Largo Atitlan - Guatemala

After a little R & R on the quite beaches of El Salvador I was ready to start traveling again, and I knew exactly where I wanted to start; Largo Atitlan. Another "tourist hot spot" in Guatemala´s northern highlands, it´s famed for it´s picturesque beauty and quaint little pueblos that dot the lake side. I was really looking forward to this adventure and, being one of the cheapest places in Central America, so was my much depleted bank account. I took a mid morning shuttle bus from Antigua and was standing on Atitlan´s shores before lunch.

It has been said by some that Largo de Atitlan is the most stunningly beautiful lake in the entire world. Now, I haven´t seen every lake in the world, but I have seen a few, and this one is up there for sure. Almost perfectly round in its circumference, this vast, 128sq km, expanse of water actually fills a caldera of a long extinct volcano. Its volcanic origins make Atitlan the deepest lake in Central America (its deepest points have never been measured) and gives its waters an entrancing dark blue surface covering a seemingly black undercurrant a few feet below. A haunting void that literary pull you, both visually and physically, into its depths. This has lead many people, including the ancient Mayan civilizations that first settled on these shores, to attributed mystical and spirituals powers to these mysterious waters.

The land surrounding the lake, a dark shade of lush green undergrowth, rises steeply to the towering summits of the three volcanoes that guard Atitlan´s shores. A sparse collection of Mayan villages preside along the lakeside, which in 1955, became a national park to protect this sacred, and economically viable, area. Since then, locals have built it up as a tourist destination and most towns have a host of restaurants, hotles, and bars that cater to travelers. Despite this influx, many Mayans, mostly Tz'utujil and Kaqchikel, still live and work here.

I arrived in Panachel, a noisy tourist hub where buses drop of the hoards of day trippers to snap photos and buy "authentic" Mayan trinkets at many of the street market stalls. Not ready to fill my backpack up with nick nacks quite yet I made my way to the dock and waited to take a boat to San Pedro, a much more relaxed town across the lake. On the boat over I met an Aussie named, Daz. This was his fourth trip to the lake and he was not sure if he was going to leave.
"Your not sure that you are going to leave?" I asked not bothering to hind the surprise in my voice. He didn´t even look back at me, his eye transfixed on the open water.
"You´ll understand when you get there mate."

Old Daz was right. San Pedro is a little bit of everything. It as its famous hippie scene. Reminiscent, intentionally so I think, of Berkeley´s Telegraph Ave, in the 60s; spacey people walking around doning hemp only clothes and beads rolled into their long matted hair. It has its young party scene; with clubs playing a blend of European techno and salsa biased R & B, partiers are supplemented with a seemly endless supply of coke, acid, speed (which some dealers will also call coke), and Ecstasy as they party early into the morning. And then it has something for everyone in between.

A lot of the people I met where travelers, like myself, who had come up for a weekend and just stayed. There was Juan, a Frenchmen who arrived for a week long trip around the lake. He´s been here for three years now, owns a message school and spends most of the time playing with his two year old. There was Jill, an American who came to climb the volcano. She now owns a local bar and plans to open a hotel soon. And so the stories went. "I came up for the weekend... and I just stayed." It was amazing, and a little scary. What was possessing these people, most of whom had other plans, tickets home, ect. to stay. Perhaps there was something in the mysterious water after all...

After a week of exploration; a cross dressing Guatemalan BBQ in the small hamlet of Santa Cruz; a kayaking and cliff jumping expedition in the spiritualist town of San Marcos; clubing back in San Pedro, I was ready to head home. But, I ended up staying longer than I had expected as well.

I was going to go home on Sunday, but after a long night of parting on Saturday I couldn´t be bothered with a bumpy boat ride and a winding bus trip back to Antigua. What the hell, my room was only Q15 ($2) a night anyway, I would stay another night and go back on Monday. Then on Monday, a friend told me there was a poker game at one of the bars. It had been months since I played in my usual weekly game back home, I couldn´t pass that up. I would go back on Tuesday. I was ready to go on Tuesday and even bought a bus ticket. I went down to the docks ready to say goodbye to Lake Atitlan... but the boatmen was not. I sat there on the docks for hours waiting for a boat back to Panachel, but there was not enough people to make it work it for him to fire up the moder and waste his precious gasoline boating me back for a $1. I could see what was happening here. It was the Lake, it was pulling me in, into its dark depths with its booze, cheap deals, and Texas hold ´em tournaments. Suddenly, in a flash, I had vision of the future; I was walking down the street barefoot and wearing white Capri pants made out of hemp, with long matted hair covering my face and dancing to music with earphones that weren´t even plugged in to anything. Uh, I grew up in Berkeley and I´ve seen enough of that to know that I dont want to be that guy. I made pact with myself. I was leaving the next day, even if I had to walk back to Antigua.

Luckily for me I didn´t have to. The next day the boatman was feeling generous and fired up his engine. As we pulled away from the dock I held my breath, waiting. Waiting for something to happen; for him to turn back around deciding it wasn´t worth it after all, the engine to die, a huge earthquake to open up a crack in the caldera below and sallow us in a worlpool. Anything that the lake might do to keep me there. But it didn´t, and I was allowed to leave. But, just before I boarded the bus back to Antigua, I took a look back at the inviting waters, the warm hills, and the magic that is Lake Atitlan and I could here it whisper something to me. "You´ll be back." I supressed a smile as I shook my head and boarded the bus. I knew, sooner or later, it would be right.

Playa Tunco - El Salvador

After a few weeks of relative stagnancy in Antigua, I was ready to get out and hit the ol´trail. David Beclis, a fellow traveler I had befriended on my trip to Volcan Pacaya, said he was heading south to El Salvador´s Pacific beaches for a few days to learn how to surf. David was a 24 year old law student from Birmingham who, deciding not to pursue a career in law, was now traveling through Latin America for six months before moving to New Zealand to look for work. He was reserved and polite, as Englishman are though to be, but he also liked to let loose and party at the same time. I liked him from the start and decided to join him on his trip.

We set out early in the morning, taking a shuttle into Guatemala city where we transferred to a lager Pullman. About a half hour out of the city the bus broke down along the side of the highway. Luckily for us, it broke down right next to a pineapple stand so we were able to eat piña fruit sticks while we watched the driver turned mechanic pull out every wire and tube in the engine trying to find the problem. After two hours of fruit sticks it looked like our adventurous ¨mechanics¨ (over the course of the two hours five or six other men had appeared out of the hills or in pick up trucks and were now also pulling out engine parts) where going to be stumped until one man, converged in engine grease and motor oil, emerged from somewhere inside the engine compartment holding up a slit tube. We waited another 45 minutes for a new tube from Guatemala city and then we were on the road again.

Crossing the board into El Salvador is a lenghty and tedious process. We were made to deboard the bus, present our passports to an exit official, then get back on the bus, present them to another agent on board and then get off again to open up our luggage for an inspector. This was typical for El Salvador which is said to have the most uncorrupted, scrupulous law-enforcement in Central America.

We made it to San Salvador by nightfall and after checking in to a hostel in the Bohemian university area of town, set out for dinner and nightlife entertainment. I was excited. I was hungry and had read about a delicious El Salvadorian dish called Papusas, which is stuffed tortillas filled with cheese, spices and vegetables or meat. I couldn´t wait to try it. We set out, wandering the side-streets, which, thankfully, were frequently patrolled by foot police, until we found the ¨main¨street with all the bars and restaurants. We took a table at El Tres Diablos, supposedly the best bar in town, but which failed to have any type of nightlife or any papusas on the menu. I settle for a steak sandwich and we called it an early night, content on saving our energy for the weekend crowds at the beach.

The next day we took locals buses to La Liberdad, a shabby little port city that is a hub to get to all the other beaches. After reading up on all the beaches in our lonely planet we deiced on Playa Zonte, a black sand cove with a decent off shore break and a good selection of accommodations. It was after we arrived in Playa Zonte that we learned that our two year old lonely planet was severely out of date. If Zonte was ever a happening beach town, it had long since died and someone had done everything in there power to cover up its tracks. There were a few accommodations hugging the rocky beach, which was bisected by a river, and no kind of surf shops or tourist centre. We took a moldy double room at Casa de Frita, and waited for the crowds to arrive for the weekend festivities. There were no crowds and no festivities. We waited around until 8pm and decided to try one of the other hostels on the other side of the river, but the hostel clerk said that the river was high and dangerous to cross and that the main highway- the only other way to get to the other side of the beach- was not safe to walk at night. Defeated we sunk back into our chairs and played chess. But, after a few minutes we both looked at each other.
¨The hell with it man, lets have a go at those other spots cross river,¨ David said.
¨Hell yes,¨ I replied and we set off down the beach with our flashlights.
The river looked more like a stream and looked passable aided by the illumination from the full moon. We walked the banks looking for the best place to cross and realized that there was no way to know how deep it was until we actually got in. We waded out a couple of feet before the currant, going both directions because of the incoming tide, almost made me loose my balance on the slippery rocks converging the bottom. I stayed myself, walked on a staggered line down stream, holding my camera above my head in case an ill-placed step sent me into the torrent. Every step was a painful laborous effort because you would kick up loose rocks trying to find your footing which then, caught in the currant, came smashing back into your ankles. It took us about 20 minutes, but we finally emerged, water logged and bleeding, on the other side of the river. We limped up to nearest hostel only to find a few groups of surfers and locals chilling in hammocks and talking quietly. We pulled up some chairs and ordered a couple Gallo beers and waited to see what developed. After about an hour it was clear that this was as wide as the party was going to get, but we stayed and order another beer each building up our liquid currange before hobleling back to the river to go home.

The next day we went out on a scouting mission and found a better beach with more restaurants, more bars, better waves, and more people, and amazing sunsets over a rocky outcrop just off shore. Playa Tunco was just a 10 minute drive down the road and we moved here in the afternoon taking a room overlooking the beach. About 20 Peace Corers were in town on leave which seemed to double the tourist population and the nights turned out to be pretty lively and fun. Everyone else in town, local or tourist, seemed to be a surfer and it gave the town a laid back ¨manaña¨attitude. The main activities seemed to be surfing, eating, and siestas in hammocks. David and I did our best to fit in. We spent the next three days here, chilling out in hammocks by the beach. One day we were meant to take a suffering lesson, but David got food poisoning the day before and we called it off. After the weekend crowds departed the town transformed back into a sleepy little surfing village and we decide it was time to move on, back to San Salvador. I was looking forward to this because, despite having great food, non of the restaurants on the beach seemed to offer papusas.

Back in San Salvador, we decided to check out of the the many malls that the capital has to offer. Despite is small size and recent civil war history, El Salvador has Central America´s strongest economy and best minimum wage (though that statistic is misleading as roughly have the countries population doesn´t have a ¨qualifying¨ job). But you couldn´t help but notice the affluencey. BMWs and Lexus cars in the street. Armani and Prada stores in the malls. Everyone one wore western clothes and looked very European, a consequence of years of genocidal inhalation of indigenous populations. It was a stark contrast to Guatemala´s highlands which are inhabited by many different Mayan tribes.

That evening I set out determined to find a papusaria. I dragged David around town for the better part of an hour, walking up and down side streets and asking everyone where I could find one. Finally, after running out of streets to search, I gave up, deflated and sulking. In the morning I said goodbye to my traveling companion and took the 5am bus back to Guatemala still sour that I had spent almost an week in El Salvador and didn´t get to try there famous papusas. This time the bus didn´t break down, but it still took almost an hour to get through the custom at the boarder. Sitting there on the bus waiting to be let across some venders came aboard selling different items. Newspapers, candies, and... PAPUSAS! I almost jumped out of my seat and quickly ordered three different flavors, my mouth watering in anticipation. They were a little on the bland side.

Antigua - Guatemala

I disembarked from the bus in a dark rainy haze. It was almost 10pm and I had no idea where I was. I rubbed my bloodshot eyes as I flipped through the soggy pages of my lonely planet guide trying to orient myself on the seemingly endless parade of cobblestone streets and Spanish colonial houses. I had just arrived in Antigua, where I would be spending the next couple weeks studying Spanish and acclimating to Latin America. I found a place to stay in a small posada on a side street and got some much needed sleep after my long journey from the states.

In the morning I took a stroll to get my bearings and figure out why all the guidebooks had listed this place as a "must see" when in Guatemala. It didn't take long to figure it out. Enclaved by three huge volcanoes on all sides, Antigua is in a world unto itself. It boasts a populous of over 42,000- and that's not including the smaller pueblos that are scattered in the surround mountains- but has a small town feel where the only horns you hear are people honking to say hello to their friends. An hour's drive from Guatemala City, it is an inviting reprieve from the fume-choked air and unenviting side streets of the capital. Antigua itself was once the capital of the entire Central American Colonial Empire and the capital of Guatemala, but after several devastating earthquakes it was abandoned for today's present sight in the valley below. Suddenly a sleepy little mountain town, it transformed into a bohemian center for local art and clothing.

Having all these attributes, Antigua quickly became an international destination when tourism to Guatemala picked up in the 40s and 50s. Through the 30 + years of increasing tourism, Antigua has lost almost all of its originality save the streets and architecture, but it's still a wonderful place to visit.

Everything seems to stem out from the central park, the town's center. From there you can find street after street with travel agencies, internet cafes, budget hotels, and a surprising array of international cuisine. With all the enmities that a traveler could want it's not hard to see why many who travel through here end up staying longer than they planned. This also may explain why it has a seemingly endless supply of language schools.

After a typical Latin breakfast I set out to find a language school, intent on brushing up on my rusty high school Spanish. With almost 200 to choose from I had no idea where to start. I didn't have a specific idea of what I wanted but I wanted to avoid a large school, typically owned by American and Canadian companies, which seemed to lack the personal touch you get with local run businesses. I also wanted to do a home stay with a local family where I would be the only student, thinking this would be a good way to make me speak Spanish. Both turned out to be a bad idea.

I chose a small establishment "Antigua Language School" and a host family though them. Now everyone told me that it doesn't matter what school you go to but what teacher you get. That was not true for me. My teacher was fine, but the owner, Marcos, reminded me of a used car salesman at the end of the month desperately trying to make his quota. He'd tell you anything to keep you in the room. "I know the perfect teacher for you" he told me when I signed up. He changed my teacher twice. "Come by in the afternoons, we have plenty of activities." I came by often but he was never there. "I have the perfect family for you, great room, great food." He changed my family the morning I was to move in. The family itself was ok, a small private room and three meals a day with the family. The mother, Maria Elana, was nice enough and talked to me when she had time to sit down but the two teenage kids who lived there ignored my presence and I spent most meals in silence. I couldn't blame them though. How would you feel if you had a new person in your house ever couple weeks who didn't speak your language? It would get old.

After a week there, I decided to switch. I went with one of the larger schools, Ixchel, and switched families, this time one with other students as well. It was much better. The host mother, Angelica, was a gem. She made great meals and ate and talked with us. The other students, a French women, a Jamaican, and a fellow American where all really nice and eager to speak Spanish. We all got on well and our meals typically lasted an hour and a half to two hours as we chatted away in Spanish about everything and nothing. I spent another week and half there, staying on at the house for an extra couple days after school was done because it was so pleasant.

Having spent a little over three weeks in Antigua, I feel as if I have come to know the abandoned mountain village turned tourist Mecca pretty well. I've done a lot in that time. I hiked a volcano and learned to dance salsa. I joined a gym. I spent a weekend in a nearby beach town eating cerviche and drinking cervezas. I visited pueblos for ritual Mayan/Christian ceremonies for the cigarette and rum god. I went to a kite flying festival in a graveyard for Dia de los Muertos. I made good friends with locals and internationals, and some enemies, with a guy who grabbed my crotch and said "Te querro," I want you (gay men seem to have an affinity toward me in Latin America). I have history here. It was like when I lived in Sydney for six months, I have come to know the bartenders and streets by name, I know where the best places to get a good cheap meal, I know the best place to go on a Tuesday night out on the town. I feel as though I've lived here. But here is not Guatemala, not really. It reminds me a bit of Fantasy Island in Pinocchio, where little children (foreigners) run around in a play land with no rules and no grown ups. It's time to leave this play land and move on... to another.

Volcan Pacaya - Guatemala

Looming 2552 meters over the south end of Guatemala City, Volcan Pacaya is a popular weekend excursion because it is the only active volcano in the region. A mere 20 minutes from the city (which can quickly become 2 hours during rush hour), one can take a shuttle bus or hitch a ride halfway up the mountain to the small sub-alpine village of San Fransisco. There you'll need to buy an entrance pass (25Q = $3) and can hire a guild to take you up to the summit. In past years, the guilds were for protection from thieves, but, with the creation of Guatemalan Tourist Police Force, crimes in these touristed areas have dropped off significantly. Still, it is highly recommend that you hire a guild because, though you may not face emanate danger from would-be bandits, without the guilds you would get hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of trails and paths that zig-zag up and down the mountain slopes.

We arrived in the late afternoon and, escorted by our guild Pedro, we started our accent. The first part of the trek is the hardest. You slowly climb a sleep broken concrete trail through dense tropical forests while trying to avoid being trampled by passing horses, or as the locals trying to coax you into there saddles call them, taxis). After about a half km we came to a plateau that offered great views of other dormant volcanoes and the small Alpine Pacaya lake. Pacaya, by the way, is the name of a local fruit that grows on the lush hillsides of the volcano.

From the plateau, we navigated our way up the poorly marked trails another 2 km to the cone of the summit, frequently stopping along the way to catch our breath while Pedro pointed out local flora and Fauna. As night descended, we accented the final pitch through the tree line an out into the open volcanic rock fields. We were still a good distance away from the top but we could already see the red glow on the western slope. We marched on in eager anticipation and, coming to the end of the dirt path, preceded slowly on the unstable volcanic boulders. I could see the lava clearly, a neon orange and red river that flowed slowly, but unabatedly, to the depths below. If that weren't enough of a site, I noticed in the distance, that people seemed to be right on the banks of the flows taking pictures and throwing rocks into the magma. Those people got to be crazy, I thought, getting that close to lava, why, at any point the flows could shift and- "Vamanos muchacos," Pedro yelled and started up toward the flows. I waited to see if anyone else ìn the group was crazy enough to follow, but, to my surprise, no one blinked an eye, they just fell into line behind him. So I jumped off the cliff too.

As we drew nearer, we could feel the intense heat that the lava produced as it ate through rocks, trees, and tundra. We passed several rock piles on either side that were actually on fire. That's right, rocks...on fire... That equals, hot as hell. It was pitch dark now and I used my pathetic little pen light to aid me as I stumbled up the volcanic rocks. Twice I lost my balance and had to use my hands to break my fall, and both times my hands fell on hot, steaming rocks that burned the skin. Now I understood why the guild book said not to wear sneakers... the hot rocks burn off the rubber soles. I, of course, opted not to heed the warning. Finally, we made it to the banks of the flow. To my surprise it was not a hostel, foreboding place. It was actually quite peaceful, as the steady trickle of lava slowly broke apart the surrounding rocks and shrubs. Then it hit me, I was standing in a vortex, devoid of time, lava is ageless, ageless as the world itself, and I was witnessing it 10ft in front of my face.

We stated up there for an hour, entranced by the glowing warmth of mother nature. Our decent, now in complete darkness, actually required more energy then the trek up because you had to constantly watch the ground in front of you as to not trip on a root or rock and go tumbling down into a ravine. By the time we got back to San Francisco we were exhausted, but still jumping with excitment from what we had just witnessed. It was all we could talk about on the way back. "Oh man, my shoes are done," an American said. "I felt that I was to almost burn in flames," echoed a German. It went on like that all the way back to town. By the time I got home, then almost midnight, I didn't even have the energy to take a much needed shower. But, lying there in bed, I still couldn't sleep glowing with amazment for what I had just seen.

Miami - Florida

I'm not one for omens or signs, I tend to take things as they come and treat each situation as it's own individual moment. However, if the way this trip started is any indication of what might be yet to come... I might be coming home a lot sooner than I had anticipated.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

I was awake before my alarm went off. I couldn't sleep, not with all the anxiety and excitement that I now felt about my impending trip. The morning was a blur, saying goodbye to my family, the ride to the airport, boarding the plane, all of it just seemed to pass by as if I were having a flashback to some distant memory. It wasn't until the plane's wheels left the ground that it began to sink in- I was leaving for a long time.
The flight over was fine, I slept most of the way, aided by American Airline's version of Lunesta, The Devil Wears Prada, and arrived in Miami with an hour and a half to make my connection to Guatemala city.
I walked the half mile concourse that connected the terminals F to A and went to check in at for my flight at TACA airlines. Now, I had read that sometimes, these ticket agents would give you a hard time if they thought you were a hippy traveler trying to go to Guatemala to find your spirit or something, so I did my best to look professional- I wore a buttoned down shirt and tucked it in, I combed my hair, and even shaved! But, from the moment I approached to counter it was clear that I was in trouble.
Liz Hernandez was a stocky middle-aged women with contempt written all over her face. She was less than impressed that I was checking in only an hour before my international flight even though she saw that I had a connection that just landed. She was even less impressed when I told her that I did not have an onward travel ticket and was dismissive when I presented my travel-worn passport. With a thinly vailed smile she denied me right there on the spot and said I would loose my seat on that flight and my ticket. She took some delight in relaying this information to me and was waiting for me to explode. I paused and took a look at my options: 1) Go off on her and her superior and have her red-flag my passport or something and probably never see the outside of a Miami jail cell, let alone Central America. 2) Play it cool and try to work something out. I opted for door #2 and told her I'd talk to United (the affiliated airline I had issued the ticket through) and see what could be done. For the first time, she seemed impressed by me. I waited around for 45 minutes for my bag to be dragged off the tarmac, Then proceeded to walk the half mile corridor back to terminal F where United was located. When I finally arrived, I was told that the passport looked good but that they could do nothing.

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

I walked back to terminal A (that's 1.5 miles if your counting) and talked to another TACA agent who also said the passport looked good and that he would have let me board but that his supervisor, another heavy-set, middle-aged women who saw her chance to get back at 'Whitie' had overruled him. He suggested I try the Boarder Patrol Office, which they had in the airport, located, conveniently, back in Terminal F. Two miles. The Patrol Officer said that he would have accepted it as well but it's up to the airline. Back to TACA to relay the Patrol officer's approval. Getting close to 3 miles now.
At this point, Liz, probably feeling guilty for having me run a track meet with two large backpacks in a dress shirt and slacks, decided to take pity on me... or maybe she was just getting board with my persistence. She gave me the number of a US Passport office in Miami and booked me on a flight the following day (no extra charge). She said that I needed an appointment but that if I showed them the plane ticket they would issue me a rush order and a new passport. I called in, but there were no appointments until Friday afternoon. I was getting tired. I need to find a hotel for the night, Liz told me that there was a list located on level one... in Terminal F... as in 'FUCK' all this walking!
I waited outside for a shuttle and was coaxed into the Miami Princess Motel van, with offers of a cheap room. The driver, seeing the frustration in my face offered me a cigarette which I immediately took and lit up (I don't smoke mind you). As we drove out of the airport I told him my story. After a moment he said, "man, you really could use a drink." Without hesitation he veered off the freeway and down the off ramp into a back parking lot of an open-air Tapas bar, the type of place that had 'locals only' written in invisible writing all over the walls. It was with S-A though and we walked right up to the bar and he ordered me TWO Dominican beers. The driver, Antonio, was a middle-aged Peruvian who dreamed of opening his own hotel in Miami and whom, like me, loved to travel. He seemed generally interested in me and very friendly for a hotel diver. We sat there drinking Presidentes and smoking Dunhills until the sun set and then drove to the motel.

WEDNESDAY EVENING

At this point, I was exhausted and in need of a shower and food. I went up to my room and collapsed on the bed. I didn't even have a chance to go to the bathroom before Antonio walked through my door, "Hey man, come with me, I want to show you something," he said. The last thing I wanted to do was get up, but I didn't' want to be rude, especially since he had been so nice to me earlier. I rolled out of bed and followed him as he took me to a separate section of the motel. "This, my friend, is what I want my hotel rooms to look like," he said as he opened the door to a huge deluxe suite. It was decorated in Japanese-style, it had a circular bed and a huge LCD TV and a stereo system. "Come, I will show you," he said as he slapped me on the back and walked into the room. It had a built-in Japanese bridge over a small plant garden to a Jacuzzi. Uh? I looked around, there were wine glasses next to a bar, silk bedsheets under a huge ceiling mirror. Uhh! This was sex suit, they probably rented it by the hour! Antonio went to the TV and flipped it on to hard-core porn. Uhhh! He walked up to me, and put his hand on my hip and he passed by me to get to the Jacuzzi, and turn on the waterfall next to it. Oh, yeah there was a waterfall too. He glanced back at me an then the TV, "He is big yes!" "Uh, I guess." "I am big too!"! "Uhhhhh-huh." I was starting to see the big picture now. "How big are you?" "Uh, you know Antonio, I think I left the stove on in my room I gotta go," I mumbled as I made my way to the door. I didn't really say that, I don't know what I said, but I just had to get out of there. He gave me his number and told me to call him that night although I told him that I was very tired and had to get up early the next day to go to the passport office.
I slept lightly that night, with the deadbolt on and a chair in front of the door. I didn't know if and when he would come a knocking and he didn't have to knock at all, he had the master key!

THURSDAY

Surviving the night without incident, I went downtown early the next morning to the passport office. They let me in without an apointment because I had a ticket for that day- thank you Liz! Five hours later, and with a bunch of bureaucratic BS I was issued a new passport. After a brief stop at the local library to use the Internet to book and print a seat on a bus leaving Flores, Guatemala for Belize City (my onward ticket), I returned to the airport. It was still four hours before my flight, but I still feared that I wouldn't make it with all the hoops there were still likely to make me jump through. I was almost right. Even though I got a better agent and my passport was flawless, she said the bus ticket was not enough. I need proof a return flight to the US or they wouldn't let me on. I was about to choose door #1 when I remembered that I still had a credit with United for trip to Spain that I had to cancel during the summer (Thanks Sis). a brisk mile later I had my boarding pass.
I was sitting at the gate when, Ellena, another TACA (or as my father calls them CACA) agent who had been witness to my perils over the last two days approached me. My stomach went into my throat. What now? I thought of making a run for the gate, if I could just get on the plane, then maybe they would let me say. Sweat beaded down my face as she stopped in front of me. "I just wanted to wish you a nice flight." I let out a huge sigh of relief and grabbed her in a big bear hug and thanked her. I told her she needed to take a picture so that I would always remember TACA airlines. Yeah it was a lie, I couldn't wait to forget them, but I was finally going to Central America, I would land in Guatemala in less than three hours! My anxiety was gone, all that remained was my excitement.

The Incredible Journey Begins!

Hello All!

Welcome to my blog, the Ramblin Schambelan. I'll be using this site to keep an account of my life as I travel throughout Latin America. For those of you who don't know, I am a 25 year old college grad who, after two years as a bar manager in my hometown of Berkeley, CA, quit the service industry but am still not ready for a 'real' job. The alternative seemed pretty clear to me; a one-way ticket to unknown places for an unforeseen length of time. The pretense for my trip is to learn how to speak Spanish, but I think it's a much deeper quest for more than just an education in a foreign language. It's to learn about life, other than the one I'm used to, and, more importantly, to learn more about myself. Yeah I know, pretty corny, a path to understanding myself, but hey, I need to validate this crazy ambition somehow, OK? So BACK OFF!

Anywayz, I encourage you too check in from time to time for updates and stories as I won't be sending out any more "Garytales" via email (unless it's really good and I am convinced that you're not checking here.

The Incredible Journey Begins!

Easy Going...

Scott

Thailand- The South

Situated in the lower southern Gulf of Thailand is Ko Samui and Ko Pha-Ngan. Samui, a much bigger island, has an international airport and is a jump off point for the other islands in the area. This is where we flew in and caught a ferry to the much smaller island of Ko Pha-Ngan. Internationally notorious for it's Full Moon Party (billed to be the biggest beach party in the world), Pha-Ngan is a must see for any young backpacker traveling through Thailand. The Southeastern tip of the island is home to Hat Rin where all the partying takes place and the rest of the island is mostly undeveloped jungle and beaches. As nice as that sounds, we were going directly to the dirty little beach town of Hat Rin for what was said to be the biggest Full Moon Party of the year, estimating about 12,000 people. It was not to be however as a large storm pelted the Gulf making the usually wave-less bay and torrent of white water and rip tides. The day we arrived we went down to the beach just as they were pulling four people from the water who had been sucked out by the rips. We stood in horror as they tried to revive one girl who had been unconscious since they pulled her from the water. She did not wake up. Her and another girl died right there on the beach and three others had to be rushed to the local hospital. Needless-to-say, after seeing something like that, the mood afterward was very somber, no one really ready to go out and party. The following day was gloomy and beach was again hit with unrelenting high water, they local police closed off the beach and the full moon party was officially cancelled, although everyone just ended up walking around on the streets near the beach. We hung around the next day, again overcast and waited until it was time to leave. If you looked up the world 'bust' in the dictionary, this would be the explanation. No parties and no sunshine on a tropical island, and was raining everywhere.

But Jim Croche once sang, "Tomorrow is going to be a better day," and he was right! We took the ferry back to Ko Samui and boarded plane, never looking back. We arrived in Puket an hour later renewed and excited. We were going to Ko Pi Pi, which is one of the most spectacular islands in the Andaman Sea. About an hour's ferry ride from Puket will land you on Ko Pi Pi Don, a 'H' shaped island that is really two smaller islands joined by a sandbar isthmus. You may remember the name because when the 2004 Tsunami struck South East Asia, this was one of the worst places to be hit, 3rd on the body count list. But it was making speedy recovery and although the evidence of the disaster was still evident (toppled bungalows, uprooted palms) the community was rebuilding.

We arrived to calm waters and a cloudless sky. Not wasting anytime, we jumped on a longtail taxi boat and headed out to Ko Pi Pi Leh, a smaller undeveloped island just 5km to the south. We stooped in Maya bay, famous for its spectacular beach and snorkeling and more famous for the location of the 1999 film, The Beach. This may be the most beautiful place I have ever seen. Sheer limestone cliffs that disappear in the brightest blue water in the world. Coral reef that you can almost reach out and touch from crystal white sand beaches. And the water, aside from being in the mid 70's, was so peaceful. I could have spent the entire trip here. But we only had three days. We made the most of it though. Spending at least 6-8 hours on the beach everyday in cloudless sunshine and eating fresh caught seafood at night under the stars. As we boarded the ferry back to Puket we all cracked a smile as the rain clouds rolled in, knowing that our timing could not have been more perfect. It was perfect.

I'm on my way home now, eager to get back in time to spend the holidays with the family and friends. But not eager to leave this place. It's diverse landscape, friendly people, and ridiculously low cost of living would tempt many people to stay long past their originally planed departure date. I'm not worried though, I’m sure I can convince a couple of you to come back with me.

Scott

Thailand- Chaing Mia

Far to the north, nestled between the boarding countries of Myanmar (Burma) and Laos, lies the Thailand province of Chiang Mai. Originally the capital of Thailand, Chiang Mai is now the second largest city next to Bangkok. However, the topography here is nothing like its sister city to the south. Looking out of your window as you fly in to Chiang Mai international, you can see a vast expanse of rolling hills, dense forests, and farmland. There mere fact that you can see the ground from the air is a huge difference from the methane-chocked air that surrounds Bangkok.

We landed early in the morning and proceeded directly to our guesthouse where we met our guild and headed out on our three-day jungle trek. Two hours in the back of a pickup landed us in the outskirts of the Chiang Dao province and in tribal country. Life out here is very different from that of the city. Set far back in mountain country, this province is comprised mostly of small groups of villages where local tribes depend on farming for trade and sustenance. They live in simple bamboo huts and have no electricity or running water. If it weren't for the occasional motorbike and jeep tracks you might think you where back in the 17th century.

We set out on foot into the dense jungle ahead. After several hours of traversing muddy mountain passes and descending into thick river valleys, we found ourselves at our first camp. A small village set beside a mountain stream about 4km from the nearest road. Jay, our young and energetic guild, is a member of the tribe in this area, he has put us up at his parents house, which they have converted into a traveler accommodation complete with a bunk house with mats, throw pillows and mosquito nets, a dining area, and a camp fire. Jay went straight to work preparing a three-course meal for us. It was amazing; I however, was unable to enjoy it very much because I had contracted food poisoning earlier that day (don't eat too much from street vendors). But after 15 hours of sleep I felt much better and well rested for the next day's adventure: Elephants.

After a "technical" morning trek and eating a traditional Thai lunch out of a banana leaf bowl, we met up with our transport, three Asian Elephants. We had seen a bunch of them on the trail, but now, being up next to one, you begin to understand the incredible strength of these animals. The "handlers," a couple of teenagers more interested in starting fires with the local tree sap then taking care of us, had the elephants get on their knees as we climbed up onto a outboard seat strapped to the their back. Brian and I got on one and it immediately got up and starting heading up a hill. Needless-to-say we were a little unsettled, and decidedly more so when the hill turned into a cliff. The elephant, with the handler sitting on her head slowly, but methodically, ascended the cliff with little hesitation while Brian and I held on the chair, and each other, for dear life. These animals were amazing. They would be walking along and see a tree blocking their path and, instead of taking a side step in either direction to avoid the obstruction, they would simply reach down with their trucks and destroy the fallen tree and walk over the sticks it left behind. And, while amazed, I couldn't help but feel bad for these animals. They are beaten, tided up, and mistreated their entire lives so that foreigners like us can take an hour-long ride on their backs.

The next day we hiked to a rafting camp where we boarded traditional bamboo rafts consisting of nothing more than large bamboo shoots and dried banana leafs as rope. We floated down the slow moving river/waste runoff cesspool. There were no rapids and the only action came when Gary attacked the other boat and fell in the water, which he proceeded to swim in for the rest of the float. Even without white water we still managed to destroy both our boats in water wars before we pulled up at the other camp. We sat out on a terrace enjoying an ice-cold beer while Gary washed the parasites from his body before heading back to Chiang Mai. Our plane for the Gulf leaves the following morning and we have to make it to the night markets before we hit the hay.

It was short but very sweet and I would recommend that anyone traveling in South East Asia make a trip up to this area. And be sure to give yourself a couple extra days, because I know I missed out on a lot of other stuff that Chiang Mai has to offer. But I'm not worried, I'll be back. Sooner or later.

TTFN

Scott

Thailand- Ko Semet

7km off of Southern Thailand's East Coast lies the island of Ko Samet. About 6kms wide and no more than 1km wide, this cozy little hamlet is a popular weekend spot for Bangkokians and foreigners alike and, after one glance, it’s not hard to see why.

Encompassing the entire lenght of the east side of the island and separated only by small jetties of boulders, the beaches here are lined with crystal white sand sloping gently into a beautiful turquoise sea. Nitta trees hug the back of the beach, which shades an endless string of beachfront bars and cafes. A bluff sit a few yards back from the tree line and this is where you find an exhausting supply of guesthouses and budget hotels.

While this all might seem a bit crowded, and it is, you can escape to more secluded beaches as you traverse south down the island. You can rent motorbikes from any shop and, with only a few minutes ride down a dirt road, will find yourself completely alone. This road leads you through a jungle-like interior to the southern and more remote part of the island. We made day trips to these less traveled places; snorkeling in coral coves, eating at resort restaurants at the water's edge, and hiking to panoramic vistas. After a full days exploration, you can head back to town in time to partake in the night life, which consists of happy hours at all the bars, buckets (literally a bucket with rice whiskey, red bull {the real stuff}, and coke), and beach fire shows where locals twirl kerosene-soaked flaming Bo staffs to a mix of American Pop and European House music.

Located only 150km from Bangkok, Ko Samet is close enough to make it an easy weekend getaway but far enough to make it a expeirence unto its self.

TTFN

-Scott

Thailand- Bangkok

Hello and greetings from Thailand.

I've been here for just under a week now but I still feel as though I just stepped off the plane. Bangkok, with its dizzying array of taxi's, Tuk-Tuks, and traffic jams can make even the most seasoned of travels a little intimidated. It's inhabitants, 7.5 million strong, are always moving with its highways and skytrains, its boat ferries and subways, someone is always going somewhere. The city does not sleep. You can walk out of your hostel at any time day or night and find a crowd of people, tourists and locals, milling about. Furthermore, I have never seen a place with more stuff: Trinkets, cars, clothes, food, shops. Every street seems to be flooded with traffic and proprietors. You can't walk five feet without being approached by a salesman trying to sell you a tailored suit or a nock off North Face backpack. On every corner there are Tuk-Tuk drivers (small motorbike taxi's) trying to take you to Patpong for their infamous Ping-Pong and sex shows. Yeah, I have to admit I was a little intimidated. But, not wanting to waist any time, I dove right in.

I met up with my Australian friend near Ko Shan Rd. a Mecca of sorts for traveling backpackers. Lined with restaurants and shops this half-mile stretch has something for everyone. Whether you're looking for a quite veranda to get a traditional Thai massage or a techno-pumping nightclub boasting cheap drinks, you'll find it in this area. Most of the "guest houses" you'll find here are basic but affordable. I think we paid $180 Baht a night for our little nook (that's about $4 USD for the both of us). Food is even cheaper, and much more rewarding. Don't expect to pay more than $10 for a nice two-course meal with beer and bottled water included. You can also find some great bargains in the open-air weekend markets if you can stomach walking around in the sweltering heat with about 50,000 other treasure seekers.

Just across the highway from Ko Shan is the famous Bangkok Palace. We wandered over there to try and take a tour but it was closed for the King’s birthday. Now, while we wouldn't consider president’s day anything special, the king's birthday for the Thai people is a reason for celebration. Considered the 'Father of Thailand' the king is revered among ALL Thai people. And in reverence for their king they take off work on this day to pay homage to their royalty, by getting really, really drunk. As we walked though the place square we were engulfed in a sea of happy inebriated locals, about 750,000 of them. It was fun to watch but after a while we noticed we where the only farangs (whities) around, and, after a while, they noticed too. Some of the teenagers told us in Thai that it might be a good idea if we left. I don't speak Thai and I don't think those were the words they used, but we read between the lines. We went back to a friend’s house in downtown and watched the fireworks from her rooftop. The pyrotechnics went on long into the night, as did they parting.

We've taken a trip down to Ko Samet, a small island just off the east coast. It's a welcome reprieve from the big city bustle of Bangkok and we are inclined to say here for a few days and relax before we meet up with the rest of my friends arriving in Bangkok over the weekend. From there we'll travel north to Chang Mai and explore the jungle's up there.

That's all for now.

TTFN

-Scott

Costa Rica- The Nicoya Peninsula

Entering into our third and final phase of our Costa Rican vacation we set course for the Nicoya Peninsula. Located in the northwestern part of the country, the peninsula takes up almost half of Costa Rica's west coast. Running south from Nicaragua, it is dotted with beautiful unscathed beaches and untouched rainforest. This was our highly anticipated finally and we couldn't wait to get there. As it turns out, that would be a problem.

As we pulled out of the Tabacon Resort, the threatening rain clouds let loose their furry... and it was a hell of a lot of furry. Torrential rains, and booming thunder and lightning accompanied us for the entire journey which took the better part of six hours. Rain seemed to be coming from all directions... down, up, left and right. Although we were in the car with the windows shut for almost the entire time, we still managed to feel like we were getting wet and a dampness surrounded us the whole way.

As if that were not enough to give a motorist an unsettling feeling, we had to deal with the roads. Oh, those magnificent Costa Rican roads. The road leading out of La Fortuna was a shuffling mix of sink holed concrete and washboard dirt that gave you the impression you were riding a roller coaster, except this ride never seemed to end. After an hour and a half of entertainment, we made it to the state highway, if one was feeling humorous enough to call it that, a highway. What could be mistaken for a private driveway that had been paved in the 50's- 1850's- this heavily ridden and heavily neglected stretch of singled-laned road was in worse shape than the access road we had taken to get to it. Its downright dangerous 80km/hr speed limit was enough to, with one ill-faded twist or turn, send your automobile tumbling into a ravine. This "highway" stretched all the way to the coast. We were in for a long trip, and on top of that we had to dealwith drivers. Oh, I forgot to mention the divers.

As if that were not enough to give a motorist a completely ratted feeling, we had to deal with the drivers! Easy confused with escaped mental patents feeling their captors by way of a high speed chase, these drivers are the craziest people I have ever seen. It didn't matter if they had one or five cars- or six wheeler trucks- in front of them, they would swing out into oncoming traffic and attempt to pass them before, after, and during blind turns. Several times we witnessed these demented motorists bolt out into the left lane, get half way passed the motorcade of cars and have to slam on the breaks
and- almost in reverse- jump back behind the line to elude and oncoming car which had just overtaken four school buses, dodging pot holes and washouts, in a hairpin turn while trying not to hit the bikers. Oh yeah, there were bikers too. But as my sister said after my dad complained about these driver's incessant need to beat the traffic, "if you gotta go, you gotta go!" But that's not to say that you didn't need to pass, you NEEDED to pass. Otherwise you'd get stuck behind some farmer on his backhoe going 15km an hour, because he wanted to take the scenic route home. Or even better, you might come up on a school bus that stooped on the road so the children could get on or off. Did you hear me! STOPPED on the middle of the damn highway. Oh did I mention that we were also in the middle of a torrential rain storm? Crazy.

We managed to escape with our lives, and landed in Tamarindo in the early evening. It was still raining, but we knew right from the start, it was worth the drive. We pulled up to our ocean front villa just in time to watch the sun set in the red sky as the last of the rain drizzled down on us. I walked down the the water's edge. The air was warm and the water was warmer... we knew it was worth the drive.

The next day was gorgeous. Bright blue skies, with a gentle breeze. We explored the town of Tamarindo. A sleepy little fishing village turned surfer Mecca hugged the north side of one the many Pacific bays along the cost. It was in the throws of multinational development. Every peace of land was being bought up by developers and probably every construction crew in the country was working on something within town limits. The town is bordered by two estuaries on the north and southend. Our villa was at the southern end and when ever we wanted to escape the crowds, all we had do is cross over the estuary to the next beach, Playa Langosta. Which unlike it's noise cousin Tamarindo, was completely deserted of development, houses, or people. However, despite Tamarindo's looming influx of commercialism, the town still retained it's sleepy charm. We fell in stride and for the next five days did little else then sit on the beach and cool off in our pool during the day, and drink fresh fruit Pina Coladas at sunset and venture into town for dinner at night. Naomi and I went on snorkeling/sunset cruse one day, but, because of the recent rains, didn't end up getting in the water because of the red tide. We did however, on our return, run into two humpback whales playing in the surf and sailed along side them all the way back to Tamarindo as they performed water breaching back flips and tail splashes in perfect synchrony. Amazing.

I'm home now, which is a good thing. I missed my dog, and as I found out, my work missed me. But I would have loved a few more sunny days to explore the many other secrets that Costa Rica has to offer. I'm not too worried though, I'll be back, I'm sure of that.

TTFN