While we're out ...

Sand Salt Stone and Scenery

2009-06-23T21:14:00.014+01:00

One more wonderful overnight bus journey sees us arrive at San Pedro de Atacama at 7.30 am. One of the benefits of arriving so early in the morning is that you awake to see the landscape emerge out of the dawn. I think that I had always thought of deserts of being big sandy things - but this one is more a massive expanse of shale that has been ground down by who knows what forces. This is the only benefit of arriving in a new town so early as it very cold and it seems as if any place for a cup of coffee is shut down until doomsday.

San Pedro isn’t that high up, only about 2500m, but it is between 2 main mountain ranges that rise to over 4000m. It almost never rains here, but it does manage to get some water from the snow melt and underground springs off the mountains. So, from time to time you come across some wonderful small oases or patches of very fertile valleys.

But most of the time it is very desolate.

The main town is a delightful grid of very traditional adobe houses. Some of them are whitewashed, whilst others are the colour of the natural clay that they use from the ground. The outside of the houses tend to be very stark on the outside - almost forbidding - but give on to wonderful courtyards. Once again there is no heating in any of the buildings other than fires that are lit at night.

During the day it is beautifully sunny and quite warm so long as you stay in direct sunlight. Indeed, you even have to be careful not to burn. Both Brett and I are managing to get back a bit of the tans that have become less and less obvious the further South and into the winter we go! But it is absolutely freezing at night and we are VERY grateful for the fact that our B&B has electric blankets on the beds.

We are only here for a couple of days so we press on and arrange to join a couple of tours into the desert and up into the mountains. I really want to go to see the geysers, but as this is a dawn outing Brett declines to accompany me (which is just as well as it turns out).

Our first trip takes us out for the day to visit the salt flats in the valley. In the way back whens, the tectonic plates shifted and pushed up the two mountain ranges with a valley in the middle. The sediment and water that settled in the valley soon evaporated in the unrelenting sunshine and left a salt flat 100km x 80km in the middle of the desert.

Salar de Atacama (Salt lake)

The only things that manage to survive on the flats are 3 species of flamingo (which makes it a flamingo nature reserve), a couple of rodents and a few micro-organisms that they all eat. It was fascinating to walk across the flat and to see the thick layer of salt that is there. There are a few mining companies that take borax, lithium and potassium out of the salt; but in the main it is left for the tourists to appreciate.

Away from the salt flats there is a bit more life to be seen and we pass llamas, vicunas, different birds and there are some Alpaca lurking but we didn’t see them.

We meander higher into the mountain until we reach a couple of lakes that are amongst the highest in Chile. The air is so clear and the colours and perspectives are so breathtaking that my camera doesn't even begin to do it justice.

It's not frozen yet - but it soon will be.

At this height the snow never completely melts. This snow is still left over from last year's snowfall as it hasn't snowed here yet this winter.

Not quite the top of the world - but it sure feels like it.

As we are now over 4500 metres from sea level we notice the lack of oxygen in the air and even a short walk takes an inordinate amount of energy. It is amazing that people live a this altitude - but they do.

Some even manage away from the villages.

Farming at 3000m+.

Room with a view?

In fairness, there aren’t many villages and the populations are quite small, but they are thriving communities in their way, although it is difficult to see how they make a living. There is some land that has been organized for agriculture, but the landscape doesn’t lend itself to mass production. The llamas and alpacas provide wool, milk and meat as well; so in the main life here harks back to earlier times.

The next day I leave Brett snoring gently at 3.50am while I lurk on the street waiting for a minibus to pick me up for a dawn trip to the geysers at Tatio; apparently, they blow best at dawn. Which is a pity because they are 98km away and this means a 2 hour trip in the bus starting at 4.00am. Although it is cold when I get up, this is nothing to how cold it gets as we once more climb over 4000m. The bus trip is a dark, shaky, noisy and uncomfortable experience that Brett would have found unbearable. The only reason that anyone does it is to be able to see the Geysers, and even so I get close to wondering if it is really worth it!

However, arriving at Tatio just as dawn breaks is amazing. Located in the crater of an inactive volcano, there are little jets of steam that get bigger as the sun rises, and you can hear the geysers begin to bubble louder and louder until they start to steam and run over the ground - melting the ice that has frozen overnight. The limescale that has accumulated over so many years as the geysers erupt makes little mini volcanoes everywhere and the limescale patterns in the rising sun are quite beautiful. The guide tells us that they are just about to turn this area into a thermo-power station. I suspect that the gain of power will more than compensate for the loss of this tourist attraction because at the moment locals are very dependent on a very limited and inconsistent supply of electricity. Having something more reliable and local should help their future development no end. (They might even have enough energy to put some heating in their homes at last!)

Just beginning to steam before the dawn.

Soon they are in full blow.

Once the sun is fully up they settle down again.

Beautiful limescale patterns.

Anyone for a nice volcanic mud pack?

Once the sun comes up it is just about warm enough to strip down to swimming costumes and jump into the thermal pool that is fed by the same source as the geysers. It is a very strange sensation swimming about in a pool as little jets of boiling hot water bubble up from the bottom. If you aren’t careful and your feet happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time then it can be quite uncomfortable; although not as dicey as having to get out of the water to get dressed as the temperature only just begins to hit 0 degrees.

At around 9am we head back down the mountain. This time it is daylight so now I can at least see how bad the road is that we are driving down. I use the word ‘road’ very loosely as it is really only a dirt mountain track! Our driver is very good at pointing out various bits of wildlife so I can see some more llamas, birds and the funniest little rabbits that you can imagine - because they eat the cacti that are the only things that grow at this height they are GREEN. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.

Notice the green hue?

Wild llamas.

Ice-walking birds.

One more village at 4000m+ is very traditional. With the houses all made from local stones and straw roofs. I suspect that they are not equipped with many of today's mod cons.

4000m+
Tourists come through this pueblo every day so I wonder if this helps them to be viable? There doesn't seem to be much else keeping to keep them going.

Even at this height the church takes pride of place.

The bus that made it up the hill one last time.

Gathering water from the mountain stream.

We get back to the town at midday and Brett is just about awake enough to enjoy my tale of the morning and to appreciate the fact that he didn’t come along for the ride.

The afternoon sees us join another trip that takes us into the Valley of Death and Moon Valley! I never really did understand why the first bit was called the valley of Death because it was really just a very, very desolate valley that was a bit of a cheat really as it had been man-made by some bloke who needed a road into his mining works. It was amazing to be able to see the layers underneath the rocks that are all around - and there were a couple of great dunes in the middle of it. I am sure that it wouldn’t be the cleverest thing to get stuck there in the middle of a summer day - but Death Valley felt like an overstatement.

Moon Valley is so called as the landscape is supposed to be as desolate as it is on the moon. I haven’t been to the moon (maybe for our next trip) but it could be pretty close to it. There is a lot of quartz here and, if you stand quietly enough as the sun goes down and the temperature changes, you can hear it crack.

I have never been to the such a place before - it is truly breathtaking most of the time.

Despite this we feel that it is time to move on from Chile and decide to make a break for the border tomorrow. We take the shorter bus ride to the closest town, Calama, in the hope of being able to take a day bus to the border. Unfortunately, there aren’t any buses leaving until the evening and so we have an 8 hour wait in one of the sorriest looking towns you have ever seen. It is predominantly a mining town, so there is some money here, but it is very shabby and could almost be Bedminster; only in the desert and 4 times as big which prompts Brett to rename it Calamity. We do manage to find the local shopping mall and thank our stars for globalisation as we sink into some very comfy cinema seats to while away a couple of hours watching Gran Torino (which, by the way, I found very depressing even if Clint did have a great time making it).

We have to take the bus to Arica which is 16km south of the Peruvian border. From there we are squeezed into a collective taxi with 2 other people and driven to Tacna which is 20km the other side of the border. Although it feels a bit strange traveling this way, in fact it works really well because the driver knows exactly what everyone has to do at the border and he patiently takes us all through so that we are soon whizzing our way through our first bit of Peru.

The Sky's the Limit

2009-06-14T00:24:00.013+01:00

The further you get from Santiago, the more rural the towns become. It is only now that I am seeing the type of south American life that I had expected before we arrived here.

La Serena, some 350kms (and 8 hours on the bus!) further north, is a small town that we stay at so that we can get off the main road and see some of the countryside. We had quite a nice tour here which meant that we got to see most of the valley and some of the smaller mountain pueblos.
Cowboys still live on.

The mainstays of Chilean life ... shops...homes...churches.

Although tours can often be local factory visits interspersed with a bit of the local history and culture, this one wasn’t quite so bad and it meant that we were able to see quite a bit of the valley and a couple of the local pueblos. Our guide was very knowledgeable and we certainly learnt more than we would have just driving along by ourselves. We learnt how they make the national drink of Pisco which is a very young brandy made from fermenting and then distilling high sugar content grapes that are grown particularly in this area due to the consistency of their weather (practically always sunny without temperature extremes) and the amount of sunshine that they get (10 hours a day every day). If you want very sweet grapes look for the ones that come from Chile - apparently Germany has a particular penchant for Chilean grapes.

The pisco distiller.

There is a wonderful microclimate here that produces a stunningly fertile valley amid what is essentially just a desert. It is really amazing to be going down the road and coming across acres and acres of vines, fruit trees and lush water grasses amid the arid mountains. It practically never rains here, but early morning mists and some underground springs provide enough water in the valley to grow enough produce for the central country’s needs plus valuable export produce.
The beautiful valley nestles in amongst the mountains

Higher up the mountain all you get is cacti.

As part of the tour we are taken to a restaurant that, we are told, only uses sunlight for its cooking. I foolishly take this to mean that they use solar-powered energy, when in fact it means that they have a series of glass sun-boxes in the sun that they put the food in to cook. This means that what is on the menu is mainly braised stews of chicken or goat. They do 'bake' their own bread but the result of this is really a lump of half-baked dough. Still, you gotta give it to them for trying and they did manage a great baked rice pudding that is perfectly suited to the slow cooking method.

Anyone for goat stew?

Group catering available

Solar powered tea?

The other major attraction in this part of Chile is that it is the location for about 6 major observatories because of the fact that they have an average of 320 clear sky nights per year. We had managed to find one that was open to the public for viewings at night rather than just a day tour of the facilities and so we were very pleased when we were able to book a place at short notice. This was another reason for booking a tour rather than hiring a car - because driving at night is so hazardous that it is always best avoided. The observatory tour didn’t start until 9pm and I really didn’t fancy having to find my way back down through the mountain roads so late at night.

For both of us the visit to the observatory has been one of the highlights of the trip. Although it was, uncharacteristically, a bit cloudy and the moon was half full, it was really amazing being able to see some of the stars and planets up close with the telescopes. Because the moon was so apparent we were able to look at it really well and even managed to get a picture of it through the telescope.

Note how the moon shines backwards here!

We also learned to identify some of the constellations of the southern hemisphere - in particular the one for Brett’s zodiac sign of Sagittarius - that we hadn’t seen before. We had a little peek at Saturn with its rings, and a close up of some star clusters in the Milky Way. I can’t wait until the moon goes dark again so that we can see some of the constellations more clearly for ourselves - but that won’t be for a while yet.

We moved on from La Serena to Copiapo further up the coast, hoping to get into the Atacama Desert to see the salt flats and more of the mountain terrain. The best advocados in the world

However, we hadn’t banked on the fact that it is now so close to the winter that the tourist accommodation is now closed and you can’t camp without serious winter gear - and a lot more experience of roughing it than either of us can lay claim to. Brett would prefer us to just push on to the desert further north, but I have set my heart on trying to see some of the local penguins so I manage to persuade him that it would be a good idea to hire a car for a day or two so that we can drive out to the Pan de Azucar (Sugarloaf) national park.

The round trip of close to 400kms takes us through the most stunning landscape that I have ever seen in my life. Unfortunately, words really cannot describe the vibrancy of the colours or the sheer immensity of the landscape that we travel through. Initially, we drive up through the bottom end of the Atacama desert, which is just kilometer after kilometer of parched rocks, dunes and sparse scrubland. It is for good reason that most people live in or very close to the towns and cities, because there is nothing to be had from the land around. From time to time a small way stop for lorries and cars means that a few families can survive far from anywhere. Every 100km or so a small fishing village will manage to nestle amid the rocks on the coast, and further inland some mining towns manage to dig themselves into the landscape. But for the moment, there is nothing but open road and a lot of dust.

We stay in Chanaral, a small mining village that has seen better days. It has a few small market shops that hark back to days gone by - with great big old weighing scales, biscuits in jars and the eggs in baskets! It is the off season and we are the only tourists here that we can see. This is also because there isn’t anything here of much interest to tourists. The town has a lovely old town hall and it is trying hard to pose as a place of historic interest. The only reason to stay here really is because it is too far to drive to the national park and back in one day - and the only place to stay in the park is in cabanas or in tents which will be freezing at this time of year.
The sights of Chanaral!

The following day we drive into the national park and we are awestruck by the beauty and magnitude of the landscape. The main road takes us past the 1000km (!) marker from Santiago and on through the mountains until we branch off onto a dirt road that threads through more rugged terrain.

The road in ...

This takes us down to the shoreline and a tiny little fishing village.

The village relies on fishing and tourist boats out to a small local island that is home to northernmost Humboldt penguins - and this is why we are here. We arrive at the bay to the sight of a pilot whale swimming about 2m from the shore; slowly up and down the beach.

It was really amazing. Apparently she comes here every year to have her baby.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any other tourists in sight so we have to fork out for the whole boat ourselves. At this time of year there is apparently a 50% discount, but it we still have to swallow hard before we hand over 50,000 pesos for the privilege.
Our trusty sailors.

Brett has bought a new hat!

However, a privilege it really is as the trip allows us to see these beautiful creatures in their natural habitat, alongside different species of cormorants and fantastic sea lions. Plus, we are using the same boat that the BBC used a couple of years ago when they came to make a documentary about the vampire bats that live on the sea lion’s blood!! So that must be worth something.

We take the small dirt coast road back to Chanaral to pick up our bags from the hotel. The coastline is really beautiful in a desolate sort of a way. We can certainly see what brings so many people to Chile.

This is apparently delicious. They dig out the molluscy bit and eat it with lemon.

The road out ...

We don’t have too much time to stop and stare, alas, as we are trying to make it back in time for a night bus to San Pedro de Atacama. Our next stop is the driest desert in the world some 12 hours and another 500km away.

The Day the Salami Died

2009-06-13T23:15:00.008+01:00

Oh, my word. What’s to be said about Chile? It is one of the most stunning places that I have ever seen in my life. I read in one of the guidebooks that Chile is such a weird size and shape that it is difficult to think of it as a ‘proper’ country. It is 4000km long but only about 120km wide at any given point - and most of the width is taken up by the mountains, so there isn’t that much space for the rest of what usually goes on in a country.

Chile’s towns aren’t much to write home about at all - but the countryside is truly breathtaking.

We arrived in the capital Santiago by way of a bus over the Andes from Cordoba in Argentina. We had managed to book our favourite seats on the top deck right at the front - so we had a panoramic view the whole way over. We weren’t too sure that the bus company was going to take us along in the beginning because the swine flu epidemic had started to reach Argentina and they were being careful about traveling Americans. When we explained that we had been in South America since before it started they did relax and let us stay. It took us just over 2 hours to reach the Chilean border checkpoint, climbing higher and higher into the Andes until we had reached the snowline. This year’s snow hasn’t really arrived, but I could see some stray mounds left over from last year that hadn’t melted yet!!!

In the way of these mountain roads it was bumpy and twisty - but each new bend brought another fantastic vista into sight; the river winding through the floor of the valley, the lone train track that has long been abandoned but still stretches through the mountains and along the valley. Two or three abandoned villages still remain on the Argentine side of the border but mainly the only life is the army’s mountain brigade camp and the odd resort hotel waiting for the ski season to start.

We had been primed by the bus conductor for the Chilean customs because they are VERY, VERY, VERY strict about not allowing any animal or plant products into the country. This posed Brett with a dilemma because he had bought a delicious salami in Mendoza but hadn’t had time to eat it yet. He decided to risk it, arguing that it wasn’t fresh meat and we could always plead ignorance if they found it. This seemed like a reasonable way forward given how often we bring things back to the UK that we aren’t technically supposed to.

However, this strategy began to feel distinctly dodgy when we were actually at the border. There were these massive signs warning about the fines and penalties if you got caught with anything. Plus, they had x-ray machines for everything and sniffer dogs all over the place. Brett (being Brett) decided to stick with the plan. They have a great technique for intimidating you throughout the whole process. First of all they get you to line up with your hand luggage beside the x-ray machine. Then they come along the line and ask you for your customs declaration form and, looking you straight in the eye they ask you AGAIN, “do you have any animal or vegetables with you?”. I was able to answer quite honestly - but when they got to Brett he caved in and said “no, but I do have a salami - isn’t that OK?” The poor customs bloke nearly took a fit - demanding where it was and telling Brett he now had to complete a completely new customs form declaring it. Then we had to wait for his bag to finish going through the machine before he could hand it over.

When the offending salami was unearthed the customs man said to Brett - I show you what must happen - and he pulled out a bottle marked with the skull and cross bones and POISON and slowly poured it over the salami and sloshed it all around.

Well, that certainly broke the ice with our fellow passengers and we heard the myriad stories of their own, their relatives, and their relatives-relatives-friends-second cousin’s Chilean Border stories. Then, in the way of grieving over a loss, we both managed to spend the next 2 hours of the trip laughing over ever-increasingly ridiculous salami jokes and word play. Which was just as well, as what had been promised as a 5 hour journey stretched out to become 7 hours. The journey back down the mountain was just as interesting as on the way up - with an incredible stretch of 25 switchback bends just after the border. There isn’t a lot between the Andes and Santiago - just a couple of really desperate-looking ‘spa’ towns.

As we arrived quite late into Santiago it wasn’t until the next day that we could really get a good look at it. While it is a big, cosmopolitan city it doesn’t have the grandeur of Bs As.

A bit of colonial grandeur.

The Chilenos here certainly have a very good standard of living, with lots of expensive restaurants and bars and shops etc. There isn’t an enormous amount of things to see outside of the pre-requisite Cathedral, Plaza de Armas (I.e the central square) and a few colonial buildings. We did take the teleferico and cable car up to the top of XXXX which gave us a good view of the smog that tends to shroud the city most of the time.

I am sure that there are some interesting corners that could be found, but I was anxious to get out of the city to see more typical Latin American life so we were quickly on our way again.

My first ever shoe shine (50p a go)

The guidebooks and various locals were keen to point us in the direction of a small seaside town called Valparaiso so we made that our next stop. It is a port town that used to be the first city of Chile but is now a cross between a port town and a seaside resort. Most of the resort bit of it is 10 minutes up the coast with various high-rise hotels. For the rest, it is a town that is built into the hillside as the mountains reach down to the sea at this point. We had pre-booked a B&B up on one of the hills which meant that we had a great view over the town. The building was a great original wooden structure that the owner had lived in for 16 years and had restored quite beautifully.

Some of the houses in the town were perched quite spectacularly on the hillside - and those that had seen far better days looked as if they could come down at any given moment.

Out of town the houses are all built into the hills

Faded grandeur.

The 'real' Valparaiso

While there were a few picturesque streets in the centre - that had been prettified for the tourists - in the main Valparaiso was a dirty, congested and fairly squalid place that we were quite happy to leave behind. Not least because it was so blooming cold at night. Chile is lucky in that most of the country has quite clear skies most of the time - which means that it is lovely and sunny during the day - but once the sun goes down it quickly gets very, very cold. We were surprised that there was no heating in our B&B (which we now know to be the case EVERYWHERE). They did rustle up a big gas heater for our room, which was just as well otherwise we would have frozen to death. We did ponder the pros and cons of potential carbon monoxide poisoning versus certain hypothermia briefly before we sparked it up - but in the end we went with having some heat at night. However, I think that meant that we had pinched the heater for the breakfast room because everyone had to eat breakfast wearing their coats as it was so cold in there in the morning. Ah well, can’t have it all I suppose!!!

Note the 'fire escape' coming out of this children's nursery!

The transport system here was an introduction to what was to become the norm for us and consists of hundreds of ‘collectivos’ which are shared taxis that ply specific routes through the city and ‘micros’ which are small minibuses that do the same for a slightly lower fare. The collectivos are a bit more expensive as they only take on 4 passengers whilst the micros do stop more often and squeeze in as many people as they can. Transport costs here are amazingly cheap; about 35p for the bus and 50p for the collectivo. If you really want to live it up you can get a private taxi and even these are only ever about a pound for an average journey. From the balcony of our B&B we could watch the steady stream of the collectivos winding their way up and down the adjacent hill; which was quite a sight at times particularly at dusk as there was a snaking line of headlights winding around the bends.

We had been hoping to find some of Chile’s famed sea food by the coast - but we were bitterly disappointed. The first night we were here we found what might have been a lovely little local restaurant which was physically only 10 metres from the sea. However, the food was fairly dreadful. Brett ordered fish soup which, while it was chock full of mussels, clams, prawns etc. was so devoid of taste that it was like eating boiled sock snippings!!! We did look for other sea food restaurants in the town, but the ones we found looked like they all came with health warnings so we gave them a wide berth.

Another integral part of life here is the dogs. Most of them seem to roam freely - consequently you need to be very vigilant where you put your feet! It seems that everyone feels the need for guard dogs, which often leads to surround-sound barking from dusk to dawn. Sometimes you come across a big pack of dogs which is a bit scary, plus you often have dogs chasing the cars down the street even in the centre of towns. All in all, it seems like a problem that no-one really wants to address. Many times we wondered how long it would be before someone was seriously hurt.
This local dog decides to try to get a better view of whichever mutt he is barking at!

It is hard to visualise just how limited the space available for living is here. Most people live in the relatively few big cities within 30-40 kms of the coast. All in all, our stay here was confirmation of the widely-held recognition that Chile’s towns and cities are best avoided by tourists except for using them as transport hubs into the countryside.

BUENOS AIRES-EUROPE IN THE NEW WORLD

2009-06-12T07:57:00.002+01:00

The meaning of “new world” makes more sense when in Argentina and in Buenos Aires in particular. The Spanish may have had a presence here since the 1500s but the majority of the current architecture and culture took hold only in the late 1800s and it very much resembles what was being built in continental Europe during the same time period. I read a statistic that at the beginning of the 20th century, over half of BA's residents were Italian immigrants and a majority of the city's architects. The local slang still retains a lot of Italian words and pronunciations (a quirk other South Americans like to make fun of). After a number Italian-like buildings went up, some officials then decided that French architecture was more classy and so a Parisian style is also evident. So, picture a city with a mix of Rome, Paris and Madrid, placed on a new continent, and you start to get a picture of the city.

Like other great cities, BA is a collection of distinct neighborhoods. We explored quite a few in the two weeks we were there but I suspect one could keep on discovering new niches for months on end. One of the neighborhoods most in transition is Boca. Once upon a time, the bluest of blue collar areas, with a thriving port which then went into decline. Now re-born (gentrified ?) as an state sponsored artist colony with cafes holding tango demonstrations, a modern art museum and a “found” sense of history. Not as bad as it sounds really ! What does help keep it honest is that it is home to BA's football (soccer) team the Boca Juniors (you can't miss the stadium). The Boca fans are insanely passionate about their team and Maradona is a deity in this city. For the Americans reading this blog, soccer is still considered a blue collar sport, even if the players are paid gazillions of Dollars/Euros/Pounds...

We rented two different apartments for a week each (about $300 a week) in or near the San Telmo neighborhood. This area is good for taking in BA's “cafe society” with loads of places in eat, people watch, listen to music and view some of worst (best ?) kitchy antiques. The area is also close to the city's main squares, and with the South American's penchant for strikes and demonstrations, this meant marches and parades almost every day (official or not...).

Another neighborhood we visited turns into Argentina's version of the Wild West each Sunday. The shops there cater to the “Gaucho crowd” selling tack, saddles an other cowboy supplies. And on Sundays, there are stalls selling produce and bands playing music from that region of the country. Adding more flavor are the horse races and other contests taking place on the city streets. The Sunday fair is crowded with Argentinians rather than foreign tourists. As the country is so vast, this may be the only chance the city dwellers get to have a taste of their own frontier cousin's lives...

If you like the big continental European cities (and I do), then it's very easy to like Buenos Aires. It has good food (probably the best steaks in the world, but I'll reserve final judgment on that until I've had one in Texas !), great wine and coffee, very cheap and reliable public transportation, loads of art & music venues and a lot of very friendly people. All that at prices about half of what they'd cost in a European city ! I'd have no problem returning for another, and hopefully longer, visit sometime in the future.

Brett

Uruguay Of Yore Or How Many Vowels Can I Fit In One Blog Title ?

2009-05-11T04:36:00.003+01:00

People have whimsical, romantic or just plain silly reasons for wanting to visit a particular place; something in a postcard they once saw, or a scene from a movie or maybe a passage from a favorite book. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to reach these places, if they exist at all, and sometimes it's the journey to get there that ends up being more important than the destination.

I've always wanted to visit Uruguay. I've met (maybe) a total of 5-7 Uruguayans my entire life but every one of them has been friendly and fun to be around. (If Kitty Odell is reading this, she'll remember Udo...). My old Argentinian friend Alberto used to talk about how his father would travel every month to Montevideo for a week, “transporting” goods, then return to his life in Buenos Aries. As he forbid his family from ever visiting or contacting him there, there were of course suspicions that a second family existed, or at the very least a shadow life... So, I wanted see this country of friendly people and mysteries for myself.

Some places are so unique that they can't be compared to anywhere else, and other places that are so bland and without character that they could be anywhere (and no-one would care !), but Montevideo, Uruguay is a city that reminds me of many, many places.

Perhaps if one lived in Montevideo for a time, its own specific character would appear but my lasting impression will be of a city that kept triggering memories of other places and other eras. The city's main theater would be very at home in central Italy and in the town hall's square, there is a copy of Michelangelo's David. Many buildings have the “crumbly chic” look familiar to anyone who's been to Genoa or Florence. The language, cultural attitudes and general rhythm of life are from Spain. Slanted cobblestone streets with “heavy buildings” brought memories of Vienna and Budapest, not to mention the “career waiters” in its cafes. And because of all the financial turmoil that Argentina's been through (Buenos Aries is only 3 hours away), there is a section of the city filled with swanky international banks, ala Switzerland, where wealthier (and wiser) Argentinians have gone to deposit their savings over the years.

Some sights even reminded me of things I saw in New York as a child in the late 60s, when there were still just enough old timers and “old ways” to have left an impression. Things like real soda bottles (the type with thick glass and a gas canister on top), and a few horse drawn carts piled high with sacks.

So, it would seem the mystery of Montevideo is that it can be so many cities and still itself. The Uruguayans can't even agree on where the city's name originated ! And yes, the people are some of the friendliest and laid back you're likely to ever come across...

Brett

THE WILDS OF SOUTHERN COSTA RICA

2009-04-20T18:02:00.002+01:00

I've been thinking that there should be a scale for the “wildness” of places. At the top of the scale, (or the bottom depending on your point of view), would be ultra organized modern cities and gated retirement communities. Not far removed would come the entirety of The Netherlands. The only so called wild in that country is the aptly named “Den Bos” (The Woods), which in other places would barely qualify as a large park. Not so surprising in a country where even the grass meridians separating roads on the highways are used to graze sheep...

At the opposite end of the scale would be the jungles, deserts, tundras where humans have had little or no influence on the environment. National parks and protected wildlife areas would follow closely. Although, despite the very real wildness that exists in such parks, the signposts letting you know that “Ye have now entered the wild, DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING”, does somewhat dampen the excitement of being in untamed territory...

Southern Costa Rica would appear towards the wilder end of the scale. The place is not totally wild, there are roads (mostly unpaved) with villages that have some version of modern amenities. But, my impression is that the human population there is borrowing space from the natural surroundings rather than imposing their will upon it. This lack of development could be due to the challenging nature of the environment but I suspect clever design is a more likely explanation. Back in the 90s, the Costa Rican government decided that most of country's future income should come from tourism. Even the Costa Rican currency, whose notes up to that point displayed pictures of their main exports, coffee and tobacco, were then changed to “eco designs” showing indigenous animals, fish and plants. And, to Costa Rica's credit, eco tourism is now a huge business.

The organized “eco adventures” we took part in were fun but it was the unplanned and random encounters with nature that brought the most pleasure. Outside our cabin in Dominical, nighttime brought out hermit crabs the size of pool balls. And during the day, iguanas would swagger through the brush and run up the trees. These scenes only a 2 minute walk from a Pacific beach with some of the hugest surf I've ever seen....

We heard and saw howler monkeys in a number of places. “Howling” doesn't begin to describe the sound they really make. Their calls sound more like a jet when flying low and directly overhead. We saw pairs of macaws in flight. (They say that macaws mate for life, and from the way they constantly squawk at each other while flying, I expect that bit of information is true !) Other birds we observed included flocks of brown pelicans and flying beasts so pterodactyl-like it was scary. Not too surprising that Jurassic Park was filmed mostly in the Drake Bay area of Costa Rica.

And, it was a boat trip we took when leaving Drake Bay that was my favorite bit of wildness so far. Access to the area is possible by road but slow and difficult so most people arrive/leave by charter plane or water taxi. This “taxi” is in fact a speed boat that first zooms across the bay, then turns up the Sierpe river to drop you off at a location where there are more buses and better roads. The trip would be worth it even if no practical reason was involved ! The Sierpe river is full of immense and dense mangrove trees. While there is no ground as such above the water, the roots of these trees are so huge and thick that one could walk across them. You wouldn't want to though... If there was ever going to be a convention held for venomous snakes, poisonous plants and just about any mythological beast a mind could conjure up, this would be the place. Major spooky !!

But, the apex of the trip is when the boat leaves the bay for the river. The Sierpe is a large and fast flowing river and it meets a part of the bay at the rim of a very strong Pacific ocean. To watch this natural conflict of relentless ocean waves pushing against a powerfully emptying river would be exciting enough from the shore. But, seeing it from the “inside”, on a small speedboat, is adrenalin incarnate ! How they even teach the boats' “drivers” to navigate this passage is beyond me. We literally had to thread our way between two surges coming from opposite directions, pausing long enough to get past one swell but not so long as to let the water push us back into the bay. In the middle of this maneuverer, there was the illusion of the waves moving backwards....

It would take pages and pages to describe all the natural sights, plants, insects and animals we came across. But, to quote a surfer, who was hanging out in a hammock talking to a friend on his cell phone, “Dude, you wouldn't believe this place ! Get off the phone, get on a plane and get down here now...”

Brett

Yes ... we do know the way to San Jose

2009-04-18T18:26:00.017+01:00

The way to San Jose is inevitably by bus! We climb up into the hills from Quepos, going through a lovely town called Arenas spread out along the crest of the hills. You can see SJ as soon as you start to descend because it is a sizeable city spread out throughout the whole of the plateau.

Technically, I think San Jose is just a small part of all the towns you can see. I read today that a third of CR’s population lives on this plateau. But as there are only 4 million people here perhaps that is not so many. It is colder than we were expecting and I find that I have to break out the fleece in the evening. I have adapted too well to the heat again and anything less than 24 degrees feels cold. (I can feel the waves of sympathy from here!)

There isn’t any sense of SJ being particularly crowded because it is so spread out. We have heard many stories about how dodgy it is here and we arrive suitably paranoid about losing all our belongings within half an hour of our arrival. However, either we get lucky or it is a lot better at the moment, because we don’t get any bad vibes from the place at all. Even the notorious downtown bus station area feels relatively harmless - there are certainly metro stations in NY, London and Vienna that we have found more threatening. Maybe the thugs here were getting ready for Easter.

We didn’t see any of the highrise development here that you see in other capital cities - mainly it is 2-3 storey buildings. Some of these are more traditional wooden or concrete with balconies etc. Some are probably from building works in the 70s. There are just enough examples of some Art Deco architecture that I wish I had been able to visit in the 50s or 60s, when the city was probably gorgeous and there are a few indications that they are trying to beautify the city with some restorations and new sculptures.

We are only staying for a couple of nights so we just have time to visit the used book shop to swap some books, wander through the central market, and shuffle around the one museum that they have here. The market is interesting because alongside the tourist tat there is a lot that the locals find indispensible.

You gotta have a machete,

Tuna shampoo,

and , guess what we´re bringing back from this trip!

This bloke was very insistant that I take his picture. He was selling herbs and dried flowers etc. that are essential for various potions.

And this bloke was thought his parrot was very funny.

Fancy a piñata? I quite like this cheeky chappie.

They LOVE their cakes, which is a very good thing because I haven't had chocolate since we left the UK and cake almost makes up for it.

I found the gold bit of the museum here quite interesting as they had some lovely examples of pre-Columbian gold artefacts which also gave me a bit of the history of the settlement patterns and cultural symbols. They also had an exhibition of their currency down through the ages. Most of it was similar to the development of any given currency really, but there were one or two snippets that were intriguing. For example, at one time they were worried about people with leprosy and those in the mental asylums contaminating others, so they drilled a certain type of hole in their coins and no-one else was supposed to use them. At other times, if they didn’t have enough of their own currency to circulate then they would stamp some coins from other central American countries and these would then be allowed to be used in CR. A very enterprising lot.

The main reason we are in SJ is so that we can fly … yes, I know, a plane isn’t a bus. Yippeeeeeeee. We decided to treat ourselves to fly up to La Fortuna where we will spend Easter. It is one of those 20 seat propellor planes, and the flight is only 20 minutes (as opposed to 4 + hours by bus) which is a great way to see a bit more of the topography. SJ lies in the basin of one set of mountains and La Fortuna lies just North of the outer rim of those mountains. The mountains are the cause of the time that driving takes here because, although the main roads are quite well maintained really, they are very narrow and windy and the buses are very old and can't manage the hills well at all. If, as is often the case, you also get stuck behind the mammoth trucks that use the roads, then you have no hope of overtaking and just have to literally crawl along.

La Fortuna is the stopping off point to visit the Arenal Volcano, which, since 1968 has been one of the most active volcanoes in the world.

The 'cloud' you can see drifting from the top right hand side of the volcano is actually steam and gases from the volcano.

The grey wisps bits around the side of the volcano is lava flow.

As night falls you can see that the wisps are actually red hot lava
You know who on the bridge at Arenal Lake, which has been dammed and is now used for generating electricity.

It used to be a small, dusty town until only 10 years or so ago, but they have really pushed their tourism because of the Volcan and now it is a bustling little town. However, it is ALL centered on catering for tourists and there isn’t much of interest in the town itself other than places to book tours or to eat and drink. The tours are very expensive so we decide to hire a car for a couple of days and to go exploring on our own. Everything of interest is within 10kms so it is easy to pootle around and it is very scenic as the main road takes you around the base of the Volcano.

We were a bit worried about things being closed because it is Easter weekend, which is their primary faith holiday here, but we needn’t have bothered because just about everything is open. Some of the business owners have shut up for the weekend, but the majority of things are open as usual. One thing that we didn’t get caught out by, is the fact that they don’t sell any alcohol in Costa Rica on Holy Thursday or Good Friday. We had read something about this in one of the travel forums before we arrived and asked when we were in SJ. So, Brett had sacrificed his spare socks and a hankie or two so that he could pack some wine to tide us over.

The really funny thing was that although you couldn’t buy any beer, the local supermarket and the bars were selling wine! One of the locals told us that normally this isn’t allowed, but it seems that in tourist town they had decided not to impose the total ban. He reckoned that it won’t be long before they don’t bother with the restriction at all here. Personally, I suspect that it is something that is strictly imposed in most other places - not least because nothing is usually open. When we left SJ on Thursday morning we couldn’t even get a cup of coffee because nothing was open.

On Friday morning we decide to try out a local canopy tour, which is something that we have been hankering after for a while now. This consists of being attached to various zip lines and zooming through the treetops! It was great fun and we now feel that we have to do another one, so that this time we can actually get to see what’s going on in the treetops rather than just holding on for dear life while anxiously checking that you’re not going to crash into the next landing platform.

The weather is unusually clear today and we get a rare view of the top of the volcano, as it is usually shrouded in cloud.

It is awe inspiring to see it steaming away and the next day when we have the car, we manage to get around to the other side, where the lava flow is and see how active it actually is. The lava flows pretty constantly in fits and spurts. Not huge eruptions but certainly a steady flow. It is hard to get a good picture because during the day it just looks like steam coming down the mountain and in the evening when you can see the red glow of the lava, the light conditions aren’t that great for the automatic focus. Still, it is amazing to see. We had driven around that afternoon, and found a good viewpoint at a local village football pitch. The tour companies charge an outrageous $25 - $30 dollars per person to take you to a bridge at the side of the road - when in fact you can stop anywhere see it for yourself for free - you just have to be able to get to the right side of the volcano.

The other favourite tourist activity is to go to the thermal springs - a mere $25 per person! We were lucky as another local told us how to get to the river that feeds the springs before they get to the resorts. It is an open secret for all the Tico visitors but very few westerners get to know about it. It certainly isn’t advertised anywhere. As you drive along the main road it is difficult to miss all the cars that are parked by the side of the road, and all the Ticos wandering off into the bushes in their bathing suits with their coolboxes! This isn’t so strange as there are many rivers around here and the locals will stop anywhere and just set up at the side of the road for the day. If you didn’t know why they are here you certainly wouldn’t be any the wiser.

We duly follow the crowd and find this amazing sight of 40-50 people lounging in various pools and sitting in an amazing weir, with the hot spring water flowing and cascading everywhere. Even having all of them staring at us like we’re from another planet doesn’t detract from the fantastic experience for me. I have a fleeting thought that they are silently thinking, “Oh no, now the gringos know about it they’ll be all over the place” but we‘re not telling.

Another foray we make is into a nature reserve that has put in some bridges across the various ravines, which means that you can walk amidst the treetops and have a bird’s eye view of the canopy.

We don’t spot too much wildlife - but it is fascinating all the same.

The hummingbirds love this purple plant

It is amazing how humid it is lower down in the canopy, even though it doesn’t rain that often.

I read in the guidebook, that there is a particular type of fungus that breaks down the foliage which probably accounts for that really musty smell that pervades the air. Apparently, where it takes up to a year for a leaf to decompose in North American forests, here things would only take a month.

I have tried to be a bit clever with the photoshop for this one - didn't quite get around to cropping it, but such is life.

On Easter Monday everything is open and back to normal here so we are on the move again. We are heading to the Nicoya peninsular in search of a beach where we can swim; as opposed to a beach where the surfers can surf. Our research suggests the bottom of the peninsular should be OK as the Pacific is slightly offset by the gulf so it is calmer. We are aiming for a place called Montezuma and hope to finish our stay in Costa Rica there as it will be ‘autumn/winter’ further south and we suspect (with shock, horror and dread) that it will be our last beach stay on this trip.

Unless something spectacular comes up I don’t aim to blog again until we get to Uruguay and our South American blog will begin.

Bye for now …

Up the coast

2009-04-16T20:04:00.007+01:00

Today we are heading up to Dominical which, the guidebook tells us, is a surfer’s paradise just up the coast. We take the boat out of Drake’s Bay which was a great way to travel. The boat went up the coast for about 10 minutes and then it turned inland to go up the river. Picture the sea where the tide is making 6 foot waves meeting a fairly large river that is also riding high in the opposite direction. It was amazing how the boatman managed the crossing. It felt like we were going to ‘surf’ in on the waves but, in fact, he took the boat crossways between each of the waves until we were out of the tidal flow. The rest of the journey took us up a beautiful river fringed with palms, mangroves and the odd house. At one point we were taken through a ‘shortcut’ through the mangroves which was lovely. The darkness of the water alongside the constant shadow of the trees made everything look and feel very prehistoric.

We arrived in Palmar Norte at just after 9am, which was a bit of a pity because the bus didn’t leave until 12.45! We were offered taxis at a mere $40 for a 60km journey but decided to bite the bullet and wait. The buses only cost a couple of dollars each so, although they are noisy, dusty and uncomfortable, it is hard to justify the extra expense. The 12.45 bus arrives with ‘Dominical’ duly written on the front windscreen so we grab our packs, scramble in the scrum of locals trying to catch the same bus and climb on board. The bus driver took one look at us and asked us where we were going. When I replied ’Dominical’ he shook his head and said “No, la Una”. Which I think you can roughly translate as “boy, you gringos don’t know anything, this isn’t YOUR 12.45 bus to Dominical, this is OUR 12.45 bus to Dominical”. We couldn’t make any sense out of why this wasn’t our bus but decided to wait until 1pm to see if OUR bus would turn up. We were a tad worried that we were perhaps waiting for a bus that wasn’t going to come and asked a couple of people if there was a bus due. One man said he was waiting for it so we relaxed a little bit.

Brett was befriended by a young deaf girl and managed to have an extended conversation with her about the bus we were now all waiting for. It seems that his Spanish sign language is much better than his spoken Spanish.

I don’t know why we worry so, the bus does eventually come and we hoist ourselves onboard. Another 60km journey that takes 2 hours. I think I may have been a bit harsh about the roads here after all. It is only really the side roads that are dreadful. Otherwise, they are quite well paved and not too many potholes. It doesn’t feel too long before we arrive. It is hard to know what to call Dominical. It isn’t really a town or a village. Originally, it was probably just a crossroad stop, but it has evolved into a collection of shops, bars, restaurants, hotels, cabinas and B&Bs for tourists and travellers.

Ticos camping on the beach for the weekend

The beach is absolutely stunning and it has the highest surf that I have ever seen outside of the telly. Unfortunately, this does mean that we aren’t allowed to go into the water too far because there is a very bad riptide by all accounts. I try to get a picture that captures the surf and Brett suggests that the best shot will be actually from the waterline - but I decide not to risk my camera or my life.

While there are more westerners here than we have seen at once since we left home, there is still a Costa Rican feel here and it seems as good a place as any to kick back for a few days. The first evening we are here it absolutely pours with rain, which brings out all the crabs around our cabin. They gave Brett quite a scare at first, until he realised what they were. You have to be quite careful not to tread on them as you walk around because there are so many of them scuttling to and fro.

This crab can't decide whether to come out from under our cabina.

The highlight of our stay here is a trip up to the local waterfall. This entails an 8am start followed by a 1 hour trek on horseback to a lovely little posada in the hills where we are served breakfast. Then another hour on horseback up to the falls.

The trek is really fabulous. Any other time I have been on a horse it has been a fairly gentle walk along country lanes or across fields. Not this one! The horses clamber up and down loose shale, muddy, and/or rocky trails and we ford a couple of river beds and tiptoe through rocky outcrops. I am amazed that I can even keep on the horse, let alone actually enjoy it.

Up the mountain

and down the rocky glen

As is the way with any trek I think, the horses know exactly where they are going and exactly how they want to get there. When my horse decides that it is time for a little trot he picks up his hooves and off he goes. If I really insist he will pretend to slow down - but really we both know who is in charge. Brett’s horse is the leader, he puts himself out in front and just ambles along keeping enough distance between himself and the group to reinforce his pre-eminence - a position that Brett is more than happy to assume. Mine is a follower; if he can’t see a horse in front of him he gets very twitchy and doesn’t seem too sure what to do.

The waterfall is just perfect for swimming. The water is a bit chilly, but blissful as we are so hot. We spend a lovely hour at the waterfall.

The guides rig up a rope so that you can climb up the fall and jump off one of the ledges into the pool below.

Spot the boy diving from the ledge in the middle!

Although it does look like fun, jumping anywhere from any kind of a height has never been my idea of a good time, so I am happy to watch the brave few who do decide to try. One poor woman missed her landing a bit and there was a collective intake of breath, and we winced as one, at the sound that her bottom made as it hit the water too flat.

The place where we stopped for breakfast and lunch was a private eco-lodge of sorts and they showed us a couple of the animals that they had. There was a lovely Toucan and a whole family of Tetse something or others (!) that they have been rearing to re-introduce back into the wild. Although the Toucan does sleep in a cage it is free to go out and about during the day - I did mean to ask why they had it, whether it was a rescue-bird, but I didn’t get around to that.

All in all it was a lovely morning, and it only took 3 days for my own bottom to recover from being saddle-sore, so worth the effort really.

I noticed this banana tree with a massive flower on the end. I hadn't seen it before and thought it was lovely.

We are still heading up towards San Jose, but we have a couple of days before we need to be there so we go in search of a beach where we can actually swim. The surf has been too high here and the riptide too dangerous, for anything more than a paddle. One day they even closed the beach to the surfers because it was so treacherous. The local paper warns of an extra high tide just before Easter - with anything from 10 - 20 foot waves - and the surfers are practically drooling in anticipation.

After Dominical we spent a couple of days in Quepos that doesn’t really have that much to note here other than I was able to do a bit of snorkelling off the beach and saw some lovely fish and a bit of coral. It is great to be able to do it without having to book a 'snorkelling tour'. Oops, nearly forgot, we heard and saw some howler monkeys while we were on the beach. At first we didn't know what the sound was but then figured out that it could only be them making such a racket. We saw a pair in the trees as we were walking off the beach. The sound that they make is so loud that I thought they must be at least the size of a small gorilla - but I was very surprised to see that in fact they are quite small. Apparently they have developed a very large larynx in relation to their actual size.

We were going to go into the national park here but it is so expensive to stay that we decide to cut short our visit and head up to San Jose instead.

Pirate's Cove - It's all a matter of perspective

2009-04-09T01:19:00.007+01:00

Today we are aiming to get to Drake's Bay

- where Sir Francis came ashore having circumnavigated the globe to get there. We have been told that we can do it by taking two buses. It is interesting that the historical perspective here is that he was a pirate and general all-round bad guy. Which is true from this side of the fence, but a bit different from the great explorer and brave sea-faring adventurer bloke from my history lessons. I wonder what the children at home are taught today - in this era of truth and reconciliation?

Like good tourists we wait at the assigned street corner for the bus from 8.15am. And we wait … At 9am I run across to the booking office to check that we are actually at the right place. The woman looks shocked that we are still there, which doesn’t do much to ally our fears that we have missed the bus somehow. The only solution she can give us is to continue to wait. Realistically, we know that we will be OK as long as the bus turns up by 10.15 so that we will make our 11.30 connection. As the roads are so unreliable here it is difficult to know exactly how long any given trip will take. We have had to take the 8.30 bus only because the 10.30 bus, which should be more than enough time for our connection, in all likelihood wouldn’t make it on time.

Eventually the bus turns up at 9.15, with no aknowledgement of the delay the driver loads up our bags and off we go. We arrive at Las Palmas, which looks like quite a nice little village with a couple of shops a pizza parlour and 2 bakeries - there are probably a few local restaurants nearby but they aren‘t too obvious. There are a couple of locals hanging out at the corner where the buses come in and they are keen to make sure that we know we are at the right place and at least 3 people remind us that the bus is at 11.30. It makes a bit of a change from this morning when no-one seemed to know or care whther the 8.30 bus would ever arrive or not.

Las Palmas bus stop

Not long after we get there we notice a young man in full jungle attire, with a good layer of sunblock on his face and various camping implements hanging from his rucksack. He is trying to find the best travel option to get out of the village. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to speak any Spanish, nor to know where he actually wants to go or even what day of the week it is. I wander over to try to help and it turns out he has been in the national park roughing it for 3 days and now what he really needs is to get back to some sort of civilisation. We figure out that he can get the bus out at 1pm and he wanders off to find something to eat and a beer. If he had told us he had been in the jungle for 3 months I would have believed it as he was fairly out of it. We were surprised that he had made it out at all.

We now have an hour of observing the locals come and go while we wait for the bus. We copy the locals and wait in the shade of the pizzeria which is closed at the moment.

We attract the usual curious glances and series of “ola”s and “Buenos”s as people walk, cycle and drive past us. The Ticos are a friendly lot.

The next part of our trip is 30km more or less off-road in a minivan type of bus. The boy driving it looks to be about 12! There really is no real road and, at times, the incline has to be 1:3. We ford little rivers and cross log bridges - each time wondering how anyone who doesn’t know the road would ever make it. Overall, I think I would describe the journey as adventurous rather than arduous though, as it is interesting to be driven through rainforest, past the local farms and small homesteads. There are said to be wild jaguar in this part of the forest, which is mainly protected rainforest at this stage which is a good thing. Some tracts here and there have been deforested but it is mainly virgin forest apart from this. At one point an ENORMOUS iguana runs across the road in front of us a scurries up a tree. It was easily 1.5m long and very portly. I suspect it was a great, great, great granfather/mother of an iguana as most of the others we have seen have only been 1/10 of its size.

In the end it only takes us 1.5 hours to do the 30kms so we arrive at our lodgings in time for lunch.

We have figured out that they regulate the amount of tourists getting into and out of some areas just by limiting the transport and lodging alternatives. In the main, they discourage you from driving here yourself and other than that it is probably only possible for 60-100 people to get here on any given day. There are more lodging options than you first think but, apart from the mega-expensive luxury resorts, there only seem to be 5 or 6 places to stay. Because the area is so remote most hotels only do a package that includes meals - you would certainly find it difficult to do self-catering here. We didn’t even find the one restaurant that was apparently in the ‘town’ and if we had really needed it we would have had a 4km walk to it for each meal. We have booked to stay at the Hotel Ojala which Fred and his family run. Fred is originally from the US and came here 17 years ago. He married a local woman and he built the hotel and started running his business about 12 years ago. It is a lovely wooden, 2 storey building with 2 verandas. There is one main living room and kitchen that the family uses and a large roofed dining area for guests. It has a lovely feel to it and, if you jump up on tiptoes on our lower balcony, you can see over the treetops out to sea.

Fred is a sports fisherman and quite a few people who come here do so for the fishing. This turns out to be a VERY good thing on the second evening when we sit down to tuck in to fresh tuna - both sashimi style as a starter and also ‘blackened’ on the grill. It is the first time that I have had fresh tuna that has been filleted lengthways rather than as a steak - and it is easily the best tuna I have ever had.

This is the tuna that we had for supper ............................. and this was the tuna we didn´t.

We were worried about what the food might be like - hotel catering isn’t always that great - but all our meals are freshly cooked and really delicious. Fred is a lucky man with a wife who cooks so well.

It is easy to see why someone who had just sailed around the world would stop here. It is very beautiful with lush vegetation, great wildlife, fish and fresh water. We opt to go for a snorkeling trip on Thursday and cross our fingers that we might come across some dolphins on the way. We are not disappointed. We spot two different schools of spotted dolphins swimming on the way out to the island where we will snorkel. They are small schools so we don’t get any David Attenborough displays or Disneyworld acrobatics - but it is fantastic to see them in the wild.

Brett snorkelling

The snorkeling is good fun. There are a lot of fish here and our guide takes us through some good areas to spot stingrays, lobster, reef sharks etc. I do love being this close to the fish. At one point I had looked up to check that I was swimming in the same direction as the rest of the group and when I put my head back in the water there were about 50 silvery fish swimming just below me. It gave me a bit of a shock until I realized they weren’t going to eat me, and then I could just enjoy the display as they all sped past me. Isla Cano is a protected reserve now and there are millions of crabs shuffling all over the beaches all the time.

Isla Caño

Crabs with homes ... and those without.

The birds here in particular are lovely. Just sitting quietly in any given spot rewards me with an array of birds and butterflies that come and go.

It is a wonderful place but it is a bit expensive for us to stay for too long so we are off further up the coast. We decide to take the water taxi out so it is an early start for us tomorrow.

A couple of local businesses in one of the towns we pass through; the tailor, the barber and the dentist.

Another day, another country ... Costa Rica

2009-04-09T00:20:00.006+01:00

Our entrance into Costa Rica couldn’t be any more low key. We get off the local bus from David at the border town which is a cross street of ramshackle shops full of vendors, taxi drivers and buses; but with no clear cut information about the actual border posts. As it happens we stumble across the Panama immigration counter and realise that we need to get an exit stamp. It takes us another 5 minutes before we can find a policeman to ask where the CR immigration post is. There is no-one at the counter windows apart from one woman who waits until we get to her window and then markedly turns, picks up the phone and ignores us! Someone eventually deigns to take our passports and we are now legal. We realise that it would have been quite possible to leave Panama and enter Costa Rica (and/or vice versa) without the necessary stamps as no-one was checking or really keeping an eye on who was crossing where - something which would create enormous difficulties later on if our documents had ever been checked. It is no wonder that they have a problem with illegal immigrants in both countries.

Although a helpful border guard tells us that it would be better to walk back 800 yards in the blazing sun with our backpacks etc. to the main bus stop, we flag the first bus that is passing and it stops with no problem at all. We head to Neily about 35 km away where we can take the local bus to our next planned stop.

The rains have come early this year …

… it’s not really due to rain until the end of April but it started 1 hour after we crossed the border. Luckily we were on the bus at the time because it was typically tropical - very BIG rain drops and LOTS of them. It is particularly apt though as the terrain is so much more tropical than it had been in Panama. The road winds slowly through untamed forest with small, basic wooden-framed houses dotted along the road.

The buses here have those windows that slide across at the top - so everyone plays musical windows when it rains as you have to close the window when it is raining but then open it again as soon as you think it has stopped because the bus just heats up like a sauna when the windows are shut. The added bonus is that the buses are so old and have been shaken so badly by the APPALLING roads here that the windows all leak in any case! Gone are the days of air conditioned coaches - welcome to the local bone rattlers.

So, top traveller’s tip for today; if you take a Costa Rican bus don’t sit near the window.

One bus takes us on the main road to Neily and then we change to a bus that will take us down the Osa Peninsular. Once we turn off the main road we are left with 50 km to go, which should be easy enough you'd think. Ha, Ha, Ha. The road down the coast is little more than a half-made loose stone track. The Costa Ricans are obviously updating it because there are bulldozers and diggers working all around. Each of the bridges are being redone - which is just as well given the rusting, warped steel ones that are still in place. Both Brett and I anxiously hold our breath each time we trundle noisily over each bridge - of course it is unnecessary, but you never know.

We find it amazing that such roads are the main arteries of a country. Both here and in Panama there was the sense that they redo each road along its entire length rather than do it section by section - so the whole journey is an endurance test of the vehicle's suspension and gearbox plus our balance, teeth fillings, bottoms and arm sockets as we try to stay upright over the really bumpy bits. It is so haphazard and basic that we feel that we are driving back through time, not just to another town. It takes us 2 hours to travel the 50 km and, joy of joys, it starts to pour with rain 10 minutes before we get into town - so we have to get off and dash for the nearest shelter before we can find our ponchos and cover our packs so that we can go and find somewhere to stay. It is nearly dark and we can't wait out the rain as it doesn't look like it will lift anytime soon.

We have taken the bus to a small coastal town called Puerto Jimenez, which turns out to be a two street town that is positively frontier-like. Lots of low wooden buildings and very dusty, loose stone streets.

Apparently it was a gold town in the way back whens and it has definitely retained its rough and ready ambience. There were two main bars for the locals which were particularly riotous. Drinking starts at any time of the day for a group of hard core regulars - who are as easy to spot here as they are in any given place. A new twist here is that the bars’ evening gigs revolve around spectacularly bad Karaoke! Give one of these Ticos a microphone and they really give it all they’ve got. It doesn’t even seem that they are trying to be any good - just having themselves a belter of an evening. At least they aren't murdering the old english language classics - just the Latin American ones.

The next day we are keen to head out for a quick dip and end up in the bay that is so calm and warm that you would think you were in a lake rather than the sea. There are two, apparently resident, Macaws screeching in one of the trees overhead. They are very beautiful but don’t half make a racket.

We plan to hire a couple of bikes so that we can explore a bit further down the coast, in the hope that we will find a beach with some waves, but events conspire against us. The first day it is raining by the time we get ourselves together enough to go out so we just hang out, catch up with the blog and internet etc. The second day the rental bike place is locked when we get there so we think we have missed the opening hours or something. We head to the local beach again - it is earlier in the day this time and the tide is in which makes it a different experience than the other day. Also, it is the weekend and the local families and their children are now on the beach. It is great to be able to see Costa Rican (aka Tico) day to day living.

This boy and his friends had found a big log in the water and were having a great time in the waves with it.

While the town is definitely geared up to cater to tourists there are still a lot of other businesses and normal family life going on.

If anyone is interested in putting in an offer for this place, do let us know and we can make the call !!!

Life appears to be lived at a fairly sedate pace here. The fact that it is very, very hot probably has something to do with this. One of the things that makes me chortle is how most of the men walk and sit around with their T-shirts rolled up from their bellies to try to cool themselves off - and believe me, their bellies have been well fed for some time now. Joking aside, I suspect that CR has a very high incidence of obesity and diabetes if the size of both the men and women’s girths is any indication. However, given their VERY high carbohydrate and sugar diets it is no surprise. The typical Tico meal generally includes rice, corn flour in some form or other (tortilla, bread, cake, fried corncake), fried beans, fried or stewed meat, or fried fish with a very sweet flan for dessert. Even breakfast involves at least 2 carbs and 1 fried element. It takes some effort to eat healthily as even the fruit drinks are heaped with sugar (OK this does make them very, very delicious).

We passed these two little children munching quite happily on their watermelon. Unlike their Boquete counterparts in Panama, this little boy knew exactly what to do when I asked if I could take his picture - and gave me a big cheesy grin. The original, unposed, picture that I wanted was a lot better, but I suppose it still tells a story.

We finally manage to get hold of a couple of bikes on Sunday (it turns out the family who run the bike rental have had a family emergency and the neighbours who are supposed to be keeping an eye on the business obviously weren’t doing a very good job of it!) and head off into the heat towards the beach. It is a peculiar phenomenon that when you don’t really know where you are going things seem much further away. As we have found the maps to be less than accurate it is hard to know if we are on the right road and it seems that we are winding inland which worries Brett. Also, the road is little more than a very bumpy, dusty track of loose stones and it is far from a pleasant amble down a country lane. I am fairly confident that we are on the right road but Brett is suffering in the heat and is just about ready to turn back when the road finally bears left towards the sea. In hindsight we have probably only cycled a few miles but it seems much, much further.

The beach, when we get there, is really beautiful. It is around the bend from the gulf so there are some lovely waves - and it is really warm. We come across a thatched shelter with two deck chairs that probably belongs to a local hotel, but no-one is using it so we decide to chance our arm and install ourselves very comfortably. We spend a lovely afternoon here and are glad that we made the effort after all. The ride back goes much more quickly - in part this is because there are some very ominous rain clouds coming towards us and we are anxious not to get caught on this road in the pouring rain.

There was a small, fairly new hotel on the beach and they had planted quite a nice little garden that will be really lovely when it has matured a little more. They had planted 5 or 6 new pineapple palms and I was surprised to see them sprouting just one pineapple each at the top. I hadn't seen this before.

Tomorrow we have an early start as we are braving the local buses to Drake’s Bay on the other side of the peninsular.

Into the center

2009-04-05T00:39:00.008+01:00

Hello again everyone. Sorry about the delay. I did write this about 10 days ago but couldn’t upload it until now. Still, only 2 weeks behind is not bad for me.

We take off into Central Panama. Although we are heading for the mountains it is unlikely that we will make it in one day so we decide to stop at Las Lajas Beach. This turns out to be Panama’s longest beach (but I never did find out exactly how long it is) and it is a really beautiful, long stretch of palm-lined sand.

Despite there being miles of beach there are only about10-15 people staying here and so it is far from crowded.

There are only 4 options for accommodation. A set of cabinas just on the beach, a set of wooden cabinas about 100 yards from the beach, a really odd property that seems to have the choice between a makeshift tarpaulin tepee or a 2 storey wooden box that has a spiral staircase that is so steep I suspect you would have to abseil up and down them when you need the loo in the middle of the night, and the final option is a really lovely brand new hotel with rooms that easily hold 2 queensize beds, matching linen, gorgeous pool and real glass windows. We reluctantly decide to save $300 dollars and stay in a very rudimentary cabina right on the beach.

We move the bed so that we can see the view onto the ocean as we wake up and I decide to ignore the mouse droppings in the bathroom unless I actually see or hear scampering critters. Although we didn’t stay at the swanky hotel we do decide to have dinner there. It was lovely to be just 10 yards from the roaring surf and we had a lovely dinner. After dinner it is time to sit and look at the stars. There is no sea mist and, consequently, I don’t think I have ever seen so many stars shining so exquisitely. I could practically count the stars in the Milky Way - the whole concept of galaxies and our minute presence here has never been so evident.

When I stir briefly at about 5.45 am the view from the bed is amazing as the dawn light tints the palm trees, sand and, now distant, surf. Unfortunately, when I stir again at 9.15 it is to the whine of some type of motor bike going backwards and forwards just outside our window. I throw on enough clothes to go and investigate with my dignity intact, and discover a Panamanian family have decided to treat their 9 year old boy to a weekend at the beach with his beach buggy. Mindful that I don’t want to upset the locals (well at least not enough to incur their wrath) I try to muster enough polite Spanish to ask them why they have chosen this particular 100 meter stretch at this ungodly hour of the morning when there are people still sleeping and at least 10 other miles of beach with no-one !!!!! In fairness the father did apologise and call his son in - but honestly, even if it had been 2pm in the afternoon, why ruin everyone else’s peace and quiet when there really couldn’t be more room for them to find a space where no-one else would be disturbed.

When they then went on to unpack the 500 litre coolbox from the back of the jeep and settle in for the weekend we decided not to stay and we were packed and had moved hotel to option 2 before Brett had even had coffee. We had sacrificed our sea view but were more certain of a peaceful stay. Despite our rude awakening we did have a lovely couple of days here and might have stayed longer if the facilities had been available to make things a bit more comfortable. Because biker boy and his family had monopolized the shaded part of the beach it was difficult to really relax on the beach without risking 3^rd degree sunburn. Although there were a couple or new places being built, Las Lajas was more like a mini ghost resort - with at least 4 decaying and seemingly empty beachside bars. Having said that, it was probably just the Panamanian penchant for decrepitude and the place is probably rammed full at the weekend.

So, Friday morning sees us heading on the road again as we go another 60km further north and inland up into the mountains.

A quick aside about the geographical orientation of Panama … it is odd how we feel that we are traveling westwards, when we are in fact traveling northwards. This part of Central America is on such an angle and so narrow that, particularly looking at the driving map, you get the impression you are going from right to left rather than from the bottom to the top. Then you realise that the compass key on the map is rotated so that what we usually have as West is in fact North. No matter that we are now used to at least saying that we are heading North it still doesn’t feel like it. - quite bizarre.

It will be interesting to compare the highlands of India, Malaysia and Panama where each of them grows their tea and/or coffee. The trip up to the highlands here is much easier because it isn’t really that high; only a third of the elevation of India and Malaysia. Consequently, it is fresher but not as wet. Time to unpack the socks and fleece for a few days. Although it is not as cold or damp it is very, very windy.

The main town here is Boquete, which is popular with foreign retirees (mainly from the US), and so it has a lot more going on than we are used to so far on this trip. There are more restaurants and bars and supermarkets to choose from, with pretty much everything the Expat needs to survive. There are a lot of real estate agents in town and it seems that much is geared towards encouraging people to relocate here. Panama seems to have a genuine wish to have as many foreign residents living here as possible.

They positively encourage it with easy citizenship requirements and well organized land titles and buying procedures. I do wonder if this means that foreign businesses might exploit areas that the Panamanians might otherwise benefit from, but that doesn’t seem to be the case where we have been. Yes, most of the new businesses along the coast did have foreign owners but these were mainly couples who have decided to open things that, generally, improve the facilities that are available.

In terms of eco-tourism it is generally the foreigners who are investing and promoting the projects - the locals don’t seem to care. They make their money and get on with life. It seems logical that the foreigners who come here can afford to take the relative risk of ecotourism rather than just trying to make money. I also wonder if the locals haven’t really traveled or seen the effects of bad land management in the way that we have - and so they don’t recognise the need for more responsible business. In fairness, the main culprits for poor eco-management are the food and timber producers - with the massive deforestation that this entails - so who can blame them?!

Anyway, back to Boquete…

It is a typical little town with the usual mixture of concrete and wooden low level buildings. The surrounding area is really what you come for - and it is stunning. We realize how lucky we are to have the car for this part of the trip as it meant that we can follow the scenic routes up and down the very, very steep hills. Just outside of town we begin to see the groups of houses that belong to the indigenous population who seem to be linked mainly to the coffee plantations and this is where we see the first real effects of endemic poverty. Instead of the usual houses (albeit rickety and rundown) that we have seen so far, now we see more of what can only be described as tin huts, that is corrugated iron huts with plastic sheeting for windows and waterproofing. The couple of workers camps that I did see on the coffee plantations were much less organized than those we saw in Asia - and my assumption is that they are provided with much less here. At a pinch they may have running water and electricity - but I didn’t see any schools, clinics or churches close by. Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to talk to any of the locals here and I decided not to stop to take any pictures as it seemed a bit voyeuristic.

At one point we had stopped to take a picture of one of the ’views’ and asked two local girls if we could take their photo. As you can see they said yes but weren’t too sure about it, judging from their faces. A bit of a contrast to other places where they would practically be begging you to take a photo. However, the smaller girl’s face was positively beaming when I dug in my handbag and gave them a miniature pack of playing cards that I had (thanks Martin they are now 2,000 feet up a Panamanian mountain). As you can see, the girls are wearing the local dresses which are very lightweight cotton shifts with appliqué details and you often see the women and girls wearing them.

So, stunning views, amazing plant life and a bit of local colour. We were glad that we made it here. On our last day we went in search of what sounded like a lovely natural hot springs and, after a perilous 30 minute drive down a 2.5 km loose stone track and a sweltering 1km walk through the badly signposted wood, we did indeed find it. There were 3 spring pools, each a bit hotter than the last. It was amazing.

The pools are not very deep and don´t smell either.

This little boy was with his family at the springs. It seemed that mum and granny had come to soak their poor, tired feet in the pool and to collect a couple of bottles of water to take back with them. He was fascinated by the tourists and kept peeping out at us all.

We came across this bridge that crossed the river to a couple of stone cabins on the other side. Someone local person´s very perilous private access.

True to form it seems, despite the amenities that are here, there is very little that could be called ‘nightlife’ and we wonder where everyone goes after about 7pm. Most of the bars are very rough and ready and only the local diehards (predominantly men) frequent them. So, it is off to the supermarket for a couple of takeaway beers and a few quiet nights in for us.

Boquete´s fire engine.

Amazingly beautiful plantlife here. So vivid and really huge examples.

Central American plumbing. They have a very odd system for hot water showers here. This is a ´good´ one because the points are at least sealed. The first time we saw one we thought it was a DIY attempt, but they all use it here. So, every time you have a shower you live in fear of being electrocuted.

We tried to change the car to a one-way car rental so that we could go straight from David (which is just down the road) to Costa Rica but they wanted $180 dollars for the privilege so we opt for the drive back to Chitre instead. Cleverly, we leave our backs at the bus station in David so that we won’t have to bring them all the way back by bus tomorrow. Due to the really poor street signs and the hideously poor correlation between maps and reality it did take us 1 ½ hours to do so, but I’m sure it will be worth it in the end. We also got to experience the zoo that is the Central American bus station in full flow. It was so crowded and chaotic that we decided to wait until tomorrow evening when we get back to enquire about the buses from here to Costa Rica.

This time we make it without any speeding tickets and book back into our original hotel, where we bump into a bloke called John from Maine. He has just two weeks here in Panama but is so rapt with it that he is already planning his future trips. We donate our road map to him - which delights him no end - and invite him to eat with us that evening. He is an interesting man who plays the double bass in a jazz quartet back in Maine. He has played with some great jazz musicians not, by his own admission, because he is a great jazz player but because any of the greats who have played in his local town have needed a backing band and his has been handy! We end up with an invite to stay with him and his wife on our way to Nova Scotia later in the summer, as he lives half an hour away from the ferry. The world is indeed a very small place.

Tuesday finds us making our way by bus back to David. I am amazed that the second bus we took got out of the bus station, let alone the whole 280km. Every time the diver changed gear, you could hear the gears, which felt like they were just underneath Brett’s seat, grip each cog with an agonizing crescendo until they held. What with that and the 2 wheel cornering, I was very, very relieved when we got off the bus 3 hours later. We were right about it being less chaotic today and figure out that Monday is a very busy travel day here and we hit the worst possible time yesterday. In hindsight, the information that we needed was on various signs but when you are so anxious about having your stuff stolen and there are milling crowds everywhere it is difficult to see what is right in front of you.

A quick overnight stay in David (nothing to write home about at all) and then off to Costa Rica in the morning.

And now you are only a week behind us which is quickly rectified.

PANAMA-ON THE WAY

2009-03-26T23:13:00.001Z

For this tourist, Panama is a mixture of promise and purgatory. Impressions are of a place where things are neither started nor finished but where events happen and then move on. Monies move through the banks, massive ships move through the canal, vessels from other countries are re-flagged and re-registered here but then all go on to other destinations.

Panama City's downtown has small sections with bright, shiny banks, offices and restaurants but many other structures in the city remain gutted, despite the various re-building and shoring up projects going on. The guidebooks we have (written a couple of years ago) mention these same buildings as being in the process of being finished. They're still in the process...

The "through traffic" provides a good deal of money for the economy but one senses the Panamanians have made a conscious decision not to get too sentimental or excited about their relatively new wealth just yet. Panama doesn't even bother to print its own currency but instead uses US Dollars. And in fairness, over the last 40 years, the country has seen a number of coups, nationalisation of its banks and a somewhat capricious invasion by a northern superpower; it's understandable why the people haven't developed a faith in "long term thinking" !

This lack of faith extends to their tourist and leisure industries. For a country that has tremendous natural attractions, many areas are either under (or strangely) developed. Towns and villages have bars and eateries that only seem to open at whim.Of the places that are open, almost all of them shut down by 9:00 or 10:00-and this is the so called high season... Another example would be the Pacific beach town at Las Lajas where we stayed for 2 nights. The beach is pristine (the longest in Central America) but the choice of accommodation was very limited. One could choose either a very expensive American style hotel, or from 2 other places that were essentially shacks with so little on offer that staying beyond a night or two wasn't appealing. In the“cabina” where we stayed, each time water was required, we had to ask the manager to turn on (and then turn off) a diesel generator to produce it; not for hot water (there was none) but for any water...

There is something about Panama's "inbetweeness" that conjours up images of the America that existed on Route 66 and other long byways before the Interstate highways came along. The people who lived in the small towns along those roads had an innate distrust (even dislike) of outsiders yet needed their business to survive. In Panama, these attitudes, and the country as a whole, may be starting to change though. There is an election campaign going on that's generating a good deal of enthusiasm (always a good sign for a democracy). And, in some parts of the country, a concerted effort is being made to attract retirees from the US and Canada. It will be interesting to see in a few year's time if the Panamanians choose to develop their country as a destination where people from outside would like to live or return to, or whether they will prefer to remain a country that collects tolls as people pass through...

Brett

Into the interior

2009-03-22T23:31:00.004Z

Our next stop, the Azuero Peninsular, is mainly lowland pastures and part of the earliest settled land in Panama. Apparently, it is also where the Panamanians heard about Simon Bolivar’s successful attempts at Independence for other Latin American countries and there is a small town here where the push for their own independence emerged.

We found a beautiful town called Chitre that really made us feel that we had at last found somewhere that we could get a feel for ‘real’ life. Technically, it was a city as they have a lovely Cathedral - but it was only a miniature one so it did feel more like a town.

Our hotel, which for once was a reasonable price, looked out onto the main plaza and it was great to be able to sit on the balcony and observe the locals emerging as the sun went down and it becomes cool enough to sit and chat. As we had moved inland from the coast we were beginning to really feel how hot is does get here. It must be in the mid 30s by 11am and can only really fall to the high 20s during the night. The guide book talks of massive deforestation which contributes to the heat but does also ensure that there is a fairly constant wind blowing which helps to keep things bearable. On the minus side it also makes the place a tinderbox that flares up very regularly.

The locals are really lovely, there is often a smile and a Buenas Dias for us and they humour my attempts to communicate with them in Spanish very generously. It must be really painful to hear your own language being so brutalized, but they smile through it all and manage to understand enough of it to give me an answer that vaguely matches my questions. Brett makes me laugh as his attempts at Spanish generally emerge as Italian and he is constantly surprised when this only elicits polite, yet quizzical, looks. Still, it’s early days and I’m sure we’ll get a bit better at it.

We decided to hire a car from here so that we can really explore things a bit better. The buses are great but you are limited to their timetable and their routes, which is OK to get from A to B but less so for those hidden corners. Plus, it has also meant that we have been able to experience something that we wouldn’t have known about - car hire and driving in Panama.

The distances are not so great between towns - it is only about 350 Km from Panama City to the other side of the country. OK the roads are a bit hit and miss. The best roads have a dual carriageway and are newly tarmac'd/paved. But mostly, it is long single lane roads with that really bumpy old concrete and peppered with amazing potholes. Consequently, one driving skill is knowing when oncoming traffic is going to swerve in front of you to avoid their potholes whilst mananging your own swerving to avoid yours!!!!! Most of the cars are 4x4s because they have to be.

For example...

We did manage to squeeze past this one and only grounded the car very lightly honest.

We are only driving here in the dry season and it is perfectly understandable that only the bigger cars could manage the side roads in the wet season - in fact there are quite a few roads that we weren't able to risk because of their poor condition.

An American couple had told us to be careful if we did hire a car as the wheels of the car they had been given had fallen off because of stripped wheel nuts. So, the usual car hire once-over became more like an MOT check. Not in vain either as 2 bald front tyres (I kid you not) needed changing. I swear all he did was find a different car and swap them over. I can only hope the person who gets that one knows to check it thoroughly.

Day one with the car …

… we mosey off on a scenic loop with the traveller’s fantasy that we will find little gems here and there. In reality, the roads we travel bear no resemblance to the road map that we have and the Panamanians seem to have a marked aversion to road signs. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they have a inverted aversion to road signs. The signs they do have aren’t any that are marked on the map and those we are looking at on the map don’t exist on the road. So, imagine the car conversations. “Look there is a sign that says left for Cerricito is that on the road we want?” “Uhhhhh, No, can‘t see it.” “We’re just coming up to Pueblo Alejedro, is this the right road?” “Uhhhh, can’t see it on the map.” “Just coming up to a fork in the road darling, which one will I take?” “Can’t see a fork on this map.”

Plus, the map and guidebook tell you that you are potentially within 50 yards of something rather special but there is nothing on the ground to help you pin it down any more accurately. Consequently - the Villa where they wrote their letter to Simon Bolivar, the ancient stones and the beautiful, oldest church in Panama will remain as hidden gems for us. But we did get to see Trinidad up the dead end road. Most of the time you only know you are really on the right road because all the buses have their routes marked on their windscreens, so this lets you know you are driving towards where they start or where they finish - with luck you are going in the right direction.

Overall, the scenic loop did us very well as we saw lots of villages and village life. The main way of life belongs to cattle and sugar cane farming, although it’s hard to see how each family makes its living.

We had a particularly hairy 20km drive back to the main road on our way back to the hotel. Inevitably, we didn’t have much time to spare because we wanted to be back before it got dark and we hadn't bargained on the fact that they were resurfacing the whole road. I'm not sure why car rental places bother giving people white cars! I hope it doesn't say anything in the small print about it being my responsibility to clean it.

By the way, if anyone knows the Panamanian etiquette if you hit one of their chickens with your car, please do let me know. I swear it jumped in front of me on purpose.

The following day (Wednesday) we decided to head further inland towards one of the mountain towns. Well blow me down if a lovely policeman didn't decide that I was speeding! OK, it is feasible that I was - but you can't keep an eye on the road, potholes, brush fires, overtaking juggernauts and your speedo all at once surely?

We tried to blag our way out of it but he was adamant that we should have seen the speed sign that really wasn't there. He then proceeded to explain that we would have to turn around and drive 40km back the way we had come to pay the $100 fine and until then he would keep my licence. We had heard and read about the propensity for the police to accept bribes - but how do you introduce this in broken spanish? I'm sure the poor bloke was thinking - I'm making it as hard as possible for them to pay this legally when are they going to get the point? It was very funny, I've never seen a policeman so reluctant to start writing on a ticket.

Eventually Brett managed to ask him, in Italian, could we possibly pay it more directly. Hooray ... now all we have to do is to negotiate the price. Well, he got $30 out of us which is the usual $10 plus the tourist tax! Next time we will only have 10 bucks in our wallets and I'm sure that will suffice. I wonder if the locals or those in the know don't even bother getting out of their cars when they get stopped - just chuck the $10 at them and save everyone the time.

Some more pics for this one later I hope. We are taking the car back to Chitre and I hope to get a few that I missed the first time.

Bye for now ...

Beach Time in Panama

2009-03-21T16:32:00.008Z

Hooray!!!! The beach at last.

Our first beach experience in Panama takes us 100km west of the city to Santa Clara. There is the bare bones of a village here; mostly houses with one local bar and not much else. The beach road takes us to a stretch of beach that is very beautiful. The waves of the Pacific are very powerful and the beach is shelved so that the rollers crash dramatically on the shore. It also has the effect of trying to splat you unceremoniously against the sand as you get into the water. Once we got over the initial shock of the water temperature it was great fun really.

As we sat and watched the surf on our first day we were able to watch the pelicans and ?cormorants fishing just off the shore. It was amazing seeing them dive for the fish and the ensuing fights as the lazier ones tried to steal from those who had caught something. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me that afternoon and had hoped to capture it the next day; but the fish must have been running differently because we didn't see it again.

The beach itself only has 2 places to stay, which accounts for the exorbitant price of a very basic room. We figure it out eventually; the Panamanians from the city come for the weekend and this also helps to drive the prices up. The lodging that we found has a great monopoly supplying food and drink to weekenders and day trippers alike. This includes a $2 entrance fee to the beach per person at the weekend. Which would be OK if they actually did anything for the money other than take more money from you if you want to eat or drink during the day. Most of the locals bring coolers with enough supplies for a small village. Unfortunately, they then tend to leave all of their rubbish at the beach. The people who own the café don’t make any effort to clear up - even their own rubbish that has blown everywhere is left to be taken by the surf. Consequently, this and other beaches further down the coast are spoilt. It is amazing to us that the Panamanians don’t seem to care and certainly make no effort to keep the place litter-free.

Still, a walk 100m further along and you would think you were the only person on the beach that day. Just the pelicans and the buzzards to keep you company.

The local fishermen and their families lived further up the beach and it was interesting to see that it was probably more dangerous for them to bring their catch ashore against the swell of the surf than it had been to catch them. Also, it did show how the whole family became involved in bringing in the fish.

We were only able to book the beach cabin for one night so we decamp to another place 1km inland. An American couple have started a very ‘homely’ motor caravan park that also has a couple of rooms. Brett tells me it is like an old style American motel. Apparently, there are quite a few North Americans who drive down the Pan-American highway, which stretches the length of Central America, in their motor homes (or RVs for those in the know) and they need somewhere to hook up each evening. This couple have set up a ‘home from home’ for their compatriots. But with a local twist or two. Whilst the grounds were very beautifully kept - I think they thought the 7 or 8 bird cages with parrots, toucans and local exotic birds were a charming addition! Personally, I’d prefer it if the birds were left free. The staff were very lovely - helpful and cheerful - which is more than can be said for the owners who were devoid of any charm at all. No doubt Brett will make more sense of this than I did as he has had more experience of this slice of Americana.

So, 3 days at the beach was a very welcome start to our travels and we decide to head into the interior.

Panama

2009-03-21T16:19:00.005Z

So, our travels resume …

I think that we hit the luckiest travel streak of all time on our journey to Panama. Firstly, our flight out of Bristol was so empty that we both had a row of seats to ourselves and could stretch out. Then we were checked into the exit isle for the New York to Panama leg and once again we had the whole row to ourselves. It was bliss and made a 17 hour journey almost relaxing. Interestingly, the authorities in New York make you check through customs and immigration even though you are only in transit, so we had 2 hours stateside as a bit of a bonus. Although, had we known this we would have tried to have a longer layover so people could pop to see us if they wanted! The downside of this is that there aren’t many services landside in the departures building so we had to twiddle our thumbs for a bit. Still, we made the most of the last bit of cold weather for a couple of months.

We arrived in Panama City on time at 9pm and made our way speedily to the hotel we had booked. Having read many, many horror stories about the dangers of Latin American cities we were a bit worried about being stuck in the hotel until the next morning, but as it was, the hotel was only 200 yards from a busy street with a restaurant etc. so we were able to have a little wander and find some much needed food and beer.

We are discovering that Panamanian hotels are not particularly geared to providing all the comforts of home! While the ones we have been at so far have been clean, they are very basic and each has its little quirks. We have been surprised (and a bit disappointed) at how expensive the hotels are given how little they provide. We understand paying $60 for a room in the city, but $70 for a tree house next to the beach seems a bit steep!

We spent our first day getting over the journey and ventured into el Casco Viejo (old town) of Panama. It is a small area of small streets with the old-style rows of houses with shutters and verandas. It is currently undergoing a big regeneration project - which is just as well as most of the buildings are VERY precarious. It seems that they have managed to ensure that the restorations are done with an eye on the authenticity of the area. Unfortunately, this invariably means that the locals won’t actually be able to afford to live there once the buildings are restored. There are a lot of wealthy people in Panama City and a desire to have ‘nice’ neighbourhoods to match their desired lifestyles is not surprising.

Panama City and the bits of the countryside we have seen so far seem fairly typical of Latin American cities. The buildings are very angular, with corrugated iron roofs and in various states of decoration; from newly painted and very bright (generally the churches and government buildings) to peeling and fading (most of the rest). The oldest style buildings are wooden, but there aren't many of these left now and the majority are now concrete. There is an enormous amount of construction going on - and a big push to encourage retirees to choose Panama. We’ll probably hold off on making that decision just yet …

The Panamanians have a great bus system that covers the whole country. Bigger coaches go between the major cities but there are also a lot of minibuses that cover all the journeys in between. Our ticket for a 2 hour trip costs $3.75 each … not bad at all. We will use it to head to the beach to make the most of the SUNSHINE and to thaw out after the last two months.

Hasta Luego.

Bangkok

2008-12-30T09:54:00.002Z

If there is one small niggle about travel over here it is that you are given no information in English about any of the journeys. So, you are never quite sure if or when you will stop, whether you can get food along the way or not etc. None of the staff ever speaks enough English to be able to tell us - which is fair enough - but given the number of Westerners who use their services a little printed info wouldn’t go amiss. We learned in India that most of the time people bring their own food along; if only for the fact that this is what they can afford. From our perspective we can never be certain that what might be available will be ‘safe’ for us. We eat from food stalls most of the time over here but these are relatively tame compared to the ‘transport cafe’ equivalent that some of the buses stop at.

I have been driven to wistfully wonder how long you would need to live here before you could risk a takeaway salad and a couple of chicken wings without throwing all caution to the wind? On the one hand we would love to pick up a take away soup, or fried rice or two at the start of the journey - but on the other hand do we risk keeping it for 3-4 hours before we eat it!?!?!?!? So far we have erred on the side of caution and make do with buns or sandwiches if we can find them. Most of the time this means that we start the journey with a bag full of white, refined flour and sugar in various forms.

On the trip down to Bangkok I had just fallen into a carbohydrate-induced stupor on the bus when we pulled up for a stop. Brett gently prodded me and asked if I wanted to get off as it seemed as if we were going to stop for a while. In my carb grouchiness I declined. 5 minutes later he came back to tempt me with the promise of Earl Grey tea (the holy grail as it were) which did eventually draw me back from the depths. The food stop was really lovely. Masses of dried fruits and candied this and that, which the Thais seem to love, and a really great food court. As both Brett and I had already eaten our store of processed food we were both beyond eating anything else. I can't be certain but I'm fairly sure that Brett shed a quiet tear while waiting for me.

The other drawback about not knowing when you will stop is the tricky task of planning when and what to drink. I now realise that the main reason people travel when they are young is because they can do so secure in the knowledge that their bladders are robust enough to carry them through the longest of journeys without a twinge. This is no longer true for me and rationing before and during trips is a sad necessity.

Suffice to say, we arrive in Bangkok on Saturday evening after 7 hours of dehydration and the aftereffects of too much refined sugar and carbohydrates.

We find that our hotel is slap, bang in the middle of the wholesale clothes market(we now know where all those market traders get their miles of gaudy shirts, shorts and skirts) and 20 yards away from the wholesale fruit and veg night market. It is fascinating see the range of goods in the market and to see yards upon yards of the different fruits; massive pineapples and watermelons; smooth skinned avocados; mountains of mandarins etc. One morning as we are going out we see the last of the avocados being picked over by traders - by now of course they are being offered the bin end price and there is no doubt that their own clients will be more 'East Street' than 'Whiteladies Road'. They look delighted with themselves as they pile sack upon sack of fruit onto their trolleys.

It was strange to be back amongst the hustle and bustle of a city after what seems like so long away from it all. Penang was busy enough but Kuala Lumpur was the last big city for us about a month ago.

Bangkok is not for the fainthearted. The traffic is horrendous, the air and water pollution is grim, the public transport is abysmal and just about everyone we come into contact with is out to try to scam just that extra 100 bhat or so from you. It has been lovely in Malaysia and Thailand so far as this hadn’t been such a problem but ... Bangkok is out to make you pay.

Our first evening (Saturday) we needed to check out transport information for the next part of our trip on Monday so we decided to take a taxi to Khao San Road (for those who aren’t aware this is the heart of backpacker land in BKK). For some reason getting a taxi outside the front of our hotel was a nightmare. I think the hotels conspire in the whole business. There was always someone just outside our hotel who would gladly drive you anywhere - but the prices they quoted were so outrageous they quickly realized that we were NEVER going to be using them. As it was a very big hotel full of foreign tourists you’d think there’d be taxis queuing up round the block, but it was next to impossible to get a taxi and the hotel wouldn’t call you one as you weren’t going to use their drivers.

We quickly figured out that it was best just to walk round to the nearest main street and hail a taxi or Tuk Tuk. Taxi drivers here will not use their meters if they can avoid it and regularly try to charge you about twice the going rate. We had managed to persuade our taxi driver to use the meter from the bus station to the hotel when we arrived so we had some idea what the fares should be. Indeed, when they do use the meter it is relatively cheap for us. We paid just over 2 quid (120 Bhat) for a journey that would have been the best part of 30 quid in the UK.

The first evening our taxi driver waved off our question about how much it would be and then said 150 baht so we told him to stop the taxi. He, of course, pretended not to hear until we insisted. At which point he grudgingly dropped his price to 100. Although we knew that was still too high we agreed as it was more hassle than it was worth to try to find another taxi willing to use the meter in a neighbourhood that we still weren’t familiar with.
However, the fare would have been closer to 45 if he had put the meter on.

And, they’re all in on it... The next day we had to go to the bus station out of town to book our tickets and the meter fare was 95 bhat. When we went to get a taxi back we had to go through the taxi rank and the man in charge looked us straight in the eye and said he “could” do it for 400 - like he was doing us a huge favour. When we told him it had cost us 95 to get there and didn’t offer to bargain with him at all, insisting on the meter, he waved us away growling at us to "have the meter then". It’s not that I object to them wanting to fiddle the tax man or whoever, quote me a fair price off the meter and I'll pay it (I'll even tip them), but don’t treat me like a walking cash machine.

But back to Saturday night...

Our taxi driver drives like he is being pursued by the hounds of hell so it is no surprise when we pull up to what feels like the gates of hell; aka Khao San Road.

I am drawn to think that if you have spent a summer holiday at club 18-30 in Ibiza or somewhere similar then KSR would probably be a homecoming of sorts. The road is probably 300-500m long and lined with pubs, cocktail bars (which often means a barrel with 10 bottles of booze on top and 20 chairs around it), market and food stalls and peole hawking pretty much everything. Plus, it is rammed full of people. For the first hour I was just in shock. After the last 6-8 weeks of relative calm and civilisation, KSR was a step too far too soon for me. Once my system had acclimatised about an hour later it was interesting to sit and watch the shenanigans of the different crowds of people. The buzz was very good natured and there was none of the aggression that we often have in the UK when so much alcohol is around. KSR certainly does let you know that you can get, and do, pretty much whatever you want in Bangkok.

Not so much sight-seeing in BKK this time around as we know we will be back for a day or two before we fly out in January. We wander some of the markets and decide to risk China Town for dinner on Sunday night. It is interesting to see once again how seriously how the Asians take their food. Brett is hoping for some more Cantonese food but we don't manage to find it so we have to make do with a local restaurant where the food is very good so he isn't too disappointed. Tuesday sees us packing up and skipping gently to the next part of our trip, which is Christmas on one of the islands on the East coast ... and only 12 hours overnight on the (yes you guessed it) bus. We have splashed out on VIP this time - loos and reclining seats - and hope this will make the trip slightly more bearable.

Still in Northern Thailand

2008-12-30T08:30:00.008Z

We stayed another 4 days in Chinag Mai in the end. Monday found us queuing at the immigration office for our visa extensions as planned. In the end we were on ly allowed a 7 day extension -as the rules for that had also changed - so we are probably stuck with having to be on the move over the New Year so that we can come back into Thailand with less than 15 days to go before we leave in January.

We are not the only people affected by the change and the general feeling is that it is a bit of a nonsense really, particularly when the Thais are at risk of being in dire straights with the reduction in tourists this year because of the various recessions and the Bangkok airport fiasco. How wise is it of them to deny genuine tourists the opportunity to spend our money here? The change to the visa extension rules has affected a lot of travellers arriving at land borders (as many of them do) and many are just choosing to change their itineraries to spend more time in other countries. If we didn’t already have a flight booked out of Bangkok we wouldn’t return but choose somewhere else to finish our trip. Thailand is very nice but I suspect the neighboring countries have just as much to offer.

Tuesday was a day for visiting a couple of out of town Wats and the Elephant conservation facility about 90km outside of Chiang Mai. It was interesting to see one of the oldest Wats in Thailand - predominantly made of wood and very, very beautiful.

Coincidentally, it is a sacred site for anyone born in the year of the Ox - so Brett inadvertently gained a bit of good Buddhist karma to boot.

Just around the corner we find the newest addition to the Wat compound. This one is very ornate in red and gold.

Food at the market... Not sure what the black stuff is as no-one can translate it for us. But they eat a lot of it as a dessert.

Other than eating, shopping and shipping said purchases, the rest of our time was spent trying to organise car hire so that we could take a leisurely drive down through to the South. Not to be - nary a car to be had in the whole of the North of Thailand. So it was back onto the bus for us and a 5 hour jaunt to Sukothai about 300kms south. I’d like to say that rolling through the Thai countryside was a moving and illuminating experience. Unfortunately, I slept most of the way having managed to catch another bug. I do wonder if stopping and relaxing for more than a couple of days gives the bugs time to really take hold! Still, what I did see was lovely. A lot more of the traditional wooden houses - some more dilapidated than others. The roads here are generally well organized and maintained. They don’t have many motorways as such - only 1 or 2 main highways with other good dual carriageways elsewhere. However, the number of Thais travelling long distances by car seems limited. Once you are outside the main towns then traffic is really quite light. Most families have at least a moped or two - but not all of them have cars and there is a very extensive bus transport network that a lot of Thais seem to use instead. Although people in the bigger town/cities are doing well enough there is ample evidence that you are never too far away from a village where many families share their front porches or back gardens with chickens or the odd cow.
We eventually arrived at Sukothai, which was once the capital of Thailand and has some interesting ruins set in the most wonderful parkland. We spent a very pleasant couple of hours cycling round the park here.

Keeping the grounds tidy.

I notice a group of workers carefully (!) climbing one of the ruins following the latest Thai 'safety at work' directives of course. It turns out that it is time to tidy up the Buddha.

The weather it must be said is just perfect for us. It is officially ‘winter’ which means the temperatures have tumbled to at least 27/8 degrees during the day with probably 14 - 19 degrees late at night. The locals are all walking around in coats, scarves etc, and even the dogs have been given their winter coats to wear! But for us it is the first time that it has been pleasant to just wander around and we have managed without the air con. It won’t last much longer as we move further south but, for now, it is a great change from wading through the heat of the day.

Sukothai doesn’t have much to offer apart from the ruins. The ‘old town’ is a street of shops and amenities that have emerged to service the visitors to the ruins and the ‘new town’, 12 km away, is a regular Thai town of about 40,000. Great food market and some lovely food stall food - but very little in the way of true ambience.
We eventually dragged ourselves to the one bar in town called “Chopper”. Whether it was ever a hard core biker bar or only aspired to this we were never sure. There was a very surreal moment when two of the male staff started dancing together (with slightly more lady boy swaying than strictly necessary) and then crawling around on the floor teasing the resident pooch. Not quite the Friday night biker bar behaviour that we had anticipated. The following day it was back on the bus for us to transfer to Bangkok for a couple of nights before we head to the beach for Christmas. The political situation is quiet for now and will probably keep like this until the new Government comes closer to being a reality.

Thailand

2008-12-14T11:18:00.007Z

So, we finally decide to make the break and leave for Thailand. We had planned to wait another 5 or 6 days in Malaysia to see how the politicos resolved their ‘issues’ but the weather was (uncharacteristically) so bad that another week on the beach didn’t seem like such a good idea after all. The information we were getting from people arriving from Thailand was reassuring as, apart from the disruption to travel plans in and out of Bangkok, there were no stories of any difficulties for travellers. A lot of people in Langkawi were only there because of the lack of flights into Thailand, and there were many conversations about plans of how to get around the after affects of the blockade.

As I was feeling a bit culture-deprived we agreed on a North to South itinerary with Wats (temples) and history before our next beach sojourn.

A quick jaunt on the ferryboat took us away from Langkawi just across the Thai border. Here we encountered the first major mishap of our trip. The Thai authorities had brought in a change THE WEEK BEFORE to the visa regulations and, because we had arrived through a land border rather than by air, we would only be given a 15 day visa exemption rather than the 30 day one we were expecting. This would require some careful planning as 15 days was nowhere near the 38 days we had planned on staying here! More on this later ...

We were then squeezed (i.e. 13 adults, 2 children and enough luggage to stock Maceys) into one of the local minivans. Luckily it was only a short 1 hour trip to take us to the nearest city where we could link up with transport further afield. Hat Yai, is a medium sized city catering primarily as a transport hub between Southern Thailand and the rest of the country. The buildings were fairly careworn but the atmosphere was OK and there was enough to keep us fed and sheltered until the following day when we would fly out to Chiang Mai in the North. A good meal followed by a foot massage and a beer/cider (what bliss) wasn’t a bad way to celebrate our arrival in Thailand.

However, here we also encountered our first experience of the seedier side of Thai tourism as we managed to end up in a bar where a couple of Thai women were playing tag ‘seduction’ with a Norwegian man on the last night of his holiday in Thailand. In fairness he was a willing participant, indeed he let us know of his other “girlfriends” around Thailand and it seems that having the company of these Thai women had been part and parcel of his holiday. Over the next few days we see a lot of Western men with Thai women. This is the first time that we have seen local women with Westerners since we started our trip and, inevitably, we are drawn to the conclusion that this is part of Thailand’s notorious sex industry.

We take a mid-morning flight out of Hat Yai and arrive in Chiang Mai in the North West of Thailand in time for a cup of coffee beside the river at the guesthouse we had booked. For once the guesthouse has lived up to its internet description and delivers a beautiful, tiered Thai style building with lots of teak and bamboo and a gorgeous garden that edges up to the river. It is a peaceful oasis amid the city clamour.

We spend the first 12 hours after we arrive trying to sort out a solution to our visa problem. We wear out at least 3 computer keyboards looking at the different visa regulations for the neighbouring countries and travel times and prices to see where we might easily go so that we can re-enter the country through an airport and get the extra 30 days that we need. Unfortunately, the advertised cheap flight fares are so loaded with airport taxes that it soon becomes depressingly obvious that a ‘visa run’ would cost over 300 quid. The cheaper 12 hour round trip by minvan to cross into Laos or Cambodia begins to look attractive until we realise that a) we would miss out on half of our itinerary because we would have to stay in the North of the country an extra week until our visa runs out and b) we would be spending Christmas Eve doing the visa run and Christmas Day recovering from it!!!!! Plan 452 variation 64 therefore becomes a morning in Thai immigration to extend our current visa by 10 days with an overland visa run from the Southern Islands back into Malaysia just after the New Year. This means that we can still have our Christmas on the beach (hooray, what a huge relief I hear you all echo) and will probably be able to do it by boat or at most 4 hours in a minivan rather than 12.

Chinag Mai is a delightful historic city. It was once a walled city with the added bonus of an inner moat to protect it. It is a mixture of old wooden, stilted houses and more recent two-storey, balconied terraced houses with an abundance of trees, ferns, bamboo and vines shading courtyards and gardens everywhere.

Although it is a large city with some bigger, busy main roads there are many small higgledy-piggledy lanes and cross streets. There are very few buildings over 3-4 storeys (mainly just the new bigger hotels) which helps to maintain a lovely old town atmosphere. Although tourism is a mainstay here (with bars, guesthouses and internet cafes all around) you don’t have to go too far off the main streets to be immersed in local life where no-one speaks English and you are obviously one of very few foreigners to be seen from one month to the next. The Thais that we meet are unfailingly polite and smiling – if a little bemused at our swivel necked walking style, gawping at the sights that they doubtless no longer see.

The streets are teeming with cars, autorickshaws, millions of mopeds and lined with eating stalls. Most of the local shops are the typical one room, one family enterprises that have become familiar to use all over Asia so far. A couple of the bars are obvious throwbacks to the backpacker trail and look as if they have been lifted from an old John Wayne movie set; after they had been neglected for 40 years.

The main sights and experiences revolve around the old Wats, elephants, and traditional Thai craft industries. We have managed to visit quite a few Wats as they are on practically every street corner.The architecture, decorations, temple guardians, Buddhas and mosaics are truly breathtaking.

Disappointingly, it seems that the remaining hill tribe villages have been co-opted onto the tourist trail with trips to vist them all neatly packaged into tour days that we are inclined to give a miss. Instead we have planned to hire a car with a driver for a day and will bribe them if necessary to miss every factory outlet and craft performance on the way.

The other tourist must-do is SHOPPING!!!! There are so many market places and stalls here that Brett, whose shopping tolerance is limited to 45 minutes on the Gloucester Road, is soon reduced to a pitiful wreck that even the best cafe latte can’t lift. As the shopping highlights are silk, silver, pottery and sculpture I am going to have to ditch the boy one of these days for some serious retail therapy. Ok – I’m not actually in need of the therapy part of it really but my shopping DNA is screaming at me to indulge and who am I to argue!!

Today is “Sunday Walking Street” day where they close off one of the main streets and have stalls and performances of local arts, crafts and traditions so we will give that a go and let you know anon...

Tomorrow (Monday) is a red letter day with the political situation here as the opposition party will know whether they have enough members to form a new government. Whichever way it goes there is no way to know if there will be any major repercussions so we will have to wait and see. In general, any major events have always tended to centre around Bangkok and we are optimistic that we will be able to avoid any potential fallout. If necessary, we can leave overland very quickly if things get too risky or we can hunker down out of the way of any trouble until it is resolved.

Kerala (Southern India)

2008-12-14T10:33:00.011Z

We spend my birthday a little differently this year!

We are on the move from Delhi to the coast. We take an Air India flight to Trivandrum amidst a very tropical storm and, it is with some relief, that we arrive an hour late at the local airport. Luckily, we had organised a taxi from the hotel to pick us up. I say luckily because it is very late when we arrive in Kovallam and it appears that we have arrived in a ghost town – so it is just a well that the driver knew where we were going. Our worst fears are allayed the following morning when we are able to explore a little more and find that there are some restaurants and shops etc. just down the road and around the corner. It is very early in the season here and the hotel we are saying in is sprucing itself up. Which is just as well because it is a dump. The overworked and under-serviced air conditioning in our room wafts the occasional puff of lukewarm air over us. I say occasional as the power cuts in and out regularly and, as we haven’t adjusted to the heat and humidity yet, our first night is a challenge. We decide that 2 days is enough here and decamp to Varkala, a much more relaxed and prettier beach 60km further north.

Varkala Beach

A week here is lovely and we relax for the first time in months (yeah, I know – it’s tragic and you all really feel for us!). While the beach is very oriented towards Western tourists it is nice to get off the beaten track with a couple of trips. We see various temples and buildings along with some lovely waterways.

Working on the river

Anyone for a coconut - or two?

I love the definite preponderance of kitsch – just as you think you have seen the most brightly coloured temple, something new comes along.

Island Temple

I am interested in the local backwaters as it gives me a chance to see what life is like when there aren’t 16 million other people around. While the amenities are fairly basic the houses certainly have more space. As ever, the buildings look as if they are only a centimetre or two from total collapse. Roofs, walls and doors are very rickety and often seem to consist of wooden planks or bamboo reeds patched up with tarpaulin or plastic sheets. Any concrete structures are covered in mould with fading paint most of the time. I wonder if Dulux have found a way of making outdoor paint mould-resistant??? I know the paint we use at home has to be stored in temps less than 30 degrees and not applied in damp conditions; so not really suitable for here at all. Granted the original colours must have been very colourful – they do like their colours here. Lots of houses are pink, purple, yellow, bright green or various combinations thereof and Brett is very worried that I’m picking up decorating tips here.

Brett has mentioned that he felt as if he was being voyeuristic during the backwater trip but I wondered if travelling per se is not voyeuristic and the least we can do is to be a sensitive about it as possible. If we didn’t want to see how people live then we would just stick to the resorts and not venture off the beaten track. The alternative was to take a tourist houseboat to experience ‘real life’ on the river. These have been proliferating over the last few years and some of the locals were mentioning how they were not being managed well so that noise, diesel and congestion on the river was now threatening the delicate ecosystem. So, we drift through the tiny backwaters

guided by a local man who manages to avoid taking us through people’s backyards too much - rather than chugging up the diesel polluted main waterways.

He took us to his house to pick up his boat and proudly showed us different plants etc. that his family grow locally. We didn’t know tapioca grew on trees until now and it was interesting to see how they use the abundance of coconut trees! If you are getting your coir rug for Xmas then chances are it comes from around here.

Our guide greeted all of the others on the waters, many of whom were relatives, and – it seemed to us at least – chastised a few younger men for not maintaining their boats properly. Here too we could see the transition from the older style huts

to the more modern houses where local people now live. Around the houses each family has enough land to cultivate so the standard of living is relatively good.

I feel that our stay here has given us the opportunity to see a more relaxed and sustainable way of life for some Indian people. While there is still huge poverty with many, many people living in subsistence conditions, there are communities who live more comfortably, without belonging to the privileged middle classes.

Indian Train Travel

2008-12-09T04:38:00.003Z

From Varkala we take our first Indian train to Kochi.

We have been ‘educated’ in the booking intricacies for trains by a lovely tour operator in Varkala. A British woman who is married to the owner helps us with our tickets and advises us on the best seats to buy. Booking tickets never seems to be less than a 2 hour endeavour. First you check the train times etc. If there isn’t a direct train then you need to know exactly where the connections occur as you can only look at direct connections. Then you check seat availability for each class. In fairness it is a good system in that you can see if there are seats available in the class you want. But as there are different specifications for seat allocations you can miss seat availability if you don’t know which ones to choose from.

For example, you can check the general allocation; if you have no luck there you can then check tourist availability; if you are a woman you have your own class of booking as well. If you have a ‘disability’ you also have special allocations. Such disabilities include diabetics, transplantees, amputees, and on through a list of around 50 different conditions. So, choose your available ticket and go on to book it. Then comes the passport numbers, names, gender and ages of the passengers. (This does also have the added advantage (?) that when you board the train you can check the allocation list and see the names, ages and genders of your travelling companions!) With Brett and I, we could only book the tickets as long as the entire booking was in his name! So, the first time we did it we had to go back to the beginning as it wouldn’t let us book it under my name first. If I had been travelling alone it would have been OK.

At any given moment the system might crash or the electricity might cut out and off you go to start again. Similarly, we couldn’t pay for it ourselves as we couldn’t get it to accept any of our credit cards! So ... off we go and start again with an agent. Yes, we are having so much fun!!!

Intercity 2nd class compartments have 4 bunks with 2 up and 2 down and, even if you are travelling during the day and unlikely to want to go to sleep, you are not allocated a seat but a bunk. If you are unfortunate enough to be in a compartment where they do want to sleep then you could be stuck on a bunk with the curtains drawn and lights off during the day!! It seemed a bit strange at first that so many Indian travellers did exactly that – but after a couple of trips we realise that if you don’t want to look at the sights then train travel is excruciatingly slow, where you are lucky if you average 50 kms (yes, that is kms and not miles!?!) per hour, and sleeping isn’t such a bad idea. Thus, because you might be confined to your bunk it is really useful to book a lower one so you can just sit if you want to. If you are really clever then you book the two side bunks as this means that you won’t have to share with anyone else and can sit or sleep when you want to. Etiquette demands that bunks are made and the lights are off after 9pm on overnight journeys. We both felt like errant teenagers as we sat up after 10pm. In fairness the fact that we had smuggled on a few beers for the journey might have contributed to the feeling – but we felt that a 10 hour overnight journey with no alcohol at all was asking the impossible.

Interestingly there is another type of ticket that is along the lines of ‘booked pending cancellation’ which means you can board the train and only have an allocated seat so long as someone cancels their booking or misses the train. At one time we had a family of four in our compartment who had booked a 48 hour journey and only had 1 ½ allocated seats (not sure how the ½ came about, probably for the child) for it. They were quite resigned to sharing one bunk if necessary. After 10 hours we were more than ready to leave the train and couldn’t imagine doing another 38 hours. 1st class travel seems to be used mainly by tourists with businessmen (and I never did see a businesswoman on a train), middle classes and tourists then using 2nd and 3rd class air con compartments depending on availability.

There is the very ‘quaint’ service of providing sheets, blankets, a pillow and a flannel/facecloth for each bunk. There is a carriage attendant who passes these out and – we noticed with one particularly obnoxious young Indian man – will even make up your bed if you request it. Once you have resigned yourself to the vagaries of Indian laundry standards and managed the travel back through time to horsehair camping blankets then you can lull gently to sleep at any given hour of the day.

Further down the train you find the carriages which the majority of locals use. Here they have 6 bunks stacked 3 on each side with an average of 24 people in each compartment, with no windows just bars. In times past it probably would have aptly been called ‘steerage’. There is no allocation for these carriages and the scrum for the seats is amazing. In Kochi, we see how some enterprising souls jump onto the empty train as it pulls into the station so that they can run through the carriages to get a seat before the train has even stopped. Otherwise its is a melee of adults, children and phenomenal amounts of baggage being forced onto the train . At one point the baggage car door is opened and I can see that it is jammed full of people – but some earnest negotiation means that another family of 5 is squeezed in.

Because a seat in these conditions is a better option than no seat – particularly when journeys on the intercity trains are seldom less than 10 hours long and more often run into days - it is understandable that people use the only option available to them. However, my ire constantly rises at the appalling mis-administration of the basic infrastructure needed for the majority of the population; particularly when we are constantly told how 'rich' the Indian economy is at the moment. So yes, Indian trains are incredibly cheap and run mainly on time and it must be a logistical nightmare to keep so many billions of people on the move each day but they are slow, smelly, dirty, and hugely over-crowded unless you have the luxury of travelling in the air-conditioned carriages.

Northern India

2008-12-09T03:20:00.017Z

So, where was I?

Ah yes, India...

Our second day was out and about in New Delhi; a chance to experience the crowds and traffic as we go from sight to sight. Our driver keeps us well insulated from too much of the local atmosphere but we do get to see the biggest Mosque and, as it is festival time, there are lots of market stalls inside which makes it surprisingly festive for those of us used to more austere places of worship. The workmanship and splendour of the major buildings gives us an idea of the craftsmanship of times past.

There is a stark contrast between the space and tranquility inside the buildings and the cramped, frenetic activity outside.

Delhi City life

Solving the energy problem

Both here and throughout Northern India we encounter a lot of local tourists admiring their heritage, so we don’t have the sense that it is only for the foreign tourists - YET.

700kms over 5 days take us through Udaipur, Jaipur and Agra where we are presented with a smorgasbord of Persian and Hindu design in the Amber Fort, Fatehpur Palace and Taj Mahal.

(In fairness, I can't quite swear that I have the photos in the right order here but I'm getting internet cafe-itis and you'll get the general idea!)

The Women's Screen in Jaipur so the Royal women could watch the processions without being seen.
The front gate at the Taj Mahal.

You know who, you know where at dawn.

Life outside of the capital doesn’t get any calmer. People’s lives are relatively similar wherever we have been. Where there has been the opportunity, an individual family may put together a small business that focuses on one specific market – some have small ‘shops’ which generally consist of a room (probably 6 – 9m2) that opens directly onto the street. It is unusual to see shops with windows – most just have a shutter that they will put down when they are shut. Cooking, mending bikes, soldering pipes, sewing, grocery shops, electrical shops etc. etc. make up the average street. These then often seem to be organised into, for example, the car part’s quarter, the tailor’s quarter, the spice quarter etc. Apart from these more organised businesses there are a multitude of street stalls and hawkers each selling something different.

Being westerners we are constantly swooped on and called after. I want to say that it takes us some time to get used to the constant ‘hawking’ and clamouring that being on the street entails – but in fact I don’t think that we ever really did get used to it. Individual space isn’t a concept (luxury) that is available here and so the usual social cues that we give out are ignored and we, in turn, have to try to learn to ignore the worst of it.

UP TO OOTY

2008-12-01T18:31:00.003Z

Ooty is one of those places in India one keeps hearing about from other tourists (and Indians) as a good spot to visit. Understandable. It is high up in the mountains, has a very nice botanical garden (which is kept clean) and offers some relief from the air pollution and dust so prevalent on the plains below. The town also sports a considerable colonial history and some major tea plantations which are much in evidence in the hills surrounding the town. But, unkind as it may be to say so, I did not find Ooty particularly “memorable”… Perhaps I would have felt differently had we chosen to stay at one of the fancier “western” hotels above the town, gone on an organized tour of the plantations, etc. But, at least in this case, we chose to visit India rather than take part in an East India Trading Company nostalgia tour…

What was memorable was the getting to Ooty ! There is a small gauge steam train (maybe the last working one in India) that runs from the bottom of the mountain up to Ooty. The Indians call it a “toy train”; it runs only once a day, leaving very early in the morning and we decided it would be a great (if slow) way to catch the scenery and enjoy a mode of transport barely seen or used anymore.

The nearest town with a decent hotel from where the train departs is an hour’s drive away (or so we were told…). We booked a taxi for the next morning to pick us up at 5:30 AM in order to make the early departure.

And so the next day arrived but the taxi did not…. It was a half hour late and with 45 minutes to go before the train departed (after having been advised it took at least an hour to get there), I rather heatedly told the driver there was no point taking us there unless we could make the train. Was that a really brilliant thing to say ? Hmmm….. Not that I’ll ever be known for making great (or rational) statements at that time of the morning sans coffee… The driver wasn’t about to lose his fare, so off we went, at great speed, still in the dark, on unlit back country Indian roads to catch a toy train.

For those of you who have not been to India, a few words on its roads and drivers… I have been to Turkey, the Middle East and rural parts of Southern Europe but NOTHING compares to the level of danger and chaos that is standard on the road in India. Even on its newest four lane highways, one can expect at least 5-6 lanes of traffic with one of those lanes used for cars driving up the wrong way. This is normal…. The Indians have also developed a system of using their horns (which works better than you’d expect) to communicate what the driver intends (or doesn’t intend) to accomplish. One sound if the driver is intending to pass, (and on which side), another sound as an answer from the vehicle ahead showing its agreement or disagreement, so forth and so on…. All of the larger vehicles have the phrase “Horn Please” written on the back of them. The noise near any well used road is constant and I suspect quite necessary. I also noticed that many vehicles had removed their side view mirrors. What I couldn’t decide is whether the “horn system “rendered them pointless or if this was a practical move, because with traffic so tight in the cities, they’d likely be snapped off anyway…

Back to our taxi ride. The horn system is good & well if what you’re beeping at can respond. But, at that time of the morning on the smaller roads, other cars and trucks are not your fellow travelers. In the pre-dawn hours, India’s poor use the roads to walk on and manually haul their laden carts to whatever place they’re going to that day. The non-daylight hours are also when the many roaming cows and packs of dogs come out to eat the rubbish that’s been thrown out the night before. For all the driver’s “horning”, the humans couldn’t get out of the way fast enough and the animals didn’t seem to care. So as we beeped and swerved through the darkness, I found it increasing difficult to decide whether our near certain demise would be reported as ironic, tragic or simply stupid…

We did survive though and in best Indian fashion arrived at the station a few minutes before the train was to depart-only to be told that it would be delayed for two hours because it was waiting for another train to arrive first !

Now calling it a toy train has a lot to do with the size of the carriages.

Skinny benches built for toy sized people. It was kind of cute though until our carriage filled up with (what seemed like) 200 students going on class trips…

The engine was anything but small and it appropriately belched steam and coal smoke the entire way, driven by an engineer only too happy to blow the whistle every few minutes.

And off we went (ever so slowly) and in addition to the stops we made to take on more water for the engine, there were also stops for clearing rocks and branches that had fallen on the track and stops at each hill station along the way.

The scenery was indeed beautiful, lush jungle type plants, long views down the mountain, waterfalls, and clouds and mist rising up from the top of the foliage.

But, somewhere along the way (I think it was around the 4^th hour of what ended up being a 7 hour train ride), I kinda lost it…. I can’t be exactly sure but the combination of the cramped space (with the students from different schools now amusing themselves by repeatedly belting out their respective school anthems), the altitude, the inhaling of coal smoke from the engine and the slowness of the journey finally induced me into a near catatonic state… Alison termed this as “scenery hysteria”.

From my increasingly “particular” perspective even the troops of monkeys present at each hill station were getting weirder the higher we climbed. I might have gotten that observation right though. All the tourists were feeding the monkeys their left over snacks and coffee. Monkeys on processed sugar and caffeine aren’t the prettiest sight in the world. A bit like those shots they show you of people at the Republican after hour convention parties…

Downtown Ooty

Indian Tea plantation

Some say that life is all about the journey and not where you depart from or arrive at. I can report that when it came time to leave Ooty, we took a taxi after a nice breakfast…

Brett

THE SPICE COAST-KOCHI (COCHIN)

2008-11-11T11:19:00.005Z

As we travel around, I find myself thinking about why some places “happen” and others do not despite having similar pedigrees.

Kochi (Cohin) certainly has the right history and ingredients for a happening place and I would recommend it to anyone planning a visit to Southern India. Its population is a fairly even mix of Hindu, Muslims and Christians. It also has an old and well established Jewish neighborhood.
The city’s architecture is a good reflection of its past. So along with the Hindu and Jain temples, there are also buildings put up by the Portuguese, Dutch, English and various sultans. The Portuguese explorer Vasco De Gama was buried in one of the churches here until they decided to dig him up and bring him back to Portugal (which must have been a real fun job….). There is still a good sized working port with fishing boats, and ships carrying spices that sail in and out. It must have been quite a sight in its heyday when Kochi was the major port in India for the spice trade.

And yet… leave the more touritsed areas and Kochi’s streets are just as dirty and poverty stricken as most places in India. Perhaps the money dried up way back when spices lost their “currency” or it might just be the situation in India in general- too many people vying for too few Rupees/Dollars/Euros.

This situation was brought home to me (literally) by a connection I made with a young local named Sajeer. He is 21 and by borrowing enough money, had recently started working as an auto-rickshaw driver. His two older brothers are in the same business. We hired him to show us all the sights and it was obvious from his enthusiasm that this was one of the first times he had landed a fare for the entire day. He explained to me that the daily cost of running the rickshaw was about 150 Rupees and if a driver worked 10 hours, he was lucky to bring in 450 in total. So a daily profit of about 4 Pounds ($6.00). Which didn’t even take into account the interest he was paying on his loan, the cost of repairs or the odd bribe demanded by the local police…

While Alison was having a siesta, Sajeer took me to his local barber. Hot water isn’t always easy to come by in India and for a minimal cost it's often just as practical to get a shave this way. What a scene !! I don’t know if I was the first foreigner to get shaved there but I certainly attracted quite a crowd. Much discussion & laughter (seemed the good natured type) was had during the process… I can only imagine what the conversations were… Later, I invited Sajeer to lunch but he insisted on taking me back to his house for a meal (one of the spiciest I’ve ever had !). He lives with his two older brothers, 2 sister-in-laws and at least three children ( I lost track of how many children as more and more kept showing up to meet me and try out whatever English they knew). Lovely people, every one of them… I know Sajeer was pleased to be showing off his fare and I was flattered that he chose to do so… I’m guessing the whole house including the kitchen had 4 rooms.

So, here’s a small city and a hard working young man with loads of potential. If India is to truly modernize (and by that I mean using what it already has to best advantage), it needs to find a way of nourishing the city & the man. For Sajeer’s sake, I hope it happens soon...

More tales comin' up....

Brett

THE SPICE COAST-VARKALA

2008-10-25T13:27:00.003+01:00

Writing in retrospect once again.... Can't say what takes up so much of the days in India but the time does go....

Alison & I flew down to the South of India on Oct. 8th, spent a couple of nights in a unmemorable coast town, then followed that up with a week in Varkala. We were looking for someplace laid back and "beachy" and it certainly fit the description. Between all the prep for the trip, moving out of my house and working right up to the very last day, it was our first chance to pause in many weeks.

Varkala is essentially a small "resort" village along the cliffs overlooking the Arabian sea. A bit seedy but friendly and so much more easy going than the cities up north. For those in my generation, think of a spot where Deadheads might go between tours or Amsterdam ala early 80s. Shake, rattle and roll..... While we stayed at a simple hotel, it is still possible to rent a basic room there (some with indoor plumbing even !) for less than $5.00 a day. If a person was looking for a cheap hideout or place to escape to for some time, they could do worse than Varkala.

Unlikely that Varkala will remain the same for much longer. Major hotel complexes are being built further down the beach and once those have arrived, they are likely to push out the small businesses that are there. If for no other reason than they don't have to share the tourists' money with them (or give them an idea of how cheap India can be...).

During our lazy beach week, we did also "manage" to have a couple of day trips. In both cases we arranged with a local tour company to have outings specifically as "non-touristy" as possible. The first one was in a motorized rickshaw (they are everywhere in India !) which took us around a few neighboring villages. We also made a stop at a large lake where a local took us out in his boat to an island with a Hindu temple on it. It happened that the family who "owned" the temple were there that day conducting various ceremonies. The head of the clan apologized to us that the temple had not yet been "prepared" for tourism. Wish I could of made him understand how glad I was for that ! Where India can be so loud and busy, the lake was very quiet and surrounded by a forest of palms. Thought palm trees only came in groves until then...

We also had another day trip to the back waters of Kerala. While it was a less commercial version of a tour (by canoe), I believe I'll let Alison blog on this subject. For me, I think I might have had the same "feeling" if we had been viewing the poor folk that live & work in the Louisiana swamps....

One thing I will never forget about Varkala were the lightning storms each evening. Incredible displays that lit up the entire sky, flashing reflections back off the sea and illuminating the (brave ??) fishermen on their nightly trawls. When the heavy rains followed, the sound through the palm trees was an entire stadium applauding....

Next blog on Kochi....

Brett