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.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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.
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