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The Americas
  • Richard Ellis
okt. 2016 – aug. 2017

The Americas

Een 302-daags avontuur van Richard Meer informatie
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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    San Pedro, Guatemala (Part 2)

    26 februari 2017, Guatemala ⋅ ☀️ 16 °C

    Looking back.

    I wrote the first part of San Pedro midway through the week, but I needed to add more photos and I had a bit more to say so here's the follow up:

    Coffee.

    The first shock to me about coffee was that kids drink it. Six year olds. Regularly. I'll admit it's heavily watered down but seriously? I suppose it's nice to drink something other than water every now and again - a dietary choice we take for granted.

    For those of you like me who look no further than that aromatic brown bean as the source of their hot and steamy morning Joe, read on. That coffee you're drinking, or that one you had this morning - that comes from the seed of a fruit no larger than a modestly sized grape. Come to think of it, I don't know why they're called beans, instead of the seeds that they are. And if you're reading from NZ or AUS, chances are it has come an awfully long way as coffee is usually only grown in equatorial climates. That seed comes from the fruit on a tree rarely bigger than you or me. The berries are deseeded en masse, before undergoing drying and washing (read: machined/chemical peeling) three times over. The beans don't go brown or aromatic until you roast them. In fact prior to roasting, coffee beans are white and less flavourless than a watermelon seed. The final process is the grind, which I'm sure you are all familiar.

    In San Pedro, most of the coffee harvested is consumed locally or rarely leaves the family. Hardly surprising when a 20kg bag of fruit can be sold for a lousy $40NZD. Machined peeling is not an option locally so the beans aren't washed - an action they are proud of, claiming the coffee is more organic and better for your health. Fair enough.

    Lucky for us, that plant has spread across the world from africa. Otherwise we'd be still be drinking Earl Grey at every break.

    Farming.

    Farming in San Pedro is another family affair. A farm is passed through generations, divided equally amoungst siblings, so the farms are beginning to get pretty small. We saw some no bigger than your average backyard! The siblings all farm that land and the harvest is kept to feed the family almost exclusively. The main crop is corn, a fundamental ingredient in tortillas (the side for every meal). Coffee forests too are vast at slightly lower altitudes, with the extent of the plots marked only by a palm tree at each corner. Finally and much to my delight, avocado trees tower intermittently between these, bursting with fruit. Well at least those which haven't been genetically modified to stud their growth. Mayans aren't tall people. But they are strong. All of them carry their crop out in sacks (bigger than themselves), slung over their foreheads with a length of old yarn. Right Mike?

    This proves my theory that ripe avocados are not a mytholgical creature. They exist in great quantities for as little as 10c NZD each. This week's avo count is at an all time record.

    Cooking.

    Cooking with wood is both easy and economical if you have the right set up. Most houses have a gas stove and a woodfire. The woodfire heats a hotplate for most of the day, primarily for stewing the corn tortilla mix, then frying the tortillas. Needless to say the kitchen is the hottest and only heated room in the house. Lola spent most of her day in the kitchen, sourcing and preparing loads of delicious local food. Impressively tasty meals considering the relative quantity of bland foods such as bread, tortillas and potatoes. Cat and I seemed to be the only ones who truly appreciated her cooking, with Magda being a fussy six year old and Jack not showing for meals or bolting midway through the last mouthful. I hope she doesn't feel the same!

    Water.

    It's Earths most valuable resource. In San Pedro, most houses have running water but it is piped and residents pay for this convenience dearly with what little money they have. To drink, it must be filtered in the house, even for the locals. And for those who can't afford it, they cluster in their dozens on the lake side, washing themselves and their clothes in the shallows. Hot water, is an absolute luxury, one which we were fortunate enough to have in the guest shower, Mike and Char not so much. I didn't see another hot tap all week.

    Sleep.

    I don't know how they do it. Between midnight bed times, 5am starts and a town which sounds more alive at night than it does in the day - where do yhey find rest?! Cat and I were awoken on numerous occasions per night by cat fights, cats falling onto our roof, roosters, dogs barking, the tortilla machine (starts at 4am), church bells (predawn), Magda and traffic - to name just a few. Luckily we saw humour in the ridiculousness of most of these, but we'll be looking forward to a quiet night's sleep, that's for sure.

    Religion.

    San Pedro has 26 churches for a population of 14,000. I'm no town planner but that ratio seems through the roof! Religion, predominantly catholic, is visible everywhere. In murals on the street, to bumper stickers, windscreen stickers, graffiti art, tattoos, song, dance and the ringing of bells which can be heard continuously throughout the day and night. Even the rearview mirror of the van we're in right now says 'Jesus'. I can't say I investigated further but it definitely stood out to all of us.

    On our final Saturday (after watching Scotland put Wales away in the Six Nations!) we managed to sneak across to Santiago Atitlán for an afternoon. Our host family recommended it but I wouldn't. The location is famous for it's markets and 16th century Church, neither of which I'm yet to find huge appeal in. The touristy hustle was aggresively present, and the food no better or different to what we were eating in San Pedro. Nice to keep that explorative attitude alive but I prefer the friendly locals in San Pedro. That and the ferry cost and arm and a leg!

    Spanish in San Pedro has been one of my favourite weeks on tour so far. A huge thanks to all the locals who made it so fun - Javier, Lola, Magda, Jose, Graciella, Chema, Conchita, Felix and Tina! Unfortunately, we all know a week is not nearly long enough to learn spanish. We have seriously considered pulling the pin on the rest of the trip and staying here until we speak the mother-tongue. Three months they say. Too bad. I only hope we will continue to learn and speak more and more often. Perhaps we will find another week elsewhere.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    El Tunco, El Salvador

    28 februari 2017, El Salvador ⋅ ⛅ 32 °C

    Pupusas, chicken buses and smashing surf!

    Last October on my first day of the trip, I stripped down to my undies and dived into a refreshingly cool Pacific Ocean in Venice Beach, LA. 132 days later, after crossing the continent and back, I can happily report a much warmer dip in the same ocean - 3700 km southeast of the starting point. And what an adventure it's been since then!

    El Salvador won us over in a battle against Honduras. We really wanted to swim with whale sharks in Utila and go white water rafting in Honduras' finest national park but the travel time and cost involved in the detour put us off. El Salvador it shall be.

    We shuttled there from San Pedro via Antigua where we spent a night back at Matiox Hostal. Comfy beds, delightful showers and good wifi just a few of the reasons we love that place. The border crossing was a joke, as people literally jostled at the window booth of customs to get their stamps. Lines and order apparently a foreign concept. Luckily our van driver had the wits to fend them off and hand over a stack of passports. No questions asked. Easy. On entry to El Salvador we didn't even get out of the van. Nor did we get a stamp. Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua and Honduras have a centro-american pact of some sort (perhaps someone can fill me in?), hence the aforementioned ease. Happy days!

    We're now holed up in a tiny surf town called El Tunco. It's so small that you can walk a lap of the whole town in under five minutes, maybe six if you're decripid like me. Our hostel, la Sombre is a minute from the beach and if you hobble over the rocks to the western most point, you'll find a reknowned surf break called El Sunzal. That's where we've been spending our time!

    We hired surfboards for $10USD (yes, back on the USD) per day (same price as our accomodation!) and have spent mornings and evenings flailing about in the white water attempting to surf! I'm bruised and achey but it's all been worth it even for just a few good rides per session. The waves are glorious right handers, hard to read but once tamed provide decent length and relatively safe rides. My back, arms, ribs and fat man's rash are killing me.

    Everyone has fought the fearsome break with varying levels of success. Mike and I collided on a wave, yet somehow managed to escape unscathed. Cat's best wave saw her hit the beach without getting off her stomach (somewhat impressively I might add). And Char seemed to escape without too much drama on the board. We won't mention her getting stuck in a rip whilst swimming in the shallows. The unforgettable highlight for me was riding a wave over a sea turtle. Brave wee critter.

    When the wind and chop get up during the heat of the day, we've been catching chicken buses into the main town (La Libertad) for groceries and banks. A quarter gets you on board and the ride itself is entertainment. Hot, noisy, jerky, claustrophobic, uncomfortable entertainment. Or something like that. But it's nice to pay peanuts for transport for a change. It's been up there with accommodation as our biggest expense to date! On one such occasion, MERC put on the runners for the journey. Heat almost brought us to ruin, yet we reached La Libertad in a state I wish upon nobody. I couldn't distinguish disgust from worry upon greeting the girls.

    Lunch each day is pupusas. For around 50c-75c you can get a chicken and cheese filled pita. Well it looks like a pita but I'm fairly sure it's of corn derivative. Nonetheless they're delightful and three of the hot treats will fill the stomach of a hungry boy. Lunch for $1.50. Buen provecho! Come to mention it, why not pupuse for dinner too!?

    The middle of the day is hot. You know, that muggy, still heat that doesn't relent and when you mix it with sun it's a recipe for heatstroke? In case you didn't know, I don't like that kind of heat very much, so we've been lazing in hammocks and by fans or taking dips in the 'pool'. The fully-clothed cold shower also a very appealing bi-daily activity.

    Yesterday we foolishly chose to go for a walk in the afternoon heat. I made it to the bus stop - just - before turning to a liquid state. We bussed high up into the hills, found our stop and hired a tour guide off the side of the road. Antonio was a mumbler, just like me. I discovered that mumbling is not a comprehensible tongue, even between mumblers (yet I refuse to do anything about it). So we had very little idea what we'd signed up for except that we were paying this guy $3 a head and there was ample mention of 'cascadas' (waterfalls). That was good enough for us so we sweat our way down the valley to a series of rock pools/jumps. Add these to the aforementioned list of hot midday activities. A much needed cool off consisting of a series of rock jumps into different pools and a rock slide for the less boney bummed swimmer. It was a little sketchy but the locals showed us the ropes and we were away laughing - Cat taking the cake for the biggest pre-jump build in suspense. The uphill return wasn't as bad as expected, as Antonio was the least fit by far and set a delightfully slow pace, his sweat putting mine to shame. Him and I would make great friends.

    Our ticket out of El Tunco was a chicken bus. Luckily Mike and Char set an alarm and woke up the sleeping beauties for the 6am bus! Very apprehensive about the journey, we stumbled out onto the road and awaited our chariot. Our destination: Juayúa, Ruta de las Flores.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Juayúa, El Salvador

    2 maart 2017, El Salvador ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C

    Ruta de las Flores, the flower route.

    Well we made it - in case you were wondering. It was a little over three hours in a packed, sticky, bumpy bus, with a midway change over in Sonsonate. If there was an opposite to the phrase 'no sweat', I would use it here, my spinal channel made the Waikato river look like a dried up creek.

    Juayúa (pronounced why-oo-ha) is a tiny agricultural town, not famous for anything other than it's location on the (now fading) flower route. Ruta de las Flores was once a beautiful highway lined with blossoming flowers and colourful murals, punctuated with delicious coffee, intrepid hiking, waterfalls and views to die for. Nowadays a lot of the magic is gone, at least it feels that way...

    As the internet at La Sombra was horrible, we didn't receive any confirmation on our accommodation booking. Therefore our first activity in Juayúa was finding a place to stay. On our second attempt we found Hotel Anáhuac. Conveniently they had received a booking in our name and we quickly got settled into two fantastic private rooms. Spacious, cool and trendy with modern art, tiled floors and white plaster walls (plus ensuite!). Probably our most luxurious accomodation since Chicago! To top it off, they had specialty coffee and an avocado tree. Great find Cat!

    For the inconvenience of finding food, and the lack of appealing options during our transport, we had not yet eaten and hangry humans were beginning to appear. La Cafeta sprung itself upon us with a Sydney-esque decor and menu. We seized the opportunity for a well overdue and delicious late breakfast and as a result, moods started to turn. Phew! The remainder of the morning disappeared around the hotel, reading, swinging in hammocks and catching up on the internet and lost sleep.

    Actually, there's not an awful lot to do in Juayúa, so once we had circumnavigated town we decided we better sign up for one of the two tours on offer. Coffee and waterfalls have both been reasonably well covered already so it was almost a flip of a coin as to which we chose. In the end, the scent of the local bean for sale at the front desk, combined with the prospect of unlimited coffee sampling won us over. Specialty coffee 'Lechuza Cafe' here we come.

    You're probably reading this and thinking 'more coffee?? Boring!'. Well I was bordering on that same thought when we piled into the tray of a truck to depart on a private tour. At $20US pp, my head was spinning at the opportunity cost. However I'm delighted to report it was worth every penny and if you want to find out more about your daily black magic, I'm aiming to post a seperate blog all about it.

    In hindsight, we shouldn't have done the tour so late. We ended up consuming a fairly hefty amount of coffee which didn't stop until around 5.30pm. It's fair to say we didn't sleep too well that night!

    MERC got out twice in Juayúa. Elevation-wise the running was brutal, but the heat was slightly more forgiving than El Tunco meaning for once in a long time I actually enjoyed a run! We're yet to engage in combat with a dog, but we're (I mean Mike) very wary of their presence. We had a couple of narrow misses up in the hills here...hopefully that's the worst we see!

    Ataco (cue: dad jokes) is another stop on Ruta de las Flores which we visited briefly by chicken bus. There's really not a lot to say about this place aside from some great murals and a ginormous cross. I almost felt sorry for the place, with it's dwindling volume of tourists and fading markets it felt a bit used and abused. The feeling was swiftly forgotten by the arrival of a darn good pork tortas, clearly demonsrating the extent of my emotional allegiances.

    On a hot afternoon in Juayúa we trudged down to the local waterfalls and thoroughly enjoyed a refreshing dip in the man made pool. The water was spurting out of the middle of the cliff from a natural spring, caught halfway down in a man made pool, then disappearing back into the cliff to power a hydro dam. All very confusing to one who just wanted relief from the heat.

    By the sounds of things we got out of Juayúa in the nick of time. Saturday brought markets and lots and lots of people. We snuck out on a very sweaty chicken bus to Sonsonate and upon arriving, met queues and queues of people waiting to board our bus in the opposite direction. SO thankful that wasn't us! We made good time to San Salvador, covering the distance in not much more than 2.5hrs at a per head cost of $2USD. Making money!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    San Salvador, El Salvador

    5 maart 2017, El Salvador ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    Potentially our most dangerous stop to date.

    San Salvador - El Salvador's capital - has had it's fair share of bad rap. Primarily, and leading news almost daily, it has a frightening number of murders and other gang related violence. In fact, in the last decade there has only been a couple of murder free days! Definitely a place to be carrying your wits and not much else.

    Most tourists don't bother with San Salvador, not just for the above reasons but also because to be just, it doesn't really have a lot of appeal. Well we're not most tourists, and I had heard good things about fútbol in El Salvador so we thought we'd give it a hoon. A quick and cheap hoon, as we are doing so increasingly often!

    Our chicken bus got us here safely and we had some accommodation lined up with a very helpful english speaking local named Edwin, who even picked us up from the bus station. It was our first ride in a car since Cuba and we were very grateful not to have to find our way to Edwin's. He lives with his mother and her frail mother in a two-storey house near enough to downtown. He also runs a tour guide business and a combination of this and the homestay makes for many comings and goings. As you would expect, we shared our accomodation with two Australians, who we've come to believe must make up at least 50% of tourists in central america.

    We really only had one full day to get things done here and we didn't fancy straying too far from home after dark so that made for even less time. But we gave it a good go! Sunday breakfast was met with little enthusiasm; beans, eggs and plantains are starting to get a little tiresome but some good coffee saw us leaving well prepared. Our first stop was the Iglesia el Rosario, downtown. We detoured past another cathedral which reminded us that it was Sunday morning and touring a church during a service probably wasn't wise. Luckily we caught a break (literally) and snuck into Rosario. It was uniquely impressive; a very brutalist concrete arch frame with an isolated and flimsy looking bell tower off to one side. Actually quite ugly from the outside and reminiscent of the movie Mad Max. Inside was where the spectacle began. Stained glass windows backlit by the morning sun shone rich colours through the entire building, emphasised by dim internal lighting and some sullen background music. On the back wall, a giant stained glass eye peered inward, watching every move. It was a huge space, filled with people all respectfully silent. Worth the stop for sure! The remainder of downtown was a disappointment, dirty, smelly or under construction - as warned by Edwin. Onwards please.

    Having had a little brain fart with her exercise gear, Cat was in need of some new kit. Also, the strapping young men on tour were beginning to look a little shabby and were well overdue some grooming. Conveniently for us, the biggest mall in the country was only a short bus away and offered solutions to both our problems. The barber in the mall made us feel like kings! We were waited on by several different people and offered drinks, foot washes, hair washes and beard trims on top of a very meticulous and time consuming haircut. At $8 a pop we did blow the budget (they were $1.50 on the street) but in one way or another it felt justified. Cat also had a field day and has come out looking sharp - now we just have to do some exercise!

    From the mall we got very confused with the local bus system so ended up taxiing to the Museum of Anthropology. It was very empty. In fact there were probably more shotgun-wielding security guards than visitors, but all the text was in english and spanish and for that we were grateful. It was an interesting insight into El Salvador and it's population. Knowing that over a million kiwis live and work overseas put perspective on a whopping 2 million Salvadorian expatriots (largely in the US) who's cash care-packages contribute to nearly 20% of the country's GDP!

    We left the museum a little disappointed that there was no civil war history (one for google) and trudged through Zona Rosa in the sweltering heat. Supposedly a nice tourist area, we were met with nothing but over priced fast food joints and hotels. Very unauthentic. Perhaps we strayed off course or perhaps this is what most tourists like about San Salvador. Let's hope not. Our expedition eventually reached Estadio Cuscatlan which was uncoincidently our destination for a local footy match.

    We dined at one of the stadium stalls, beef steak (first in a long time!) with rice beans and veg was a treat, and we washed it down with some beers from the supermarket - all the while watching an ever growing number of riot police assume position. Our $6US tickets got us some decent seating in the family section (read: we were way to scared to sit with the other hooligans our age!) and we were allowed to bring in our beers so long as they were in cups. Cheers! Alianza FC (San Salvador prems) were playing LA Firpo in La Liga Primera. Fortunately for us, the rowdiest crowd was on the far side of the stadium, which played music for the entire match and kept us entertained by sneaking around the riot police to abuse the away fans - and vice versa. Even the referees were escorted off the pitch at half and full time by riot police! Alianza clinched the win 1-0 and we left in time to watch a large number of away fans being escorted from the grounds, all the while jeering and abusing anyone in a white shirt. A little scary at times, but nonetheless an entertaining spectacle of hooliganism to remember!

    We were spent by the time we got home - the beers, the heat and the walking taking their toll. We stayed in an lazed around in the extreme heat of our accommodation before heading out for some dirty pupusas on the road side. An early night for an early start. Nicaragua watch out!

    Although the next day wasn't spent in San Salvador, we were in El Salvador so I'll start it in here - it was quite a day!

    5.30am wake up. Edwin had kindly offered us a ride to the bus station which he did with a full and open hot cup of coffee in one hand and a noticeable lack of concentration on the the road or the coffee. We were aboard our first bus and on the road by 6.30am, forking out an extra dollar for a 'first class' bus with AC! It was freezing AC as we had prepared for heat but I really can't complain. The irony is actually quite amusing. As usual it was jammed full; booty, boobs or armpit in the face - if you're seated by the aisle - and every chancer insisting on squeezing his way to the back of the bus and back trying to sell you coca, agua, peanuts or in one case - hot chips!

    This bus ran over an hour late, blowing out to 4.5hrs and dropping us off our tight schedule. We hadn't peed and had barely eaten so by 11am we were looking forward to lunch and a baño but it wasn't to be. We were ripped off the first bus and literally straight onto the second for a relatively short stretch to the El Salvo-Honduras border at El Amatillo. Finally we got our bathroom break, a dodgy chicken burger, an overpriced banana and a variety of treats to see us through Honduras. It was excruciatingly hot by now but the border crossing went smoothly and on days like today that's really all that matters.

    That was a week in El Salvador - rocketing by by just like every other one. It's a country I'll remember for the heat, the pupusas, the ridiculous number of armed guards and OTT weapons - and endless miles of buses.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Honduras (in a flash)

    6 maart 2017, Honduras ⋅ 🌬 35 °C

    Does it count?

    As far as having been to Honduras goes, I'd say I haven't. But when customs asks me where I've been I'd have to say yes, as my passport tells me so. So it gets a footprint and you can feel free to post argumentative comments either way below (that's you Johnny, Jools and Scott).

    We were in Honduras for around six hours. Five hours and fourty minutes of that was spent on transport - two buses (excluding the one that broke down!) and a pick up. Eighteen of those were at customs upon exiting. And the final two were 'shopping'. Shopping for food. Which is more like running around trying to find something other than whole melons, green bananas or coca-cola with people yelling at you when you don't have time or ignoring you when you want something - all the while with one eye peeled to the bus you left your bag on to make sure it won't be the last time you see it.

    It was continuing off the back of the 4.5 hours we bused in El Salvador and somewhat nerve racking as we raced the clock - the Nicaraguan border closes at 6pm!

    We made it in the nick of time, thanks partly to some hasty driving from our driver in the ute, who valued timeliness much more than our lives. As we literally dived into the tray with our bags and sped off. The entire time all we wanted was to send a message to arrange a pick up on the other side of the Nicaraguan border. No wifi for the last few hours meant we needed to con a local into making a call, which we were able to do but the success of the call remained a mystery.

    Fortunately after much faffing by the border staff (seriously, I cannot fathom what difficulty they face when their job is to scan an E-passport!?) we made it to Nicaragua. We were panicking as to how we would progress from here (its pretty isolated at El Espiño) when Brian from Somoto Canyon Tours emerged from the fading light to offer us a ride to our cabins. We were so grateful! I lay in the tray on top of our bags in the cooling breeze, rushing towards our cabins and so glad for that day to be over!

    In summary, it was one car, four buses, two pick up trucks, two border crossings and three countries for a grand distance of only 360 kilometres in a fatiguing 12 hours. Job done. Game on Nicaragua!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Somoto, Nicaragua

    7 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ⛅ 2 °C

    Chicos in a Canyon.

    Somoto Canyon Tours is a small operation based just outside of Somoto at the base of the canyon which constrains El Rio Coman a tributary to El Coco the longest river in Central America. Fortunately for us, they're just a short ride to the western Nicaraguan border, making yesterday's travels possible.

    Henry and his family (read: countless family members) have been navigating the canyons for decades, the last of which they has been in the company of a well travelled and now retired Englishman named Brian. With the help of Brian's english and business savvy, Henry has turned a dodgy family owned canyon tour operation into a certified tour company, hostel and restaurant. Their complex has more than trebled in size and luxuries (flush toilets and power!) and their operation demonstrates professionalism we haven't seen since the states. They also use their profits to support community projects such as providing running water to houses. That and funding Henry's shiny new Hilux!

    We had two nights here, isolated in the countryside with a few other tourists, one of which we had previously met at our spanish school in Guatemala - small world! We signed up for a six hour canyon tour for a whopping $30 US pp. Ouch!

    Whilst fitting our shoes and life jackets on the morning of our tour, our bus showed up and we literally bolted off the porch and down the hill to meet it - mid fitting. Luckily we didn't forget anything but it was a very rushed start to what would be a chilled out day.

    We arrived at the upper end of the canyon and walked in on farm tracks, through rivers and scrambling along rocks. It was a slow start and the low water levels meant that the whole tour would be relaxed, even so much as we had to get out and walk sections. It was good fun scrambling over the slippery rocks and jumping from pool to pool. There were plenty of opportunities for adrenaline - numerous six - eight metre jumps littered the course peaking with a whopping 20m jump in the lower section. Fair to say we chickened out on that, but got a good rush from the 15m which left one bloke in a bit of pain. Our guides were awesome, carrying all our gears and snacks in dry bags and pointing out all the local flora and fauna. The water was pretty fresh and with no sun for the best part of the morning there were some chully bodies. At the bottom of the canyon we lay on the hot rocks like seals and warmed up before taking tiny steel dinghies out the base of the river and walking back up the hill to Henry's house for lunch.

    That afternoon was lazy until we decided to go for a hike. There was a look out above the canyon which had come recommended. Unfortunately nobody had mentioned the severity of the grade, so when Mike and I decided to run it we got awfully close to another MERC blowout! But not close enough. We caught the others just as they arrived at the top and admired the view soaked in a setting sun.

    Dinner and beers at Henry's that night were well earned and tasted that way too!

    Early the next morning we piled back into Henry's ute (all 13 of us plus bags!) and drove back into Somoto for the bus to Leon. That's where I am now, my right foot covered in raw chicken juice and my back sweat headed towards the rainy season! Mmmm!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Léon, Nicaragua

    8 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ☀️ 34 °C

    Churches, churches and air conditioning!!!!

    Léon was far from the top of my list of places to visit in Nicaragua. However, there was an abundance of goodword and a fairly strong vote from the team, so we booked in two nights at the hostel Tortuga Booluda. Another fleeting visit sandwiched between more of Nicaragua's delightful buses. This included our second breakdown within a week and we barely batted an eyelid - our complaints nipped at the bud for the one and only reason that we're paying less for these buses than the pocket money I used to earn for mowing 18 hectares of lawn.

    Léon has historical significance to Nicaraguans for it's role in the civil war but for tourists it's the churches, culture and colonial architecture which are the main attractions. It's a little disappointing that the town doesn't place more emphasis on it's history. Only a short read (thanks Lonely Planet) into the tumultuous and frankly disturbing last century left me baffled with what these people have faced. Selfish dictatorship, wreckless external military interference, corrupt politics and ethnically diverse colonialism have left Nicaragua pretty close to rock bottom. They faced famine, strangulation by trade embargos, war, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, mass murder, serial assassinations, government sanctioned torture - oh, and I almost forgot - bombings by their own government! All of those in no mean number: 50,000 were killed in the revolution (many innocent bombing casualties) and 6,000 in the 1972 earthquake. That's a pretty decent chunk of the six million people that call this country home.

    So now when I tell you their GDP isn't too far off that of your average upper class American, you'll probably believe me. As a matter of fact, I'm impressed they even have one; until late in the 20th century 50% of the population were illiterate and unemployment was around 20%. It goes without saying the people are poor - $1US = 30 Cordoba and that will get you a beer in a bar. THIS is a country where your money goes a long way and you're more than happy to spend it. Or give it away. Depending on how fresh these facts are in your literate brain.

    It's understandable that religion (catholicism) has engrained itself in Nicaraguan culture, and it is impossible to overlook the enormity of this in the centre of Léon. Churches exist in numbers so great it is difficult to walk a block without seeing one. Many are immaculately restored, boldly and beautifully framed in a deep blue sky, others less so but more practical in nature, and if you wander the right way, you'll see those that lay in ruin - obliterated by shellings and left in that state as a visual reminder of their gruesome history. The Catedral de Leon is the biggest in central america, blindingly bright and white in the centre of town. It's impressive. And for $3US you can access the roof, get close up with the domes and bell towers and take in Léon from a height, backdropped by numerous (some still active) volcanoes. Which is just what we did.

    We spent many hours wandering the streets in the 35° heat, taking this all in and as a result spent many hours retiring at the hostel in recovery. For the first time since the US, our room had air conditioning and it was glorious! We had that thing pumping to the max all day everyday - probably contributing to local powercuts - but keeping our room tolerably cool for once! I tell you, I wouldn't need to think twice about replacing my luggage with an AC unit, if practicality would have it so.

    We declined on tours in Léon partly due to expense and partly because we had already done or were about to do similar activities. Well, that and did I mention we had AC to capitalise on!

    One afternoon Cat and I ventured to the museum of legends and traditions. I can honestly tell you this was the most ridiculous experience on this trip. We were offered a free english speaking guide upon entry and snapped him up, for opportunities like that are rare in this place! Without hesistation, he began a well rehearsed monologue, his voice a mildy comprehensible dull combination of Siri, a robot and a rambling spaniard. He made my speech seem positively normal and drained the mental concentration of both Cat and I within minutes. That was before we discovered what we had signed up for.

    The tour was in an ex-prison, still fitted with iron gates and tatty barbed wire. Inside the cells were life-sized figures, representing historical leaders, skeleton horses, crazy witches and disproportionately large headed Nicaraguans, complete with streamers as hair. All of which were created in that awkwardly creepy zone between real life and cartoon. To add to our brewing condition, old mate had a crazy eye and his wife was sifting behind us, thin as a rake and oddly remissive of the 'legends' about which he spoke. At one point it got so creepy I was confident we were about to get locked in a cell. Only having seen two other people on the premises made my confidence in this fate more concrete. But I'm writing this now so you know we're both safe, phew!

    We learnt of tales that, on the tale spectrum, lie between outrageous and utterly insane. Perhaps the most notable was of a hideous woman who had no success in finding a man to wed. She did, however, have fantastic breasts and used these to lure in men - all the while keeping her face hidden. Once the men were preoccupied with her breast (s?) she either (a) strangled them to death or (b) poisoned them with her breast milk - we were unable to decipher which it was. The moral? One can only guess that men should stop being so shallow. I won't put you through anymore, but I'll have you know the lady who curated the museum deserved to be an exhibition herself. Oh, that and I felt an unusually large sense of relief to walk out the front gates...

    We ate on the street that night in Léon. Delicious hamburgers the size of your face. Every western meal we eat is appreciated, briefly before kicking yourself for what your paid and how your going to feel about it later. What's hot right now? Plaintain crisps are on point - they're less sweet than a banana and come sliced long ways, like filling crisps. Passionfruit juice is everywhere and cheap as chips - odd because the price of a passion fruit doesn't correlate. The local drop Toña is going down a treat in this temperature and a a shade over a dollar a pop they're pretty hard to resist. Don't mention the vegetables mum, there's plenty of avacado on the menu!

    We took a rain check on the volcano boarding that is offered by every vendor in Léon. A combination of expense, bus rides and climbing another volcano in this heat was enough to put us off. I'm sure we'll find better use for the money!

    That's all for Léon. A very relaxing stop indeed. Onwards to Granada now and that means more buses - woohoo!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Granada, Nicaragua

    12 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C

    Our first taste of Lake Nicaragua.

    Granada is very similar to Léon in many ways; the culture, the architecture, the density of churches and the heat, oh the heat! It is undoubtedly one of the most well kept towns we have been to, perhaps an obvious indicator of whose dollar this town operates on. The main difference to Léon is that Granada sits right on Lake Nicaragua - the largest lake in Central America. I can't say I was too impressed, given our first impression was a continuous face full of bugs and a foreshore that resembled Orakei basin on a low tide. I still don't understand how such a huge lake is so filthy?!

    It's fair to say we didn't make a huge amount of effort to embrace the culture in Granada. For a reason unbeknownst to me, Granada has developed its tourism industry much more than it's counterpart, with dining and tour prices raised to meet the market as well as the relentless hustle that accompanies it. Oh how I'd kill to delete this part of travel.

    Our accommodation was just outside the tourist area, a relatively new operation called GM Granada, run by a ex-brisbanite and his partner. It had an excellent pool, clean rooms, an operable kitchen, good internet, cold beer and friendly hosts so to be honest we felt we ought to make the most of it.

    We found good value in our comparitively expensive dining here. Our first meal in Granada was burgers at La Frontera; they were delicious, well proportioned and only set us back $6USD per head. Not bad. We also found good mexican at a local chain and some top notch iced coffees at a very westernised cafe. We cooked a lot at the hostel and enjoyed both the meals and getting back in the kitchen. Although omelettes were a poor choice. Everybody knows hostel frying pans have an 'extra stick' coating that put even the toughest of glues to shame.

    Despite how I've made it sound we did get up to some activites in Granada. MERC got going in the flat and finally put together some faster k's...could that be some fitness? We explored town and climbed the bell tower of a church for a buena vista in the setting sun. Cat and I got behind Scotland in the Six Nations, with great hope that they would break England's wretched streak. It was not to be. One afternoon we hopped aboard a river boat for a cruise of some of the 365 isletas that lay green and foresty just inches above the lake. Unfortunately for us, 'some' was an ambiguous word and our 'two hour tour' comprised of a 40 minute tour followed by an hour and a half trapped on an island. Said island did have a pool and overpriced cold beer (as did our hostel), but we were not too pleased about the lack of tour. We confronted our operator at the time of payment and were assured that we had got a better deal than we bargained for; we got extra time on the island! Somehow we could not get across the point that they trapped us there (the boat dropped us off) and we had no say in when we could leave. I needn't explain how that one ended but we did enjoy the short trip we got, especially getting some really close up moments with the monkeys!

    Lago de Apoyo was another draw card in the area so we agreed to visit it as a day trip. We were really hoping Apoyo would raise the bar on Nicaragua's cleanliness! $14US got us a return taxi and a day pass to one of the lakeside hostels. It seemed steep but the priority taxi, free coffee, free kayaks, a great beach and bar set up made it worthwhile. Mike and I got the speedos on for the first time in a while, and were pretty chuffed to get out and back with no more drama than a lung full of lake. We litterally blew a whole day chilling out, reading, eating, swimming (every half hour - it was hot!!), and kayaking. The lake wasn't as immaculate as we had imagined but somehow the ruggedness suited us just fine.

    We left Granada on another chicken bus. (They're starting to stack up now!). We chose an earlier departure over a direct bus just to get out of the hustle. Midway through our trip, we were ejected from the bus in pursuit of our bags, which had made it from the roof of one bus to another in less time than Usain Bolt can cover 100 metres. We tried to hesitate but before we knew it our bags were out of reach, we chased them onto the bus and forked out an unreasonable sum of money for the ride. None of us managed to work out what happened, but we made our destination alright. I miss the air conditioned, hassle free transport of familiar car on familiar roads.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Volcan Maderas, Nicaragua

    14 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ☀️ 31 °C

    You guessed it! Another Volcano.

    Maderas is the shorter of the two volcanoes that make up Ometepe, the surprisingly big island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. It hasn't been active as far as records go and this is evident with the thick green cloak it wears; tropical rainforest from (almost) lake to summit. We chose Maderas over the taller and more dramatic Conception (the other volcano) for two reasons; proximity to the hostel and because the scenery was very different to the last leg killer - Acatenango.

    Alas we made the decision just before bed the night before, teed up a guide, ordered some food and hurried off to sleep - the 5.30am rise was a little unexpected.

    The morning proved a bit of a faff as our guide waited for us to eat breakfast. Then we waited for our lunch to be prepared. Then we went to find water. Then we waited for a late comer. It wasn't until 7.30 when we actually started making progress toward the summit. Nonetheless I was thankful that we had not yet - and would not today - see the inside of a bus, van or other cramped and sticky form of transport. Win.

    I love the efficiency in which central americans climb mountains. Again, the trail pointed at the summit essentially from bottom to top, no switchbacks or gradual climbs - these guys mean business! This time however we climbed from essentially sea level (our hostel - although technically a lake, it is still only 33m above the sea) to 1390m. A fair old nudge. As we neared halfway, the going got tough. A couple of french compatriots were hurting and threatened to pull out. We wouldn't have it, and despite still resenting them for the Rainbow Warrior we dragged their sorry arses to the top - literally at a snails pace. Our guide Simon, patient with the pace, was quick to amuse - wracking up the howler monkeys with impressive vocals and at one point even appearing to be in conversation with them. He was a great guide, humorous and self admittedly crazy with two front teeth made of gold to suit the personality.

    We really found rainforest. Thick, wet, hot, muddy and infinitely green rainforest. The track got so steep and bush so thick that for much of the latter half of the walk, we were literally climbing up, over, under, along and around trees, tree roots and the like - all the while in the cloud with no buena vista in sight. The earth got sodden and the mud thickened but we pressed on - slowly but kind of surely. At a few places the track was nerve-wrackingly vertical making it quite a unique climb. We found the summit in thick cloud and sat down for some well earnt grub, the disappointment of whiteout evident on everyone's face. Except for Simon. He was yabbering at the cloud gods at the top of his lungs and waving his arms like a teacher erasing a whiteboard. What more would you expect from a man who's been climbing that same mountain four times a week for the last 20 years?!

    Twenty minutes or so later, Simon got even more excited. We perked up, stuck our heads over the crater and got a partial - then full - view of the crater lake, brown and scummy as it was. Moments later the isthmus and Conception came into sight, gently but deliberately announcing their presence. It was a spectacular view which belatedly rewarded all of our efforts. It had nothing on Acatenango but what will? Perhaps we ought to lower the bar!

    I can't say the descent was any easier. Lowering ourselves through gaps in tree roots and slipping through mud and rock. It took almost as long as the ascent and was just - if not more - fatiguing. The sun came out and we found glimpses of view on the way down but this came with the heat we had been lucky to avoid all morning.

    When we reached the bottom, hunger, heat and fatigue had taken their toll and there were a few broken souls. They made a swift recovery with Coke, chips, bananas and beer, topped off with a swim and hammock. Cheers Maderas!

    I won't go without reiterating how mental our guide was. He's 61 and doesn't look a day over 40. He's also fit as a fiddle, not just walking but running too. Last Friday was the annual Ometepe ultramarathon. He competed with 38 or so others from all over the continent in a 100km course that makes our wee climb look like a walk in the park. Not only do they circumnavigate the island (and some - it's bigger than it looks), but for good measure they throw in the ascent of Maderas AND Conception (8 and 12 hour hikes respectively) - oh and a 200 yard swim across the crater lake, just 'cause. Wanna know the best part? It's almost all done in the dark, kicking off at 6pm and the leader not coming through until 6am earliest. I'm personally struggling to think of anything more difficult. Also pretty chuffed that Cat and I picked all that up in Spanish! (Admittedly it took a few tries and a large amount of disuading our disbelief). I guess I'll sleep like the baby I am tonight while the real men summit mountains like champs!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Ometepe, Nicaragua

    15 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C

    Of mountains and mud.

    Ometepe is the not so tiny island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. It comprises two volcanoes; Concepcion and Maderas, which are joined by a not so narrow isthmus. They're an ever present backdrop making for stunning scenery at every turn.

    We arrived to Moyogalpa via a rickety old ferry, that took to the wind and short chop like a penguin to flight. It heaved and rolled and water came through every side. At one point a look of concern appeared on many passengers faces, as a thick film of water sloshed around the lower deck. The fact that the engine required manual cooling (with a bucket of lake water) gave me no reassurance and I spent much of the second half of the hour long journey estimating my swimming capabilites and researching my travel insurance policy. Needless to say we made it, chuffed with our lives and the meagre US$1.15 it cost us.

    Unfortunately, Moyogalpa was our last stop with Mike and Char. They're off to Costa Rica ahead of us to meet up with some old friends. They've been some solid travel buds and we'll be sorry to see them go! The return of MERC is no doubt already an occasion in the making. You never know, perhaps we'll bump into them in Panama in a few weeks time...

    Did you really think the journey would end there? With only two buses for the day? In the heat of the afternoon we entered another crammed sweatbox and endured the final two and a half hour bus to our hostel 'Chocoyo' in a wee country town called Merida. Boy were we glad for a dip in the lake and a cold Toña. Toña has become a great friend in Nicaragua, always a cold and refreshing drop to perk us up after a hot day. On this occasion, yet another dreamy sunset filled the sky and glimmered on the water. The woes of the days travels forgotten in a moment.

    Chocoyo is definitely one of the most simple hostels we've had yet, but it sits right on the lake and has a view to die for. It has a restaurant, which is really just a kitchen because it has no menu and every now again a lovely Ometepan lady wanders past and asks you what you would like to eat. It's not like you have a choice - the nearest restaurant is about a 30 minute walk and lucky to be open. Fortunately for us, her food is well priced (we actually never saw prices) and thoroughly enjoyable! She and the other (I assume) family members are very kind and helpful, they even teed us up a shared guide for our Maderas hike the next day (see next footprint). My only qualm with the restaurant/common area was the dirt floor which they insisted on keeping damp - muddy feet were impossible to avoid.

    Day two on Ometepe was a toss up between a bicycle, a kayak, a motorbike or a waterfall hike. Given our exertion the day before, I was strongly advocating a motorbike, for which Cat took little convincing. The only problem was that I'd never ridden a motorbike before and the roads for many kilometers either side of the rental shop were pretty rugged! A quick google (thank goodness for good internet!) and some nominal convincing of the hiree that I had a license saw us in good stead. Although the look on his face when I stalled as we were pulling out was definitely one to remember. We spent the day exploring the island by bike and we only got caught out once by an ignition fault (quickly overcome by a friendly passer by) and multiple awkwardly timed stalls - the funniest of which would have to be at the boom gate, stalling right underneath it while old mate was holding it up. Priceless.

    Despite the size of the island, it has a reasonable amount to offer if you can find it and find a way to get to it. Word of mouth is by far the best way to plan your days. We spent an afternoon at the - I'm going to take some poetic license here and make a new word - touristised 'natural' springs of Ojo de Agua. It was refreshing and delightfully clear compared to the lake water, yet natural is far from an accurate adjective. It was essentially a man made outdoor pool, complete with waterside bar and restaurant and many gimmicky souvenir stalls. However we managed to pass the afternoon swimming and reading before being washed away by torrential downpour! I hadn't seen rain since Cuba (you beauty!) so I almost enjoyed it, even more so by knowing we didn't have to endure this on the previous day's hike. Well played sir. With rain came more mud, which by this stage had undoubtedly become impossible to avoid.

    Our mornings began without fail with roosters crowing and dogs barking, if not for some other godforsaken farm based racket. This made for early nights and an early day routine I have grown to enjoy. Especially on this quiet and outstandingly dramatic island. Definitely a stop worth making if you're the adventurous type.

    We left Ometepe the same way we came in, looking back to smiles and waves from our hosts. It rained again while we were waiting for the bus which more than anything, served as a reminder as to how lucky we've been with the weather so far. We're feeling for all you folk back home! Next stop is Popoyo on the Pacific coast, can't wait!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Popoyo, Nicaragua

    17 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C

    The end of the road.

    Well, at least it seems that way; Popoyo is hard to get to. It took us literally the entire day from Ometepe - bus, boat, taxi, walk, bus, bus, walk. We had to go through Rivas again, a hectic transport hub where you are hustled and bullsh*tted by every second person. Craving avocado, Cat and I had a throughly enjoyable avo, chip and cheese sandwich in a throughly unenjoyable location: a stinky nook on the roadside by the bus station - litterally the only spot we could find to put our bags down. Gross. But it made for an easy and timely transition on to the bus. The roads steadily degraded as our journey progressed, eventually leaving us wandering 2km down a gravel road with all our stuff - chasing the last of the daylight. Our accommodation was all but at the literal end of the road. We were absolutely buggered when we arrived, but it was all worth it. There's something magical about watching the sun go down with a cold beer - it instantly makes you forget the days hardships, stopping time for that wee moment. Bliss.

    Popoyo Beach Hostel sits right on Guasacate Beach, a massive stretch of fine brown sand which looks out to...well...New Zealand I suppose. It's a surfers paradise and you get that feeling from the moment you see it. Theres only one road and a dozen or so buildings. Signs are made from rickety old surf boards, transport is primarily dirt bikes which are all fitted with surf racks, nobody is wearing a shirt and shoes (or even jandals) will get you awkward looks. Fresh water is a luxury (we only got it at 4pm for a rinse and that ran out way too quickly) and food is sold off the back of a truck - actually there's a shop, and a few restaurants if you want to spend a fortune. Alternatively, you can buy fish from the fisherman on the beach, if youre quick enough. Luckily we heard this was the case and did a supermarket shop on the way - not enjoyable carrying groceries plus all our baggage - but well worth it!

    Everybody here surfs. They eat surfing, sleep surfing, talk surfing and then drink beers - before and after surfing. There's numerous breaks, reef breaks, point breaks and beach breaks to suit everyone - beginner through pro, goofy to natural and just outright useless - like myself and Cat. The best part? You can surf all day, everyday. Lake Nicaragua helps form offshore breezes as many as 360 days a year making for clean waves all day long on any tide. If you want a surf holiday - this is it. Hostels and lodges tuck themselves away in the hills and headlands and offer surf camps for those who want to spend a little more. Get in quick - construction here is booming and a huge plot of land just got sold to a developer for units. Dreadded units.

    Cat and I got with the program and rented boards for the time we were there. We surfed two breaks, both around 15 minutes walk from our hostel. It's fair to say not a lot of time was spent on the board, but we were stoked to come away with only bruises and soggy lungs. A solid effort conisdering the swell was under a metre. It took many sessions, the water was surprisingly fresh and warm ups on the beach were frequent. Time was easily spent watching others make it look easy and holaring at locals, surfers, dogs and the odd pig which tried to eat my surfboard. The rest of the day we swung in hammocks, read books and sank Toñas - such an easy spot to chill out. I even went down 3-0 to Cat in a ping pong battle which I'm sure I will be reminded of regularly. Unluckily for us there was no power for almost the entire time we were there. No power means no fans and when nature turns off her 25 knot turbo fan at night it warms up super fast! That was not a good night's sleep. Lucky for a gas stove or we would have gone hungry that day too! You should have seen the mess in the kitchen after everybody cooks in the dark...I felt sorry for the cleaner!

    On the first night we were there, our hostel lit a huge bonfire on the beach in front of the terrace. The whole hostel gathered round and drank beers and rum, while strangers wandered out of the darkness to join. Another unreal evening! For lot's of people, this is their end of the road. They've drifted in and never left, and it doesn't appear that they're leaving anytime soon. One such fairy lady (or gypsy, I never know but she danced and hula'd a lot) had a young kid who was a spitting image of Mowgli from the jungle book. The three year old was an absolute menace, kicking and thrown sand, demanding rides, pulling hair and stretching clothes while his mother hula'd away carelessly. Hilarious entertainment when you're not the subject. Eh Cat?

    Popoyo came and went just as fast as every other stop on this journey has. We spent the next morning retracing steps to Rivas (I am so over that place now) and then onward to San Juan del Sur for Sunday Funday Pool Crawl. Sounds dangerous.

    PS: sorry for no surfing pics. We have no waterproof camera and I wasn't about to leave my phone unattended on the beach. You'll just have to believe us. We did it. Promise.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
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    San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

    20 maart 2017, Nicaragua ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C

    Sunday Funday.

    San Juan del Sur - or just 'del Sur' because every second place around here is called San-something and at least half of those are San Juans - is a beach town on the Pacific Coast of Nicaragua. It's our last stop in Nicaragua and we're here to party.

    I feel quite confident now that we have seen tourism in Nicaragua at all stages of development. Popoyo in it's very early days - still sleepy and hustle free - to Granada in it's maturity, catching unwitting tourists at every turn. Del Sur has strayed from the scale. It has a lot of tourists, and a lot of locals, but it has a very heavy influence - or should I say affluence - from American expats and tourists alike. In fact, the entire northern half of the beach is littered with Miami-style mansions; infinity pools and four car garages, as obvious as they are obnoxious. To be fair, many of these are owned by rich Nicaraguans, but it doesn't take a petrol head to recognise a six-wheeled Dodge Ram and there's no doubt who's behind that wheel. If I were to make a prediction, it's only a matter of time before Del Sur is another South Beach, Cancún or Gold Coast; high rises lining the beachfront, loungers for rent on the beach, overpriced clubs and valets for the hummers and soft tops. I could be wrong but it's half way there already; beach clubs with horrendously loud music, surf shops and western restaurants, fishing and surfing tours, and prices and payment regularly in USD. It's very different to the rest of Nicaragua and a bit of a shock for us!

    After we had settled in to our prime location accommodation, Javiers Hostel (another great get from Cat!) we headed down to the beach to see what all the noise was about. We stumbled across a very haphazardly organised rugby sevens tournament, much to our surprise! There were four mens teams from the surrounding regions and two womens teams. Some Canadians, Americans, an Aussie and a Brit are working on developing the sport here in Nicaragua to get a team in the Centro-American Games and then hopefully the Olympics - good on them! The lads are in their very early days - plenty of big hits and not a lot of smarts or ball skills - and some of the teams had only been together for a few weeks. They were all surprisingly big boys considering that until that moment I don't think I'd met a Nicaraguan taller than me! We dwindled away much of the afternoon watching Nicas brutally smash each other into the sand and on occasion, trot over to the sideline to wash the beach out of their eyes and mouth. The girls were no less intense, absolutely tearing each other apart - one girl opting to don a bikini which was probably one of her poorer life decisions...I hope. Great to see such passion for sport and I hope they can qualify for the games!

    The rest of that day disappeared as we explored the town and it's eateries and bottle shops. As you do when on the pacific coast here, we watched another cracking sunset on the beach with our mate Toña. A live band brought in the evening and we drank rum and dined in its deafening sound checks (honestly I think it was well over an hour of squealing at full volume). The local Saturday markets served up a mountain of food to satisfy the afternoons hunger and it was delish! As we were finishing up, the band stopped and the big screens on the beach stage turned on. Hundreds and hundreds of people gathered on the beach to watch a local Nicaraguan contend the World Featherweight Boxing Title - another sporting event riddled with passion. The fight went 12 rounds and our mate lost by two points, a gutting finish to the night for us, but it didn't stop the rest of them!

    Sundays in Del Sur are reknowned for the Sunday Funday Pool Crawl and people come from all around to party. I'm not exaggerating when I say almost everyone we've met in Nica in the last week was there. Lots of guys from Popoyo shuttle down and back just for the day! At 30USD pp we'd blown our daily budget before the day began - might just write this one off. The day kicked off at Pachamama hostel in the baking sun with beers and rums, loud music, swimming, bar games and a bucket load of glitter. I hate glitter. It's the permanent marker of sparkles, and sparkles are exclusively a temporary affair. Next stop was a beach hostel, where things got lively and the pool came to life in all forms of bombs. We headed up the hill in the back of many utes to watch the sun go down at the Naked Tiger Hostel - this place has an epic location overlooking all of Del Sur and some. The night deteriorated from there but it was definitely a day well spent!

    The following day was spent largely in recovery, and another day-long power cut made it all the worse. We did, however, make it up the headland at the northern end of the beach. Said headland hosts a 25m statue of Jesus not unlike Christ the Redeemer in Rio. In fact, Giant-Christ-on-a-headland is very common in spanish speaking countries - at least 17 other Jesuses tower prominently all through the Americas and Europe, we discovered. Just another emphatic reminder of how important religion is in these parts.

    Remember that offshore breeze I mentioned in my last blog? It's in Del Sur too. It's in every town and field between Lake Nicargua and the Pacific, and it howls! Literally blinding winds which whip up all kinds of sand and dirt leaving you permanently rubbing your eyes like the big baby I might sound. It's been up around 30kts since we hit the coast, blowing us around like shopping trolleys in a carpark. It might be good for surfing, and if you gave me a windsurfer I'd be giggling mad, but when I'm trying to sit on the beach or eat off a paper plate it's quite the nuisance!

    This brings up the end of Nicaragua for us. Another country scored off the list with some unforgettable experiences added to it. The sunsets, surfing and the cheap food undoubtedly the highlights and the hours and hours of chicken buses definitely hosting the lows. We cross the border at Peñas Blancas today and head south to the capital, San José. Costa Rica will be brief, so we'll be doing our best to make the most of it!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    San José, Costa Rica

    21 maart 2017, Costa Rica ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    Errr, remind me where we are again...

    The Rich Coast, not to be confused with the Rich Port (Puerto Rico) is rumoured to be exactly that. We approached with caution, sound research and a firmly closed wallet.

    By now we've already tallied up a healthy number of bus trips and we've got a few border crossings under our belt but we nailed this leg of the trip so well I think we did a movie style slow-motion-to-freeze-frame high-five when we got to San José. Here's how it went down.

    It started with us waiting for our free hostel breakfast which had failed to meet it's 7.30am promise. At 7.55 - after much discussion as to when the bus left and what the time of day actually was - we grabbed our bags, bolted out the door and round the corner and jumped on the back of the bus which was literally already moving. Phew! We even got a seat! We were dreading heading back to Rivas which would involve retracing our steps but we found a bus that would drop us on the road side where we could wait for a different bus headed for the border. We had no timetable for said bus, but luck was with us and two minutes later it showed up whilst we were enjoying our stale bread for breakfast. We didn't get a seat, but the driver knocked 20 minutes of the target time and we were at the border by a shade after nine. Nailing unreliable public transport with efficiency like that is about as common as a blue moon so I was a very happy man, despite resenting our hostel for their lack of punctuality with our morning meal! A delightful start to the day and it only gets better.

    We had very low hopes for the border. We've read horrible stories about delays of up to three hours, scams and unnecessary bus bookings for proof of a departure date. Observing numerous tour buses and a line of trucks longer than the road itself had us fearing the worst. It was not to be. We marched through both borders in moments, stopping only for a final bag of plantain chips and a double take on one immigration officer holding his hand in a gun position to the back of another's head! (obviously the Nicaraguan officers). 9.45am: Costa Rica - the streak continues! We changed our money (the hustlers at the border actually offer pretty good rates), popped into el baño and bought our bus tickets to San José. A 7 hour express, double decker, air conditioned coach departing at...10am! I boarded that bus with the biggest grin I've worn in a while, fitted myself nicely into my seat (for once!), reclined (!), and dozed off. We got to our accommodation in San José well rested and easily in time for dinner (even got a lumch stop!) - all for only AUD$17 including border fees. That one is going to be hard to beat, no doubt.

    Costa Rica doesn't belong with the rest of Central America. It's much too green, much too developed and, in general, much too rich. It was definitely a shock to the system. The grass looked edible, the buildings were glazed and looked like they'd been designed, roads were paved, and cost of our dinner that night made home seem cheap (real western food, after all this time, was absolutely worth it)! Accommodation surprisingly, was indifferent (USD $10 pn).

    The only reason we were in San José was for a yellow fever vaccine, as I had been too unprepared to get one before I left NZ and Colombia won't let you in without it. Cat again was on form, and found one Clinica Biblica which promised to offer the jab if they had it in stock. At the time of inquiry they did not, which was an understandable cause for concern. Expecting a long wait, we got there early yet we were in and out before you could say higgilty piggilty for a crushing USD$100 (not sure what you pay back home?). The only catch was that we had to cross town to pick up the official certificate from the Ministry of Health but that too, was trouble free and now we had an unexpectedly free day in San José!

    San José reminds me a lot of home. Everybody we spoke to wrote it off including one incredibly grumpy British lady in our hostel who made a point of expressing her hatred for the city, the beaches and travelling in general to the extent where Cat and I really began to question her decision to leave the comfort of her couch, where she had clearly been spending some serious time. Despite all this, I thoroughly enjoyed it - you don't need long, unless you plan to partake in the numerous but very expensive day trips to out-of-town destinations. We enjoyed free buffet breakfasts, some delicious pulled pork sandwiches and coffees, the National Museum, nice cafés and a spot of shopping for our journey south to Patagonia in a month, for which clothing-wise we are (still) drastically unprepared. Cat especially. And ironically timed with her complaints of the 'cold' - a 17 degree low and a touch of light rain. If I'm worried for her, I'd hate to think what she's feeling herself. Time will tell.

    The national museum was located in an old fort and unfittingly had a butterfly enclosure behind the walls. Very odd. We were just getting started in the museum when an unfriendly security guard gave us the boot as it was closing time...4.20pm. An early day for them I think. To the contrary, we actually had very friendly experiences with everyone we encountered in San José - surprising considering the hostility we were expecting from another Central American capital reputable for crime and violence.

    Our accommodation (Trip On Open House) was actually really great for the price. Free buffet breakfast (did I say that already?), hot showers (our first since Guatemala), Netflix, good wifi, pool table and reassuringly situated directly opposite the president's house! My only qualms was that I couldn't fit square-on between bunks and we had another blooming powercut mid-mince-cook on an electric stove.

    Well worth the stop, even if it was just for a vaccine. Hopefully we haven't missed out on too much else! Next stop Turrialba, and our streak continues with another perfectly timed uber to bus connection (yes they have uber!).    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Turrialba, Costa Rica

    24 maart 2017, Costa Rica ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    Water, water everywhere and plenty of drops to spare.

    It's raining!! Proper, tin-roof-drumming, layer soddening rain! I probably sound like a spoiled brat compared to what you lot in NZ have been through, but to be honest it feels like a novelty. That will wear off quickly I'm sure, the forecast tells us we've got a lot more of it to come...

    Turrialba is not a tourist town, and Spanish by the River (our accommodation) isn't even in Turrialba - we're hidden in the bush and it is fantastic! It's quiet, spacious and comfortable, the view is splendid, the water is hot, and the kitchen is well equipped. While I'm at it, even the company has been quite pleasant! It feels a little like a rainforest retreat and it would be a superb place to learn spanish, if that's what we were here for - but it's not. Turrialba for us, is a convenient location to base ourselves for white water rafting (now you really know why I'm happy about the rain)!

    Ríos Pacuare and Reventazón are world renowned rafting rivers offering grades II-IV rapids through stunning rainforest and wildlife. All sounds amazing until the bill cripples you with a gut punching USD$70pp - but 'when in Rome', right? We jumped aboard with a mischievous and youthful mob from Adrenalina Tours, a great group of river rats fluent in english and spanish. A conversation regarding lunch was had in spanish (food is our specialty area when it comes to spanish) and apparently we passed the test as our guides essentially refrained from speaking english to us for the rest of the tour, much to my disappointment.

    With raft on roof we drove in drizzling rain an hour out of Turrialba to the starting point on Río Pacuare. The so called 'dry season' hadn't deterred the river or the weather because trust me - there was about to be water, everywhere. Rushing, gushing, falling, spurting, splashing, spraying water everywhere. We piled into the raft with a satisfyingly short amount of faff (yuss!), a short briefing (in spanish) and two seemingly land lubbing mexicans (later disproved). I was drenched head to toe within seconds of entering the river, cat too moments later as we desperately tried between us to remember the commands (in spanish). I intermittently took hilarity in imagining our guide, who's name was Ariel, as a little mermaid. Red haired and fish tailed he most certainly was not.

    What we encountered from here was well worth our coin. We bounced through plenty of rapids, both burying and lifting the boat, and walls of water as high as our heads. We even river surfed the raft on breaking waves - twice! I think we were the butt of a joke as our guide tried all kinds of manouevres to dismount Cat and I, one such occasion ended with me head butting a rock wall (good use of a helmet) before eventually he flipped out Cat with the old sideways-over-a-shallow-rock trick. I couldn't tell if she was shocked, angry or embarrassed over the clattering of her teeth and colour of her lips, but the very fact that she was uninjured was news enough for me!

    Meanwhile, when our eyes were open and not scanning the river ahead for approaching hazards, we were able to observe the beauty of the rainforest for which Costa Rica is so famous for. Huge green trees, vines and mosses, with butterflies and a myriad of birds crowded our view. We even saw two species of frog at our half way break - amazingly vibrant in colour. Further down the river, picturesque and secluded river lodges and tree huts provided some envy. But the most impressive by far was the waterfalls. Dozens of waterfalls in all shapes and sizes, heights and enormity joined our parade along with rivers and cascades of varying colours and flows. It was truely an astounding number of waterfalls! We stopped under one and got belted on the helmets for a while and attempted to paddle at another, into the ferocious wind it created on contact with the river. We paddled into a cave and scared out the bats (and ourselves) with a pop of the paddle slapping the river. We stopped for a rock jump and swam with the raft through a canyon with towering walls - some of us less voluntarily than others. Freezing and tired we reluctantly exited the river some three and a half hours after entering. Shortly afterward we were rewarded with a hot lunch (including rice and beans of course!) and a slideshow of photos impressively taken by our mate in a kayak, which we were pressured into buying at an expectedly extortionate price. Whether or not the photos were worth it is overshadowed by the fact the day most certainly was. What's more is we had our luxurious accomodation to put our feet up and relax with cervezas and guacamole, yum!

    With the wet and the the seclusion of our accommodation, we really didn't get up to much else in Turrialba - save for a bush walk where we failed to see monkeys or sloths...another time! We did however have a very affectionate cat and a gigantic 'puppy' (son of a great dame) from whom to get our animal fix. The weather cleared on the morning as we were leaving and we witnessed the green beauty of the valley, backdropped with a steaming mountain. A lucky break in the cloud!

    If you couldn't tell, both Cat and I really enjoyed this stop, a perfect extreme combination of rest and adrenaline. Don't bank on getting much else out of this wee town though - tours and hikes appear to be distant and overpriced. Moving right along then!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica

    26 maart 2017, Costa Rica ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    Last stop Costa Rica.

    Puerto Viejo does not appear to be an 'old port' as it's name would indicate. It's a rasta town and nothing much happens here, not even for us. It's hot and muggy and the beaches are excellent. Accordingly, we passed our time exploring them by bike, hopping from one to another at a very leisurely pace, stopping only for smoothies, sloths, monkeys, turtoises...and a delicious french bakery. A shame that the caribbean is dead flat right now so all the usual surf breaks have nothing to offer.

    Cat continued mounting the injuries. It was surprisingly not the bike that caused the problem, but snorkelling of all activities. A reefy launch and exit point combined with some fairly powerful waves was a recipe for disaster - urchins in the feet on the way out and a grazed belly on the way in. Nothing but pure entertainment...and a spot of pain. And the snorkelling wasn't even that good!

    Lazy days have little news so I'll keep it brief. I will however leave you with my thoughts on Costa Rica, if they are justified on such a short visit...

    Costa Rica has been frustratingly expensive. Local beers (the number one indicator of an economy) setting us back about $2.50 in a bar which may sound cheap, but coming from $1 beers over the last few months, this country has definitely made attempts to hurt us in the pocket. Hence our speedy trip. It does quite often justify the expense; food is usually better quality, roads and transport are of western standards and German punctuality and the few activites we allowed were worth their money. It has undoubtedly world class beaches, rainforests, mountains and wildlife, making it a superb destination for the adventure lover (who has a little more cash than us!) Hopefully they aren't extorting tourists and choking the economy as that is certainly the opinion of some travelers and locals we met. Also, Costa Ricans take much better care of their country than their Central American neighbours to the north, especially with regard to rubbish - great to see that problem largely under control! We've had a taste and now we're moving right along...Panama here we come!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Bocas del Toro, Panama

    28 maart 2017, Panama ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Beach bums and bites.

    Getting to the border at Sixoala was surprisingly quick but insanely hot. Cat and I are now resorting to our sportswear for travel days and usually handwashing immediately afterward. Trust me, we've been the horrific sight too many times by now to care what state we appear in during or after these trips!

    Sixoala is just like every other border town. The only difference is the Panamanians and Costa Ricans have conspired to make this the most confusing yet. Instinct tells you to walk along the straight road and over the obvious bridge. Customs has it otherwise. You snake your way up, down, around and under the roadway and bridge, ducking into pharmacies for your exit fees and taking directions from old mate on the street who you really don't want to talk to 'cause he's definitely not official and you'll no doubt end up paying him for something you don't want to pay for. But we got there in the end, not happy about the fees but glad to have found a chicken bus and to have dodged the (only slightly) more expensive shuttle. Not quite yet a sheep in the herd!

    After some bus time to get to the coast, we took a water taxi out to Isla Colon on Bocas del Toro, a group of islands on the Caribbean coast of Panama. It started in some awful waters in Almirante and ended in the crystal clear water of the Caribbean sea. Bocas is hot. Muggy too. And when we were there, the closest thing to a breeze we got was the back draft of the planes as they upped their thrust on takeoff. We attributed this to the lack of energy we had in Bocas. Sleep was everywhere and everyday; on the beach, on the couch, in a hammock - wherever it had the chance, fatigue struck like the plague. We didn't resist it nor did we feel guilt and it was delightful! The problem with sleeping at every stop, is that you quickly become an unsuspecting meal for all kinds of biting insect - sandflies and mosquitoes we presume, the most persistent culprits, and Cat the tastiest victim. Your hydrocortisone cream, mother, has earnt it's keep!

    Our first day was spent biking along the northern coast of Isla Colon in the baking heat to some idyllic Caribbean beaches. Palm trees lined one beach after another, golden sand and blue skies gorged our visual senses and even the monkeys came out to play. The bike ride was along an unoccupied, sandy gravel road, flat and accommodating to the resistance of our bikes and our levels of energy, much to our relief. We spent the day snoozing on Playa Bluff - one of the most idyllic and quiet beaches I've seen. We then crawled home beach by beach taking advantage of the beach bars along the way for unearned food and beer.

    The next day played out much the same, only this time we bussed to the far side of the island and undertook the previous days activities by foot. Playa Estrella was the beach of choice, with plenty of starfish and beachfront restaurants to add to the mix. Bocas did it's best to get us on a tour, but we felt it had little to offer that we had not yet trumped already with our travels around the Caribbean. The life of the spoilt right? On the subject of being spoilt, the Panamanian Balboa and Panama Lager (local brews) are a distant cry from the refreshing taste of a Nicaraguan Toña - oh how I wish we could be reunited!

    Our accommodation (Vista Pista) at the end of the airstrip provided us with great entertainment. From our balcony we watched planes soar mere metres overhead as well as hundreds of kids playing soccer and baseball on the grassy patch at the end of the runway - litterally all day everyday. Incredible how unaffected the planes and players were by each other - they even held sprint training on the runway after dark! We've also had the pleasure of Mike and Char's company, briefly and will continue to enjoy it on and off until Panama as we hit the same spots with slightly different timing.

    In terms of adventure in Central America, we're starting to feel like we've done it all - as you could probably tell by the last few footprints! It's a shame the surf on the Caribbean hasn't come to play as that was the activity we itched for on this side of the country. We've shortened up the parks and nature and have set a bee line to Panama City where canals, shopping, history and culture have a lot to offer us. Our next and last stop before that is Boquete in the Chirique Highlands where we'll enjoy a break from the heat before the high thirties we expect in the capital. Yikes!

    If you're wondering the plan from there, here it is: from Panama City we have buses, 4x4s and a boat back to the Caribbean (near the San Blas Islands). From there we board a yacht with a bunch of others and sail through the San Blas Islands to Cartagena, Colombia. We then have 11 days in Colombia before we fly to Punta Arenas in Chile (very far south and into the serious cold!) where we'll find Torres del Paine and hopefully get some serious hiking in. We'll then be taking buses north, hundreds of kilometers at a time and ticking off as much as we can in South America before the cash runs dry. Big tickets are the Atacama Desert, Amazon River and the aforementioned Torres del Paine! Wine and steak of course will be a welcome change...at least for one night. I cannot wait!!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Boquete, Panama

    1 april 2017, Panama ⋅ ⛅ 25 °C

    A breath of fresh air.

    Boquete lies in the Chiriqui Highlands in the west of Panama, in the shadow of Panama's highest (but still not that high) peak, Volcan Baru. It's a reknowned adventure sport hub, comprising of the Americans who partake in these and the locals who guide them.

    I like Boquete, if anything because it's cool. Cool enough to give us some sanity between what we faced in our last two stops and what we will face in Panama City. It's also clean and stunningly picturesque. Flowers (the old burgain villia above all!) bloom everywhere, the air smells fresh, the river is clean and the traffic is minimal as Boquete is almost at the literal end of the road. Birds too, chirp audibly at every location. It's just so darn peaceful!

    We met up with Mike and Char again and opted for a waterfall hike - the cheapest activity on the list. It was only a short taxi ride away, but it was almost enough to cost us our lives as the old fart took every corner like it was the final bend on Mt Panorama. Unfortunately we took the first track we came across with a waterfall sign, paid our $5 and went for a walk. It wasn't until we found the one and only waterfall that we'd realised we had done the wrong walk. We backtracked to the road and found the Lost Waterfalls sign we were looking for, reluctantly paid another $7 to begin the hike we were supposed to. The day made for some gruelling climbing and plenty of waterfalls, and ended up being much longer than we anticipated after we walked the whole way back to town - over 20km in fact. As you do, we treated ourselves to a hard earned drink at the (surely american-owned) brewery pausing only to let two nappy-wearing baby monkeys play on our shoulders. Not kidding.

    The next day was relaxing. Cat and I proceeded to undertake our own 'food tour' of Boquete (really who needs a tour guide on a food tour - just follow your nose!). It began with coffee and cake (of which we ate way too much) and continued with delightful pulled beef sandwiches and an incredible fresh strawberry shake. In between of course there was rest, research and one of my best runs on tour - cool, scenic and quiet up through the hills of Boquete in the twilight. We also enjoyed a delicious meal at Big Daddys grill. There are a lot of American expats living here and it shows in the dining options - at least the employees are still largely spanish speaking locals! Fish tacos and curly fries to die for...yum! Depsite splashing out on this meal, prices are unquestionably lower than that of Costa Rica and for that matter - Bocas del Toro where food prices appear to have been hiked for import costs to the island. A welcome reprive.

    Onwards to the baking heat and hustle of Panama City. An hour on a chicken bus followed by eight on a coach. Looks like I'll be getting some episodes of Narcos under my belt!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Panama City, Panama

    5 april 2017, Panama ⋅ 🌙 29 °C

    The inside of the oven. The fires of hell. The surface of the sun. None of these come close to the burning temperatures in the urban heat island of Panama City.

    Great Scott it's hot. The weatherman says it's 35°C but feels like 45°C and he's got to be leaning on the cooler side. There's a punishing sun, car exhausts and traffic and not a breath of wind. At times, I feel anxious - if there is a phobia of heat, I have it. Our only saving grace is that Panamanians actually appreciate that it's hot and have the financial resources and sense to install air conditioning. Phew!

    We're staying in Casco Viejo, east of the CBD in Lunas Castle hostel. It has dollar beers, unlimited free pancake breakfasts and air conditioned rooms - why would we leave? It also within walking distance of the old city which (as is true for all 'old cities' in central america) is actually the newest part of the city - comprising many completely refurbished heritage buildings, iced with Audis and Mercedes and attire fit for a ball. In this case, high end retail, restaurants and hotels occupy the area causing in influx of wealth and a resulting price bubble - $25 dollar mains and seven dollar beers. Hence our activities in this area were limited to drinking coffee and Canal museums. Fortunately for our pockets, the wealth deteriorates to poverty over the space of about a block. A dirty plate of rice and beans only metres from cavair and valet parking - how odd.

    Luckily for us, Panama has Uber and cheap taxis (all with AC) for convenient transport which we used to get around. We ticked off the canal (I'll give you a new footprint for that) on the first day with Mike and Char and followed it with a Panamanian baseball game. As professional as it appeared, there can't have been more than 1000 people there, most of which were pushing beer, popcorn or paraphernalia. The game was relatively uneventful save for a brawl (between the players) and the promise of catching a foul, which unfortunately never came to fruition despite our best efforts.

    The next days we spent wandering the city. We climbed to a look out point to experiment with the new camera and also walked the causeway - at the wrong time of day it appeared as we were the only souls there. We also spent time checking out the CBD and attempting a hotel pool crawl. Following information from a blog, we were able to sneak into two of the three pools we tried. This made for a great afternoon spent lounging around, finally able to appreciate the heat between regular dips.

    Our final hours in Panama were spent preparing for our boat trip to Colombia. Supermarkets, washing, repacking and cashing up were all necessary for the next part of our journey! It's coming up in the next blog but in the meantime I'll have you know we're safe and sound in Cartagena, Colombia. It's also time to say a more permanent goodbye to Mike and Char. They've flown out; Char to London and Mike to NZ. We'll miss them but not as much as they'll miss each other. But we know they both love a long haul flight so they'll be united again shortly no doubt. Ciao amigos!

    I'll also have you know I wrote a blog about the Panama Canal which somehow got lost in the etha. You'll be lucky to see that again. I feel your pain Char!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Panama Canal, Panama

    5 april 2017, Panama ⋅ ⛅ 32 °C

    I couldn't resist. Just for all you who pretend like you don't like engineering when you really love it; I present seventh of the industrial world.

    Let's not get overly technical. After all, when ash turns to dust it is just a dirty great big hole in the ground full of water - right? Wrong. Because ash is still ash and that canal brings you more presents than santa ever has, more petrol than you could stuff down the guts of your V8 and of course a mountain of food - literally. Yes, the Panama Canal is unanimously the frieght pedestal and icon of the world. But it wasn't always so...

    Back in the day when Panama wasn't Panama and Colombus was gallivanting around disrupting all the native americans, a trail was being founded. A simple, very much unbeaten path was etched into the dense jungle in a tiny little corner of what was then known as the 'New World'. It didn't take long for the natives to lead the white man along this trail to a peak on the isthmus of the Americas - a point from which the proximity of two oceans could be truely comprehended. It didn't take long before this path was traversed by mules (and later - briefly - camels, who weren't genetically fit for the jungle) laden with goods as they established the very first trade route between the east and west coast of the New World.

    As trade on the route began to gently gather momentum, boats began shortening the walking distance by transporting goods up the rivers from what are now Panama City and Colón on the Pacific and Caribbean coasts of Panama respectively. It wasn't until the Californian gold rush in 1849 did the true significance of the route hit home. When transporting gold through Mexico became a little too notorious (sifty Mexicans) a railroad was proposed through Panama - the narrowest part of the isthmus. The meagre 80km length of track was constructed in only a few years in 1855 following the original trail essentially to a tee. This railway (and the sea passage either end) stood for some time as the fastest route across the Americas.

    Many scientists, presidents, politicians and explorers dreamed the idea that would change the world: a shipping passage through a continent. However, it was the French who dreamed with any reality. Their history with the Suez Canal deemed experience enough for what surely would be a shorter, easier to build canal. That all sounds fine and dandy but drinking red wine and twirling your moustache doesn't move mountains, as they soon found out. Starting in 1881, the French spent 13 years, 22,000 lives and 287 million dollars digging what could not be considered much more than a dirty great big hole in the ground. Rain, rock, malaria, yellow fever and of course, distrupted cash flow were to blame for the failure a project that employed people from every corner of the Caribbean and beyond. The French ultimately threw in the towel in 1894 and spent years afterwards pointing fingers in what in known as the Panama affair.

    Decades later in 1902 the United States saw value in creating the shipping route. They managed to pry the land and the reminants of the dirty, great, big hole in the ground off the French for a petty $40 million dollars. However, apparently the US and Colombia weren't getting on too well at this point and unfortunately for the US, Panama was still under the rule of Colombia. So when Colombia opted not to ratify a canal agreement it ironically left the US up shit creek without a canal. I think we all know the US wasn't going to just roll over - they did what they to best and funded a war: Panama's civil war. A war which appeared to be already brewing as Colombia struggled to control a territory isolated by hundreds of kilometres of inhospitable and rather quite deadly jungle. The war didn't last long - Panama got their independence - and while Panamanians were still singing from the rooftops the US already had turned first earth on the Panama Canal. Of course, the US funding had come with that teeny weeny little treaty declaring them every right possibly required to build and operate a monstrous canal. Panama and eventually Colombia both ended up getting a lousy financial compensation, 10 and 25 million respectively.

    Let's just take a moment to pity little old Nicaragua - the poorest country in Central America. They were supposed to have the canal. When you subtract the width of Lake Nicaragua, the width of Nicaragua is comparable to that of Panama. The US came within a whisker of purchasing the land there before being deterred by risks posed seismic activity. Sorry Nica!

    It didn't take long for the US to get the job done. They picked up the remnants of the French project in 1904, half sunk excavators and all, and even took their advice. The French had been trying to build a sea level canal, meaning ships could literally sail directly from ocean to ocean (or ocean to sea if we're being geographically pedantic). Their work had proven this an implausible solution and they had therefore proposed a lock system to lift ships 28m or so over the mountains. This reduced the required excavation significantly. Less convenient for the ships, but a mighty lot easier for the man on the shovel. The filling of the locks was impressively designed as gravity operated: no pumps are required to fill the locks with water. Water from the upstream lakes is carefully used to fill and drain the locks layer by layer - a process that recycles 60% of the water each time. If they didn't do this, in the dry season I imagine they'd run the lake level down so far as to potentially prevent ships from crossing!

    Ten years on in 1914, 401 years after Balboa first crossed the continent on foot, the first ship sailed the canal. It had taken two dams, one bridge, six locks and the creation of the worlds biggest man made lake (at the time): Lake Gatán. It had also in its wake, broken the dreams of two more engineers and conveniently sourced and mitigated the spread of mosquito borne disease. The damage was another 5800 lives, 375 million dollars and, oh yeah - that problem of how you get across it. The pivoting bridge originally constructed with the canal was rapidly overwhelmed by traffic, creating traffic jams not unlike that of the Kopu bridge on Boxing Day. It took almost 50 years for the now iconic Bridge of the Americas to be constructed as the first undisrupted passage over the canal. Woops!

    Boat traffic through the canal soared in size and number - a testament to the projects success - and US citizens flocked to region to operate and maintain the canal in a US sovereigned area that would later become the 'Canal Zone'. Although it was largely an expat community, this influx of culture is very much a part of Panama today. As the Canal Zone grew in size and wealth (although the US claimed they were operating the canal at cost), unrest grew in Panama. Numerous negotiations over countless Presidencies were had regarding the operation of the canal until a full blown riot in the Canal Zone forced the hand of America. On the eve of the millenium, Panama was handed complete control of operation and maintenance of the canal. Today a third set of locks have been constructed adjacent the original two, a project proudly completed by Panamanians themselves.

    Panama however, jumped at the opportunity to profit from the floating gold mine that passed their shores. Prices escalated to the whopping $300,000 average price for a standard container ship, and up to $800,000 for the biggest of supertankers! Don't worry, if you want to cross in your 50 foot yacht, a little over a grand should secure you that slither of water behind the superfrieghter carrying your new tv. At 35-40 ships a day, that's a lot of money. In fact, that's 4% of Panama's GDP, directly. Indirectly, the Panama Canal is estimated to make up 40% of Panama's GDP. Not Panama City. Panama. The country! So now when you dart back to that skyline photo of Panama City I posted in my last blog, you can picture those buildings as stacks of ships. Better yet, stacks of ship's canal fees. 'Cause that's what they are. Not coffee beans and sure as hell not banana dollars. And if I haven't got you a soft spot for Nicaragua yet, not only did they narrowly miss a gold mine, they're now paying Panama to ship their worthless bananas to you and your smoothie loving mates.

    Reducing the two week journey around Cape Horn to eight hours was undoubtedly the most significant advance in trade since the invention of the ship. Watching said ship pass effortlessly through said canal with inches to spare is priceless. Thank school for engineers. Thank Panama for your bananas.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis
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    San Blas Islands, Panama

    9 april 2017, Panama ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    Island paradise and ocean hell.

    You may be wondering why we're getting back on a boat to get to Colombia. Well, the truth is, if you're not a drug runner or part of a cartel, the Panamanian jungle that spreads across the Panama-Colombia border is a no go zone, traversible only by those with a death wish or a bag full of cash or powder. There are only a few roads which are suitable for 4x4 and monitored by almost nobody except cartels. They are undoubtedly the most dangerous roads we would have come across on our travels and I'm not even sure we could find a vehicle to travel in if we tried. Hence to get to Colombia we had the choice to fly or to boat.

    We booked a cabin on a 50 foot monohull out of Porvenir, along with eight other passengers, three crew and a dog - our destination: Cartagena, Colombia. The trouble with Porvenir, is that it isn't much more accessible than anywhere else in the jungle. It involved a 5am start, several hours squished into the back of a Toyota Land Cruiser, paying fees to the local tribes people and a boat ride down the river and across the bay to one of 360 San Blas Islands. Now that I mention it...I'm not even sure we went to Porvenir.

    You may be thinking 13 people living on a 50 footer is a tight fit. Well you're right, but not uncomfortably so and to my surprise it never really felt too crowded. We had a great crew of a captain, a deck hand and a Argentinian cook who treated us to some of the most delicious food on the trip - impressive considering she was cooking for 13 in a boat kitchen which was last stocked up back in Colombia.

    Our captain and mate spoke soley spanish and our cook spoke some broken english so on the whole communication was very poor. Some of the others on our boat were a great help translating but they weren't always there and our nautical jargon in spanish was zip (it's now barely improved). So we didn't really know where we were going, where we were or when we were leaving but it didn't matter - the San Blas Islands are so beautiful you wouldn't ever want to leave. Actually I lie, a local Kuna tribesman told us he was bored to death and he would love to leave. Fair enough, he was living on an island which would make Tom Hank's desert island look like a continent.

    We spent our first night at anchor between two tiny islands and behind the protection of the reef. This reef was littered with wrecks, one of which we snorkelled and another (the San Blas ferry) lay listing high above the tife for all to see. Apparently it tried to follow a catamaran through the reef. It's a hundred and fifty foot ship! Too much coco loco for that captain.

    The next day we sailed to customs (with dolphins on the bow) where the captain cleared us out of Panama. While we were wating the local Kuna paddled their tree trunks out in an effort to sell us all kinds of junk. They literally boarded out boat and set up shop. Safe to say I was overboard and miles from the boat before that played out. Whilst sailing out our mate Ray got his fish on and caught us tuna to have as sashimi for lunch. Cheers Ray!

    We had two more nights at even more picturesque anchorages. We spent hours swimming and snorkelling in the warm and outrageously clear Caribbean Sea. It was world class snorkelling; awesome reefs both shallow and deep with all the usual creatures and coral. There were also starfish and conch and sandy bottoms which make for great rock running. When we weren't in the water, we were reading, eating, drinking, kayaking or exploring the islands (where permitted). Volleyball and bonfires of palm leaves also notable affairs.

    However, island paradise does not last forever and we had some 30 odd hours of open sea miles to cover to get to Cartagena. We left at dawn, in a building 15kt breeze, close hauled motor sailing the whole way. The wind built as did the waves and the boat got wild. Everyone was drugged up to their eyeballs with anti-nausea and were subsequently absent minded, sifting around in zombie-like drowsiness. Several were sick, including our chef and one poor girl Mary, who didn't leave the vomit station for the entire trip.

    We passed the time sleeping and listening to podcasts and generally drifting in and out of consciousness. I also noticed that autopilot wasn't working so these guys were steering the whole time! Late in the night, we woke to bickering from our neighbours. Their hatches were leaking and bilge water was splashing up from under the floor boards. This alerted us to the fact that ours too were leaking (as with every other cabin in the boat!). Apparently the bilge pump didn't work as the captain was literally bailing the boat with a cup and a bucket in the middle of the night in what could be described as a stormy sea. What?! To say this was concerning was an understatement.

    When I got up the next morning, I realised just how rough it was. A few big waves crashed through the splash guards and straight through the cockpit, providing explanation as to why everyone on deck was so wet. Lucky for the warm wind and water! The boat and it's crew were in quite a state. I failed to take any photos of any of this but I'm surey words speak bettee than photos this time.

    Relief from the elements came in the form of flat water and sunshine as we weaved through the islands off the coast of Cartagena in the late afternoon. As the drugs started to wear off there were at last some smiles creeping through the weary faces. We were treated to a delightful harbour tour of Cartagena on our approach to port and more importantly; land, glorious land! If feel for whoever had to dry out that boat. First stop South America!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    The End of a Continent

    10 april 2017, Caribbean Sea ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

    This here is our last stop in Central America and our last on the North American continent.

    I don't know where to start. This trip now spans twelve magnificent countries (excluding Honduras by unpopular protest) over 168 days - a period of which my feeble brain is now struggling to remember. Lucky I have a blog!

    Since the boat we've ridden horses and ziplined in Cuba, swum ceynotes in Mexico, snorkelled in Belize, learnt (ahem) a language and climbed a volcano in Guatemala, watched football and drank coffee in El Salvador, surfed and canyoned in Nicaragua, rafted in Costa Rica and witnessed an engineering wonder and a baseball game in Panama.We visited the third most dangerous city in the world and lived to tell the tale.

    We've eaten rice and beans almost everyday and washed it down with the local brew in all of those countries; Bucaneero and Crystal (Cuba), Tecate and Dos Equis (Mexico), Belikin and Lighthouse (Belize), Gallo (Guatz), Pilsener (El Salvador), Toña (Nicaragua), Imperial (Costa Rica) and the Balboa (Panama). More importantly we sampled the local and outrageously cheap rum of Cuba (Havanna Club) and Nicaragua (Flor de Caña) to varying extents of success. Hands down our best meal remains in Tulum, Mexico on anyone of the three nights we took our ravenous selves to Chiapanitas.

    On the road we've clocked up a disproportionate quantity of time to kilometres but I can report that I've kept track of buses. From Cancun we've taken 14 shuttles, 35 chicken buses and 13 coaches ranging anywhere from half an hour to eight hours in duration. Add taxis, utes, bicycles, motorbikes, boats, ferries, eight border crossings and a considerable amount of walking and you have yourself our passage.

    We've enjoyed the company of muchos amigos, namely Mike, Char, Scott and surprisingly George who we have all had to sadly say goodbye to at varies stops along the way. On top of that are all the strangers we've befriended who just keep on popping up!

    We've seen monkeys, sloths, squirrels, snakes, tucans, turtles, dolphins, sharks, stingrays and a myriad of fish, birds, cats, dogs, kittens and puppies - even a pet pig! Speaking of filth, we've subject ourselves to some pretty horrendous sweats and washed off with just a handful of notably hot showers.

    South America is next and I think we're in for a little wake up call; Central America fits inside Colombia alone, bus distances are on the rise! See the next book to continue reading!

    I've tucked in a few favourites from Nica and dirty Guatz for your enjoyment.    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Cartagena, Colombia

    12 april 2017, Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 26 °C

    First steps on a new land.

    Let me tell you why I'm loving South America so far. Land, for starters, was very well recieved - aside from a very long wait at 'customs'. We never actually saw a customs agent or even a customs sign, but after several hours lying on our bags on the dock, the captain returned our passports with entry stamps valid for 90 days and didn't charge us a dime. No qualms there. Almost instantly after we left, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the cleanliness. It was first world; no rubbish, no graffiti, limited dirt and even fewer puddles of stagnant stinking water. After the last few months of dirty cities, it actually came as a bit of a shock that this standard still exists! At least in part of the city...

    None of our crew had bookings for the first night in Cartagena, so we all ended up at the same hostel, dominating the 13 bed dorm. Showers, dinner and an early night were much needed by all. Nonetheless, we made it to the local plaza for dinner and a dose of culture. While you lot have been planning easter and simultaneously battening the hatches, we've almost overlooked it altogether. How foolish. Easter in South America is known as Santa Semana and it is not taken lightly. It's a week long festival where Colombians holiday, fiesta and spend time with their families. We'll be spending the next week hating it, loving it and regularly being blindsided by its extreme and sporadic difference from the norm. This night, luckily was one to enjoy (somewhat wearily) as the square packed out with all kinds of entertainment and vendors creating a very lively scene. It was short lived this time but it won't be our last!

    Again, we're staying near the old part of Cartagena (read: newly refurbished and well maintained). It's absolutely stunning at almost every turn. Brightly coloured and delightfully detailed colonial buildings line the streets, balconies bloom with bougainvilleas and ancient fortifications blend boldy into the hills and headlands. On top of this about a million Columbian (or Cartagenian) flags flutter in the Caribbean breeze which also ripples water in a stunning harbour enveloped by fairly decent beaches (I have a very high standard when it comes to beaches - based on popularity these might be considered 'nice' beaches). It's nudged Antigua off its perch as our most beautiful city to date, hands down.

    On our first morning we tagged along on a free walking tour in the baking heat (it goes without saying now doesn't it?) and explored the old city. It was actually really interesting but I won't bore you with all the detail - just my favourites.
    - Cartagena was established unsurprisingly as a port to trade with the old world. By 'trade' I mean import and export slaves and gold. It's numerous fortifications were (unlike many others we've visited) seriously put to the test, falling numerous times to pirates (including the notorious Francis Drake, after whom the main channel in the BVIs is named) and very nearly to the English - each time being rebuilt bigger and stronger with more firepower and increasing levels of complexity and strategy.
    - Cartagena doesn't have a natural water supply. Water was collected during the rainy season and had to last all of the dry season - or else. Water nowadays is diverted from the nearest fresh water supply via an aquaduct so Cat and I can have hot showers 'til the cows come home.

    After our tour we visited the fort of all forts; Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas. Our lack of spanish let us down on the history of this one (later recovered through wikipedia readings) but it didn't stop us appreciating the scale of fort and it's prime location with 360 degree views of the city.

    We also found time to visit what will be our last beach for a long time - playa Castillo Grande. It included a visit to a distinctively different region. The colonial town turns quickly to skyscrapers (largely hotels or apartments) all of which are curiously painted entirely white. At the base of the towers is everything American including a horrendously busy and touristy playa Bocagrande (do not visit!). Witnessing the local fisherman on form was great entertainment. They hauled in a net out of nowhere, longer than the entire length of the beach. It took half a dozen burly men on each end, followed by much frolicking in the shallows before their catch was revealed: barely enough to feed a couple of familes. As we've come to expect, most of the fish were sold before they reached the beach!

    Another short stop for us, but this time we'd done what we came to do and were happy to move on. We're sad to say goodbye to our boat mates but grateful for their company and advice, hasta luego! We've got our first overnight bus (to Medellín) coming up - not too thrilled about it but chuffed not to lose a precious day on transport!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Medellín, Colombia

    15 april 2017, Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    Pablo's Paisa.

    In case you were wondering, I finished the two seasons of Narcos in Panama. If you've been living under a rock, Narcos is the Netflix series on Pablo Escobar's cocaine empire - a thrilling watch and a prerequisite for any trip to Colombia. Thanks be to Cat for her early encouragement which later turned to frustration as I favoured the gory series to her conversation. Sorry, not sorry Cat. Hence, we arrived in Medellín with all the background we needed to pursue our interest in the notorious late Pablo Escobar. Unfortunately, what we had forgotten was that it was still Santa Semaña...very much so. This caused a very quiet introduction to an otherwise extremely lively city which nearly nine million Colombians call home. Almost every shop was closed and the streets were void of traffic and pedestrians. To be honest it was eerie and a little scary having nobody around.

    But hang on a sec, that doesn't include the bus station in which we arrived - that was a different story. It was hectic, unfamiliar, and to make matters worse - nobody spoke english. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem but whilst trying to buy tickets for our onward leg to Bogotá in three days time, we were turned away with little more than 'no hay' - twice. For those who don't speak spanish, 'no hay' means something along the lines of 'there isn't' or less literally 'we don't have any'. A request for an explanation or even just an elaboration was met with an agressive blurt of incomprehensible spanish. Information assured us that there were tickets at the companies who had explicitly told us there weren't just moments earlier. Bloody Santa Semaña! It dawned on us that this could be our first major cock up with bookings so far. Well by our, I mean Cat - the booking guru, who's the brains that keep this ball rolling. Finally we found tickets for a night bus that got into Bogotá at 3am - not ideal and you'll surely be hearing about it. I don't miss a whinge. Ever.

    But enough of that - Medellín is breathtaking. Exclusively red brick houses sprawl up every side of the valley like tomato soup sloshing up the sides of a shallow green bowl. At the periphery, the densely populated urban scene cuts to farm or forest so sharply it's as if the visual contrast was intentional. Remarkable in every direction. We have a thousand photos in our effort to capture this and I'm still not convinced we have. To add to the scene, quick moving clouds ranging from fluffy white to stormy black race over the valley adding a naturally fluctuating light to the scene. It is a view that would never bore and one that almost every resident can appreciate - the further from the city centre, the better it gets.

    Medellín has recently become home to the Metrorail and Metrocar which - believe it or not - are my first rail and cable car of this trip! The public transport system is first world - swipe cards, crowd management and prompt, clean services. Both the rail and cable car are suspended over the city, minimising displacement of residents and providing cheap travel for all (US70c flat rate). The metro has transformed the city. On top of all the usual benefits of decent public transport, the Metro lines have had an interesting effect on low socioeconomic areas with high crime. Each of the areas to have recieved a nearby line or station have shown unprecedented reductions in crime and unemployment, and have ultimately been transformed into thriving, safe, residential environments. Remember we're not talking about chopping five or ten minutes off your daily commute. Many of the lines provide CBD access to those who would otherwise be unable to complete the round trip in a day.

    A city of nine million people obviously has it's diversity, but if you're still thinking of it as third world, think again. Cat and I are in agreement that this is a city that we could well call home. It has good public and private transport options, a respectable CBD, multiple universities, a world class sporting venue (that would put Sydney's Olympic Park to shame), as well as plenty of sports clubs, modern bars and restaurants. It's also located just a stones throw from nature and an abundance of adventure; hiking through forest, swimming and kayaking on lakes and rivers, top notch mountain biking and if you're up for it - parasailing the ridges surrounding the city. Last but not least (and most importantly for me) it has a temperate climate! Don't get me wrong, there's still crime, slums and dirty areas in Medellín but it is leagues ahead of what we experienced in Central America.

    What does one do in Medellín after a night on a bus? Sleep would be the obvious answer, but we're on a schedule and haven't the time to nap. At least that's what Cat repeated whilst I flooded system routinely with coffee. After a day exploring town and riding cable cars, we decided that it would be rude not to attend the local footy game, given that every second person we saw that day had been wearing their colours. It was of course sold out, which forced us into the unenjoyable task of obtaining tickets from scalpers in what was a hectic entry to the game. Luckily we were in the company of some Danes who had slightly better spanish than us. After much faffing and bartering we got the tickets for only a few dollars more than we should have and began the process of finding a seat. The stadium was packed! Not even standing room was available and every access route was blocked by fans - stood or seated. It was a nightmare! After climbing over nearly 100 occupied seats we finally found a spot to watch the game, fortunately distant from the carnage ensueing behind the home goal. The home team, Athletico National were dominant for the entire 90 minutes but were unfairly punished by two break away goals resulting in an undeserved 2-0 loss, amusingly reminding me of a typical Cows victory. The meagre 100 odd away fans vocal in their joy and ultimately escorted from the match by equally as many police. The party continued on Carrera 78 as the locals flooded the street to commiserate the loss with shot after shot of aguardiente.

    But all of this and no word of Escobar? Well, it took some time to find a man who would show us around as most of the tours were closed for Santa Semaña. Since the launch of the Netflix series, tourism Medellín has capitalised on some key locations in Pablo's life; his grave, his place of death, one of his (80 odd) houses - the Monaco building - which in fact was bombed by a rival cartel, and of course Pablo Escobar the suburb. Yes, he has a suburb named after him because he built it - all 800 houses. We were able to visit all of the above, but missed out on meeting his brother and on visiting Hacienda Napoles (his farm/zoo still filled with exotic animals from around the world). It was an interesting but underwhelming tour in all honesty. If only it wasn't Santa Semaña and we could've got the tour we wanted! We did however get a local's view on Escobar. Apparently in Medellín about 80% of residents hate him and 20% love him. Free housing likely to be a leading contributor to the fans. Either way, aside from in Paisa Pablo Escobar, Medellín has done it's best to destroy his legacy and erase the painful past he had created.

    A brief and busy visit to Parque Arvi via cable car brought around the end of our time in Medellín as we raced back to pick up our bags and head to the bus station for another partially overnight bus. Instantly demotivated by more of the Santa Semaña crowds we had been battling all afternoon, neither Cat nor I were particularly happy about this bus. To make matters worse, the bus company had double booked our bus. A disorderly 'line' turned to pushing and yelling as everybody tried to board the bus. This reinforced my already firm belief that Colombians don't queue. If you can push into a line, you do. If you are of the belief that your question is more important than others, interupt and ask it. Obviously it's not rude here, but it's taken a lot of getting used to to forget all of your manners and delete any awareness of personal space. Anyway, I've digressed. Back to my bus whinge. We had absolutely no idea what was going on until we found someone who spoke english, conveniently pushing past us in the crowd. After nearly an hour of moshing and worrying that we wouldn't be able to leave, a lady called our name and we squeezed through many aggressive and fuming Colombians onto the bus that was now over an hour late. We then discovered that there was another bus, the ticket agent had just put the wrong bus number on a whole bus load of passenger's tickets. We were actually grateful for the delay, we weren't looking forward to arriving in Bogotá at 3am with no accommodation. Well that was until the bus driver decided that he'd try and make it up. He drove that bus so brutally I nearly fell off my seat. In a coach. With arm rests! The dinner stop was all of 15 minutes at 11pm and we arrived in Bogotá on time. This will probably be the only time in my life I will be upset with a prompt service. Finishing our night's rest on the floor of a freezing Bogotá bus station was salt in the wound, part one. Salt in the wound part two was that our hostel didn't have an indoor living room, a place to doze or even hot coffee when we arrived at 6am, nor could they provide directions to a place that did. That there made for a tired and grumpy start to Bogotá for the both of us. Ah well, you can't win 'em all!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Bogotá, Colombia

    20 april 2017, Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    I'm wearing a jumper...and pants! At least I've discovered what was taking up all that room in my bag!

    Colombia's capital is situated in the highlands, some 3200m above sea level. Geographically speaking it's actually in the northern most fingers of the Andes mountains. It's not quite snowing but certainly cool and if you ask my compatriot, she'll be sure to inform you that by cool, I mean cold. That is if she can be heard through the layers of clothes under which she hides her thermally unstable self. It's a shock for us and a welcome reminder we need to get serious about finding some warm clothes for Patagonia and the onset of the approaching southern hemisphere winter. Shorts and singlets are going deep in our bags, at least for now; the cold is here.

    Our first day in Bogotá was long. It started at 3am when we were booted off our bus (see last footprint) and played out similarly to our first day in Medellín - save for the fact that nothing was open at 6am when we began exploring and nothing would open until 8am. We discovered Bogotá's café secret: hot drinks come with bread and cheese - nearly a meals worth of food. Our five hour wait for breakfast well worth it, in quantity if not anything else. Being Sunday, the day before all museums close we decided to tick off the Gold museum and Police museum, neither of which offered enough to hold our concentration or engage our brains - probably not a great choice of activity after all. That culminated with one of many shopping attempts for warm clothes, a quick home cooked meal and an early bed.

    Monday's bicycle tour was probably our best tour to date. A group of ten or so of us were let loose on the crazy streets of Bogotá, trailing our guide and a very smiley spanish speaking mechanic. We visited fresh fruit markets where we got really stuck in to trying many of Colombia's seemingly infinite number of tropical fruit. So many delightful treats have been sitting under our noses for far too long! Next up was Tejo - a Colombian game which involves beer, petanque-eske motions, hunks of steel, clay, and gunpowder. I shant explain the rules but from what you can imagine it can be loud and rowdy. Stop three was the coffee factory which we've seen way too much of but were quick to jump at the chance to lap up a cappuccino.

    One of the most interesting parts of the tour was the graffiti. Bogotá is covered in it from head to toe but on the most part it's not graffiti - it's street art. Not too long ago the city was plagued with graffiti. The government had an idea to allow street artists to decorate its infrastructure by holding a competition in which artists could select a space and propose their work. The winners were granted the space, the materials and some cash to decorate their part of the city. In doing so, other 'artists' respected their work (more so than a blank wall) and took their graffiti elsewhere. The idea took off and before they knew it Colombians were paying artists to paint their walls with all kinds of works. It's turned a problem into an intriguing part of the city's culture.

    We summoned the courage to take multiple buses to the very distant and rather expensive salt cathedral, buried in the salt mines. It was nice to get out of town and meet some smiley locals and we were grateful to have missed Santa Semaña at the cathedral...it sounded chaotic! The salt cathedral is buried in a disused salt mine (the new mine operated below the cathedral) and hosts numerous places of prayer including three large churches, numerous gift shops, a reflection room, a theatre, a light show and of course a cafe and bathrooms. It's huge. But no huger than you would expect for a mine. Highlight of the day: watching Cat lick the wall to see if salt really did taste like salt.

    After what seemed like an eternity of shopping in Bogotá, we finally managed to acquire boots and thermals and a fleece for Cat. We visited three malls and dozens of shops to do so. Not recommended...probably should have just waited until Patagonia. Ah well, we'll be there soon enough!    Meer informatie

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  • Richard EllisThe AmericasRichard Ellis

    Puerto Natales, Chile

    22 april 2017, Chili ⋅ ☀️ 9 °C

    Puffer poofs and frosty freeze.

    It's cold. I mean, it's seriously cold. Everybody here is dressed in down from head to toe and people raise eyebrows when you say you're going to 'walk'. We're bouncing between zero and 13°C without wind chill. But the worst part is knowing that we're going to be camping in temperatures colder than this for five consecutive nights - and it's almost certain that at some point, we'll be caught in the driving sleet.

    That's why we're in Puerto Natales. It's 'base camp' for those who are trekking in Torres del Paine - Patagonia's finest wilderness. It took us three flights, two buses and $750 to get here from our accommodation in Bogotá, oh and a two hour snooze on the airport floor. If you're planning on booking Latam air, please be aware they fly planes from the Wright Brother's day. Not that this is a bad thing - they have seat spacing from the days flying didn't involve involuntary contortion (i.e. leg room for regular humans - yes!) and still offer cockpit tours (if you're cheeky enough to ask, but not cheeky enough for a selfie). On the topic of travel tips: don't try to dine in Lima International - you won't find a meal under $15 US.

    Puerto Natales is wonderfully quiet. Locals go about their daily business peacefully, cars give way to pedestrians with astounding willingness, stray dogs lay quietly on the berm (probably in the later stages of hypothermia) and every shopkeeper will greet you with a smile. In fact, the only reason I can find to get my knickers in a knot is the ATM fees: $10 a pop with a $400 max withdrawal. This place is Queenstown before the (hoards of) tourists. We spent two days here gearing up for our hike and acclimatising to the cold; we're off to Torres tomorrow so you won't be hearing from me for at least a week! Hopefully Trump hasn't start a nuclear war by then and I don't end up living a modern day Tomorrow When The War Began.    Meer informatie

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