Monteverde :: Granada :: León :: Tegucigalpa :: Utila
When I closed my last post with "until next time," I didn't plan for quite such an extended ellipsis in my writing. Since then we have covered a lot of ground, both literally and metaphorically...
We began the morning after my last post in Monteverde, Costa Rica where we boarded an old Thomas school bus that carried us over an unforgiving dirt road towards the main Interamericana highway where we connected with a rather luxurious Tica bus. We rolled in style towards the Nicaraguan border while watching chick flicks and munching on saltines in sub-zero air conditioning. When we arrived at the border (which was so hot, upon disembarking from the bus we nearly condensed), we needed to pay US$10 each or the equivalent in Cordobas (Nicaraguan currency). Despite our arsenal of traveler cheques, credit cards, and a few left over Costa Rican colones, we found ourselves unprepared to cover this charge. Thus, as the bus pulled into the border, I left Natalia with our backpacks waiting in line for customs, and I ran into the only bank to change a traveler cheque. The bank executive began with the customary suspicion at our co-branded Amex/Citibank traveler cheques... once we overcame that hurdle, I signed the cheque and handed over my passport for the requisite photocopy. At the very moment my passport changed hands there was a power surge and the electricity went out. The bank executive assured me that this was nothing unusual, and that the power should probably be back on within the hour (whew, I thought this might actually cause a real delay). I thought about walking out and asking a fellow traveler to borrow some money until we reached our final destination... but I had already signed and dated the traveler cheque, which would make it virtually impossible to cash elsewhere at a later date. With the fans no longer rotating and the air conditioner jammed into a nearby window no longer humming, temperatures began to rise and my patience was wearing thin. About that time, Natalia came over to the bank window, gesturing frantically that the bus was leaving. Not sure whether I should wait in the bank with my signed cheque or whether I should forget the cheque, hop aboard the bus with Natalia, and hope for the best with the border fee that we still owed, I looked around for the bank executive. She and my passport had inconveniently disappeared together into a back room, and there was no hint of activity. Just as I began to contemplate George Clooney's laid-back bank robbery in Out Of Sight (and our similarly inadequate escape vehicles... hit it, Pepe! Make this Tica bus fly!), the lights flickered... the fans went back into motion, and the woman appeared a few minutes later with a copy of my passport and a fistful of bills. Disaster was averted, and we were on our way into Nicaragua.
We at last arrived in Granada, Nicaragua's oldest Spanish colonial city, nicknamed "the Great Sultan" in reference to its Moorish namesake across the Atlantic. While earthquakes and war have obliterated much of Nicaragua's cultural heritage - especially its colonial architecture - Granada is a well-preserved window into the past. My wistful imaginings of Panama City were brought to life here as Natalia and I strolled down cobbled streets past stucco buildings with red tile roofs and large wooden doors that opened onto cool interior gardens... expatriates and locals alike sipped coffee at cafes that lined the central plaza while a group played traditional music in a gazebo in the park. There was a relaxed, romantic, and almost dreamy atmosphere about the place... nothing that reflected US State Department warnings about armed criminal groups and other vestiges from the Contra war. The average American's impression of Nicaragua is as misinformed as the US government's interference in Nicaraguan affairs has been misguided. It is hard to keep track of how many times the US government officially switched its position and supported first the liberals, then the conservatives, then the liberals, and so on... trained rebels to stage a coup and then tried to unseat the same rebels who eventually seized power. Americans know Nicaragua primarily for the Contra war (and the Iran-Contra / Ollie North scandal)... in which the Nicaraguan people rose up in hope, only to be derailed by US-orchestrated interference (several times). Suffice it to say that my first impressions of Nicaragua were far removed from all my preconceptions, and I was enjoying being transported by the old-world ambiance of Granada.
After a few days, we moved on to León, Granada's historic rival. Despite the polar extremes of their politics, I found these two cities to be quite similar in architecture and atmosphere. However, where Granada was relaxed and romantic, León I found to be filled with a latent tension... around town were many political posters, not to mention monuments to the revolution, including Sandinista murals. Some buildings, riddled with bullet holes, provided even more vivid and unsettling reminders of the revolution. Thus, strolling the streets lined with old Spanish-style houses, my mind drifted to the passion and violence of the revolution rather than the romance and tranquility that Granada inspired.
From León we took a series of "chicken buses" to Chinandega and Guasaule, on the Honduran border. There Natalia and I found a guy waiting with an oversized tricycle to peddle us into Honduras. We loaded our bags, climbed into a sort of basket seat in the front, and were soon cruising down dirt roads, weaving through pigs and chickens with this mad tri-cyclist laughing behind us. Before we climbed aboard his bike we had asked about the price of the ride... he said there was no set price and we were free to tip at our discretion. I was dubious, but he seemed to be having so much fun during the ride that I almost believed him. Then, when we arrived, it was back to business. We offered him 60 Cordobas, which was roughly US$4 (generous considering a four hour bus ride costs less)... and which would leave us with just enough for some food and a bus to Tegucigalpa. He began to argue vehemently that we were disrespecting him with such a lousy tip... we threw in a bottle of rum with a few sips left, but that didn't have much bargaining power... then we went up to 100 Cordoba, which he begrudgingly accepted (we both agreed that he should've been nominated for an academy award). The 100 Cordoba tricycle ride meant we now either had to find a cash machine fast or go hungry for a bit. I opted to have a sandwich and take a chance on the cash machine.
We rode a micro bus to Choluteca, just over the Honduran border. Upon arrival, I immediately began hunting for a cash machine. With only 30 minutes until the next and last bus of the day would leave for Tegucigalpa, and without enough cash to buy two tickets, I was a man with a mission. After unsuccessfully attempting to take cash out of three different ATM machines, I finally found one that was "Cirrus" friendly (I recommend Nyce or Visa cash cards for Central America, as Cirrus is not at all common) and hightailed it back just in time to catch the bus.
We arrived in Tegucigalpa (or "Tegus" for short) rather late at night. As with most Latin American capital cities, Tegus is a busy, noisy city nestled in a bowl-shaped valley surrounded by mountains. At an altitude of nearly 1,000 meters, the climate there is much more pleasant than the lowlands and coastal regions. Unfortunately, our bus pulled into the part of Tegus called Comayaguela, which is the poorest, dirtiest, and most dangerous part of the city, on the west side of the river. We stayed at an absolute dive hostel near to the bus station, since we would be waking up at about 5am in order to catch the first bus towards the Caribbean coast.
In the morning, we boarded a rather luxurious bus that would pass through San Pedro Sula and on to La Cieba where we could find a ferry to the Bay Islands. After about 8 hours of traveling, we pulled into Cieba, met up with a nice Australian guy named Ross who was also heading to the Bay Islands, and shared a taxi with him to the ferry terminal. Thankfully, the ferry company accepted traveler cheques, as we were once again running low on cash, and I've heard that access to cash on the islands is not convenient. The ferry was an impressive, modern boat with an air-conditioned interior that had several televisions showing (appropriately) Pirates of the Caribbean. The ride was only about an hour to Utila, the first of the Bay Islands and our destination, so rather than watching half a movie, Natalia and I opted to stand on the top deck and appreciate the scenery. As we drifted further away from the coast, the boat began to pick up speed until we were barreling through 12-foot swells, with spray showering over the deck. We stashed our daypack in a life raft to keep it from getting absolutely drenched, and staggered up to the bow, where we proceeded to get washed over by crashing waves and have our stomachs rise and fall with the rolling seas. Hanging onto the rail, drenched with salt water, along with the sensation of riding a roller coaster led us to spontaneously begin laughing hysterically. It was an exhilarating ride over crystal Caribbean waters, and soon we were able to see Utila growing larger on the horizon.
When we arrived on Utila, the docks were full of gringo transplants looking for potential customers to go diving. The island is known to have some of the best diving in the world, and certainly the cheapest. Fortuitously, a friend of mine from Harvard/the Fox - James Castinino - was living on Utila, working as a dive master along with his girlfriend Dana. I began asking around for James, and quickly realized that either he was a local celebrity or the island was very very small (in the end, I think there was a bit of truth in both those statements). We were led to "Cross Creek", the dive shop where Dana was working, as James was employed by a quite ritzy resort that wouldn't entertain the likes of two shabby backpackers. We found a hotel next to the dive shop for about US$7 per night including access to a kitchen, and we began exploring dive classes.
We decided to go with Cross Creek, which wasn't the absolute cheapest on the island, but was certainly the friendliest... and I thought it would be nice to have Dana help Natalia get her PADI certification, particularly because Dana speaks perfect Spanish. Unfortunately, we didn't know that Dana would be flying back to the US for almost our entire stay on Utila in order to interview for a job as a Spanish teacher at a private school in DC. So, while Natalia enrolled in an Open Water PADI course, I decided to make some productive use of my time and take a course as well... I enrolled in the Advanced Diver course, with the thought in the back of my mind of perhaps continuing on to become a Rescue Diver. There is a general vibe on the island that a mere open water certification is not enough, and it's almost expected that everyone will progress to dive master, if not instructor... probably because Utila is one of the prime PADI training grounds for dive instructors around the world.
We both began our courses immediately, but my course went directly to the water, while Natalia was stuck in a classroom for the first two days. I began with a deep dive to over 100 feet, where our class (only one other student, the instructor, and a dive master) did activities on the ocean floor to test the effects of nitrogen narcosis, see the way colors change due to light absorption, and also observe the effects of pressure on empty and full coke bottles (we previously had a debate about what would happen to the unopened coke since liquid doesn't compress nearly as easily as air, there is an air pocket in the coke, and the contents are pressurized already). Amazingly the unopened coke stayed completely intact and retained its shape. On the ocean floor, I then wondered what would happen if we opened it at 100 feet below the surface, so our instructor opened it (upside down), and while some coke leaked out, it remained visibly unchanged. We then, in turn, removed our regulators and began passing the coke around and drinking from it... 100 feet below the ocean's surface! The next dive was to a wreck... an old fishing boat (the Halliburton) that was purposely sunk off the coast to form an artificial reef. It was an amazing experience descending in the water and watching below as the boat came into sight. We explored all the parts of the boat (without entering... wreck penetration is another story), saw an enormous green moray eel living in one of the storage compartments, and even saw a tea kettle still hanging in the kitchen and the instruments on the navigation table.
The next two dives in my course taught underwater navigation (using a compass and natural references to find your way) and fish identification. The last dive of my course was the most impressive and challenging of all, though... a night dive! It was an entirely different feeling stepping off the back of a boat with all my dive gear in complete darkness. Descending with flashlights in the water was amazing... as you can only see what is directly in your beam - peripheral vision is completely lost. The fauna is quite different at night... we saw some fish sleeping, more lobsters, coral polyps feeding... but overall the water was much less active than during the day, and there was an almost eerie calm. Due to the direct light of our flash lights - rather than the indirect light of the sun, of which only a portion of the spectrum reaches certain depths - the colors (particularly reds and purples) were far more vibrant. The most awesome difference when night diving, though, was the bioluminescence. At one point, we were kneeling on the ocean bottom and shut off our flashlights, tilted our heads backwards, and watched as we breathed bubbles that rose and in their ascent left glowing trails like shooting stars. Just amazing.
While I was navigating wrecks, identifying fish, and blowing phosphorescent bubbles beneath the sea, Natalia embarked on her own scuba adventure... But before diving into her experience (bad pun intended), some context might be helpful...
Like most Chileans, Natalia has spent her entire life (until now) visiting a frigid and unwelcoming ocean... An ocean that inspired Pablo Neruda's poetry but offers none of the warmth found in his verses. Consequently, swimming in the ocean for Natalia amounted to a nervous dash into the foaming surf and a hasty retreat before frostbite could advance. Images of a frenetic sandpiper darting through the ocean's hissing fat spilled onto shore come to mind. Needless to say, Natalia has never been scuba diving, snorkeling, or even swimming in the ocean (for more than a few seconds at a time). Moreover, while the notorious rip currents that eddy up the shores of Chile (caused by the prevailing Humboldt current) and the violent surf (that was also responsible for crippling the Viracocha) inspired poetry for Pablo, for Natalia they have nurtured a profound trepidation. Thus, it's somewhat understandable that her excitement at learning to dive was tempered with apprehension bordering on panic. Now, to continue with our story...
The first two days of Natalia's Open Water PADI course were spent reading a book, sitting in a classroom, and watching videos. Unfortunately, her fellow students (2) were sisters from Scotland, and her instructor was from France - adding the extra and unneeded challenge of straddling languages. After two days of theory, she was "ready" to get practical in the water...
Most Open Water courses begin with an introductory dive in confined water - either in a pool or off a pier... however, Natalia's instructor opted to take the class out on a boat offshore for their first dive. They began to suit up on the boat, and when they arrived at a mooring, with all their gear on, they were required to complete a snorkel/swim test - several laps around the boat. For most people who are not strangers to warm water, snorkels, or swimming, this might seem trivial... add a belt with 12 pounds of lead, a bulky vest, and a heavy metal tank, and it might become mildly challenging... add three-foot chop and a strong current and it's a reasonable hurdle. You could perhaps imagine, then, what was passing through Natalia's mind when she had to ask the instructor how to breathe through a snorkel.
Unsurprisingly, a few laps around the boat left our heroine short of breath and quite full of sea water, with a renewed sense of panic which quickly transformed into terror when the instructor next gave the order to insert regulators into mouths, deflate BCD's, and descend to the bottom... of course all the while remembering to equalize the pressure on the ears to avoid going deaf or having an aneurism. As Natalia explained to me later, she "felt death was near." Nevertheless, she refused to admit defeat and, swallowing her fear, followed her instructor's orders.
After the first dive, Natalia was having serious second thoughts about whether or not to make it her last. While she did concede that breathing on the ocean floor and watching the bubbles she exhaled trail to the surface was exhilarating, she was so frightened and disoriented that she couldn't really relax and appreciate it. James, Dana, and I repeatedly reassured her that it would only get better... although I also knew that the imminent skills she would be learning - how to take off and replace a mask underwater, what to do when out of air, how to make an emergency ascent, etc - would most likely serve only to increase her anxiety.
Natalia took our word that her experience would improve... and to make a long story short, it did. The next four dives in her class were progressively better, and her instructor even told me that Natalia has impressive form and buoyancy. To Hemingway, courage is having grace under pressure... to Natalia, courage is having grace under water.
After two more days, Natalia was feeling at home breathing 30 feet below the surface of the ocean, and was telling me excitedly about some of the fish and other animals she had seen. At the end of her course, she passed both her written and practical exams, joining the ranks of PADI certified divers!
The following day after her exam we took a break from diving and relaxed on Utila. Since Dana was already back in the states for a job interview, we were able to monopolize James's time off from work. One night he cooked us dinner and several times we went out to explore Utila's nightlife... places such as Coco Loco, Tranquila, Bundu, and Bar in the Bush, where local Utilians mingle with expat island transplants like oil with water. Here it's worth noting a bit about Utila's culture and style...
As Utila and the other Bay Islands at one time belonged to Britain, English is the first language, although Honduras requires that all schools teach Spanish as well. Calling Utila's dialect "English" is a bit of a stretch, though... it has the archetypal Jamaican/Caribbean flavor to it, along with a lexicon that makes Ebonics seem logical... and without fail every sentence ends in a shout. For example: "Hey boo, I carry you to the Bundu but don't even tink bou bunnin, BOUY!" (translation: "hello friend, I'll invite you to the Bundu Cafe, but don't misinterpret my gesture as an inappropriate advance.") - Well, I'm not sure that really captures it accurately, but you get the idea...
Unfortunately, there is not much education on the island... school only goes through the 8th grade, and that's where most children finish their formal learning and begin their formal trouble making. There is also an escalating drug problem, perhaps due in part to the island's location and the well-worn Caribbean trafficking routes. I heard several stories of conducting beach clean-ups and finding multiple kilos of coke and other contraband.
Utila's size and relative isolation have resulted in a population of Jukes and Kallikaks... nevertheless, the native Utilians are surprisingly tolerant of a little diversity... apart from the endless stream of gringo divers and tree-hugging backpackers, the island plays home and stage to one rather abrasive transvestite who makes regular appearances on his pink bicycle wearing tube tops and shouting at random in the streets.
The island's topography is generally flat with a small hill ("Blueberry Hill" - credit due to Louis Armstrong) inland and a split down the middle that serves as a reminder of a somewhat recent hurricane and as a divider between the budget backpacking neighborhood and the all-inclusive resorts. There is one main street that traces the shoreline, but the sea is rarely visible as houses and dive shops line the coast. Overall, it is a quaint and pretty Caribbean island, where you quickly become a familiar face and feel at home.
After two days of exploring the island, we had nearly exhausted the handful of attractions to visit and were ready to return to the water. At last, Natalia and I would be able to dive together, which we were very much looking forward to from the beginning. We went on two fun dives with Cross Creek one day, and another day James kindly invited us to the upscale resort where he works as a dive master. That was a particularly enjoyable day of diving, as we felt utterly pampered with shining new equipment, a spacious and pristine boat that even had a bathroom, cookies between dives, and access to some of the more remote and impressive sites.
Throughout our time diving on Utila, we saw an incredible array of flora and fauna - stingrays, turtles, moray eels, lobsters, crabs, nurse sharks, dolphins, countless types of fish... but we were among the few who were disappointed not to see the elusive and gigantic whale shark - the largest fish in existence. We heard many stories about people spotting whale sharks and even swimming with them... and although at one point we thought we saw certain signs of one's company, we never did get to see the mammoth fish in the flesh.
One of the strangest stories we heard about the whale shark was when a girl excitedly put on her snorkel gear and prepared to jump in the water and see the animal up close... she jumped off the side of the boat, and as the 40-foot shark was surfacing to feed, she managed to land square on the shark's face, just inches from its mouth. Luckily, these sharks are quite docile, and so it was probably just as surprised and frightened to have some goofy looking snorkeler smack into its face as the girl was to nearly plunge straight into its belly.
That was not the most outrageous accident that happened during our time on Utila, however. We heard about another girl who, on a night dive, wore big silver hoop earrings which, upon her surfacing, caught the attention of a needle fish... the fish darted after its assumed prey, only to collide with the girl's neck and impale her with the pointy nose that lends the fish its name. She was promptly rushed to the emergency island clinic, where a doctor had to use pliers and a scalpel to remove the needle...
Even more far fetched, though, was the unfortunate dive master from Holland who was evacuated back home after inhaling a cockroach! Typically, after one completes the rigorous training to become a dive master, there is a somewhat raucous ritual celebration that includes the famed "snorkel test" - with mask and snorkel in place (at a local bar, mind you), a beer is poured through the top of the snorkel and the initiate-victim must "clear the snorkel" (without being able to breathe through his nose due to the mask). Usually in preparation for the substantial chug, the victim/initiate takes a deep breath - you could imagine this guy's surprise when he sucked in a cockroach that was sleeping in his snorkel. X-rays showed that the insect was apparently quite intact and well lodged in one of his bronchial tubes, requiring surgical removal. Thankfully, Natalia and I managed to escape Utila with little more tragedy and tribulation than an ungodly amount of bites from the ubiquitous sand flies.
Panamá City :: Las Lajas :: Boquete :: Dominical :: San Jose :: Monteverde
[picking up where i left off...]
The third day in Panama City, we decided that we simply couldn't miss seeing the canal. Unfortunately all the organized tours that visit the canal are outrageously expensive, so we looked for a budget alternative. We found a local bus that drives past the entrance to the Miraflores Locks, and so for $0.35 and after a short walk we arrived at the main tourist entrance. Until last year, entrance to the viewing area was free, but someone caught wind of an untapped opportunity, so now they're charging a flat fee of $10. We begrudgingly paid the admission, but once inside the air conditioning alone made it worthwhile! We saw a short film about the history of the canal, and also visited the canal museum which spans four floors and covers everything from the historical context of the canal's construction to the engineering science of the canal to the flora and fauna in the region of the canal to the importance of the canal in the "global economy". Several times I thought of my friend Frank Pacheco and his senior thesis on the canal... I didn't find any statistics about the canal worker's pet preferences though, so I do think it might be worthwhile, Frank, to send these folks a copy of your work... Then we sat outside in the blazing heat and watched a cargo ship and a Carnival cruise pass through several of the locks. The cruise ship paid a fee of roughly $250,000 (USD) to transverse the canal... although that is not the most expensive passage ever paid (which was over $350,000). Interestingly, the cheapest passage ever paid was $0.36 by a man who swam the length of the canal.
When we returned to the city, we stumbled upon a nice outdoor restaurant in the Casco Viejo area and treated ourselves to a luxurious (for our budget) dinner. The following morning, we departed early for San Felix, roughly five hours North West of Panamá City. From there we took a taxi (i.e. sat in the back of a pick-up truck) for 20 minutes to arrive at Las Lajas - a beautiful and virtually deserted beach on the Pacific coast. We found a rustic camping ground under some palm trees right on the beach and installed ourselves for a few days.
This was the first time Natalia has experienced warm sea water... in Chile the ocean is consistently and unforgivingly frigid. It was really exciting for me to share Natalia's enthusiasm at being able to stay in the water for more than a few minutes at a time! After our arrival we swam until sunset... Then, as there was a full moon and the air was just as hot and humid at night, we went for a long walk through the ebbing waves and tidal pools. As the moon shone in silver convolutions on the water's surface, I sang softly the words of Bob Dylan: "When Ruthie says come see her in her honky-tonk lagoon where I can watch her waltz for free neath her Panamanian moon..." We walked for over an hour in one direction and didn't see a soul.
The following night, despite being exhausted after playing with a kayak in the waves during the day, the weather was so hot and the air so heavy with humidity that I could not sleep. While Natalia was fast asleep in our tent, I went for another midnight walk along the surf. As the water came up onto the sand it acted like a mirror, giving me the feeling of walking through space... with the round moon reflected in the indian ink of the receeding waves. The night was perfectly still, and I walked until the sun began to rise.
That morning we decided to move on to higher ground and cooler climes. We took a bus to David, which was not at all an improvement - David is notoriously the hotest city in Central America. From David we boarded another bus that climbed the central mountains to a small town called Boquete. By the way, the "buses" I speak of are almost entirely old American school buses... only in the parking lot of CBA or PPBHS have I seen so many Bluebird and Thomas buses. Once in Boquete, we went looking for a place to camp. The Lonely Planet guide advertises that a coffee plantation just outside the center of town allows people to camp for a nominal fee, so we hopped in a taxi (the back of another pick-up) and headed toward La Montana y El Valle... when we arrived, we were greated by the rather choleric Canadian owner who complained that they haven't offered camping for over three years, but Lonely Planet has never bothered to confirm what they print. We then had to cross to the other side of town where there was a place that allowed people to camp for a mere $10.00 per person. This price we found rather funny, and feeling tired, frustrated, and taken advantage of by the taxi driver, we began walking down the main mountain road looking for another place. After nearly 90 minutes of walking, we hadn't found anything and dusk was settling upon us. Natalia spotted a path in the woods at the side of the road, and we investigated. It seemed well concealed and spacious enough for our purposes, so I pitched our tent and we got to sleep in the cooler mountain air for free.
The following morning we were not terribly excited to stay in Boquete for much longer so we headed for the bus back to David. While waiting for the bus, we were approached by an American expat who offered us several "adventure" tours to nearby parks. We were considering a trip to Bocas del Toro (an archipelago on the Carribbean side of Panama), but the man (Richard) explained that at this time there is constant rain in Bocas, along with a lot of garbage in the streets and sand flies on the beach. That didn't sound much better than sleeping on the side of the road, so we went back to the drawing board and began discussing alternative plans. Richard was insistent that we should not leave Boquete without climbing neighboring Volcan Baru - the highest "mountain" (inactive volcano) in Panama. He also offered us to camp on his farm for the night and depart for the Volcano the following day. After some consideration we decided to take Richard's advice.
We arrived on a farm that was populated haphazardly by orange, lemon, and banana trees, coffee plants, pineapples, and a pitbull. We enjoyed eating some fresh oranges and then went to sleep early as we would be departing at around 5:30am the next morning to begin our ascent. We planned on sleeping in Richard's shed to avoid having to disassemble our tent in the morning, but the impressive size and quantity of spiders in the shed led Natalia to insist (without much protest from me) that we sleep in the tent. It also sparked a debate about whether there would be many spiders on top of the Volcano, where there is a rustic wooden shelter. To ensure that Natalia (and I) wouldn't suffer a sleepless night after a long day of climbing/hiking, I packed the tent for our ascent.
According to Richard, we were unreasonably loaded with weight... but we didn't find anything inessential in our packs, so we ignored his warnings and set out for the base of the mountain. As the sun rose, we began hiking up a steep path of loose gravel and rocks. After a few hours, I began to wonder when the path might level off to give us a small rest - or at least change to a more stable constitution of dirt/clay/solid rock... those moments never came. We had a small rest at the side of a berry farm, where we pilfered some blackberries... and we also paused several times to appreciate the view, look for wildlife, have a snack, and catch our breath. The hike was supposed to take roughly 5 or 6 hours... but we walked for over 9 hours before we reached the campground/refuge near the top. By this time, my legs were so sore I could hardly walk, and my shoulders which had been sunburnt in Las Lajas were raw and bleeding.
We changed out of our clothes which were soaked through with sweat, pitched our tent, started a campfire, and savored a dinner of tuna, bread, and beans. Although we had just ascended to over 3,500 meters and were alone on the top of the volcano... and we could hear the snarls of some sort of mountain cat in the distance... we didn't have any trouble falling fast asleep at once.
We woke up at about 5am the next morning to begin the ascent to the very summit of Volcan Baru, where we planned to watch the sun rise. As we hiked up in the darkness, the path narrowed and steepened until we were using our hands and climbing up a nearly vertical wall. The summit flattens out with several communication towers on top, and another short ascent to the highest point which is not more than 20 feet square and has a large cross in the middle. As the wind whipped from the Carribbean side towards the Pacific we stared down onto a sea of clouds. In the West we saw a lightning storm over the ocean while to the East the day began to break, staining the clouds a faint magenta, turning slowly to a bloody orange, then a golden yellow. We watched for over an hour while the light changed in the clouds and the sun slid above the horizon. Once we had some light, I took a series of photos to give a 360 degree panorama... to the North we saw the mountains of Costa Rica, to the South, Panama... the East and West were mostly obscured by clouds. On a clear day, we were told you could see both the Carribbean and Pacific Oceans.
Thankfully, the way down Volcan Baru was much easier than the hike up. Not only was gravity on our side, but our packs were substantially lighter after having used over 5 liters of water and eaten several tins of food. Consequently, we managed to hike down to the roadside in just over 4 hours, where we waited for Richard to come pick us up. Because we arrived back in town on Good Friday, most of the stores were closed, and the buses had ceased running. Thus we had to camp on Richard's farm for another night before we could head back to David and towards the Costa Rican boarder.
Early the next morning we left Boquete, our legs and shoulders still sore. We took a short bus ride back to the sweltering regional capital of David, and then pushed on towards the frontier. From the Costa Rican boarder we had to take a series of buses going first to Neily and then to Cortes before we found a bus that would carry us up the coastal dirt road to Domincal.
After more than 9 hours of traveling, we arrived in Dominical - a small collection of houses, restaurants, shops, and campgrounds on the coast. The place is known among surfers as the "in" hangout... and when I stepped off the bus, I realized that this reputation is not erroneous. Dominical is populated entirely by surf punks and hippies... and without dreadlocks or a board bag, Natalia and I didn't have much hope of finding a reasonable place to stay... nevertheless, I managed to convince some people that I had a respectable amount of Phish ticket stubs and bootleg tapes at home as well as a few surfboards, and we managed to slip through the cracks and received permission to pitch our tent.
On the bus, we met two nice guys from Italy who had just wrapped up a bar business in Sardinia and are now hunting for some opportunities in Central America, and we wound up eating dinner together and discussing the technicalities of establishing offshore companies in Panama, the pros and cons of restaurants and bars, favorable tax structures for businesses in Europe, etc. We then went to sleep in a rather damp tent, as there were several spontaneous and torrential downpours throughout the night.
The following morning we went body surfing for a few hours after breakfast... Natalia discovered how to catch a wave! And then we took a bus heading for San Isidro, where we could find a connection to San Jose. As it was Easter Sunday, there weren't many connections... and those that did pass through San Isidro were entirely full. We waited for over 4 hours until we were able to find a bus with room for us... and by that time, we lost all hope of traveling beyond San Jose for the day. The ride to San Jose was rather uncomfortable as I was standing in the aisle for the entire 3.5 hour trip... and there was an overly excited Christian youth group singing and shouting praise without pausing to take a breath. When we arrived in San Jose, we found a cheap hostel near the bus terminal and immediately went to sleep, since we had to wake up for a 6am bus to Monteverde the next morning.
We are now in Monteverde, where internet access is outrageously expensive and my planned budget has long been forgotten. Despite our cheap accomodations (camping behind a hostel), we resigned ourselves to splurging here in order to experience the best that Monteverde has to offer. Unfortunately, even the best doesn't compare with the time I spent here during my Sophmore year at Harvard, when I came with a biology class and two great professors. Also, the place has changed substantially in the past 8 years... but the cloud forest reserves of Monteverde and Santa Elena are as magical as ever. Our first night here we went on a guided night walk through the "hidden valley" and saw an array of insects including several wild tarantulas, sleeping birds, an owl, and agoutis (large rodents). Just walking through the forest at night is interesting, and eventhough I was disappointed when I recalled the night walks I took with my biology class, it was thrilling to do something like this with Natalia.
This morning we woke up early and embarked on the combo sky-walk/sky-trek tour package. At 7:30am we set off on a trail that crosses about a dozen suspension bridges that hang above the forest canopy. We heard a lot of activity, but without binoculars we didn't see much... until the end! Just as we were nearing the end of the trail, Natalia pointed out something that was "too hairy to be part of a tree"... and right she was! It was a two-toed sloth hanging from a branch with at least one baby clinging to its stomach! As I crept through the forest closer to the tree, the sloth began to move (slothfully) on the branch. We pointed it out to other people passing on the trail, and later we heard several tourists speaking excitedly about the sloth that they had seen... thanks to Natalia! After the sloth, we started walking on the final suspension bridge of the trail when Natalia's sharp eyes fell on a red breasted bird in one of the trees next to the bridge... when I saw the bird she had spotted, I immediately recognized it as the elusive and celebrated Quetzal - the long-tailed green and red bird that has become a sort of symbol for Costa Rica... the bird that almost all toursists have hopes of seeing (and almost all tourists leave Costa Rica disappointed). To see one so close-up is a rare and special treat - way to go Natalia!
After we finished the "Sky-Walk", we continued on to the "Sky-Trek" which is less about seeing wildlife and more about adrenaline and fun. This tour consists of 11 steel cables strung above and through the trees from various platforms. We strapped into harnesses and held onto small wheeled handles that sped across each of the zip lines, allowing us to soar through the forest canopy. Hanging over 400 feet above the ground and whizzing past trees was a total rush.
Tonight I think we might visit either Monteverde's frog pond or the butterfly garden (where I almost had a summer job about 8 years ago!)... and then tomorrow morning early we will board a bus to enter Nicaragua. I'm glad that we made the trip to Monteverde... it is interesting to be back here and see how the place is evolving, and of course it's wonderful to share some of the magic of the rainforest with Natalia.
Thanks for following our adventures so far, and until next time we send you all our best wishes...
-Tom & Natalia
Popayán :: Calí :: Bogotá :: Panamá City
Thankfully, Avianca (a Colombian airline) understood my logic, and allowed Natalia and I to purchase a one-way ticket to Panamá City from Calí, Colombia. Even though I still feel like $250 for a one hour flight is outrageous, I am glad that we were able to avoid being robbed of an additional $100 for the return ticket. With the ticket purchased, we had to make a short hop in a bus from Popayán to Calí (about two hours), and we arrived there early in the afternoon on March 31st. Our flight was the following morning, so we had a short time to explore Calí. The city is quite built up (the third largest in Colombia) with modern buildings and a lively street scene... on every corner there are vendors selling a startling variety of products - from television antennas and batteries to slices of pineapple and snail mucous (which, this one particular vendor explained, is very useful against colds when taken in small quantities - orally... or can also be *injected* to fight off serious illness... um, penicillin anyone?). While wandering the streets, we decided to look for a hospital or clinic where Natalia could get a booster for her hepatitis a & b vaccination, as it was roughly one month from her first vaccination... we did that successfully, and then treated ourself to a nice dinner at an Italian restaurant in the Intercontinental Hotel.
While Calí is reputed for having some of the most beautiful Colombian women and also one of the most ruthless cocaine cartels, we didn't find the city particularly alluring (or threatening), and were not remiss to leave the next morning.
Our flight took us from Calí to Bogotá, where we had to spend several hours waiting for our connection to Panamá City. For the most part, we wandered around the airport interior, marveling at both the verve of the fanatical security personnel and the opulence of the boutiques which were selling high-end electronics, haute-couture fashion, and diamond jewelry. This far surpassed the typical duty free assortment of cigars, scotch, and neck ties that I'm accustomed to seeing.
When we arrived in Panamá City, the air was hot and heavy. The general attitude of the first Panamanians we encountered suggested that either such an oppressive heat took them entirely by surprise and they were understandably annoyed, or that they have suffered this same heat for so long that they were understandably annoyed. Certainly this was the most striking change from Colombia, where the people were more or less consistently charming and went out of their way to be helpful. From a complication with the immigration officials regarding a tourist card, to trying to find a place to change money (more on that in a minute), to picking up our luggage, to looking for a taxi to the city center... at every turn we seemed to encounter someone who was eager to be aggressive and intentionally disobliging. After three days in Panama City now, I can confirm that this problem is not merely endemic to the airport.
When we entered the city center, I was surprised to find a massive, bustling, and entirely modern metropolis... this didn't exactly match my overly romantacized expectations of finding wrought iron balconies and painted shutters with old men in straw hats sitting under slowly rotating ceiling fans sipping black coffee and smoking cigars in the morning. Nevertheless, when we arrived in the part of town called Casco Viejo, we did find some remnants of that colonial atmosphere I had imagined. Unfortunately almost all the buildings are in total disrepair and most are condemned. The streets are narrow and fairly dangerous, especially at night. In our hostel I met a nice Norweigan rapper ("Jester") who described a shooting in the corner park just a few nights before we arrived. Incredibly, the Presidential Palace and several other important and strikingly beautiful buildings are seamlessly mixed into a neighborhood reminiscent of Spanish Harlem. This area is ripe for a renaissance, and I imagine that it is imminent.
For the first two days, Natalia and I simply walked around Casco Viejo and along the ocean drive where there is an impressive view of the downtown skyscrapers.