Touring out of Bolivia

After seven days, fifty mosquito bites, and a couple hospital visits in Trinidad we had seen enough and hopped on the bus to Rurrenabaque, a town that is as difficult to access as it is to pronounce. The rusted old bus with intermittently functioning headlights and hefty offroading tires bumped and splashed towards 'Rurre' for 12 hours, dropping us off at 1 AM in the small riveside town known for its proximity to the Madidi jungle and the Yunguyo Pampas. We had decided to try and visit both areas in a week, and fill in the spaces with a little hammock time. In all of the protected areas around Rurre it is prohibited to set out independently (it is also nearly impossible due to the remoteness of everything), so we signed up with a tour and headed out towards the Pampas, a wetlands area teeming with wildlife that swims, swings, and swoops alongside the motor driven canoes of the tour company. The first day the weather took an unfortunate turn from the typical balmy tropical heat to a frigid and cloudy drizzle. Although the weather slowed my unprepared and unprotected body to a crawl, it did not stop the myriad of creatures that lined the banks from showing their faces. On the way out to the rustic lodge we saw caiman, alligators, squirrel monkeys, anteaters, capybara, and birds of paradise to name a few. Upon arriving the weather improved for the duration of our stay, and I passed the night drinking cheap whiskey and happily pulling catfish out of the murky brown river with my hand-line. The next day we set out into the open pampa with rubber boots and sticks to find the infamous anaconda. We had been told that it was rare to find the snakes, and what we had read from other tourists prepared us for disappointment. However, after arriving at a lake filled with more caimans than seemed possible, someone from the group gave out a shriek of success and we came running over to see the creature. The 10 ft long snake was coiled up in the bushes and fortunately is rather incapable of attacking unless it is in the water. After a few hundred photos we headed back to the boat, passing a number of other amazing birds such as the giant Yapebu. That evening we did another wildlife watching trip and found some howler monkeys and sloths among the branches, as well as some pink river dolphins alongside the boat. Our final act of business for the day was to fish for some piranhas using raw beef. Viviana quickly upstaged me as she deftly yanked one into the boat, and I was left tossing back sardines and wasting a sirloin worth of bait. At sunset we stopped by a little shack/bar and played volleyball and sipped more cheap whisky until the night fell. The last day only contained one activity really worth mentioning. We cruised out on the canoe until we located a group of river dolphins, which we were told would scare away the piranhas. Apparently the caimans and alligators were braver, but despite there being five or six of the beasts in the water nearby (oh and don't dare pee in the water either...) a few of us jumped in for a dip. The alligators maintained their positions and after a few unnerving minutes in the water we hopped out and headed back to town, ready for the next adventure.



Madidi National Park begins a few kilometers down the river from Rurre and stretches on for 19000 square kilometers of dense, lush jungle. Our trip brought us to another small shack, this time without running water, located on the bank of the Tuichi river. Even though this reserve is part of the Amazon rainforest and is completely packed with wildlife, it is so dense that seeing them can prove to be very difficult. The majority of our three days in the jungle was spent tromping through the understory following footprints and sounds searching for creatures. We found a few monkeys hanging around, namely the howler monkeys and another group of squirrel monkeys, but there were two real highlights, one on the first night and the other on the second day. After a few treks into the jungle and a nice dinner we retired to the dormitory style shack with beds and mosquito nets we were to sleep in. Before turning in we were all hanging out on the small porch out front chatting when the guide suddenly instructed us to be silent and turn off the headlamps and candles. We obeyed without protest and sat there for a good hour listening to a strange sound coming from the trees. Eventually we were told to very quietly go inside the cabin and continue being silent. The guide and his family followed us in and at this point we asked to know exactly why we were acting so odd. He explained that there was a pack of monkeys with a history of attacking and even killing humans waiting outside in the trees. Of course my skepticism kicked in immediately, but the fact that he waited in the cabin for over an hour after we had all gotten into the beds made me a little unsure, and an internet search turned up little information other than the fact that 'there are hundreds of species of monkeys in the Amazon, and many yet to be discovered.' Nevertheless, we all slept well avoiding any harm from the Cujo-monkeys, and the next day we resumed the wildlife search. At some point the guide had ventured off listening to a call in the distance and left us a short distance behind when we started to hear an odd groaning sound getting louder. The groan was intensified by the noise of the insects, which followed the crescendo. Soon the guide heard as well and came creeping back, passing us and instructing us to follow. The noise was close now and we could hear grunts and snorts as well as what sounded like the clashing of horns. The herd of animals was just on the other side of the bush, but as we crept closer they heard us and fled, allowing me only the faintest look at some brown object retreating into the distance. The guide explained to us that they were a pack of wild boars, battling and foraging for food. Eventually I accepted the loss and we continued the hike. Another few hours later we approached what we knew would be our best chance to see wildlife. In the middle of the jungle there is a small opening with some mud pits that are said to have a very high salt content, drawing all types of animals in for the nutrients. As we came close we went into stealth mode, and tiptoeing towards the pits we soon heard a familiar snorting noise. Sure enough there was a herd of around 40 wild boars congregating around the mud pit and taking in the precious mineral. We hid for a good five minutes watching them play before they finally noticed us and took off, leaving us all very content with the experience. Upon returning to the hut I began preparing for bed with my flashlight under the mosquito net. As I did so I noticed a familiar small dot on my skin and quickly recognized it as a tick. Then I saw another. Then another. And another. Soon I called Viviana over to make sure she wasn't infested as well. That night I pulled six ticks of of my own body and twelve off of Viviana, leaving a nice pattern of horribly itchy dots on both of us. The rest of the time in the jungle was spent scratching wounds and learning about the various medicinal and otherwise useful plants, which included a vine that filtered water, a fruit that makes henna tattoos, and a bark that can clear up bloodshot eyes (a sure money maker in Oregon). After only three days in the jungle I hopped back on the boat and headed to Rurre, ready to continue the journey south.

A painful 22 hour dirt road led us to the next stop in Potosi, one of the most important contributors to the rapid spanish colonization of South America. Although the city now boasts a collection of impressive colonial architecture and a lot of other fancy crap, we decided to go for the true heart of the city and enter the centuries old silver mines where it all started. There are a number of agencies that will lead you up to the still functioning mines, but they all depend on the cooperation of the miners. To appease the miners, and their devil ´El Tio,´ all visitors must bring gifts to give to the miners they encounter in the shafts along the way. The list of acceptable offerings is: alcohol, coca leaves, cigarrettes, dynamite, and soda. Clearly the miners have given up on a healthy diet. So we loaded up and went deep into the mine, ducking out of the way every few minutes as groups of miners pushed 1.5 ton mine carts by. The coca leaves proved to be absolutely necessary, as the already thin oxygen at 12000 ft becomes even more scarce deep inside the mine. At one point we stopped by and paid homage to ´El Tio,´ an ancient clay effigy that the miners worship for safety and success. This consisted of sticking a couple of burning cigarrettes in his tar covered mouth, taking a swig of horrific 96% alcohol, and then pouring a little out for the Pachamama. With my lungs burning as much as my mouth, we retreated to the outside world and headed back down to Potosi, where we caught another bus over to the desert town of Uyuni.

Uyuni is basically just a jumping off point for the massive Salar de Uyuni, the worlds largest salt flat. Again the only way to access this remote region is by tour, so we signed up and hopped in a 4x4 with a few other French and Italitan tourists. After a few stops for photos in the middle of the giant salt flat we drove way out to the Isla del Pez, a cacti covered island that really makes you feel like you are in the middle of a giant white sea. Back in the jeep we drove for a few hours in a perfectly straight line to the edge of the salt flat, where we spent the night in a hotel made completely out of salt. The next morning we got up, stretched our legs and necks and drove up to an altiplano lake absolutely packed with 3 different species of flamingos. Adding another accent to the spectacular scenery was a pack of wild vicuñas (a relative of the llama) grazing along the lakeshore. We passed three more similar lakes before coming to the Laguna Colorada, a slightly larger lake with blood-red water, and of course it´s own little flamingo colony. This was on the 25th, so our christmas celebration was slightly unusual. We had a bottle of champagne and some of the most amazing stargazing of my life, but no tree and unfortunately no family either. The next day was my birthday, and it proved to be equally unusual and uniquely incredible. The day started with a trip to some steaming geysers on the top of a ridge at sunrise, after which we descended to a mere 13000 ft for a dip in some hot springs, also with the requisite flock of flamingos. Then we passed by the ´Salvador Dali Desert´ and headed on into Chile, where we finished the trip in the town of San Pedro de Atacama. Since then we have made a 22 hours bus journey into Santiago, and are awaiting the arrival of my parents who will travel with us for 3 weeks. It has suddenly hit me that my trip to the third world is over, and the rest of the trip will be a little more expensive. However this also brings some serious benefits, such as healthy food, comfortable rooms, and even good beer. Now I will put to the test all of my acquired cost saving armaments to survive in the modern world, and some new weapons as well. Tomorrow we will be trying out couchsurfing for the first time, and of course I will keep you informed on how it goes.

Searching for Peace

We left Copacabana looking for a little quiet time. It turned out to be much harder to find than we had hoped. Our first stop was in La Paz, a giant cloud of smog and traffic with every street as packed as the busses that clog them. The only thing tidy and clean in this city was my chin after the barber cut my beard off against my orders. After a couple of days we had had enough and continued on to Cochabamba to search for greener pastures. This turned out to be a bad choice.



Our intention was to work at an NGO that made and promoted solar ovens in an effort to help delay deforestation. In the first day we had stopped by the site and arranged things with the owner, and although the city was rather depressing, we even managed to find a nice little apartment right downtown. It was going well so far, perhaps too well. The landlord at the apartment was a little old Bolivian lady, probably in her late 40´s, with huge fangs and twisted horns protruding from the side of her head. Despite her slightly terrifying demeanor and penetrating stench, we signed the rental contract for the month and moved all our stuff into the apartment. I awoke the next morning to the unfortunate sight of Viviana battling another sickness, and while I tried to reassure her I heard the loud clopping of hooves on the staircase and immediately knew our happy little apartment wasn´t going to last. I could see the landlord was upset by the smoke protruding from her nostrils. She explained to us that she had added a few rules to the contract and wanted us to sign a new one. This time it included such clauses as ´no guests ever in the house´ and ´no alcoholic beverages allowed in the apartment.´ Clearly this wasn´t going to work, so less than 12 short hours after our arrival we were packing up again.

A glance at the calendar made me aware that we only had about 3 weeks left to volunteer, and the solar place had asked for a 1 month minimum commitment. After checking the place out we didn´t feel like we could help much in so short a time, so we went to investigate our backup plan, a school in the poor suburbs of Cochabamba where we could help with classes and activities. Again we spoke with the director and got things arranged. Our spirits lifted with the sight of all the adorable little children bouncing around the playground and we felt renewed. That is until we got back to the depressing concrete prison of Cochabamba and realized we still had nowhere to stay. This time we were just looking for a hostel we could live at for a few weeks. It needed a kitchen, a common area, and a decent price. After a thorough 3 day search of the city we were still completely empty handed, and now I was starting to feel a similar sickness as Viviana had been feeling the last couple days. Depressed and defeated, we decided to take evasive action and hop the next bus out of town. A claustrophobically awkward ride with our backpacks on a public city bus, a hectic terminal with rude employees, and a retarded kid pacing up and down the bus screeching out of key religious songs put us on the edge of a nervous breakdown until we finally saw the city lights fade away behind the bus. We had spent a horrifically stressful week trying to volunteer, and as those in search of peace often do, we followed the road to the East.

An overnight bus to Santa Cruz followed by a collectivo along the Amborò Jungle Reserve brought us to the chilled out hamlet of Samaipata. We checked into a hostel with a nice balcony and an open kitchen and let out a big sigh of relief. Now it was just a question of sleeping in and enjoying the nearby attractions at our leisure. We managed to visit the Fuerte de Samaipata, an ancient pre-incan ruin carved into a humongous rock, and the waterfalls of Las Cuevas, which included some nice quick-sand beaches you could sink deep into. The next night brought a little hannukah celebration, which included donuts, potato pancakes, and a pissed off hostel owner that kicked all of our new Israeli friends out of the hostel the next day. After another lazy day of rest we headed out to the remote La Pajcha waterfall for some camping and playing in the sand. Finally we were starting to feel the stress leaving the body, and after 5 nights in Samaipata we decided to leave the fresh mountain air and head down into the steamy jungle.

Trinidad is the capital of the Beni province in northern Bolivia. It´s hot and sticky, and just a stones throw from the Rio Ibara and the Rio Mamorè, two large Amazonian rivers full of life. While Viviana has been battling yet another bout of stomach problems (Bolivian hospitals make Peruvian hospitals look like palaces of cleanliness and security), we have managed to enjoy the splendors of the jungle a bit so far. This time we rented a motorcycle... ok it was a scooter... and cruised off to the river where we saw pink river dolphins swimming amongst the lillipads. We paid a local $2 to use his canoe for the day and paddled down the river a little ways, sighting a large family of capybaras on the bank, as well as numerous species of birds and a lot of jumping fish. Now we are waiting out the last fading signs of Vivianas stomach illness, at which point we will probably move on to the more touristy town of Rurrenabaque to continue exploring the Bolivian Amazon. We´ve made a point to slow down a bit in Bolivia and it has definitely been a nice break from the constant travelling. Hopefully the rivers of western Beni will continue to wash away the stress and channel in the relaxation...

MP and Sailing the ´High´ Seas

Eight months on the road. I can see holes in my hands where numerous splinters have been dug out with a sewing needle, along with a number of other unidentified cuts and scratches. The latest layer of skin on my nose has almost completely peeled off, leaving behind bright pink splotches. As I scratch my beard and reflect on the excitement of the last couple weeks I am reminded that it has been over a month since I last shaved. I seem to be letting my chiseled image fall to the wayside, but for what...?

My last post left off right as we were about to head out to the famous Incan complex of Machu Picchu, but before I headed out I had to try the infamous Peruvian delicacy known as Cuy. In the states we call them guinea pigs, and here they´ve been on the dinner table for millenia. While many tourists fork out a hefty penny to have a nice guinea pig fillet from a proper restaurant, I decided to try the endemic version at the local market. While I had been mentally prepared for the sight of the little creature on my plate, I have to say that the topping of uncooked seawead and fish eggs caught me a little by surprise. At this point I had already struck up a convesation with some locals at the same table, so to save face I had to force down a bit of everything. I was pleasantly surprised by the taste of the cuy, and at the risk of breaking the cliché, I would relate the flavor much more to that of pork than of chicken.



With my belly full of giant hamster meat Viviana and I hopped on the 8pm bus to sart our alternative approach to Macchu Piccu. As I mentioned before, the typical route is far too expensive for our stretched out travel budget, so our new plan was to take the overnight bus from Cusco to Santa Maria, arriving at 2AM. From there we hop in a collectivo (shared van) to the small town of Santa Theresa, arriving at 3AM. At this point we lay out the sleeping mats in the middle of the main plaza and take a nap until 5AM, when we catch a ride with some workers out to the hydroelectric plant. From the hydroelectric plant we walk along railroad tracks for 3 hours until we reach the town of Aguas Calientes, the typical starting point for the final climb to Machu Picchu. Despite our haphazardly planning and a few horrifying cliff-side bus rides, our plan worked flawlessly and only set us back about $12 each. However, arriving at Aguas Calientes was only part of the battle, and the next hurdle would be getting to the gate early enough to be able to climb Wayna Picchu, the photogenic mountain in the background of every Machu Picchu photo worth bragging about. The lucratively popular ruins receive an average of 2500 people per day and only the first 400 are allowed to climb Wayna Piccu. In order to make it in this group without staying at the $600/night hotel or taking an equally overpriced tour, you have to line up at the main gate at 5AM and then hike up 1600 odd-shaped stone steps to an office where you get your ticket stamped. Of course this was our plan, and when we arrived at the gate we were surprised to see that not only were there about 40 other people waiting, but a number of them were decked out in shiny new jogging shoes and spandex pants, ready to race to the top. At 4:50 the gate opened and we all started the ascent. After a couple flights I realized I was in the lead, and the people behind me were starting to pant heavily. Then suddenly I heard Viviana yell out from a half flight of stairs below ´Go Alex Go!´ At this point my competitive spirit kicked in and I decided to try and go for the gold. Employing my disgruntled teenager hiking style (jacket dangling from wrists, arms flopping around randomly) I quickly beat everyone to the top, only to find another 20 people from the hotel already waiting. Viviana came up soon after with a respectable 6th place and after another 30 minutes in line we started into the much anticipated Incan metropolis. At this point it was difficult to believe that anything could live up to the hype that precedes Machu Picchu, but as soon as the city unfolded before us we were completely astonished. The complexity of the buildings and sheer area it consumes is impressive, but what really sets it apart is the location. The ancient university, temples, houses, terraces, and other stone structures are just perfectly perched on the top of a mountain that drops steeply away on all sides. Upon our arrival there was a mist floating through the area that added a touch of mysticism to the experience. Soon after walking through the main gate we flashed our stamps and started climbing Wayna Picchu. An hour more of steep stone steps and we found ourselves on the top of the mountain, which is also covered in ruins and feels like a fortress in the sky, looking down onto the main ruins below. We passed the day exploring the various temples, astronomical observatories, and ceremonial fountains before finally returning to the real world below in Aguas Calientes. A short dip in the local hotsprings followed by a good nights sleep prepared us for the return journey along the railroad tracks, back to Cuzco and the Sacred Valley.

Macchu Piccu is by far the most famous leftover city in Peru, but there is a plethora of other astonishing ruins all around Cuzco known as the Sacred Valley. Unfortunately to see these ruins you also have to pay a hefty sum of around $50 for
a tourist pass. Thanks to a tip from our Spanish traveling companions, we found a way to drop this price in half, and hopefully save a bundle more on other sights down the road. All we had to do was make a few ´modified´ academic transcripts to show that we are still students, slap on Michael Jackson´s signature in place of the school registrar, and apply for a local ID card at the Cuzco office. With the new golden ID card in hand we swept through the valley, stopping at the ancient city of Ollantaytambo, the massive walls of Saqsaywaman, the intricate caverns of Q´enqo, and the royal tombs of Pisaq. Soon our heads were packed full of Incan history, and we felt ready to slip over toward our next destination on the shores of Lake Titicaca.

Before heading into Bolivia, we stopped briefly at the town of Puno to see the floating islands of the Uros people. This tribe has lived for centuries on the
waters of Lake Titicaca, constructing their own islands out of the totora reed, a fast growing plant found in abundance near the lake shores. In addition to the land istself, they also build their boats, houses, furniture, and just about everything else out of this reed. Despite the immense impact that tourism has had on their culture, it was incredible to see such a perfect use of renewable, locally available resources. A short visit to the lake got my mind moving in new directions, and on our way to Bolivia I started formulating plans for a little free-style island hopping.

Upon arriving in Copacabana I quickly set out researching a way to row out to the nearby Isla del Sol. I spoke with a local about renting a canoe, but he quickly convinced me that the proper way to get around on the ´highest navegable lake in the world´ was with a sail. He showed me his boat, which was tiny and had a mast and other crucial elements made out of logs and used horseshoes. Although I was a bit nervous about the quality of the craft, and the fact that I had no previous sailing experience, Bolivians can be very convincing, and after a half hour sailing lesson we were hashing out the details of the ship rental. That night we stocked up on provisions and the next day Viviana and I headed out for our three day sailing trip. We started off at 6AM, and the first hour the wind was at our backs and we were cruising along. Another hour later and we were sitting in one spot in the middle of the lake, catching a sunburn and praying for wind. I tried the oars for a bit to help us along, but this quickly filled my palms with tons of little splinters as only a couple inches of each handmade oar had been sanded down. Eventually the wind did pick up, but this time it came right at our faces. Using the zig-zag pattern we slowly made our way toward the island, arriving at 5PM, only 7 hours later than the locals had promised us. The next day we lowered our aim and decided to sail around to the other side of the island, instead of all the way to the north. In just a few hours fighting the wind we arrived. With the help of 5 locals we pulled the boat on shore and hauled our gear up to a small hostal with a humongous view. We cooked our rice and had a couple beers at sunset, then passed out to rest for another long day returning to the mainland. The next morning we recruited a few locals and one other tourist to help push the boat back in. The tourist turned out to be from Washington state, and liked fishing, so we offered him a ride back to Copacabana. This time we made it back in a swift 4 hours. The sailboat trip was truly an adventure, and when we got back all we wanted to do was relax and play it safe.



So now we are here in La Paz, the dense Bolivian capital built in a steep valley. Our arrival was hectic, but now we are starting to unwind, passing the day eating delicious local salteñas and touring the many plazas. My hands have begun the healing process and today I may even search out a barber. Of course no matter what temporary improvements are made the trip goes on, and the real rest won´t come until sometime next spring when we finally get back to our native land.

Hills and Valleys

At the end of my seventh month I found myself, once again, on a bus. This time the bus was climbing upwards to the town of Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca. The only reason for visiting Huaraz is to set off on a hike in the snowcapped peaks that surround the town. Perhaps the altitude was affecting my judgement, but for some reason I decided to do this hike with a tour company. They arranged all the transportation, guides, food, and even mules to carry our packs on the 4 day trip. After winding through innumerable switchbacks by bus, we hiked into the lower section of the valley and set up camp. We could already see the snowcapped peaks looming further up the canyon. This is also the point when we started really questioning the tour. As we set up camp the guide realized he was a tent and a few sleeping bags short. Luckily Viviana and I had brought our own sleeping bags as backups, knowing how cold it can get at 16000 feet. Of course these ´minor´ omitions were just adding to our dissatisfaction, as the tour had already been delayed a day for an altitude sick couple from Holland that never came, and the group was also nearly twice the size we were promised. Luckily our woes and my complaining came to an abrupt stop the following day when we hit Union Pass, the highest point on the hike with undoubtedly one of the most amazing views of my life. We stopped for lunch and about 82 pictures of the scenery and then continued down into the canyon to set up camp in another valley that looked like it was straight out of a screensaver. At this point we could really feel the altitude and it was amazing to see how well the coca leaves worked to fight the symptoms. We had bought a bag for about 15 cents on the way up and after macerating (dont chew!) for 5 minutes the high mountain headache quickly subsided. The last day we descended to find that instead of camping by the beautiful trout-filled river we had been following, instead we would be camping in some guys backyard/farm in a town nearby. The ammenities in the yard included a nice view of the village, about 200 piles of horse shit, and even a delightful spectacle of 4 men castrating a horse no more than 20 feet from our tent at 6 AM. An hour or so of bargaining for some of our money back proved highly unsuccessful, and we finished off the tour with a dip in some local hotsprings to wash away our indignation. Despite the bad experience with the tour, the mountain range was thoroughly impressive and left us in high spirits as we headed back down to sea level on our way to Lima.

Originally we had planned to shoot through Lima, stopping for just one night before heading into the canyon country. We dropped off our stuff and set off to see the downtown area. The city quickly surpassed our admittedly low expectations and the government buildings surrounding the main plaza were in contention for the most impressive we`ve seen yet. After the plaza we did a little experiment to see if Viviana would get a better price on a pair of pants at the market than I would, seeing that she looks rather Peruvian and I stand out like a Hanson brother at a Daddy Yankee concert. Although I was able to procure a similar price (a couple of Soles more), I had to haggle for 20 minutes and she received the better deal without a word. Donning my new pair of pants we caught the city bus back to the hostel and started to plan our exit. As Viviana plugged in for a final facebook check before we hit the road she saw a message from a mutual friend, Olga, that lives in Lima, whom we had already contacted twice before to plan our visit, and whom we had completely forgotten about. When traveling for an extended period it is rare that you really get to know people well, and an opportunity to see a familiar face (and sleep for free) is always welcome. We quickly changed our plans and decided to spend a few days partying and seeing the city with our personal guide. I started the fiesta off by setting her stove on fire and melting the nice glass cover piece, fortunately realizing before the apartment caught. After ordering a costly replacement we toured the citys parks, restaraunts, and markets. In the bohemian neighborhood of Barranco we had the pleasure of tasting skewered cow heart, which was actually quite delicious. In the upscale neighborhood of Miraflores we sampled a number of different varieties of pisco, the local firewater made from distilled grapes. In the beachfront neighborhood of Chorrillos we watched huge hoardes of pelicans begging at the fish market. It took us a while to adapt to the late nights in Lima, but by the final night we had it. A beer-and-pisco filled prefunk at Olgas friends house carried us until 2AM at which point we went to the local bar and downed a bottle of Aguardiente in an homage to Olgas Colombian heritage. After semi-succesfully shaking off our hangovers the next day with a tour of the Incan city of Pachacamac we hopped on the 16 hour overnight bus for Arequipa to prepare for some more hiking.

Arequipa is yet another beautiful colonial city, and this time it was the jumping off point for Colca Canyon, a massive slice in the earth that is said to be twice as deep as the grand canyon (although my GPS says differently). Before we began our 3000 ft. tumble into the canyon we decided to head out bright and early to catch a sight of the incredible `potential` Andean Condor. The `potential` Andean Condor is a breathtaking sight, and as you watch the small black dot cirle around miles away in the sky you can`t help but wonder, `Is that a condor, or just some crap stuck on my sunglasses?` After the lifechanging condor experience we started the 7 hour hike down the canyon and over to the Oasis, a haven of spring-fed swimming pools and cheap camping at the bottom of the barren canyon. As I limped past a few small indigenous villages before reaching the Oasis I started to notice that none of the other people I saw were carrying tents, sleeping bags, towels, extra clothes, or any of the other items that made up my 40lb backpack. It seems that after hiking down the 3000 ft, you also have to hike back up, and most people were smart enough to use mules for that labor. Fortunately we are on an extended vacation, and so we decided to take a day relaxing by the pool, catching trout from the river, drinking pisco, and then sleeping it all off before making the grueling ascent the following day. After a bumpy ride back to town we caught another overnighter to Cuzco to check out some neatly arranged piles of rocks we`ve been hearing so much about.



Now we find ourselves in the cradle of Incan history, surrounded by some of the most impressive ruins on the planet. We are ready to explore and nothing can stop us... oh except the $61 one hour train ride to Macchu Piccu... oh yeah and the $45 entry fee... and of course the $75 historical sites pass... hmmm... So now we are searching for an alternative route to the worlds most talked about ruins. We think we have a makeshift plan now that involves a little late night travel, but I`ll save that for next time.

Perusing

After leaving our monkey-world we headed on down to Riobamba to take the infamous ´Nariz del Diablo´ train ride that winds down steep switchbacks into southern Ecuador. Unfortunately it was out of service, as we have found about 30% of all businesses, services, and copy machines to be in South America. While coming up with a backup plan we came to the conclusion that we had picked up too many habits and
mannerisms from the monkeys, and really weren´t quite ready for civilization. We packed up again and caught the bus out to Parque Nacional Las Cajas outside the town of Cuenca, a little visited Andean reserve cluttered with small lakes and streams. The park was incredible and we had nearly the whole place to ourselves, passing only two other hikers during our 3 day, 2 night backpacking trip. The trail wound past a plethora of lakes and I was able to stop and try my luck with some trout fishing at a few. Unfortunately my luck turned out to be complete crap, because after catching my only fish (a whopping 4¨) I slipped trying to release the creature and nearly fell in. Luckily I caught myself with the fingernail of my right index finger, tearing it about halfway off and cutting up the neighboring digits in the process. After an evening of pain followed by a night of blissful pain-killer induced sleep we continued on, and the trip once again became beautiful and serene as we hiked passed Incan ruins and wild llamas on our way through the canyon. We popped out onto the road late in the afternoon and hitchhiked back to Cuenca, fully aware that we were behind schedule and needed to make haste to Perú.

My streak of good health continued when I found myself with a fever and horrible stomach ache in the deservingly unheard of border town of Huaquillas. We spent 2 nights there recovering and listening to the horrendous sounds of the local festival, where about 30 drunken adults pack into a little play locomotive for children and scream while the latest reggaeton masterpieces are played on the trains loudspeakers. Finally we crossed the border and my spirits improved when we hit the coastal town of Máncora for some surfing and ceviche. The waves were perfect for a perpetual beginner like me, and Viviana was able to get a one-on-one lesson that got her hooked immediately. We spent a few days riding the waves and avoiding the odd looking Peruvian hairless dogs before continuing south to Chiclayo to catch up on some culture.



This time it was Vivianas turn. I woke up our first morining in Chiclayo to the sound of Viviana releasing last nights ceviche back into the wild. The situation did not look good, so we went straight to the ER of the local hospital. After hooking up an IV and a little more reverse swallowing, we were able to spend the day getting an inside look at the Peruvian health care system. We spent the whole day waiting for results and information while we watched car accident victims, elderly patients, and a young woman that seemed to have completely lost her mind flow through the room. Eventually Viviana got a little ciproflaxin pick-me-up and we headed home. Finally we were both feeling better and we began our tour of the ancient adobe civilizations, the Mochica and Chimú people. North of Chiclayo we saw the pyramid complex of Túcume, an impressive set of pyramids and other buildings all made of adobe. We also stopped by the Museo de Sipán, which houses the findings of the tomb of the Lord of Sipán, who must have been the Jay-Z of the 9th century based on the immense collection of intricate golden necklaces, nose rings, crowns, and other jewelry removed from his tomb. After Chiclayo we made our way down to our current location, Trujillo, and continued the culture course with the Mochica city of Chan-Chan and the massive complexs of Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol. Chan-Chan is an impressive labyrinth of walls, tombs, and ponds that have been restored to their previous splendor. While I found the ancient city to be thoroughly inspiring, the local school children on their field trip seemed to think that a dirty blonde kid
with a red beard was a far rarer sight and I was soon overwhelmed with children wanting to pose with me in their photos. My look must really be perfected now as I also had some yelling out ´Chuck Norris!´ from across the street the other day. But this story is really about the Mochica, and the next buildings we saw were the Temples of the Sun and the Moon. The Temple of the Moon is an old religous center that was continually built up, layer upon layer, for centuries. The outer layers, along with a giant pile of sand, helped protect the intricate details and vibrant colors on the inner layers and these have in turn helped reveal a lot about their unique culture of sacrifices and religious rituals. In times of drought, a bloody gladiator style fight would be held and the loser of the battle would be beheaded, with his blood collected in a cup. The cup would then be brought up to the top of a large stadium and tossed out in front of 10,000 spectators.

The stories of Peruvian history go on, but this one needs to come to an end so I can get out of this internet cafe blasting the Billboard Top 100. Tomorrow we plan to head up to the Cordillera Blanca for some more camping and exploring. The Cordillera Blanca is supposed to be the second largest mountain range in the world, so it should have something for us. It will be a nice change to have less excitement in the Peruvian bathrooms, and more adventure out in the mountains and woods of the Andes.

The Monkey Revolution

Well once again I have gotten lost in the turmoil of traveling and neglected my blog for a bit longer than anticipated. I apologize. Now that that´s out of the way, let´s see if I can get things up to do date...

Salento turned out to be a beautiful, low key mountain town up in the Colombian Andes. It had provided us with some familiar comforts we had been badly missing, such as nice soft beds and delicious pizza. Of course that´s not really our style, so we were quick to toss these aside in turn for a butt breaking horse back ride and a spine straining backpack trip. We arranged the horse ride through an incomprehensible local with one remaining tooth, and his equally odd looking son led us down the road and out to a hidden waterfall a couple hours ride away. I am very much a novice on the animal, and this was Vivianas first time, so we got more than our $10 worth with the steep muddy slopes, dark tunnels, and river crossings. The way back was even more harrowing as the horses slipped and lurched up a narrow, and incredibly muddy, horse trail up a steep hill. The day after the horse trip we decided it might be better to rest our bruised asses and do our backpacking trip into the Valle de Cocora by foot. The first hour wound along a river through picturesque old farmland dotted with wax palms, a local palm tree noted for its especially long, thin trunk. The next section was dense cloud forest, and this we remember for the numerous sketchy bridge crossings, slowly inching with our maxed out backpacks along a couple of small trees felled across the river. After 7 such crossings we arrived at a small house where the overseer of the area resides with his wife. The house was swarmed by more hummingbirds than I had ever seen in my life, including one with a 4 inch beak (Swordbill), and another one with a 6 inch emerald green tail (Long Tailed Sylph). The next two nights we set up our tent on the second floor inside an unfinished barn and passed the evening cooking our meals on the balcony with a great view of the treetops. We were able to catch a few other birds on the trail including an Elegant Trogon and a Pava. After two nights we climbed back out and started south for the hidden tombs of Tierradentro.

Tierradentro is located a 5 hour, bumpy, landslide-strewn bus ride east of Popayan off the pan-american. The town is very small and quiet, and an afternoon of drinking beer by the soccerfield offered us a view of the country life as kids played soccer, horses ran free, and old women gossiped in their doorways. The second day we hiked up and explored the tombs of Aguacate, a series of holes in the ground that lead to ancient tombs of unknown origin. They are all laid out in a line on the crest of a large hill and it makes for a rather eerie experience, especially when you turn on your headlamp and see the plethora of insect life clinging to the walls. We spent only a couple nights here and felt Ecuador pulling us toward it (ironic since there is less gravitational pull there than anywhere else on our trip).

It should be noted that the pan-american highway is not just I-5 for 27000 miles. In Colombia the road is a small undivided 2 lane road winding through turns that prompt the drivers to hand out vomit bags before each journey. The section from Pasto to Ipiales turned out to be the worst that I have experienced so far on my trip. It was only one hour, but the entire time we were clutching our seats in horror as the bus driver consistently passed cars over double lines along sharp blind turns, all while going up to 85kph in the 20kph zone. Of course none of the other passengers blinked an eye at his suicidal manouveres, but I just can´t seem to get used to the insane drivers in Latin America.

We ran off the bus in Ipiales and decided we should thank the higher powers for delivering us safely before we left the country, so we caught a cab over to Santuario Las Lajas, a gorgeous gothic style church spanning a river gorge. The church was exceptional with hundreds of followers in mass when we arrived, but its powers were not strong enough to protect us from the devils true face: the Colombian border security. Viviana had only received a 30 day visa when she entered Colombia, and she had overstayed by two days. In order to receive an exit visa they were trying to charge a $150 fine (I had paid $5 for overstaying my C4 visa in Nicaragua). As we argued for a lower fee we were approached by some interesting characters saying they had ´special connections´ and could get the stamp for half the price. After over an hour of debating we went with the private contractor and a nerve racking taxi ride to the ATM along with another hour of arguing got us the visa for a mere $130 (hmm...). Needless to say we were happy to cross the imaginary, yet laborious line into Ecuador.

In Ecuador we headed straight to Quito, where we spent a few days visiting the local sights and getting a feel for the new culture. We saw a number of churches, including the Basilica del Voto Nacional (a gothic church with gargoyles of turtles, anteaters, iguanas, and other local animals), and the Iglesia Santo Domingo (with twisted paintings of sheep licking up Christs blood, among others). We also made a short trip to the tourist attraction of La Mitad del Mundo, to pass an hour or so hopping between hemispheres. Five relaxing days in Quito prepared us for more adventure, so we went to Quitos´ incredibly new and spacious bus terminal and made our way towards Latacunga.



Before arriving in Latacunga we stopped at Volcan Cotopaxi, a monstrous volcano topped by an expansive glacier. Transportation there was expensive and difficult, so we camped for a night and continued on. After one night in the state capitol of Latacunga we took a detour up to Laguna Quilotoa, an emerald green laguna up in a remote section of the Andes. We hiked a good distance around the lagoon and laughed at the llamas before coming back to Latacunga for the Feria de la Mama Negra, an indigenous festival masked as an homage to the catholic Virgen Mercedes. The festival was unlike any I had ever seen, and the whole thing took place as a long parade that lasted 8 hours (two rotations of 4 hours). It could be divided into
about 50 smaller units, each one starting with a group of costumed dancers, then a band, and followed up by the towns strongest man carrying a wooden backpack with an entire roast pig, about 12 roast chickens, 10 roast guinea pigs, and maybe 15 bottles of liquor tied on. The whole contraption was so big he had to be followed by two guys with a table, and when he needed rest they would set the table down and he could sit the backpack down on it for a minute, then lumber forward and start again. In addition to the pig backpack, there was also a shaman within each unit. He would select random members from the crowd, including myself, twice, and rub herbs in their face, then spit alcohol all over them in a sort of smelly baptism. All along the parade were people handing out free shots of local homemade alcohol, and we did not hesitate to partake. Unfortunately I may have indulged a bit much, and the evening ended a bit sour as someone snatched my camera during my drunken arm in arm dance through a tower of fireworks. How could I have known...?

Continuing along the trail we stopped in the tourist center of Baños for some rafting and late night partying. We floated down the Pastaza river with about 170 other people in a tribute to a local guide that had recently lost his life to the same river. That night we barbecued trout with the local raft guides we had met, and then danced until our legs hurt. A couple of drunken nights and hangover filled days in Baños and we were ready to slow things down with a little volunteer work in nearby Puyo.

Puyo is a town on the edge of the Ecuadorian Amazon, and for the last week we have been shacked up with about 70 primates at the Paseo de los Monos monkey reserve. It is a refuge and rehabilitation center for monkeys, coatis, and birds, and along with 4 other volunteers and a couple of full time employees we have been taking care of the mischievious little creatures. Taking care of monkeys consists of cutting up fruit, getting your hair pulled, cleaning up dishes, getting your ankles bitten, making new informational brochures, and yanking dueling monkeys off your head.
Despite the numerous bruises and teeth marks, it has been a blast. There are seven species of monkeys at the reserve, and the vast majority run free in the forest, coming to the house to eat and play. If you are near the house, no more than 5 minutes will pass before some monkey comes up and tries to climb on you or swing from your arms. Two days ago was an especially eventful day at the reserve. It began with news that Ecuadors president, Rafeal Correa, had recently been taken out of power by a military coup upset about salary changes. This also implied that there was no active police force in all of Ecuador, and rioting had already begun in the capitol and the largest city, Guayaquil. While processing the implications of this information, it started to rain outside and I noticed the trees were blowing a bit more than normal outside. Soon there came a gust of wind that lasted all of 30 to 40 seconds (literally), but knocked down 5 trees on the property, including one that hit the back of the house and crushed the cage that housed the most dangerous animal on the reserve (a very ornery amazonian Coati with nasty incisors). Before we had even assessed the damage we were out by the cage, trying to keep the angry animal inside the cage with a stick while we repaired the torn open area with wire mesh. Despite the disasters at the reserve and the turmoil with the president, by the end of the next day the animal was safe at home, and the Coati was back in his cage as well.

Today we decide our next move. We would like to go up into the Peruvian Amazon to the city of Iquitos, but since we are not using airplanes, and there are no roads to Iquitos, this would mean a 6 day boat trip to arrive, and then 5 days to return. While the next move is unsure, at least we can look forward to a little piece and quiet from our biting, fighting, tree-dwelling neighbors.

El Vaiven del Viaje

Continuing along the carribean coast we landed in Santa Marta, a popular vacation spot for locals, but for reasons I don't understand. The main beach is also a shipping port with Panamax ships cruising in all the time, and the waterfront, while pleasant at times, can quickly turn into a boxing arena as locals scrap over women, drugs, or chicle. After a few days there we realized that neighboring Taganga is a much more pleasant place to stay, and we checked into the Oso Perezoso, a laid back hotel with rooftop hammocks and excellent fruit crepe breakfasts. Our main goal in this part of the coast was to go to Tayrona National Park to camp and play in the waves, so after a couple nights in Taganga we hopped on the bus, then another bus, then hitchhiked, and then began the hike into the park. The hike in goes through some nice dense jungle and we spotted a sloth hanging out along the way. We quickly became friends with the couple we had hitchhiked with and it was nice to meet some Colombians that weren't pushing hot dogs on us or trying to exchange our money. Arriving at the beach we found that we had to pay $15 a night to camp, even though we had brought out own tent, and the only restaurant around charged $9 for a simple meal. Luckily we had prepared for the high food prices, and my bag was stuffed with food, including an entire roast chicken, the smell of which peaked my appetite to the point of insanity along the hike. We spent two nights at the park, playing in the waves, building sand castle crabs, and even getting tan in unlikely spots on the nude beach.

While Tayrona had some very beautiful aspects, we left the coast feeling a bit discouraged. The prices were high, the people were generally rude, haggling was required everywhere, and the beaches were even a little below our jaded standards (Viviana just coming from Puerto Rico, and me just coming from San Blas). We had begun to get a little nervous that Colombia would not live up to the rave reviews we had been hearing for years.



Fortunately the interior of the country gave us a completely different experience. Our first stop was the mountain town of San Gil, a center of outdoor adventure for tourists, and a beautiful small town filled with friendly locals. From there we spent a day exploring the smaller picturesque towns of Barichara and Guane, full of colonial buildings with whitewashed adobe architecture. The next day we did a 60 meter repel down the bottom third of a 180 meter waterfall. We were thoroughly enjoying the town, but decided to leave to pursue our dream of backpacking in El Cocuy National Park, a reserve full of snowcapped peaks, lagoons and rivers, all located well off the tourist track. We left our unnecessary equipment at the hostel in San Gil and headed out by bus along the crazy winding roads along the Chicamocha gorge. After 4 hours of the twisting roads we both felt sick and decided to recover at a hotel in Tunja before finishing the last 10 hour leg to the park. Unfortunately, when we awoke and went to buy tickets we were informed that a landslide had closed the road, and were left with no option but to return to San Gil along the gut wrenching road.

After recovering our equipment, a third trip back down the same road brought us into Bogota. Remembering the squalor and insecurity of the Central American capitals I had visited, my expectations for Bogota were pretty low. We checked into our hostal and set out to see the city. I soon realized that Bogota is full of culture, activity, and nightlife. We visited a number of museums the first day, including the Museo del Oro (gold museum), Museo de la Policia (police museum with Pablo Escobars jacket and blood stain), and the Botero Museum (popular Colombian artist who drew pictures of fat little cartoon people). Most of them had free entrance as well, which appealed to my penny-pinching side. At night we prowled the streets of the La Candelaria district, chatting with locals, drinking Aguila beer, and taking in the aroma of the ganja plant that seems to fill the streets all over Colombia. The next day we hopped a bus over to the salt cathedral, a gigantic church built into an active salt mine. The cathedral has 14 small chambers with the stations of the cross, as well as 2 much larger chambers for masses and events, and occupies an area of 8000 sq meters (~72000 sq ft.) all located 200 meters (~1800 ft) underground (it could be argued that the church brings you closer to the scorching inferno than the pearly gates). The crosses, statues, pilars, and nearly everything in the cathedral is carved out of the salt stone itself, making for an unusual ambience. The last day in Bogota we took part in the cyclovia, a public event held every Sunday where they close down the main thoroughfares in the city to car traffic and open it up to bikes, skateboards, rollerblades, and pedestrians. We rented some bikes and cruised down the busy streets, buying up fresh mango, shishkabobs, and other street food along the way. The closed down streets are lined with activities as well, such as public aerobics classes, concerts, and markets. We made our way to the giant Simon Bolivar park and then back to the hotel, for a total of about 120 blocks. The next day we said our farewells to the city and grabbed the overnight bus to Medellin to meet up with some friends.

In Tucson both Viviana and I had an unusual number of Colombian friends, and almost all of the ones that have returned home now live in Medellin. We spent the last week staying at our friend Jorge's house, exploring the city by day and crawling the streets for rumba by night. Medellin is full of metrocables, ski-lift like public transportation that takes you up the steep hills of the valleys, and e took one of these up to the giant parque Arvi. Our next couple days were spent checking out the downtown area, including museums and city parks (such as the Parque de Los Pies Descalzos, where everyone has to go around barefoot). At night we went saw live salsa music in the club and live jazz in the street. We went to the zona rosa and tasted the citys huge array of fruit infused rum and exotic mojitos. On the weekend we cruised the windy, landslide prone roads up to some small pueblos in the mountains and swam in rivers, marvelled at the colorfully painted balconies, and listened to charming tales of horrifying machete assaults that the local children told us. An unfortunate pothole on the way back sent the car battery up into the hood, short circuiting the alarm and causing a minor 1 and a half hour delay while we solved the issue, as well as some minor ear damage from the endless siren. Despite the horror stories, it was very interesting to me that out of all the major cities I've visited so far, I felt safer walking the streets at night in Medellin than anywhere else. While poverty is still rampant in Colombia, it has made some amazing developments recently and in my experience looks to be a lot further along than almost any country I visited in Central America (with the possible exception of Costa Rica).

After bidding farewell to our gracious host we hopped onto another bus for the twisting road to Salento, a small mountain town in the 'Zona Cafetera' (coffee zone). From here we plan to get back to nature with some hiking, fishing, and hopefully horseback riding. Then its off to Ecuador for mountains and volunteer work.

Gran Colombia

My first stop in Panama was the city of David, where I caught a bus up to Cerro Punto to do a 2 day hike through the highlands to Boquete. The trail offered some great views and a fair amount of bird watching with only a few washed out sections. I strung up my hammock in a small clearing on top of a hill and settled in for the night. It looked as though thunderstorms were coming in from all sides, but my good luck continued and after 30 minutes it was clear skies, a full moon, and the sound of howler monkeys in the distance. The downside of the trip was that it got very cold during the night in the uninsulated hammock, and I also made friends with a number of tics, one of which was embedded in my foot. The hike ended in the popular tourist town of Boquete, which really didnt impress me much and seemed to be more of a gringo retirement village than a backpacker hotspot, so I cruised down to nexus of the Americas, Panama City.

The Panama City skyline quickly put to shame that of any other Central American city. Upon arrival I headed straight down to the unusual Casco Viejo district, a wild contrast of dilapidated colonial structures and rejuvenated government buildings. In the daytime you can just walk around enjoying the scenery and eating 75 cent hot dogs, but at night the criminal element pours in from the neighboring ghetto making the streets very dangerous and all blonde people targets. Luckily someone realized this and built the Luna´s Castle hostal, a giant colonial mansion packed with rooms and endless partying. The first night I took the party bus around town, a retired US school bus with the seats taken out and replaced by a dance floor, a bar, a DJ, and some poles to hang on to (or show your skills on). I made a few attempts to leave the city for nearby attractions, but was thwarted at the beach by high prices, and shut down in the jungle by crazy rainstorms (which put a foot of water in my hostel that night). My primary goal in Panama City was to arrange a boat trip to Cartagena, and after a few days I had it all ready with Luke and Sarah.



Luke is the captain of the sailboat Nepenthe, which means anti-depressant in some language I can´t remember. Anyway, the 41ft sailboat is aptly named and the 5 day sailing trip removed every remnant of Panama City stress I had. The first 3 days were spent sailing through the remote San Blas archipelago, a string of tiny picturesque islands often with only one village, one house, or one palm tree on them. We snorkelled a shipwreck, barbecued on an uninhabited island, and fished. I got a little innovative with the fishing on this trip, catching jack (the fish, not the colloquialism) on the hand line and even catching a fish while in the act of snorkelling (sort of an underwater pet on a leash). We hooked into a few big ones, including a 9ft nurse shark, but weren´t able to get the monsters into the boat. After playtime was over we set sail, but there was no wind so we took the sails down and used the engine to power us over to Cartagena, a 36 hour voyage.



After the dighy dropped me off I realized I had finally reached the South American continent. I checked into the hostel and went out to explore the walled city in the heart of the larger metropolis. Cartagena is full of balcony-lined historic buildings, salsa music, and expensive beer. My anxiety of seeing my long lost girlfriend was growing quite a bit at this point so I didn´t do too much the first few days.

On Wednesday I picked Viviana up at the airport and set off to show her my honed traveling know-how on an excursion to a volcano filled with mud you can bathe in. We took the city bus down to the terminal and hopped on the connecting bus for the hour and a half journey to the volcano. Three hours later I was starting to think I may have made a mistake. We got off at the completely uninteresting town of Barranquilla, ate some chicken and started back for Cartagena. On the way back the bus pulled up to a line of traffic 15 minutes out of the Cartagena that looked fairly normal, until we saw cops running by with their guns drawn. The bus made a speedy 10 point turn on the narrow road and went to a nearby gas station so the driver and passangers could yell at eachother for a half an hour. We slowly found out that there was a riot because the town had been without electricity for a month, and some teenagers began lighting things on fire and throwing rocks at the cops in the middle of the street. Luckily it was cleared up after another hour and we eventually made it home.

Two days after my humbling experience, we headed out to Santa Marta, a beach town where the locals come to party on the weekends. From here we plan to take care of some last minute travel arrangements and do some camping and swimming in the Parque Tayrona. With Central America under my belt and South America under my feet I feel ready for whatever comes next...

Nicas and Ticos

So where was I... After a short stay visiting churches and drinking beer in Granada I caught the chicken bus on up to León to catch up on my history. León was a major participant in the Sandinista movement and I spent a good deal of time there learning about the intriguing and controversial past of the FSLN party, including partaking in a ceremonial march to the barracks once held by Somoza. I'll spare you the history lesson, but it makes for some excellent reading, full of CIA conspiracies, illegal weapons trade, and passionate revolution. I also took some time to learn Nicaraguan billiards and see some bubbling pits of mud.


After León I shot down to the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua. Ometepe is formed from two volcanic peaks whose lava flows have created a land bridge between them, and truly resembles something out of a fairy tale. One peak is very active with smoke often pouring out of the crater, while the other is covered in lush jungle with a swimmable lagoon at the top. After a short night of partying with some out of control Tazmanians I did a little makeshift camping around the coast, climbed to the lagoon, and spent some time on the beach watching futbol and relaxing. To save money and increase the excitement I have been avoiding guides on my travels and doing as many adventures on my own as possible, and Ometepe was perfect for the independent explorer. The island offered some excellent wildlife viewing, and was a nice segway into my short visit to Costa Rica.

A 10 hour boat ride across the lake brought me into Costa Rica where I had my first encounter with the criminal element. It seems that the entire country of Costa Rica has been conspiring to empty my bank account with $20 lunches and $8 bottles of water. Luckily I have been able to survive through camping and purifying my own water. However, even the atrocious prices cannot detract from the immense beauty and amazing wildlife of the Osa Peninsula. This peninsula in southwestern Costa Rica has a huge amount of biodiversity, and a few nights in the jungle offers some incredible encounters. I setup my hammock in the Corcovado national park and was immediately greeted by a flock of Scarlet Macaws. Another day on the trail provided 3 species of monkeys, anteaters, eagles, parrots and numerous other flora and fauna.

Now I am heading into Panama to prepare for my journey to Colombia. I am hoping to catch a yacht over to Cartagena, which I have heard is a 4-5 day voyage. This gives me about another 10 days before I should arrive in Panama City and I'm not sure where this time will be spent. But with any luck my next update will be from Colombia, and the soliloquy will become a duet.

Honduras in a Hurry

My original plan in Honduras was to head over to the remote La Moskitia region and visit some indigenous villages, but after looking at my calendar I realized I probably didn't have time to explore it properly. My back up plan led me to the popular Bay Islands in Honduras. I took a temporary break from my penny pinching ways and caught a ferry out to Utila to see what all the hype was about. The island was very clean and nice, but far too overrun with tourist establishments for my tastes. I attempted to go scuba diving, but a storm came and the trip was cancelled at the last minute, leaving nothing to do but drink cheap rum and watch world cup games. After a few days on the island I decided to return to the mainland and keep moving.

My next stop was the serene Lago de Yojoa in northern Honduras. At first I shot straight over to a little microbrewey run by a fellow Oregonian, but was discouraged to find out he was actually a beligerent drunk who just wanted to ramble on about US politics, so I quickly moved to a more low key location right on the lake. I spent a couple days canoeing and birdwatching in the nearby cloudforest, then hit the road again.

After stopping for a few days in the small town of San Marcos de Colon, I crossed into Nicaragua. Near Lago de Yojoa I had been doing a fair amount of hitchhiking to get from place to place, and once I entered Nicaragua I decided to try and thumb a ride and avoid the public transportation. The first trucker I asked offered me a ride and carried me all the way down to Managua, about 4 hours south. Since then I have been hitchhiking whenever possible, and have had a lot of fun riding in trucks full of pigs, 18 wheelers, or even sitting on racks of Pepsi 3 liters.

Now I am in Granada where I have been exploring the nearby volcanoes. The first one I visited was Volcan Masaya, which emits a constant cloud of steaming sulfuric fumes from one crater, and has a nice lush forest in the other crater. I also visited the Lago de Apoyo, a large lake in the middle of a crater where you can swim or just lounge in hammocks by the shore. My current plan is to continue the volcano tour with a few days in Leon and maybe a week or so on the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua.

One recurring topic throughout my central american travels has been the new Arizona immigration law. The locals I meet along the way continually bring this up, and I have spent a good deal of time trying to explain to them how it got passed, and how it doesn't represent the feelings of most Americans. I can say from firsthand experience that the law is adding another large scar to the US' already questionable reputation abroad. While some lawmakers may try and argue that the law will remove illegal immigrants and return jobs to the US, it is most definitely angering the latin american world, which has always been immeasurably important to US prosperity. When you add in the obvious racism it seems clear that the law does not belong in the books, and will only serve to hurt our relationship with latinos abroad, and at home.

The Canoe Trip

After leaving MayaPedal I decided to head on over to the Carribean coast for some tropical weather and jungle exploration. The whole country had just been beaten down by a number of natural disasters, and it seemed like a good idea to move away from volcanoes and fault lines.

After a short stay in Guatemala City I arrived at the Rio Dulce river. A boat ride took me through the canyon to the seaside village of Livingston, a mix of hispanic and Garifuna culture (descendents of slaves from St Vincent, relocated to the coast due to consistent, and often successful, rebellion). During the boat ride I quickly realized that the best place to be in this area was not the tourist centers of the town of Rio Dulce or Livingston, but between the two on the river itself.

The locals along the river all use simple dug-out canoes to get around, and I decided this was the best way for me to explore as well. With a few days of haggling with the locals I was able to secure an overpriced and completely broken canoe. Another two days and I had an overpriced and poorly repaired canoe, complete with a watertight bucket and improvised storage compartment.

The journey took me from Livingston back up to Rio Dulce in 5 days. I was a bit nervous to begin because I had brought all my camping equipment and camera, and the canoe was riding rather low in the water. I had drawn a little map for myself, but had a lot of difficulty getting straight information from the locals. The first day I rowed up to one of two hotels in between the two towns. The first one is called Finca Tatin and had all the amenities: rope swing, foosball table, and really cool grotto area I was able to park the canoe. Unfortunately they wouldnt let me cook my own food, in an effort to force me to buy an expensive dinner, so I had to canoe off and cook at other places along the river to save money. This turned out to be a real blessing as I met a few very friendly locals who let me hang out and cook at their places. The third night I went over to the Hotelito Perdido, located on another little tributary, Rio Lampara. This was a small bungalow style hotel with really laid back owners who had no problem with my penny pinching habits.

Outside of these two hotels there is nothing but small mayan settlements, so I would spend most of my time that I wasnt activelly travelling or sleeping rowing slowly down the rivers, surrounded by dense jungle and little mayan shacks. In this area everyone uses canoes, so the river banks are full of little tunnels and shortcuts you can paddle through. On these slow paddles I was able to see a lot of wildlife as well, such as toucans, otters, lineated woodpeckers, hummingbirds, and a myriad of other birds I couldnt identify. It also brought me to a waterfall, a hot springs, and a cave along the river.

After three nights I decided to continue the journey. I still had about 15 miles to Rio Dulce, and this section included the 10 mile long El Golfete region, which is wider and gets some significant waves. I came to the conclusion that it would be better to not try and cross this section, just spending a night up in a small village in the Biotopo Chocon Machacas (a nature preserve) and then returning back to Livingston, but sometimes things dont work out quite according to the plan.


After paddling for about 4 hours I realized I had passed the river that led to the Biotopo by a couple of miles, and I could already see the waves picking up as a storm approached from the south. My canoe began to take on a bit of water with each wave, and I realized I was in the most remote section of the journey, with no houses for several miles in each direction. I weighed my options and decided it would be better to try and camp out on the riverbank, and start again in the calm morning waters, than to try and row back, risking a potentially dangerous capsize. The jungle around the river is very dense, and there is little actual land, mostly just intertwined root systems. After a bit of seaching a found a small plot between two trees and set up my hammock. There were thunderstorms all around me, but barely a rain drop fell on my hammock. I was feeling pretty good about the situation until about 1am when I heard water right underneath me. I realized the river level had been increasing, and if it raised another 2 inches my piece of land would be submerged. I prepared my things for an emegency evacuation, but decided to hold out and see if the river would recede. I marked the water level with my machete, and after about an hour I could see that it was starting to back off. I then slept for about 2 hours, woke up as soon as possible at 430am, and started rowing for Rio Dulce. 7 hours later I arrived with a sore butt and blistered hands, but also a big smile and a nice tan.



The canoe trip was an amazing experience and really the best way to experience the river. I learned a few things I would do differently, but I can easily see another paddle journey in my future.

Now I think it is finally time to get out of Guatemala. Today I hope to head down into Honduras and start moving south. I have to be in Cartagena, Colombia by August 11th to meet up with Viviana and then the actual South America adventure begins.