Preferring to make the hour trip to San Ramon yesterday rather than risk getting stuck in Alajuela for two days, I arrived here about midday and checked into the great value Hotel La Posada which has fantastic hot showers, big screen TVs, and a humongous breakfast fit for a Yankee stomach.
Almost immediately after I settled in it began to rain cats & dogs, and it has only intermittently let up since then. A daytrip today up to the summit of Poas volcano unfortunately wasn't in the cards.
This morning many of the businesses downtown were hit by an electricity outage so I had to wait some time to log online and look into checking in for my flight tomorrow.
Originally my plan was to go today to Alajuela, just a half hour away, so I can be just a short cab ride from the airport tomorrow morning, but I learned that the first buses from here depart at 5.15 and 6.15--both early enough to get me to the airport in time.
Since the Posada offers a much more attractive sleeping option than anything I'm aware of in Alajuela, this last minute change of plans seems that much more attractive to me.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A Final 48 Hours in Costa Rica
With only two more days in Costa Rica, Marco and I said our good-byes and parted ways early today so I can do a final daytrip: either revisit the lovely town of San Ramon where I stayed for a couple nights last year; or get a room for two nights in Alajuela, near the airport, and take the bus up to the nearby Poas volcano early tomorrow morning.
As I type this dispatch in downtown San Jose while enjoying a delicious cafe con leche I'm still undecided about which to do, but I've noted on my map where the respective bus terminals are located. Both of them are within walking distance from where I sit.
San Ramon is further away from here--a half hour or so west of Alajuela and the airport--and the terminal I need here is also further away from the nearby TUAS terminal for buses to Alajuela. It might be worth it to go that distance, but if I select that option I won't have enough time to get to the volcano tomorrow. But if the weather cooperates with plenty of sunshine in the morning as it's doing today, then a trip to Poas could be well worth the effort.
Check back here again to learn which way I went!
As I type this dispatch in downtown San Jose while enjoying a delicious cafe con leche I'm still undecided about which to do, but I've noted on my map where the respective bus terminals are located. Both of them are within walking distance from where I sit.
San Ramon is further away from here--a half hour or so west of Alajuela and the airport--and the terminal I need here is also further away from the nearby TUAS terminal for buses to Alajuela. It might be worth it to go that distance, but if I select that option I won't have enough time to get to the volcano tomorrow. But if the weather cooperates with plenty of sunshine in the morning as it's doing today, then a trip to Poas could be well worth the effort.
Check back here again to learn which way I went!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
An Economy Solely Dependent Upon Turtles?
Let me just state right off the bat that I didn´t travel to Tortuguero on a turtle-spotting mission. My primary intention here was to enjoy some good food and drink with my Costa Rican host, soak up some sea and sun on the Caribbean coast, and basically kick back in a relaxed setting.
Having said that, I believe that if Marco and I had had one more night to stay, we probably would have spent the money for a guide in the hope of seeing some nocturnal tortoise egg-laying. The reasons we didn´t choose to sign up for a tour had more to do with our general unease and skepticism in regard to the many unanswered questions we had about tourism in an economy that´s built almost completely around these endangered creatures.
From the moment we landed in Tortuguero town we were politely but persistently pestered by the locals to sign up for the nightly turtle watch. And though signing up on our first night was a total nonstarter for us, we were cautiously open to the idea of signing up the next night.
But we felt uncomfortable with some of the "guides" (or their agents) and certain inconsistencies we noticed, such as with the fees they were asking for. While it seems most foreigners were being charged $15 a head, we found out that some were paying as much as $20. And while we were prepared to gamble on the possibility of paying our money but not seeing any turtles, we were not willing to shell out money in advance to someone who might possibly not even turn up at the appointed hour. In other words, we felt we should be wary of scammers and unscrupulous activity since we had no way of knowing who was or wasn´t an "offical" guide.
Given that most of the locals we talked to seemed unwilling or unable to answer our basic questions, I also began to have doubts about the ethics of having dozens of foreign and local tourists pouring into town daily, spending money to see turtles, and quite possibly disturbing these animals in their natural habitat. So I wanted to know a lot more before signing up.
As is often the case, we learned more from our fellow visitors than we did from the locals. What follows is a composite picture of the nightly tour, as described to us by visitors and locals:
The beach is divided into zones of a couple hundred yards in length. Our guesthouse is located in Zone 36 and further south are Zones 37, 38, and so on. From 6.00 p.m. until 6.00 a.m. the beaches are closed to all but park rangers and other authorized personnel. Random people on the beach can disturb a landing turtle, which causes that turtle to leave and, so we were told, never come back to that location.
Tour groups are guided by flashlight along a beachside pathway that runs the entire length of the zones. At certain points along the path are "spotters" who watch for the giant turtles landing ashore. When a turtle is spotted in a given zone, the spotter notifies guides in the area by walkie-talkie and/or flashlight signal, and the guides then lead their groups to that location. If all goes well, the groups in the area are able to witness the laying of eggs and/or the exhausted turtles retreating back to the ocean. Two tours are offered nightly, one from 8 til 10 and the other from 10 til midnight.
According to one of our informants, a young Israeli man, the whole experience was "very well organized, almost like a military operation." His group witnessed one turtle laying an egg and two other turtles headed back to sea.
The next morning, official personnel--including volunteers under the supervision of experts--carefully note the locations of the eggs, and presumably steps are then taken to protect the eggs until it comes time for them to hatch.
But Marco, who headed for the beach at sunrise each morning for a swim in the warm sea, told me he saw a couple local women digging on the beach and taking eggs away. He reported what he witnessed to a couple officials who came through the area later.
Under the circumstances, I felt that I knew far too little in order to make an informed decision about signing on for a tour. So basically I decided to "punt" until I could know for sure that I wouldn´t be causing harm by participating in this activity. Although I have nothing against contributing to the local economy and helping to support locals´ livelihoods, I felt uncertain about the guide services since there didn´t seem to be any central organizing agency or principles involved. One "guide" even told us to avoid another "guide" for his supposed character defects or some other stated, but vague, deficiencies.
In a nutshell, we thought we had too many doubts on Sunday evening to proceed confidently. By Monday morning we had more information, but by then we had no choice but to leave for the capital since Marco had to work on Tuesday.
We decided if we go back to Tortuguero during the hatching season probably we can participate in some capacity, whether as fee-paying tourists or as volunteers. But before we do so I intend to do some serious "turtle googling" first.
Having said that, I believe that if Marco and I had had one more night to stay, we probably would have spent the money for a guide in the hope of seeing some nocturnal tortoise egg-laying. The reasons we didn´t choose to sign up for a tour had more to do with our general unease and skepticism in regard to the many unanswered questions we had about tourism in an economy that´s built almost completely around these endangered creatures.
From the moment we landed in Tortuguero town we were politely but persistently pestered by the locals to sign up for the nightly turtle watch. And though signing up on our first night was a total nonstarter for us, we were cautiously open to the idea of signing up the next night.
But we felt uncomfortable with some of the "guides" (or their agents) and certain inconsistencies we noticed, such as with the fees they were asking for. While it seems most foreigners were being charged $15 a head, we found out that some were paying as much as $20. And while we were prepared to gamble on the possibility of paying our money but not seeing any turtles, we were not willing to shell out money in advance to someone who might possibly not even turn up at the appointed hour. In other words, we felt we should be wary of scammers and unscrupulous activity since we had no way of knowing who was or wasn´t an "offical" guide.
Given that most of the locals we talked to seemed unwilling or unable to answer our basic questions, I also began to have doubts about the ethics of having dozens of foreign and local tourists pouring into town daily, spending money to see turtles, and quite possibly disturbing these animals in their natural habitat. So I wanted to know a lot more before signing up.
As is often the case, we learned more from our fellow visitors than we did from the locals. What follows is a composite picture of the nightly tour, as described to us by visitors and locals:
The beach is divided into zones of a couple hundred yards in length. Our guesthouse is located in Zone 36 and further south are Zones 37, 38, and so on. From 6.00 p.m. until 6.00 a.m. the beaches are closed to all but park rangers and other authorized personnel. Random people on the beach can disturb a landing turtle, which causes that turtle to leave and, so we were told, never come back to that location.
Tour groups are guided by flashlight along a beachside pathway that runs the entire length of the zones. At certain points along the path are "spotters" who watch for the giant turtles landing ashore. When a turtle is spotted in a given zone, the spotter notifies guides in the area by walkie-talkie and/or flashlight signal, and the guides then lead their groups to that location. If all goes well, the groups in the area are able to witness the laying of eggs and/or the exhausted turtles retreating back to the ocean. Two tours are offered nightly, one from 8 til 10 and the other from 10 til midnight.
According to one of our informants, a young Israeli man, the whole experience was "very well organized, almost like a military operation." His group witnessed one turtle laying an egg and two other turtles headed back to sea.
The next morning, official personnel--including volunteers under the supervision of experts--carefully note the locations of the eggs, and presumably steps are then taken to protect the eggs until it comes time for them to hatch.
But Marco, who headed for the beach at sunrise each morning for a swim in the warm sea, told me he saw a couple local women digging on the beach and taking eggs away. He reported what he witnessed to a couple officials who came through the area later.
Under the circumstances, I felt that I knew far too little in order to make an informed decision about signing on for a tour. So basically I decided to "punt" until I could know for sure that I wouldn´t be causing harm by participating in this activity. Although I have nothing against contributing to the local economy and helping to support locals´ livelihoods, I felt uncertain about the guide services since there didn´t seem to be any central organizing agency or principles involved. One "guide" even told us to avoid another "guide" for his supposed character defects or some other stated, but vague, deficiencies.
In a nutshell, we thought we had too many doubts on Sunday evening to proceed confidently. By Monday morning we had more information, but by then we had no choice but to leave for the capital since Marco had to work on Tuesday.
We decided if we go back to Tortuguero during the hatching season probably we can participate in some capacity, whether as fee-paying tourists or as volunteers. But before we do so I intend to do some serious "turtle googling" first.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Remote Tortuguero Delights the Visitor
Leaving Marco´s menagerie in the hands of a trusted neighbor or cousin, he and I set out early yesterday for the journey northwest from the capital city to the national park of Tortuguero.
A bus and a taxi took us to the Terminal Caribe where we purchased tickets for a bus to Cariari via Guapiles, about 50 miles from downtown San Jose. The bus passes through a misty mountainous vista (and one of the longer road tunnels in Costa Rica) as we gradually descend to the lower, flatter ground of the sweeping province of Caribe.
After about two hours we reached Cariari´s bus station with about half a dozen other gringos, mostly Germans, who also wanted to continue the journey. A somewhat aggressive tout for a tour company accosted us and tried to "sell us up" with more services than many of us wanted. Marco and I wisely purchased transport tickets only.
After a bumpy microbus ride of about an hour we reached the end of the gravel road--indeed, it was the end of all roads in this part of the country. Because Tortuguero is accessible by boat or plane only.
Then some confusion ensued at the riverboat landing with the boat drivers--who, according to the Lonely Planet, are regarded here as something akin to royalty--professing ignorance of the fellow who sold us our tickets! Some frantic negotiations commenced, with much consulting by walkie-talkie and cellphone, before the matter was cleared up in our favor.
Then we proceeded by boat downriver through some of the most beautiful jungle and swamp I´ve ever seen.
Traffic on these tributaries (on my map there are dozens of them feeding the larger rivers) is brisk and frequent, however. Commerce is happening but the nearest 18 wheeler is 20 miles away.
We arrived in Tortuguero town just after lunch, and a teenager helped us locate a decent beachside guesthouse, the Balcon del Mar, for an okay price and most of the usual amenities. Lodging prices run the gamut from "budget" to five star, but food prices and the cost of extras like internet are relatively high. The average meal price for two seems to hover around $20, and this high speed internet shop where I'm now typing costs a whopping $3 an hour compared to 50 cents in San Jose. Supplies in the supermarket also cost a premium--everything here has to be imported by air or river.
But it´s worth it to be in such a beautiful place with no cars and lots of wild country. The nearby national park is home to abundant plant and wild life. And now, at the end of August, it´s the high end of turtle hatching season. Every night the gigantic tortoises swim ashore and climb their way up the beach to lay their eggs. Tourists pay $15 a head for a guided peek at these awesome creatures. The guides are mandatory and this rule is strictly enforced by park rangers who closely monitor these turtle landings and communicate by walkie-talkie with the guides who then lead their charges to nearby nesting areas.
Marco and I took a pass on the guides last night and we´re still agnostic on tonight´s prospects, but check back here again in a couple days. I gotta run before my internet bill gets too high. . .
A bus and a taxi took us to the Terminal Caribe where we purchased tickets for a bus to Cariari via Guapiles, about 50 miles from downtown San Jose. The bus passes through a misty mountainous vista (and one of the longer road tunnels in Costa Rica) as we gradually descend to the lower, flatter ground of the sweeping province of Caribe.
After about two hours we reached Cariari´s bus station with about half a dozen other gringos, mostly Germans, who also wanted to continue the journey. A somewhat aggressive tout for a tour company accosted us and tried to "sell us up" with more services than many of us wanted. Marco and I wisely purchased transport tickets only.
After a bumpy microbus ride of about an hour we reached the end of the gravel road--indeed, it was the end of all roads in this part of the country. Because Tortuguero is accessible by boat or plane only.
Then some confusion ensued at the riverboat landing with the boat drivers--who, according to the Lonely Planet, are regarded here as something akin to royalty--professing ignorance of the fellow who sold us our tickets! Some frantic negotiations commenced, with much consulting by walkie-talkie and cellphone, before the matter was cleared up in our favor.
Then we proceeded by boat downriver through some of the most beautiful jungle and swamp I´ve ever seen.
Traffic on these tributaries (on my map there are dozens of them feeding the larger rivers) is brisk and frequent, however. Commerce is happening but the nearest 18 wheeler is 20 miles away.
We arrived in Tortuguero town just after lunch, and a teenager helped us locate a decent beachside guesthouse, the Balcon del Mar, for an okay price and most of the usual amenities. Lodging prices run the gamut from "budget" to five star, but food prices and the cost of extras like internet are relatively high. The average meal price for two seems to hover around $20, and this high speed internet shop where I'm now typing costs a whopping $3 an hour compared to 50 cents in San Jose. Supplies in the supermarket also cost a premium--everything here has to be imported by air or river.
But it´s worth it to be in such a beautiful place with no cars and lots of wild country. The nearby national park is home to abundant plant and wild life. And now, at the end of August, it´s the high end of turtle hatching season. Every night the gigantic tortoises swim ashore and climb their way up the beach to lay their eggs. Tourists pay $15 a head for a guided peek at these awesome creatures. The guides are mandatory and this rule is strictly enforced by park rangers who closely monitor these turtle landings and communicate by walkie-talkie with the guides who then lead their charges to nearby nesting areas.
Marco and I took a pass on the guides last night and we´re still agnostic on tonight´s prospects, but check back here again in a couple days. I gotta run before my internet bill gets too high. . .
Friday, August 27, 2010
Back in Costa Rica at Uncle Marco´s Place
A little more than a year after my first visit to Costa Rica, I´m back with a vengeance--but, alas, only for one week!
Some readers will recall that Costa Rica is the home of an uncle of one of my violin students. Uncle Marco was born in Costa Rica but raised in the U.S., so his American English is as fluent as his Spanish.
Marco met me at San Jose´s airport yesterday in the midst of a heavy, late afternoon downpour-- a reminder that Central America is still deep in the rainy season.
Rather than take two or more buses to Marco´s home during evening rush hour, we bargained hard with some friendly taxi drivers to bring the asking price from 15,000 or 20,000 colones ($30 or $40) down to a more reasonable $20. "Okay," our driver said, "make it 10,000 colones but don´t forget a couple dollars tip!"
The 20-some odd mile trip from the airport near Alajuela to Marco´s place in the El Porvenir neighborhood in Desamparados was unfortunately somewhat grueling and lengthy because of the traffic-choked roads, so as it turns out I ended up tipping the driver very well indeed. After all, he has a difficult job in the best of circumstances, but this guy was highly entertaining-- his English language skills were nearly as good as my fellow passenger´s! How do I describe the odd impression one feels listening to two Costa Ricans conversing idiomatically in English? If you can imagine it, then you might guess I was fascinated for the entire ride to Marco´s home.
Marco set me up in the "Led Zeppelin room", one of three bedrooms in his house, so called because it´s decorated with tour posters from the ´70s and ´80s of his all-time favorite rock´n´roll band. Guitarist Jimmy Page and frontman Robert Plant still look good onstage after all these years. . .
Marco shares his house with two dogs (an old bulldog named Buster and a smaller mongrel named Rat) and a versatile singing parrot. This morning I could´ve sworn the parrot friend was whistling the theme from the Andy Griffith Show--remember that whistling theme song of the show that featured Opie, Aunt Bea and Barney Fife?
And later I could´ve sworn it was whistling something that sounded an awful lot like the 1812 Overature...or was I only¨"hearing" things? Even if not, Marco´s parrot also speaks English fluently--or at least it speaks fluently the five or six phrases, including profanities, that I heard it utter today.
With only seven days on the ground, my mission here is pretty simple: get to Tortuguero, a remote national park and turtle refuge on the Caribbean coast, then get back to San Jose by next Thursday at the latest. Happily, Marco is able to take Monday off from his current job, so he can join me for a three day weekend which hopefully starts with an early bus departure tomorrow morning.
As in Nicaragua, the general feeling here in Costa Rica--at least for this visitor--is one of safety, security, and wider-spread prosperity compared to El Salvador or Honduras. No, it isn´t a rich country by any means, but it´s not without reason that this tiny nation bordering Nicaragua to the north and Panama to the south is extremely popular with norteamericano tourists and expats alike. Not only is it reasonably safe, reasonably-priced and packed with beautiful attractions, but this jewel of country also is populated by some of the friendliest people I´ve encountered in the region. Marco´s easy-going hospitality and amiable demeanor is, fortunately, not an anomaly.
Some readers will recall that Costa Rica is the home of an uncle of one of my violin students. Uncle Marco was born in Costa Rica but raised in the U.S., so his American English is as fluent as his Spanish.
Marco met me at San Jose´s airport yesterday in the midst of a heavy, late afternoon downpour-- a reminder that Central America is still deep in the rainy season.
Rather than take two or more buses to Marco´s home during evening rush hour, we bargained hard with some friendly taxi drivers to bring the asking price from 15,000 or 20,000 colones ($30 or $40) down to a more reasonable $20. "Okay," our driver said, "make it 10,000 colones but don´t forget a couple dollars tip!"
The 20-some odd mile trip from the airport near Alajuela to Marco´s place in the El Porvenir neighborhood in Desamparados was unfortunately somewhat grueling and lengthy because of the traffic-choked roads, so as it turns out I ended up tipping the driver very well indeed. After all, he has a difficult job in the best of circumstances, but this guy was highly entertaining-- his English language skills were nearly as good as my fellow passenger´s! How do I describe the odd impression one feels listening to two Costa Ricans conversing idiomatically in English? If you can imagine it, then you might guess I was fascinated for the entire ride to Marco´s home.
Marco set me up in the "Led Zeppelin room", one of three bedrooms in his house, so called because it´s decorated with tour posters from the ´70s and ´80s of his all-time favorite rock´n´roll band. Guitarist Jimmy Page and frontman Robert Plant still look good onstage after all these years. . .
Marco shares his house with two dogs (an old bulldog named Buster and a smaller mongrel named Rat) and a versatile singing parrot. This morning I could´ve sworn the parrot friend was whistling the theme from the Andy Griffith Show--remember that whistling theme song of the show that featured Opie, Aunt Bea and Barney Fife?
And later I could´ve sworn it was whistling something that sounded an awful lot like the 1812 Overature...or was I only¨"hearing" things? Even if not, Marco´s parrot also speaks English fluently--or at least it speaks fluently the five or six phrases, including profanities, that I heard it utter today.
With only seven days on the ground, my mission here is pretty simple: get to Tortuguero, a remote national park and turtle refuge on the Caribbean coast, then get back to San Jose by next Thursday at the latest. Happily, Marco is able to take Monday off from his current job, so he can join me for a three day weekend which hopefully starts with an early bus departure tomorrow morning.
As in Nicaragua, the general feeling here in Costa Rica--at least for this visitor--is one of safety, security, and wider-spread prosperity compared to El Salvador or Honduras. No, it isn´t a rich country by any means, but it´s not without reason that this tiny nation bordering Nicaragua to the north and Panama to the south is extremely popular with norteamericano tourists and expats alike. Not only is it reasonably safe, reasonably-priced and packed with beautiful attractions, but this jewel of country also is populated by some of the friendliest people I´ve encountered in the region. Marco´s easy-going hospitality and amiable demeanor is, fortunately, not an anomaly.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
What Makes Antigua So Special?
1. The cobblestoned streets, reminiscent of old Europe
2. The beautifully maintained parque central
3. The old, ruined cathedrals--seemingly around every corner
3. The street bands
4. The fine restaurants
5. The tourist crowds, local and foreign
6. The polite, friendly locals
7. The swarms of American college kids who come here for the highly regarded Spanish schools
8. The highly regarded Spanish schools
9. The considerable norteamericano expatriate community
10. The almost perfect climate--no fans or AC needed!
11. The beautiful surrounding mountains and volcanos
12. The bookstores
13. The cafes and bars
14. The delicatessens and bakeries
15. The fast food joints for that burger or pizza fix
16. The highly developed tourist infrastructure
17. The tightly controlled vehicle traffic
18. The tightly controlled, unobtrusive commercial signage
19. The excellent supermarkets
20. The close proximity to the nation's capital and airport
2. The beautifully maintained parque central
3. The old, ruined cathedrals--seemingly around every corner
3. The street bands
4. The fine restaurants
5. The tourist crowds, local and foreign
6. The polite, friendly locals
7. The swarms of American college kids who come here for the highly regarded Spanish schools
8. The highly regarded Spanish schools
9. The considerable norteamericano expatriate community
10. The almost perfect climate--no fans or AC needed!
11. The beautiful surrounding mountains and volcanos
12. The bookstores
13. The cafes and bars
14. The delicatessens and bakeries
15. The fast food joints for that burger or pizza fix
16. The highly developed tourist infrastructure
17. The tightly controlled vehicle traffic
18. The tightly controlled, unobtrusive commercial signage
19. The excellent supermarkets
20. The close proximity to the nation's capital and airport
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Bests and Worsts of Central America 2010
Best Hotels
Guancasco, Gracias (Honduras) $20
King Palace, San Miguel (El Salvador) $28
Best Value Hotels
Villa Florencia, San Salvador Centro (El Salvador) $20
Via Via, Leon (Nicaragua) $17
Best Hotel Restaurants
Barca de Oro, Las Peñitas (Nicaragua)
Perkin Lenca, Perquin (El Salvador)
Best Meals--There were many, but a few stood out:
Perkin Lenca's kitchen had great breakfasts and good value, home-cooked quality dinners
Barca de Oro had the best fish dinner of the trip
Opalaca's (La Esperanza, Honduras) specializes in grilled meat and I had my best chicken dinner there
Guy with Weber Grill on the street in Juayua, El Salvador served the best carne asada dinner
Turicentro Los Esclavos (Guatemala) had a such a good BLT sandwich I ordered it twice
Best Deli Sandwich
Epicure, Antigua (Guatemala)
Best Panini Sandwich
Hole in the wall deli in Leon (Nicaragua)
Towns or Cities With Highest Fast Food Chain Saturation
San Miguel (El Salvador)
Antigua and Guatemala City (Guatemala)
Towns or Cities With Few or No Fast Food Chains
Leon and Granada (Nicaragua)
Best Espresso Coffees
La Rosita, Leon (Nicaragua)--owned by an expatriate Louisiana woman
Cafe Condessa, Antigua (Guatemala)
Best Local Brewed Coffees
Guancasco, Gracias (Honduras)
Hotel El Rey, Marcala (Honduras)
Hotel El Mirador, Juayua (El Salvador)
Best Travel Agency
I didn't patronize many of these but I want to plug PlusTravel of Antigua (with offices in Copan Ruinas) for its excellent shuttle bus (minivan) services between Antigua and Copan ($8), Antigua and Chichicastenango ($10 round trip), and many other destination points. Their drivers are courteous, friendly, and professional while their services are safe and basically on time.
Best Bus Rides
The microbus services in Nicaragua were safe, fast, and nearly hassle free
Worst Bus Rides
The local bus service between Choluteca, Honduras and the El Salvador border at Amatillo is frustratingly crowded and slow
Favorite Medium Size Cities
Leon, Nicaragua
Antigua, Guatemala
Favorite Town
Gracias, Honduras
Favorite Small Towns or Villages
Ataco, El Salvador
Copan Ruinas, Honduras
Perquin, El Salvador
Least Favorite Big Cities
San Salvador, El Salvador
San Miguel, El Salvador
Least Favorite Towns
Ahuachapan, El Salvador
La Esperanza, Honduras
Least Favorite Village
Los Cobanas, El Salvador
Most Affluent Towns or Cities
Antigua, Guatemala
Leon, Nicaragua
Granada, Nicaragua
Most Impoverished Towns or Region
La Ruta de Lenca, from Perquin (El Salvador) all the way to Gracias (Honduras)
Most Outgoing or Friendly People
El Salvador and Nicaragua
Most Reserved People
Guatemala and Honduras
Where I Felt Safest
Leon and Granada, Nicaragua
Antigua, Guatemala
Where I Felt Most Wary About Personal Security
San Salvador and San Miguel, El Salvador
note to readers: if you are interested in more worsts (or more bests) drop me a comment to that effect
Guancasco, Gracias (Honduras) $20
King Palace, San Miguel (El Salvador) $28
Best Value Hotels
Villa Florencia, San Salvador Centro (El Salvador) $20
Via Via, Leon (Nicaragua) $17
Best Hotel Restaurants
Barca de Oro, Las Peñitas (Nicaragua)
Perkin Lenca, Perquin (El Salvador)
Best Meals--There were many, but a few stood out:
Perkin Lenca's kitchen had great breakfasts and good value, home-cooked quality dinners
Barca de Oro had the best fish dinner of the trip
Opalaca's (La Esperanza, Honduras) specializes in grilled meat and I had my best chicken dinner there
Guy with Weber Grill on the street in Juayua, El Salvador served the best carne asada dinner
Turicentro Los Esclavos (Guatemala) had a such a good BLT sandwich I ordered it twice
Best Deli Sandwich
Epicure, Antigua (Guatemala)
Best Panini Sandwich
Hole in the wall deli in Leon (Nicaragua)
Towns or Cities With Highest Fast Food Chain Saturation
San Miguel (El Salvador)
Antigua and Guatemala City (Guatemala)
Towns or Cities With Few or No Fast Food Chains
Leon and Granada (Nicaragua)
Best Espresso Coffees
La Rosita, Leon (Nicaragua)--owned by an expatriate Louisiana woman
Cafe Condessa, Antigua (Guatemala)
Best Local Brewed Coffees
Guancasco, Gracias (Honduras)
Hotel El Rey, Marcala (Honduras)
Hotel El Mirador, Juayua (El Salvador)
Best Travel Agency
I didn't patronize many of these but I want to plug PlusTravel of Antigua (with offices in Copan Ruinas) for its excellent shuttle bus (minivan) services between Antigua and Copan ($8), Antigua and Chichicastenango ($10 round trip), and many other destination points. Their drivers are courteous, friendly, and professional while their services are safe and basically on time.
Best Bus Rides
The microbus services in Nicaragua were safe, fast, and nearly hassle free
Worst Bus Rides
The local bus service between Choluteca, Honduras and the El Salvador border at Amatillo is frustratingly crowded and slow
Favorite Medium Size Cities
Leon, Nicaragua
Antigua, Guatemala
Favorite Town
Gracias, Honduras
Favorite Small Towns or Villages
Ataco, El Salvador
Copan Ruinas, Honduras
Perquin, El Salvador
Least Favorite Big Cities
San Salvador, El Salvador
San Miguel, El Salvador
Least Favorite Towns
Ahuachapan, El Salvador
La Esperanza, Honduras
Least Favorite Village
Los Cobanas, El Salvador
Most Affluent Towns or Cities
Antigua, Guatemala
Leon, Nicaragua
Granada, Nicaragua
Most Impoverished Towns or Region
La Ruta de Lenca, from Perquin (El Salvador) all the way to Gracias (Honduras)
Most Outgoing or Friendly People
El Salvador and Nicaragua
Most Reserved People
Guatemala and Honduras
Where I Felt Safest
Leon and Granada, Nicaragua
Antigua, Guatemala
Where I Felt Most Wary About Personal Security
San Salvador and San Miguel, El Salvador
note to readers: if you are interested in more worsts (or more bests) drop me a comment to that effect
Summing it up in Antigua (Day 51)
Having just passed seven weeks on the road in Central America and now having only two days left in Guatemala before I return home this Thursday, I find myself cooling my heels in Antigua--I've run a bit over budget this week--and mentally summing up my journey.
My trip was successful in many ways. First, and most importantly, I allowed myself enough time to get truly immersed in the local culture. Though my original, vague goal of reaching beautiful Merida, Venezuela via Costa Rica and Panama was probably unrealistic given my penchant for taking things slowly and my unwillingness to spend more than four hours in a bus on any given day, I did achieve an important secondary goal of visiting several new places--notably Leon (Nicaragua), Perquin (El Salvador), Chichicastenango (Guatemala), and the beautiful countryside of the Ruta de Lenca in western Honduras (Los Cipreses, Marcala, La Esperanza, Gracias, and Santa Rosa de Copan). Also new for me were my brief stops on the Pacific coasts of both El Salvador and Nicaragua.
It was very important for me to give this trip a lot of time. My initial trips here in 2008 and 2009 were too brief--and too rushed--for me to do much more than take a quick glance at a region I'd found I liked at least as much as Southeast Asia--if not more so. One of the joys of traveling in Central America is the geographical fact that all these countries are very small, so the backpacking tourist can cover quite a lot of ground in relatively little time. Despite their size, however, these countries together boast an incredible diversity of peoples, languages, food, climates, and geographical features such as mountains, volcanos, cowboy countryside, beaches, two very different sea or ocean coasts, and numerous lakes--from the huge Lake Nicaragua to the large Lake Atitlan in Guatemala--and numerous smaller lakes and rivers between.
Secondly, once I'd postponed the Costa Rica leg of my journey, that opened up the possibility for revisits of Copan Ruinas (Honduras) and Antigua (Guatemala) this past week. Despite the fact that they were second time visits for me, they definitely remain highlights of this trip since I was able to capture hundreds of images of these beautiful places on my "photography mission."
My photography mission itself was a third important goal for me. I was able to take the time I needed to seek out and note photo subjects, mostly of city/town/village buildings and streets, and return later to take photos as unobtrusively as possible. There were three main reasons for this approach.
First, up until this time I had almost no experience taking hundreds of digital photos, so I considered this to be a learning experience for me. Early in my trip I didn't take very many photos at all, preferring instead to get the lie of the land. Later, after I'd become more sure of myself, I began to shoot much more, but with a strong emphasis on experimentation with light, shadow, composition, and subject. My aim here was to try to improve my skills shooting pictures with the modern equivilent of the old "instamatic".
Second, I didn't want to make myself a target for beggars and hustlers, or worse, thieves and muggers, by walking all over the place with a camera around my neck. Whenever I did shoot photos, usually I kept the camera in my shirt pocket or in my daybag until I found a likely subject.
Third, when it comes to photographing people, it pays to be discreet, especially in this region. Guatemalans in particular (but this goes for people all over the world) don't appreciate foreigners taking photos of them without permission. Consequently, I was very careful not to be too aggressive with the lens. Since I had almost no experience shooting candid photos of people, I was particularly careful to tread that path cautiously. I have probably improved a little bit in this area. But readers will notice that--once I get my photos posted--there aren't very many good photos of people apart from some typical street scenes.
Another important goal I achieved with this trip was the establishment of a credible travel blog which I can continue to build in the months and years to come. Committing myself to writing something almost daily was important in that it kept me on my toes, forcing me to wander--not aimlessly as I might have done two decades ago--but with some specific destinations in mind, always remembering that I had to be loyal to a readership (no matter how modest). This helped me to focus everyday on seeing things with a writer's eye. Everyday became a different story for me, and the challenge was to try to improve at creating a daily story that would be compelling to the general reader. I'm not sure how well I succeeded in that, but I think I've definitely made a good start.
My trip was successful in many ways. First, and most importantly, I allowed myself enough time to get truly immersed in the local culture. Though my original, vague goal of reaching beautiful Merida, Venezuela via Costa Rica and Panama was probably unrealistic given my penchant for taking things slowly and my unwillingness to spend more than four hours in a bus on any given day, I did achieve an important secondary goal of visiting several new places--notably Leon (Nicaragua), Perquin (El Salvador), Chichicastenango (Guatemala), and the beautiful countryside of the Ruta de Lenca in western Honduras (Los Cipreses, Marcala, La Esperanza, Gracias, and Santa Rosa de Copan). Also new for me were my brief stops on the Pacific coasts of both El Salvador and Nicaragua.
It was very important for me to give this trip a lot of time. My initial trips here in 2008 and 2009 were too brief--and too rushed--for me to do much more than take a quick glance at a region I'd found I liked at least as much as Southeast Asia--if not more so. One of the joys of traveling in Central America is the geographical fact that all these countries are very small, so the backpacking tourist can cover quite a lot of ground in relatively little time. Despite their size, however, these countries together boast an incredible diversity of peoples, languages, food, climates, and geographical features such as mountains, volcanos, cowboy countryside, beaches, two very different sea or ocean coasts, and numerous lakes--from the huge Lake Nicaragua to the large Lake Atitlan in Guatemala--and numerous smaller lakes and rivers between.
Secondly, once I'd postponed the Costa Rica leg of my journey, that opened up the possibility for revisits of Copan Ruinas (Honduras) and Antigua (Guatemala) this past week. Despite the fact that they were second time visits for me, they definitely remain highlights of this trip since I was able to capture hundreds of images of these beautiful places on my "photography mission."
My photography mission itself was a third important goal for me. I was able to take the time I needed to seek out and note photo subjects, mostly of city/town/village buildings and streets, and return later to take photos as unobtrusively as possible. There were three main reasons for this approach.
First, up until this time I had almost no experience taking hundreds of digital photos, so I considered this to be a learning experience for me. Early in my trip I didn't take very many photos at all, preferring instead to get the lie of the land. Later, after I'd become more sure of myself, I began to shoot much more, but with a strong emphasis on experimentation with light, shadow, composition, and subject. My aim here was to try to improve my skills shooting pictures with the modern equivilent of the old "instamatic".
Second, I didn't want to make myself a target for beggars and hustlers, or worse, thieves and muggers, by walking all over the place with a camera around my neck. Whenever I did shoot photos, usually I kept the camera in my shirt pocket or in my daybag until I found a likely subject.
Third, when it comes to photographing people, it pays to be discreet, especially in this region. Guatemalans in particular (but this goes for people all over the world) don't appreciate foreigners taking photos of them without permission. Consequently, I was very careful not to be too aggressive with the lens. Since I had almost no experience shooting candid photos of people, I was particularly careful to tread that path cautiously. I have probably improved a little bit in this area. But readers will notice that--once I get my photos posted--there aren't very many good photos of people apart from some typical street scenes.
Another important goal I achieved with this trip was the establishment of a credible travel blog which I can continue to build in the months and years to come. Committing myself to writing something almost daily was important in that it kept me on my toes, forcing me to wander--not aimlessly as I might have done two decades ago--but with some specific destinations in mind, always remembering that I had to be loyal to a readership (no matter how modest). This helped me to focus everyday on seeing things with a writer's eye. Everyday became a different story for me, and the challenge was to try to improve at creating a daily story that would be compelling to the general reader. I'm not sure how well I succeeded in that, but I think I've definitely made a good start.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Searching for a Church in Chichicastenango (Day 50)
All I had to go on was a name: Flavio Rodas. My aunt in suburban Milwaukee told me her church has one of its sister churches by that name in Chichicastenango, so I decided to look it up.
It was easy to find. . .well, sort of easy, that is. From the start, everyone told me there's no church by that name, only a school. The first man I asked sent me in the general direction of the school, so I started walking.
But Chichi is built upon some incredibly steep hills, and when I perceived that after walking down one hill I'd have to begin climbing another--but not entirely sure of the correct direction I should go--I flagged down a three-wheeled mototaxi.
"Sabes Iglesia de Flavio Rodas?" I asked the driver.
"Sure, I know it." And as he drove up the hill we passed a long wall with mural panels, one of which appeared to be painted by students of La Escuela Flavio Rodas.
"Is that the school?"
"The school is that way, " he pointed in one direction.
"How about the church?"
We reached a fork in the road. "Left for the school, right for the church, " he said.
"Go right." And soon we were in front of a church, but was it the right one? Assembly of God, it said, written on a sign above the door. Several women were seated in front with foods for sale.
The driver told me what everyone else had said: there's no church by that name, only the school.
So I walked down to the school and snapped a couple photos. On a Sunday there wasn't much to see. Then I walked back to the murals and shot some photos there. Then I walked back to the church and took a photo or two there.
Then I asked the women: "Is this the Iglesia Flavio Rodas?" Well, they said, there's no church by that name, only the school. But if you're looking for the church in Flavio Rodas (neighborhood), this must be the one because it's the only one around.
Based upon my extensive walk around the neighborhood, this appeared to be true.
I asked them if they have "sister churches" in the United States. "Oh yes," said one of the women, "I can think of one in California."
Any other states, I asked, perhaps Wisconsin? "Probably," she said, "but I'm not sure where."
This was good enough for me! Mission accomplished? Well, sure. . .
It was easy to find. . .well, sort of easy, that is. From the start, everyone told me there's no church by that name, only a school. The first man I asked sent me in the general direction of the school, so I started walking.
But Chichi is built upon some incredibly steep hills, and when I perceived that after walking down one hill I'd have to begin climbing another--but not entirely sure of the correct direction I should go--I flagged down a three-wheeled mototaxi.
"Sabes Iglesia de Flavio Rodas?" I asked the driver.
"Sure, I know it." And as he drove up the hill we passed a long wall with mural panels, one of which appeared to be painted by students of La Escuela Flavio Rodas.
"Is that the school?"
"The school is that way, " he pointed in one direction.
"How about the church?"
We reached a fork in the road. "Left for the school, right for the church, " he said.
"Go right." And soon we were in front of a church, but was it the right one? Assembly of God, it said, written on a sign above the door. Several women were seated in front with foods for sale.
The driver told me what everyone else had said: there's no church by that name, only the school.
So I walked down to the school and snapped a couple photos. On a Sunday there wasn't much to see. Then I walked back to the murals and shot some photos there. Then I walked back to the church and took a photo or two there.
Then I asked the women: "Is this the Iglesia Flavio Rodas?" Well, they said, there's no church by that name, only the school. But if you're looking for the church in Flavio Rodas (neighborhood), this must be the one because it's the only one around.
Based upon my extensive walk around the neighborhood, this appeared to be true.
I asked them if they have "sister churches" in the United States. "Oh yes," said one of the women, "I can think of one in California."
Any other states, I asked, perhaps Wisconsin? "Probably," she said, "but I'm not sure where."
This was good enough for me! Mission accomplished? Well, sure. . .
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Ancient Market Town Chichicastenango Draws Big Crowds
My Rough Guide to Guatemala claims that Chichicastenango has hosted markets on Thursdays and Sundays for "hundreds, perhaps thousands of years." And since this town is so famous for its twice weekly market I thought I should cap off my seven weeks in Central America with a visit.
If you're claustrophobic or don't care to be squeezed into a slowly moving mass of people, you may want to give Chichi a miss. Yet though I prefer to observe things from the sidelines, there's no doubt that there's lots of fine stuff for sale, especially of the colorful, locally hand-woven textiles.
Despite my best efforts to fend off the hawkers--I'm not really "in the market" for anything--I have dropped about $20 total on a shirt and carved wooden flute. Probably I've paid a little too much, especially for the shirt, but there's no denying I bought a nice one.
In a sense I didn't buy anything at all but rather paid two sales people Q150 total for their friendly but persistent efforts to make me part with my money!
(Okay, I will admit that I was in the market for shirt. And as for the flute, well...I figured I might find a use for it in Suzuki group classes next year.)
Joking aside, today for the first time on this journey I have felt just a little bit nervous about pickpockets, so I have taken appropriate precautions.
I had hoped to take a few photos but the crowds make it difficult plus I'm dealing with the reality that the locals--largely from the indigenous tribes who live in Guatemala's western highlands--remain fiercely sensitive about being photographed without permission, so I don't want to cause unnecessary offense. I will address this issue in a future post about my ongoing "photography mission."
Apart from the beautiful textiles, you can buy an array of fine leather goods, hammocks, handbags, shoulder bags, indigenous costumes, wallets, purses, belts, shoes, household items, hand-made jewelry and silver items, and much, much more. There is a whole section of "wet" market as well with fresh meats, poultry, fish, fruits, vegetables, and grains.
If I have time I want to find my Wisconsin aunt's church's sister church which is here in Chichi. All I have is a name, so I'll have to ask someone and hope they can direct me.
If you're claustrophobic or don't care to be squeezed into a slowly moving mass of people, you may want to give Chichi a miss. Yet though I prefer to observe things from the sidelines, there's no doubt that there's lots of fine stuff for sale, especially of the colorful, locally hand-woven textiles.
Despite my best efforts to fend off the hawkers--I'm not really "in the market" for anything--I have dropped about $20 total on a shirt and carved wooden flute. Probably I've paid a little too much, especially for the shirt, but there's no denying I bought a nice one.
In a sense I didn't buy anything at all but rather paid two sales people Q150 total for their friendly but persistent efforts to make me part with my money!
(Okay, I will admit that I was in the market for shirt. And as for the flute, well...I figured I might find a use for it in Suzuki group classes next year.)
Joking aside, today for the first time on this journey I have felt just a little bit nervous about pickpockets, so I have taken appropriate precautions.
I had hoped to take a few photos but the crowds make it difficult plus I'm dealing with the reality that the locals--largely from the indigenous tribes who live in Guatemala's western highlands--remain fiercely sensitive about being photographed without permission, so I don't want to cause unnecessary offense. I will address this issue in a future post about my ongoing "photography mission."
Apart from the beautiful textiles, you can buy an array of fine leather goods, hammocks, handbags, shoulder bags, indigenous costumes, wallets, purses, belts, shoes, household items, hand-made jewelry and silver items, and much, much more. There is a whole section of "wet" market as well with fresh meats, poultry, fish, fruits, vegetables, and grains.
If I have time I want to find my Wisconsin aunt's church's sister church which is here in Chichi. All I have is a name, so I'll have to ask someone and hope they can direct me.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
La Antigua: Busker Central in Central America
I haven't written much about buskers or musicians in Central America mainly because there hasn't been anything to write about. Unlike in Mexico where there is a whole mariachi troubador culture on the streets of its colonial cities, in El Salvador or Honduras you can go many days without seeing someone with a guitar or violin. When you do encounter street musicians, as you do in Granada, Nicaragua, it's somewhat of a pleasant surprise. And when I do bump into the occasional street band, as I did in Gracias, Honduras, I always donate something to the cause.
But in Antigua we are in a whole different league. It helps if you can picture the massive crowds here--not only of weekend trippers from Guatemala City and other parts of the country, but also foreign tourists from Europe and North America, high school and college kids from America, and denizens of the large expatriate Western community who now make Antigua their home. With crowds like these on a typical Saturday, it can pay very well to play on the street.
This city just reeks of cosmopolitan prosperity with its restaurants, bars, coffee shops, hotels, travel agencies, boutique stores, and regular markets. In a region where bookstores are oases and second hand English language books sell for $10 or more, there are so many books in English available, and for almost nothing, that I'm close to hyperventilating as I type this dispatch. La Antigua definitely has anything you could possibly want, especially for someone like me who has come from a markedly much poorer place such as western Honduras. If you want McDonald's or Burger King or Subway or almost any kind of pizza you desire, it's all here.
With crowds the way they are and with the sort of conveniences you can find here, maybe that's partly why the local buskers can do so well in this town. And it seems even foreign travelers can hang their hats for awhile and make a living with a song and a guitar, or--as in the case of "Takeshi"--by painting Japanese calligraphy.
Check out the following website from a young Japanese guy I just saw on Antigua's streets who had a huge crowd around him:
http://takeshi.henjin.com/
Takeshi sings original songs, plays guitar, and sells his CDs, but his main attraction is he paints your name in katakana/hiragana (Chinese/Japanese script) on a strip of white paper for five quetzales (60 cents). He has a big sign written in Spanish telling of his voyage around the world which encourages donations, and he wears a baseball cap and t-shirt promoting his website. Flyers ("take one!") are available so you can look him up on the web. . .and link him to your blog!
I can report that the kids loved this guy, and their (mostly) affluent local parents were fascinated by him. Of course I was pretty fascinated too.
When I think back now to my experiences in France and Switzerland of the 1980s, I regret that the CD was barely invented then, that there was no such thing as a "world wide web", and that it didn't seem economically feasible to busk one's way around Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa, or any other so-called "third world" area.
Now it looks as if maybe "third world areas" are among the only interesting--and lucrative--places left to go as an itinerant troubador in this increasingly homogenized, globalized world.
But in Antigua we are in a whole different league. It helps if you can picture the massive crowds here--not only of weekend trippers from Guatemala City and other parts of the country, but also foreign tourists from Europe and North America, high school and college kids from America, and denizens of the large expatriate Western community who now make Antigua their home. With crowds like these on a typical Saturday, it can pay very well to play on the street.
This city just reeks of cosmopolitan prosperity with its restaurants, bars, coffee shops, hotels, travel agencies, boutique stores, and regular markets. In a region where bookstores are oases and second hand English language books sell for $10 or more, there are so many books in English available, and for almost nothing, that I'm close to hyperventilating as I type this dispatch. La Antigua definitely has anything you could possibly want, especially for someone like me who has come from a markedly much poorer place such as western Honduras. If you want McDonald's or Burger King or Subway or almost any kind of pizza you desire, it's all here.
With crowds the way they are and with the sort of conveniences you can find here, maybe that's partly why the local buskers can do so well in this town. And it seems even foreign travelers can hang their hats for awhile and make a living with a song and a guitar, or--as in the case of "Takeshi"--by painting Japanese calligraphy.
Check out the following website from a young Japanese guy I just saw on Antigua's streets who had a huge crowd around him:
http://takeshi.henjin.com/
Takeshi sings original songs, plays guitar, and sells his CDs, but his main attraction is he paints your name in katakana/hiragana (Chinese/Japanese script) on a strip of white paper for five quetzales (60 cents). He has a big sign written in Spanish telling of his voyage around the world which encourages donations, and he wears a baseball cap and t-shirt promoting his website. Flyers ("take one!") are available so you can look him up on the web. . .and link him to your blog!
I can report that the kids loved this guy, and their (mostly) affluent local parents were fascinated by him. Of course I was pretty fascinated too.
When I think back now to my experiences in France and Switzerland of the 1980s, I regret that the CD was barely invented then, that there was no such thing as a "world wide web", and that it didn't seem economically feasible to busk one's way around Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa, or any other so-called "third world" area.
Now it looks as if maybe "third world areas" are among the only interesting--and lucrative--places left to go as an itinerant troubador in this increasingly homogenized, globalized world.
The Thrill of Completing the Tourist Checklist
Being a norteamericano backpacking tourist in Central America is hard work! I'll bet you didn't know there are a lot of chores involved. On top of being around and getting around in security and safety, you have to research hotels and restuarants,consult guidebooks and maps, look for bus stations and buses to get to the stations, get laundry done every few days, and you have to do all this while trying to stay on budget. Plus you have to get all these things done in a language which is not your own.
It may seems strange, but quite often I wake up in a mild panic because I have such a lengthy to do list, and today was one of those days.
1. Find a cheaper hotel room, check.
2. Get cash at ATM, check.
3. Take laundry to service shop, check.
4. Log on to hopefully high speed internet, check.
5. Update blog, check.
6. Check email, check.
7. Buy memory card for camera, check.
8. Arrange transport to Chichicastenango and back, check.
9. Go to supermarket, check.
10. Pick up laundry before the woman closes shop, check.
You get the picture.
I love getting all that stuff done by noon, so I can go out and do my 'real mission' which is the reconaissance of photo ops, then later walkby picture taking.
Check back again soon for a more detailed post about my photo mission in Central America. Until then, I'm going to enjoy this ultra cool city enjoying its very fine weekend.
It may seems strange, but quite often I wake up in a mild panic because I have such a lengthy to do list, and today was one of those days.
1. Find a cheaper hotel room, check.
2. Get cash at ATM, check.
3. Take laundry to service shop, check.
4. Log on to hopefully high speed internet, check.
5. Update blog, check.
6. Check email, check.
7. Buy memory card for camera, check.
8. Arrange transport to Chichicastenango and back, check.
9. Go to supermarket, check.
10. Pick up laundry before the woman closes shop, check.
You get the picture.
I love getting all that stuff done by noon, so I can go out and do my 'real mission' which is the reconaissance of photo ops, then later walkby picture taking.
Check back again soon for a more detailed post about my photo mission in Central America. Until then, I'm going to enjoy this ultra cool city enjoying its very fine weekend.
Copan to La Antigua
Finding myself hardly in the mood Thursday morning for a six hour microbus trip I stayed in Copan another night, and I'm glad I did since my ticket to the ruins was also good for a secondary site further down the road, Las Sepulturas, which experts theorize may have been housing for the ancient Maya civilization's power elite.
Though smaller than the primary site, Las Sepulturas in its way is even more impressive. Almost completely shrouded in jungle growth along a couple dirt trails, these ruins capture the imagination in ways the more touristed main area doesn't. As I was busy snapping away with my camera, and filling my memory card in the process, it occurred to me that kids would love this place. In a setting out of an Indiana Jones flick, on ruins where one can easily climb to the top and be master of all one sees, children can fancy themselves warrior princes and princessess from another millenium.
The mosquitos, however, were vicious. Located on lower ground than the main site and close to the winding Copan River, swarms of them lie in wait for the instant you stop to take a photo. And these suckers can bite through denim! Experts remain puzzled about the reasons for the sudden decline of the Maya. Could the lowly mosquito have played a bit part?
Yesterday's bus ride was relatively easy and uneventful as I shared a micro with a British couple and a German woman. We had the whole van to ourselves, and apart from some Friday evening traffic snarls in Guatemala City, everything went smoothly and we were only half an hour late.
Antigua, yet another Central American capital, is a classic destination in these parts. Even though there are tons of tourists here and the prices are higher than elsewhere, I'm glad to be back for a return visit to swim in the town's lovely charms. Because this capital city had more staying power than other towns like Gracias, it's larger in area and has many more architectural marvels. If I can buy a new memory card I'll probably go hog wild with the camera here too.
The timing of my arrival here may be fortuitous as tomorrow, Sunday, is one of the market days of Chichicastenango, which is only a couple hours northwest of here. I'm looking into joining a $10 day tour so I can remain based in Antigua.
Though smaller than the primary site, Las Sepulturas in its way is even more impressive. Almost completely shrouded in jungle growth along a couple dirt trails, these ruins capture the imagination in ways the more touristed main area doesn't. As I was busy snapping away with my camera, and filling my memory card in the process, it occurred to me that kids would love this place. In a setting out of an Indiana Jones flick, on ruins where one can easily climb to the top and be master of all one sees, children can fancy themselves warrior princes and princessess from another millenium.
The mosquitos, however, were vicious. Located on lower ground than the main site and close to the winding Copan River, swarms of them lie in wait for the instant you stop to take a photo. And these suckers can bite through denim! Experts remain puzzled about the reasons for the sudden decline of the Maya. Could the lowly mosquito have played a bit part?
Yesterday's bus ride was relatively easy and uneventful as I shared a micro with a British couple and a German woman. We had the whole van to ourselves, and apart from some Friday evening traffic snarls in Guatemala City, everything went smoothly and we were only half an hour late.
Antigua, yet another Central American capital, is a classic destination in these parts. Even though there are tons of tourists here and the prices are higher than elsewhere, I'm glad to be back for a return visit to swim in the town's lovely charms. Because this capital city had more staying power than other towns like Gracias, it's larger in area and has many more architectural marvels. If I can buy a new memory card I'll probably go hog wild with the camera here too.
The timing of my arrival here may be fortuitous as tomorrow, Sunday, is one of the market days of Chichicastenango, which is only a couple hours northwest of here. I'm looking into joining a $10 day tour so I can remain based in Antigua.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Copan Ruinas and Beyond
Making up for yesterday's "lost" day, I grabbed a 7.30 bus this morning to La Entrada, the crossroads town in northwestern Honduras where I needed to catch a transfer to Copan Ruinas. I was checked into my hotel before noon and at the impressive Mayan archaeological site by 1.00 p.m.
This was my second trip to Copan following an August 2008 visit during which I had no camera. Today's visit was mainly for the purpose of getting photos--in that I can report I succeeded beyond expectations.
Click the following link for a very interesting website about Copan Ruinas:
http://www.honduras.net/copan/
Apart from the thrill of again seeing this amazingly well preserved site, I can report the oddity of traveling from one of the least touristed areas of Honduras--the Ruta de Lenca which I've just traversed from Perquin to Santa Rosa--to one of the top tourist destinations in Central America.
The village of Copan Ruinas, which I remember vaguely as a quiet, hot, dusty, and somewhat unkempt municipality now sparkles and shines vibrant with international restaurants, coffee shops and bars, a slew of hotels, and more tourists than I've seen anywhere apart from Granada, Nicaragua. These tourists are more affluent and of a wider age range than the college age backpackers I encountered in Nicaragua. The French seem particularly well represented here.
Readers of this blog have probably noticed that I'm not a huge fan of spending big bucks for the "touristy type" tours no matter where I go. Anything that costs more than $20 gets a long hard look before I decide to spend.
But the $15 admission charge to these 1600 year old ruins were definitely worth the splurge for me--even for a second time. From its Classic heyday circa 426-900 C.E. this important Mayan settlement was second only to the even more remarkable--and larger--ruins in Tikal, Guatemala.
Now that I'm only seven miles from the Guatemalan border, and a six hour microbus ride to Antigua, and since my return mission to Copan is basically complete, it's feasible for me to catch tomorrow's noon micro out of here and be in Antigua tomorrow night. From there the famous market town of Chichicastenago is only a couple hours away and Guatemala City's airport is only an hour or so. I will be very happy to have most of these arduous bus trips behind me.
A note about my photos: my readers understand, as I do, that a cutting edge 21st century blog needs photos along with other up-to-date bells and whistles. I appreciate my readers for their patience in bearing with me until I can return to the States, download the software, and upload some of my hundreds of photos. I hope to have an excellent slide show on this blog by August 1.
This was my second trip to Copan following an August 2008 visit during which I had no camera. Today's visit was mainly for the purpose of getting photos--in that I can report I succeeded beyond expectations.
Click the following link for a very interesting website about Copan Ruinas:
http://www.honduras.net/copan/
Apart from the thrill of again seeing this amazingly well preserved site, I can report the oddity of traveling from one of the least touristed areas of Honduras--the Ruta de Lenca which I've just traversed from Perquin to Santa Rosa--to one of the top tourist destinations in Central America.
The village of Copan Ruinas, which I remember vaguely as a quiet, hot, dusty, and somewhat unkempt municipality now sparkles and shines vibrant with international restaurants, coffee shops and bars, a slew of hotels, and more tourists than I've seen anywhere apart from Granada, Nicaragua. These tourists are more affluent and of a wider age range than the college age backpackers I encountered in Nicaragua. The French seem particularly well represented here.
Readers of this blog have probably noticed that I'm not a huge fan of spending big bucks for the "touristy type" tours no matter where I go. Anything that costs more than $20 gets a long hard look before I decide to spend.
But the $15 admission charge to these 1600 year old ruins were definitely worth the splurge for me--even for a second time. From its Classic heyday circa 426-900 C.E. this important Mayan settlement was second only to the even more remarkable--and larger--ruins in Tikal, Guatemala.
Now that I'm only seven miles from the Guatemalan border, and a six hour microbus ride to Antigua, and since my return mission to Copan is basically complete, it's feasible for me to catch tomorrow's noon micro out of here and be in Antigua tomorrow night. From there the famous market town of Chichicastenago is only a couple hours away and Guatemala City's airport is only an hour or so. I will be very happy to have most of these arduous bus trips behind me.
A note about my photos: my readers understand, as I do, that a cutting edge 21st century blog needs photos along with other up-to-date bells and whistles. I appreciate my readers for their patience in bearing with me until I can return to the States, download the software, and upload some of my hundreds of photos. I hope to have an excellent slide show on this blog by August 1.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Santa Rosa de Copan--Another Beautiful Colonial Town
For the first time in six weeks I've been "involuntarily" delayed by some kind of stomach bug which struck last night after my arrival in Santa Rosa and which is keeping me close to bed today. I've been able to get up at times to visit the restaurant of my hotel for drinks and fruit, and I'm confident I'll be ready to move on to Copan Ruinas tomorrow--a 3-4 hour trip from here.
Santa Rosa is another picturesque colonial town, population 29,000 (which makes it my biggest town since San Miguel, El Salvador), and is built on hills somewhat reminiscent of San Francisco. Since I've done nothing here but my usual late afternoon (yesterday) promenade near the parque central, I don't have much to report.
Being basically bed-ridden today gave me the opportunity to catch the Uruguay--Holland semifinal which I was glad to do since I missed just about all of the quarterfinals last week (is World Cup month truly over so soon?!).
I've been rooting for teams from the American hemisphere, so it was a blow to see Holland advance with a 3-2 victory over the South Americans. The Dutch busted out of a 1-1 tie with a header goal in the 73rd minute that seemed to have gobsmacked the Uruguayan goalkeeper so badly he remained frozen in place as the ball whizzed by his head. Not long after that the Dutch scored another to make it 3-1 and the Uruguayans couldn't do much more than an extra time consolation goal to bring it to 3-2.
Holland next will face the winner of tomorrow's Germany-Spain match for an all-European World Cup final.
Santa Rosa is another picturesque colonial town, population 29,000 (which makes it my biggest town since San Miguel, El Salvador), and is built on hills somewhat reminiscent of San Francisco. Since I've done nothing here but my usual late afternoon (yesterday) promenade near the parque central, I don't have much to report.
Being basically bed-ridden today gave me the opportunity to catch the Uruguay--Holland semifinal which I was glad to do since I missed just about all of the quarterfinals last week (is World Cup month truly over so soon?!).
I've been rooting for teams from the American hemisphere, so it was a blow to see Holland advance with a 3-2 victory over the South Americans. The Dutch busted out of a 1-1 tie with a header goal in the 73rd minute that seemed to have gobsmacked the Uruguayan goalkeeper so badly he remained frozen in place as the ball whizzed by his head. Not long after that the Dutch scored another to make it 3-1 and the Uruguayans couldn't do much more than an extra time consolation goal to bring it to 3-2.
Holland next will face the winner of tomorrow's Germany-Spain match for an all-European World Cup final.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Gracias a Dios! Another Highlight. . .
After two nights in Gracias I feel the pull of its magnetic charm sucking me into itself with the plea: stay here for at least another night! This place is making me want to stick around nearly as much as Leon captured me this year and Granada/San Juan del Sur did in 2009.
According to legend the founder of Gracias, a 16th century conquistador, struggled his way through the rugged country of the region looking for a suitable site to build a Central American capital city. When at last he stumbled upon this relatively level but small valley, he is said to have fallen to his knees crying: "Gracias a Dios! Finally some flat land!"
Its attributes were immediately apparent to me once I was checked into my room at the Guancascos. My room is on the top level of a multilevel edifice built into a high hill overlooking the entire town. The terrace outside my door therefore offers one of the most stunning private views in the area. Rocky forested hills surround us but in stark contrast to the typical hot and dusty towns of western Honduras, this place is enveloped in multiple hues of green foliage.
The hotel--maybe the finest in town--is owned and managed by an expatriate Dutch woman, Frony, who oversees a capable staff of locals who run the good restaurant (with excellent local coffee) and keep the place beautifully clean. At around $20 nightly, this place is one of the best values I've encountered on a six week journey of hotels which runs the complete gamut. I believe most of my readers will not blame me for feeling that another late afternoon with a cold drink on "my" terrace as the sun goes down, enjoying the beauty of this place, is definitely in the cards.
On the recommendation of Rachel, the intern I met in Marcala, I ate at the restaurant of the Posada de Don Juan where I ate a sopa de tortilla that absolutely was to die for. (A common regional dish, sopa de tortilla has a curry-type soup base with fresh cheese, avocado, and baked tortilla chips--like Doritos without the MSG.)
The town has the usual cathedral, in this case a small colonial structure, and a well-kept parque central plus a couple very good supermarkets as well as the usual bustling local markets and dusty bus terminals. Despite the obvious signs of poverty in some of the residents (my post yesterday was partly inspired by the unusually high number of beggars I've bumped into here) there are also unmistakable signs of prosperity, notably in the many young people. Perhaps this bodes well for the area's future.
A somewhat unusual feature of this beautiful little town is the 19th century castle which is perched even higher than my hotel and has absolutely stunning views for miles around. In the cool interior of the castle are informative placards in Spanish and English, one of which tells us that the local kids grow up playing here and "many fall in love here." This confirmed my initial impression that the site has all the best characteristics of a lovers' lane.
The foreigners one meets here are mostly young volunteers of various NGOs and of the Peace Corps which, in Honduras, has its largest delegation (of about 260) of any other country in the world. But here and there one can meet other backpacking tourists like me. It's well worth the effort it takes to get to this remote settlement--which maybe is yet another good reason for me not to push onward too quickly. Of course, the longer I stay here the more remote my chances of getting to Chichicastenango, at least this year.
I have eleven days to get to Guatemala City for my return flight home.
According to legend the founder of Gracias, a 16th century conquistador, struggled his way through the rugged country of the region looking for a suitable site to build a Central American capital city. When at last he stumbled upon this relatively level but small valley, he is said to have fallen to his knees crying: "Gracias a Dios! Finally some flat land!"
Its attributes were immediately apparent to me once I was checked into my room at the Guancascos. My room is on the top level of a multilevel edifice built into a high hill overlooking the entire town. The terrace outside my door therefore offers one of the most stunning private views in the area. Rocky forested hills surround us but in stark contrast to the typical hot and dusty towns of western Honduras, this place is enveloped in multiple hues of green foliage.
The hotel--maybe the finest in town--is owned and managed by an expatriate Dutch woman, Frony, who oversees a capable staff of locals who run the good restaurant (with excellent local coffee) and keep the place beautifully clean. At around $20 nightly, this place is one of the best values I've encountered on a six week journey of hotels which runs the complete gamut. I believe most of my readers will not blame me for feeling that another late afternoon with a cold drink on "my" terrace as the sun goes down, enjoying the beauty of this place, is definitely in the cards.
On the recommendation of Rachel, the intern I met in Marcala, I ate at the restaurant of the Posada de Don Juan where I ate a sopa de tortilla that absolutely was to die for. (A common regional dish, sopa de tortilla has a curry-type soup base with fresh cheese, avocado, and baked tortilla chips--like Doritos without the MSG.)
The town has the usual cathedral, in this case a small colonial structure, and a well-kept parque central plus a couple very good supermarkets as well as the usual bustling local markets and dusty bus terminals. Despite the obvious signs of poverty in some of the residents (my post yesterday was partly inspired by the unusually high number of beggars I've bumped into here) there are also unmistakable signs of prosperity, notably in the many young people. Perhaps this bodes well for the area's future.
A somewhat unusual feature of this beautiful little town is the 19th century castle which is perched even higher than my hotel and has absolutely stunning views for miles around. In the cool interior of the castle are informative placards in Spanish and English, one of which tells us that the local kids grow up playing here and "many fall in love here." This confirmed my initial impression that the site has all the best characteristics of a lovers' lane.
The foreigners one meets here are mostly young volunteers of various NGOs and of the Peace Corps which, in Honduras, has its largest delegation (of about 260) of any other country in the world. But here and there one can meet other backpacking tourists like me. It's well worth the effort it takes to get to this remote settlement--which maybe is yet another good reason for me not to push onward too quickly. Of course, the longer I stay here the more remote my chances of getting to Chichicastenango, at least this year.
I have eleven days to get to Guatemala City for my return flight home.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Doing A Small Part for the Local Economies
I'm "wealthy" around here which is why I have to be cautious and situationally aware. It's also why I have to spend money wisely--and hopefully in ways which help the people who most need it--without my going broke in the process.
I don't have a hard and fast rule against giving to beggars, though my default response is no. The thing is, despite the very real poverty you witness all over Central America, there aren't nearly as many beggars as one might expect. But there a few, and I find that they are mainly older people, men and women of middle age and older. When it comes to beggars I have a soft spot for elderly women because I know how hard women of all ages work around here--you see evidence of that everywhere you go--so if an old woman is begging I figure she's truly desperate.
With working age men, I usually say no, but if they can speak some English I will hear them out, then maybe offer a little help.
Far more common than beggars are the many people who haved carved an independent niche for themselves in the economy by peddling various items on the street or on buses or at bus terminals. Candies, drinks, fruit, various hot foods, and fresh snacks like roasted peanuts or carameled popcorn are among some of the edibles you will find being hawked by itinerant peddlers, these mostly by women. And watches, wallets, flashlights, CDs, and DVDs are also commonly sold--typically by men. If fresh snacks and fruit or bottled (more typically bagged) water is on offer, I will often go for it, because these items are always very cheap but great value.
My main contributions to the economy, of course, are for lodging, food, and transport (basically in that order). Some hotel owners are quite obviously wealthy, but there are many others who are running a mom and pop affair. For ordinary folks who have converted their old courtyard home into a guesthouse, the cash I and others bring to the table can be a real help. And in any given town I always try to eat at least once in an ordinary, modest, mom-type comedor because she's putting her kitchen to work for her family.
If I can find espresso coffee I will spend my money there. Sometimes these places are owned by foreigners, so I'm aware that I'm not directly helping the locals very much with my custom in that case. But foreigners always hire many locals as employees, and so I do my part by tipping them if the opportunity arises. I make liberal use of the tip jar, marked propina in Spanish, not by leaving a lot, but by always leaving something.
If I can't find an espresso shack then I'll look for the best 30 to 50 cent cafe con leche in the market. When I find a good one the seller will get a tiny extra boost that day because I will usually buy 3-4 of them--and the same number the next morning! By that time, the locals in the market "know" me fairly well. . .
In the bigger, more expensive restaurants I always tip my waitresses (it's usually young women at this job), and when the service is extra fine I sometimes even tip a little too much--maybe a dollar more than was necessary, not all that much for me, but helpful to her.
I also make a point of tipping the ladies who clean my hotel rooms--these women work very hard, and the evidence for that is in the fact that nearly every room I've rented, no matter how old or new, big or small, ramshackle or sleek, is always spotlessly clean. For these women I try to leave a certain amount per night's stay. Again, it's not a lot of cash for me but I know what I leave will help someone's family. And often I can hire that same woman to do my laundry--another little bit that helps her a little, while helping me a lot!
Often I'll round up taxi fares. I have found most taxi drivers to be really helpful and professional, despite the not-so-sparkling reputation they have worldwide, but in my experience I've rarely been "taken for a ride." So in Central America I don't over-haggle with the the driver, but tip a bit instead. It's well worth the extra few cents it costs me because in this economy another 5-10 lempiras (30 to 60 cents) can be stretched some way by the driver (he can stretch that 10 lempiras in ways which I simply can't). And let's face it: isn't that a whole lot better for me than getting ripped off?
If I've ever been overcharged or ripped off in Central America, I've concluded, it's nearly always my fault for neglecting to get the price up front, or because of some other carelessness on my part. When that happens, I shrug to myself and say, "That was a lesson well worth the cost!" because hopefully I won't make another expensive mistake like that again.
I don't have a hard and fast rule against giving to beggars, though my default response is no. The thing is, despite the very real poverty you witness all over Central America, there aren't nearly as many beggars as one might expect. But there a few, and I find that they are mainly older people, men and women of middle age and older. When it comes to beggars I have a soft spot for elderly women because I know how hard women of all ages work around here--you see evidence of that everywhere you go--so if an old woman is begging I figure she's truly desperate.
With working age men, I usually say no, but if they can speak some English I will hear them out, then maybe offer a little help.
Far more common than beggars are the many people who haved carved an independent niche for themselves in the economy by peddling various items on the street or on buses or at bus terminals. Candies, drinks, fruit, various hot foods, and fresh snacks like roasted peanuts or carameled popcorn are among some of the edibles you will find being hawked by itinerant peddlers, these mostly by women. And watches, wallets, flashlights, CDs, and DVDs are also commonly sold--typically by men. If fresh snacks and fruit or bottled (more typically bagged) water is on offer, I will often go for it, because these items are always very cheap but great value.
My main contributions to the economy, of course, are for lodging, food, and transport (basically in that order). Some hotel owners are quite obviously wealthy, but there are many others who are running a mom and pop affair. For ordinary folks who have converted their old courtyard home into a guesthouse, the cash I and others bring to the table can be a real help. And in any given town I always try to eat at least once in an ordinary, modest, mom-type comedor because she's putting her kitchen to work for her family.
If I can find espresso coffee I will spend my money there. Sometimes these places are owned by foreigners, so I'm aware that I'm not directly helping the locals very much with my custom in that case. But foreigners always hire many locals as employees, and so I do my part by tipping them if the opportunity arises. I make liberal use of the tip jar, marked propina in Spanish, not by leaving a lot, but by always leaving something.
If I can't find an espresso shack then I'll look for the best 30 to 50 cent cafe con leche in the market. When I find a good one the seller will get a tiny extra boost that day because I will usually buy 3-4 of them--and the same number the next morning! By that time, the locals in the market "know" me fairly well. . .
In the bigger, more expensive restaurants I always tip my waitresses (it's usually young women at this job), and when the service is extra fine I sometimes even tip a little too much--maybe a dollar more than was necessary, not all that much for me, but helpful to her.
I also make a point of tipping the ladies who clean my hotel rooms--these women work very hard, and the evidence for that is in the fact that nearly every room I've rented, no matter how old or new, big or small, ramshackle or sleek, is always spotlessly clean. For these women I try to leave a certain amount per night's stay. Again, it's not a lot of cash for me but I know what I leave will help someone's family. And often I can hire that same woman to do my laundry--another little bit that helps her a little, while helping me a lot!
Often I'll round up taxi fares. I have found most taxi drivers to be really helpful and professional, despite the not-so-sparkling reputation they have worldwide, but in my experience I've rarely been "taken for a ride." So in Central America I don't over-haggle with the the driver, but tip a bit instead. It's well worth the extra few cents it costs me because in this economy another 5-10 lempiras (30 to 60 cents) can be stretched some way by the driver (he can stretch that 10 lempiras in ways which I simply can't). And let's face it: isn't that a whole lot better for me than getting ripped off?
If I've ever been overcharged or ripped off in Central America, I've concluded, it's nearly always my fault for neglecting to get the price up front, or because of some other carelessness on my part. When that happens, I shrug to myself and say, "That was a lesson well worth the cost!" because hopefully I won't make another expensive mistake like that again.
Argentina & Brazil Sent Home By Germany & Holland
Frankly I was rooting for South American powerhouse teams Argentina and Brazil in their losing battles with European bigshots Germany and Holland, so it wasn't much fun to see both teams whipped by large margins this morning and yesterday.
However I wasn't really rooting for Argentina coach Diego Maradona,he of the notorious "hand of God" who scored a critical goal against England way back when that many said was a handball.
If memory serves me, Maradona also was sent home from the 1994 World Cup in disgrace after testing positive for cocaine. The press, then and now, seems to eat him up because he's always good for some juicy ridiculous comment.
Another player from 1994, Dunga of Brazil, is now his team's coach as well. As I recall he was certainly a lot less controversial than Maradona, serving brilliantly as goalie and captain of the team that year. And if I remember correctly Dunga was the "old man" of his team--in his thirties--and his World Cup appearances marked the end of his playing career.
However I wasn't really rooting for Argentina coach Diego Maradona,he of the notorious "hand of God" who scored a critical goal against England way back when that many said was a handball.
If memory serves me, Maradona also was sent home from the 1994 World Cup in disgrace after testing positive for cocaine. The press, then and now, seems to eat him up because he's always good for some juicy ridiculous comment.
Another player from 1994, Dunga of Brazil, is now his team's coach as well. As I recall he was certainly a lot less controversial than Maradona, serving brilliantly as goalie and captain of the team that year. And if I remember correctly Dunga was the "old man" of his team--in his thirties--and his World Cup appearances marked the end of his playing career.
Friday, July 2, 2010
In Gracias!
I had a pleasant surprise today when I found that the road from La Esperanza to Gracias is paved nearly all the way, cutting an anticipated four hour trip down to three. The 25 mile stretch from La Esperanza to the halfway point San Juan was so new that the painted lane markers couldn't have been more than a week old. For the locals this must make their lives a bit easier, at least for getting around more conveniently. And it occurred to me that with this new road, the area suddenly goes from being very underdeveloped, to having one of the best roads in all of Central America--a "first world" perk!
I'm realizing now that my Lonely Planet guide definitely needs an updated edition, at least for this part of Honduras, since their stated travel times around are no longer valid. And whereas three or four years ago, when my edition of LP's Central America on a Shoestring was published, there were no hotels in San Juan, today I counted three as we passed through.
How quickly things can change, even in a very impoverished place like western Honduras.
Gracias is a lovely town but much hotter than in La Esperanza. I'm staying at an excellent place, the Hotel Guancascos, which is perched on a hill overlooking the town and features a large terrace restaurant. I will stay here for at least two nights which will take me to Sunday July Fourth. I now have just a little less than two weeks--about 12 days--to get back to Guatemala City.
I'm realizing now that my Lonely Planet guide definitely needs an updated edition, at least for this part of Honduras, since their stated travel times around are no longer valid. And whereas three or four years ago, when my edition of LP's Central America on a Shoestring was published, there were no hotels in San Juan, today I counted three as we passed through.
How quickly things can change, even in a very impoverished place like western Honduras.
Gracias is a lovely town but much hotter than in La Esperanza. I'm staying at an excellent place, the Hotel Guancascos, which is perched on a hill overlooking the town and features a large terrace restaurant. I will stay here for at least two nights which will take me to Sunday July Fourth. I now have just a little less than two weeks--about 12 days--to get back to Guatemala City.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
La Esperanza
There were no rains today and the sun came out for first time in many days, so the bumpy road was relatively dry and hazard free all the way to La Esperanza. The Lonely Planet tells me that this town of 6000 is the "highest in Honduras" so I expect the weather to be chilly tonight.
Despite the fact that this town is smaller than Marcala, it seems to be more prosperous. Some of the streets are recently paved and there are a number of thriving markets here. And while there's a wider choice of ATMs, also there are many more hotels here than in Marcala. The reality of that fact seems to have driven the average room price down to around $12, which I will pay tonight.
Still there is a sense here of being almost completely outside the "civilized" world. On the Marcala-La Esperanza road there was nothing but high pine forest and a winding dirt road with almost no settlement between points. I had a bit of a secret thrill when I caught a ride in a micro with a woman driver--highly unusual in Central America. At the end of the journey I thanked and complimented her with my kindergarten Spanish: "Usted tienes el poder de mujer!" You have the power of woman! (for which I was rewarded with a hearty laugh).
Although I'll be comfortable here tonight, tomorrow's leg promises to be a bit wearing: it's four hours by bus to my next destination, the old colonial capital of Gracias. Between here and there is the town of San Juan which has no proper hotels, but my trusty LP says I can get a $4 per night homestay if I decide to stop.
Despite the fact that this town is smaller than Marcala, it seems to be more prosperous. Some of the streets are recently paved and there are a number of thriving markets here. And while there's a wider choice of ATMs, also there are many more hotels here than in Marcala. The reality of that fact seems to have driven the average room price down to around $12, which I will pay tonight.
Still there is a sense here of being almost completely outside the "civilized" world. On the Marcala-La Esperanza road there was nothing but high pine forest and a winding dirt road with almost no settlement between points. I had a bit of a secret thrill when I caught a ride in a micro with a woman driver--highly unusual in Central America. At the end of the journey I thanked and complimented her with my kindergarten Spanish: "Usted tienes el poder de mujer!" You have the power of woman! (for which I was rewarded with a hearty laugh).
Although I'll be comfortable here tonight, tomorrow's leg promises to be a bit wearing: it's four hours by bus to my next destination, the old colonial capital of Gracias. Between here and there is the town of San Juan which has no proper hotels, but my trusty LP says I can get a $4 per night homestay if I decide to stop.
The Road to Marcala, Honduras and Beyond
If I had known that the 25 mile trip to Marcala from Perquin was mostly dirt road I might have thought twice about attempting it. I knew beforhand that I was facing a three hour ride but what I didn't know was that three hours was the minimum I could expect.
With too late a start on Tuesday--about 3 p.m.--it took about an hour to reach the remote Honduran frontier post where the immigration office wasn't even open but a friendly Honduran policeman waved me through with a bus full of locals headed to the high and muddy villages on the opposite side.
During the notorious "football war" of 1969, El Salvador's stronger army seized this territory from the Hondurans. With the end of the civil war in 1992, the Hondurans took El Salvador to the World Court which ruled in favor of Honduras. El Salvador accepted this verdict but under protest, and therefore it doesn't maintain an immigration checkpoint here.
The people who live in this tiny slice of territory--mostly of the indigenous Lenca tribe--are technically Salvadoran who happen to live in Honduras. This political grey area also happens to be one of the most remote and impoverished of both countries.
By 4.30 I was dropped off with some locals as far as the bus could go on these steep muddy roads near the village of Sabanetas. From there, I was told, I could try to hitchhike the last treacherous 12 miles to Marcala. Or I could walk. There were no more buses that day.
Fortunately there was one "hostal " in a tiny settlement called Los Cipreses where I was able to get a bunk in a cabin with no electric but with outhouse amenities. All the other cabins were occupied by Honduran NGO workers.
The helpful people of the hostal hooked me up with the one gringo living in the area, a young Peace Corps volunteer by the name of "Frank." He is about nine months through his two year stint here, and as his Spanish is excellent he is a wealth of knowledge about the area. We chatted for about two hours.
It soon became clear that it is the rare tourist who passes through this stunningly beautiful region. (Frank said I was only the third stranded backpacker in Los Cipreses during his tenure thus far.) I spent a chilly, rainy night in my candlelit cabin.
The next morning, Wednesday, found me hiking with my gear up and down the kilometer or so to the Honduran army post where I was able to squeeze onto a micro for the 90 minute journey to Marcala, a town of about 11,000--by far the largest settlement around.
There is a surprisingly large number of foreigners here, but not of the tourist variety--yet it's not so surprising once the brain truly registers the immense scope of the poverty of the locals. The westerners one meets are very busy as aid workers for government and NGO alike (when I checked into my hotel I was asked "Who do you work for?").
Marcala has almost no paved streets at all which tells us, at the very least, that there are more pressing priorities on the very limited resources that are available.
Yet the town boasts a couple cyber shops and even a tiny cafe with an espresso machine which is where I met Rachel, a Wellesly College senior who is on a ten week internship doing research for a Yale-sponsored entity called Innovations for Poverty Action. She enthusiastically described her project studying the underground micro-finance economy of Honduras--basically she's researching loansharks and their customers--and comparing that data with the economy of legitimate micro-finance. With the knowledge gained by her excellent Spanish she was able to fill me in on the latest political situation including details of the coup in 2009 and events since then.
Transport from here to my next destination La Esperanza is also difficult and sporadic. If I cannot catch the 11.00 micro today I'll probably have to hitch a ride on a pickup, a common practice here. Usually the driver will charge the going rate, a dollar or so, same as the buses.
But there's certainly no turning back for me now. Thankfully, Marcala has an ATM so I was able to get stocked with lempiras, the local currency, enough to get me Gracias or hopefully Santa Rosa de Copan. It's only after that that I can hope for better, paved roads
With too late a start on Tuesday--about 3 p.m.--it took about an hour to reach the remote Honduran frontier post where the immigration office wasn't even open but a friendly Honduran policeman waved me through with a bus full of locals headed to the high and muddy villages on the opposite side.
During the notorious "football war" of 1969, El Salvador's stronger army seized this territory from the Hondurans. With the end of the civil war in 1992, the Hondurans took El Salvador to the World Court which ruled in favor of Honduras. El Salvador accepted this verdict but under protest, and therefore it doesn't maintain an immigration checkpoint here.
The people who live in this tiny slice of territory--mostly of the indigenous Lenca tribe--are technically Salvadoran who happen to live in Honduras. This political grey area also happens to be one of the most remote and impoverished of both countries.
By 4.30 I was dropped off with some locals as far as the bus could go on these steep muddy roads near the village of Sabanetas. From there, I was told, I could try to hitchhike the last treacherous 12 miles to Marcala. Or I could walk. There were no more buses that day.
Fortunately there was one "hostal " in a tiny settlement called Los Cipreses where I was able to get a bunk in a cabin with no electric but with outhouse amenities. All the other cabins were occupied by Honduran NGO workers.
The helpful people of the hostal hooked me up with the one gringo living in the area, a young Peace Corps volunteer by the name of "Frank." He is about nine months through his two year stint here, and as his Spanish is excellent he is a wealth of knowledge about the area. We chatted for about two hours.
It soon became clear that it is the rare tourist who passes through this stunningly beautiful region. (Frank said I was only the third stranded backpacker in Los Cipreses during his tenure thus far.) I spent a chilly, rainy night in my candlelit cabin.
The next morning, Wednesday, found me hiking with my gear up and down the kilometer or so to the Honduran army post where I was able to squeeze onto a micro for the 90 minute journey to Marcala, a town of about 11,000--by far the largest settlement around.
There is a surprisingly large number of foreigners here, but not of the tourist variety--yet it's not so surprising once the brain truly registers the immense scope of the poverty of the locals. The westerners one meets are very busy as aid workers for government and NGO alike (when I checked into my hotel I was asked "Who do you work for?").
Marcala has almost no paved streets at all which tells us, at the very least, that there are more pressing priorities on the very limited resources that are available.
Yet the town boasts a couple cyber shops and even a tiny cafe with an espresso machine which is where I met Rachel, a Wellesly College senior who is on a ten week internship doing research for a Yale-sponsored entity called Innovations for Poverty Action. She enthusiastically described her project studying the underground micro-finance economy of Honduras--basically she's researching loansharks and their customers--and comparing that data with the economy of legitimate micro-finance. With the knowledge gained by her excellent Spanish she was able to fill me in on the latest political situation including details of the coup in 2009 and events since then.
Transport from here to my next destination La Esperanza is also difficult and sporadic. If I cannot catch the 11.00 micro today I'll probably have to hitch a ride on a pickup, a common practice here. Usually the driver will charge the going rate, a dollar or so, same as the buses.
But there's certainly no turning back for me now. Thankfully, Marcala has an ATM so I was able to get stocked with lempiras, the local currency, enough to get me Gracias or hopefully Santa Rosa de Copan. It's only after that that I can hope for better, paved roads
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Revolution Museum and Guerrilla Camp Worth the Visit
Steady rain all yesterday kept me away from the village for much of the day, but by this morning it had stopped and left behind a thick foggy mist covering the surrounding mountains.
I caught a ride in the back of a pickup--the village is a steep quarter mile trudge up the hill from Perkin Lenca--and arrived at the Salvadoran Revolution Museum early.
Inside are photos, posters, news clippings and many artifacts from the rebels' side of the brutal conflict that ravaged the nation from the late 1970s until the early 1990s. A highlight for me was the various maps of the conflict including one that showed the extent of FMLN territorial control. Other maps included hand drawn ones of combat operations planned against government forces.
Artifacts include weapons, communications equipment, medical supplies, diaries and personal effects of fighters and their leaders. Though most of the accompanying explanatory texts are in Spanish, the visitor gets a good overall picture of the history of the war from about 1975 until a U.N. brokered peace was established in 1992.
Outside the museum are remnants of American made aircraft which crashed in the area or were shot down. Perquin was the center of a very large area of the department of Morazan which was under rebel control for much of the conflict, so it was also a major target for government air raids and bombings.
The guerrilla camp features much evidence of those raids including shrapnel stuck deep in trees, unexploded (deactivated) ordnance, and bomb craters. Like the Viet Cong before them, the FMLN fighters built tunnels to shelter them from those raids.
The rebel camp also had a display of the party's clandestine radio station Radio Venceremos and a photo of the captured vice minister of defense being interviewed by rebel journalists.
After a day or two up here the visitor gets a good sense of how and why the rebels were able to control this area for so long. This is high, remote, heavily forested country, and though the main road is now paved, everything off the main road is dirt (or mud, as it is now). Is it any wonder that a weak central government, unable to outright defeat the rebels, sought material assistance in the form of aircraft and airborne bombs from the Reagan administration?
Although there wasn't truly an FMLN "revolution" in El Salvador in the strictest sense, I think it's pretty amazing what did, in fact, take place. The FMLN and ARENA--the main government party--eventually came to an accomodation with each other, and since 1992 the FMLN has been an active participant in the political process here. To me that seems a fair outcome after a war which obviously couldn't be won by either side--even with American assistance for one of the parties.
I caught a ride in the back of a pickup--the village is a steep quarter mile trudge up the hill from Perkin Lenca--and arrived at the Salvadoran Revolution Museum early.
Inside are photos, posters, news clippings and many artifacts from the rebels' side of the brutal conflict that ravaged the nation from the late 1970s until the early 1990s. A highlight for me was the various maps of the conflict including one that showed the extent of FMLN territorial control. Other maps included hand drawn ones of combat operations planned against government forces.
Artifacts include weapons, communications equipment, medical supplies, diaries and personal effects of fighters and their leaders. Though most of the accompanying explanatory texts are in Spanish, the visitor gets a good overall picture of the history of the war from about 1975 until a U.N. brokered peace was established in 1992.
Outside the museum are remnants of American made aircraft which crashed in the area or were shot down. Perquin was the center of a very large area of the department of Morazan which was under rebel control for much of the conflict, so it was also a major target for government air raids and bombings.
The guerrilla camp features much evidence of those raids including shrapnel stuck deep in trees, unexploded (deactivated) ordnance, and bomb craters. Like the Viet Cong before them, the FMLN fighters built tunnels to shelter them from those raids.
The rebel camp also had a display of the party's clandestine radio station Radio Venceremos and a photo of the captured vice minister of defense being interviewed by rebel journalists.
After a day or two up here the visitor gets a good sense of how and why the rebels were able to control this area for so long. This is high, remote, heavily forested country, and though the main road is now paved, everything off the main road is dirt (or mud, as it is now). Is it any wonder that a weak central government, unable to outright defeat the rebels, sought material assistance in the form of aircraft and airborne bombs from the Reagan administration?
Although there wasn't truly an FMLN "revolution" in El Salvador in the strictest sense, I think it's pretty amazing what did, in fact, take place. The FMLN and ARENA--the main government party--eventually came to an accomodation with each other, and since 1992 the FMLN has been an active participant in the political process here. To me that seems a fair outcome after a war which obviously couldn't be won by either side--even with American assistance for one of the parties.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Why Not Travel With Fiddle in Central America?
Now that I've arrived in a place that's crying out for some good oldtime fiddle music, it seems the ideal time to address the issue of travel with musical instruments, or in my case, why I haven't traveled with my violin on these recent trips to Central America.
Since we were kids in a growing "Suzuki violin family" I had always traveled with my instrument, whether to Disney World or on other family road trips, but especially to Grandma and Grandpa's. Our parents felt it was important for us to play impromptu concerts for our relatives and friends, but we also had a fairly strict rule in our family: we had to practice every day, even on family vacations, as Shinich Suzuki always urged Suzuki families to do.
As a young adult my fiddle became both my "passport and bank account" as I used my musical skills to earn money for travel, eventually becoming a globetrotting busker in 1980s Western Europe and 1990s Southeast and Northeast Asia.
My instrument and the music I played weren't only a means of earning a living, but also served as a great way to meet people of all stripes--especially other musicans and other buskers who traveled along the same routes that I did. This was a great advantage to me in my globetrotting as well as in life in general. My fiddle has taken me inside many situations which never could have happened without the very fact that I was a working musician, and mostly outside my home element in the United States.
These are some of the reasons I have always traveled with my instrument. But now that I've become a teacher, it's been possible for me to join a world of the ordinary tourist. I think of it as a type of "accidental tourism," to qoute from the novel and movie of that title, because in doing so I felt way outside of my usual element.
When I first started traveling in Latin America in the late 1990s and early 2000s with a couple trips to Mexico, I continued to take my instrument along even if I didn't use it very much. Colonial cities such as Guanajuato or San Luis Potosi were made for the itinerant musician, but I didn't do any busking there, preferring instead to hear Mexican groups in the streets and plazas of those cities.
When I returned to Thailand for visits in 2005 and 2006 I continued to bring the instrument because many of my friends there are musicians and it was always possible to sit in and jam with them while they worked. And on my 2007 visit part of my purpose there was to record some 22 fiddle tunes which I did with a couple collaborators on guitar.
So why not travel with the instrument now? Really it comes down to a couple logistical issues, starting with post-9/11 hassles and airline baggage restrictions. For a time in the mid-2000s musicians all over America were complaining that the airlines were, in some cases, forcing them to check their instruments in the cargo hold. Though that era seems thankfully to have passed, more recently the airlines have become very strict about the size and number of carry on bags they allow, and they charge about $25 for each bag over that they require you to check in.
Secondly, my first two trips to Central America in 2008 and 2009 were only two weeks in length. Because of some uncertainty regarding the difficulties of bus travel in the region, and since I anticipated that I wouldn't use my instrument very much--if at all-- I decided then to leave the violin home and travel only with a small backpack and a day bag. This turned out to be the most convenient way to get around, but especially on the airlines and on some of the notorious "chicken" buses (they just keep packing them in like Colonel Sanders) in Guatemala, Nicaragua, and neighboring countries. I have to admit that questions of security also weighed heavily in my mind: would I lose my instrument to forgetfulness (a life-long nightmare of mine)? Even worse, would I lose it to theft? It didn't seem to be worth the risk for trips of such short duration. Yet I also must admit that I felt very strange traveling without my fiddle on those two occasions.
What about this trip now, which is seven weeks long? Well, I'm still dealing with the issues outlined above, but a major difference now is I'm taking a lot more time with this journey, so now the question has reasserted itself. And with my arrival in Perquin, it seems a shame that I won't be able to get to know the villagers and their children by offering up some fine impromptu fiddle music for their entertainment and enjoyment. Music has always been a cross cultural way to break the ice and form some connection with strangers. And that I'm not doing so on this trip is indeed a bit disconcerting for me.
This question certainly will pop up again whenever I decided to take more than a week or two in a given region. I would like to find a way to travel again with a backpack, a day bag, and an instrument, but for the moment I'm glad I don't have to worry about an expensive violin, and how I'm going to transport it safely on the next crowded, rattletrap of a bus I board.
Since we were kids in a growing "Suzuki violin family" I had always traveled with my instrument, whether to Disney World or on other family road trips, but especially to Grandma and Grandpa's. Our parents felt it was important for us to play impromptu concerts for our relatives and friends, but we also had a fairly strict rule in our family: we had to practice every day, even on family vacations, as Shinich Suzuki always urged Suzuki families to do.
As a young adult my fiddle became both my "passport and bank account" as I used my musical skills to earn money for travel, eventually becoming a globetrotting busker in 1980s Western Europe and 1990s Southeast and Northeast Asia.
My instrument and the music I played weren't only a means of earning a living, but also served as a great way to meet people of all stripes--especially other musicans and other buskers who traveled along the same routes that I did. This was a great advantage to me in my globetrotting as well as in life in general. My fiddle has taken me inside many situations which never could have happened without the very fact that I was a working musician, and mostly outside my home element in the United States.
These are some of the reasons I have always traveled with my instrument. But now that I've become a teacher, it's been possible for me to join a world of the ordinary tourist. I think of it as a type of "accidental tourism," to qoute from the novel and movie of that title, because in doing so I felt way outside of my usual element.
When I first started traveling in Latin America in the late 1990s and early 2000s with a couple trips to Mexico, I continued to take my instrument along even if I didn't use it very much. Colonial cities such as Guanajuato or San Luis Potosi were made for the itinerant musician, but I didn't do any busking there, preferring instead to hear Mexican groups in the streets and plazas of those cities.
When I returned to Thailand for visits in 2005 and 2006 I continued to bring the instrument because many of my friends there are musicians and it was always possible to sit in and jam with them while they worked. And on my 2007 visit part of my purpose there was to record some 22 fiddle tunes which I did with a couple collaborators on guitar.
So why not travel with the instrument now? Really it comes down to a couple logistical issues, starting with post-9/11 hassles and airline baggage restrictions. For a time in the mid-2000s musicians all over America were complaining that the airlines were, in some cases, forcing them to check their instruments in the cargo hold. Though that era seems thankfully to have passed, more recently the airlines have become very strict about the size and number of carry on bags they allow, and they charge about $25 for each bag over that they require you to check in.
Secondly, my first two trips to Central America in 2008 and 2009 were only two weeks in length. Because of some uncertainty regarding the difficulties of bus travel in the region, and since I anticipated that I wouldn't use my instrument very much--if at all-- I decided then to leave the violin home and travel only with a small backpack and a day bag. This turned out to be the most convenient way to get around, but especially on the airlines and on some of the notorious "chicken" buses (they just keep packing them in like Colonel Sanders) in Guatemala, Nicaragua, and neighboring countries. I have to admit that questions of security also weighed heavily in my mind: would I lose my instrument to forgetfulness (a life-long nightmare of mine)? Even worse, would I lose it to theft? It didn't seem to be worth the risk for trips of such short duration. Yet I also must admit that I felt very strange traveling without my fiddle on those two occasions.
What about this trip now, which is seven weeks long? Well, I'm still dealing with the issues outlined above, but a major difference now is I'm taking a lot more time with this journey, so now the question has reasserted itself. And with my arrival in Perquin, it seems a shame that I won't be able to get to know the villagers and their children by offering up some fine impromptu fiddle music for their entertainment and enjoyment. Music has always been a cross cultural way to break the ice and form some connection with strangers. And that I'm not doing so on this trip is indeed a bit disconcerting for me.
This question certainly will pop up again whenever I decided to take more than a week or two in a given region. I would like to find a way to travel again with a backpack, a day bag, and an instrument, but for the moment I'm glad I don't have to worry about an expensive violin, and how I'm going to transport it safely on the next crowded, rattletrap of a bus I board.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Day 35 in Perquin: Cool Remote Place Charms The Soul
Perquin strikes one immediately as very quiet (there's hardly any traffic noise apart from the bi-hourly bus); very beautiful! (we are high in the mountains here, and even as it threatens to rain, the calm, cool forest green surrounding the area is pleasing to the soul); and very remote (the 40 mile bus trip from San Miguel takes more than two and a half hours).
Here we are in FNLN country: communists! Perquin was their HQ during the civil war, and the rebel guerrillas controlled considerable ground in this region, with many sympathizers living in the area. As we drive up we see evidence of this on the walls of people's houses and businesses: the red of the FNLN serves as a backdrop to iconic portraits of Che Guevara and other leftist heroes.
I'm staying at Perkin Lenca, a fine hotel/restaurant built and owned by American aid worker Ronald Brenneman who made his name in the 1980s building housing for refugees made homeless by the conflict. I was skeptical when I heard that this place has hot water, but I can confirm it is true: today I had my first truly hot shower since I left the States. . .
Perquin village at first glance is extremely charming. In a sense, this is the most remote area I've visited on this trip--maybe the most remote place I've visited since I was in northern Laos in the 1990s.
By remote I mean it takes some time and effort to get here. We are in a mountainous border region of El Salvador which supposedly doesn't even have an immigration checkpoint with Honduras, just a few miles up the road.
By remote I also mean there are no chain supermarkets, fast food joints, or even banks here ( I visited the ATM in San Miguel today to make sure I'd have enough cash for the next few days). Yet there are a couple cyber shops, a handful of cellphone shops, and a couple dozen restaurants.
There is the usual church, albeit a very small one, and the parque central/municipal square. There also is the Museo de la Revolucion Salvadoreña.
But mostly there is a lot of peace and quiet along this so-called Ruta de Paz which runs from here to the Honduran border. Perhaps this route is a testament to the possibility of reconciliation between once deadly enemies who--even today--collaborate hopefully in government for the good of all Salvadoreans.
Here we are in FNLN country: communists! Perquin was their HQ during the civil war, and the rebel guerrillas controlled considerable ground in this region, with many sympathizers living in the area. As we drive up we see evidence of this on the walls of people's houses and businesses: the red of the FNLN serves as a backdrop to iconic portraits of Che Guevara and other leftist heroes.
I'm staying at Perkin Lenca, a fine hotel/restaurant built and owned by American aid worker Ronald Brenneman who made his name in the 1980s building housing for refugees made homeless by the conflict. I was skeptical when I heard that this place has hot water, but I can confirm it is true: today I had my first truly hot shower since I left the States. . .
Perquin village at first glance is extremely charming. In a sense, this is the most remote area I've visited on this trip--maybe the most remote place I've visited since I was in northern Laos in the 1990s.
By remote I mean it takes some time and effort to get here. We are in a mountainous border region of El Salvador which supposedly doesn't even have an immigration checkpoint with Honduras, just a few miles up the road.
By remote I also mean there are no chain supermarkets, fast food joints, or even banks here ( I visited the ATM in San Miguel today to make sure I'd have enough cash for the next few days). Yet there are a couple cyber shops, a handful of cellphone shops, and a couple dozen restaurants.
There is the usual church, albeit a very small one, and the parque central/municipal square. There also is the Museo de la Revolucion Salvadoreña.
But mostly there is a lot of peace and quiet along this so-called Ruta de Paz which runs from here to the Honduran border. Perhaps this route is a testament to the possibility of reconciliation between once deadly enemies who--even today--collaborate hopefully in government for the good of all Salvadoreans.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Unanticipated Honduras Leg Adds Excitement
We've had fairly steady rains for three days straight in northwestern Nicaragua, southern Honduras, and eastern El Salvador, but meanwhile I've managed to cover some miles the past two days, and I've fixed an itinerary for the coming week.
With the postponement of the Costa Rica leg, a new Honduran leg becomes feasible, even desirable. Apart from two recent transit trips through Choluteca and a brief visit to Copan Ruinas in 2008, this will be my first extended visit, so as always with a new place, I feel excited.
After a day or two in Perquin, to begin hopefully tomorrow, I can continue north on that road to Sabanetas at the Honduran border which will place me in western Honduras. The first big town on that road is Marcala.
Continuing further northwest will bring me to the the colonial town of Gracias, founded in the 16th century, another of the many Spanish capitals dotting Central America. The Lonely Planet tells me this region is seldom visited by the tourist, but that it's even more charming for that reason. This is relatively high country, surrounded by beautiful mountains and populated with friendly rural folk.
From Gracias the road winds up in Santa Rosa de Copan which-- the Lonely Planet warns--is still some hours from the famous Copan Ruinas, which is another primary destination for me. Though I visited this massive Mayan attraction two years ago, the archaeological site is so impressive and well preserved that I feel I should pass through again in order to get some photos.
From Copan Ruinas, the Guatemalan border is just ten minutes away, so I can cross back there, take a bus to Antigua, and hopefully have time to visit Chichicastenango before wrapping up this trip.
With the postponement of the Costa Rica leg, a new Honduran leg becomes feasible, even desirable. Apart from two recent transit trips through Choluteca and a brief visit to Copan Ruinas in 2008, this will be my first extended visit, so as always with a new place, I feel excited.
After a day or two in Perquin, to begin hopefully tomorrow, I can continue north on that road to Sabanetas at the Honduran border which will place me in western Honduras. The first big town on that road is Marcala.
Continuing further northwest will bring me to the the colonial town of Gracias, founded in the 16th century, another of the many Spanish capitals dotting Central America. The Lonely Planet tells me this region is seldom visited by the tourist, but that it's even more charming for that reason. This is relatively high country, surrounded by beautiful mountains and populated with friendly rural folk.
From Gracias the road winds up in Santa Rosa de Copan which-- the Lonely Planet warns--is still some hours from the famous Copan Ruinas, which is another primary destination for me. Though I visited this massive Mayan attraction two years ago, the archaeological site is so impressive and well preserved that I feel I should pass through again in order to get some photos.
From Copan Ruinas, the Guatemalan border is just ten minutes away, so I can cross back there, take a bus to Antigua, and hopefully have time to visit Chichicastenango before wrapping up this trip.
U.S Knocked Out of World Cup!
What a disappointment! Just as I'd checked into my room across the street from the San Miguel (El Salvador) bus station and turned the TV on for the U.S.-Ghana match, Ghana broke a 1-1 tie in overtime to knock out the Yanks in what must be a shocking disappointment for a team that certainly had higher hopes.
But even European powerhouses (and former champions) Italy and France were knocked out in this year's event in South Africa, so is it any wonder? The U.S. can take some comfort in the knowledge that it's never been a world class soccer power, but still it must hurt. I've heard that the U.S. teams improve a little bit at every World Cup.
I think this might be why it's such a popular sport: even relatively poor countries like Ghana and Slovakia can knock out the mighty rich countries while lowly Honduras can hold rich and powerful Switzerland to a scoreless draw.
But even European powerhouses (and former champions) Italy and France were knocked out in this year's event in South Africa, so is it any wonder? The U.S. can take some comfort in the knowledge that it's never been a world class soccer power, but still it must hurt. I've heard that the U.S. teams improve a little bit at every World Cup.
I think this might be why it's such a popular sport: even relatively poor countries like Ghana and Slovakia can knock out the mighty rich countries while lowly Honduras can hold rich and powerful Switzerland to a scoreless draw.
Friday, June 25, 2010
To Perquin Via Choluteca, or From the North?
My next decision is one of logisitics: should I return to El Salvador right away from the east and proceed to Perquin from there? Or should I travel by way of the Honduran capital Tegucigalpa and approach Perquin from the north?
The Lonely Planet warns that because of a border dispute with Honduras, El Salvador does not have an immigration checkpoint on the road to Perquin from the north. This may not be a problem for me since technically I'm still traveling on my initial 90 day stamp I received from the Guatemalans at the start of my journey.
But the Planet warns that if I exit from another El Salvador checkpoint, I could conceivably face the issue of having formally exited Honduras without formally entering El Salvador. Because of this potential uncertainty, I'm probably inclined to enter El Salvador from the east, just to be on the better-safe-than-sorry side of things.
On the other hand, since I've now postponed Costa Rica until late this summer, that gives me more time now to visit Honduras for a bit, which I'd really like to do. Though I'd prefer to skip Tegucigalpa, it might be worth my while to explore some of the area to the north of El Salvador.
My original intent had been to use Honduras as a transit point between destinations, but now that the option is open, it seems a shame to completely pass on by.
Thus I'll be busy with my guidebooks tonight to fix some alternate plans.
The Lonely Planet warns that because of a border dispute with Honduras, El Salvador does not have an immigration checkpoint on the road to Perquin from the north. This may not be a problem for me since technically I'm still traveling on my initial 90 day stamp I received from the Guatemalans at the start of my journey.
But the Planet warns that if I exit from another El Salvador checkpoint, I could conceivably face the issue of having formally exited Honduras without formally entering El Salvador. Because of this potential uncertainty, I'm probably inclined to enter El Salvador from the east, just to be on the better-safe-than-sorry side of things.
On the other hand, since I've now postponed Costa Rica until late this summer, that gives me more time now to visit Honduras for a bit, which I'd really like to do. Though I'd prefer to skip Tegucigalpa, it might be worth my while to explore some of the area to the north of El Salvador.
My original intent had been to use Honduras as a transit point between destinations, but now that the option is open, it seems a shame to completely pass on by.
Thus I'll be busy with my guidebooks tonight to fix some alternate plans.
In Choluteca Everyone Wears Honduran Blue
I'm writing from Choluteca, Honduras where I just watched perhaps the most exciting 0-0 draw ever between lowly Honduras, fighting for its life in the World Cup against European bigshots Switzerland. Today's prime time match comes after another hard-fought 0-0 contest between Portugal and Brazil this morning.
In Chinandega, Nicaragua where I saw the Brazil match, everything in town stopped while people gathered in the cafes to watch perennial favorites Brazil.
The Honduras match was just beginning as I crossed the border this afternoon. Though I don't know enough about the standings to report much here, I'm pretty sure that Honduras's valient effort today won't help it to gain a spot in the "knock out" round. But boy! The last 20 minutes or so, which I watched in the lobby of my hotel with some locals, was non-stop action, back and forth across the field, as both teams expended their utmost as if it was the most important match in the world.
Afterwards, when it was done, the players lying on the field collapsed in utter exhaustion, the quiet streets of this southern Honduran town filled with locals going about their business, many of them dressed in their team's blue jerseys.
In Chinandega, Nicaragua where I saw the Brazil match, everything in town stopped while people gathered in the cafes to watch perennial favorites Brazil.
The Honduras match was just beginning as I crossed the border this afternoon. Though I don't know enough about the standings to report much here, I'm pretty sure that Honduras's valient effort today won't help it to gain a spot in the "knock out" round. But boy! The last 20 minutes or so, which I watched in the lobby of my hotel with some locals, was non-stop action, back and forth across the field, as both teams expended their utmost as if it was the most important match in the world.
Afterwards, when it was done, the players lying on the field collapsed in utter exhaustion, the quiet streets of this southern Honduran town filled with locals going about their business, many of them dressed in their team's blue jerseys.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Return to Leon Via Managua and Via Via
After my encounter with Moses I cleared out of my hotel room. My timing was excellent as I headed back to parque central with my backpack because the Managua express was just leaving and I got one of its last seats. In Managua I transfered right away for a microbus to Leon. Unusually, this micro was airconditioned, so it was a nice cool ride.
As we approached the city I could see storm clouds coming in, and I wondered if I really wanted to continue as far as Chinandega. To put off the decision, I decided to take a taxi into the center for coffee. It was only 1.00 p.m. or so and I had plenty of time to continue my journey.
But in the city we passed a hotel that I'd noticed before, having walked past it many times. If I stay, I'll try this one, I thought, rather than go back to the "widower's" place.
That's how I found Via Via. Though I didn't choose it from my guidebooks, it turns out this place gets very high marks from the Lonely Planet.
I like it for a number of reasons. First, the bar and restaurant seemed very inviting. Second, I could tell the place was popular with a certain type of young, western traveler. Third, even though a bar was attached, the hotel was far enough away from that potentially raucous action, that it wouldn't matter to me. And fourth, the rooms were really nice, cozy and inviting, with high ceilings, a very clean bathroom, a large bed, and (I always like this rare touch) a reading lamp! The fan was in great shape, and the room was really big, too. I was immediately sold on it. Best of all, it cost only 350 cordobas.
So that's my plug for Via Via--a fine place to stay, especially if you're a traveler of a certain age, and want to meet others like you. As an added bonus, the restaurant/bar turns out to be popular with young locals, too. Remember Willy? He spotted me last night where he was seated at a table with a young woman (his Salvadoran girlfriend?). "Yo, man, whassup!" Believe it or not, it took me a moment to remember his name.
"Willy!" I finally said, as we shook hands.
Via Via has nice large maps on the wall of Nicaragua including a bumpy topographical one with the mountains rising out from and around the country's principal geographical features of the very large Lake Managua and the even bigger Lake Nicaragua. The walls of the place are full of other useful and not so useful information.
According to one notice, Via Via's clientele in 2008 consisted of the following:
Europeans 53.25%
Americans 19.29%
Canadians 10.41%
Asians 6.07%
Latin Americans 5.85%
Oceanians 4.84%
Africans 0.29%
Via Via has a book exchange with volumes in English, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, and Japanese.
I met a couple Quebecois Canadians, Max and Hugo, who were watching England beat Slovenia 1-0 this morning while the U.S. beat Algeria, also 1-0. Ghana managed to hold mighty Germany 0-0 until the 60th-something minute.
In Via Via's bar/restaurant and in the courtyard where the magnificent rooms are located, I hear the accents of other Americans (and possibly Anglo-Canadians), British, Scottish, and Europeans including Belgian and Scandinavian. This smorgasbord of young backpackers reminds me in a nostalgiac way of my younger days as a backpacker in Europe and Asia. What happens to our youth?! sigh. . .
As we approached the city I could see storm clouds coming in, and I wondered if I really wanted to continue as far as Chinandega. To put off the decision, I decided to take a taxi into the center for coffee. It was only 1.00 p.m. or so and I had plenty of time to continue my journey.
But in the city we passed a hotel that I'd noticed before, having walked past it many times. If I stay, I'll try this one, I thought, rather than go back to the "widower's" place.
That's how I found Via Via. Though I didn't choose it from my guidebooks, it turns out this place gets very high marks from the Lonely Planet.
I like it for a number of reasons. First, the bar and restaurant seemed very inviting. Second, I could tell the place was popular with a certain type of young, western traveler. Third, even though a bar was attached, the hotel was far enough away from that potentially raucous action, that it wouldn't matter to me. And fourth, the rooms were really nice, cozy and inviting, with high ceilings, a very clean bathroom, a large bed, and (I always like this rare touch) a reading lamp! The fan was in great shape, and the room was really big, too. I was immediately sold on it. Best of all, it cost only 350 cordobas.
So that's my plug for Via Via--a fine place to stay, especially if you're a traveler of a certain age, and want to meet others like you. As an added bonus, the restaurant/bar turns out to be popular with young locals, too. Remember Willy? He spotted me last night where he was seated at a table with a young woman (his Salvadoran girlfriend?). "Yo, man, whassup!" Believe it or not, it took me a moment to remember his name.
"Willy!" I finally said, as we shook hands.
Via Via has nice large maps on the wall of Nicaragua including a bumpy topographical one with the mountains rising out from and around the country's principal geographical features of the very large Lake Managua and the even bigger Lake Nicaragua. The walls of the place are full of other useful and not so useful information.
According to one notice, Via Via's clientele in 2008 consisted of the following:
Europeans 53.25%
Americans 19.29%
Canadians 10.41%
Asians 6.07%
Latin Americans 5.85%
Oceanians 4.84%
Africans 0.29%
Via Via has a book exchange with volumes in English, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, and Japanese.
I met a couple Quebecois Canadians, Max and Hugo, who were watching England beat Slovenia 1-0 this morning while the U.S. beat Algeria, also 1-0. Ghana managed to hold mighty Germany 0-0 until the 60th-something minute.
In Via Via's bar/restaurant and in the courtyard where the magnificent rooms are located, I hear the accents of other Americans (and possibly Anglo-Canadians), British, Scottish, and Europeans including Belgian and Scandinavian. This smorgasbord of young backpackers reminds me in a nostalgiac way of my younger days as a backpacker in Europe and Asia. What happens to our youth?! sigh. . .
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Helping Moses Stay In School
I was walking across the Granada's parque central late last Saturday afternoon when the kid caught my eye. Later what struck me was the pure desperation I glimpsed in his eyes.
"Hey, man, hello, how are you?" he said as he approached me. Thus began a short conversation of small talk with Moses, a 19 year old native Granadan. He was yet another of several young local men that I met over the weekend who have an excellent grasp of English from their interactions with tourists.
Granada is the main town that kicked off Nicaragua's recently successful experience with tourism, and it shows. There are so many hotel rooms that it's easy to find a decent one for less than $20. And there are plenty of "touristy" type amenities such as horse and carriage rides, and restaurants--some with "international" cuisine--that have inflated "tourist prices" to match.
Unfortunately, there are also some of the more unpleasant kinds of things you find in a tourist town, such as an unusually high number of beggars, hustlers and even drug dealers.
So I was already on my guard when Moses approached me. But he was catching me at a bad time, toward the end of a hot day, when I was on my way back to my room for a cold shower and a nap. And since I sensed he was about to pitch me for some dough, I quickly brought things to a close.
"Listen, it was nice to meet you, but I have to get going now, " I said as we shook hands. "Maybe I'll see you again here in the center." And I turned to leave.
Just as I turned onto the street of my hotel, I heard him calling me, half a block behind. This I really didn't appreciate--he had followed me for a block and a half--but I turned around to face him.
He began to tell me the story of how he is a student who goes to school everyday. "The school is free, and this is my last year, but I can't afford the cost of the notebooks. . ." I let him speak in this vein for another 30 seconds.
"Listen," I said, "I'm sorry but I cannot help you at the moment. Look for me again sometime later in the center, but right now I can't do anything for you."
This was true since I had only a little cash, not even enough for a coffee, on my person. But I was annoyed that he'd followed me almost to my hotel, and that just wouldn't do in my book. So he turned away in defeat, still with that look of hopelessness in his eyes, and we went our separate ways.
I didn't see him again on Sunday or Monday but this morning as I was having my coffee and watching the first half of the Uruguay-Mexico match, he spotted me and approached, "Hey man, how you doing?"
"I'm good, how are you?" I said as he joined me at my table. And he began to tell me his story, that he's a student in his last year of a five year "college" (but I think he meant high school), that most of his family lives in Costa Rica. "There is more work there, so my mother, my brother and my sisters live there to work. It's very hard to find a job here in Nicaragua."
He said his father died eight years ago in a car accident and his mother remarried "but my stepfather doesn't like me." In Granada he stays in the house of a friend's family "but they are very poor. Basically I'm alone here."
He wants to visit his mother in Alajuela, near Costa Rica's capital San Jose, but he doesn't have a passport. "I have no visa, either." His mission now is to graduate from school where he takes "all the subjects: history, geography, Spanish, mathematics, physics." He will graduate in November this year, then "when I have my diploma I can start to look for a job as a waiter or bartender or..."
"Tell me about the notebooks." So he explains that although school is free, he needs five notebooks, one for each class. "They are too expensive." He said he skipped school on Monday because he doesn't have anything in which to take his notes.
So I question him a bit. "When does your school year begin?" In January, he said. "So since January you go without notebooks?" No, but the ones he had are now full. "What about your teacher? Can he help?" The school is already free, he said. It's not his teacher's responsibility to come up with the notebooks. "What does your teacher say if you go to school but without the notebooks?" He says, Moses: where are your notebooks? How can you finish your schoolwork with no notebooks?
"How much do the notebooks cost?" About 110 cordobas for five notebooks at the market, a little more than five bucks. "That's a lot of money!" I say, and it's true, there's no doubt about it. It's about what we in America would pay for the same thing--maybe even more expensive than what we would pay.
"At the library," Moses said, "they are even more expensive, maybe 30 cordobas each."
Five bucks is a lot of money, I thought to myself, but if his story is true I should help him out. Five bucks is a lot, but not if it helps a kid to stay in school.
I finished my coffee and made a decision. "Okay, let's go to the market and buy you some notebooks."
So off we went. It's clear Moses isn't a street kid. He's clean but ragged around the edges. His jeans and t-shirt are a little bit old, maybe, but they are freshly laundered. Like me, he wears open leather sandals, but his are a few years old and worn, probably in need of repair. I'm sure it's not just notebooks that he needs.
We approached a woman's stall where thick notebooks were stacked up. Moses has been here before, and he knows exactly what he wants, but I'm not sure what he's asking the woman.
I ask her how much for a notebook. "Vente cinco." Twenty five. So that would be 125 for five, even more than what Moses had said.
But now Moses is picking up only three notebooks, and he seems to be asking the woman for some kind of discount. Since my Spanish is "pre-Twinkle," I'm kind of lost, but I've already made a decision, and I'll follow it through.
"One hundred five cordobas," says the woman, for the three notebooks Moses has in hand. I pay her and we leave. "Will this help you? Do you have enough pens?" I ask.
"This helps me very much, " he says. "Thank you for helping me with this. Yes, I have enough pens."
Was this some kind of "notebook scam"? Did he have an "arrangement" with the owner of the stall? Why did she tell me they cost 25 cordobas, but then charge me 30 cordobas more than the 75 total that three should have cost? The woman had been hesitant to name her price, and I had been in the dark with my limited Spanish.
But I had already made a decision, and I wasn't interested in any more details. I didn't feel that it was useful to pursue any more info from Moses if the cost of that info required either one of us to lose face.
Besides, when he turned my way to thank me, the look of pure gratitude on his face was enough to set my mind at ease.
We walked back to the center, and we parted ways with another handshake. "Thank you very much again for helping me with this."
"Buenas suerte, " I said to him, "Good luck in school, and maybe I'll see you again next year if I come back to Granada, and then you will have your diploma and your job."
"Good luck!" he said. "I hope to see you here again."
"Hey, man, hello, how are you?" he said as he approached me. Thus began a short conversation of small talk with Moses, a 19 year old native Granadan. He was yet another of several young local men that I met over the weekend who have an excellent grasp of English from their interactions with tourists.
Granada is the main town that kicked off Nicaragua's recently successful experience with tourism, and it shows. There are so many hotel rooms that it's easy to find a decent one for less than $20. And there are plenty of "touristy" type amenities such as horse and carriage rides, and restaurants--some with "international" cuisine--that have inflated "tourist prices" to match.
Unfortunately, there are also some of the more unpleasant kinds of things you find in a tourist town, such as an unusually high number of beggars, hustlers and even drug dealers.
So I was already on my guard when Moses approached me. But he was catching me at a bad time, toward the end of a hot day, when I was on my way back to my room for a cold shower and a nap. And since I sensed he was about to pitch me for some dough, I quickly brought things to a close.
"Listen, it was nice to meet you, but I have to get going now, " I said as we shook hands. "Maybe I'll see you again here in the center." And I turned to leave.
Just as I turned onto the street of my hotel, I heard him calling me, half a block behind. This I really didn't appreciate--he had followed me for a block and a half--but I turned around to face him.
He began to tell me the story of how he is a student who goes to school everyday. "The school is free, and this is my last year, but I can't afford the cost of the notebooks. . ." I let him speak in this vein for another 30 seconds.
"Listen," I said, "I'm sorry but I cannot help you at the moment. Look for me again sometime later in the center, but right now I can't do anything for you."
This was true since I had only a little cash, not even enough for a coffee, on my person. But I was annoyed that he'd followed me almost to my hotel, and that just wouldn't do in my book. So he turned away in defeat, still with that look of hopelessness in his eyes, and we went our separate ways.
I didn't see him again on Sunday or Monday but this morning as I was having my coffee and watching the first half of the Uruguay-Mexico match, he spotted me and approached, "Hey man, how you doing?"
"I'm good, how are you?" I said as he joined me at my table. And he began to tell me his story, that he's a student in his last year of a five year "college" (but I think he meant high school), that most of his family lives in Costa Rica. "There is more work there, so my mother, my brother and my sisters live there to work. It's very hard to find a job here in Nicaragua."
He said his father died eight years ago in a car accident and his mother remarried "but my stepfather doesn't like me." In Granada he stays in the house of a friend's family "but they are very poor. Basically I'm alone here."
He wants to visit his mother in Alajuela, near Costa Rica's capital San Jose, but he doesn't have a passport. "I have no visa, either." His mission now is to graduate from school where he takes "all the subjects: history, geography, Spanish, mathematics, physics." He will graduate in November this year, then "when I have my diploma I can start to look for a job as a waiter or bartender or..."
"Tell me about the notebooks." So he explains that although school is free, he needs five notebooks, one for each class. "They are too expensive." He said he skipped school on Monday because he doesn't have anything in which to take his notes.
So I question him a bit. "When does your school year begin?" In January, he said. "So since January you go without notebooks?" No, but the ones he had are now full. "What about your teacher? Can he help?" The school is already free, he said. It's not his teacher's responsibility to come up with the notebooks. "What does your teacher say if you go to school but without the notebooks?" He says, Moses: where are your notebooks? How can you finish your schoolwork with no notebooks?
"How much do the notebooks cost?" About 110 cordobas for five notebooks at the market, a little more than five bucks. "That's a lot of money!" I say, and it's true, there's no doubt about it. It's about what we in America would pay for the same thing--maybe even more expensive than what we would pay.
"At the library," Moses said, "they are even more expensive, maybe 30 cordobas each."
Five bucks is a lot of money, I thought to myself, but if his story is true I should help him out. Five bucks is a lot, but not if it helps a kid to stay in school.
I finished my coffee and made a decision. "Okay, let's go to the market and buy you some notebooks."
So off we went. It's clear Moses isn't a street kid. He's clean but ragged around the edges. His jeans and t-shirt are a little bit old, maybe, but they are freshly laundered. Like me, he wears open leather sandals, but his are a few years old and worn, probably in need of repair. I'm sure it's not just notebooks that he needs.
We approached a woman's stall where thick notebooks were stacked up. Moses has been here before, and he knows exactly what he wants, but I'm not sure what he's asking the woman.
I ask her how much for a notebook. "Vente cinco." Twenty five. So that would be 125 for five, even more than what Moses had said.
But now Moses is picking up only three notebooks, and he seems to be asking the woman for some kind of discount. Since my Spanish is "pre-Twinkle," I'm kind of lost, but I've already made a decision, and I'll follow it through.
"One hundred five cordobas," says the woman, for the three notebooks Moses has in hand. I pay her and we leave. "Will this help you? Do you have enough pens?" I ask.
"This helps me very much, " he says. "Thank you for helping me with this. Yes, I have enough pens."
Was this some kind of "notebook scam"? Did he have an "arrangement" with the owner of the stall? Why did she tell me they cost 25 cordobas, but then charge me 30 cordobas more than the 75 total that three should have cost? The woman had been hesitant to name her price, and I had been in the dark with my limited Spanish.
But I had already made a decision, and I wasn't interested in any more details. I didn't feel that it was useful to pursue any more info from Moses if the cost of that info required either one of us to lose face.
Besides, when he turned my way to thank me, the look of pure gratitude on his face was enough to set my mind at ease.
We walked back to the center, and we parted ways with another handshake. "Thank you very much again for helping me with this."
"Buenas suerte, " I said to him, "Good luck in school, and maybe I'll see you again next year if I come back to Granada, and then you will have your diploma and your job."
"Good luck!" he said. "I hope to see you here again."
Monday, June 21, 2010
Projected Itinerary Beyond Perquin
Following Perquin I may re-enter Honduras and travel by back roads to re-visit the Mayan ruins at Copan. This is worth another look for me because this time I will be able to take photos, unlike when I made the journey there in August 2008. Alternatively, I can reach Copan by traveling to the El Salvador/Guatemala border near Esquipulas then cross to Honduras from there.
At that point I anticipate traveling by microbus from Copan to La Antigua de Guatemala, a six hour trip which is the reverse of the one I did in 2008. From Antigua I can make connections to Chichicastenango and other towns further northwest.
That will pretty much wrap things up for me for this round of Central American travel. As of today I have just over three weeks to catch my flight back to the U.S.
At that point I anticipate traveling by microbus from Copan to La Antigua de Guatemala, a six hour trip which is the reverse of the one I did in 2008. From Antigua I can make connections to Chichicastenango and other towns further northwest.
That will pretty much wrap things up for me for this round of Central American travel. As of today I have just over three weeks to catch my flight back to the U.S.
TV's Survivor Being Filmed in San Juan del Sur
The current issue of the Nica/Tico Times also has a letter to the editor about the filming of the television hit Survivor at Nicaragua's surfing mecca of San Juan del Sur. I guess this means that pleasant little town has "arrived" on the world stage.
But when I read that I also more or less decided to give it a miss this time and start heading back north tomorrow.
I've had a relaxing few days in Granada, taking advantage of a surprisingly decent $12 room with a very nice local family; I've had a chance to enjoy several World Cup matches over the past few days;
I've got the Costa Rica/Tortuguero leg of my trip satisfactorily postponed; I have my laundry freshly done and packed; and I have a strong desire to get back to higher country and visit remote Perquin, El Salvador.
But when I read that I also more or less decided to give it a miss this time and start heading back north tomorrow.
I've had a relaxing few days in Granada, taking advantage of a surprisingly decent $12 room with a very nice local family; I've had a chance to enjoy several World Cup matches over the past few days;
I've got the Costa Rica/Tortuguero leg of my trip satisfactorily postponed; I have my laundry freshly done and packed; and I have a strong desire to get back to higher country and visit remote Perquin, El Salvador.
Report Says "Sandinistas Strive for One-Party System"
According to the most recent edition of the English language Nica Times of June 18, Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega told Cuba's state television during an April 2009 visit that "he envied the communist island's single-party political system and dislikes democracy because it 'brings about division.' "
"Multi-party systems are nothing more than a form of disintegrating a nation and dividing the people, " Ortega reportedly told the TV station.
This came as part of a report by Nica Times staff writer Tim Rogers which claims that Sandinista government officials are coopting members of the opposition Liberal Constitutional Party, including the mayor of Granada, with funding for municipal governments.
The mayor, Eugolio Mejia, has denied that his alliance with the Sandinistas is "political" but that the city of Granada needs money, and since "I have to ask whoever has the money...that's the central government."
The report further claimed that "in Ciudad Sandino. . .the Sandinistas used the police and a questionable city council ruling to stage a virtual coup against dissident mayor Roberto Somoza, a Sandinista who refused to toe the party line." The report did not provide further details of that incident.
Meanwhile, the outgoing Canadian ambassador to Costa Rica told the Tico Times that passport thefts are increasing with 124 reported thefts of Canadian passports in the first three months of 2010, about a 20% increase over last year.
Tico Times staff writer Mike McDonald also wrote that "the U.S. Embassy in Costa Rica replaces more lost or stolen passports than any other U.S. Embassy in the world." The embassy reportedly processed 1569 such cases in 2009.
"Multi-party systems are nothing more than a form of disintegrating a nation and dividing the people, " Ortega reportedly told the TV station.
This came as part of a report by Nica Times staff writer Tim Rogers which claims that Sandinista government officials are coopting members of the opposition Liberal Constitutional Party, including the mayor of Granada, with funding for municipal governments.
The mayor, Eugolio Mejia, has denied that his alliance with the Sandinistas is "political" but that the city of Granada needs money, and since "I have to ask whoever has the money...that's the central government."
The report further claimed that "in Ciudad Sandino. . .the Sandinistas used the police and a questionable city council ruling to stage a virtual coup against dissident mayor Roberto Somoza, a Sandinista who refused to toe the party line." The report did not provide further details of that incident.
Meanwhile, the outgoing Canadian ambassador to Costa Rica told the Tico Times that passport thefts are increasing with 124 reported thefts of Canadian passports in the first three months of 2010, about a 20% increase over last year.
Tico Times staff writer Mike McDonald also wrote that "the U.S. Embassy in Costa Rica replaces more lost or stolen passports than any other U.S. Embassy in the world." The embassy reportedly processed 1569 such cases in 2009.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
World Cup Fever
Nicaragua's national pasttime is baseball, but like most of the rest of the world they're crazy about futbol, too. With daily matches in South Africa at around 5.00 a.m., 8.00 a.m. and 1.00 p.m., I find myself getting into World Cup fever like everyone else.
The last time I was in a country that cared about the World Cup (yes, this is a barely veiled criticism of Americans who see "soccer" as a kids' game that otherwise is reeally booring on TV) was in 1994, the year the U.S. hosted the event for the first time.
I was in my fourth year of "exile" in Thailand, at that time living in Bangkok and in a work situation that was making me increasingly unhappy. Therefore, I welcomed the distraction of the month-long tournament, and I felt more than just a little pride that my country turned out to be such a fine host. (The U.S. team didn't do too badly, either, as I recall, making the semi-finals.)
So I'd head out to the bars and cafes in my neighborhood to watch the matches with other fans, Thais and Westerners alike. Only problem was these matches were on Thai TV at 2.00 a.m. until 7.00 or 9.00 a.m. daily. Everyone in Thailand, indeed everyone across East Asia, was going sleep-deprived.
But it was that month that I discovered World Cup football isn't always as boring as some of us say. Yes, sometimes on TV it's just a wide shot of 22 guys kicking a tiny ball around that you can barely see. And yes, a 0-0 draw usually ain't much of a game.
But once you get your mind set fixed on what's happening, you begin to see how exciting it can be at times, even when it's 1-1 at the half and no sign of either team pulling ahead.
If you don't believe me, I suggest patience, my friend! Crack open another beer, enjoy the fact that they don't interrupt this 45 minute half with commericals, and wait for the next score. Then check out the slow motion replays. If you don't get hooked on what these amazing athletes are doing by watching all the angles of every score, then I'll eat my hat.
I watched a couple 1-1 draws this morning and yesterday. If I don't have any skin in the game, I´ll root for the underdog. Yesterday the underdog was Ghana matched up with Australia. While Ghana is having an excellent year, winning its first match against Serbia, and Australia was expected to be very strong, the Aussies have been struggling with their game while one of their best players was suspended with a red card in the 24th minute. They barely managed to hold Ghana to the draw.
Then today Italy was the powerhouse vs lowly New Zealand. It was thrilling to see the New Zealanders take the early lead, but the best they could do by the 90th minute was hold tight to that 1-1 "lead." Italy has won 44 World Cup matches while New Zealand has won none.
Meanwhile "underdog" United States managed to hold former World Cup champs England to a 1-1 draw in their first match. Go U.S.A.!
Perhaps many Central Americans will show their support for Honduras, which is the only representative from the region, and which lost its first match against Chile. Tomorrow the Hondurans face Spain.
Even if I go for the underdog, I gotta admit it was fun to watch Brazil kick some North Korean butt 2-1 last week. Today the bigshot Brazilians are in the prime time 1.00 p.m. match against Ivory Coast. Don't miss it 'cause the Brazilian fans put on a great show, too!
The last time I was in a country that cared about the World Cup (yes, this is a barely veiled criticism of Americans who see "soccer" as a kids' game that otherwise is reeally booring on TV) was in 1994, the year the U.S. hosted the event for the first time.
I was in my fourth year of "exile" in Thailand, at that time living in Bangkok and in a work situation that was making me increasingly unhappy. Therefore, I welcomed the distraction of the month-long tournament, and I felt more than just a little pride that my country turned out to be such a fine host. (The U.S. team didn't do too badly, either, as I recall, making the semi-finals.)
So I'd head out to the bars and cafes in my neighborhood to watch the matches with other fans, Thais and Westerners alike. Only problem was these matches were on Thai TV at 2.00 a.m. until 7.00 or 9.00 a.m. daily. Everyone in Thailand, indeed everyone across East Asia, was going sleep-deprived.
But it was that month that I discovered World Cup football isn't always as boring as some of us say. Yes, sometimes on TV it's just a wide shot of 22 guys kicking a tiny ball around that you can barely see. And yes, a 0-0 draw usually ain't much of a game.
But once you get your mind set fixed on what's happening, you begin to see how exciting it can be at times, even when it's 1-1 at the half and no sign of either team pulling ahead.
If you don't believe me, I suggest patience, my friend! Crack open another beer, enjoy the fact that they don't interrupt this 45 minute half with commericals, and wait for the next score. Then check out the slow motion replays. If you don't get hooked on what these amazing athletes are doing by watching all the angles of every score, then I'll eat my hat.
I watched a couple 1-1 draws this morning and yesterday. If I don't have any skin in the game, I´ll root for the underdog. Yesterday the underdog was Ghana matched up with Australia. While Ghana is having an excellent year, winning its first match against Serbia, and Australia was expected to be very strong, the Aussies have been struggling with their game while one of their best players was suspended with a red card in the 24th minute. They barely managed to hold Ghana to the draw.
Then today Italy was the powerhouse vs lowly New Zealand. It was thrilling to see the New Zealanders take the early lead, but the best they could do by the 90th minute was hold tight to that 1-1 "lead." Italy has won 44 World Cup matches while New Zealand has won none.
Meanwhile "underdog" United States managed to hold former World Cup champs England to a 1-1 draw in their first match. Go U.S.A.!
Perhaps many Central Americans will show their support for Honduras, which is the only representative from the region, and which lost its first match against Chile. Tomorrow the Hondurans face Spain.
Even if I go for the underdog, I gotta admit it was fun to watch Brazil kick some North Korean butt 2-1 last week. Today the bigshot Brazilians are in the prime time 1.00 p.m. match against Ivory Coast. Don't miss it 'cause the Brazilian fans put on a great show, too!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Escape From Las Peñitas
Perhaps I overstayed my welcome in Las Peñitas, but my last day and evening there weren't so fine for my privileged and pampered norteamericano posterior.
I still don't know if the electric company was busy doing repairs, as someone informed me, or if the incident was part of a "routine" rolling blackout, but at around 3.00 p.m. Thursday the power went out in the entire village, just as I was returning to my airconditioned room for a nap and some much needed refuge from a very hot day.
By 6.00 p.m. I started to worry a bit because dusk was fast approaching with its attendant swarms of nasty mosquitos, but my informant assured me that the power would be on "by 7.00." How did she know this? "We called them and they said they were doing repairs" but that the power would soon return.
Before the black of night descended completely I took a walk around only to discover that everyone else was suffering from the mosquitos as much as I, but further down the road a couple places had gasoline operated generators. One of these places was the $50 hotel I mentioned several posts ago, the Suyapa Beach, which had mysteriously doubled its rates from Lonely Planet's last edition of 2-3 years ago.
I was torn about bailing from my $30 room at Barca de Oro and moving to a place that I felt barely justified the cost, so I walked back to my place to wait for 7.00. And then I waited til 8.00.
By then, the Barca de Oro had provided a few candles but not much else. Apparently there was only one flashlight in the house for use by the staff who were still doing okay business with their excellent restaurant. I felt kind of sorry for them because they seemed a little embarrassed, but under the circumstances I was feeling a bit more sorry for myself! I couldn't even take a shower by then because there was no way to see anything in the bathroom. (I was their only guest in the hotel side of the business.)
Finally I headed back to the Suyapa Beach to see if they had a room. It turns out they had one room left, with no TV, but at least it was airconditioned and I'd be able to get a shower. Why was the hotel full that night? Because it was hosting a private party, either a wedding or a birthday, complete with loud disco music for everyone's enjoyment! The music continued, to my relief, only til 12.30 a.m. And by then, though I'm not 100% certain, I believe the electricity finally returned to the rest of the village.
There was a time not too long ago when I would've ridden out such a "crisis" and "gone with the flow" and suffered whatever it took to get through the night. But there also was a time, not so long ago, when I stayed in dorms when traveling, or crashed on people's couches, or didn't own a car or a bank account or even a credit card.
These days are a little different from the past: let's just say that I won't stay in dorms anymore because I can afford more comfortable alternatives. And owning a credit card is definitely convenient whenever such an "emergency" disrupts the best laid plans. . .
I still don't know if the electric company was busy doing repairs, as someone informed me, or if the incident was part of a "routine" rolling blackout, but at around 3.00 p.m. Thursday the power went out in the entire village, just as I was returning to my airconditioned room for a nap and some much needed refuge from a very hot day.
By 6.00 p.m. I started to worry a bit because dusk was fast approaching with its attendant swarms of nasty mosquitos, but my informant assured me that the power would be on "by 7.00." How did she know this? "We called them and they said they were doing repairs" but that the power would soon return.
Before the black of night descended completely I took a walk around only to discover that everyone else was suffering from the mosquitos as much as I, but further down the road a couple places had gasoline operated generators. One of these places was the $50 hotel I mentioned several posts ago, the Suyapa Beach, which had mysteriously doubled its rates from Lonely Planet's last edition of 2-3 years ago.
I was torn about bailing from my $30 room at Barca de Oro and moving to a place that I felt barely justified the cost, so I walked back to my place to wait for 7.00. And then I waited til 8.00.
By then, the Barca de Oro had provided a few candles but not much else. Apparently there was only one flashlight in the house for use by the staff who were still doing okay business with their excellent restaurant. I felt kind of sorry for them because they seemed a little embarrassed, but under the circumstances I was feeling a bit more sorry for myself! I couldn't even take a shower by then because there was no way to see anything in the bathroom. (I was their only guest in the hotel side of the business.)
Finally I headed back to the Suyapa Beach to see if they had a room. It turns out they had one room left, with no TV, but at least it was airconditioned and I'd be able to get a shower. Why was the hotel full that night? Because it was hosting a private party, either a wedding or a birthday, complete with loud disco music for everyone's enjoyment! The music continued, to my relief, only til 12.30 a.m. And by then, though I'm not 100% certain, I believe the electricity finally returned to the rest of the village.
There was a time not too long ago when I would've ridden out such a "crisis" and "gone with the flow" and suffered whatever it took to get through the night. But there also was a time, not so long ago, when I stayed in dorms when traveling, or crashed on people's couches, or didn't own a car or a bank account or even a credit card.
These days are a little different from the past: let's just say that I won't stay in dorms anymore because I can afford more comfortable alternatives. And owning a credit card is definitely convenient whenever such an "emergency" disrupts the best laid plans. . .
Sometimes Microbus Is The Way To Go
My "escape" from Las Peñitas yesterday was fairly easy and relatively painless as I journeyed by bus first to Leon and then by "microbus" (minivan) to the Nicaraguan capital city of Managua.
I find that this is a good way to go if the leg isn't longer than 2-3 hours. It costs just a little more--maybe 40 cordobas ($2) instead of 20 cordobas--but it's well worth it since once they fill the van, they make good time to the destination.
In the case of my itinerary yesterday, to Managua and Granada, there was added convenience in the fact that I didn't have to change bus terminals, as one often has to do in the big cities.
So within minutes of my arrival in Managua, I was in another micro to Granada. My total travel time yesterday was in the neighborhood of four hours which included lunch and a long coffee break in Leon.
As soon as I was set up in a small family guesthouse in Granada, the skies over the big lake opened up with heavy rains, so my timing was excellent. . .
Check out the link I've posted to the upper right from an About.com article on Granada, the granddaddy of Nicaraguan tourism.
I find that this is a good way to go if the leg isn't longer than 2-3 hours. It costs just a little more--maybe 40 cordobas ($2) instead of 20 cordobas--but it's well worth it since once they fill the van, they make good time to the destination.
In the case of my itinerary yesterday, to Managua and Granada, there was added convenience in the fact that I didn't have to change bus terminals, as one often has to do in the big cities.
So within minutes of my arrival in Managua, I was in another micro to Granada. My total travel time yesterday was in the neighborhood of four hours which included lunch and a long coffee break in Leon.
As soon as I was set up in a small family guesthouse in Granada, the skies over the big lake opened up with heavy rains, so my timing was excellent. . .
Check out the link I've posted to the upper right from an About.com article on Granada, the granddaddy of Nicaraguan tourism.
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