrived at the station, I knew that I´d probably have to ask for directions at least three more times to find the proper ticket window, and I´d probably need another three sets of directions to find the right gate.
Stay with me, now:
The bus was scheduled to leave at 9:00 PM. It was now 8:30 PM. A twenty minute metro ride would put me at my desired stop at 8:50 PM. From there--according to you know who--I would have ten minutes to complete a five minute walk, find the proper ticket window, purchase the proper ticket, find the proper gate, and solicit at least nine sets of directions.
No chance in hell.
At the last moment, as I heard the train roaring down the tracks, I made the decision to forfeit the metro ticket I had just purchased, book it back out the street, and take a taxi directly to the bus terminal. (I figured that this decision would cut out at least five minutes of walking and three sets of directions.)
I got into a taxi at 8:35, and the driver told me that we would be there in approximately fifteen minutes.
He made it in fourteen.
That left me eleven minutes to solicit six sets of directions, purchase a ticket, and find the proper gate.
I did it all in two sets of directions, and boarded the bus with three minutes to spare.
(At some point during this whole mad rush, I realized that I had left my freshly laundered button-down shirt at the salsa place. I decided, though, that although it´s one of my favorite shirts, going back for it just wasn´t worth losing a whole day of travel. So I sent the school an e-mail this morning asking them to donate it to a charity of their choice, or to use it as kindling.)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Moving right along
I´m sort of in a time crunch here with this post, but I wanted to get something up today because I´ll be traveling shortly.
My time here in Medellin is coming to an end. Tonight, I have my final salsa lesson from 5:00 - 7:00 PM, and then my plan is to catch an over night bus to the town of Bucaramanga.
I really do have to run.
Catch you all en la manana.
(I know, I know. Weak.)
My time here in Medellin is coming to an end. Tonight, I have my final salsa lesson from 5:00 - 7:00 PM, and then my plan is to catch an over night bus to the town of Bucaramanga.
I really do have to run.
Catch you all en la manana.
(I know, I know. Weak.)
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Progress
As the end of my trip is but a week and a half away, and one of my main goals was to make big strides with my Spanissh, Ive been doing a lot of reflecting over the past few days.
Ive had my ups and downs over the past two months, but yesterday was definitely an "up" day.
Henry is back in the United States now, and he and I spoke yesterday morning through webcam. He has been really great about making it a point to speak only in Spanish when we talk, and yesterday we had an entire phone conversation in Spanish. (He may speak a bit slower when hes talking to me, but I wont tell if you wont.)
In the afternoon, I took a metro ride into the center of Medellin. After walking around for a while and soaking in the city atmosphere, I decided that it might be a good language exercise to go see a movie in Spanish. Javier had told me that the majority of movies here are in English with Spanish subtitles, which makes sense since most of the big movies are coming from Hollywood. I figured that as long as I could associate the English word with the corresponding Spanish word it would be beneficial.
After asking around for cinemas in the area I was directed to the Colombian-American center, where a number of independent films were being shown. I arrived at 4:35, and the film "La caja de Pandora" (Pandoras Box) had just started at 4:30. So I skipped in right as the opening credits were rolling.
Looking back, it was a fairly large oversight, but what I hadnt thought of at the time was that while a majority of mainstream movies do in fact come from the U.S.--which is why many movies arrive here in English--independent films are not restricted as such.
The movie turned out to be in Russian--or the like--with Spanish subtitles.
Id be lying if I said I understood every word because they were shooting across the bottom of the screen pretty fast, but I can definitely say that I understood a majority of each conversation, and what I lacked in vocabulary didnt interfere with my understanding of the movie.
My second victory of the day.
Then, when I returned home for the evening and hopped on facebook, I found myself engaged in two chat conversations--one with Javier, and one with Santiago, a student I met from Bogota --both in Spanish.
Final tally for the day:
1 phone conversation
1 movie
2 chat conversations
Today, I start my first of two days of Salsa lessons--a big step towards completing the assimilation process.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Bicentennial Bash
Yesterday, July 20th, was the Bicentennial anniversary of Colombia`s independence from Spain. As such, there was a large fireworks display in the center of Medellin the previous night.
Now, Ive never been a huge fan of fireworks--not because I dont think theyre pretty, but because Im not a huge fan of the immense swarms of people, nor of the traffic jams that tend to occur before and after the event. (I know I sound like a ninety year old man, but hey, thats me.) So, when Javier told me that we were going to watch the fireworks with his friends--although I knew it would probably be nice--I wasnt so keen on the idea.
Of course, I went anyway.
The previous day, Javier had told me that the fireworks would take place in a stadium in the center of Medellin. I bet you can imagine my surprise, then, when we arrived at the site of an unfinished, 30-story aparment building.
It wasnt until I was handed a hard hat, and we began to ascend the scaffolding along side the building, that I began to realize what was going on.
Apparently, a number of Javier`s friends work for the company that is currently constructing the apartment building. From what I could gather, one of those friends is a site manager, and he thought it would be a good idea to watch the fireworks from the 13th story of the building (which offered an unobstructed view of the city due to the fact that the outer walls of the floor have not yet been constructed.)
What a show.
Its probably safe to say that we had among the most unique
views of the pyrotechnic display in all the city. (In Spanish, the
word for fireworks, "Juegos Pirotecnicos," translates to
"Pyrotechnic Games.")
I took some video footage of the last three minutes or so of the
display, and Javier threw it up on YouTube.
Heres the link:
(It starts off a bit slow, but the last minute or so is where its at!)
I was able to find another homemade video of the end of the event, and this video taker appears to have been at the site of the display. His clip is one minute and thirteen seconds long, and if you fast forward to approximately the 2:10 mark on my video, you can compare the same sequence of fireworks from two different viewpoints.
Oh, and about that whole "being caught in traffic" thing:
Javiers only mode of transportation is a motorcycle.
Lets just say that over these past three days, it doesnt seem as though traffic has slowed him--or me--down in the slightest.
Monday, July 19, 2010
About that hospitality...
Last night was loads of fun.
When Javier got home from work around ten o`clock, we took a short taxi ride over to a cool little part of town, ate a quick dinner, and met up at a bar with a few girlfriends of his.
The bar had a great atmosphere--with an inviting ambience, great music, and two-for-one specials on all Colombian beers and liquors. When we arrived, Javiers friends were already sitting around a table polishing off a bottle of Aguardiente, the national liquor here in Colombia. Apparently, bottles of such liquor also fell under the two-for-one special, so Javier and I purchased two bottles of Aguardiente (for the equivalent of about $25 USD total) and we began to kick things off.
We were all having a great time, drinking, chatting it up, and laughing about how I didn`t understand every third word they were saying.
After a half bottle of liquor, I was sufficiently lubed up to drag one of the girls out on the dance floor and practice my salsa moves.
Then, after we polished off both bottles, things got interesting.
(I know that in nearly every post Ive used the line "things got interesting," but it always seems to be an appropriate segway given the circumstance.)
One of the women at the table was celebrating her 39th birthday, and to say the least she was fairly liquored up.
She was practically defining the phrase "dance as if no one is watching."
But then I was watching.
Because she was dancing on my lap.
What a riot! Everyone at the table, including myself, was rolling on the floor nearly dying of laughter. Except for my private dancer, that is, who was keeping fairly concentrated on the task at hand.
And she was like the energizer bunny.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes--after my cheeks were more than sufficiently reddened with embarrassment--she gave me my lap back.
Then, she leaned foward, smiled, and said, "Sin pagar. Bienvenidos a Colombia."
No charge. Welcome to Colombia.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Change of plans
(Again, sorry for the lapse in time since my last post. Internet access has not been readily available, as Ive spent the better part of the past two days on a farm.)
After spending two nights at the house of Henry`s brother, we all went to Henry`s farm in the outskirts of Cali on Friday morning. The idea was that there was to be a family reunion of sorts--with lots of drinking and eating--and when we arrived, I was introduced to a whole bunch of family.
Then, after a few beers, things got interesting.
Im not sure of how much detail I should go into here, but let me put it this way:
1) Among the things that Henry has on his farm are a number of pigs.
2) We had pork for dinner.
3) The pork was fresh.
4) Real fresh.
Ill spare you the details--and the graphic pictures--but lets just say it was quite an experience, and it was an experience that I would never have had had I not been in touch with a Colombian family.
After two full days of non-stop drinking and eating, I was nearly as stuffed as the delightful pig intestines that we consumed, and it was time to move on. I mentioned in my previous post that my original plan was to head from Cali up to the coffee region to stay with Henry`s sister and brother-in-law for a few days. At the farm, however, I met Henry`s nephew, Javier, who lives in the outskirts of Medellin. Javier is 29 years old--he lives in an apartment by himself--and to make a long story short, we all decided that I would have a better time if I headed straight for Medellin with Javier when he returned.
I did want to see the coffee region, but I wasnt one to argue. Ive already begun to realize that Colombia is in fact home to some of the most beautiful women in the world, and both Henry and Javier agreed that Medellin is home to the most beautiful women in Colombia.
I guess that would make Medellin the beautiful woman capital of the world, now wouldnt it?
Last night, Javier and I caught a bus from Cali, leaving at 9:30 PM, and we arrived in Medellin at 5:30 this morning. After taking a brief nap we went out for some lunch, and since then Ive been hanging around the apartment, taking care of a few administrative details and resting up while Javier is at work.
In every Colombian home that Ive been in so far, Ive been pumped full of so much food that Ive nearly vomited. Henry`s wife explained that that`s the Colombian way of welcoming someone into their home.
I havent had the pleasure of enjoying Javier`s cooking just yet, but he did just call me from work to tell me that he`s arranged for the two of us to go out tonight--with a girlfriend of his, and a girlfriend of her`s.
So, while I`m still looking forward to a plate of Javier`s home cooking, I`m more than content for the time being knowing that Colombian hospitality comes in more than one form.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Cali(fornia) dreamin
My last night in Cartagena was a blast.
During my stay at the hostel I met a group of third-year university students, from Bogota, who are currently in the middle of a two week summer program in Cartagena. We all hit it off really well.
The students explained to me that in Colombia, not unlike in America, they´re always looking for the smallest reason to party. So, since a few of us were leaving the hostel the following day, we had a party.
And party, we did. I went to sleep at four in the morning, and I had to wake up at five to get a move on to my next location, Cali.
Remember Henry? The waiter from New Jersey I had mentioned in one of my first posts?
Well, he´s in Colombia visiting family until July 18th, and I chose Cali as my next location because that´s where him and his family are staying.
My original plan was to take a bus from Cartagena to Cali, and let´s just say that bus journeys in Colombia can be epic (and quite pricey.) It´s a twenty hour trip, and the cost is just over $80 USD.
I remembered, however, that one of the travelers I had met in Costa Rica had mentioned something about cheap airfare within Colombia. After a bit of research, I was able to find a flight from Cartagena to Cali--with a three hour layover in Bogota--for just about $77 USD (total travel time: 6 hours.)
A no brainer.
So, after taking a morning flight from Cartagena, I arrived at the airport in Cali yesterday afternoon, where Henry and his brother Armando were waiting to scoop me up.
The hospitality I´ve received from Armando and his wife, Lady, over the past twelve hours has been tremendous. They´ve kept me extremely well fed, and they´ve bent over backwards to make sure that I´m comfortable in their home.
I think I´ll stay here in Cali for another night or two before moving on.
Henry´s sister lives on a farm in the coffee region, and she will be visiting Cali with her husband for dinner tomorrow night. From Cali, I think I´ll be heading up to the coffee region with them when they return. And from there, I´ll head on to the city of Medellin, where Henry told me that he´ll put me in contact with his nephew.
So, it looks like I have a decent few weeks ahead of me here in Colombia. I´m excited to explore the coffee region and some of the smaller towns here in the central region of the country, and I´m looking forward to capping my trip off with a weekend of partying in Bogota with the students I met up in Cartagena.
During my stay at the hostel I met a group of third-year university students, from Bogota, who are currently in the middle of a two week summer program in Cartagena. We all hit it off really well.
The students explained to me that in Colombia, not unlike in America, they´re always looking for the smallest reason to party. So, since a few of us were leaving the hostel the following day, we had a party.
And party, we did. I went to sleep at four in the morning, and I had to wake up at five to get a move on to my next location, Cali.
Remember Henry? The waiter from New Jersey I had mentioned in one of my first posts?
Well, he´s in Colombia visiting family until July 18th, and I chose Cali as my next location because that´s where him and his family are staying.
My original plan was to take a bus from Cartagena to Cali, and let´s just say that bus journeys in Colombia can be epic (and quite pricey.) It´s a twenty hour trip, and the cost is just over $80 USD.
I remembered, however, that one of the travelers I had met in Costa Rica had mentioned something about cheap airfare within Colombia. After a bit of research, I was able to find a flight from Cartagena to Cali--with a three hour layover in Bogota--for just about $77 USD (total travel time: 6 hours.)
A no brainer.
So, after taking a morning flight from Cartagena, I arrived at the airport in Cali yesterday afternoon, where Henry and his brother Armando were waiting to scoop me up.
The hospitality I´ve received from Armando and his wife, Lady, over the past twelve hours has been tremendous. They´ve kept me extremely well fed, and they´ve bent over backwards to make sure that I´m comfortable in their home.
I think I´ll stay here in Cali for another night or two before moving on.
Henry´s sister lives on a farm in the coffee region, and she will be visiting Cali with her husband for dinner tomorrow night. From Cali, I think I´ll be heading up to the coffee region with them when they return. And from there, I´ll head on to the city of Medellin, where Henry told me that he´ll put me in contact with his nephew.
So, it looks like I have a decent few weeks ahead of me here in Colombia. I´m excited to explore the coffee region and some of the smaller towns here in the central region of the country, and I´m looking forward to capping my trip off with a weekend of partying in Bogota with the students I met up in Cartagena.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Jackpot
Last night, a prostitute grabbed my junk.
My first action in Colombia.
(Addendum: Allow me to clarify. It was an unsolicited junk grabbing.)
My first action in Colombia.
(Addendum: Allow me to clarify. It was an unsolicited junk grabbing.)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
First Mate
Holy shit.
What a wild five days.
Let me start by saying that Im here in Colombia, and Im safe.
Tuesday morning, I was picked up in Panama city by a four-wheel drive vehicle. We drove over the river and through the woods to a motorized canoe, which took me to the San Blas Islands where Hernando and the Stella Luna were anchored.
When I arrived at the boat, Hernando introduced me to Frederick and Anna, a French couple that would be traveling with us to Colombia. Then, Hernando laid down a few basic ground rules, and he explained the itinerary.
As I was expecting, the plan was to spend three days in the San Blas Islands, and then two days of straight sailing on to Colombia.
The San Blas Islands were absolutely gorgeous, and those first three days were some of the most enjoyable days of my journey thus far. Throughout those three days, I was also able to get a good feel for El Capitain, Hernando.
Some of the words one might use to describe Hernando are "carefree," "fun-loving," and "entertaining."
Then again, depending on your experience with Hernando, one might also use the following term:
Sixty year-old, semi-crippled, mildly disgruntled, raging alcoholic.
Perhaps Im being a bit harsh, but Ill allow you to be the judge.
After our three days in the Islands, as we prepared to set sail for Colombia, Hernando sat us down and explained what our next two days at sea would be like.
In Spanish (Hernando doesnt speak a lick of English) he said, "I need the three of you to listen carefully for the next few minutes, because these next two days will be dangerous at times, and everyone will have important responsibility.
First off, it is imperative that once we sail past the Islands and into the open sea, you keep two hands on the boat at all times. The seas can get rough, and I prefer that no one falls in.
Translation: These next two days will be dangerous.
Second, the voyage will take between 40 and 48 hours, and it is absolutely impossible for one person to navigate the boat alone the entire way. Since this is the case, we will be switching off driving duties every two hours until we arrive.
Translation: You will all be expected to carry heavy responsibility.
Third, if I yell at times, it doesnt mean that Im angry, it just means that whatever Im asking you to do must be done immediately.
Translation: Tempers will flare.
And lastly, in the refrigerator, I have packed twelve beers for myself--six for one day and six for the next--and they are not to be touched."
Translation: I will be drunk the entire time.
I had half a mind to exit the boat at that very moment. But, other than the fact that Hernando already had my $400 dollars, there was once simple factor that kept me from pulling the trigger:
I figured that Hernando wanted to see his family in Colombia just as much as I wanted to sleep with a Colombian woman.
As faulty as this logic may have been, I came to the twisted conclusion that if the strength of our two desires were anywhere near equivalent, we would both still be breathing once we reached Colombia.
So off we went.
In the beginning of the voyage, things werent so bad.
I did, however, make it a point to ask a whole bunch of questions:
"How do you turn on the motor?"
"What is our starting location on the map?"
"How does the radio work?"
"What is the compass heading for where we are going?"
Basically, under the guise of insatiable curiousity, I hounded Hernando until I possessed what I thought was sufficient knowledge to navigate the boat to our destination should he have gone into liver failure mid-journey.
Since there were four of us on the boat, each person had two hours on and six hours off when it came to driving. It didnt sound so bad.
It wasnt until I found myself navigating a boat--at four in the morning, in the open sea, with no land in sight, waves crashing down around me, everyone else sleeping--in the pitch black, with nothing more to guide me than an illuminated compass, that it actually hit me.
What in the FUCK is going on?
When my shift was over, just after four A.M., I made my way into the cabin to awake the Frenchman for his driving duties.
He rolled over and peered at me through sleep-deprived eyes, and all I could say was, "Lo siento." Im sorry.
Frederick responded, "No, no. Es nor-mal."
I knew what he was trying to say was that I shouldnt feel bad to wake him up.
Even so, I couldnt help but to mutter, "No. No es FUCKING nor-mal."
I retired to my bed, which was nothing more than a sticky nylon pad covered by a thin sheet --which was completely drenched with sweat from my previous nights sleep--and made an attempt at some sort of rest.
The delicious hot meals we had been provided with for the first three days in the islands were replaced by corn flakes, saltines, and a delightful assortment of rotting, unrefrigerated fruits and vegetables.
Eventually, the smell of those rotting fruits and vegetables pervaded the entire cabin, making it nearly impossible for me to lay my head down without throwing up in my mouth.
During one of my driving shifts, there was a tremendous amount of lumber floating in the water. Instead of taking over, however, the captain just stood there, pointing at the wood and cursing in Spanish, as I deftly maneuvered the field of floating mines.
And that was the story of my life for nearly fifty hours.
Until we reached the bay in Cartagena, that is.
Thats where the real fun began.
Cartagena is a beautiful city on the northwestern coast of Colombia. As we navigated the boat around the final piece of land--rather, as I navigated the boat and the Captain rested off his hangover--and the city came into view, tears of joy began to roll down my sea-hardened face.
Then, it happened.
The wind completely stopped.
This was a minor problem, you see.
Why, you ask?
Well, heres a little analogy to help you understand:
Gas:Cars::_____:Sailboats
Need another one?
Electricity:Kitchen appliances::_____:Sailboats
Catch my drift?
We floated there for about fifteen minutes without moving an inch.
Finally, I spoke up.
"Why dont we try using the motor?" I asked.
There was a motor on the boat that we had used from time to time. Throughout the voyage, however, the captain had been reluctant to use it because, as he had made it a point to mention nearly half a dozen times, "This is a sailboat."
After nearly thirty windless minutes, though, Hernando finally caved in.
"Okay," he said.
He pushed the ignition.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Nothing.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Again, nothing.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Fuck my life.
There we were, floating in the middle of the bay, no more than a few thousand meters from our final destination--sin viento, sin motor.
Without wind. Without motor.
Then came the clouds.
Then the lightning.
And then the rain.
Hard.
As the storm picked up, the wind was intermitent and sporadic.
Now, if you know as much about sailing as I now do, then you know that when the wind is not in your favor, it is often necessary to zig-zag your way to your desired destination. This involves a rapid changing of the sail from one side of the boat to the other.
For nearly three hours, in the pouring rain, the captain sat behind the wheel and barked out orders in Spanish.
"Release that rope! Tie this rope! Pull that one! Fast, fast, fast! Switch sides! Release that rope! Pull that one! Fast!"
I thought that my Spanish was fairly decent, but I must have been absent from class the day we went over nautical terms, because for the most part I had no idea was he was saying.
Then, he said something I did understand.
"Ay, el no sabe nada." He doesnt know anything.
I stopped what I was doing and turned around.
"El no sabe nada, eh?" I was ready to tear out what was left of his rotting liver.
The captain sighed and responded, "Tranquilo. Es un expresion." Calm down. Its an expression.
No. Im sorry.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Thats an expression.
People in glass houses shoudnt throw stones.
Theres another one.
He doesnt know anything?
Thats pretty much just a blunt statement, if you ask me.
After nearly four hours in the rainy bay, the captain finally decided to call a friend of his who came out to tug us in.
Then, when we reached the dock, the captain looked up and said, "Entonces, quien quiere vodka?"
"Wait just a minute," I said. "We just spent fifty three hours on this boat, four of which were in the pouring rain. And now that were finally here, you expect us all to sit here and drink vodka?
Its nine o clock at night.
Im cold, Im wet, and Im tired.
Im fucking hungry.
I still need to find a place to sleep tonight, and I should really attempt to contact my family after five days at sea.
Vamanos."
Hernando wisely scratched vodka idea, and we exited the boat.
By the time I reached the hostel, I was literally shell shocked. It may have been the first time Ive ever experienced a bout of post-traumatic stress.
I made my way to my room--disheveled and defeated--with my head facing the floor.
"Is that Brandon?" I heard someone say.
I looked up to find Liz and Emily, the two delightful Welsh girls I met on the bus from Costa Rica to Panama, standing in the courtyard of the hostel.
After taking the best shower of my life, they fed me rum and listened to my ridculous tale.
Since sucking my thumb and being held by my mother wasnt an option at the moment, this was the next best thing.
What a fucking trip.
What a wild five days.
Let me start by saying that Im here in Colombia, and Im safe.
Tuesday morning, I was picked up in Panama city by a four-wheel drive vehicle. We drove over the river and through the woods to a motorized canoe, which took me to the San Blas Islands where Hernando and the Stella Luna were anchored.
When I arrived at the boat, Hernando introduced me to Frederick and Anna, a French couple that would be traveling with us to Colombia. Then, Hernando laid down a few basic ground rules, and he explained the itinerary.
As I was expecting, the plan was to spend three days in the San Blas Islands, and then two days of straight sailing on to Colombia.
The San Blas Islands were absolutely gorgeous, and those first three days were some of the most enjoyable days of my journey thus far. Throughout those three days, I was also able to get a good feel for El Capitain, Hernando.
Some of the words one might use to describe Hernando are "carefree," "fun-loving," and "entertaining."
Then again, depending on your experience with Hernando, one might also use the following term:
Sixty year-old, semi-crippled, mildly disgruntled, raging alcoholic.
Perhaps Im being a bit harsh, but Ill allow you to be the judge.
After our three days in the Islands, as we prepared to set sail for Colombia, Hernando sat us down and explained what our next two days at sea would be like.
In Spanish (Hernando doesnt speak a lick of English) he said, "I need the three of you to listen carefully for the next few minutes, because these next two days will be dangerous at times, and everyone will have important responsibility.
First off, it is imperative that once we sail past the Islands and into the open sea, you keep two hands on the boat at all times. The seas can get rough, and I prefer that no one falls in.
Translation: These next two days will be dangerous.
Second, the voyage will take between 40 and 48 hours, and it is absolutely impossible for one person to navigate the boat alone the entire way. Since this is the case, we will be switching off driving duties every two hours until we arrive.
Translation: You will all be expected to carry heavy responsibility.
Third, if I yell at times, it doesnt mean that Im angry, it just means that whatever Im asking you to do must be done immediately.
Translation: Tempers will flare.
And lastly, in the refrigerator, I have packed twelve beers for myself--six for one day and six for the next--and they are not to be touched."
Translation: I will be drunk the entire time.
I had half a mind to exit the boat at that very moment. But, other than the fact that Hernando already had my $400 dollars, there was once simple factor that kept me from pulling the trigger:
I figured that Hernando wanted to see his family in Colombia just as much as I wanted to sleep with a Colombian woman.
As faulty as this logic may have been, I came to the twisted conclusion that if the strength of our two desires were anywhere near equivalent, we would both still be breathing once we reached Colombia.
So off we went.
In the beginning of the voyage, things werent so bad.
I did, however, make it a point to ask a whole bunch of questions:
"How do you turn on the motor?"
"What is our starting location on the map?"
"How does the radio work?"
"What is the compass heading for where we are going?"
Basically, under the guise of insatiable curiousity, I hounded Hernando until I possessed what I thought was sufficient knowledge to navigate the boat to our destination should he have gone into liver failure mid-journey.
Since there were four of us on the boat, each person had two hours on and six hours off when it came to driving. It didnt sound so bad.
It wasnt until I found myself navigating a boat--at four in the morning, in the open sea, with no land in sight, waves crashing down around me, everyone else sleeping--in the pitch black, with nothing more to guide me than an illuminated compass, that it actually hit me.
What in the FUCK is going on?
When my shift was over, just after four A.M., I made my way into the cabin to awake the Frenchman for his driving duties.
He rolled over and peered at me through sleep-deprived eyes, and all I could say was, "Lo siento." Im sorry.
Frederick responded, "No, no. Es nor-mal."
I knew what he was trying to say was that I shouldnt feel bad to wake him up.
Even so, I couldnt help but to mutter, "No. No es FUCKING nor-mal."
I retired to my bed, which was nothing more than a sticky nylon pad covered by a thin sheet --which was completely drenched with sweat from my previous nights sleep--and made an attempt at some sort of rest.
The delicious hot meals we had been provided with for the first three days in the islands were replaced by corn flakes, saltines, and a delightful assortment of rotting, unrefrigerated fruits and vegetables.
Eventually, the smell of those rotting fruits and vegetables pervaded the entire cabin, making it nearly impossible for me to lay my head down without throwing up in my mouth.
During one of my driving shifts, there was a tremendous amount of lumber floating in the water. Instead of taking over, however, the captain just stood there, pointing at the wood and cursing in Spanish, as I deftly maneuvered the field of floating mines.
And that was the story of my life for nearly fifty hours.
Until we reached the bay in Cartagena, that is.
Thats where the real fun began.
Cartagena is a beautiful city on the northwestern coast of Colombia. As we navigated the boat around the final piece of land--rather, as I navigated the boat and the Captain rested off his hangover--and the city came into view, tears of joy began to roll down my sea-hardened face.
Then, it happened.
The wind completely stopped.
This was a minor problem, you see.
Why, you ask?
Well, heres a little analogy to help you understand:
Gas:Cars::_____:Sailboats
Need another one?
Electricity:Kitchen appliances::_____:Sailboats
Catch my drift?
We floated there for about fifteen minutes without moving an inch.
Finally, I spoke up.
"Why dont we try using the motor?" I asked.
There was a motor on the boat that we had used from time to time. Throughout the voyage, however, the captain had been reluctant to use it because, as he had made it a point to mention nearly half a dozen times, "This is a sailboat."
After nearly thirty windless minutes, though, Hernando finally caved in.
"Okay," he said.
He pushed the ignition.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Nothing.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Again, nothing.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch...
Fuck my life.
There we were, floating in the middle of the bay, no more than a few thousand meters from our final destination--sin viento, sin motor.
Without wind. Without motor.
Then came the clouds.
Then the lightning.
And then the rain.
Hard.
As the storm picked up, the wind was intermitent and sporadic.
Now, if you know as much about sailing as I now do, then you know that when the wind is not in your favor, it is often necessary to zig-zag your way to your desired destination. This involves a rapid changing of the sail from one side of the boat to the other.
For nearly three hours, in the pouring rain, the captain sat behind the wheel and barked out orders in Spanish.
"Release that rope! Tie this rope! Pull that one! Fast, fast, fast! Switch sides! Release that rope! Pull that one! Fast!"
I thought that my Spanish was fairly decent, but I must have been absent from class the day we went over nautical terms, because for the most part I had no idea was he was saying.
Then, he said something I did understand.
"Ay, el no sabe nada." He doesnt know anything.
I stopped what I was doing and turned around.
"El no sabe nada, eh?" I was ready to tear out what was left of his rotting liver.
The captain sighed and responded, "Tranquilo. Es un expresion." Calm down. Its an expression.
No. Im sorry.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Thats an expression.
People in glass houses shoudnt throw stones.
Theres another one.
He doesnt know anything?
Thats pretty much just a blunt statement, if you ask me.
After nearly four hours in the rainy bay, the captain finally decided to call a friend of his who came out to tug us in.
Then, when we reached the dock, the captain looked up and said, "Entonces, quien quiere vodka?"
"Wait just a minute," I said. "We just spent fifty three hours on this boat, four of which were in the pouring rain. And now that were finally here, you expect us all to sit here and drink vodka?
Its nine o clock at night.
Im cold, Im wet, and Im tired.
Im fucking hungry.
I still need to find a place to sleep tonight, and I should really attempt to contact my family after five days at sea.
Vamanos."
Hernando wisely scratched vodka idea, and we exited the boat.
By the time I reached the hostel, I was literally shell shocked. It may have been the first time Ive ever experienced a bout of post-traumatic stress.
I made my way to my room--disheveled and defeated--with my head facing the floor.
"Is that Brandon?" I heard someone say.
I looked up to find Liz and Emily, the two delightful Welsh girls I met on the bus from Costa Rica to Panama, standing in the courtyard of the hostel.
After taking the best shower of my life, they fed me rum and listened to my ridculous tale.
Since sucking my thumb and being held by my mother wasnt an option at the moment, this was the next best thing.
What a fucking trip.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Independence
Yesterday, I celebrated my independence (from eight hour bus rides in Panama.)
I woke up early in the morning to catch a bus to Panama City. The bus ride was pretty much an all day affair, and when I arrived at my destination I was exhausted and famished.
Kristian, my Costa Rican father, happens to be in Panama City for the week on business, and we decided to meet up for dinner last night. We ate at an Argentinian BBQ joint--it would have been very un-American of me to not have eaten some sort of grilled meat yesterday--and Kristian picked up the tab, which was completely unnecessary but very nice.
My original plan was to stay in Panama City just long enough to arrange a boat to take me to Colombia. When I arrived yesterday, the hostel explained that this whole "Boat to Colombia" thing isn't exactly a science. Basically, the hostels are in constant contact with boat captains who are constantly making the sail to and from Colombia. The problem, though, is that all of the departure dates are tentative, because at $400 a head the captains don't like to leave until all the beds on the boat are full.
The typical boat voyage is five days long--the first three days are spent hopping through the San Blas Islands (you can google a few images of San Blas to get an idea of how rough my next week will be) and the final two days are spent straight sailing on to Colombia.
Today, I arranged for a sail with a captain called Hernando on a boat called the Stella Luna. Hernando will leave once he has six passengers, and I'm passenger number '4.' So, it looks like we'll still have to wait for two more passengers to sign on.
Originally, I didn't really like the idea of having to wait around. But, I was sold on the idea once I was told that even though the boat may not leave for a couple days, I can still rendezvous with Hernando tomorrow morning and stay on the Stella Luna in the Islands until the boat is full. The total cost of the trip is inclusive of food and lodging for five days, and I won't have to pay any more for the extra days we have to wait until the boat is full.
Basically, the longer it takes us leave, the more free nights of accomodation I'll receive on an archipelago of tropical islands.
Yep. Life is rough.
I don't suspect I'll have internet access for the next week or so while I'm in transit to Colombia.
So, until then, I bid you adieu.
I woke up early in the morning to catch a bus to Panama City. The bus ride was pretty much an all day affair, and when I arrived at my destination I was exhausted and famished.
Kristian, my Costa Rican father, happens to be in Panama City for the week on business, and we decided to meet up for dinner last night. We ate at an Argentinian BBQ joint--it would have been very un-American of me to not have eaten some sort of grilled meat yesterday--and Kristian picked up the tab, which was completely unnecessary but very nice.
My original plan was to stay in Panama City just long enough to arrange a boat to take me to Colombia. When I arrived yesterday, the hostel explained that this whole "Boat to Colombia" thing isn't exactly a science. Basically, the hostels are in constant contact with boat captains who are constantly making the sail to and from Colombia. The problem, though, is that all of the departure dates are tentative, because at $400 a head the captains don't like to leave until all the beds on the boat are full.
The typical boat voyage is five days long--the first three days are spent hopping through the San Blas Islands (you can google a few images of San Blas to get an idea of how rough my next week will be) and the final two days are spent straight sailing on to Colombia.
Today, I arranged for a sail with a captain called Hernando on a boat called the Stella Luna. Hernando will leave once he has six passengers, and I'm passenger number '4.' So, it looks like we'll still have to wait for two more passengers to sign on.
Originally, I didn't really like the idea of having to wait around. But, I was sold on the idea once I was told that even though the boat may not leave for a couple days, I can still rendezvous with Hernando tomorrow morning and stay on the Stella Luna in the Islands until the boat is full. The total cost of the trip is inclusive of food and lodging for five days, and I won't have to pay any more for the extra days we have to wait until the boat is full.
Basically, the longer it takes us leave, the more free nights of accomodation I'll receive on an archipelago of tropical islands.
Yep. Life is rough.
I don't suspect I'll have internet access for the next week or so while I'm in transit to Colombia.
So, until then, I bid you adieu.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Volcan Ba-Who?
One of the things I wanted with my time here in Boquete was to climb Volcan Baru--the highest point in all of Panama.
All I had heard about the hike before I arrived in Boquete was that it was 13.5 kilometers each way, with a grueling uphill climb, and spectacular views (if clear) at the top.
Well, since I´m a huge fan of both grueling uphill climbs AND spectacular views, it seemed only logical that I give it a whirl.
Yesterday, I made it happen.
It´s pretty much a self-guided hike, and there are two typical options that would-be climbers choose:
Option 'A' is to leave town in the middle of the afternoon, camp out just below the peak overnight, and continue on to the summit in the morning to watch the sunrise.
Option 'B' is to leave town around midnight, arrive at the peak for sunrise, and return that same morning.
I chose option 'B,' because I'm crazy enough to walk 27 kilometers in a row, but I'm not crazy enough to camp out in the freezing cold.
I found a group of five others who had decided to attempt the hike, and we spent the day Thursday resting up and gathering supplies. I had to borrow a bunch of cold weather gear from the hostel, and I also borrowed a flashlight that straps to your head.
The hike was supposedly to take five hours, and we decided to set off in two groups. One group planned on leaving the hostel at 11 P.M., to beging hiking at half past eleven. I was afraid that if I left too early, though, I would wind up at the top--twiddling my thumbs and freezing my nuts off--just waiting for the sun to rise. So I found someone who was willing to leave a bit later.
J.P. and I were picked up at the hostel at midnight, and we arrived at the ranger station approximately fifteen minutes later.
Then, at half past midnight, we began our trek up the Volcano.
J.P. and I set out at a rabid pace, and we caught up with the group that had left before us in just under an hour. We all trekked up as a group for a while, but the pace had been a bit slow for my liking.
Then, with six kilometers to go, I made a decision.
I decided to push on ahead, on my own.
The funny thing about hiking at night is that, well, it's dark.
Real dark.
I could only see as far as my light would allow, and during those last six kilometers I was probably more scared than I've ever been in my life.
It was also one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done--I was completely alone, in a forest in Panama, in the pitch dark night, with only a flashlight.
I kept pushing the pace, faster and faster, and I could feel the air getting thinner. The trek started somewhere in the neighborhood of 5,500 feet above sea level, and I was making my way up to a peak that sat at close to 11,500 feet.
At just before five in the morning, I reached what I thought was the peak, and I was severly disappointed to find it was marred with cell phone towers. I couldn't believe I had hiked 13.5 kilometers, over nearly five hours, just to stand among cell towers.
Then, I looked to my right, and I saw a small trail leading past the towers up to what was the actual peak. So, I continued on my way.
The last 30 feet or so can only be desribed as a rock climb.
It probably wasn't the safest decision I've ever made.
But it was certainly one of the best, because at approximately five in the morning--four and a half hours, and 13.5 kilometers later--I was the only human being standing atop the absolute highest point in all of Panama.
Here's a bit of what I saw.
There was a gratuitous cross perched right atop the peak.
The cross's "good side."
The sun rising over the Atlantic coast of Panama.
The sun reflecting off of a cloud that hovered over the Pacific coast of Panama.
Same shot, a bit later on in the morning.
All I had heard about the hike before I arrived in Boquete was that it was 13.5 kilometers each way, with a grueling uphill climb, and spectacular views (if clear) at the top.
Well, since I´m a huge fan of both grueling uphill climbs AND spectacular views, it seemed only logical that I give it a whirl.
Yesterday, I made it happen.
It´s pretty much a self-guided hike, and there are two typical options that would-be climbers choose:
Option 'A' is to leave town in the middle of the afternoon, camp out just below the peak overnight, and continue on to the summit in the morning to watch the sunrise.
Option 'B' is to leave town around midnight, arrive at the peak for sunrise, and return that same morning.
I chose option 'B,' because I'm crazy enough to walk 27 kilometers in a row, but I'm not crazy enough to camp out in the freezing cold.
I found a group of five others who had decided to attempt the hike, and we spent the day Thursday resting up and gathering supplies. I had to borrow a bunch of cold weather gear from the hostel, and I also borrowed a flashlight that straps to your head.
The hike was supposedly to take five hours, and we decided to set off in two groups. One group planned on leaving the hostel at 11 P.M., to beging hiking at half past eleven. I was afraid that if I left too early, though, I would wind up at the top--twiddling my thumbs and freezing my nuts off--just waiting for the sun to rise. So I found someone who was willing to leave a bit later.
J.P. and I were picked up at the hostel at midnight, and we arrived at the ranger station approximately fifteen minutes later.
Then, at half past midnight, we began our trek up the Volcano.
J.P. and I set out at a rabid pace, and we caught up with the group that had left before us in just under an hour. We all trekked up as a group for a while, but the pace had been a bit slow for my liking.
Then, with six kilometers to go, I made a decision.
I decided to push on ahead, on my own.
The funny thing about hiking at night is that, well, it's dark.
Real dark.
I could only see as far as my light would allow, and during those last six kilometers I was probably more scared than I've ever been in my life.
It was also one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done--I was completely alone, in a forest in Panama, in the pitch dark night, with only a flashlight.
I kept pushing the pace, faster and faster, and I could feel the air getting thinner. The trek started somewhere in the neighborhood of 5,500 feet above sea level, and I was making my way up to a peak that sat at close to 11,500 feet.
At just before five in the morning, I reached what I thought was the peak, and I was severly disappointed to find it was marred with cell phone towers. I couldn't believe I had hiked 13.5 kilometers, over nearly five hours, just to stand among cell towers.
Then, I looked to my right, and I saw a small trail leading past the towers up to what was the actual peak. So, I continued on my way.
The last 30 feet or so can only be desribed as a rock climb.
It probably wasn't the safest decision I've ever made.
But it was certainly one of the best, because at approximately five in the morning--four and a half hours, and 13.5 kilometers later--I was the only human being standing atop the absolute highest point in all of Panama.
Here's a bit of what I saw.
There was a gratuitous cross perched right atop the peak.
The cross's "good side."
The sun rising over the Atlantic coast of Panama.
The sun reflecting off of a cloud that hovered over the Pacific coast of Panama.
Same shot, a bit later on in the morning.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Winter break
Early yesterday morning, I left Bocas del Toro en route to my next destination in Panama.
It was a long day of travel.
First, I caught a boat from the Island of Bastimentos to the main Island, Isla Colon, in Bocas. Then I caught a boat to Almirante on the main land. After a solid hour on the water, I took a short taxi ride to the bus station, where I hopped on a bus to the city of David.
The bus ride was an absolute bitch. I was over tired from my second night in a row of partying in the Carribean, my back was severly sunburned, and the bus was packed like a melon truck.
To top things off, the driver had techno music blasting the entire time.
After a five hour bus ride to David, I had to switch buses and go back in the direction from which I came. And after one more hour, this time on a school bus--which was also blasting techno music--I arrived in the town of Boquete.
Home sweet home.
When I arrived at Hostel Mamallena, all I could think about was taking a nap and finding some food.
The hostel owner, Miguel, had other plans in mind.
He offered me a beer while I was getting settled in.
Then he brought me another.
And another.
Well, to make a long story short, I wound up partying the night away with the staff here at the hostel.
They just opened up six months ago and Miguel is working hard to build his business. Now that the hostel is up and running, he told me that he's planning to open up a bar next door.
"Interesting," I said. "It just so happens that I know a thing or two about bars."
Miguel couldn't fathom the fact that I know how to make over twenty different types of margaritas.
"You're just the person we're looking for," he said.
Miguel told me that when I have some time off of school in December he'd like me to come back to Boquete, stay for free, and train his bar staff.
Looks like my winter break is shaping up fairly nicely.
It was a long day of travel.
First, I caught a boat from the Island of Bastimentos to the main Island, Isla Colon, in Bocas. Then I caught a boat to Almirante on the main land. After a solid hour on the water, I took a short taxi ride to the bus station, where I hopped on a bus to the city of David.
The bus ride was an absolute bitch. I was over tired from my second night in a row of partying in the Carribean, my back was severly sunburned, and the bus was packed like a melon truck.
To top things off, the driver had techno music blasting the entire time.
After a five hour bus ride to David, I had to switch buses and go back in the direction from which I came. And after one more hour, this time on a school bus--which was also blasting techno music--I arrived in the town of Boquete.
Home sweet home.
When I arrived at Hostel Mamallena, all I could think about was taking a nap and finding some food.
The hostel owner, Miguel, had other plans in mind.
He offered me a beer while I was getting settled in.
Then he brought me another.
And another.
Well, to make a long story short, I wound up partying the night away with the staff here at the hostel.
They just opened up six months ago and Miguel is working hard to build his business. Now that the hostel is up and running, he told me that he's planning to open up a bar next door.
"Interesting," I said. "It just so happens that I know a thing or two about bars."
Miguel couldn't fathom the fact that I know how to make over twenty different types of margaritas.
"You're just the person we're looking for," he said.
Miguel told me that when I have some time off of school in December he'd like me to come back to Boquete, stay for free, and train his bar staff.
Looks like my winter break is shaping up fairly nicely.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The skinny
Last night, we went skinny dipping in the Carribean Sea.
Ummm, yeah.
I think I'll hang out in Bocas del Toro an extra night.
Ummm, yeah.
I think I'll hang out in Bocas del Toro an extra night.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Good Morning Panama
I just completed my first night in Panama.
Originally, my plan was to leave for Panama two days ago, but the combination of both a lack of sleep and a desire to watch the U.S. Soccer team kept me in Costa Rica for one extra day.
The bus ride was relatively painless, although it was a bit dicey at times. My best guess is that the driver had us on the wrong side of the road for approximately 10% of the trip.
We made excellent time, reaching the Panamanian border in just under four hours.
And that´s where the fun began.
I had read--and I had been told by others--that to enter Panama, it was necessary to show proof of either a return ticket to Costa Rica, or of onward travel. On the bus, I met four girls--two from Texas and two from Wales--who had been told the same and had purchased a roundtrip ticket when they first boarded to avoid any problems.
I, on the other hand, had not purchased a return ticket. But, I had also read that the particular border crossing we would be traversing was fairly lax, so I decided to try my luck with a printout of my CheapTickets return flight confirmation from Bogota, Colombia.
One by one, the immigrations officer stamped the passports of the people ahead of me in the queue.
Then it was my turn.
(In Spanish)
"Passport please."
I handed the dude my passport.
"Ticket please."
I handed him the printout. "I leave from Bogota, Colombia," I said.
He didn´t waste any time. "This says that you leave from Bogota, Colombia, but it does show that you will leave Panama."
I had a feeling he might say something like that. In fact, I was prepared for that exact reponse.
I decided to push my luck.
"Well, now that I´m technically IN Panama, it is physically impossible for me to leave from Bogota, Colombia without first LEAVING Panama.
The immigrations officer gave the gears in his head a moment to churn.
Then he stamped my passport, gave me an army-style salute, and sent me on my way.
And off I bounced, down through Banana Country, my impenetrable logic having saved me twelve bucks at the Panamanian border.
Originally, my plan was to leave for Panama two days ago, but the combination of both a lack of sleep and a desire to watch the U.S. Soccer team kept me in Costa Rica for one extra day.
The bus ride was relatively painless, although it was a bit dicey at times. My best guess is that the driver had us on the wrong side of the road for approximately 10% of the trip.
We made excellent time, reaching the Panamanian border in just under four hours.
And that´s where the fun began.
I had read--and I had been told by others--that to enter Panama, it was necessary to show proof of either a return ticket to Costa Rica, or of onward travel. On the bus, I met four girls--two from Texas and two from Wales--who had been told the same and had purchased a roundtrip ticket when they first boarded to avoid any problems.
I, on the other hand, had not purchased a return ticket. But, I had also read that the particular border crossing we would be traversing was fairly lax, so I decided to try my luck with a printout of my CheapTickets return flight confirmation from Bogota, Colombia.
One by one, the immigrations officer stamped the passports of the people ahead of me in the queue.
Then it was my turn.
(In Spanish)
"Passport please."
I handed the dude my passport.
"Ticket please."
I handed him the printout. "I leave from Bogota, Colombia," I said.
He didn´t waste any time. "This says that you leave from Bogota, Colombia, but it does show that you will leave Panama."
I had a feeling he might say something like that. In fact, I was prepared for that exact reponse.
I decided to push my luck.
"Well, now that I´m technically IN Panama, it is physically impossible for me to leave from Bogota, Colombia without first LEAVING Panama.
The immigrations officer gave the gears in his head a moment to churn.
Then he stamped my passport, gave me an army-style salute, and sent me on my way.
And off I bounced, down through Banana Country, my impenetrable logic having saved me twelve bucks at the Panamanian border.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Cranky Pants
Okay, so since my last post I´ve changed out of my cranky pants.
Today, I caught an early bus from Santa Elena back to San Jose to stay with Kristian and his family for a night before heading off to Panama tomorrow morning.
I still decided that I´ll skip some places in Costa Rica in favor of a few more days in the other countries, but I´m not the Debbie Downer I was yesterday. (Perhaps the three hour siesta I just took has something to do with that.)
I´d still love the opportunity to see the Costa Rican beaches, but since Kristian has already invited me back in December to camp on the beach with his friends and family I think I can wait the extra few months.
Anyway, I´m really excited for Bocas del Toro, Panama in the morning.
(Not so much for the eight hour bus ride. But, hey, you gotta pay to play.)
Today, I caught an early bus from Santa Elena back to San Jose to stay with Kristian and his family for a night before heading off to Panama tomorrow morning.
I still decided that I´ll skip some places in Costa Rica in favor of a few more days in the other countries, but I´m not the Debbie Downer I was yesterday. (Perhaps the three hour siesta I just took has something to do with that.)
I´d still love the opportunity to see the Costa Rican beaches, but since Kristian has already invited me back in December to camp on the beach with his friends and family I think I can wait the extra few months.
Anyway, I´m really excited for Bocas del Toro, Panama in the morning.
(Not so much for the eight hour bus ride. But, hey, you gotta pay to play.)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Lets Blow This Popsicle Stand
So, Ill cut right to the chase.
I decided today that its time to make an early exit from Costa Rica.
Ive been traveling solo here for just over three weeks now. The country is beautiful, the people are warm and inviting, and the other travelers Ive met along the way have been nothing less than spectacular.
The tourism, however, is out of control.
Maybe its due to the fact that I got a glimpse of real Costa Rican life while living with Kristian and his family, but it seems as though the rest of the country just does not offer what Im looking for.
I hate to use such a strong term, but there is really only one way to describe it...
Tourist trap.
There are fees waiting at every corner, and its become a bit overwhelming.
Yesterday, I switched my lodging here in Santa Elena from a private room to a shared room. One of the girls in the room just finished a two year stint in the Peace Corps in Peru, and has been traveling up through South and Central America. We talked for a long while, and when I told her my feelings on Costa Rica she agreed, saying that Panama and Colombia are much less touristy, and have much more of a local feel.
The beauty of traveling without plans, though, is that Im free to do as I please. I called up Kristian today and asked him if I could return to his house tomorrow afternoon instead of later on this weekend. Ill spend the night there on Friday, and head over towards the Panama border on Saturday.
Ive truly enjoyed my time in Costa Rica thus far, and its been as experience Ill never forget, but I just feel in my gut like its time to move on.
I decided today that its time to make an early exit from Costa Rica.
Ive been traveling solo here for just over three weeks now. The country is beautiful, the people are warm and inviting, and the other travelers Ive met along the way have been nothing less than spectacular.
The tourism, however, is out of control.
Maybe its due to the fact that I got a glimpse of real Costa Rican life while living with Kristian and his family, but it seems as though the rest of the country just does not offer what Im looking for.
I hate to use such a strong term, but there is really only one way to describe it...
Tourist trap.
There are fees waiting at every corner, and its become a bit overwhelming.
Yesterday, I switched my lodging here in Santa Elena from a private room to a shared room. One of the girls in the room just finished a two year stint in the Peace Corps in Peru, and has been traveling up through South and Central America. We talked for a long while, and when I told her my feelings on Costa Rica she agreed, saying that Panama and Colombia are much less touristy, and have much more of a local feel.
The beauty of traveling without plans, though, is that Im free to do as I please. I called up Kristian today and asked him if I could return to his house tomorrow afternoon instead of later on this weekend. Ill spend the night there on Friday, and head over towards the Panama border on Saturday.
Ive truly enjoyed my time in Costa Rica thus far, and its been as experience Ill never forget, but I just feel in my gut like its time to move on.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Chillin ill
Sorry again for the delay.
Ill just apologize now, once, for the remainder of my journey. The place Im staying at has two computers for over fifty backpackers, and the town has one "internet cafe" with the same number of computers.
Anyway, when I first left the States I had made a sort of vow to myself that when it came to cuisine, I would always seek out the most local food I could find. Even though Im on a fairly lengthy trip, my time is still limited, so I figured itd be best to stay away from the stuff I can find back home.
Two nights ago I caved in.
A group of my new friends from the hostel had decided on pizza and, well, peer pressure is a bitch.
I had two slices.
And that night I vomited.
Hard.
Im not sure if it was the pizza, or my if it was my own stench from not having showered for three days that actually induced the vomiting. Either way, it blew chunks.
Yesterday morning, I had scheduled the infamous jeep-boat-jeep transfer from La Fortuna to the town of Santa Elena near the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve.
If traveling by public transportation, the trip takes nearly eight hours and costs about six bucks. The jeep-boat-jeep took just over three hours--the boat portion cuts right across a lake that the buses are forced to drive around--and it put me a twenty-spot in the hole.
It definitely wasnt jeep-boat-jeep, though. It was more like van-boat-van. And still sick from the night before, it felt like unicycle-boat-unicycle given how bumpy the goddamn roads were.
Deprived of sleep the previous two nights, I had arranged a private room at the Pension Santa Elena. It was a good thing, because when I arrived I was over-tired, I had a splitting headache, and I felt like I was going to puke.
I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Pension Santa Elena, run by a brother-sister duo from Texas, was a shoestring hostel known for over-the-top service and accomodation.
Right they were.
I was told when I made the reservation that I would be asked to pay for my first nights stay and transportation upon arrival. When I arrived, Diego at the front desk showed me directly to my room, handed me a key, and turned to walk away.
I called out after him. "So, should do I pay now, or when I leave, or..."
Diego turned around, put both hands up in front of him, and said, "Tranquilo. Descansa." Calm down. Relax. "We will deal with that later."
That was exactly what I needed to hear.
I passed out for three hours--through the heart of a viscious rain storm--and I spent the remainder of the night regrouping, relaxing, and re-evaluating my options.
Today I feel like a million bucks.
My plan for the remainder of the day is to grab a cup of Costa Rican blackpot brew, watch the U.S. World Cup match over a plate of Gallo Pinto, and frolic in the rain forest.
Ill just apologize now, once, for the remainder of my journey. The place Im staying at has two computers for over fifty backpackers, and the town has one "internet cafe" with the same number of computers.
Anyway, when I first left the States I had made a sort of vow to myself that when it came to cuisine, I would always seek out the most local food I could find. Even though Im on a fairly lengthy trip, my time is still limited, so I figured itd be best to stay away from the stuff I can find back home.
Two nights ago I caved in.
A group of my new friends from the hostel had decided on pizza and, well, peer pressure is a bitch.
I had two slices.
And that night I vomited.
Hard.
Im not sure if it was the pizza, or my if it was my own stench from not having showered for three days that actually induced the vomiting. Either way, it blew chunks.
Yesterday morning, I had scheduled the infamous jeep-boat-jeep transfer from La Fortuna to the town of Santa Elena near the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve.
If traveling by public transportation, the trip takes nearly eight hours and costs about six bucks. The jeep-boat-jeep took just over three hours--the boat portion cuts right across a lake that the buses are forced to drive around--and it put me a twenty-spot in the hole.
It definitely wasnt jeep-boat-jeep, though. It was more like van-boat-van. And still sick from the night before, it felt like unicycle-boat-unicycle given how bumpy the goddamn roads were.
Deprived of sleep the previous two nights, I had arranged a private room at the Pension Santa Elena. It was a good thing, because when I arrived I was over-tired, I had a splitting headache, and I felt like I was going to puke.
I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Pension Santa Elena, run by a brother-sister duo from Texas, was a shoestring hostel known for over-the-top service and accomodation.
Right they were.
I was told when I made the reservation that I would be asked to pay for my first nights stay and transportation upon arrival. When I arrived, Diego at the front desk showed me directly to my room, handed me a key, and turned to walk away.
I called out after him. "So, should do I pay now, or when I leave, or..."
Diego turned around, put both hands up in front of him, and said, "Tranquilo. Descansa." Calm down. Relax. "We will deal with that later."
That was exactly what I needed to hear.
I passed out for three hours--through the heart of a viscious rain storm--and I spent the remainder of the night regrouping, relaxing, and re-evaluating my options.
Today I feel like a million bucks.
My plan for the remainder of the day is to grab a cup of Costa Rican blackpot brew, watch the U.S. World Cup match over a plate of Gallo Pinto, and frolic in the rain forest.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Buena Fortuna
Hey, all.
Well, I survived my first cross-country bus trip in Costa Rica.
Yesterday afternoon I arrived in La Fortuna, the gateway to the Arenal Volcano. The bus left from San Jose at just after six in the morning, and we made a forty minute stop for snacks in a town called Ciudad Quesada before continuing on to our final destination.
For the first half of the ride, I sat next to a little old Costa Rican lady who was more than happy to help me practice my Spanish. I understood most of what she was saying, but when she started telling about how I should ask God for foregiveness every morning when I wake up, I conveniently began to suffer some translational problems.
When I arrived in La Fortuna I made my way straight to the hostel, Arenal Backpackers, where I had arranged two nights stay in a dorm room. Truth be told, I was a little hesistant about staying in a shared room. But, after five minutes in the room I realized what a blast these next six weeks will be.
Not only is everyone I´ve met a whole ton of fun to hang out with, but since everyone is in the same boat everyone has unique information to share with the rest of the group.
Jenny just arrived from where I´m going next. Arlen came from where I´m headed in three days. Rachel left this morning for where I´ll be going at the end of the week. I just came from where Brent is heading next.
And so it goes.
It´s one big incestuous cesspool of tourist experience.
After settling in, I signed up for a tour that a few of my new friends were going on, as well. We took a hike around the Arenal Volcano--in the middle of a cloud, in the pouring rain--and we finished the night with a buffet dinner, and two hours in the hot springs.
Again in the rain.
This morning, I had my heart set on taking a hike up to the lake-filled crater of a dormant volcano. I enlisted the company of Arlen and Charles, two of my new compadres from the previous night. We set off just before eight in the morning, and we arrived at the crater by ten.
We were the only people there.
We took a swim in our own private volcanic lagoon, ate a few snacks, and started heading back.
In the rain.
And tomorrow morning, I´m taking a jeep-boat-jeep combo en route to the rain forest.
Yeah, they´ve got rain there, too.
I´ll be sure to post some pictures when I don´t have an angry Swede breathing down my neck to use the free internet.
Well, I survived my first cross-country bus trip in Costa Rica.
Yesterday afternoon I arrived in La Fortuna, the gateway to the Arenal Volcano. The bus left from San Jose at just after six in the morning, and we made a forty minute stop for snacks in a town called Ciudad Quesada before continuing on to our final destination.
For the first half of the ride, I sat next to a little old Costa Rican lady who was more than happy to help me practice my Spanish. I understood most of what she was saying, but when she started telling about how I should ask God for foregiveness every morning when I wake up, I conveniently began to suffer some translational problems.
When I arrived in La Fortuna I made my way straight to the hostel, Arenal Backpackers, where I had arranged two nights stay in a dorm room. Truth be told, I was a little hesistant about staying in a shared room. But, after five minutes in the room I realized what a blast these next six weeks will be.
Not only is everyone I´ve met a whole ton of fun to hang out with, but since everyone is in the same boat everyone has unique information to share with the rest of the group.
Jenny just arrived from where I´m going next. Arlen came from where I´m headed in three days. Rachel left this morning for where I´ll be going at the end of the week. I just came from where Brent is heading next.
And so it goes.
It´s one big incestuous cesspool of tourist experience.
After settling in, I signed up for a tour that a few of my new friends were going on, as well. We took a hike around the Arenal Volcano--in the middle of a cloud, in the pouring rain--and we finished the night with a buffet dinner, and two hours in the hot springs.
Again in the rain.
This morning, I had my heart set on taking a hike up to the lake-filled crater of a dormant volcano. I enlisted the company of Arlen and Charles, two of my new compadres from the previous night. We set off just before eight in the morning, and we arrived at the crater by ten.
We were the only people there.
We took a swim in our own private volcanic lagoon, ate a few snacks, and started heading back.
In the rain.
And tomorrow morning, I´m taking a jeep-boat-jeep combo en route to the rain forest.
Yeah, they´ve got rain there, too.
I´ll be sure to post some pictures when I don´t have an angry Swede breathing down my neck to use the free internet.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Spelling bee
(Note: Tomorrow is a travel day, so I´m not sure exactly when I´ll have internet access next.)
Last night, Kristian asked me if I wanted to take a ride over to the children´s school to catch the tail end of a spelling bee. His wife, Denise, had been roped into selling key chains at some stand and the family was going to keep her company.
Truth be told, I wasn´t really all about going. But Kristian seemed to be all about having me tag along, and it was really one of the last opportunities I would have to spend some quality time with the family.
So, Sophia, Mariana, Kristian, and I packed into the car. Sophia kicked the back of my seat for the entire ride--quality family time--and by the time we arrived I had a mild case of whiplash.
We made our way into the gymnasium.
The spelling bee was already in full swing, and as we searched for seats and I soaked in the environment something seemed to be just a bit off that I couldn´t quite put my finger on.
Then it hit me.
To my surprise--and heavily biased delight--the spelling bee was in English.
Oh, shush you. I know. I´m here to learn Spanish. But, sometimes after long days of concentrating really hard on what everyone around me is saying, my head feels like it´s about to explode. Hearing my native tongue last night was the equivalent of throwing back 600mg of Motrin.
I´m actually really glad that I went. In fact, I highly recommend that everyone attends an elementary school spelling bee at least once in their life. Not only was it fairly enjoyable, but I also learned two important things about myself last night that I hadn´t previously known.
1) I learned that I may NOT be smarter than a fifth grader:
As perhaps the only native English speaker in the crowd, I couldn´t help but to either nod or shake my head as each letter was spoken. What I didn´t realize, though, was that my family and a few people around me were watching MY reaction to each word, instead of waiting for the judges.
See where this is going?
One of the contestants stepped up to the microphone and began to spell, and letter by letter I nodded my head. The flawless English spelling was music to my tired little ears.
Then, out came a letter that made me wince.
And everyone around me sighed.
Naturally, the kid was correct.
Now, I "don´t remember" exactly what the word was. But the judges were obviously going by the Olde English spelling. That´s my story and I´m stickin´ to it.
2) I learned that I´m not as nice a person as I thought I was:
Have you ever wished failure upon a five-year old? Well, if you have it in you to sit through two hours of a spelling bee without praying for "one these damn overachieving kids to just mess up already," then you deserve a Nobel Prize.
By the end of the night, each time a new word was presented, I couldn´t help but to think anything but, "You´re done, kid. You´re done."
It seemed as though infants were nailing words like, `miscommunication,` `outrageous,` and `atrioventricular.`
Gimme that damn microphone.
The word is, ¨Antidisestablishmentarianism."
Game over.
Vamanos.
Last night, Kristian asked me if I wanted to take a ride over to the children´s school to catch the tail end of a spelling bee. His wife, Denise, had been roped into selling key chains at some stand and the family was going to keep her company.
Truth be told, I wasn´t really all about going. But Kristian seemed to be all about having me tag along, and it was really one of the last opportunities I would have to spend some quality time with the family.
So, Sophia, Mariana, Kristian, and I packed into the car. Sophia kicked the back of my seat for the entire ride--quality family time--and by the time we arrived I had a mild case of whiplash.
We made our way into the gymnasium.
The spelling bee was already in full swing, and as we searched for seats and I soaked in the environment something seemed to be just a bit off that I couldn´t quite put my finger on.
Then it hit me.
To my surprise--and heavily biased delight--the spelling bee was in English.
Oh, shush you. I know. I´m here to learn Spanish. But, sometimes after long days of concentrating really hard on what everyone around me is saying, my head feels like it´s about to explode. Hearing my native tongue last night was the equivalent of throwing back 600mg of Motrin.
I´m actually really glad that I went. In fact, I highly recommend that everyone attends an elementary school spelling bee at least once in their life. Not only was it fairly enjoyable, but I also learned two important things about myself last night that I hadn´t previously known.
1) I learned that I may NOT be smarter than a fifth grader:
As perhaps the only native English speaker in the crowd, I couldn´t help but to either nod or shake my head as each letter was spoken. What I didn´t realize, though, was that my family and a few people around me were watching MY reaction to each word, instead of waiting for the judges.
See where this is going?
One of the contestants stepped up to the microphone and began to spell, and letter by letter I nodded my head. The flawless English spelling was music to my tired little ears.
Then, out came a letter that made me wince.
And everyone around me sighed.
Naturally, the kid was correct.
Now, I "don´t remember" exactly what the word was. But the judges were obviously going by the Olde English spelling. That´s my story and I´m stickin´ to it.
2) I learned that I´m not as nice a person as I thought I was:
Have you ever wished failure upon a five-year old? Well, if you have it in you to sit through two hours of a spelling bee without praying for "one these damn overachieving kids to just mess up already," then you deserve a Nobel Prize.
By the end of the night, each time a new word was presented, I couldn´t help but to think anything but, "You´re done, kid. You´re done."
It seemed as though infants were nailing words like, `miscommunication,` `outrageous,` and `atrioventricular.`
Gimme that damn microphone.
The word is, ¨Antidisestablishmentarianism."
Game over.
Vamanos.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Another day at the office
So, today was a national holiday in Costa Rica.
Can you guess which one?
National-Bring-A-Gringo-To-Work Day!
That´s right. My Tico father asked me to come to work with him today. At first, I was a little hesitant because I didn´t want to get in the way. But when I told him as much, Kristian simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Es Viernes."
It´s Friday.
So, we woke up early this morning, ate breakfast, watched the United States World Cup match, and skipped into work late. I spent the majority of the morning researching hostels and making reservations for next week.
Then, at around 11:30, my number was called.
"Bran-don!" Kristian screamed.
I walked into his office to find Kristian and his four co-workers standing there, staring at the computer screen. They looked at me, then looked down at the empty chair.
"Sit," Kristian said. "Write letter. English."
So, I sat down in front of the screen, and with my trusty Spanish-English dictionary in my lap I began to gather information.
Kristian is the general manager of the Costa Rican branch of a small company that imports medical equipment. This August, Kristian´s company, DuoTec, will be hosting a booth at the Urology Congress of Central America. It´s basically a big medical equipment sales convention.
In order to show a product at the convention, Kristian´s company first needs to import the product. And in order to import the product they need to furnish the Minister of Health in Costa Rica with all of the technical specifications of the product, in order to gain approval. Apparently, the company that produces the product has been dropping the proverbial ball, and the clock is ticking.
Good thing DuoTec had a blogging beast in the office this afternoon.
After twenty minutes of translation, I was ready to write.
I drafted a letter to some dude, at some company in Atlanta, that contained a detailed list of the information Kristian´s company needs (read: the information I could gather they needed), explained why the issue was so urgent (read: why I interpreted the issue to be so urgent), and thanked them for their prompt attention regarding the matter.
Then, Kristian threw his name at the bottom, clicked "send," and bought me lunch.
Yep. Just another day at the office.
Can you guess which one?
National-Bring-A-Gringo-To-Work Day!
That´s right. My Tico father asked me to come to work with him today. At first, I was a little hesitant because I didn´t want to get in the way. But when I told him as much, Kristian simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Es Viernes."
It´s Friday.
So, we woke up early this morning, ate breakfast, watched the United States World Cup match, and skipped into work late. I spent the majority of the morning researching hostels and making reservations for next week.
Then, at around 11:30, my number was called.
"Bran-don!" Kristian screamed.
I walked into his office to find Kristian and his four co-workers standing there, staring at the computer screen. They looked at me, then looked down at the empty chair.
"Sit," Kristian said. "Write letter. English."
So, I sat down in front of the screen, and with my trusty Spanish-English dictionary in my lap I began to gather information.
Kristian is the general manager of the Costa Rican branch of a small company that imports medical equipment. This August, Kristian´s company, DuoTec, will be hosting a booth at the Urology Congress of Central America. It´s basically a big medical equipment sales convention.
In order to show a product at the convention, Kristian´s company first needs to import the product. And in order to import the product they need to furnish the Minister of Health in Costa Rica with all of the technical specifications of the product, in order to gain approval. Apparently, the company that produces the product has been dropping the proverbial ball, and the clock is ticking.
Good thing DuoTec had a blogging beast in the office this afternoon.
After twenty minutes of translation, I was ready to write.
I drafted a letter to some dude, at some company in Atlanta, that contained a detailed list of the information Kristian´s company needs (read: the information I could gather they needed), explained why the issue was so urgent (read: why I interpreted the issue to be so urgent), and thanked them for their prompt attention regarding the matter.
Then, Kristian threw his name at the bottom, clicked "send," and bought me lunch.
Yep. Just another day at the office.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
School´s out for the summer
My three weeks of school here in Costa Rica have officially come to an end.
Now it´s time to play.
Here´s a map of Costa Rica, in order to help you visualize the proposed itinerary for the next leg of my trip:
If you´ll direct your attention to the northeast portion of the map, you´ll find the town of Tortuguero. Tortuguero is the location of the national park I visited--and blogged about-- during my first weekend in Costa Rica. If you´ll look just west of the red star you´ll notice Alajuela. Alajuela is the location of both the Volcano, and the coffee plantation I visited--and subsequently blogged about--during my second weekend here.
The different regions of Costa Rica have many unique experiences to offer. In the remainder of my time here, I´d like to see as much as I can.
Here´s the plan:
On Sunday morning, I´ll head into San Jose bright and early and catch a bus to the town of La Fortuna, located to the northwest of San Jose on the map. La Fortuna is the gateway to Arenal--the most active volcano in the country--and on the clear nights in La Fortuna you can see lava spewing from the peak. There´s a six-hour hike in La Fortuna--beginning at a waterfall, and ending at the peak of an extinct volcano--which I´d like to tackle. It´s also supposed to be a pretty cool little town just for "hanging out." So that´s where I´ll spend Sunday and Monday night.
Early Tuesday morning it´s off to Monteverde, located just southwest of La Fortuna on the map. Home to a biological cloud forest reserve, Monteverde can only be described as an ecotourist´s wet dream. After checking into my lodging on Tuesday, I´ll see if I can take a guided hike through the forest to catch a glimpse of some wildlife. Monteverde is also home to the country´s best canopy tours (think ziplining from tree to tree, amidst a rainforest, a hundred feet above the ground, with monkeys.) That´s what I´ll do on Wednesday.
After a hearty night´s sleep, I´ll make a b-line for the famed beach town of Tamarindo, located on the northeast Pacific Coast, in Costa Rica´s Guanacaste region. I´ll spend the remainder of my Thursday on the beach, and on Friday I´ll surf.
For the first time.
My host father is twisting my arm to use his house as a central command post during the remainder of my travels in Costa Rica. So, in an effort to please the masses, I´ll return to San Jose on either Friday night or Saturday morning, where I´ll regroup, as well as collect all of the extra luggage which Kristian has demanded I leave at his house during my first week of solo travel.
Back at the lair, I´ll rest up for a night before heading off on the next leg of my trip.
Oh, what a brutal week it shall be.
Now it´s time to play.
Here´s a map of Costa Rica, in order to help you visualize the proposed itinerary for the next leg of my trip:
The town I´ve been living in for the past three weeks is marked by the red star. (Eco Praderas is a farm that´s apparently for sale in Coronado. I ganked this map from some realtor´s website.)
If you´ll direct your attention to the northeast portion of the map, you´ll find the town of Tortuguero. Tortuguero is the location of the national park I visited--and blogged about-- during my first weekend in Costa Rica. If you´ll look just west of the red star you´ll notice Alajuela. Alajuela is the location of both the Volcano, and the coffee plantation I visited--and subsequently blogged about--during my second weekend here.
The different regions of Costa Rica have many unique experiences to offer. In the remainder of my time here, I´d like to see as much as I can.
Here´s the plan:
On Sunday morning, I´ll head into San Jose bright and early and catch a bus to the town of La Fortuna, located to the northwest of San Jose on the map. La Fortuna is the gateway to Arenal--the most active volcano in the country--and on the clear nights in La Fortuna you can see lava spewing from the peak. There´s a six-hour hike in La Fortuna--beginning at a waterfall, and ending at the peak of an extinct volcano--which I´d like to tackle. It´s also supposed to be a pretty cool little town just for "hanging out." So that´s where I´ll spend Sunday and Monday night.
Early Tuesday morning it´s off to Monteverde, located just southwest of La Fortuna on the map. Home to a biological cloud forest reserve, Monteverde can only be described as an ecotourist´s wet dream. After checking into my lodging on Tuesday, I´ll see if I can take a guided hike through the forest to catch a glimpse of some wildlife. Monteverde is also home to the country´s best canopy tours (think ziplining from tree to tree, amidst a rainforest, a hundred feet above the ground, with monkeys.) That´s what I´ll do on Wednesday.
After a hearty night´s sleep, I´ll make a b-line for the famed beach town of Tamarindo, located on the northeast Pacific Coast, in Costa Rica´s Guanacaste region. I´ll spend the remainder of my Thursday on the beach, and on Friday I´ll surf.
For the first time.
My host father is twisting my arm to use his house as a central command post during the remainder of my travels in Costa Rica. So, in an effort to please the masses, I´ll return to San Jose on either Friday night or Saturday morning, where I´ll regroup, as well as collect all of the extra luggage which Kristian has demanded I leave at his house during my first week of solo travel.
Back at the lair, I´ll rest up for a night before heading off on the next leg of my trip.
Oh, what a brutal week it shall be.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I have arrived
Every morning, the walk from my house to the language school takes approximately twelve minutes.
During those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to cross the road approximately three times.
Also during those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to change my underwear with a frequency that´s directly proportional to the number of crossings.
Bottom line: The drivers in Costa Rica are absolutely insane.
In just over two weeks, though--after much trial and error--I´ve nearly perfected my road crossing technique.
You see, folks. I´ve developed a fairly basic, two-step method for Costa Rican road crossing. Not only is it a highly functional method, but it also minimizes both the overall risk of bodily harm to the crosser, as well as the total amount of feces accumulation in the crosser´s "pantalones" during any one isolated crossing.
Are you ready?
Here it is:
(Copyright 2010--Gringo Central, Inc.--Patent Pending)
Step 1: Wait until there are no cars in sight. (The use of a telescope is preferred, but if there are no sight augmentation devices available, then the largest distance detectable by the naked human eye is sufficient.)
Step 2: Run.
It´s beauty is in it´s simplicity. My heart stays beating, and my pants stay shitless.
Another facet of Costa Rican road etiquette that has had me completely baffled is the excessive use of the horn.
Take a stroll through the town of Coronado on any given day, and you´re bound to be met with a caucophony of vehicular flatulation. What makes this phenomenon so puzzling, though, is that to the untrained observer it seems like all of these cars are honking at nothing.
Actually, what it really seems like is that they´re always honking at you.
Earlier this week, though, I took a ride around town with Kristian´s best friend, Luis, and I cracked the code. Luis is thirty-five years old, and he´s lived in Coronado all his life. Well, from the moment I entered his car to the moment I exited, he honked his horn at nearly everyone he saw.
And they all waived back.
So, that cleared that up. None of the honks I´ve heard in the past two-and-a-half weeks have been intended for me.
That is, until "The Moment."
Yesterday, after leaving the grocery store, I was standing at the corner waiting to employ the GCMCRCR (Gringo Central Method for Crossing Roads in Costa Rica) when, suddenly, I heard an incessant series of honks. I turned my head, and low-and-behold I saw Ricardo, the driver from the language school, whipping around the bend in his van, waiving out the window.
"Bran-don!" he screamed.
I smiled and casually waived back (as we people here in Coronado often do when someone we know honks at us.)
Ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.
During those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to cross the road approximately three times.
Also during those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to change my underwear with a frequency that´s directly proportional to the number of crossings.
Bottom line: The drivers in Costa Rica are absolutely insane.
In just over two weeks, though--after much trial and error--I´ve nearly perfected my road crossing technique.
You see, folks. I´ve developed a fairly basic, two-step method for Costa Rican road crossing. Not only is it a highly functional method, but it also minimizes both the overall risk of bodily harm to the crosser, as well as the total amount of feces accumulation in the crosser´s "pantalones" during any one isolated crossing.
Are you ready?
Here it is:
(Copyright 2010--Gringo Central, Inc.--Patent Pending)
Step 1: Wait until there are no cars in sight. (The use of a telescope is preferred, but if there are no sight augmentation devices available, then the largest distance detectable by the naked human eye is sufficient.)
Step 2: Run.
It´s beauty is in it´s simplicity. My heart stays beating, and my pants stay shitless.
Another facet of Costa Rican road etiquette that has had me completely baffled is the excessive use of the horn.
Take a stroll through the town of Coronado on any given day, and you´re bound to be met with a caucophony of vehicular flatulation. What makes this phenomenon so puzzling, though, is that to the untrained observer it seems like all of these cars are honking at nothing.
Actually, what it really seems like is that they´re always honking at you.
Earlier this week, though, I took a ride around town with Kristian´s best friend, Luis, and I cracked the code. Luis is thirty-five years old, and he´s lived in Coronado all his life. Well, from the moment I entered his car to the moment I exited, he honked his horn at nearly everyone he saw.
And they all waived back.
So, that cleared that up. None of the honks I´ve heard in the past two-and-a-half weeks have been intended for me.
That is, until "The Moment."
Yesterday, after leaving the grocery store, I was standing at the corner waiting to employ the GCMCRCR (Gringo Central Method for Crossing Roads in Costa Rica) when, suddenly, I heard an incessant series of honks. I turned my head, and low-and-behold I saw Ricardo, the driver from the language school, whipping around the bend in his van, waiving out the window.
"Bran-don!" he screamed.
I smiled and casually waived back (as we people here in Coronado often do when someone we know honks at us.)
Ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Riches to Rags
Yesterday afternoon, my Costa Rican mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking completely defeated. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, she turned to me and said, "Brandon, I don´t know what to make for dinner."
Eventually, she figured it out. And it was absolutely delicious. So, while we were cleaning up the kitchen last night, I offered to cook dinner for tonight.
After class today, I took a trip to the grocery store to gather ingredients for the meal. On my way, I made my first ever stop at a Costa Rican ATM machine. I ran through the selections, withdrew sufficient funds for dinner, and awaited my receipt.
Now, when I left the States, I knew just about how much money I had in my account. But when the receipt popped out and I glanced at my balance, I almost fainted.
Are you ready?
Account Balance:
$1,800,216.35
Ball-errrr!
It took about a second-and-a-half for me to realize that my balance was in Costa Rican Colones (CRC), but it was the best second-and-a-half of my life.
I´m a Costa Rican Millionaire, bitches.
So off I went, with my wads of cash, to the supermarket, Mas por Menos (More for Less.)
I still had no idea what to cook, so when I got there I took a moment to think it through. I wanted to cook something my family doesn´t eat very often. I also needed to find something the kids would eat, too. After a few minutes, I decided on Chicken Parmesan.
Simple to make, and a real fan favorite.
I used a combination of broken Spanish and sign language to explain to the butcher how I wanted the chicken. Then I did some quick math in my head before asking the deli counter for a quarter kilogram of mozarella cheese. And I was able to find most of the other ingredients on my own. The only thing I had trouble with was bread crumbs, but after searching for close to fifteen minute I decided to make a fool of myself. I pulled aside one of the workers, and asked him where I could find the, "pan en polvo."
"Excuse me, sir. Where can I find the powdered bread?"
It wasn´t pretty, but it got the job done.
Then I took it all up to the register.
Remember that little incident at the ATM machine? Well, go ahead and play that in reverse, and that´s what it felt like at the checkout counter.
I didn´t realize it while I was filling up my basket, but there´s a reason why they eat rice and beans in Costa Rica--it´s because things like parmesean cheese and tomato sauce are imported. To make a long story short, I got banged up for $20,000 CRC (almost $40 USD.)
Ouch.
On my walk back home, I passed by some guy on the side of the road selling avocados out of the trunk of his car. They were the biggest freakin´avocados I´ve ever seen. We´re talkin´avocados on HGH.
And cheap.
But what´s more weird? The fact that some dude was selling avocados out of the trunk of his car, or the fact that when I got home and told my Costa Rican father, his response was:
"Oh, man! Was he parked right up the street from the grocery store? If I had known he was there I would have told you to buy some--they´re the best avocados in town!"
Eventually, she figured it out. And it was absolutely delicious. So, while we were cleaning up the kitchen last night, I offered to cook dinner for tonight.
After class today, I took a trip to the grocery store to gather ingredients for the meal. On my way, I made my first ever stop at a Costa Rican ATM machine. I ran through the selections, withdrew sufficient funds for dinner, and awaited my receipt.
Now, when I left the States, I knew just about how much money I had in my account. But when the receipt popped out and I glanced at my balance, I almost fainted.
Are you ready?
Account Balance:
$1,800,216.35
Ball-errrr!
It took about a second-and-a-half for me to realize that my balance was in Costa Rican Colones (CRC), but it was the best second-and-a-half of my life.
I´m a Costa Rican Millionaire, bitches.
So off I went, with my wads of cash, to the supermarket, Mas por Menos (More for Less.)
I still had no idea what to cook, so when I got there I took a moment to think it through. I wanted to cook something my family doesn´t eat very often. I also needed to find something the kids would eat, too. After a few minutes, I decided on Chicken Parmesan.
Simple to make, and a real fan favorite.
I used a combination of broken Spanish and sign language to explain to the butcher how I wanted the chicken. Then I did some quick math in my head before asking the deli counter for a quarter kilogram of mozarella cheese. And I was able to find most of the other ingredients on my own. The only thing I had trouble with was bread crumbs, but after searching for close to fifteen minute I decided to make a fool of myself. I pulled aside one of the workers, and asked him where I could find the, "pan en polvo."
"Excuse me, sir. Where can I find the powdered bread?"
It wasn´t pretty, but it got the job done.
Then I took it all up to the register.
Remember that little incident at the ATM machine? Well, go ahead and play that in reverse, and that´s what it felt like at the checkout counter.
I didn´t realize it while I was filling up my basket, but there´s a reason why they eat rice and beans in Costa Rica--it´s because things like parmesean cheese and tomato sauce are imported. To make a long story short, I got banged up for $20,000 CRC (almost $40 USD.)
Ouch.
On my walk back home, I passed by some guy on the side of the road selling avocados out of the trunk of his car. They were the biggest freakin´avocados I´ve ever seen. We´re talkin´avocados on HGH.
And cheap.
But what´s more weird? The fact that some dude was selling avocados out of the trunk of his car, or the fact that when I got home and told my Costa Rican father, his response was:
"Oh, man! Was he parked right up the street from the grocery store? If I had known he was there I would have told you to buy some--they´re the best avocados in town!"
Monday, June 14, 2010
T-minus (Part Deux)
Hey, all.
I´d like to start by apologizing for missing my post yesterday.
I´ve learned that in Costa Rica, there are two things that are not to be relied upon with any regularity. (Well, three, if you include my aforementioned bowel movements.)
They are:
1) The plumbing
2) The internet
Only one of these three things was working yesterday--the plumbing--so that´s why there was no post.
Now, on to the meat and potatoes:
I´ve been here for a full two weeks now, and when I left the United States I was nervous as hell. I had no idea what to expect, and I felt as though I was diving headfirst into a sea of unknowns. Now, with a bit of time under my belt, I´m confident (and delighted) to say that I´ve adjusted fairly well. (Truth be told, before I came to Costa Rica, there was a part of me that was worried I´d be itching for home.)
I´m not sure what the hell I was thinking. I do love all you guys back in the States, but I must say that returning home ASAP just isn´t an itch I´m yearning to scratch at the moment. My stay here in Coronado is coming to an end, but there´s still a whole lot more I´m excited to do.
With change, however, comes more preparation. I feel like I have a lot to accomplish this week before embarking on the next leg of my journey. And it all begins with, well, planning the next leg of my journey.
Part of what makes the next leg of my trip so exciting is the fact that I have no set plans, and no responsibilities. Here in Coronado, I have some structure, and along with that structure comes a safety net to fall back on--namely, the language school and my family. A lack of structure is also what will make the next part of my trip a bit scary, so I´d like to be somewhat prepared before I head off on my own.
Other than to throw together a makeshift itinerary, it´s a goal of mine to cram as much Spanish grammar and vocabulary into my head as possible in the next four days. I upped my class time this week--from 12 lessons to 18 lessons--in order to accomplish that. I figure that I´ll be well served to plough through as much grammar as I can while I´m here at the school (read: shove ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag), cross my fingers, and hope that it all sorts itself out over the next six weeks.
I guess I could have worse things to do this week than to plan a six week vacation and study a language for fun.
But, hey, what can I say? I´m a bit of a drama queen.
I enjoy making much ado about nothing.
I´d like to start by apologizing for missing my post yesterday.
I´ve learned that in Costa Rica, there are two things that are not to be relied upon with any regularity. (Well, three, if you include my aforementioned bowel movements.)
They are:
1) The plumbing
2) The internet
Only one of these three things was working yesterday--the plumbing--so that´s why there was no post.
Now, on to the meat and potatoes:
I´ve been here for a full two weeks now, and when I left the United States I was nervous as hell. I had no idea what to expect, and I felt as though I was diving headfirst into a sea of unknowns. Now, with a bit of time under my belt, I´m confident (and delighted) to say that I´ve adjusted fairly well. (Truth be told, before I came to Costa Rica, there was a part of me that was worried I´d be itching for home.)
I´m not sure what the hell I was thinking. I do love all you guys back in the States, but I must say that returning home ASAP just isn´t an itch I´m yearning to scratch at the moment. My stay here in Coronado is coming to an end, but there´s still a whole lot more I´m excited to do.
With change, however, comes more preparation. I feel like I have a lot to accomplish this week before embarking on the next leg of my journey. And it all begins with, well, planning the next leg of my journey.
Part of what makes the next leg of my trip so exciting is the fact that I have no set plans, and no responsibilities. Here in Coronado, I have some structure, and along with that structure comes a safety net to fall back on--namely, the language school and my family. A lack of structure is also what will make the next part of my trip a bit scary, so I´d like to be somewhat prepared before I head off on my own.
Other than to throw together a makeshift itinerary, it´s a goal of mine to cram as much Spanish grammar and vocabulary into my head as possible in the next four days. I upped my class time this week--from 12 lessons to 18 lessons--in order to accomplish that. I figure that I´ll be well served to plough through as much grammar as I can while I´m here at the school (read: shove ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag), cross my fingers, and hope that it all sorts itself out over the next six weeks.
I guess I could have worse things to do this week than to plan a six week vacation and study a language for fun.
But, hey, what can I say? I´m a bit of a drama queen.
I enjoy making much ado about nothing.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Craters and coffee
Yesterday, I went on a "Craters and Coffee" tour. The itinerary for the day was a trip to the crater of an active volcano, a tour of a coffee plantation, and then a visit to a small artesan village in the Central Valley.
The start to my morning was a bit rough. I was slated to meet the tour group outside of the Hotel Aurola Holiday Inn in San Jose at 7:40 AM. I missed my stop and I wound up running a solid ten blocks, from the bus terminal to the hotel. I made it just in time.
The start to my morning was a bit rough. I was slated to meet the tour group outside of the Hotel Aurola Holiday Inn in San Jose at 7:40 AM. I missed my stop and I wound up running a solid ten blocks, from the bus terminal to the hotel. I made it just in time.
On our drive out of the city, the tour guide pointed out the construction of a new soccer stadium that was being built for the Costa Rican national team. She explained that the stadium was a gift from the Chinese government, commemorating a recently signed free-trade agreement between the two countries. It was reassuring to learn that the U.S. isn´t the only country that China has by the (soccer) balls.
As we drove into the mountains, our guide explained that since the peak of the Poaz Volcano is nearly 8,000 feet above sea level--in the middle of a cloud forest--she´s never sure whether or not we´ll be able to see the crater until we´re standing right in front of it.
When we arrived at the volcano it seemed clear enough. The hike to the crater took five or ten minutes, and everyone in the group was itching to get a peek.
When I got to the crater, this is what I saw:
Well, that´s not exactly what I saw. What I saw was a bit lighter and fluffier. Regardless, it was a fairly disappointing moment when I realized that I paid $65 to stand in the middle of a cloud.
The guide said that sometimes it clears up at a moments notice, so we should hang around for a little while. I was a bit dubious. But, we hung around for a while, and sure enough it began to clear up:
The $65 cloud
After about ten minutes of waiting, I caught a glimpse of some vegetation...
$65 shrubsFinally, though, after fifteen minutes, I began to get my money´s worth:
And a little bit closer now.
There she is.
B-B-B-Bwoah yeah!
Do me a favor? Have me be me, and you be an active volcano?
Thanks.
At this point, I´d say that I had gotten my volcano fix for the day. But I was definitely hitting a mid-morning lull, and I was in some serious need of caffeine. So, we headed over to the Doka Coffee Plantation, in the fertile foothills of the volcano.
The coffee tour was very interesting. We learned all about the process--from planting and picking, to drying, roasting, and packaging.
While on the tour, one person asked the guide how they make decaffeinated coffee. The guide began her response by asking why anyone in their right mind would want to drink such crap. Then, she told us that you´ll never meet a Costa Rican who drinks decaf. "Drinking decaf coffee is not part of our culture," she said.
"For all you crazy tourists, though, we send the beans to Germany. There, they are decaffeinated by very expensive machines, in a very expensive process. Then, we sell the decaffeinated beans to you, and we sell the caffeine that´s been extracted from the beans to Coca-Cola, and a bunch of pharmaceutical companies."
Anyway, after drinking approximately fourteen cups of REGULAR coffee (for free), I was cocked, locked, and ready to rock.
(There are pictures of the coffee farm, too. But after running an extensive cost-benefit analysis, I´ve decided that your viewing pleasure just isn´t worth the current upload rate of 9 minutes per picture.)
From the coffee plantation, we headed over to Sarchi--a small artesan town that´s known for it´s woodwork.
On the way, we made a short pit stop in Grecia to see a massive church that´s constructed completely of metal. Everyone else in the group "ooohed" and "aaaahed."
The tour guide asked me if I wanted my picture taken in front of the church. Then I showed her the results of my bris, and she backed off.
In Sarchi, we were given thirty minutes to browse a woodwork shop. I wandered into the back room, where I saw one of the artesans hand-painting a wooden whatnot.
In Spanish, I asked him if I could watch. He said I could. Then he asked me where I´m from, how long I´m in Costa Rica for, and where I learned to speak Spanish. We spoke for about twenty minutes, I shopped for ten, and hopped back on the bus.
All in all it was an action packed day, capped off by a conversation in Spanish with a complete stranger.
For me, that´s some pretty good stuff.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Excuse me, officer?
(Before I get into things, I´d just like to mention that tomorrow I´m going on an all-day excursion--leaving at 7:00 AM, and returning at 8:00 PM--so this will most likely be my last post until Saturday afternoon.)
Now that we´ve taken care of all the administrative details...
Today was my last day of classes for the week, and at the end of each week my professor fills out a short evaluation form that notes my progress (or lack thereof) in a number of different categories. In all of the "participation" categories--attendance, homework, class participation, etc.--I received 100%. (Remember, I´m the only student in the class.) And in all of the other categories--reading comprehension, oral comprehension, written communication, oral communication, etc.--my marks have increased, from the high 80´s last week, to the low 90´s this week.
As for negatives, the professor only had two small points of criticism:
1) He told me that I´d be well served to study some more vocabulary on my own.
2) He told me that I think too much.
I´d say he has me pegged pretty well: I´m a lazy overthinker.
We had a conversation about how sometimes, when learning a new language, it´s best to just absorb what you can and to try to speak it freely, rather than to construct each line in your head before opening your mouth.
"If you get your point across," he said, "you´ve done your job. But you don´t always have to worry about sounding correct. That´ll come with both time and practice."
In other words, he told me I should stop thinking before I speak.
So, when I left the school today I was determined to transfer this pesky case of diarrhea from my ass to my mouth. I said hello to everyone I passed on my walk into town, and when I arrived at "Main Street" I took a moment to decide what to eat. I saw a small chicken stand with a sign that read, "Pollo Asado y Frito."--chicken, grilled and fried--so I decided to see what it was all about.
I marched right up to the counter.
"Buenos dias," the girl said.
"Buenos dias," I replied. "Como viene el pollo asado?" How does the grilled chicken come?
Looking back, I now realize that this was a fairly broad question. It probably deserved both the ridiculous look, and the state-of-the-union-length answer I received.
I didn´t understand a word, so I politely asked the girl to repeat herself, this time a bit slower. When she finished talking, I gave the gears in my head a moment to cool off.
Still nothing.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Do you need some help?"
I slowly turned my head, and the first thing I saw was a pair of shiny black combat boots. Then I saw a gun. And finally, my eyes found a patch, stitched to a sleeve, that read, "Fuerza Publica."
It was Costa Rica Five-O.
Well, to make a long story short, I got my grilled chicken.
Maybe next time I´ll be able to do it without the help of law enforcement.
Now that we´ve taken care of all the administrative details...
Today was my last day of classes for the week, and at the end of each week my professor fills out a short evaluation form that notes my progress (or lack thereof) in a number of different categories. In all of the "participation" categories--attendance, homework, class participation, etc.--I received 100%. (Remember, I´m the only student in the class.) And in all of the other categories--reading comprehension, oral comprehension, written communication, oral communication, etc.--my marks have increased, from the high 80´s last week, to the low 90´s this week.
As for negatives, the professor only had two small points of criticism:
1) He told me that I´d be well served to study some more vocabulary on my own.
2) He told me that I think too much.
I´d say he has me pegged pretty well: I´m a lazy overthinker.
We had a conversation about how sometimes, when learning a new language, it´s best to just absorb what you can and to try to speak it freely, rather than to construct each line in your head before opening your mouth.
"If you get your point across," he said, "you´ve done your job. But you don´t always have to worry about sounding correct. That´ll come with both time and practice."
In other words, he told me I should stop thinking before I speak.
So, when I left the school today I was determined to transfer this pesky case of diarrhea from my ass to my mouth. I said hello to everyone I passed on my walk into town, and when I arrived at "Main Street" I took a moment to decide what to eat. I saw a small chicken stand with a sign that read, "Pollo Asado y Frito."--chicken, grilled and fried--so I decided to see what it was all about.
I marched right up to the counter.
"Buenos dias," the girl said.
"Buenos dias," I replied. "Como viene el pollo asado?" How does the grilled chicken come?
Looking back, I now realize that this was a fairly broad question. It probably deserved both the ridiculous look, and the state-of-the-union-length answer I received.
I didn´t understand a word, so I politely asked the girl to repeat herself, this time a bit slower. When she finished talking, I gave the gears in my head a moment to cool off.
Still nothing.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Do you need some help?"
I slowly turned my head, and the first thing I saw was a pair of shiny black combat boots. Then I saw a gun. And finally, my eyes found a patch, stitched to a sleeve, that read, "Fuerza Publica."
It was Costa Rica Five-O.
Well, to make a long story short, I got my grilled chicken.
Maybe next time I´ll be able to do it without the help of law enforcement.
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