The ancient Mayan city of Tikal

 

Burnout

In Asia you find yourself with an overwhelming urge to scream at the top of your lungs, "if I see one more temple...!"

In Europe it's church or cathedral.

It comes after a couple of months or so.  They were splendid sights at first.  The camera snapping away at the slightest glimpse of an orange cloaked monk.  After you hit the wall, they have become so ubiquitous you don't even divert your eyes.

So we've reached that point.  It happened in Granada, the gem of Nicaragua's tourist trail.  A beautiful colourful city, where we summoned just about enough enthusiasm to traipse to an internet cafe and have a hotdog in the square.

So we jumped on a bus to the beach.  A fairly deserted one in El Salvador, where we planned to do virtually nothing for a week or two but eat, sleep, swim, read, surf a little maybe.  Anything to silence the inner monologue that's screaming at the top of its voice, "if I see one more bloody colonial city...!"


As it happened, as nice as it was in surf central, it didn't completely do the trick.  Maybe because we had to sleep with one eye open...

So we had a few days of relaxation and then we hatched a new plan: to hit Mexico sooner, enjoy a few truly beautiful beaches, and then spend a bit more time in the States.  Well, who can resist a side-trip to Vegas baby?!

6 weeks to go and 8 countries to get through!

Who were we kidding, something had to give.  So after a wonderful five day relaxing trip through the Caribbean, it was time to crack the back of about 500 miles and a couple of countries.  From Panama City we traveled to Rivas in Nicaragua and then crossed Lago de Nicaragua to our final destination, the Ilas de Ometepe, for a wee rest.

I'll do the first part fast so you don't get bored.  

Day 1, Panama: went to see the canal and then off to the international bus station.  Maybe harsh ditching the rest of the country but 'little America' just didn't do it for us.  We almost didn't view the canal, but relented, it being one of the 'Man-made Wonders of the World.'  Or so Wikipedia tells me anyway. 

 

Day 2, Costa Rica:  the night bus went without a hitch, or even better for you a, bodily functions story.  Costa Rica was all seen by bus, beautiful beaches laced with palm trees whizzed past us under bright blue cloudless skies (if we had stopped it would have rained!)  Paul also introduced me to the rambutan, a funny little fruit with bright red tentacles.  They look completley weird but when fresh, squirted juice everywhere and tasted delicious.

 

So two border crossings in one day.  The first a mind numbing 3 hours wait, the second a delightful 10 minutes!  Then within a couple of hours we were on the island.  Magic.

Ometepe is created from two volcanoes linked by ancient lava flow, rising magnificently from the lake.  We picked a great time to stay.  At first the town of Moyogalpa seemed quiet, dusty and full of tourists waiting to go either further into the island or ferry out.  But each day around 4 o'clock a procession of dancing horses would parade down the high street and we'd have live music. Even before it got dark the fire crackers would go off and the streets would come alive.  Many a drunk local would be-friend us and list all the dangers lurking on the mainland, proudly extolling the virtues of this safe haven.  Maybe we should have stayed? But I'm not sure they have any need for graphic design or physio.  Maybe we could have started a dive school (now we're divers and all, but not sure there's much to see in the murky waters) or open a traditional themed Ye Olde World Inn and Tavern (but we'd probably be driven out by the Americans and Irish who've got the themed idea covered).  Or just carry on travelling.  We did the latter.  Given the hassles we've had on the mainland, maybe we should have stayed put afterall.

 

So what did we do on this gem of an island?  Well we cycled to Punta Jesus Maria, a narrow sand bar that juts out into the lake making a calm swimming area.  It being Nicaragua and a volcanic island, the sand was black, the water was black and the fishes took great advantage of this, giving us a good nip now and again.  The place still had a relaxed charm and it was good to have got some exercise and earned our dip.

We also hired a scooter!  Yes, we did look like loser gringos on our banana coloured mean machine, wearing helmets and abiding by speed limits as families of 5 road past us, all perched perfectly on one scooter.  And let's not forget the kid on a push bike that even got the edge on us at one point (he ate our dirt soon as we'd managed the speed bump safely!)  This may sound like an OAP's grand day out and possibly it looked like that, but on small stretches of desolate road, both of us singing 'Born to be Wild' at the top of our voices, I do believe we captured at least the spirit of Easy Rider.

 

Kuna Yala

To say most of our blogs write themselves is probably a little harsh on our efforts, but usually a place, journey or experience has developed into a short story relatively easily.  Or we've let the pictures do most of the talking.  After 5 days on a sailboat from Colombia to Panama we're struggling to work out how to keep the story short, and the pictures alone certainly won't do it justice.  I think it is a little unfair to judge the rest of Central America before it has had a chance to prove itself, but Angela has happily proclaimed this latest adventure as the highlight or our entire trip.  If she's right, I certainly won't be disappointed.  If not, we're in for one hell of a time somewhere in the next 6 weeks or so!

So where to start?  First, set the scene I guess:
The journey began in the colourful colonial city of Cartagena, with 200 miles of Caribbean high seas separating us from the San Blas islands off the coast of Panama.  Our home for the duration a 43 ft yacht.  Our berth one of four cabins (the room pretty much the size of the bed, but pretty much the size of a double at least; with its full load of 11, the people sharing one of the two small cabins would get to know each other pretty well as the beds/rooms are barely bigger than singles!)

Second, introduce the cast:
As mentioned, a full boat would be 11 passengers, so we were lucky to be 6 and everyone had a bed.  We surely need no introduction.  The other 4 were all in their early twenties: Bernard and Darlene two Canadian honeymooners, Donal a quietly spoken Irishman and Clarence a German with impeccable english.  An then of course the leading man, Francisco.  Born in Brazil to a French mother, learned to sail at 13 and spent his life on the sea ever after. From sailboat to fishing trawler to freighter, decades of salt from around the globe well-rubbed into the old seadog.  And like all good characters, a man of layers.  At first a little strict, at the end (after we'd warmed him up) pretty saucy.  More than a little self-confident (be it sailing or cooking, the French mother, remember?)  Often opinionated.  And at all times a storyteller.

So, finally, to tell the story.  Forgive me in advance, accomplished author I am not.  But I shall try...

We set sail on Saturday evening (thereafter most struggled to recall what day it was; no-one cared).  With a probable 48 hour crossing ahead, it seemed like we were just wasting valuable time to spend in the islands, but we had patiently waited out the day as Francisco had explained his preference for a late start: once you get sick, you can sleep it off.  As it was, only Bernard succumbed, although he claimed to rather enjoy his experience bent over the back of the boat; location is everything I guess!  And our departure time meant we enjoyed a spectacular start to our journey as a dramatic sunset coloured our path out of the harbour.  Then we hit night, dark skies and dark seas all that surrounded us.  Eerie isolation.

After a hot, swaying,broken sleep it was a great surprise to find we had escaped the head-on current and were making great time.  We'd probably make the islands by the next night, nearly a whole extra day to spend there than expected.  Excitement tempered by the increasing swell however, all subdued and a little queasy.  Francisco laughed it off, the season calm to him.  Big enough for us rookies.  Bernard took his position at the back of the boat for most of the day. 

It's a long day on the open seas when you're not feeling A1.  Francisco also subdued, trying to catch up on sleep; his alarm set every 15 mins during the night to keep an eye out for ships that would eat up a teeny sailboat in the dark.  Also a little stressed no doubt.  70% of man-overboards lost to the sea.  Not too many stories to amuse us that day then, although I do recall one.  Many captains require their passengers to keep watch through the night.  A few years ago, a captain was startled awake by the sound of his fishing reel unwinding.  He jumped up to fight the line; there are huge monsters lurking in the dark, tuna 100kg or more.  Then it struck him: where was his nightwatch?  She survived.  Her face wasn't quite what it was though.  

Francisco starts out strict, yes.  In context though, all makes sense.  There is more than one reason he doesn't fish at night; he landed an 80kg tuna once.  It filled the saloon of an already packed boat and he'd no idea what to with all the steaks!  The carcasses of boats strewn around the reefs also atest to why he sacrifies his sleep.

We followed orders to the letter and arrived in the San Blas safely about 2am, Angela first to hear the engine change and up to guide us through the sandbanks, torch in hand.  All arose as the anchor dropped and beer cans were cracked (alcohol forbidden on the passage, loss of balance likely fatal).                  

Soon we all went back to bed for a couple of restless sweaty hours below deck but before long the smell of breakfast lured us out.  And my what a place to wake up to.  Sea a mix of blue and green and turquoise.  Palm covered islands.  White sands.  Gentle surf breaking on the reefs protecting us from the open sea.  Every bit the paradise we'd expected.

 

The next 3 days are a bit of a blur, all mingling into one.  We raised anchor.  We sailed.  We dropped anchor.  We snorkelled with majestic spotted eagle rays and nurse sharks.   We watched a couple of turtles popping up for air during lunch.  Early one evening a dolphin cruised right by.  By night the rays serenely glided around in the light from the boat.

We strolled along sandy shores admiring the galleries of starfish in the clear waters.  We tucked into fish and rum around a fire on the beach.  We gazed at stars.  We dived from the roof.  Lightening flashed.  Thunder clapped.  We watched it rain.  We visited the indigenous Kuna.  They visited us (with fish or crabs or octopus or handicrafts).  We ate.  And we ate some more.

On the way to the islands we had hooked a fish.  It looked like a magnificent fish.  Francisco said it was the best.  A Wahoo.  What a name.  Perfect for our beach bbq.  Unfortunately due to human error it was lost in the landing (i.e. someone dropped it!)  Francisco was not a happy man for a short while.  A fisherman pained to lose a fish.  The culprit was soon forgiven though and it just meant we had to pop onto one of the islands to shop for one (i.e. barter with a man in a dugout canoe).  So we bbq'd a snapper instead.  Perhaps due to a little karma, a squid just jumped onto the boat that night so we enjoyed it as a pre-dinner dip.  Dinner itself a delicious octopus stew.  The highlight for some was our seafood platter: a couple of crab and lobster to hammer at.  For me, it was our dinner on the last night: plain old fish and chips.  Shark steak in a beer and thyme batter with bread-fruit chips that is.  A little more exotic than our usual on Porty beach!  So all in all, we ate pretty well.  Francisco doesn't need our admiration of his culinary skills, but he gets it anyway.

And as for our wonderful captain, I said by the end he had become more than a little fruity.  So to end this story, here are some of our favourite Francisco quotes (for full effect when reading, add a french accent)...

Whilst explaining why our boat was anchored in a current:
"Notice we point a different way to the other boats?  The wind comes from this way, so I use the current to balance it and lessen the strain on the anchor.  Oh my god, when I hear myself talk like this, it is so good.  I give myself an erection."
I bit my tongue the next morning when the wind had changed and we were facing the same way as everyone else, the current now increasing the stain on our anchor!

When serving up octopus stew:
"Do you need anything else?  You want ketchup?  I bring you ketchup.  F*#! you I will not bring you ketchup!"

Previously, whilst preparing octopus stew:
"I call it octopussy, as it has one between each of the legs.  And one in the middle!"

Later, correcting Clarence taking about the stew:
"On my boat it is always called octopussy."

Later still, said from afar in a matter of fact way, half way through Donal's sentence as he again referred to it as octopus:
"Octopussy."

On colonialism:
"The spanish came.  Killed all the men.  Took all the gold.  Raped all the women.  Good job!"...(add uncomfortable pause)..."I don't mean the rape."

And finally, here's one from a passenger and possibly our favourite of all.  On the subject of french regency:
"I thought the Louis' started at about the 13th."
Might want to lay off the dope a little Bernard if you're going to make it through law school!

Colombia, thanks for having us. You were wonderful.

Tayrona National Park

Often it's the insects that try their best to ruin the most beautiful places on this earth. The midges in the Scottish Highlands cloud the sky and drive you to distraction in summer, the sandflies on New Zealand's west coast cloak you the moment you step foot on the beach and the mosquitos in Thailand leave their mark for days.  Tayrona is indeed one of the world's most incredible places, an hour's trek through the rainforest opens out to crashing surf; giant boulders leading the way to the next cove fringed with palms.  And we were pleasantly surprised at the lack of bites we picked up along the way.  Then the night fell and they came.  Oh how they came.  Into our campsite they swarmed, devouring all before them, a deafening buzz piercing the tranquil night.  By morning there was nothing but a trail of devastation and sleepless bodies.  It was too good to be true after all.  No paradise is free from pests.  Bloody teenagers.

"Congratulations. You´re a diver!"