First things first, the car. I would like to respond to Simon's slur (in the comments section to the last post) that our infinity is entirely void of character. Firstly, it was a sunroof. How can a car with a sunroof be void of character. Secondly, if you were to drive in the car today, after our first week of camping, and inhaled just once through your nose, you would not think it was missing 'character'. If anything, you may conclude that the problem is an excess of 'character'.
Also, we have a name for the car now. Simon suggested Buzz Lightyear. I think from the title I gave the last post, it was fairly clear that I had already considered that name. Unfortunately, it just doesn't roll off the tongue. The best suggestion I got, courtesy of my cousin Verena in Germany, was that, in honour of an earlier post, and in keeping with the YMG number plate, we should call the car 'Yes Man'. And so the car has been christened, though without the smashing of a champagne bottle - we have to sell it after all.
Having stocked up on supplies at Wal-mart (not as exciting as I thought - almost identical to a large K-mart) and kitted up at REI (much more exciting - the largest outdoor gear store I've ever seen, complete with waterfall and climbing wall), we headed from Seattle to Vancouver.
Vancouver often seems to come at the top of those 'best places to live' lists, and I was intrigued to find out why that might be. Firstly, I can say that the climate is not a factor. We have been in North America for about two weeks now, and I'm still yet to see more than one hour of blue sky. Vancouver does however have a beautiful setting. The city sits on a peninsula with water on three sides, and snow capped mountains rising straight out of the water on the other side of the harbour. On a rare sunny day, it would undoubtedly rival Sydney for a scenic setting.
My theory about the high quality of living ranking is that it is aided significantly by population density. A sufficiently dense population makes public transport economically viable, enables everyone to live close to work, schools and hospitals, and gives all manner of business with the potential to improve quality of life - cafes, bars, gyms, restaurants, theaters etc etc - ready access to a sufficient catchment of customers. If there is any truth to that, Vancouver benefits immensely, because it must be one of the world's most densely populated cities. This may seem strange for a city in Canada, with so much room to work with, but the local geography dictates the density. The peninsula on which the city sits is small, but across the water in all directions the land is too steep to develop. Accordingly, Vancouver is packed to bursting point with high rise residential apartment buildings, and the skyline looks comparable to Manhattan for the sheer number of skyscrapers.
First stop after Vancouver was Vancouver Island, where we intended to camp for a night. It would be fair to describe this trip as sub-optimal. It was not until after we had booked our ferry ticket that we realised the camp site, and the west coast, which is the reason for visiting the island, was over 3 hours away by car. Given we had reservations in Jasper a few days later, we only had one night, so we were looking at a 6 or 7 hour round trip for one night of camping. Not to be deterred, we headed out to the ferry in the morning, where our first impression was that the $17 reservation fee, which had locked us into this foolhardy plan, was not really necessary, given the ferry was about 20% full.
Arriving at Vancouver Island, we started out on the drive to the other side, keeping our spirits up with the knowledge that at least it would be a spectacular drive.
Vancouver Island is dotted with high mountains jutting out of deep ocean sounds and inland lakes. Once you get to the coast it is a spectacular scene of rugged coastline meeting dense temperate rainforest and rising into snow capped peaks. I know all this from photographs. All we saw was grey sky, cloud and rain. A lot of rain. By the time we set up camp, we were beginning to believe that it simply had to stop soon. We were wrong, and forced to spend the rest of the day sheltering in the tent. The only time we ventured out, it was to prove the theory that a watched kettle never boils (at least not on what turned out to be a broken stove). After watching the kettle for 30 minutes, and then pouring out the luke warm water, we huddled back in the tent again. Dinner, which was meant to be a hearty meal of stake and potatoes, consisted of bread rolls with laughing cow cheese.
It kept raining all night, and was still raining when we packed up in the morning. It was still, still raining when reached the ferry and headed back to the mainland. In all, it had rained for over 16 hours at that point, without stopping for one single second. As I said, a sub optimal start to the camping element of the trip.
We've now finally arrived in Jasper National Park, after a two day, 900km drive along the Sea to Sky highway, with a stop at Whistler (which is cute, but pretty quiet in May). National Parks here are not quite the same as in Australia or New Zealand. There are entire towns within the national park, including Jasper town, complete with supermarkets, bars, restaurants etc, as well as our massive campsite. We are staying in camp site 10i. As far as we can tell, there are 50 circles, and each circle has campsites a-k in it. In peak season, this campground holds over 4000 people. Amazingly, with the clever use of trees and water, each campsite still has a reasonably private feel.
They do like a good warning in the national parks. Apparently the elks are calving, so there are many warnings to stay away from them. This is a shame, because elk are plentiful. A female elk looks a lot like a donkey, only with its hind legs out of proportion, and no tail. There are multiple signs warning you about wildfires. Having still not seen the sun, I am dubious about that threat. There are also bear warnings everywhere. You have to leave everything other than your sleeping bags and the clothes you wear in a car or bear locker, all the bins are 'bear proof' (with a latch to stop an animal opening them) and each camper gets a warning brochure about the bears.
It is difficult to know what to make of the bear warnings. On the one hand, it just seems unlikely that a bear, most of which are endangered, is just going to wander out of the woods and into a campground. The warnings seem a little like the rules prohibiting mobile phones at petrol station - a theoretical risk maybe, but never going to happen in real life. On the other hand the precautions they take are so extensive that you just start to believe there must be some real need for them, and having already seen, on the drive here, a deer, elk, marmot and mountain goat, I am somewhat optimistic about a bear. We are going overnight hiking for a few nights tomorrow, into the uninhabited parts of the park, so we might get a better idea then. Personally, I would be more than willing to have a bear rummage through my food supplies if it means I get to see one, so fingers crossed.
If I haven't been eaten by a bear, I will update the blog in a few days with tales of Jasper's backcountry.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
To Infiniti and beyond
Much as I enjoyed it, I think we left Central America just in time. It may sound a tad spoiled, but just getting out of the sun and heat for a few days has made a nice change. And there is probably no better place in the world to avoid sun and heat than Seattle. Seattle fervently denies that it is actually the world's wettest city, but it must rank fairly highly on any such list. It rains a lot, and considering its late May, its really pretty cold. I'm still coming to grips with the Fahrenheit thing, but 55 degrees is not warm. I think it converts to about 12 Celsius.
Apart from the welcome cold, there are other things we were beginning to miss in Central America. Belize and Honduras are certainly cheap, but as far as hotel rooms go, you get what you pay for. I think Kate fell out of love with that part of the world when, on our second last night, she woke up and realised that the tickling feeling on her lips was being caused by the legs of a passing cockroach. For me it was the breakfasts - in countries that don't really do dairy, every morning breakfast is a choice between pancakes, omelets and, an idea presumably imported from America, fryjacks. A fryjack comes into being when you take a large bread role, fill it with eggs, bacon and, in Belize anyway, beans, and then deep fry the whole thing. You can actually feel your arteries constrict as you eat it. Great for a Sunday morning, but not an everyday food. So the simple continental breakfast that our hotel in Seattle provided was a pleasant change.
And, again at the risk of sounding spoiled, I am actually quite pleased that my skin is returning to a more normal shade. Reaching a level of darkness that helped me blend in with the locals was all well and good in Honduras, but in Seattle and Vancouver, where people are just emerging from a long and cold winter, it looks faintly ridiculous.
Having settled in for a day to enjoy our return to the pampered existence of a rich world harbour city on the pacific, it was time to settle our first task for Seattle, and arguably the most important task of the entire trip. It was time to buy the car. We had contacted a guy in Seattle who organises cars for travelers months earlier. Don was to find the car for us, check that it was in good working order, and organise all the paper work for registration, insurance etc. If anyone reading this blog is considering a buying a car in the USA for the purpose of a trip like this, I can highly recommend Don's services.
We already knew what car we were getting, because Don had emailed us a few options, and we had decided on a 2003 model Saturn Ion. Its not a car you can get in Australia, but a little research and some hints from knowledgeable sources back home (thanks Simon) revealed that the Saturn was actually replaced in 2003 in the General Motors line up by the new Astra - so we had picked, without intending it, an American version of my own dear car at home, which had been sold to fund its successor.
Don was to pick us up at our hotel and take us to the insurance agent and then to the dealership to pick up the car. On first seeing and speaking to Don, there was one unmistakable impression - he looked and, even more, sounded, exactly like John Goodman. I kept closing my eyes and imagining him saying 'Shut the fuck up Donny, you're out of your element'. Like most Americans, Don did love to talk, and the first thing he shared with us was that he had been out of contact for the last week because he had kidney stones, and that the kidney stones reached a point where his doctor felt the pain medication was making it worse, and so he suffered through them without pain killers. Apparently it was not a fun experience.
Don's main reason for telling us this story was to explain why he had left someone else to take car of our car and get it ready in the meantime. When Don arrived that morning to check out the Saturn, it wasn't running properly, and he didn't want to give it to us. Instead, we received what Don described as an upgrade. An Infiniti I30t. I suspect that to most of you, this means about as much as it did to me - nothing. As far as I know, this is another car that is not sold in Australia. But, given that we really needed a car, we didn't have much choice but to agree, and negotiate a new price, on which Don assured us he was losing money.
Before we actually got to see the car, we had to see an insurance agent. Insurance in America is compulsory, and its not cheap. Including collision insurance (comprehensive, in the Australian jargon) it came, for our car, to about $1100 for the six month minimum period. We only needed three months, but the company policy was that you had to buy six. I had been warned about the minimum insurance term, but luckily I'd also heard that there may be a a way to deal with it.
As the agent entered our details, she asked for our drivers licenses. This, I had been told, was the moment to 'deal' with the minimum term. Not being very experienced in this field, I have to admit being a little nervous. I wondered whether I should wink at the agent, but remembered that I can't really wink anyway, or whether I should say something - perhaps look straight into their eyes and say "Are you sure about the minimum term?". That seemed horribly corny, but I was also very worried that if the agent didn't get my meaning, I was going to look pretty stupid, and possibly be out $50. In the end, for lack of a better idea, I simply put $60 down with my license and looked away, hoping that, if this was not the way to do it, the agent would simply think I'd gotten out the money while I looked for my license and was about to put it back. But apparently my meaning was clear, and this was a well trodden path, because my money disappeared (to be replaced by $10 change!) and, without further ado, the insurance term was reduced to three months and we saved $500.
From there it was out to the car lot, to see this mysterious Infinity I30. I have to give Don credit where credit is due - this car was indeed an upgrade. Infiniti, as it turned out, is the luxury brand of Nissan, and the I30 is like an upmarket Maxima. And up market it was. Bose stereo, leather interior, electric sunroof, alloy wheels, and, to quote Don, 'knee deep in thousand dollars tyres.' The only problem is that it is not a car that gives you much street cred as a traveller. I gathered this from the strange looks we've been getting from anyone who we tell about our car. I guess its a little bit like meeting a Canadian backpacker in Australia who is planning to drive around the country in a Lexus.
Once we had the wheels, there was nothing more pressing to do than to take it for a good long drive and see how it ran. So the next day we took a day trip to nearby Leavenworth, about 180km from Seattle. The drive to Leavenworth is pretty spectacular - most of the way it winds through the Cascade mountain range, which still contained a surprising amount of snow, along a river that was raging with all the rain and melting snow water. I'm happy to report that the car ran perfectly, and looks like it will definitely make for a comfortable couple of months.
Perched in the middle of these mountains, Leavenworth is in a spectacular location, but the location is not the main attraction, though it undoubtedly provided the inspiration.
Leavenworth was founded in the late 19th century as a logging outpost. The main railway line was routed through Leavenworth on its way from the inland to the coast, and the town prospered. Then disaster struck - in the 1920s, the railway company relaid the line to a more economical and safer route. Without cheap transport, Leavenworth's logging industry disappeared almost overnight, and the town set into a long decline, which continued until the 1960s. In 1965, however, the town found a remarkable way to turn itself around.
I don't know how the town meeting in 1965 went, but I imagine there was some scepticism when Pauline and Owen Watson, owners of the electrical store, put forward their plan - the Watson's master plan for Leavenworth was that the whole town should remodel itself as a Bavarian alpine village, in the hope of attracting tourists. However that meeting may have unfolded, eventually the town agreed, and put the plan into action. Today Leavenworth is Washington State's very own piece of Bavaria, complete with beer halls, bakeries, dirndls and the alpine backdrop.
There are two things that I found impressive about Leavenworth. The first is the completeness of the transformation. Every last building in the town is built in the Bavarian style, including the banks and petrol stations on the outskirts of town and residential houses far off the main tourist streets. The second is the authenticity. Anyone who has been to the Lowenbrau Keller or the Bavarian Beer Cafe's in Sydney knows that the Bavarian theme, when not done carefully, can be more than a little kitsch. Leavenworth does not fall into that trap. The waitresses are wearing the dirndls , but not with short skirts and absurdly low cut tops, and if you want a weiss bier, you have to drink it in the right 500ml glass, and not in a 1 litre stein.
What might have seemed like something between a quirky idea and plain silliness in the 1960s has turned out to be, unquestionably, a stroke of genius. We drove through other towns on the way there that had clearly suffered the same fate that Leavenworth was facing, and without a themed makeover, they looked poor and almost abandoned. Leavenworth today attracts over 1 million visitors a year, and its annual Maifest, Oktoberfest and Christmas markets are regularly featured on TV and in lists of America's top tourist attractions.
In other news, I should mention that the second round of the O'Brien v Albrecht mini-golf challenge was played on Leavenworth's (Bavarian themed) mini golf course. The first round was played in Auckland and ended in a draw. In round two O'Brien played an almost flawless game, carding no less than 14 pars, and leaving Albrecht chanceless. She moves to a 1 game lead in the series. The next round will be played next time we see a mini golf course.
Also, the one thing our car is still missing is a name. We haven't been on holiday long enough to rediscover the creativity that years of working in the city killed, so we are not making much progress. There is a picture with this blog, and the number plate contains the letters YMG - so please, give me some suggestions! I'll try and announce a name in the next post
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Northbound travails
The sailing trip served as the culmination of the Central American leg of our journey. After a day of recuperating, we headed North again from Placencia to Belize City. This was a repeat of the bus journey we'd taken a week earlier to get to Caye Caulker; the sailing trip had taken us back down South. As it was, it was lucky we'd had some practice at the bus trip, as, just like the time before, the only bus of the day arrived, and departed, in very un-central american style, 20 minutes early. If we had turned up at the scheduled time, we would have missed the bus, and probably, our flight.
As it was we got the bus and arrived at the airport with a solid 5 hours to spare before our flight. Belize Airport doesn't offer much to the waiting traveller. There is a starbucks style coffee franchise, which proudly upholds the global tradition of airport coffee outlets that serve astonishingly bad coffee, a couple of shops selling over priced sarongs and those little street signs with people's names on them (they very rarely seem to have a Max sign) and a liquor shop, charging very western prices for western spirits.
The five hour wait would have been painful enough, but as our flight neared, we saw the first rain we'd seen in Belize. Those few raindrops very quickly turned into a torrent, accompanied by a storm. And that was followed by the announcement that the plane we were meant to take to Dallas could not land in Belize and was diverting to Honduras; for the second time on this trip our plane landed in the wrong country. We weren't on board this time, but the potential inconvenience was far greater. We had two hours to make our connection from Dallas to Seattle. That was always going to be tight, given that in the USA you have to clear customs and collect your bags at the first point of entrance, so the two and a half hour delay in Belize looked like it had put paid to our hopes of making it to Seattle that night. To add some more drama, American Airlines announced that the crew were reaching the end of their legally permissible shift time, and that if the plane did not leave Belize within 45 minutes of landing, it could not continue that day and we would have to stay in Belize.
As we waited and worried, it struck me that if you are stuck in an airport for an extended delay like this, and facing the possibility of sleeping in either Dallas or Belize airport, Americans (and Canadians) are probably the best people to do it with. On both occasions that we had these delays, the Americans on the plane seemed to turn into one big happy family. Everyone turns around and starts sharing their life story with the people around them. Perhaps even more importantly, they share their food and drinks as well. On the way in we got sandwiches and chips which someone raided from the airline. This time a Canadian family offered us their (already opened) bottle of coke. I have the feeling that if it was a plane full of Australians, or Germans, most people would, while trying to stay positive and offering each other the odd exasperated smile, pretty much keep to themselves and their friends. And I certainly couldn't see them all profusely thanking the crew for working the extra hours to get them home, as our fellow passengers did.
In the end the plane made it out of Belize, and there were so many people on it connecting to Seattle that they held the Seattle flight for us too. It meant that we arrived in Seattle at about 1am, but it was better than staying in Dallas. The drama hadn't quite finished for us though, as we arrived at what appeared to be a very locked and closed hotel. I hadn't tipped our taxi driver, partly because I wasn't sure about the etiquette, and partly because he had clearly gouged us on the price (it was not a metered taxi), so he left before we could turn around. The only person around was a drunk guest of the hotel who had lost his key and couldn't get in. He assured us that without a key, it was impossible to get in. Fortunately Kate was in no mood to debate our next step with an intoxicated wanderer, nor to tolerate a sleeping receptionist. She found an intercom button, which was actually answered after a few buzzes. I don't think our drunken friend was the sharpest tool in the shed, because he hadn't tried that course of action. Just to round off the night, the hotel informed us that they had mistaken our booking, and that there was only a room with a single bed available. We had left Placencia at 6.30am Belize time. By the time we got into bed, it was 3 am in Seattle, and 5am in Belize. We didn't waste much energy worrying about the room.
As it was we got the bus and arrived at the airport with a solid 5 hours to spare before our flight. Belize Airport doesn't offer much to the waiting traveller. There is a starbucks style coffee franchise, which proudly upholds the global tradition of airport coffee outlets that serve astonishingly bad coffee, a couple of shops selling over priced sarongs and those little street signs with people's names on them (they very rarely seem to have a Max sign) and a liquor shop, charging very western prices for western spirits.
The five hour wait would have been painful enough, but as our flight neared, we saw the first rain we'd seen in Belize. Those few raindrops very quickly turned into a torrent, accompanied by a storm. And that was followed by the announcement that the plane we were meant to take to Dallas could not land in Belize and was diverting to Honduras; for the second time on this trip our plane landed in the wrong country. We weren't on board this time, but the potential inconvenience was far greater. We had two hours to make our connection from Dallas to Seattle. That was always going to be tight, given that in the USA you have to clear customs and collect your bags at the first point of entrance, so the two and a half hour delay in Belize looked like it had put paid to our hopes of making it to Seattle that night. To add some more drama, American Airlines announced that the crew were reaching the end of their legally permissible shift time, and that if the plane did not leave Belize within 45 minutes of landing, it could not continue that day and we would have to stay in Belize.
As we waited and worried, it struck me that if you are stuck in an airport for an extended delay like this, and facing the possibility of sleeping in either Dallas or Belize airport, Americans (and Canadians) are probably the best people to do it with. On both occasions that we had these delays, the Americans on the plane seemed to turn into one big happy family. Everyone turns around and starts sharing their life story with the people around them. Perhaps even more importantly, they share their food and drinks as well. On the way in we got sandwiches and chips which someone raided from the airline. This time a Canadian family offered us their (already opened) bottle of coke. I have the feeling that if it was a plane full of Australians, or Germans, most people would, while trying to stay positive and offering each other the odd exasperated smile, pretty much keep to themselves and their friends. And I certainly couldn't see them all profusely thanking the crew for working the extra hours to get them home, as our fellow passengers did.
In the end the plane made it out of Belize, and there were so many people on it connecting to Seattle that they held the Seattle flight for us too. It meant that we arrived in Seattle at about 1am, but it was better than staying in Dallas. The drama hadn't quite finished for us though, as we arrived at what appeared to be a very locked and closed hotel. I hadn't tipped our taxi driver, partly because I wasn't sure about the etiquette, and partly because he had clearly gouged us on the price (it was not a metered taxi), so he left before we could turn around. The only person around was a drunk guest of the hotel who had lost his key and couldn't get in. He assured us that without a key, it was impossible to get in. Fortunately Kate was in no mood to debate our next step with an intoxicated wanderer, nor to tolerate a sleeping receptionist. She found an intercom button, which was actually answered after a few buzzes. I don't think our drunken friend was the sharpest tool in the shed, because he hadn't tried that course of action. Just to round off the night, the hotel informed us that they had mistaken our booking, and that there was only a room with a single bed available. We had left Placencia at 6.30am Belize time. By the time we got into bed, it was 3 am in Seattle, and 5am in Belize. We didn't waste much energy worrying about the room.
Wind and Water in Belize
Its been a while since my last entry (sorry mum!), partly because we were out of contact for a little while and partly because I have been waiting through the interminable process of watching O'Brien choose a laptop, which took 3 visits to the Apple store, two visits to the Sony store, one visit to Office Depot and countless coffee breaks to think about it, spread over a three day period.
Fortunately for everyone a decision was eventually reached and Kate has made the leap to a Mac, buying the exact computer she had planned on buying before the search started.
As you may have gathered from the above, we are no longer in Belize. The Central American leg of our journey has come to an end and we are now in Seattle, getting ready to start our road trip. The problem with leaving the blog for a while is that things mount up, and you have to either leave things out to catch up, or write entries longer than anyone wants to read. Both the lawyer and the history student in me feel that if you don't record it, it never happened, so I'm reluctant to skip too much. Accordingly, there will probably be a few entries coming in quick succession. Once again, I know most people reading this are either doing so from work, and so have nothing better to do anyway, or related to either me or Kate, and thus obliged to read the whole thing anyway.
We had two major activities planned before we left Belize - to learn Kite Surfing and to cross the border and visit the Mayan ruins at Tikal in Guatemala.
Someone, and I can't remember who, told me that because the wind pulls you up, unlike a snowboard, where gravity pulls you down, kite surfing is actually pretty easy. If I remember who that person was, and see them again, I will ask them to reimburse me for the money and time I spent trying to master this 'easy' skill. I was under the impression, reinforced by the instructor, that with 3, 3 hour sessions, I would be reasonably able to kite surf, at least to the point where I could go out by myself and practice if I wanted to. I will simply say that I did not reach this level. Kate, applying some wake boarding and sailing experience, got closer than I did, but she was also spurred on by the instructor, who was an Auckland boy and a sailor. Other than the prodigious amount of sea water I swallowed (if you don't control the kite correctly, it can very much pull you down), perhaps the most memorable part of the experience came from Kate's face at the end of day two. As you have to watch the kite constantly, you find yourself staring directly into the sun for hours on end. Add to that the reflection off the water, and the sensitivity to sun that anti-malarials cause, and Kite surfing becomes demanding on the skin. While she has refused to publish the pictures, Kate came off the water bright pink, but with white goggle marks that any skier would be proud of where her sunglasses had been. I laughed at the time, but soon realised that, while I had no goggle marks, my nose actually got so burnt that at one point, it peeled so fast it bled. So, in typically supportive fashion I nicknamed Kate goggles, she called me Rudolf, and then we agreed to stay away from nicknames for a while.
Following the kite surfing (mis)adventure, we had planned to head over and see some famous ruins in Guatemala. Kate, however, had by this point seen posters advertising a three day sailing, snorkeling and fishing trip around the cayes (which, as far as I can tell, simply means island) of Belize. Now, if you've read the previous posts you've heard me whingeing about boats enough to wonder why I would voluntarily spend three days on one. I was however given two assurances by the organisers. 1) the boat stays inside the reef so the water is always calm and no one ever gets seasick; and 2) we have a 'special' drug on board that has never failed for anyone, and even foreign doctors are amazed by how well it works. I was struck by the apparent inconsistency between these two statements, and I did wonder whether the special drug was in fact marijuana, which is certainly Belize's most common 'special' drug. But call it the willing suspension of disbelief - I wanted to believe, so I did.
Sea sicknesses concerns aside, we still had to choose between the ruins at Tikal and the sailing trip. It was one of those classic dilemmas you get when you travel, forcing you to decide between what you want to do (drink, lie by the beach, sleep in) and what you feel you should do (see that church, historical site etc). In the end I took an appallingly western, colonialist view point and decided that seeing Mayan ruins wasn't quite as important as seeing all those European cathedrals had been, and that anyway, it was probably similar to Incan culture, and if you've seen Macchu Picchu, you've seen them all. I should also add that, while this description sounds like I was making a choice, Kate had made up her made long before, so it was pretty much a moot point anyway.
After a day of lounging at the Lazy Lizard, possibly the coolest bar since tubing in Laos, we arrived at the wharf ready for our pre trip briefing, where we were informed that, due to high demand, there were going to be two boats sailing the trip this time. One boat was to be filled with the couples, while the other was to be the 'singles' cruise, because, as the organiser repeated a dozen times, couples don't mind singles, but singles hate couples. That (clearly well rehearsed) line didn't mean much, until we were informed that, as the couples boat was full, one couple was going to join the singles boat, and we were that couple.
So, early next morning we set off aboard the Ragga Queen, our 40ft, 3 sailed transport for the next three days, accompanied by 15 singles. Firstly, I think reports of the hostility of singles for couples were exaggerated - it seemed we were welcomed into the fold. In the end we were actually joined by another couple, a kiwi named Alex and his Canadian girlfriend, Leila, so we had some allies in case things turned nasty with the singles on the high seas.
As it turned out, the water was in fact quite calm, and day one on the boat passed without incident. After about 6 hours of sailing, including lunch and snorkel stops, we reached Rendezvous Caye, the island where we were to camp for the first night. After setting up camp and marvelling at the fact we were camping on island the size of a quarter of a football field, with no other land insight, it was time to join the festivities and get stuck in to Belize's favourite drink, Coconut rum and pineapple juice, known to the locals as a panti rippa. (The Belizeans do a roaring trade in disturbing drink names. There are others that cannot be named on a public blog).
Perhaps it was a sense of competition, coming out of wounded pride from being branded unacceptable to singles, but it was the couples that outlasted the party. As the others gradually trailed off to their tents (alone or together, who knows what those singles got up to), the couples remained sitting around the campfire, emptying jug after jug of 'rippa'. I have to admit, we did congratulate each other on out partying the singles.
The next morning however the congratulations had stopped. Cheap rum does not make for the best of hangovers. In fact, I think I can honestly say I have never felt worse. And the prospect of another 5 hours on a boat, calm waters and miracle drugs notwithstanding, did not appeal. After Kate packed up all our stuff (I was simply not functioning) we reboarded the Ragga Queen, reluctantly. I was surprised I made it as far as I did, but after about three hours, everything I had eaten in the past 24 hours was returned to the sea. Coconut rum and competing with singles, at sea, turned out to be a bad combination.
For the remaining days I kept pretty quiet. The main task anyone had by day two was to try and escape the relentless sun. With the shade from the sails falling on the water, there was nowhere on the boat to hide. I watched as my already brown arms and legs turned darker and darker, and eventually, inescapably, red.
There were also some great snorkel stops along the way, and the islands were beautiful. We saw dolphins, and a pair of mating turtles from the boat, and the people fishing at the back pulled in several huge Barracuda and King Fish. So it was a great trip, but I was glad to reach land, and shade, in Placencia at the end of day three.
Kate has posted some photos on facebook. Don't worry if you are not friends with her, I'll post some (probably the same ones) very soon.
Fortunately for everyone a decision was eventually reached and Kate has made the leap to a Mac, buying the exact computer she had planned on buying before the search started.
As you may have gathered from the above, we are no longer in Belize. The Central American leg of our journey has come to an end and we are now in Seattle, getting ready to start our road trip. The problem with leaving the blog for a while is that things mount up, and you have to either leave things out to catch up, or write entries longer than anyone wants to read. Both the lawyer and the history student in me feel that if you don't record it, it never happened, so I'm reluctant to skip too much. Accordingly, there will probably be a few entries coming in quick succession. Once again, I know most people reading this are either doing so from work, and so have nothing better to do anyway, or related to either me or Kate, and thus obliged to read the whole thing anyway.
We had two major activities planned before we left Belize - to learn Kite Surfing and to cross the border and visit the Mayan ruins at Tikal in Guatemala.
Someone, and I can't remember who, told me that because the wind pulls you up, unlike a snowboard, where gravity pulls you down, kite surfing is actually pretty easy. If I remember who that person was, and see them again, I will ask them to reimburse me for the money and time I spent trying to master this 'easy' skill. I was under the impression, reinforced by the instructor, that with 3, 3 hour sessions, I would be reasonably able to kite surf, at least to the point where I could go out by myself and practice if I wanted to. I will simply say that I did not reach this level. Kate, applying some wake boarding and sailing experience, got closer than I did, but she was also spurred on by the instructor, who was an Auckland boy and a sailor. Other than the prodigious amount of sea water I swallowed (if you don't control the kite correctly, it can very much pull you down), perhaps the most memorable part of the experience came from Kate's face at the end of day two. As you have to watch the kite constantly, you find yourself staring directly into the sun for hours on end. Add to that the reflection off the water, and the sensitivity to sun that anti-malarials cause, and Kite surfing becomes demanding on the skin. While she has refused to publish the pictures, Kate came off the water bright pink, but with white goggle marks that any skier would be proud of where her sunglasses had been. I laughed at the time, but soon realised that, while I had no goggle marks, my nose actually got so burnt that at one point, it peeled so fast it bled. So, in typically supportive fashion I nicknamed Kate goggles, she called me Rudolf, and then we agreed to stay away from nicknames for a while.
Following the kite surfing (mis)adventure, we had planned to head over and see some famous ruins in Guatemala. Kate, however, had by this point seen posters advertising a three day sailing, snorkeling and fishing trip around the cayes (which, as far as I can tell, simply means island) of Belize. Now, if you've read the previous posts you've heard me whingeing about boats enough to wonder why I would voluntarily spend three days on one. I was however given two assurances by the organisers. 1) the boat stays inside the reef so the water is always calm and no one ever gets seasick; and 2) we have a 'special' drug on board that has never failed for anyone, and even foreign doctors are amazed by how well it works. I was struck by the apparent inconsistency between these two statements, and I did wonder whether the special drug was in fact marijuana, which is certainly Belize's most common 'special' drug. But call it the willing suspension of disbelief - I wanted to believe, so I did.
Sea sicknesses concerns aside, we still had to choose between the ruins at Tikal and the sailing trip. It was one of those classic dilemmas you get when you travel, forcing you to decide between what you want to do (drink, lie by the beach, sleep in) and what you feel you should do (see that church, historical site etc). In the end I took an appallingly western, colonialist view point and decided that seeing Mayan ruins wasn't quite as important as seeing all those European cathedrals had been, and that anyway, it was probably similar to Incan culture, and if you've seen Macchu Picchu, you've seen them all. I should also add that, while this description sounds like I was making a choice, Kate had made up her made long before, so it was pretty much a moot point anyway.
After a day of lounging at the Lazy Lizard, possibly the coolest bar since tubing in Laos, we arrived at the wharf ready for our pre trip briefing, where we were informed that, due to high demand, there were going to be two boats sailing the trip this time. One boat was to be filled with the couples, while the other was to be the 'singles' cruise, because, as the organiser repeated a dozen times, couples don't mind singles, but singles hate couples. That (clearly well rehearsed) line didn't mean much, until we were informed that, as the couples boat was full, one couple was going to join the singles boat, and we were that couple.
So, early next morning we set off aboard the Ragga Queen, our 40ft, 3 sailed transport for the next three days, accompanied by 15 singles. Firstly, I think reports of the hostility of singles for couples were exaggerated - it seemed we were welcomed into the fold. In the end we were actually joined by another couple, a kiwi named Alex and his Canadian girlfriend, Leila, so we had some allies in case things turned nasty with the singles on the high seas.
As it turned out, the water was in fact quite calm, and day one on the boat passed without incident. After about 6 hours of sailing, including lunch and snorkel stops, we reached Rendezvous Caye, the island where we were to camp for the first night. After setting up camp and marvelling at the fact we were camping on island the size of a quarter of a football field, with no other land insight, it was time to join the festivities and get stuck in to Belize's favourite drink, Coconut rum and pineapple juice, known to the locals as a panti rippa. (The Belizeans do a roaring trade in disturbing drink names. There are others that cannot be named on a public blog).
Perhaps it was a sense of competition, coming out of wounded pride from being branded unacceptable to singles, but it was the couples that outlasted the party. As the others gradually trailed off to their tents (alone or together, who knows what those singles got up to), the couples remained sitting around the campfire, emptying jug after jug of 'rippa'. I have to admit, we did congratulate each other on out partying the singles.
The next morning however the congratulations had stopped. Cheap rum does not make for the best of hangovers. In fact, I think I can honestly say I have never felt worse. And the prospect of another 5 hours on a boat, calm waters and miracle drugs notwithstanding, did not appeal. After Kate packed up all our stuff (I was simply not functioning) we reboarded the Ragga Queen, reluctantly. I was surprised I made it as far as I did, but after about three hours, everything I had eaten in the past 24 hours was returned to the sea. Coconut rum and competing with singles, at sea, turned out to be a bad combination.
For the remaining days I kept pretty quiet. The main task anyone had by day two was to try and escape the relentless sun. With the shade from the sails falling on the water, there was nowhere on the boat to hide. I watched as my already brown arms and legs turned darker and darker, and eventually, inescapably, red.
There were also some great snorkel stops along the way, and the islands were beautiful. We saw dolphins, and a pair of mating turtles from the boat, and the people fishing at the back pulled in several huge Barracuda and King Fish. So it was a great trip, but I was glad to reach land, and shade, in Placencia at the end of day three.
Kate has posted some photos on facebook. Don't worry if you are not friends with her, I'll post some (probably the same ones) very soon.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
The blue hole
If you've ever seen a postcard of Belize, you've probably seen a picture of the blue hole. It's one of Belize's top tourist attractions, and a dive site unlike any other I've been to.
While my better instincts were to avoid lengthy boat trips for a while, both for the sea sickness and to reduce the risk of running into any more Phils, I couldn't resist the exorbitantly priced trip to the blue hole.
And so I found myself, once again, grimly staring at the the horizon while our smallish dive boat (not the 57 ft cruiser on the poster) fought the swell for 47 miles to get to the blue hole. From the looks on faces around the boat, I wasn't the only one who was reconsidering just how much he actually wanted to do this dive. Apart from the sick people, the standout on the boat was the blond, pale guy who rolled his board shorts up around his waist so that his upper thighs wouldn't miss out on the sun, and the rest of the boat wouldn't miss out on his upper thighs. He hadn't said a word, so I didn't know where he was from, but I couldn't help but guess that it had to be a cold climate. I couldn't see an Australian or New Zealander falling, quite so easily, for the old trap that if you can't feel the heat, because of the wind and water splashing over the boat, you're not getting burnt.
As I turned greener and our blond friend turned redder, we were eventually told that we'd reached the blue hole. One thing about the blue hole is that all those pictures are taken from a helicopter. When you are in the boat, you can't really see it. But we took the guide's word for it and jumped in.
The dive starts with a 40 meter descent along the wall of the hole. You have to descend reasonably fast, because you can't stay down for that long when you go to 40m. Having dived so many coral reefs in the past two weeks, I was expecting more of the same, lots of colourful corals and fish, maybe the odd ray, crystal clear water - but I was completely wrong. The blue hole is a limestone cave that was formed before the oceans rose to the present levels. I had read this, but hadn't really thought about it. Along the descent there is no coral, and I didn't see any fish. Its basically a grey wall of rock.
At 40 meters you reach the main attraction - the underwater stalactite and stalagmite formations. It may not sound like much, but it's really an eerie sight. The water is quite dark down there, and beneath you the descent continues to well beyond the visibility limit. Its a little like diving through Jenolan caves would probably feel, only with a seemingly bottomless drop beneath you. The dive continues by weaving in and out of the stalactites and mites. From inside its like looking through the bars of an underwater prison.
After about 8 minutes we started the ascent. As we did and I was reflecting on what an interesting dive it had been, and how it was worth the price, I suddenly remembered the main reason I'd wanted to do the dive in the first place - sharks. The tourist brochures describe the hole as 'shark filled'. We clearly hadn't seen any sharks, and it didn't seem to me like we were going to, so I put the sharks in the same category as the whale sharks - would have been nice, but wasn't meant to be, and tried not to be disappointed.
Then dive master banged his tank to get our attention and put is hand on top of his head, fingers pointing up like a fin, in the dive symbol for shark. And sure enough, coming out of the murky water, about 15 meters away, was a shark. And it was a proper shark too - bigger than me, probably about 3 meters in length, with a row of teeth jutting out along its mouth. Another bang, another fin gesture, another shark, and suddenly there were sharks everywhere.
At one point one of them was swimming straight at me. The only thing behind me was the wall of the blue hole, so there was nowhere to go (not that trying to outswim a shark would have been a great plan). I have to admit that at that point, despite knowing that people do this dive every day and apparently rarely get eaten by sharks, my heart rate did quicken. And I couldn't help but notice the whole group was pulling a little closer together. Kate bravely made sure she kept me between the shark and herself. But the shark seemed quite unconcerned by the reaction he was causing. He kept coming until, about two meters from us, he veered left and simply drifted past.
That was it and a few minutes later we were back on the boat. The day finished with two more dives, on the coral reefs around the hole, and then the long boat ride home. The water was much calmer on the way home, so I didn't go as green, but the sun was stronger than ever, and our (Canadian, as it turned out) blond friend reached a level of pink that I wouldn't see again until Kate went kite boarding, two days later. But that will be for the next post.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Utila Phil
On one of our recent bus trips - I think it was from Guatemala City to San Salvador, they showed a movie called Yes Man, or Si Senor in Spanish. There was a Guatemalan man in the seat across the aisle from me who apparently thought this was the funniest movie he'd ever seen. At even the lamest jokes he would give off an enormous belly laugh, and, when even he could predict what was coming, he would start giggling in advance, as if the anticipation of the joke to come was almost too much to bear.
I can't say the movie justified that sort of reaction (and I began to suspect my neighbour was actually just using the movie to try and start a conversation with the German girl sitting next to him, who looked distinctly uncomfortable). However, apart from a barely credible age gap between Jim Carey and his love interest, Yes Man is actually pretty good. The basic plot is that Jim Carey is living a sad and boring life, trying to get over his divorce. One day he attends a self help seminar, where he ends up making a pact to say yes to every opportunity that comes his way, regardless how bizarre or ridiculous. To cut a long story short, this leads Jim, via flying lessons, a Persian mail order bride and helping out the homeless, to his new love interest and a happy ending.
You can debate the merits of the movie, but Kate and I agreed that the basic message, that its better to say yes than no when life presents opportunities, is not a bad one, especially when you are traveling.
And so it was that when we agreed to have dinner to "Utila Phil", Kate described it as a "Yes Man moment"
Phil first came to our attention on the ferry from Honduras to Belize. I use the term ferry loosely. This was a 40ft speed boat with 3 250hp outboards on the back, that left from a hidden location under a bridge in Porto Cortes. It did occur to me that if I wanted to smuggle drugs through Central America, I would want a boat pretty much exactly like this, and that a tourist 'ferry' would make an excellent cover story. The idea obviously occurred to a few people, because no one was letting their bags out of their sights. Except Phil, who was too busy yelling into a mobile phone to watch his bags.
Phil seemed to be the quintessential obnoxious American. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a watch that looked like he'd strapped a wall clock to his wrist, and had the cropped haircut of someone who wants you to think that they choose not to have hair. And he was yelling, about a subject (the amount of fuel the boat would use) that really didn't seem to merit yelling.
While we exchanged a few rolled eye looks with each other and the Canadians on board, we didn't give Phil much further thought. That was until several hours later, as we sat down in Placencia, Belize to have a beach side beer. An already very familiar voice (you always hear Phil before you see him) next to us ordered a double vodka, on the rocks.
"Oh, you guys needed a drink after that boat ride too? Freakin hell, yeah, your dam right I need a vodka"
And from there, with very little prompting, Phil launched into his life story. Phil owns a dive shop on Utila, as well as the ferry that gets you to the island (the Utila ferry, not the drug running one).
So far so good, but beyond that it became more of a description of the wealth of Phil, and the wealth and success of his friends. In London, his friend owns "American Bar and Grill", which according to Phil, is one of London's top restaurants (I need someone from London to confirm that - Vix?)In Belize, his friend owns the airline, and he only flies for free. Another friend is business partners with Gloria Estefan, and another is (was?) married to Jerry Garcia. And so it went on.
After about an hour (and three double vodkas) of this, he asked if we wanted to have dinner with him. For a reason that still escapes me, I said yes. (At least part of the reason was that he mentioned he had a friend who owned Seattle's best steak house, and that he would get us a free dinner there - "and that's 300 bucks right there. You ain't getting out of there for less than 300, but I can do that for you")
So we met him a few hours later for dinner. The volume issues were undiminished, as he complained loudly, but with a smile, about how embarrassing the umbrella in his pina colada was, because it was tourist crap, and they were making him look like a tourist. Fair point too - when I order something as hip and local as a pina colada, I don't want an umbrella spoiling my street cred.
And then began the monologue began. More friends in high places, more money etc.
Apart from being a little crass, it began to become difficult to know whether we were talking to some sort of Tsar of Central America, or someone with some pretty serious delusions. The dive shop was now "the number one dive shop in the world. Been number one for so long, we're not even allowed to say it anymore" Somehow, I couldn't see Phil showing that restraint. Before his sea change to Utila in 1998, he had been VP of IBM in Latin America for 23 hears. I would estimate that he was 50, no more than 55. You do the maths. In the Southern Hemisphere winter, he goes down to Chile for two weeks to teach the men's downhill ski team.
Tiresome though it was, I have to admit I found him entertaining. The sheer will power to talk about yourself for an entire dinner, including dessert, without asking one single question about the others at the table, seems somehow impressive. And he did give us some memorable quotes.
"Party like a motherfucker" (in response to the question - what do you do in London? About the only thing he didn't elaborate on)
"You stayed three days in Utila without air conditioning? What are you stupid? It took you that long to figure it out? What are you, idiots?"
"Some of those guys on the motorbikes go real fast in Utila. I don't go that fast, I go pretty fast, but I'm usually loaded" (loaded was said with a drinking gesture, to ensure we go the point)
Perhaps the crowning glory though was after dinner when we said our goodbyes. He'd clearly forgotten both our names by now, so when he said goodbye to Kate, he leaned in for the peck on the cheek and said "good night, baby"
For the record, the friend in Seattle did not come up again, so I'll have to buy my own $300 steak. Serves me right for accepting a dinner invitation with an ulterior motive, I guess.
I can't say the movie justified that sort of reaction (and I began to suspect my neighbour was actually just using the movie to try and start a conversation with the German girl sitting next to him, who looked distinctly uncomfortable). However, apart from a barely credible age gap between Jim Carey and his love interest, Yes Man is actually pretty good. The basic plot is that Jim Carey is living a sad and boring life, trying to get over his divorce. One day he attends a self help seminar, where he ends up making a pact to say yes to every opportunity that comes his way, regardless how bizarre or ridiculous. To cut a long story short, this leads Jim, via flying lessons, a Persian mail order bride and helping out the homeless, to his new love interest and a happy ending.
You can debate the merits of the movie, but Kate and I agreed that the basic message, that its better to say yes than no when life presents opportunities, is not a bad one, especially when you are traveling.
And so it was that when we agreed to have dinner to "Utila Phil", Kate described it as a "Yes Man moment"
Phil first came to our attention on the ferry from Honduras to Belize. I use the term ferry loosely. This was a 40ft speed boat with 3 250hp outboards on the back, that left from a hidden location under a bridge in Porto Cortes. It did occur to me that if I wanted to smuggle drugs through Central America, I would want a boat pretty much exactly like this, and that a tourist 'ferry' would make an excellent cover story. The idea obviously occurred to a few people, because no one was letting their bags out of their sights. Except Phil, who was too busy yelling into a mobile phone to watch his bags.
Phil seemed to be the quintessential obnoxious American. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a watch that looked like he'd strapped a wall clock to his wrist, and had the cropped haircut of someone who wants you to think that they choose not to have hair. And he was yelling, about a subject (the amount of fuel the boat would use) that really didn't seem to merit yelling.
While we exchanged a few rolled eye looks with each other and the Canadians on board, we didn't give Phil much further thought. That was until several hours later, as we sat down in Placencia, Belize to have a beach side beer. An already very familiar voice (you always hear Phil before you see him) next to us ordered a double vodka, on the rocks.
"Oh, you guys needed a drink after that boat ride too? Freakin hell, yeah, your dam right I need a vodka"
And from there, with very little prompting, Phil launched into his life story. Phil owns a dive shop on Utila, as well as the ferry that gets you to the island (the Utila ferry, not the drug running one).
So far so good, but beyond that it became more of a description of the wealth of Phil, and the wealth and success of his friends. In London, his friend owns "American Bar and Grill", which according to Phil, is one of London's top restaurants (I need someone from London to confirm that - Vix?)In Belize, his friend owns the airline, and he only flies for free. Another friend is business partners with Gloria Estefan, and another is (was?) married to Jerry Garcia. And so it went on.
After about an hour (and three double vodkas) of this, he asked if we wanted to have dinner with him. For a reason that still escapes me, I said yes. (At least part of the reason was that he mentioned he had a friend who owned Seattle's best steak house, and that he would get us a free dinner there - "and that's 300 bucks right there. You ain't getting out of there for less than 300, but I can do that for you")
So we met him a few hours later for dinner. The volume issues were undiminished, as he complained loudly, but with a smile, about how embarrassing the umbrella in his pina colada was, because it was tourist crap, and they were making him look like a tourist. Fair point too - when I order something as hip and local as a pina colada, I don't want an umbrella spoiling my street cred.
And then began the monologue began. More friends in high places, more money etc.
Apart from being a little crass, it began to become difficult to know whether we were talking to some sort of Tsar of Central America, or someone with some pretty serious delusions. The dive shop was now "the number one dive shop in the world. Been number one for so long, we're not even allowed to say it anymore" Somehow, I couldn't see Phil showing that restraint. Before his sea change to Utila in 1998, he had been VP of IBM in Latin America for 23 hears. I would estimate that he was 50, no more than 55. You do the maths. In the Southern Hemisphere winter, he goes down to Chile for two weeks to teach the men's downhill ski team.
Tiresome though it was, I have to admit I found him entertaining. The sheer will power to talk about yourself for an entire dinner, including dessert, without asking one single question about the others at the table, seems somehow impressive. And he did give us some memorable quotes.
"Party like a motherfucker" (in response to the question - what do you do in London? About the only thing he didn't elaborate on)
"You stayed three days in Utila without air conditioning? What are you stupid? It took you that long to figure it out? What are you, idiots?"
"Some of those guys on the motorbikes go real fast in Utila. I don't go that fast, I go pretty fast, but I'm usually loaded" (loaded was said with a drinking gesture, to ensure we go the point)
Perhaps the crowning glory though was after dinner when we said our goodbyes. He'd clearly forgotten both our names by now, so when he said goodbye to Kate, he leaned in for the peck on the cheek and said "good night, baby"
For the record, the friend in Seattle did not come up again, so I'll have to buy my own $300 steak. Serves me right for accepting a dinner invitation with an ulterior motive, I guess.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Musings on Central America
We're still in Utila. As I mentioned last time, there isn't that much to do other than diving, so I haven't got a huge amount to report. We did go diving again yesterday, and once again, the water was amazingly blue and warm, and everything was very pretty.
Still no whale shark, but we did tick a few more things off the 'must see' list of Utila diving. A turtle, a trumpet fish, a lion fish, and, from the boat on the way home, dolphins. The Lion fish are an interesting story. Lion fish come from the pacific, and are considered a pest here. They appeared in the Caribbean a few years ago, and have been spreading rapidly ever since. Apparently when Hurricane Katrina ripped through the region, someone in Florida had an aquarium with these fish. That aquarium was washed into the water, and the Lion fish never looked back.
Anyway, in the absence of having done anything to write about, I thought I'd take the chance and just record some general thoughts about Central America and the trip so far.
The Weather
There is no other way to describe the weather in Honduras - it is fucking hot. Most of our days here revolve in one way or another around the quest to escape the relentless heat. The thing is, the air temperature probably isn't that hot. I haven't seen a weather report, but I would estimate that its around the low 30s most days. But the humidity makes it unbearable. It feels like a sauna when someone has just poured more water on the coals. You lose buckets of sweat. The only time you stop sweating is when you are so dehydrated that there is nothing left to sweat. I've actually taken to carrying a towel around just to wipe sweat from my face every few minutes. You probably didn't need to know that. The worst part is that it doesn't get any cooler a night. And in a country where electricity costs seven times what it costs in the USA, air conditioning does not come cheap, and is not widespread. After enough sleepless nights though, eventually Kate and I couldn't do it anymore and coughed up for the room with air con. Best choice we ever made.
The money
Other than electricity, and rooms with air conditioning, things are seriously cheap over here. A standard meal and a beer amounts to 4 or 5 dollars. Most of our hotel rooms have cost around $10 to $15 for the night. Other than that, Honduran money is notable for having, as far as I've experienced, the lowest value note in the world. One US dollar is worth 20 Lempiras. And they have a one Lempira note. That's five cents. Even after you adjust for purchasing power, that's about a 10 or 15 cent note. Most of the one Lp notes are so worn and filthy they simply look like a dirty piece of paper. I've been looking for one to keep as a souvenir, but haven't yet gotten one that looks like it wouldn't disintegrate on being exposed to daylight.
The Food
On the whole, the food in central America has actually been really good. That came as a pleasant surprise, because I had been expecting something similar to Peru and Bolivia, and, while I loved those countries, so food was not great.
Inland there is a pretty strong Mexican influence (or at least I think of it as Mexican, its probably just as much native to Guatemala and Honduras) so a lot of nachos, fajitas, tacos etc. Less good is the ubiquitous tortilla, which pretty much substitutes for bread and comes with everything you order. The tortillas here aren't quite like the ones you get in Sydney. They are about as thick as an iphone and made from corn, and seem to be stale, even though they are served still hot. Eating one feels very much how I imagine eating cardboard must feel. And not flimsy beer carton cardboard, but that thicker cardboard that expensive gadgets come packed in. The rest of the food is good, the tortilla, I'm not so sure about.
Here on the coast its either seafood, fresh from the reef and generally very good, or fried chicken, which can never really go that wrong.
Other Travellers
As always happens when you travel, we've met some memorable characters, good and bad, along the way. One stand out was an Australian on the bus. I could tell he was Australian because, instead of a day pack, he had his gear in one of those green coles bags. He was also wearing his prada sunglasses, arguing with a taxi driver about the fare. The driver wanted to charge him 40 lempiras, or 2 dollars, for the 10 minute ride down to the wharf. Here is a man, aged in his mid thirties, wearing a $400 pair of sunglasses, but too cheap to buy a back pack, arguing over 2 dollars. And, given the most he could hope for was to get the driver down to about 25 lempiras, really, he was arguing over less than 1 dollar. Honestly, if you can't pay two dollars for a taxi, stay at home.
In Copan we met a guy who I would estimate was in his 50s. His name was Russel, but he preferred to be known as Raul. He has been living in Honduras for 10 years, before that he lived in Thailand. Doing nothing. "I'd like to work, but I just can't find the time". He actually said that. He informed us that the way he did this was to live an extremely cheap life, costing no more than $2500 a year. Where those $2500 come from, we never found out. He did mention that he thought he needed a back operation, but this was beyond his budget. Its just my opinion, but if you never go home, and you never get a job, you are not really a traveller anymore, you are just being a bum in different countries.
The litter
This is one heart breaking aspect of travelling around Honduras. There is litter everywhere, and in huge amounts. There are stretches, before and after towns, where you would struggle to walk across the area by the side of the road without stepping on rubbish. And its no wonder. I was watching the locals on the bus. When they finish a drink or a pack of chips, they simply throw it out of the window without a second thought. I know that the country probably has bigger problems to worry about, but it's such a shame, because it's such a beautiful country. And as its mainly plastic packaging that's not going to decompose, you have to wonder what it will look like in 10 years.
The roads
Anyone who has been to a developing country knows that road rules tend to be seen as more of a guide than as actual rules. I certainly remember in Thailand, driving on the left means swerving that way when you face oncoming traffic, but not staying there the rest of the time. On the whole, its a little better here. We took quite a few buses, and on most of them I didn't really feel like we were in mortal danger. In Utila however, things are different.
As I said, its a small island, and the town is even smaller. You can walk from one end to the other in about 15 minutes, and there is really only one road. That road is about the width of a single traffic lane, and has no footpath, so its shared with pedestrians. Cars aren't that practical, so most people have found alternate vehicles. There are, of course, a lot of scooters and motor bikes. There are also a few people getting around on 4 wheelers, and most surprisingly, a large number of petrol powered golf carts. Where they got golf carts from is beyond me, but they have them. I saw one today that had been raised like a monster truck!
And all of these shoot up and down the single lane with very little caution, and only beeps of the horn to let pedestrians know that its time to get out of the way. It actually makes strolling around this little Caribbean paradise pretty stressful.
The Locals
Finally, a quick word on the people here. One this count its similar to Peru or Bolivia. Tourists are by no means a novelty here, but the locals still seem happy to see foreigners, and don't appear to have that jaded attitude to tourists that you sense in South East Asia. There is generally not a tourist price and a local price, people will help you without asking for or expecting a tip, and there aren't very many people waiting at bus stops and taxi stands to swarm you with hotel and tour offers. All this adds to to make it feel like a very friendly place to travel through.
Still no whale shark, but we did tick a few more things off the 'must see' list of Utila diving. A turtle, a trumpet fish, a lion fish, and, from the boat on the way home, dolphins. The Lion fish are an interesting story. Lion fish come from the pacific, and are considered a pest here. They appeared in the Caribbean a few years ago, and have been spreading rapidly ever since. Apparently when Hurricane Katrina ripped through the region, someone in Florida had an aquarium with these fish. That aquarium was washed into the water, and the Lion fish never looked back.
Anyway, in the absence of having done anything to write about, I thought I'd take the chance and just record some general thoughts about Central America and the trip so far.
The Weather
There is no other way to describe the weather in Honduras - it is fucking hot. Most of our days here revolve in one way or another around the quest to escape the relentless heat. The thing is, the air temperature probably isn't that hot. I haven't seen a weather report, but I would estimate that its around the low 30s most days. But the humidity makes it unbearable. It feels like a sauna when someone has just poured more water on the coals. You lose buckets of sweat. The only time you stop sweating is when you are so dehydrated that there is nothing left to sweat. I've actually taken to carrying a towel around just to wipe sweat from my face every few minutes. You probably didn't need to know that. The worst part is that it doesn't get any cooler a night. And in a country where electricity costs seven times what it costs in the USA, air conditioning does not come cheap, and is not widespread. After enough sleepless nights though, eventually Kate and I couldn't do it anymore and coughed up for the room with air con. Best choice we ever made.
The money
Other than electricity, and rooms with air conditioning, things are seriously cheap over here. A standard meal and a beer amounts to 4 or 5 dollars. Most of our hotel rooms have cost around $10 to $15 for the night. Other than that, Honduran money is notable for having, as far as I've experienced, the lowest value note in the world. One US dollar is worth 20 Lempiras. And they have a one Lempira note. That's five cents. Even after you adjust for purchasing power, that's about a 10 or 15 cent note. Most of the one Lp notes are so worn and filthy they simply look like a dirty piece of paper. I've been looking for one to keep as a souvenir, but haven't yet gotten one that looks like it wouldn't disintegrate on being exposed to daylight.
The Food
On the whole, the food in central America has actually been really good. That came as a pleasant surprise, because I had been expecting something similar to Peru and Bolivia, and, while I loved those countries, so food was not great.
Inland there is a pretty strong Mexican influence (or at least I think of it as Mexican, its probably just as much native to Guatemala and Honduras) so a lot of nachos, fajitas, tacos etc. Less good is the ubiquitous tortilla, which pretty much substitutes for bread and comes with everything you order. The tortillas here aren't quite like the ones you get in Sydney. They are about as thick as an iphone and made from corn, and seem to be stale, even though they are served still hot. Eating one feels very much how I imagine eating cardboard must feel. And not flimsy beer carton cardboard, but that thicker cardboard that expensive gadgets come packed in. The rest of the food is good, the tortilla, I'm not so sure about.
Here on the coast its either seafood, fresh from the reef and generally very good, or fried chicken, which can never really go that wrong.
Other Travellers
As always happens when you travel, we've met some memorable characters, good and bad, along the way. One stand out was an Australian on the bus. I could tell he was Australian because, instead of a day pack, he had his gear in one of those green coles bags. He was also wearing his prada sunglasses, arguing with a taxi driver about the fare. The driver wanted to charge him 40 lempiras, or 2 dollars, for the 10 minute ride down to the wharf. Here is a man, aged in his mid thirties, wearing a $400 pair of sunglasses, but too cheap to buy a back pack, arguing over 2 dollars. And, given the most he could hope for was to get the driver down to about 25 lempiras, really, he was arguing over less than 1 dollar. Honestly, if you can't pay two dollars for a taxi, stay at home.
In Copan we met a guy who I would estimate was in his 50s. His name was Russel, but he preferred to be known as Raul. He has been living in Honduras for 10 years, before that he lived in Thailand. Doing nothing. "I'd like to work, but I just can't find the time". He actually said that. He informed us that the way he did this was to live an extremely cheap life, costing no more than $2500 a year. Where those $2500 come from, we never found out. He did mention that he thought he needed a back operation, but this was beyond his budget. Its just my opinion, but if you never go home, and you never get a job, you are not really a traveller anymore, you are just being a bum in different countries.
The litter
This is one heart breaking aspect of travelling around Honduras. There is litter everywhere, and in huge amounts. There are stretches, before and after towns, where you would struggle to walk across the area by the side of the road without stepping on rubbish. And its no wonder. I was watching the locals on the bus. When they finish a drink or a pack of chips, they simply throw it out of the window without a second thought. I know that the country probably has bigger problems to worry about, but it's such a shame, because it's such a beautiful country. And as its mainly plastic packaging that's not going to decompose, you have to wonder what it will look like in 10 years.
The roads
Anyone who has been to a developing country knows that road rules tend to be seen as more of a guide than as actual rules. I certainly remember in Thailand, driving on the left means swerving that way when you face oncoming traffic, but not staying there the rest of the time. On the whole, its a little better here. We took quite a few buses, and on most of them I didn't really feel like we were in mortal danger. In Utila however, things are different.
As I said, its a small island, and the town is even smaller. You can walk from one end to the other in about 15 minutes, and there is really only one road. That road is about the width of a single traffic lane, and has no footpath, so its shared with pedestrians. Cars aren't that practical, so most people have found alternate vehicles. There are, of course, a lot of scooters and motor bikes. There are also a few people getting around on 4 wheelers, and most surprisingly, a large number of petrol powered golf carts. Where they got golf carts from is beyond me, but they have them. I saw one today that had been raised like a monster truck!
And all of these shoot up and down the single lane with very little caution, and only beeps of the horn to let pedestrians know that its time to get out of the way. It actually makes strolling around this little Caribbean paradise pretty stressful.
The Locals
Finally, a quick word on the people here. One this count its similar to Peru or Bolivia. Tourists are by no means a novelty here, but the locals still seem happy to see foreigners, and don't appear to have that jaded attitude to tourists that you sense in South East Asia. There is generally not a tourist price and a local price, people will help you without asking for or expecting a tip, and there aren't very many people waiting at bus stops and taxi stands to swarm you with hotel and tour offers. All this adds to to make it feel like a very friendly place to travel through.
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