With only one day of the trip left after my last entry, you'd think I'd be running a little low on material. Thank heavens for Continental Airlines, who consistently find a way to imbue my blog with the sort of vomit-inducing, roller coaster excitement one would usually assume is best avoided on intercontinental plane journeys.
But before that, the last day. The last day happened, of that I am certain, but not a lot happened in it. There was the breakfast bitch (don't ask), a long journey on yet another crowded bus (though mercifully not of the chicken breed) and the last night of alcohol-related destruction and love quadrangles. Those involved in either or both know to whom I am referring. I'm too polite to gossip. (Those aware of how much of a lie that was can stop their guffawing right now.)
And so the following day the group made like a moldy, decaying bath sponge, and gradually separated. I left at midday for the airport, supposedly to arrive home for 2.05pm the next day. Continental Airlines however, in a bout of prescient generosity, thought that a final blog entry of a mere three paragraphs would be unfortunate in the extreme, and kindly decided to make my final journey interesting.
The problems started when I was informed that my flight from San Jose to Houston was delayed three hours. As I had less than three hours between the original landing time and my flight from Houston to London, I was obviously going to miss my last flight home. At the point this became clear during check-in I was handed a boarding pass for a new flight to London the following day, and was told to expect someone from Continental to find me once the plane landed at Houston to arrange for me to placed in a hotel for the night. That was annoying, but at least it was simple. I would have been home a day later, but I knew where I stood.
There I was waiting at San Jose airport, gate 16, when I was called over to the desk. The same woman who checked me in was standing there, and told me that the flight was still late, but not quite as late as they originally thought. Supposedly I would have one hour to catch my next flight and this, she assured me, was doable, adding 'all flights from Houston are delayed'. In light of this, she had arranged for my luggage to be transferred and printed me a new boarding pass for my original flight, which included a green sticker with a 'T' on it, the lack of which so almost screwed me over the first time.
Having been through Houston once and finding it surprisingly quick I was cautiously optimistic, but then I had also heard horror stories about the same airport and insistences on my good fortune in avoiding such dramas. An hour, I thought, was doable. However as the plane left San Jose the time of arrival had been revised again, leaving me with just twenty five minutes! I sat nervously, waiting until one hour before our supposed landing time before I started asking the cabin crew what on Earth I should do, and whether I could be sped through the airport.
I was told that 'usually' they'll arrange for such persons in my position to be taken aside and escorted to the next plane, because 'they know' who's in such a predicament. Do you think I received such a service? Of course not. However I was moved as far forward on the plane as I could be without actually stepping into first class territory, and when it landed I had in fact forty five minutes before the plane was due to depart. I tried to avoid thinking about how long before this time the gate would be shut.
I can safely say one thing: nobody in the history of the world has been through an airport quicker than I bolted through Houston. I managed it in thirty minutes, running like a madman, occasionally in the wrong direction. I want to ask the following question: having been through the USA six weeks earlier, was it really necessary to take my picture and fingerprints again? I mean I understand I might have a new haircut, but new fingers? Come on! The USA is security mad. Possibly just mad.
With the gate about to shut I made it to my seat, sweaty and feeling like I was about to throw up. It must have been a very unpleasant experience for the poor guy sitting next to me. I'm sorry, but at least I made it. Half an hour, not bad at all! If only my luggage could have moved as quickly. That's right, my bag got left at Houston, as if to punish me for scuppering its plans to get lost the first time. At least they know where it is though.
And so my children, that is the end. Or is it? I intend to keep this blog going, though what shall make up its contents remains to be seen. As my good friend Ben recently observed, 'You can keep on blogging you know, it just won't be as interesting'. The man has at least half a point. I shall indeed continue to blog, and damn hell it shall be interesting!
For now I am going to continue to sit at home on the promise from Continental that my luggage will arrive here today, though that remains to be seen. That's probably for the best; it's good to end on a cliffhanger...
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Every cloud has a silver zip-lining
You can all consider yourselves warned after this. Never, ever, under any circumstances, not even if your life depended on it, not even if there were a pot of gold, irresistible kitten or lifetime supply of snickers bars on the other side, never attempt to cross the Nicaragua-Costa Rica border by foot. Well OK, perhaps that is an overreaction. You can do it, just set aside about half a day or so. The problem lies with the Costa Rica immigration/emigration procedure. Here is the procedure: A large queue is formed for people wishing to enter the country. A second large queue is formed for people aspiring to leave the country. The first queue is funnelled into a very small office. The same small office also receives the second queue. And in the middle, where these two marches meet and exchange pleasantries regarding their forthcoming/recently terminated stay in Costa Rica, is a bank.
This must surely be the most inconveniently located bank in the world, unless there happens to be an HSBC teetering atop Mount Everest. And what this means, for those that haven`t realised it already, is that there is in fact a third queue for people intent on visiting the bank. And for the really cunning, what would be a nifty way of skipping the immigration queue which takes a good couple of hours? Well of course, you make like you`re simply going to the bank, secretly - or not, as it turned out - concealing your passport beneath your jacket. It`s utter madness.
With that ordeal out of the way however, we continued our journey to Monteverde, a town high up in the mountains and accessible only via dirt roads because the town is too afraid of the increased numbers of already numerous tourists that paving the roads might bring. However I`m about to piss them off immensely, as I recommend that you all go. If nothing else, the drive up to the top is worth the effort alone. And there`s plenty to do once you're there, such as exploring the cloud forest. Via a zip-line.
This will surely go down as one of the highlights of my trip. We first spent a couple of hours being led through part of the forest by a guide, who explained the myriad flora and fauna and took us over suspension bridges spanning vast expanses of forest below. Following that was the canopy tour, which essentially involved zip-lining through the trees over increasingly large distances, to the point where we actually crossed from one mountain to the other, sailing through the clouds. It was such an incredible experience I was worried I was becoming so distracted by the view that I wouldn't`t see the end-of-line tree hurtling towards me. Of course by the end, the rain meant that I literally could not see the tree coming towards me. Well, not until I was almost a part of it. Do you have any idea how much harder it is to brake in the rain? Fear not however, I managed. Others were not so fortunate.
Yesterday we left Monteverde for La Fortuna. And to be honest, not much else happened for myself that day, who elected to do very little rather than go to the hot springs - and I maintain that the three hour afternoon nap was entirely worth the sacrifice. Today was really the last day for doing something big, as tomorrow we travel to San Jose and then the following day it`s trip over. And so I am delighted to report that today was spent very wisely indeed: white-water rafting is terrific fun. It`s especially fun when half of your fellow rafters fall out, and you are not one of them. Even more so when the only reason that two particular people were removed was because of a third person hurtling towards them.
And essentially, that`s pretty much it. There shall be at least be one more post about this holiday, but the end is very much in sight. Personally, I`m starting to formulate a plan to be executed upon my return. The question you should be asking yourselves is what on Earth will you read when this blog is over? Don`t panic just yet though, there`s still a couple of days to go.
This must surely be the most inconveniently located bank in the world, unless there happens to be an HSBC teetering atop Mount Everest. And what this means, for those that haven`t realised it already, is that there is in fact a third queue for people intent on visiting the bank. And for the really cunning, what would be a nifty way of skipping the immigration queue which takes a good couple of hours? Well of course, you make like you`re simply going to the bank, secretly - or not, as it turned out - concealing your passport beneath your jacket. It`s utter madness.
With that ordeal out of the way however, we continued our journey to Monteverde, a town high up in the mountains and accessible only via dirt roads because the town is too afraid of the increased numbers of already numerous tourists that paving the roads might bring. However I`m about to piss them off immensely, as I recommend that you all go. If nothing else, the drive up to the top is worth the effort alone. And there`s plenty to do once you're there, such as exploring the cloud forest. Via a zip-line.
This will surely go down as one of the highlights of my trip. We first spent a couple of hours being led through part of the forest by a guide, who explained the myriad flora and fauna and took us over suspension bridges spanning vast expanses of forest below. Following that was the canopy tour, which essentially involved zip-lining through the trees over increasingly large distances, to the point where we actually crossed from one mountain to the other, sailing through the clouds. It was such an incredible experience I was worried I was becoming so distracted by the view that I wouldn't`t see the end-of-line tree hurtling towards me. Of course by the end, the rain meant that I literally could not see the tree coming towards me. Well, not until I was almost a part of it. Do you have any idea how much harder it is to brake in the rain? Fear not however, I managed. Others were not so fortunate.
Yesterday we left Monteverde for La Fortuna. And to be honest, not much else happened for myself that day, who elected to do very little rather than go to the hot springs - and I maintain that the three hour afternoon nap was entirely worth the sacrifice. Today was really the last day for doing something big, as tomorrow we travel to San Jose and then the following day it`s trip over. And so I am delighted to report that today was spent very wisely indeed: white-water rafting is terrific fun. It`s especially fun when half of your fellow rafters fall out, and you are not one of them. Even more so when the only reason that two particular people were removed was because of a third person hurtling towards them.
And essentially, that`s pretty much it. There shall be at least be one more post about this holiday, but the end is very much in sight. Personally, I`m starting to formulate a plan to be executed upon my return. The question you should be asking yourselves is what on Earth will you read when this blog is over? Don`t panic just yet though, there`s still a couple of days to go.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Rainy season
Once again I find myself in the position of having passed through a whole other country between blog posts. However I am happy to say that, unlike last time, I quite enjoyed this one.
Our first stop in Nicaragua was Granada, where mammoth LCD screens in the town centre display an infinite loop of Coronation Street reruns. Being the third Spanish colonial town of its kind that we have visited, I was beginning to notice a pattern: the streets are as a grid, and if followed to the centre one will find a park, with a fountain, next to a cathedral. This is not a bad blueprint by any means.
Aside from a brief visit to a nearby market I personally spent my time wandering around the town, and sampling the delights of the Chocolate Cafe which, I´m disappointed to inform, only serves chocolate based products and is not in fact made of chocolate itself. Granada is a town which I´m sure is worth spending more time in, but of course that´s just not the way we roll; after barely two days, we moved on to Ometepe.
Ometepe is an island in the middle of a lake, with two dormant volcanoes. One of the activities it is possible for one to participate in is climbing one of these volcanoes. At this point, I should mention that May is officially the start of the rainy season in this part of the world. It took a few weeks, but ever since Utila there has been some kind of terrific downpour every day, usually at night. The rest of the time it is of course still hot and humid. But obviously Thor was feeling particularly humorous/vindictive at 6am that day, and created a lovely thunderstorm just at the point at which we started the drive to the volcano. We waited it out for a while, and it did actually stop. Then we climbed, and it started again.
I remember that whilst we were waiting to go up Guy said to me that he hoped it wouldn´t get any wetter. To which I replied, how could it possibly get any wetter? So in a way, it`s kind of my fault. We made it about halfway up before the slippery ground and tropical storm convinced us to turn back. And you know, I´m pretty damn sure that in descending we crossed a river that wasn´t there on the way up. We returned all as drowned rats, and with ruined everything.
I sit now in Costa Rica with more to tell, but without the time. More posting shall be forthcoming. For now though, I am going to take the opportunity to wish a public happy birthday to my dad. Happy birthday! Your present is that I´m going to be home soon. I bet you can´t wait.
Our first stop in Nicaragua was Granada, where mammoth LCD screens in the town centre display an infinite loop of Coronation Street reruns. Being the third Spanish colonial town of its kind that we have visited, I was beginning to notice a pattern: the streets are as a grid, and if followed to the centre one will find a park, with a fountain, next to a cathedral. This is not a bad blueprint by any means.
Aside from a brief visit to a nearby market I personally spent my time wandering around the town, and sampling the delights of the Chocolate Cafe which, I´m disappointed to inform, only serves chocolate based products and is not in fact made of chocolate itself. Granada is a town which I´m sure is worth spending more time in, but of course that´s just not the way we roll; after barely two days, we moved on to Ometepe.
Ometepe is an island in the middle of a lake, with two dormant volcanoes. One of the activities it is possible for one to participate in is climbing one of these volcanoes. At this point, I should mention that May is officially the start of the rainy season in this part of the world. It took a few weeks, but ever since Utila there has been some kind of terrific downpour every day, usually at night. The rest of the time it is of course still hot and humid. But obviously Thor was feeling particularly humorous/vindictive at 6am that day, and created a lovely thunderstorm just at the point at which we started the drive to the volcano. We waited it out for a while, and it did actually stop. Then we climbed, and it started again.
I remember that whilst we were waiting to go up Guy said to me that he hoped it wouldn´t get any wetter. To which I replied, how could it possibly get any wetter? So in a way, it`s kind of my fault. We made it about halfway up before the slippery ground and tropical storm convinced us to turn back. And you know, I´m pretty damn sure that in descending we crossed a river that wasn´t there on the way up. We returned all as drowned rats, and with ruined everything.
I sit now in Costa Rica with more to tell, but without the time. More posting shall be forthcoming. For now though, I am going to take the opportunity to wish a public happy birthday to my dad. Happy birthday! Your present is that I´m going to be home soon. I bet you can´t wait.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Honduras
The title should say it all, really. I´m about to do an entire country a huge disservice by glossing over it in but a few short paragraphs. But you know, there really isn´t much to say except, and I´m a little afraid of the retribution that may be forthcoming, my reaction to Honduras has essentially been ´meh´.
This is nothing but a sign of my growing snobbery and familiarity with the once unfamiliar. Honduras is a lovely place, but a combination of only a few days stay in the country and the fact that I´m still pining for Guatemala has left Honduras with an uphill battle to win me over. Copan though was fun; you can´t beat a large selection of parrots, toucans and red vs yellow tuctuc racing through some jungleside streets. The trouble is that in that other town, which I love, one finds it hard to distinguish between the tourism and the lives of the people that actually live there; Antigua´s beauty permeates, and in the majority of cases actually is its day-to-day life. Whereas in Copan, you have some great Mayan ruins, a beautiful exotic bird sanctuary, and a central plaza that looks as if was manufactured in plastic using a case mould and plonked in the middle of this remote little town.
After Copan we set sail for Utila, which is a lovely island famous for its diving opportunities. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Yes, I´m afraid despite its larger size, or perhaps as a consequence of it, after visiting Caye Caulker the island of Utila comes across as a little... bland? (Surely he didn´t just refer to a tropical island with crabs, watersports and an ocean as blue as Blind Willie McTell as ´bland´did he? What an arse!) But it is! The snorkelling opportunities are not as interesting; there is a lot more hustle and I dare say a fair bit more bustle; and there are less places to chill out on an island that is supposedly significantly larger. I apologise to Honduras, but Belize wins the fight for best island in Central America thus far.
So after doing remarkably little on Utila for three days, I find myself in a town for which I do not know the name, and in all honesty I have no desire to find out. We´re only here for one night, because if we weren´t the journey to Nicaragua would be impossibly long. (It has already been seven and a half hours today, and continues tomorrow with a further fourteen hours traversing six different chicken buses!)
And so Honduras, I am sorry. I´m sure that given a bit more time and fewer encounters with fast food chains I would come to admire this country as much as the others. As it is, you have one more night to wow me before it´s too late. I´ll say this though: considering there is only powdered milk on Utila, Mermaids does a pretty decent cup of coffee. For that, you should be applauded.
This is nothing but a sign of my growing snobbery and familiarity with the once unfamiliar. Honduras is a lovely place, but a combination of only a few days stay in the country and the fact that I´m still pining for Guatemala has left Honduras with an uphill battle to win me over. Copan though was fun; you can´t beat a large selection of parrots, toucans and red vs yellow tuctuc racing through some jungleside streets. The trouble is that in that other town, which I love, one finds it hard to distinguish between the tourism and the lives of the people that actually live there; Antigua´s beauty permeates, and in the majority of cases actually is its day-to-day life. Whereas in Copan, you have some great Mayan ruins, a beautiful exotic bird sanctuary, and a central plaza that looks as if was manufactured in plastic using a case mould and plonked in the middle of this remote little town.
After Copan we set sail for Utila, which is a lovely island famous for its diving opportunities. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Yes, I´m afraid despite its larger size, or perhaps as a consequence of it, after visiting Caye Caulker the island of Utila comes across as a little... bland? (Surely he didn´t just refer to a tropical island with crabs, watersports and an ocean as blue as Blind Willie McTell as ´bland´did he? What an arse!) But it is! The snorkelling opportunities are not as interesting; there is a lot more hustle and I dare say a fair bit more bustle; and there are less places to chill out on an island that is supposedly significantly larger. I apologise to Honduras, but Belize wins the fight for best island in Central America thus far.
So after doing remarkably little on Utila for three days, I find myself in a town for which I do not know the name, and in all honesty I have no desire to find out. We´re only here for one night, because if we weren´t the journey to Nicaragua would be impossibly long. (It has already been seven and a half hours today, and continues tomorrow with a further fourteen hours traversing six different chicken buses!)
And so Honduras, I am sorry. I´m sure that given a bit more time and fewer encounters with fast food chains I would come to admire this country as much as the others. As it is, you have one more night to wow me before it´s too late. I´ll say this though: considering there is only powdered milk on Utila, Mermaids does a pretty decent cup of coffee. For that, you should be applauded.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Nuts about Antigua
You know what sucks? Leaving Antigua. Know what sucks even more? Leaving for the third time! People, it doesn´t get any easier. Especially because I knew this time would be the last, meaning a much more permanent goodbye to both a glorious town and a lot of good friends. Still, I am positive I shall return soon, so it´s not actually so bad.
So after my weird Israeli experience on Friday, we returned to Antigua for the weekend on Saturday. Now I knew this weekend was coming, which was what prompted me to buy a phone before I left for the Intrepid trip. I needed a phone to contact my friends with GVI so I could catch up with them. Of course what happened was my phone went crazy on me and decided to switch lines by itself. I don`t even have two lines! But here is yet one more reason why I love Antigua so much: I was on my way to the phone shop to get things fixed, when I bumped into Alison and Ross. "Come with us", they said, "we`re going to a macadamia nut farm". I`m pretty sure that there`s only one place in the world where that could happen.
We made it to the farm after consulting about fifty different bus drivers who through cumulative ignorance actually succeeded in steering us onto the correct bus. At the farm we were given a tour by its founder, who is classified as an eccentric by Lonely Planet, and quite accurately so. He informed us of the good work a macadamia nut tree can do for the environment, because the nuts use a lot of carbon to grow; and for poverty, because give a man a tree... (and apparently macadamia nut-farming is a rich man`s game. It`s a much sought-after nut).
One reason for this is its use in cosmetics. Ladies and gentlemen, if you want to look younger there`s only one thing you need: macadamia nut oil. And trust us, we sampled it. Alison had a nut facial. But as far as I`m concerned, the best thing one can do with those nuts is eat them, and so it was with great enthusiasm that we ordered pancakes that were, apparently, 25% macadamia nut. They were served with blueberry sauce, and are officially the best pancakes ever. I know it`s a long way to travel people, but it`s totally worth it.
Long-term readers of my blog should remember my former GVI housemate, Debra. Well her parents came to visit her for the weekend and with enormous generosity took pretty much everyone related to GVI in Antigua out to dinner on Saturday night. I would like to use this blog to say a very public THANK YOU! Debra, you have very lovely parents.
If you ever wake up in the morning in Antigua and think to yourself, "where would be a good place to eat breakfast", you need only consider the following, single option: Cafe Sky. It`s in the south-east, and features a 360 degree view of the town, and some damn fine banana pancakes (can you see a theme emerging here?). After soaking up the view for a couple of hours on Sunday morning, I went back to the Spanish school to use the internet, and bumped into Raji. Antigua really is a very intimate town. We spent the day mostly in the market, and Raji brought back half of it. I was hoping to go to what I only recently heard was the best coffee joint in town, but they shut before I could get there. Grr. Still, we did mange to visit a church, and have dinner with some of the other GVI folk. And here is my next recommendation: you find Cafe Sky, you find the Italian restaurant next door. They have good stuff.
There is perhaps a theme: disregarding the brief stop over with the Intrepid trip on Wednesday, the last time I left Antigua I did so at four in the morning. Coincidentally keeping with tradition, Sammy told us the group would be leaving for Honduras at four in the morning. And as if saying goodbye to the GVI folk wasn`t enough, this point was the last of one leg of the Intrepid tour, meaning that for some people it was the end. I`ve never had to say goodbye to so many people in so many places. At four in the morning on Monday, we left. I`m sad to have gone, but I know I`ll be back.
And hey, Copan in Honduras is not too shabby. Yesterday we went to a bird sanctuary, which aside from being astoundingly beautiful also saw myself being used as a parrot perch. Some more Mayan ruins followed this morning, before a few of us returned to play with the birds one more time and drink coffee under the trees and amidst the parrots and toucans. Oh and tomorrow we move on to Utila; just a small island paradise. I`m only going to say this one more time, but it`s an important point, dear readers: even with all the exotic birds and beaches in mind, I`d still rather be in Antigua.
So after my weird Israeli experience on Friday, we returned to Antigua for the weekend on Saturday. Now I knew this weekend was coming, which was what prompted me to buy a phone before I left for the Intrepid trip. I needed a phone to contact my friends with GVI so I could catch up with them. Of course what happened was my phone went crazy on me and decided to switch lines by itself. I don`t even have two lines! But here is yet one more reason why I love Antigua so much: I was on my way to the phone shop to get things fixed, when I bumped into Alison and Ross. "Come with us", they said, "we`re going to a macadamia nut farm". I`m pretty sure that there`s only one place in the world where that could happen.
We made it to the farm after consulting about fifty different bus drivers who through cumulative ignorance actually succeeded in steering us onto the correct bus. At the farm we were given a tour by its founder, who is classified as an eccentric by Lonely Planet, and quite accurately so. He informed us of the good work a macadamia nut tree can do for the environment, because the nuts use a lot of carbon to grow; and for poverty, because give a man a tree... (and apparently macadamia nut-farming is a rich man`s game. It`s a much sought-after nut).
One reason for this is its use in cosmetics. Ladies and gentlemen, if you want to look younger there`s only one thing you need: macadamia nut oil. And trust us, we sampled it. Alison had a nut facial. But as far as I`m concerned, the best thing one can do with those nuts is eat them, and so it was with great enthusiasm that we ordered pancakes that were, apparently, 25% macadamia nut. They were served with blueberry sauce, and are officially the best pancakes ever. I know it`s a long way to travel people, but it`s totally worth it.
Long-term readers of my blog should remember my former GVI housemate, Debra. Well her parents came to visit her for the weekend and with enormous generosity took pretty much everyone related to GVI in Antigua out to dinner on Saturday night. I would like to use this blog to say a very public THANK YOU! Debra, you have very lovely parents.
If you ever wake up in the morning in Antigua and think to yourself, "where would be a good place to eat breakfast", you need only consider the following, single option: Cafe Sky. It`s in the south-east, and features a 360 degree view of the town, and some damn fine banana pancakes (can you see a theme emerging here?). After soaking up the view for a couple of hours on Sunday morning, I went back to the Spanish school to use the internet, and bumped into Raji. Antigua really is a very intimate town. We spent the day mostly in the market, and Raji brought back half of it. I was hoping to go to what I only recently heard was the best coffee joint in town, but they shut before I could get there. Grr. Still, we did mange to visit a church, and have dinner with some of the other GVI folk. And here is my next recommendation: you find Cafe Sky, you find the Italian restaurant next door. They have good stuff.
There is perhaps a theme: disregarding the brief stop over with the Intrepid trip on Wednesday, the last time I left Antigua I did so at four in the morning. Coincidentally keeping with tradition, Sammy told us the group would be leaving for Honduras at four in the morning. And as if saying goodbye to the GVI folk wasn`t enough, this point was the last of one leg of the Intrepid tour, meaning that for some people it was the end. I`ve never had to say goodbye to so many people in so many places. At four in the morning on Monday, we left. I`m sad to have gone, but I know I`ll be back.
And hey, Copan in Honduras is not too shabby. Yesterday we went to a bird sanctuary, which aside from being astoundingly beautiful also saw myself being used as a parrot perch. Some more Mayan ruins followed this morning, before a few of us returned to play with the birds one more time and drink coffee under the trees and amidst the parrots and toucans. Oh and tomorrow we move on to Utila; just a small island paradise. I`m only going to say this one more time, but it`s an important point, dear readers: even with all the exotic birds and beaches in mind, I`d still rather be in Antigua.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Frozen chicken
Before we begin, a note to all those who are reading this via facebook: At the top of the facebook page is a link, on a blue and rectangular background, next to a picture of yours truly. If you click that, you´ll be taken to blogger.com, where this blog actually resides. It´s much easier to read there, and the video in the last entry that wasn´t visible on facebook will function as intended.
And so to business. Firstly, I am happy to report that my darting arm has in fact improved. The following day we went to San Jorge, near Lake Aititlan, and stayed with a family in the town. This was a very different experience to my two week homestay in Antigua, as the family were indigenous Mayans, who of course don´t speak Spanish as their first language. Things are much more basic in San Jorge, and the house I was staying in reminded me of the houses in Santa Maria where I was building stoves not long ago. It wasn´t entirely comfortable, but for two nights we coped.
Lake Aititlan is something special, even though not all the towns around it hold the same interest. Panajachel is captivating enough however. We arrived on Thursday having stopped on the way in a market that was almost as big as the town to which we were travelling. You can literally get lost in there for days, though most of the stalls sell the same type of products; a lot of textiles, a lot of jade jewelery. We chilled out in Panajachel for a bit, but that was pretty much it for Thursday. Just as well, because Friday will surely go down as one of the most surreal days of my life.
It began by climbing a rock high atop a mountain, to be greeted by the most spectacular view of the lake and its surrounding towns and volcanoes. Then we had to travel down to Panajachel to get a boat. This is where the trouble started.
I have explained before the perils of the chicken bus, but if you really want to crank it up a notch you should try a combination of standing up for want of a seat; hurtling down the mountainside, hairpin bends and all; overlooking the most beautiful lake you´ve ever seen; and - this is the clincher - with Vanilla Ice´s ´Ice, Ice, Baby´ being blasted from the radio. Without a doubt, that was the best bus journey one could ever have.
But my friends, it gets better. It´s not uncommon to cross paths with people from Israel whilst travelling. Indeed, there was a group of four Israelis sharing the minivan with us on the way back from Tikal. But what you don´t expect is to go to a remote mountainside town, which isn´t really even a particularly interesting place, and find a Star of David on a commercial building. Closer inspection revealed that this place was in fact an opticians, marvellously called Optica Shalom. I looked bewildered, took a picture and passed it off as a bit of cultural borrowing. Surely there were no Jewish people in this unassuming, basic town?
Well I bet you can all see where this is going, but I certainly didn´t at the time. Our guide took us to a restaurant in the same town, San Pedro. This place is the most chilled out eatery you could hope to find. The tables are low; there are big seating areas with cushions, but no chairs; there are board games to play with; fantastic plants; and animals too. This is easily now my favourite restaurant in the world, and would you believe it, it´s owned by Israelis! Furthermore, the food is Israeli. I had shakshuka, there was falafel as well. The place is called, in English letters, ZooLa, which apparently means ´a place to relax´ in Hebrew. And you really can; people just lie down on the cushions and read a book for hours on end. They even have an adjacent hotel.
If that wasn't enough, on returning to Panajachel I heard some Mayan children conversing with some Israelis in Spanish. The children asked, "como se dice 'como se llama'?" (how do you say 'what's your name?'), to which the Israelis replied, "Mah shem shelcha". Hearing that out of the blue really threw me.
I am aware that most of my loyal readers are Jewish. If that doesn´t convince you to come to Guatemala, then I guess nothing will.
And so to business. Firstly, I am happy to report that my darting arm has in fact improved. The following day we went to San Jorge, near Lake Aititlan, and stayed with a family in the town. This was a very different experience to my two week homestay in Antigua, as the family were indigenous Mayans, who of course don´t speak Spanish as their first language. Things are much more basic in San Jorge, and the house I was staying in reminded me of the houses in Santa Maria where I was building stoves not long ago. It wasn´t entirely comfortable, but for two nights we coped.
Lake Aititlan is something special, even though not all the towns around it hold the same interest. Panajachel is captivating enough however. We arrived on Thursday having stopped on the way in a market that was almost as big as the town to which we were travelling. You can literally get lost in there for days, though most of the stalls sell the same type of products; a lot of textiles, a lot of jade jewelery. We chilled out in Panajachel for a bit, but that was pretty much it for Thursday. Just as well, because Friday will surely go down as one of the most surreal days of my life.
It began by climbing a rock high atop a mountain, to be greeted by the most spectacular view of the lake and its surrounding towns and volcanoes. Then we had to travel down to Panajachel to get a boat. This is where the trouble started.
I have explained before the perils of the chicken bus, but if you really want to crank it up a notch you should try a combination of standing up for want of a seat; hurtling down the mountainside, hairpin bends and all; overlooking the most beautiful lake you´ve ever seen; and - this is the clincher - with Vanilla Ice´s ´Ice, Ice, Baby´ being blasted from the radio. Without a doubt, that was the best bus journey one could ever have.
But my friends, it gets better. It´s not uncommon to cross paths with people from Israel whilst travelling. Indeed, there was a group of four Israelis sharing the minivan with us on the way back from Tikal. But what you don´t expect is to go to a remote mountainside town, which isn´t really even a particularly interesting place, and find a Star of David on a commercial building. Closer inspection revealed that this place was in fact an opticians, marvellously called Optica Shalom. I looked bewildered, took a picture and passed it off as a bit of cultural borrowing. Surely there were no Jewish people in this unassuming, basic town?
Well I bet you can all see where this is going, but I certainly didn´t at the time. Our guide took us to a restaurant in the same town, San Pedro. This place is the most chilled out eatery you could hope to find. The tables are low; there are big seating areas with cushions, but no chairs; there are board games to play with; fantastic plants; and animals too. This is easily now my favourite restaurant in the world, and would you believe it, it´s owned by Israelis! Furthermore, the food is Israeli. I had shakshuka, there was falafel as well. The place is called, in English letters, ZooLa, which apparently means ´a place to relax´ in Hebrew. And you really can; people just lie down on the cushions and read a book for hours on end. They even have an adjacent hotel.
If that wasn't enough, on returning to Panajachel I heard some Mayan children conversing with some Israelis in Spanish. The children asked, "como se dice 'como se llama'?" (how do you say 'what's your name?'), to which the Israelis replied, "Mah shem shelcha". Hearing that out of the blue really threw me.
I am aware that most of my loyal readers are Jewish. If that doesn´t convince you to come to Guatemala, then I guess nothing will.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tikal your fancy
I cannot overstate my joy upon reentering Guatemala. I also cannot stress enough my advice that you all come and visit. Soon I would return to Antigua, but first there were a couple of small landmarks to take care of.
We went straight to Flores after crossing the border into Guatemala. Flores itself has a certain charm, and we resided on an island in the middle of the lake which was very lovely indeed. But despite the vista and the wonderful coffee shop we stumbled across, there was really only one reason we stopped by: Tikal.
A long climb up a large pyramid later, and it was clear that our efforts had been rewarded. And if you need some convincing, here´s the proof.
There are all sorts of things both animal and mineral to be found in Tikal. Monkeys, toucans and Mayan temples to name just a few. You can see a few pictures by clicking here. This monkey however is my personal favourite.
After spending the afternoon relaxing in Flores, the next day we moved on to Rio Dulce. In itself the town is nothing special, but we were staying at a little hotel overlooking the lake. Though it was on the mainland, to get to the hotel a small boat ride was needed. Once there, one can drink cocktails at the restaurant and watch the boats go by, chill out in a hammock or just go upstairs and shoot some pool. I´m telling you, all this relaxation was beginning to get to me by that point. So the next day we took a little boat ride, stopping to watch some birds, take a dip in the hot springs and visit the town of Livingstone with its brightly coloured buildings and stunningly delicious iced coffees made with coconut milk.
You may well be wondering what could top all of that, but as far as I´m concerned it was topped this morning when after a very long bus ride, though mercifully in a very comfortable bus, we arrived in Antigua. I was wondering how I would feel when I gazed upon those cobbled streets once more, and whatever feelings I had manifested themselves in a childlike smile and dizzying excitement. What didn´t help however is that we were travelling whilst back in Europe a very important football game was occurring. Most of you know I am a Man U fan, and as it happens there´s an Australian, named Ben, on the trip who´s living in London and supports Chelsea. The banter between the two of us seemed to get the whole tour interested, and when we made it to our hotel just in time for extra time, almost everyone congregated in Ben´s room to watch the pair of us squirm uncomfortably as the game went to penalties. Fortunately the better team won. John Terry can blame the grass all he likes.
And then the real highlight of my day so far. Everyone at GVI knew I was coming back at some point, but not exactly when. All the volunteers meet at a coffee shop near the town centre after the day is done, and I decided I would show up unannounced and succeeded in provoking quite a few double takes. Seeing everyone again was wonderful, and it really feels like I only just left. Whilst I´m only spending one night here this time, I shall return for the whole of the weekend which pleases me greatly. But as tonight is Wednesday night, that means one thing: it´s darts night. Even back home, you may want to take cover.
We went straight to Flores after crossing the border into Guatemala. Flores itself has a certain charm, and we resided on an island in the middle of the lake which was very lovely indeed. But despite the vista and the wonderful coffee shop we stumbled across, there was really only one reason we stopped by: Tikal.
Tikal is a site of Mayan ruins situated in fairly dense jungle territory. We woke up at 2.30 in the morning to climb the pyramids and watch the sunrise, which was a bit of an intense experience as the sun had already begun to rise when we stepped out of the minivan. What followed was a swift walk through the jungle, in the dark, whilst a howler monkey made some rather aggressive noises that sounded more like a jaguar was about to pounce on us from out of the bushes (of course there are jaguars there too, but they would usually run away from humans). The following video is almost entirely pitch black, but that´s kind of the point. Just turn up your speakers and imagine walking through this at around 5am.
A long climb up a large pyramid later, and it was clear that our efforts had been rewarded. And if you need some convincing, here´s the proof.
There are all sorts of things both animal and mineral to be found in Tikal. Monkeys, toucans and Mayan temples to name just a few. You can see a few pictures by clicking here. This monkey however is my personal favourite.After spending the afternoon relaxing in Flores, the next day we moved on to Rio Dulce. In itself the town is nothing special, but we were staying at a little hotel overlooking the lake. Though it was on the mainland, to get to the hotel a small boat ride was needed. Once there, one can drink cocktails at the restaurant and watch the boats go by, chill out in a hammock or just go upstairs and shoot some pool. I´m telling you, all this relaxation was beginning to get to me by that point. So the next day we took a little boat ride, stopping to watch some birds, take a dip in the hot springs and visit the town of Livingstone with its brightly coloured buildings and stunningly delicious iced coffees made with coconut milk.
You may well be wondering what could top all of that, but as far as I´m concerned it was topped this morning when after a very long bus ride, though mercifully in a very comfortable bus, we arrived in Antigua. I was wondering how I would feel when I gazed upon those cobbled streets once more, and whatever feelings I had manifested themselves in a childlike smile and dizzying excitement. What didn´t help however is that we were travelling whilst back in Europe a very important football game was occurring. Most of you know I am a Man U fan, and as it happens there´s an Australian, named Ben, on the trip who´s living in London and supports Chelsea. The banter between the two of us seemed to get the whole tour interested, and when we made it to our hotel just in time for extra time, almost everyone congregated in Ben´s room to watch the pair of us squirm uncomfortably as the game went to penalties. Fortunately the better team won. John Terry can blame the grass all he likes.
And then the real highlight of my day so far. Everyone at GVI knew I was coming back at some point, but not exactly when. All the volunteers meet at a coffee shop near the town centre after the day is done, and I decided I would show up unannounced and succeeded in provoking quite a few double takes. Seeing everyone again was wonderful, and it really feels like I only just left. Whilst I´m only spending one night here this time, I shall return for the whole of the weekend which pleases me greatly. But as tonight is Wednesday night, that means one thing: it´s darts night. Even back home, you may want to take cover.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
A good trip down the tube
Here on the Intrepid trip, we don't stay in any one place for more than two nights. Some of these places have limited internet access, some have none whatsoever. Furthermore, the days are packed full of stuff to do. Point is: there just isn't much time for a nice, leisurely blog post.
Except tonight, because I've decided, like many others, not to stay out for after-dinner drinks this evening. I think many people - though I hasten to add not including yours truly - learned their lesson this morning when, after a hefty night yesterday which saw almost everyone get some kind of drunk, most of us had to endure the delightful combination of hangover, dirt road and caving. Totally worth it though, I'm sure. The Mayan Actun Tunichil Muknal cave was used as a place of ritual sacrifice and, after wading/swimming/climbing through the maze of rocks and water with nothing but a headlamp and a lot of wet clothes, one eventually meets an entirely intact human skeleton. I studied it carefully, and concluded that it was almost certainly not alive.
The western side of Belize seems to contain much more jungle than the eastern side. Here in San Ignacio one has to trek through the jungle for forty-five minutes before reaching the aforementioned cave, and oh my are there some lovely surprises in there: poisonous snakes, spiders, jaguars. I would have been quite happy to have met a jaguar, but even the guides who do this all year round never see them. Instead, we were reliably informed that all would be within spitting distance of a snake around thirty percent of the time. Can't these tour guides prioritise the animals more effectively?
As it happens however I did not meet a snake on the way to the cave, nor the previous afternoon when we each grabbed a rubber tube and floated down the river. A key piece of advice to all of you: when you go over the rapids, bottoms up. Those rocks are sharp, and whilst one only makes that mistake once, it is preferable not to make it at all. Here's another tip: try to avoid getting stuck with your tube over a protruding rock, like some kind of fairground ring toss game.
I should probably mention the group with whom I am travelling. We started numbering fifteen persons, mostly Australian folk and some English. A small number of people have been on this trip all the way from Mexico City for a couple of weeks beforehand, but most started at the same point I did. However, many people arrived a day early to settle in before we all met up. Of these, three people had serious sunburn before the trip had technically even begun. By day three, we had lost Lee. By the next day, Jools and Rebecca had gone. Then to top it off, a couple of girls decided to stay behind in Caye Caulker, and claim they will catch us up later. This leaves us at a cosy number of ten people, ranging from early twenties to one man somewhere around sixty. All good.
But special mention has to go to our tour guide Sammy, who to my total and utter delight is a Guatemalan. Sammy is lovely, but the joke at the moment is to question how many people will be left by the end of the trip. Coincidentally, a Swiss man named Chris who is the manager of Intrepid tours in this region has been trailing us for the last few days, and whenever he turns up Sammy has to tell him that we've lost a few more. I think Chris has gone now, so the curse may be broken. Though if we continue to drink a cocktail here which has the entirely accurate name of 'Bucket of Death', the numbers may well dwindle further.
This night is our last here in Belize. Tomorrow morning we ride to Guatemala, where we shall stay for nine days and is thus the longest leg of the tour. I can actually hear my heart singing; it's a very special place.
Except tonight, because I've decided, like many others, not to stay out for after-dinner drinks this evening. I think many people - though I hasten to add not including yours truly - learned their lesson this morning when, after a hefty night yesterday which saw almost everyone get some kind of drunk, most of us had to endure the delightful combination of hangover, dirt road and caving. Totally worth it though, I'm sure. The Mayan Actun Tunichil Muknal cave was used as a place of ritual sacrifice and, after wading/swimming/climbing through the maze of rocks and water with nothing but a headlamp and a lot of wet clothes, one eventually meets an entirely intact human skeleton. I studied it carefully, and concluded that it was almost certainly not alive.
The western side of Belize seems to contain much more jungle than the eastern side. Here in San Ignacio one has to trek through the jungle for forty-five minutes before reaching the aforementioned cave, and oh my are there some lovely surprises in there: poisonous snakes, spiders, jaguars. I would have been quite happy to have met a jaguar, but even the guides who do this all year round never see them. Instead, we were reliably informed that all would be within spitting distance of a snake around thirty percent of the time. Can't these tour guides prioritise the animals more effectively?
As it happens however I did not meet a snake on the way to the cave, nor the previous afternoon when we each grabbed a rubber tube and floated down the river. A key piece of advice to all of you: when you go over the rapids, bottoms up. Those rocks are sharp, and whilst one only makes that mistake once, it is preferable not to make it at all. Here's another tip: try to avoid getting stuck with your tube over a protruding rock, like some kind of fairground ring toss game.
I should probably mention the group with whom I am travelling. We started numbering fifteen persons, mostly Australian folk and some English. A small number of people have been on this trip all the way from Mexico City for a couple of weeks beforehand, but most started at the same point I did. However, many people arrived a day early to settle in before we all met up. Of these, three people had serious sunburn before the trip had technically even begun. By day three, we had lost Lee. By the next day, Jools and Rebecca had gone. Then to top it off, a couple of girls decided to stay behind in Caye Caulker, and claim they will catch us up later. This leaves us at a cosy number of ten people, ranging from early twenties to one man somewhere around sixty. All good.
But special mention has to go to our tour guide Sammy, who to my total and utter delight is a Guatemalan. Sammy is lovely, but the joke at the moment is to question how many people will be left by the end of the trip. Coincidentally, a Swiss man named Chris who is the manager of Intrepid tours in this region has been trailing us for the last few days, and whenever he turns up Sammy has to tell him that we've lost a few more. I think Chris has gone now, so the curse may be broken. Though if we continue to drink a cocktail here which has the entirely accurate name of 'Bucket of Death', the numbers may well dwindle further.
This night is our last here in Belize. Tomorrow morning we ride to Guatemala, where we shall stay for nine days and is thus the longest leg of the tour. I can actually hear my heart singing; it's a very special place.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
I'm going to make a recommendation: all archaeological sites should be moved next to a beach
So, I left. Friday night saw my last GVI BBQ. So with a trip to the airport booked for 4am, what else was I to do but to dance all night? Sleep simply wasn't an option. I want to say thank you at this point to Debra and Alison for commenting on my blog. Everyone else should follow their example! Guys, I miss you loads. And Debra, your stupid riddle has been driving me insane during my journey. I will solve it by the time I see you next!
So after going to a good bar, the decor for which is apparently based on a Pink Floyd album (I would never have noticed, but I do see it now), we ended up crashing a wedding party with a difference. The difference being that the bride to be was no longer actually getting married but decided to party anyhow. A good night, but a small dance floor.
Debra coincidentally joined me for the trip to the airport - she was getting an internal flight to Tikal for the weekend. But after I got dropped off at the terminal, it was goodbye. I would have been slightly more concerned at the time were it not for the fact that I knew I would be going back to Antigua soon, and for the need to concentrate on getting two flights to Mexico in time to meet my Intrepid tour group. I'd like to tell you about the journey, but you need know only this: it was long, I slept a lot.
So after two planes and a taxi, I arrived in Playa del Carmen, just south of Cancun. And goddamn it's hot over there. After meeting everyone, going out for dinner and staying out for a drink or two, I decided to go and sit down outside the hotel before going to bed. To be completely honest, the transition from Antigua to Playa del Carmen was hard, and I wasn't entirely happy. I moved from volunteering in a beautiful town surrounded by volcanoes to sitting in a hot beach-side resort which frankly I've seen a million times in Spain before. The following morning, with the internet cafe shut, I did what any sensible traveller feeling like they were on a soulless, pointless journey would do: I went to Starbucks. And I must say, that was the best decision I could have made; Starbucks knows how to treat its customers well, and in Mexico that means a large dose of air conditioning.
Fortunately we moved on from Playa del Carmen quite quickly, and the next day we found ourselves in Tulum. From this point on things got a lot better. Once again, I have no pictures. But I want you all to know that we stayed in beach-side huts, in a sparsely populated piece of Mexican paradise. The Caribbean sea, a good bar and the sound of the ocean as you fall asleep were also quite welcome indeed. Oh and the following day we went caving. You know how it is: a snorkel, swimming around some luminescent caves, water with crystal clear visibility and some tropical fish. Just your average day really. And after such hardship, followed by wandering around some Mayan ruins beside yet another paradisical beach, what you really want is a suspended mattress-hammock right at your hotel. Damn good thing too, or else I might have left.
So a couple of nights spent in Tulum, then a very long journey to Caye Caulker, an island in Belize. This journey was about 8 hours long and involved a 1st class Mexican bus, a boat, and in between those two a Belizian chicken bus - for four hours! Now the Belizian chicken buses are not as bad as the Guatemalan ones - they're slightly bigger - but to all those GVI folk that complained about the ride to Santa Maria, and Alison I'm looking at you here, you have the right to grumble no more!
So here I am in Caye Caulker as I write this entry. Belize is a very Caribbean, very happy place. All of a sudden, I feel compelled to drink Lilt. It's totally tropical. Everyone here speaks English, but a lot of them do so with such a strong Caribbean accent I find myself thinking that I may very well understand Spanish better. The island itself is relatively small, and populated with three major facilities repeated multiple times down a single stretch of road: bars, restaurants, and diving tours.
So after having the cold from hell, and being bitten by the dog from hell, what does a man do? My solution was to swim with some sharks. Now they were only nurse sharks, but damn they looked vicious. It didn't help that our crew on the boat decided to feed these creatures before we got in. I assure you all, these things have quite a snap. Plus of course I have an open dog wound, and can't sharks smell blood?
But it wasn't all sharks and Elliots for lunch. There were all sorts of fantastically tropical fish that I'm sure I've seen on TV but would never have expected to meet in real life. It's taking a while for me to comprehend what I've just seen, because it really is another world. In total there were three snorkelling opportunities in three different reefs, and the rest of the time was spent lounging on top of a sailboat eating sandwiches and drinking rum. All in all, not bad. And my personal highlight: the stingrays.
It's simply terrible what one has to do just to populate a blog nowadays.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Hot dogs
This week, I have mostly been building stoves.
Explaining this process without pictures is going to be difficult. I have pictures of course, but apparently the concept of a card reader is an alien one here in Antigua. You´ll just have to imagine a very large table, about waist height, with three hobs and a chimney. There is a hollow section underneath where wood is burned, and a small table on the side for making tortillas. That´s pretty much the essence of it.
I have built two stoves this week, as each one only takes a couple of days to build, which I was quite impressed with. By the end of day one, the actual stove part is essentially complete. Day two sees myself and Alberto - the mason - cover the whole thing with cement and building the mini table next to it. During the process both families - who were already helping - bring you food and drink, which is just awful and entirely unnecessary. These people really do have very little.
To make it worse they both also gave me a gift at the end! I´ve forgotten the name for this, but both gave me a traditional cloth of the indigenous people in Guatemala. I actually saw the mother in the second family making one - which on reflection was probably mine - and it´s quite a lot of work. Apparently some volunteers manage to be here and not get anything, which personally I would have preferred as it really is a little embarrassing. I am touched nonetheless.
The first family had a little dog that often thought it fun to run underneath the stove. I should have seen the signs. On Wednesday night I was walking towards the kitchen and found Lucky, the house dog, on the floor, looking very contented. I bent down, stroked her head ...*CHOMP*. Yes that´s right, the dog bit me! But you all can turn off the alarm bells, it´s actually not a bad injury at all. There was no blood loss, my hand is still attached. Nonetheless, I have something on my wrist that looks distinctly like a bite from something bigger than a house cat. I was beginning to like Lucky, too. We were bonding. Now though I feel like testing out those stoves by making a famously sausage-and-roll type dish, only with a little more truth to the name. I would also like to send a message to Kira at this point: I miss you, you´re a good dog. Woof.
Sadly today is my last day with GVI. At around 4.00am tomorrow morning I shall begin my journey to Mexico. GVI are great people, so if any of you have the urge to do some volunteer work then I suggest you check out the extremely varied selection of programs on their website. Today being Friday I shall probably go to the BBQ, go out with everyone for the evening and forgo sleep for the night. I am very sorry to be leaving and am already thinking about coming back for longer, possibly to teach - two weeks here just isn´t enough. On the plus side however, I will actually be coming back through Antigua on the next leg of my trip in a couple of weeks, so I am hoping to catch up with everyone then. For now, that is all.
Explaining this process without pictures is going to be difficult. I have pictures of course, but apparently the concept of a card reader is an alien one here in Antigua. You´ll just have to imagine a very large table, about waist height, with three hobs and a chimney. There is a hollow section underneath where wood is burned, and a small table on the side for making tortillas. That´s pretty much the essence of it.
I have built two stoves this week, as each one only takes a couple of days to build, which I was quite impressed with. By the end of day one, the actual stove part is essentially complete. Day two sees myself and Alberto - the mason - cover the whole thing with cement and building the mini table next to it. During the process both families - who were already helping - bring you food and drink, which is just awful and entirely unnecessary. These people really do have very little.
To make it worse they both also gave me a gift at the end! I´ve forgotten the name for this, but both gave me a traditional cloth of the indigenous people in Guatemala. I actually saw the mother in the second family making one - which on reflection was probably mine - and it´s quite a lot of work. Apparently some volunteers manage to be here and not get anything, which personally I would have preferred as it really is a little embarrassing. I am touched nonetheless.
The first family had a little dog that often thought it fun to run underneath the stove. I should have seen the signs. On Wednesday night I was walking towards the kitchen and found Lucky, the house dog, on the floor, looking very contented. I bent down, stroked her head ...*CHOMP*. Yes that´s right, the dog bit me! But you all can turn off the alarm bells, it´s actually not a bad injury at all. There was no blood loss, my hand is still attached. Nonetheless, I have something on my wrist that looks distinctly like a bite from something bigger than a house cat. I was beginning to like Lucky, too. We were bonding. Now though I feel like testing out those stoves by making a famously sausage-and-roll type dish, only with a little more truth to the name. I would also like to send a message to Kira at this point: I miss you, you´re a good dog. Woof.
Sadly today is my last day with GVI. At around 4.00am tomorrow morning I shall begin my journey to Mexico. GVI are great people, so if any of you have the urge to do some volunteer work then I suggest you check out the extremely varied selection of programs on their website. Today being Friday I shall probably go to the BBQ, go out with everyone for the evening and forgo sleep for the night. I am very sorry to be leaving and am already thinking about coming back for longer, possibly to teach - two weeks here just isn´t enough. On the plus side however, I will actually be coming back through Antigua on the next leg of my trip in a couple of weeks, so I am hoping to catch up with everyone then. For now, that is all.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Take one active volcano, twice a day
Before we begin, I´d like to make a special request. A number of you have been emailing me to say you´re reading the blog and so on, but you know, there´s a comments button at the bottom! Not that I mind the emails at all, but if you leave a comment on the blog I look more popular. Mum, please don´t say anything embarrassing (and that includes the assertion that you wouldn´t say anything embarrassing).
And so, to business. I am still sick, though my illness is constantly changing. Friday was pretty bad, and Saturday wasn´t great either. And what does one do when they´re feverish and unable to sleep? Why, they climb a volcano of course!
After a journey lasting over an hour through a tropical storm, and an elevation of altitude that made me of the opinion that to sever my ears would probably be the least painful option, we reached Pacaya. Fortunately it had stopped raining, though we still had an hour long trek up a very, very steep hill. I can assure you all though that it´s actually not that difficult, and entirely worth it. And let me reiterate the fact that this is an ACTIVE volcano; there was lava, we toasted marshmallows over it. Unfortunately due to technical difficulties, I am unable to upload my pictures, but you can see some, including one featuring yours truly, on my housemate Debra´s blog. If you ever come to Guatemala, and you really should, then I recommend two things: Firstly, climb Pacaya; and secondly, when the locals at the foot of the mountain offer you a walking stick for 5Q, ignore the voice in your head that says it´s probably just a gimmick, and just buy the damn stick. Trust me, you´ll be thankful later.
Sunday brought with it a couple of firsts for yours truly in Antigua. It was my first opportunity to go up to the community in Santa Maria, where I have been building stoves this week (more on that in a later edition). We went up there in the morning to celebrate the birthday of Santiago´s daughter (Santiago being one of the project directors up in Santa Maria). The act of going there brings me to the other first: the chicken bus. If you haven´t clicked on that link yet, do so now. Done? Yes, you read that right: live animals, often chickens. Now, I´ve not shared one of these buses with a chicken yet, but the experience is frankly enough as it is. These vehicles are like bottomless bags; there is always room for more people, animals, ice cream salesmen. The salesmen are a particularly interesting sight, for it takes a lot of skill to sell anything, particularly ice cream, on a bus that is overcrowded; old and rickety; and then rickety some more due to Antigua´s policy of having exclusively cobbled streets.
Riding the chicken bus is an experience I´m glad to have had, but I´m very happy that when commuting this week I am blessed with the luxury of a minivan. One gets hurled around all the same, but the likelihood of that culminating in a face-off with live poultry is less.
And so, to business. I am still sick, though my illness is constantly changing. Friday was pretty bad, and Saturday wasn´t great either. And what does one do when they´re feverish and unable to sleep? Why, they climb a volcano of course!
After a journey lasting over an hour through a tropical storm, and an elevation of altitude that made me of the opinion that to sever my ears would probably be the least painful option, we reached Pacaya. Fortunately it had stopped raining, though we still had an hour long trek up a very, very steep hill. I can assure you all though that it´s actually not that difficult, and entirely worth it. And let me reiterate the fact that this is an ACTIVE volcano; there was lava, we toasted marshmallows over it. Unfortunately due to technical difficulties, I am unable to upload my pictures, but you can see some, including one featuring yours truly, on my housemate Debra´s blog. If you ever come to Guatemala, and you really should, then I recommend two things: Firstly, climb Pacaya; and secondly, when the locals at the foot of the mountain offer you a walking stick for 5Q, ignore the voice in your head that says it´s probably just a gimmick, and just buy the damn stick. Trust me, you´ll be thankful later.
Sunday brought with it a couple of firsts for yours truly in Antigua. It was my first opportunity to go up to the community in Santa Maria, where I have been building stoves this week (more on that in a later edition). We went up there in the morning to celebrate the birthday of Santiago´s daughter (Santiago being one of the project directors up in Santa Maria). The act of going there brings me to the other first: the chicken bus. If you haven´t clicked on that link yet, do so now. Done? Yes, you read that right: live animals, often chickens. Now, I´ve not shared one of these buses with a chicken yet, but the experience is frankly enough as it is. These vehicles are like bottomless bags; there is always room for more people, animals, ice cream salesmen. The salesmen are a particularly interesting sight, for it takes a lot of skill to sell anything, particularly ice cream, on a bus that is overcrowded; old and rickety; and then rickety some more due to Antigua´s policy of having exclusively cobbled streets.
Riding the chicken bus is an experience I´m glad to have had, but I´m very happy that when commuting this week I am blessed with the luxury of a minivan. One gets hurled around all the same, but the likelihood of that culminating in a face-off with live poultry is less.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Edwin van der Sar drinks seven lemons
It´s been a few days, and the inevitable has happened: I´ve got the sniffles. Spanish today was thus particularly gruelling as I desperately tried to keep my head from spinning long enough to complete even the most basic of sentences. In the morning it was especially difficult, but come one o´clock it was time for Miguel.
My lessons with Miguel are as brilliant as the morning sessions are overwhelming. We just sit and chat, and learn in the process, rather than doing the sort of exercises and rote learning that made school so woeful. I have more to say to Miguel, and when he talks I´m more likely to understand. And boy, does he have a lot to say.
I appear to have met one of the 5% (that figure according to Miguel) of liberal Guatemalans. This is a man who is not afraid to cook at home, for which he assures me most Guatemalan folk would think him to be gay. He is 46 years old, and has been teaching Spanish for as long as I have been alive. Most of the topics we discuss revolve around life in Antigua, but we branch out occasionally. Today, we were talking about the upcoming Manchester United versus Chelsea Champions League final. He asked what the name was of the Man U goalkeeper, and where he was from. It took a lot of dictionary checking on both sides for us to agree on the Spanish for Holland, but it was when he referred to the team as the ´naranja mecanica´ that I was certain we were talking about the same thing.
In the second half of our sessions, Miguel becomes a walking tour guide. All in Spanish, of course. Today we visited Hotel Santa Domingo de Cerro, which is a five star hotel with a museum and a hell of a lot of parrots flying around in the garden. If you want to pay $200 a night, I thoroughly recommend it. During the break between talking in the school and going walkies, a young man name Profirio came up to me in the park and, in SpanGlish, asked me if I liked Led Zeppelin and offered me drugs. The answers I gave were yes and no respectively. I assure you though that this guy was actually extremely pleasant, and has a great name.
The days are pretty long at the moment. I wake up at 6.00 every morning to eat breakfast and go to school, though when one wakes up to pancakes with maple syrup, bananas and watermelon, you can´t really complain.
I´m going to end this post with one of Miguel´s many pearls of wisdom. In Latin America, if a man has a cold he drinks seven lemons squeezed into a single shot glass. But in Guatemala, he drinks seven shots and one lemon. Tomorrow is the traditional end of week BBQ at the GVI house, and if I´m still ill I know which method I´ll be using. When in Rome, as they say.
My lessons with Miguel are as brilliant as the morning sessions are overwhelming. We just sit and chat, and learn in the process, rather than doing the sort of exercises and rote learning that made school so woeful. I have more to say to Miguel, and when he talks I´m more likely to understand. And boy, does he have a lot to say.
I appear to have met one of the 5% (that figure according to Miguel) of liberal Guatemalans. This is a man who is not afraid to cook at home, for which he assures me most Guatemalan folk would think him to be gay. He is 46 years old, and has been teaching Spanish for as long as I have been alive. Most of the topics we discuss revolve around life in Antigua, but we branch out occasionally. Today, we were talking about the upcoming Manchester United versus Chelsea Champions League final. He asked what the name was of the Man U goalkeeper, and where he was from. It took a lot of dictionary checking on both sides for us to agree on the Spanish for Holland, but it was when he referred to the team as the ´naranja mecanica´ that I was certain we were talking about the same thing.
In the second half of our sessions, Miguel becomes a walking tour guide. All in Spanish, of course. Today we visited Hotel Santa Domingo de Cerro, which is a five star hotel with a museum and a hell of a lot of parrots flying around in the garden. If you want to pay $200 a night, I thoroughly recommend it. During the break between talking in the school and going walkies, a young man name Profirio came up to me in the park and, in SpanGlish, asked me if I liked Led Zeppelin and offered me drugs. The answers I gave were yes and no respectively. I assure you though that this guy was actually extremely pleasant, and has a great name.
The days are pretty long at the moment. I wake up at 6.00 every morning to eat breakfast and go to school, though when one wakes up to pancakes with maple syrup, bananas and watermelon, you can´t really complain.
I´m going to end this post with one of Miguel´s many pearls of wisdom. In Latin America, if a man has a cold he drinks seven lemons squeezed into a single shot glass. But in Guatemala, he drinks seven shots and one lemon. Tomorrow is the traditional end of week BBQ at the GVI house, and if I´m still ill I know which method I´ll be using. When in Rome, as they say.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
En lunes, yo voy a la escuela
Arriving at night with a weary head, one doesn´t really take in one´s surroundings. But whilst sitting in the roof garden of the GVI house on Sunday morning, one thing became apparent: in Antigua, there are volcanoes. Three, as it happens. One of them is constantly smoking, and apparently had a small eruption, if there is such a thing, a couple of weeks back. Oh and there was an earthquake, measuring 6.1 on the Richter scale. It´s at this point I ask that someone go to check on my mother in case she´s read this and passed out.
In addition to the volcanoes, there are plenty other, less lava-loving mountains. All are lush, covered as they are with greenery and the promise of breathtaking vistas (a promise which I shall verify in due course). Antigua es muy bonita.
After staying in a hotel the first night, I moved in with my host family on Sunday. My adopted mother, Christina, is lovely, though she speaks less English than I speak Spanish. It is fortunate that she´s great at charades. She is also clearly a lover of animals, and has a parrot 44 years of age that speaks more Spanish than I do, which is somewhat embarrassing. There is also a dog, which I had heard about but whom wasn´t around when I moved in. Upon returning to the house after exploring Antigua I met the dog in the hallway, but evidently someone had to forgot to inform her of my arrival. She was not very welcoming. Christina probably found me just in time to prevent a new brand of dog biscuit made of yours truly. With the dog and I formally introduced, she became suddenly a very cute sheepdog. Turns out her name is Lucky. I hope the irony isn´t lost on you people.
Monday saw the start of my experience in Spanish school. Nine hours - with a cumulative two hours break - of one-on-one Spanish. It´s utterly exhausting; there´s no point at which one can stop concentrating for even a second, as the teacher talks at you entirely in Spanish whilst you nod your head and say ´si´over and over. My teacher for the mornings is particularly intense, and speaks little English. In the afternoon however I learn with Miguel, who seems to speak more English and has different teaching methods. After studying in the school for two hours, we went for a walk around the square, culminating in us sitting on a park bench whilst we discussed myriad subjects from life in Guatemala to English football. I understood quite a lot considering it was all in Spanish, but I´m still not able to bring much to the conversation. Miguel also confirmed my suspicions that the Guatemalan coffee is mostly exported, and that whatever good stuff remains in Antigua can be found in the tourist shops at inflated prices. It´s still cheaper than Starbucks.
Having had a long day of desperately trying to understand Spanish as it was hurled at me, I found myself in the same situation at dinner with Christina. By the end I was of the opinion that if I heard one more word of Spanish that day I would scream. It was fortunate therefore than my fellow volunteer housemate returned from her weekend excursion to El Salvador; she´s American, speaks good Spanish and as it happens is Jewish, which makes makes me want to toss out an old favourite like ít´s a small world´, except that having travelled all this way I´m quite sure that it isn´t.
In addition to the volcanoes, there are plenty other, less lava-loving mountains. All are lush, covered as they are with greenery and the promise of breathtaking vistas (a promise which I shall verify in due course). Antigua es muy bonita.
After staying in a hotel the first night, I moved in with my host family on Sunday. My adopted mother, Christina, is lovely, though she speaks less English than I speak Spanish. It is fortunate that she´s great at charades. She is also clearly a lover of animals, and has a parrot 44 years of age that speaks more Spanish than I do, which is somewhat embarrassing. There is also a dog, which I had heard about but whom wasn´t around when I moved in. Upon returning to the house after exploring Antigua I met the dog in the hallway, but evidently someone had to forgot to inform her of my arrival. She was not very welcoming. Christina probably found me just in time to prevent a new brand of dog biscuit made of yours truly. With the dog and I formally introduced, she became suddenly a very cute sheepdog. Turns out her name is Lucky. I hope the irony isn´t lost on you people.
Monday saw the start of my experience in Spanish school. Nine hours - with a cumulative two hours break - of one-on-one Spanish. It´s utterly exhausting; there´s no point at which one can stop concentrating for even a second, as the teacher talks at you entirely in Spanish whilst you nod your head and say ´si´over and over. My teacher for the mornings is particularly intense, and speaks little English. In the afternoon however I learn with Miguel, who seems to speak more English and has different teaching methods. After studying in the school for two hours, we went for a walk around the square, culminating in us sitting on a park bench whilst we discussed myriad subjects from life in Guatemala to English football. I understood quite a lot considering it was all in Spanish, but I´m still not able to bring much to the conversation. Miguel also confirmed my suspicions that the Guatemalan coffee is mostly exported, and that whatever good stuff remains in Antigua can be found in the tourist shops at inflated prices. It´s still cheaper than Starbucks.
Having had a long day of desperately trying to understand Spanish as it was hurled at me, I found myself in the same situation at dinner with Christina. By the end I was of the opinion that if I heard one more word of Spanish that day I would scream. It was fortunate therefore than my fellow volunteer housemate returned from her weekend excursion to El Salvador; she´s American, speaks good Spanish and as it happens is Jewish, which makes makes me want to toss out an old favourite like ít´s a small world´, except that having travelled all this way I´m quite sure that it isn´t.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Eye of the tiger, brain of the washcloth
I'm not entirely sure, but when I ask myself what day it is the answer I get is 'SaturMonday'. A twenty hour journey with a seven hour time difference will do that to you. And quite a journey it was.
The first problem began almost immediately after entering the airport, going through Heathrow's security. Remove this, stand in front of that, left foot red and so on. All rather inconvenient, nothing entirely unexpected. Then I heard a PA which said that one should remove any belts with a lot of metal. Wearing my new red belt with a large metal clasp, and new combats that, without the belt, would in fact be big enough for myself and at least three other passengers, I thought this might be rather troublesome. However it was when I saw a fellow passenger being thoroughly searched, arms and legs wide apart, that I realised that this could be a much more naked problem.
Fortunately for all concerned, I was spared. I must look rather innocent, but a bribe also helps. So having passed through security I met Alison, who was to make the journey with me to Guatemala (she is here to volunteer on a related project, teaching the kiddies in the same community where I will in due course be building a stove). And so together we boarded the ten hour flight to Houston, where we would catch our flight to Guatemala. Damn long journey, I thought, but at least we would be spared Heathrow's Terminal 5, right? Of course not.
Despite the the fact that the plane was departing from T4, we were delayed an hour whilst bags were transferred from that more infamous terminal. It later transpired that many, perhaps all, of those bags didn't make it to Houston. Boy were those passengers angry. But they were not the only people to have baggage problems.
I was dreading going through American security. It didn't help that the flight was delayed and we had to catch the flight to Guatemala three hours after landing. The plane to Houston seemed to make up all the time as it happened, and the entertainment was tops. Scrubs, Fraser, a good film (Sideways) and plenty more kept me very happy. The only annoyance was having to fill out those ridiculous forms to enter the US. Was I involved with Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1945? Well yes, but I was hoping to keep that a secret. Who the hell would actually tick yes to that question? I can just imagine a top Nazi official, heretofore successfully under the radar of the American authorities, being presented with such an option: "Well, I helped wage war on half the world and kill millions of people, but damn it I just can't say no to a box."
Alison had been given differing advice on whether or not we needed to pick up our luggage at Houston, or whether it would be automatically transferred. So we waited by the carousel, and out came my bag. Alison's did not. Oh no, they've lost her luggage we thought, but this was not the case. In fact, her luggage had successfully been transferred to our next flight. But wait a minute said I, how can that be so when my luggage is here? The response I got: 'Err, that shouldn't have happened'. So, if we hadn't have been given incorrect information telling us that we should pick up our luggage, I would have sauntered past none the wiser, and my bag would have been left at Houston. I should make it clear that this was entirely the fault of those at Heathrow for not branding my bag with a large green sticker, as they had Alison's.
Still, the American Inquisition was nowhere near as painful as I had imagined it to be, and we had plenty of time - in Starbucks, *sigh* - to remind ourselves of how little Spanish we knew. Another successful flight later, we found Meike from GVI (the group with whom we are volunteering) and began the trip with her from Guatemala City to Antigua. As the minivan reached the summit of the last hill before the town, and with immaculate timing, I recognised 'Eye of the Tiger' on the radio. Despite my body being convinced it was 5 in the morning and not 10pm, I felt suddenly rejuvenated. I am here to build a stove, hand me my shovel! I was certain I could accomplish anything. Somebody should play that record to the folks at Heathrow.
The first problem began almost immediately after entering the airport, going through Heathrow's security. Remove this, stand in front of that, left foot red and so on. All rather inconvenient, nothing entirely unexpected. Then I heard a PA which said that one should remove any belts with a lot of metal. Wearing my new red belt with a large metal clasp, and new combats that, without the belt, would in fact be big enough for myself and at least three other passengers, I thought this might be rather troublesome. However it was when I saw a fellow passenger being thoroughly searched, arms and legs wide apart, that I realised that this could be a much more naked problem.
Fortunately for all concerned, I was spared. I must look rather innocent, but a bribe also helps. So having passed through security I met Alison, who was to make the journey with me to Guatemala (she is here to volunteer on a related project, teaching the kiddies in the same community where I will in due course be building a stove). And so together we boarded the ten hour flight to Houston, where we would catch our flight to Guatemala. Damn long journey, I thought, but at least we would be spared Heathrow's Terminal 5, right? Of course not.
Despite the the fact that the plane was departing from T4, we were delayed an hour whilst bags were transferred from that more infamous terminal. It later transpired that many, perhaps all, of those bags didn't make it to Houston. Boy were those passengers angry. But they were not the only people to have baggage problems.
I was dreading going through American security. It didn't help that the flight was delayed and we had to catch the flight to Guatemala three hours after landing. The plane to Houston seemed to make up all the time as it happened, and the entertainment was tops. Scrubs, Fraser, a good film (Sideways) and plenty more kept me very happy. The only annoyance was having to fill out those ridiculous forms to enter the US. Was I involved with Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1945? Well yes, but I was hoping to keep that a secret. Who the hell would actually tick yes to that question? I can just imagine a top Nazi official, heretofore successfully under the radar of the American authorities, being presented with such an option: "Well, I helped wage war on half the world and kill millions of people, but damn it I just can't say no to a box."
Alison had been given differing advice on whether or not we needed to pick up our luggage at Houston, or whether it would be automatically transferred. So we waited by the carousel, and out came my bag. Alison's did not. Oh no, they've lost her luggage we thought, but this was not the case. In fact, her luggage had successfully been transferred to our next flight. But wait a minute said I, how can that be so when my luggage is here? The response I got: 'Err, that shouldn't have happened'. So, if we hadn't have been given incorrect information telling us that we should pick up our luggage, I would have sauntered past none the wiser, and my bag would have been left at Houston. I should make it clear that this was entirely the fault of those at Heathrow for not branding my bag with a large green sticker, as they had Alison's.
Still, the American Inquisition was nowhere near as painful as I had imagined it to be, and we had plenty of time - in Starbucks, *sigh* - to remind ourselves of how little Spanish we knew. Another successful flight later, we found Meike from GVI (the group with whom we are volunteering) and began the trip with her from Guatemala City to Antigua. As the minivan reached the summit of the last hill before the town, and with immaculate timing, I recognised 'Eye of the Tiger' on the radio. Despite my body being convinced it was 5 in the morning and not 10pm, I felt suddenly rejuvenated. I am here to build a stove, hand me my shovel! I was certain I could accomplish anything. Somebody should play that record to the folks at Heathrow.
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