Last bus

28th February 2016

I left the fantastic Panamanian hill region of Boquete by taxi, after spending the last hour prior to his arrival marvelling at the number of bird species visible from my window.  Hummingbirds, tanagers and others entertained me from a few metres beneath my bedroom window.  But more about that soon.  My laptops hasn't been working properly and has prevented me updating the blog over the last week or so.

The taxi took me to the chicken bus stop in the centre of Boquete town.  When I climbed the stairs and looked up into the interior, I was greeted by a full compliment of unsmiling native people.  I took the only remaining seat right up the front by the door.

But a chicken bus is never full and people continued to pile on until there were three people per seat and the gangway full with standing passengers.  The bus barrelled away down the road towards the town of David, happily picking up more and more people.  When you think they can't possibly let anyone else on board, they'll stop for another family of four.

Soon, in order to let one solitary passenger off, everyone in the gangway has to disembark, wait for the one guy to get off, before piling back on.  Finally, they stopped picking up new passengers.  The only good thing about a properly full chicken bus, is that they no longer stop every few yards for new passengers.  For the rest of the journey, we sailed past the countless people waiting by the side of the road.  A blessed relief for a western traveller.  They really will stop every ten metres if there's somewhere to cram the passenger in.  The constant stopping becomes funnier as the trip progresses, as sheer frustration transposes into comedy.

Just fifty minutes after boarding we arrived in the busy David bus terminal.  I rushed to find the ticket office to buy my last bus ticket in Central America.  It cost $15.25 for the eight hour trip to Panama City.  This bus was a modern air conditioned double decker.  I was ending the bus journeys in relative style.  These journeys are incredibly dull, and writing about them is even duller.  Reading about them enough to send you off.

Sleep well, 😀

Monkey Piss

22 February 2016

Costa Rica's turning out to be spectacular for wildlife - of sorts.  Each time I pass through the doorway of my lodgings, I see new species of birds doing their thing.

A bit further into the wild s howler money pissed on my head today.  Luckily I was wearing a hat, but what a shot!  From 40 meters up, bullseye!  This is their way of showing displeasure with someone in their hood.  Either that or they're just assholes.  I witnessed one of them try to catch a Slaty Backed Trogon today.  He lept towards it, missed, as it flew on to the next branch, and crashed to the floor through a banana tree.  Not long after that, I experienced the "monkey rain" on my hat.  I sprung out the way sharpish as I knew this is something they try to do to people.

More to follow...

Lazy in San Jose

18-20th February

I've been lazy in San Jose.  Spending some time walking around town but didn't go to any of the planned excursions to local hills/ dormant volcanoes.   Sometimes you just need to rest and book the next few weeks accommodation.  That takes half a day.

San Jose has a train!  And it's a lot more organised and developed than other countries I've been travelling through.  They have western style supermarkets here.  It's a mix of American and Central American cultures but very different from the Central America to the North.  It feels safer.

In the centre of town people rush about as they do in London.  I've not seen behaviour like that for a while.  But it's not as hot here either.  Did I mentioned that everything in CR costs about the same as London?  Or perhaps more.  I asked my host why CR is so much more advanced that other nearby countries and she suggested it was down to not having wars, or the meddling of the United States government.

I'm waiting in 7-10 Bus terminal for the second time in three days.  This time I'm killing time waiting for my 10am bus to Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, four hours away.  Only four long distance bus rides to go until I'm done with Central American buses.  Time spent on long distance buses so far: 74 hours. Joy.

Enough with the buses!

So many buses, so many buses, soooo maaany buuusseeesss!

I can't take anymore bus trips.  But there's not much choice.

In just two weeks I'll be in Miami and have a hire car for 4 weeks.  No more buses for 4 weeks!

Hooray.

Costa Rica is lot more "civilised" that the four countries to the North.  I've been suffering from travellers fatigue and longing for a nice uncomplicated 9 to 5 job somewhere NOT cold!  The idea of having somewhere to return to and recharge is appealing, but there's no such place available to me.

The best will be to find a nice place to lodge for 2-4 weeks, or more.  My ears and eyes are open for that.  Canada, the USA and Europe are the areas I'll be looking.

Maybe someone has a place and we can come to an arrangement?  I mostly just need to work on my book, once the batteries have been refilled with positive charge.

Costa Lotta Rica

15th February 2016

 As I walked back to the lodgings in Monteverdi tonight, several small orange lights flew around ahead of me and overhead.   I've seen fireflies in a few places but these are huge in comparison.  You could almost mistake them as a faded torch (flashlight).

Well it's been another bus-tastic day today.  The Tica Bus left Granada bang on time (7am).  This trip was different from the three others I've taken, in that, the majority of passengers are tourists.  People from the four countries North of here, (Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala) either find it too expensive to visit Costa Rica or they can't get a visa so easily.

We made pretty good time overall.  The border crossing for the half-full bus took less than an hour.  Of course, I made the obligatory Cambio to get rid of Nicaraguan Cordoba and the much needed Costa Rican Colon.  It's a very expensive country from what I've seen so far.  Prices on par with the West but without the less expensive places we use from day to day.

It seems like a nice country.  Less ugly infrastructure and there are actually road signs to be seen.  It feels less shady all in all.  A little less dirty and less rubbish everywhere.

The place I'm staying at is a home-stay with a vibrant family place out on an edge of the town surrounded by jungle.  They grow a lot of different types of veg as well as coffee, and in addition do night tours of the surrounding wilderness ($20), and run cooking classes as well.  There were 23 people (mostly American) here having dinner a while ago, whilst 4 or 5 family members helped them create their art in the kitchen.  I was given a Chiverre Empanada dessert to try, an extremely delicious sweet empanada, made with a type of squash, sugar and spices.  It was simply perfect.

Great Granada

13th February 2016

Granada really is a gem of a city.  The colonial architecture still holds a sense of splendour.  The streets are easy to walk as they don't have the terrible mis-shapen cobble stones of Antigua Guatemala.  After dark, a large number of the locals open up the doors to their homes out onto the street and enjoy having the breeze blow through for some relief after the daily 36 degree heat.  As I walk the streets, I see past the family members that congregate in the doorways on rocking chairs into many people homes.  The fine furniture inside reflects how well the people of Granada are doing.  Most of what I see are very nice antique pieces.  The homes are like the Tardis and I see way back into the guts of the building.  the rooms are large, and comfortable.  Some have courtyards with lush planting beyond their living area.  I suspect the bedrooms are situated off that yard, as the ones at my hotel do.

The blessed breeze only comes as relief if you don't move.  With all the walking, i still manage to maintain a light sweat throughout.  There's something quite magical about this town.  The architecture especially.  If it were not for the heat of midday, there'd be many more people living here.  This is my favourite country since Belize, and that only won because they speak English there.

I'm planning my buses to Costa Rica for Monday the 15th, but am having second thoughts now.  It would be nice to stay and relax here a while, but I really shouldn't.  Costa Rica has been top of my list for a long time, and it's only a bus ride away now.

Early today after arriving from Managua on a 75 pence bus, I took a walk through the centre, and after lunch carried on down towards the lake and along the edge for a mile where numerous locals send their weekends relaxing in the shade of the trees.  Sadly, the whole area is covered in litter, but I suspect they don't even notice that (seeing as it's them that deposit it).

At one point as I wandered, a soldier armed with some automatic rifle, approached me, getting up from his lazing under one of the trees.

"Fotographia de la lancha prohibado." -  Photographing the boat is not allowed.

"What boat?"  I hadn't even noticed.  There was a blue camouflaged boat just off the shore.  I hadn't even noticed a boat.  "No problemo," I said and walked away.  Checking my photos I had the boat in the background of a shot of some horses.  There are up to a thousand people along a mile long stretch and if they don't want people taking photos they should park up elsewhere.  Especially when there are such good zooms on cameras these days.  Oops, there it is again.  Butter fingers.

On the way back I buy a coconut.  I don't remember having one since India, but they were cheaper there.  This one is 50 pence!  The woman selling them expertly carves a small hole in the top so you can drink the milk with a straw.   Then, when you're done with the liquid, she wields her machete once more to cleave it in two and makes a kind of spoon from the outer shell with which you can scoop out the delicious flesh inside.  The milk wasn't that good on this occasion but the flesh was lovely.  I must remember to have more of these soon.
            

Last night in Granada

14th February

After dinner I head back to the hotel.  Would be nice to have a companion, so as to have an excuse to drink something and take in the atmosphere a little more.  Sitting alone in a bar isn't my style.

At dinner, I went to an Israeli restaurant.  A German man on the next table was telling the waiter that hummus is called cous-cous in Arabic countries.  The waiter said it wasn't but the man insisted that it was.  I mention that they are two different things but he's never been wrong so I say, "is it really?  Well I've learnt something new today."

I had a lazy day trying to avoid the heat and watched Tottenham beat Manchester City under a fan in bar from 11am.  Good result!  The rest of the was spent booking flights home for a month's time, and a hire car for the first 4 weeks in the USA.  It took a few hours just to do that as I had to find a one-way rental that didn't charge anything.  The standard charge is $300-500 so getting it for free is worth the search.

I also booked my ticket to Costa Rica for tomorrow, and the accommodation for the first three nights. I'll need to rise at 6am and head straight out to catch the bus at 7.  I bought my food supplies for the whole day; two bananas, 2 apples, a big bottle of water and some bread wraps.  I already have a tin of tuna from about 3 countries back, and some biscuits so that's the emergency rations sorted.

Tomorrows bus leaves at 7am.  There's yet another border crossing to endure before lunchtime.  I'm being dropped at a place called La Irma a short distance past Canas.  From there, local buses pass towards Monteverde.  I hope I can get on one.


Granada deserves more time, as does Nicaragua but I must move on.  There's only a couple of weeks before my flight to Miami and I expect to want to spend most of that in Costa Rica.

Museo

11^th Feb

Took the most expensive tuk tuk in the world ($7) for the second time to avoid a 3-4 km slog with the bag.  On the way up, it's most definitely worth paying the price as the lodgings were located directly up a mountain.  On the way down, I could have walked.  Could have.  Didn't though.

The driver, Tito, posed for photos when we arrived at the chicken bus stop, which I shared with several chickens and some stray dogs.  The bus stopped every 50 yards in some places, but still made it back to the city within 75 minutes.  I found the place I was staying pretty easily then went straight to the Museum.

Had an interesting afternoon talking to the guide at the Honduras National Identity Museum.  Guides are included in the 80 Lempiras (£2.50) entrance fee if you don’t speak Spanish as everything is in the official first language. 

Unofficial reports of corruption and bribery were discussed as well as the history of Honduras.  The government controls the state media and has closed down the only newspaper which spoke out about the huge thefts of public funds taking place.  Honduras is dictatorship still, but under the guise of something else.  It seems that the government is only popular amongst the other holders of power in the country and is ripe for a revolution.  A huge amount of money has disappeared under the current regime.

The Honduran people of native origin no longer know which group they originate from sadly.  This is due to the Spanish interference in the region.  They are now just known by one word that describes indigenous mixed with Spanish, or just Latino if very little indigenous blood is present.  In the museum there's a 19th Century chart rating there 13 or so different castes and their ranking in society, according to their ethnic mix.  The joys of colonialism.  It's strange to think how the most progressive societies on Earth were once so criminal in their actions, and not so long ago.

I'm a believer of indigenous rights wherever it may be but I'm also wary of modernisations in places where it hasn't evolved.  Too late now.  There's no going back.

Endurance Test

12^th February

Shenanigans of the highest order so far today.  Last night, I asked for a taxi to be ordered for 8am so I could arrive in good time for my 9.30 bus to Managua in Nicaragua..  The owner of the guest house immediately said: "8.30 will be fine."  Alarm bells should have rang.  

"No," I insisted, "8am".  He seemed a little too laid back regarding my travel arrangments.  The buses only go once a day.  I had my ticket, which had involved a lengthy slog across the less than pretty Tegucigalpa, to the only place anywhere near the centre that sold the tickets (the actual Tica Bus left from an office five or more miles from the centre), and I wanted to make sure I’d get there in good time.  I’ve missed planes by ten seconds before due to other people’s planning, and had no intention of spending another night in Honduras.

I went to bed pretty early after enjoying my second pizza-hut meal in the last twenty or so years, (the most recent being in San Salvador, less than a week ago), a small 7-inch pizza, a 7 inch plate piled as high as possible with salad and a Pepsi, all for £3.50.  I’m getting to like Pizza Hut.  They're better than most of the burger joints anyway.

I wake up between 6 and 7 most mornings whilst on the road.  There was no breakfast, no proprietor, no coffee, but at least there should be a cab coming at 8am.  By 8.25 am still no taxi so I caught one in the street.  Off we went, dodging the most terrible drivers in the world, but it wasn’t long before I realised he was going in the opposite direction of where I needed to be.  I started to panic a bit at this stage.  I ordered him back to the centre and took another cab with an older more experienced driver.

I couldn’t decide whether stressing about getting there in time, was worthwhile or whether I should just see what happens, and worse case scenario remain in the ugly city another night and forfeit my booked room in Managua.  It's more sensible to stay calm, but while there’s still a chance of making it, it’s hard not to get excited.  

The traffic was so bad I alternated between, we're not gonan make it, I guess I'll just have to stay one more day here, and the traffic's moving, we might just make it, with 15, then ten minutes to spare!  

The roadworks: frustrating, the other drivers: all fools!  Why has he stopped there?  Please don’t let me getting another taxi back into town at the end of this trip. 

After much involuntary fretting and extremely long waits at red lights we made it to the departure point with fifteen minutes to spare.  I looked at the printed ticket.  It read: arrive 45 minutes before departure.  Shit.  But surely, this is Central America.  People are always late.  Buses are always late.  Life is always late.  I’m never late!

The Tica Bus employee cared not what time I arrived, and the bus wasn’t even there.  It was late arriving from El Salvador.  All that worry for nothing.  And in the end, it actually didn’t leave until exactly 10.30 am.  I'm sure they think that being exactly one hour late is a good, as long as it was exactly one hour.  This is the third Tica Bus I’ve taken and the only late departure so far.  2 out of three isn't so bad.

Tica Bus, along with one or two other companies, specialise in cross border city to city travel.  This particular company operate from Mexico all the way to Panama, and you can do it all on one ticket, although it includes a couple of overnight stops and some long long days on buses.  Every Tica Bus office has a hotel above it.  There are in this business and they’re in deep.

Today, the Honduras to Nicaragua border crossing became THE worst crossing I’ve ever had to make.  It starts well, with an opportunity to change my remaining Lempiras to Nicaraguan Cordoba, a much-needed service in Central America.  

It’s the same story at every border.  Men, and occasionally women, meet every vehicle brandishing with handfuls of notes shouting “Cambio”.  Although as it's so hot here, they say it rather than shout.

I’ve exchanged money at every border I've crossed so far apart from Guatemala, getting rid of every last note of the country I'd departing.  The heat is turned up to max here, and the entire bus of passengers, (of all ages including one baby) take refuge in the shade of the bus while the Bus employee takes our passports somewhere to check us all out of Honduras.

We wait twenty minutes in whatever shade can be located, then all pile back on the bus (takes another ten minutes just to get back on), to drive what seems like fifty yards, (take another ten minutes to pile off) get off the bus to have an “examination” of some kind, possibly related to the Zika virus?  

We line up and a dilapidated cabin and one by one enter to stand in front of some kind of heat sensor.  They ask me something in Spanish.  I reply that I don’t understand Spanish, how about English?  They say I can go.  Ha ha What?  I guess I'm not sick.  Good.

We then have to walk another fifty yards, drag our bags back off the bus, which has driven ahead, and queue up for the pleasure of passing through a ramshackle warehouse with some kind of customs house inside.   All this time, the passengers are harangued by beggars and young boys wanting to carry bags for a tip.  At least they’re working for their money, but I don’t ever want anyone touching my bags unless either; I’m dead, or they’re working for a bus or plane company.  

“No neccesito.”  I’ve carried my bags far enough in the last 3+ months, and will make it another fifty yards. 

We pass through these “customs” then have to wait around in the heat for 2-3 hours while the officials interrogate one or two passengers.  A Dutch tourist, (one of three “gringos” on board) is away in the office for over an hour, and at one stage has to come back to the bus to remove his bags for them to look at for all of ten seconds before giving up the charade. 

While waiting, I consider buying one of the little boy (of about 6) that hang around this dump, an ice cream.  He’s begging the equally dis-shelved ice cream sales man for some time with a coin that obviously doesn't meet the asking price, but he suddenly disappears.  I notice a few of the children that work the border spend their tip money on ice cream!  That’s why they do this crappy work?  I fail to understand how fucked up that is.  Surely money is more valuable than that here?

Amongst the touts, that are regularly found across all transport stations in Central America, there’s a woman of about eighty selling mango and various fruits.  This isn’t an unusual site in Latin America.  I don’t really want anything, but buy some mango from her anyway.  She charges too much, but that’s ok.  These bags of mango is a speciality of the area.  Slightly salted mango strips in a plastic bag, with some brown sauce poured inside.

I ask for a sample of the brown sauce on a piece before I allow it in my bag.  Shock! Horror!  It’s the most unpalatable nasty substance I have ever tasted.  It’s so salty, but there’s something more, it is anti-flavour, disgusting.  So I eat a few strips of salted mango without the sauce, before giving the pack back to the woman.  Why ruin mango, when it’s naturally good?  Actually, it’s good as a drink when it’s sweet, but these ones seem to be picked and eaten before they’ve ripened properly and are sour.  

At least I've tried it, but like every other local food in Central America, it’s revolting (sorry amigos).  I start to dream about eating my Ma's home cooking again.  Any kind of food from England. Or Europe.  Anything nice!  I wonder if there’s a Pizza Hut in Managua?  I bet there is.  Actually there's plenty of European style food available, just not to the same standard - it's fine really.

I watch the activity that surrounds our bus from a bench under the shade of the warehouse.  It's still hot, but staying still helps.  It's not only buses and travellers pass through here, there are a multitude of articulated lorries and smaller trucks carrying produce.  One truck is piled high with honey-dew melons.  I want one.  I should have asked for one, now I come to think of it, perhaps we could have come to an arrangement.  People with clip boards and paperwork constantly walk back and forth being official or some such nonsense.  

Some of my fellow passengers have been standing outside the locked door of our bus since we passed through customs: much more than an hour, perhaps two, by now.  And now everyone but myself have swarmed around  the door again.  When will they learn, I think, they can’t all get on at once.  Then I notice passengers boarding, albeit very slowly.  Why so slow?  Hang on!  It’s time!  We’re going.  I won’t be called to be interrogated, no-one will.  We are freeee!  I get to the bus just as the official calls my name.  I take my passport and enter the bus, one of the first to board!  Why have they kept us waiting for so long?  Bastards.  Worst Border crossing ever!  Leaving Israel is always a terrible experience (I've done it twice, and both times, was searched and questioned at length).

Back on the bus, I read Kindle on my ipad to kill the time.   The man sitting next to me calms down after berating the customs officials about the length of our processing.  It’s now apparent I won’t reach my lodgings for tonight until way after dark, something I always try to avoid, but I booked a place just one block from the bus terminus this time.

Half an hour into the continued journey we are halted at a check point, and a police office of some kind boards to walk up and down asking questions and poking about in the overhead storage.  I cover my laptop with hat and read the kindle, in case the laptop makes him think I’m rich and perhaps carrying some superfluous dinero he could relieve me of.  I don’t look at him.  I can tell he wants me too.  I carry on reading.  It feels a bit like the old movies, where travellers/ reporters who pass through Central America would get a shake down of some kind.  Times have moved on I think.  The officer shares a joke with a few of the passengers.  I still wouldn’t put that kind of thing past a provincial police though.  Honduras and Nicaragua feel less welcoming, than Guatemala and El Salvador but that might just be me being paranoiad.

We stop briefly at a petrol station in the city of Leon to let a woman off.  Wherever these buses stop, taxi drivers await.  It will be the same in Managua.  I walk past them the majority of time.  They love to overcharge, especially foreigners.

At the terminus in Managua, I hear "taxi" at least ten times, but I scoot out and away to the lodgings just around the corner.  I team up with a German traveller for a belated dinner then retire to plan my Costa Rican adventure.  I'm way too tired to concentrate though and am asleep by ten.

Wonderful Tigra National Park

 10^th Feb

This morning I photographed a hummingbird outside my room and afterwards, enjoyed a decent breakfast, saving some for lunch as there’s nowhere to buy food on the route I’m going.  

I walk for some hours between 9 am and 3 pm without passing a single soul.  I am totally alone in the National Park.  It’s wild.  All I can really see is the inside of the forest with occasional views over the canopy and into the cloud.  It’s one of the nicest days I’ve spent in Central America.  Apart from the trail, there's noting but pristine forest with the occasional wooden bridge.  Built by?  Can’t be by Hondurans so I suspect volunteers from the US. (Turns out to be the case).

I stop by the waterfall for lunch which consists of half a cheese and tomato sandwich, made from the leftover from breakfast components, and some of yesterday’s emergency rations.  I've forgotten my “spork” so use the knife, though opposite to how it's pictured, (sharpened edge away from my mouth).  

The path undulates through the forest and is extremely muddy in places.  My shoes will need a good clean later.  The temperature varies throughout the walk.  In some areas you can see the cloud rolling in amongst the trees, and in these areas water drips constantly from the trees.  There are lichens growing over every branch and trunk.  I need to dress and undress throughout the day, and even wear a woolly hat at times.

Every time I find myself walking a pathway like this, I'm reminded of the Lord of the Rings, but I feel like a cross between Lara Croft and Indiana Jones.  There's not a lot of action here though.  Just walking.  Plod, plod, plod.  Nice tree.

 

Back at the lodgings around 3.30 and the proprietor, Jorg, offers me a small cup of honey straight out of the hive.  It’s the first time I’ve had honey this way.  You eat the honeycombed structure, dripping with the honey itself and spit out the wax.  It tastes so fresh.

I try to shower but with the electric shower heads, that are so common in these parts, that heat the water as water passes through, don’t always work, and I can’t bare to get under the water.   The cold wind blows through the outdoor ablutions.  It’s the only thing that lets this guesthouse down.  There will be no showering until tomorrow when I’m back in Tegucigalpa.  I suspect there may not be hot water there either but at least they’ll be no wind.  Finding hot showers in Central America is like discovering the Holy Grail.

There’s no Internet here, I wonder what’s going on in the outside world?  I’ll find out soon enough.  I’ve already booked my next 4 nights accommodation (in 3 different cities) as I knew they’d be no wi-fi here.  With that taken care of, there’s less need to connect.  Except to check if Leicester City are still top.  Amazing stuff.

Tomorrow I'll head back to the capital of Honduras to endure it’s noise and it’s ugliness one last time before fleeing to the (possibly equally ugly) capital of Nicaragua the morning after.  These cities are so awful, but the natural world around them; so fantastic.  What a shame people always have to ruin things.  Even by the waterfall where I stopped to have lunch, plenty of evidence of other people having lunched there: plastic wrappers discarded carelessly in a wonderful natural environment.  

Nothing can ruin this day in the forest though.  I realise, that I've been spending too much time in towns, which wasn't the plan.  Perhaps that's why I'm a miserable complaining git.  Ah well.

Into the Hills

9^th February

I’ve been carrying a pack or dried backpacker food with me since Yosemite.  Emergency rations.  I didn’t expect to be using them while staying at an airbnb listing.  But these lodgings are in the hills of Honduras on the edge of Tigra National Park where I’ll be hiking tomorrow.  There are some basic comedors (shacks that sell food), that I usually avoid, but even those are closed as I arrive at around 1pm.  So, the emergency rations it is.  It’s annoying because the owners of the airbnb have a house with lots of food in it, and I’ll be eating dinner there later but they told me that they never do lunch.  But I am able to get some boiling water for the dried food.

Although it’s not particularly good, it’ll do the trick until 7pm.  This is my only ration pack, as I gave the other one away, so hopefully this'll be the last time it's needed.

The view as I wait for the pack to rehydrate is amazing.  Although the weather is slightly cold and windy with cloudy, you can see how spectacular it would be on a sunny day.  As I’m only here two nights, I may not see that sunny day, but tomorrow never knows.  Hummingbirds visit a feeder a few meters from where I tuck into the dried food, and we’re surrounded by mountainous forests. 

On the way here from Tegucigalpa, a 36-seater bus accommodated around 50, with people squeezed into spaces where there were no spaces.  Thankfully, I wasn’t one of those standing, but the journey only took about 75 minutes.

I’m looking forward until dinner as the ration pack didn’t quite do the trick.  I could only manage to eat half (they're not so inspiring to the palette), the rest will do for tomorrow in the forest.  It was Kathmandu Curry, so no meat, but vegetables, rice and lentils.  Tonight is also going to be vegetarian (that's all they serve here) but hopefully more filling that astronaut food.  I should be out checking the area, but the wind and the temperature have put me off any more activity for today.  I feel like taking a holiday from my holiday.  The next few days will see me travel a good deal of miles by bus, staying one night in several places until I reach Granada in Nicaragua.  Maybe I’ll start to relax again there.  

I’m going to be missing parts of Honduras in the North and East that could well be even more amazing, but right now, I’m thinking more about how soon I can get to Costa Rica.  For some reason, that’s become the main goal of this trip. 

Although I’ve not been before, and am unsure what will prove to be the highlight, I’m looking forward to getting there.  I've decided to skip Leon in Nicaragua (and some more volcanoes) in order to arrive sooner.  I’ll soon find out whether that’ll prove to be the right decision.

That evening, I use the extra blankets and warm the bed in the cabin with a hairdryer.  The strong wind sends numerous seed pods and large heavy leaves and fruits crashing into the metal roof above my head.  At times it sounds like an apocalypse of sorts but I sleep most soundly.  By morning, the wind had settled, although the clouds remain. 

Over dinner, the owner of the guest house asked me about my writing.  I said it was a personal philosophy and reflection on the search for meaning and direction.  Not sure that’s the case, but sounded good.  I really need to finish the first three chapters of my novel and have it edited ASAP.

Travel is a good challenge, and it keeps me distracted, but the time comes nearer to do find an agent to represent me and get Kroma where it needs to be.  I have to find somewhere to base myself for a few weeks or more.  Somewhere quiet away from a city with nice environmental conditions. 

Killing time in Tegucigalpa

8^th February

After getting immediately lost for 30-45 minutes I eventually found the museum, but it was shut, being a Monday.  So I walked about getting lost some more.

When faced with people struggling to get along in life as you do in a developing country's capital city it puts into question my own contribution.  How long can I continue the selfish path for?  I’ve thought this before when faced with extreme poverty or physical difficult in other countries which also lack decent medical and social care for the un-monied.  It makes you appreciate Europe even more.  I start to feel as if I shouldn’t be here as a tourist, but as an altruistic volunteer, or not all.  I try to imagine a different life path.  The only reason I would choose live in a developing country is if I had work there, but I don’t have work anywhere anymore.  Is that good?  

I walk around for a while seeing if there’s anything worth seeing here.  There isn’t.  I head to buy a bus ticket for Nicaragua for a few days time and end up in a mall looking for a replacement case for my ipad mini.  Worlds apart.  There are various cases, but not the one I need and the prices are high.  I witness the world the more affluent Hondurans inhabit.  Malls similar to those of the Western World.  Similar, but not the same, these are more practical.  Honduras is mostly at a stage in the Western World’s past (about 50-80 years?), and partially just behind.  Modern buildings are sprouting up in the New Central area.  One street is lined with American style diners, like McDonalds, Pizza Hut etc.

I kill time, there’s nothing to do here, or at least, I can’t find it.  As I walk back to town a lorry over spilling with miscellaneous broken goods squeezes down a narrow road and rubs against a power line pole which sticks out of the ridiculously narrow sidewalk.  As I pass by an old wooden chair is toppled and falls on my shoulder.   My backpack strap cushions the impact luckily, but it’s not heavy, and not caused any damage where it hit me.  I’m knocked against the wall somehow but that’s all.  The lorry continues it’s journey, as do I.

I wander somewhat aimlessly into a side alley, which is home to several offices and businesses.  One of the businesses is a small comidor (local eatery which range from a stall, shack or small building) with a difference.  There are thousands of coca-cola goods from years of collecting.  The woman behind the counter looks European.  She explains that some of her grandparents were Lebanese and French and this is her sister’s collection of coca-cola bit and bobs.

I guess her name is Claudia and she’s shocked. 

“How did you know?”

“Magic,” I tell her.

“No really, how can you know that?”

“Magic,” I repeat and spin my finger out from a point on my cranium to the wall.  I see in her eyes, she’s pretty easily freaked out, and thinks I’m reading her mind.   I point to the coca-cola bottle on the wall which has Claudia printed on it.  Not such a good trick really and I discover soon after, there are also bottles with her sister and nephews, and their husband’s names.  Seems like no-one’s played that joke before.  I kill an hour talking with Claudia over a small bottle of coke, but there’s still two more hours to waste before my host picks me up at the cathedral.  

Sometimes travelling means killing time, or waiting for ridiculous lengths, something I always avoid, even if it means paying more for a ticket.  But sooner or later, everybody has to wait.  I’ve become quite good at it over the years.  It’s similar to meditation.  Empty your brain and stay calm… for hours on end.  Flick your eyeballs back and forth across your skull.  Be dumb.  Good skills.  Still and silent, waiting without angst.  Waiting, but ready to move.  Ready at any given moment.  Ready to rush the gate and queue up to get your allocated seat 5 minutes earlier than the others.  

I’ve become tired of travelling at this stage in the journey and am thinking about being in a country where travel is not an endurance sport.  Dreaming of Europe, or of the USA, where I can hire a car for cheap.  Much less challenging, but so much easier.  

In Central America, it’s best to deal with the bus travel as calmly as possible, but it's also wise to keep vigilant.  Honduras is the murder capital of the world.  Mainly because of the activities of gangs, but if you’re not on your guard, a tourist can easily become a victim.  When you look weak, or tired or confused, that’s when they will get you.  The bogeyman robber.  I've not seen one myself in any one of the 40+ countries I’ve visited, but I won’t get complacent now!  

That kind of worrying can ruin the fun of travel, and it has done so a little bit in Central America already.  Watching bags, being worried whether you've strayed into a dodgy area.  Are those guys potential thieves or robbers with weapons?  

You can never really relax here unless you unladen yourself of those things you fear losing.  Wallet, passport, phone, laptop, tablet, bag full of clothes and other stuff.  When I walk about without those things, with just a few notes of cash to last the day, I feel much more relaxed.  But sadly, I’m moving my backpack and day pack around every few days, so those relaxing times are few and far between.  

Even though, I know to pack light, I’m still carrying too much, and it’s a burden.  It puts me off going places because I'll Have to drag this bag with me.  There’s no-one to watch my bag or my back, and I’m in unfamiliar territory every day without a decent grasp of the language.  The best strategy is to travel with dirty clothes and bag, no electronics or anything else you don’t mind losing, and very little cash.  You can move quite freely with a smaller bag.  Next time!  Why haven’t I done it this time though?  My memory is so short.  I feel pretty dumb.

Onward to Honduras.

7th February 2016

The bus ticket says it departs at 12 noon.  Plenty of time.  But by chance, I discovered it means 12 noon from the other terminal across the other side of the city.  It will leave the terminal I'm staying opposite at 10.30!  Nice to know.  Actually, it didn't even arrive here until 11am as it had to come from Guatemala City, arrival was subject to traffic conditions.

When I entered the office to check my bag in, 5-6 nuns were singing and chanting in the corner.  By the time the bus left the second terminal at noon, they had gathered to pray twice more, joined on the latest occasion by at least one fellow traveller.  I couldn't help laughing at the ridiculousness of it.  They have no idea it's an utter waste of time.  Brainwashing ought to be a criminal offence worldwide.

Oh well.  It's funny (sort of), and they're not threatening.

There's internet on this bus!  I never expected it to work, but it is, and does.  It's working right now.

We're meant to get in to the Honduran capital, Tegucigalpa around 1830.  Let's see.  Last time with this company, it arrived in San Salvador pretty much on time.

Tonight I will be "couchsurfing" with Pepe Palacios, a contact of a contact from Putney.  I'm looking forward to meeting a native Honduran.  In El Salvador, I also tried to meet with couchsurfers, but to no avail.  I don't think I've visited a country with a more closed off people.  Very different from Guatemala.  They americanise much of their culture and the US Dollar is the official currency.

Pacaya Volcano

3rd February 2016

I spent the morning changing accommodation to the fantastic Taanah's, and out of the miserable back alley nonsense of "Eric's" airbnb listing, and chasing up a few loose ends regarding my ticket to El Salvador.

At 2pm the bus to Pacaya volcano left (picking up a dozen passengers in numerous locations on the way).  Why don't they just tell passengers to meet all in one place? It would be so much easier and save a lot of time and frustration.  None of the lodgings are more than 5 minutes walk from the centre, but it takes 20-30 minutes to drive around picking everyone up each time there's any kind of tour or journey.  Completely stupid.

An hour or so later we arrived at the trailhead for Pacaya and were met by our guide and a handful of obnoxious children shouting, "Stick mister, pishh, Mister, you want stick?  Mister, Stick?  Stick, mister!  Stick.  Psshh.  Mister, you want stick?"  And in case you had changed your mind, they repeated this to everyone present for the next fifteen minutes while we waited for the walk to commence.

Do I need a stick?  I dunno.  The guide doesn't have a stick.  I reminded him that he had forgotten his stick.  He looked at me, unsure if I was serious, but this guy was one of the smart ones.  Ok, so I wouldn't need a stick, as attractive as the idea may seem.  I do love a good stick.  You can beat obnoxious kids with sticks.  And there have been bandits on this trail in the past.

Fifteen of us set out ranging in age from twenty to over seventy.   I don't think much of the chances of the one Israeli man way over seventy.  I wasn't much sure of my own chances either.  I had no idea whether I could still exert myself what with the cough and not having trained for a year at least.  But everything was fine, I'm still a tough guy... the walk wasn't particularly difficult in the end, just extremely dusty.  A lot of ash and pumice from the recent eruption in march 2014 covered the paths, although it could well be that there's been ash there since the first eruptions occurred back in (navigates to Wikipedia.. wait this in Spanish, how dare they?  <Click Ingles>), approximately 23,000 years ago.

That's an active volcano

There's not much to tell about the ascent but near the top the cone comes into view and everyone gets snap and selfie happy.  Then we descend into an old crater which is now just filled with hardened lava.

The guide takes out some bags of marshmallows and gives us all sticks, because volcanos are for toasting marshmallows of course.  I wonder which nation decided that? hmm?  After approximately 3 seconds holding a marshmallow into a gap in the dried lava trying to get it slightly toasted I give up and eat mine.  It's disgusting, no it's delicious, no it's disgusting.  I tell some of those standing nearby they are better untoasted.  Not everyone agrees, but a few agree that they are revolting.  If Americans didn't eat this at camp when little, I doubt they'd eat the later on.  I try another two to make sure they're not worth eating.


The hot lava isn't around to see any more.  Either it's all gone or we're not allowed, I can't tell which.  The guide and the operators say there's none to see, so that must be the case. Unless it isn't.  There used to be a slightly illegal tour that took tourists to a lava flow for an extra £3.50, but that wasn't sold openly or advertised as the government forbade it.  Perhaps they have finally clamped down.   When I asked the tour operator they looked incredibly shifty and denied all knowledge of these tours.  I know someone who has been on an illicit tour a year or so before, so I know they know that I know they exist.  I get the feeling that when the authorities put their foot down, most people take notice.  I wish I'd located those that don't.

Agua Volcano just visible in the distance

The view to Antigua and Guate City was blocked by clouds sadly, but we did get to see a magnificent sunset through some well places radio masts.  I cheekily told one Scandinavian guy that he had enough selfies.  He didn't agree, and carried on.  It seemed like a lot of fun so I tried a few of my own.  It was a lot of fun!

Selfie like you just don't care

No matter how many I took, I couldn't get the distant volcano into an acceptable background position.  My head kept getting in the way.  I might need a selfie stick.  "Selfie-stick Mister.  You want Selfie-stick?"  Now you're talking!  I'm going to selfie the heck out of that stick one of these days.

As we descended night fell and the head-torches came out.  At the bottom of the trail the obnoxious stick selling child asked for my head-torch.  There's really only one response to that.  **** off.

Thanks El Salvador, but I wish you hadn't.

I just changed my Tica bus ticket so I can leave a day early.  Getting around seeing sights here is difficult without a whole load of $ for taxis.

To visit the local volcano just outside San Salvador, $30 each way.  It's only 4 km away.

To get to go up Santa Ana volcano outside the city of the same name it costs $50 one way.  That or catch the $1 bus which I tried to do this morning.  It didn't arrive and the next one is too late to do the trip as the authorities only allow one ascent a day.

That's all folks.

No wonder so many people don't bother visiting this country, it's ok as a stop of over night to break up long bus journeys or to re-aquaint one's self with Denny's and a variety of other large chain restaurants.  But nothing more.

I tried to meet up with some locals through couchsurfing but they all let me down in the end.

What's the point of El Salvador?

Las Vegas

I scouted a few casinos, looking for one with a low stakes roulette table, finally settling on the once famous, but seen better days, El Cortez and it's $2 minimum bet tables.  When the day came to finally go try some gambling, and with only a few days left in the city, I battled the smokey atmosphere and the rude croupiers to slowly build a $120 lead.  All the time, free drinks are offered, to get you to think less clearly, and this was just the cheap tables. Many accept the drinks of course, but the more serious take only soft drinks.  I didn't accept any.  I wanted to see what would happen on the table without being distracted.  At one stage when I was the lone punter, the croupier began to spin the ball faster and faster between rounds, to try to put me off my train of though.  Sometimes they play fast, other times they go overly slow.  It's all a tactic to throw you off whatever rhythm you may have.  At one stage, the croupier looked at me astonished I had not placed a bet before she span the ball.  Again, trying to put me on edge.

"Too quick", I replied, and she promptly gave up and handed over to another worker.  I was surprised they use this tactic for such small amounts of money, but the El Cortez, rough around the edges, out-dated inside and out, and somewhat off the main strip, has it's margins.  Winning $70 took a few hours.  With higher stakes perhaps it would have been worth it, but then again, perhaps not.  I'm reliably told that the only game in which the punter has a % chance of winning is Blackjack.  Or something.  Maybe next time.  Most of the other casinos I enquired at had minimum bet limits of $10.

I put the $70 to good use.  It covered the $65 parking fine I received a week or so later.

Leaving Guatemala

4th February 2016

Farewell G'mala.  I expected to stay less than 21 days.  Not sure where that time went.  Lake Atitlan swallowed up a fair chunk.

Guatemala has been inspiring enough to get me writing these notes, and a welcome break from the tropical heat (due to the altitude) that I'm experiencing again in San Salvador.  At 3.45 this morning the alarm on my phone went off.  At that moment I was having a happy dream about how lucky I was that it wasn't me that had to get out of bed at this hour.  I could have stayed in Taanah's Guest house much longer, what with the friendly cats and included breakfast.  I could but I had a bus to catch and a new road to run.

So up at 3.45 and at the end of the road at 4 am, to meet the surprisingly bang on time shuttle bus.  I noticed that was the first to be collected so would have to endure 30 minutes driving around on Antigua's cobblestones collecting all the other passengers.  Except I didn't, I was to be the only passenger!  Maya Travel Agency has to be one of the best I've encountered over the past weeks.  Even the minibus was brand new.  These buses were never, ever, ever, ever on time either so I was blown away by this professional service.

We had two hours to get to the Tica Bus station but made it in 35 minutes.  Just enough to time to waste my remaining Quetzales on service station snacks and batteries.

About 11 am I arrived in Zona Rosa in the capital of El Salvador.  My lodgings were exactly opposite the Tica Bus San Benito office.  It can't get more convenient than that.

Zona Rosa looks very Western and is home to a large number of embassies and western style restaurants including many well known chains.  There's a Denny's here.  I've never eaten in one and not sure if I'll start here.

Not much to tell about this so far.  I'll only be in this country four days before heading to the capital of Honduras.  I hope to get to visit some national parks whilst here.  I was meant to meet up with a contact from here for a day trip but they've let me down annoyingly.