New Landscape, Better Busses, Greater Distances... Grappling with the Porteño Accent... Cooking in the Land of Beef... Couch Surfing in the City...

After a final weekend in Potosì, Thai and I chose to follow through with our plan to leave Bolivia early. And according to recent news it sounds like we made a smart decision. In the East, protests and strikes escalated as civilians began to forcefully take over government buildings - including at least one airport - and sabotage gas pipelines to Brazil in rebellion against the president's socialist policies. Apparently, the concept of 'redistribution of wealth' does not sit lightly with Bolivia's upper-crust opposition. The president sent in military troops to try and get a handle on the situation - a move which resulted in open street violence that left many dead. He also responded by sending the US ambassador packing, saying that the embassy was actively trying to stir up his opponents... So naturally Hugo Chavez, the passionate and fanatically pro-LatAm president of Venezuela, ejects his US ambassador as well 'in solidarity with the people of Bolivia.' In the meantime, Bolivia's border with Argentina has been closed during various periods and travel within the country has been seriously impeeded by strikes in many regions.
Thankfully we were already in Buenos Aires by the time the ax began to pick up speed. After crossing into Argentina, Thai and I made our way to Salta, the quiet city set just south of the color-streaked northern desert. Proportionately, Salta does not seem so distant from the border. In reality, it is over nine hours by bus. During the ride I had plenty of time to reflect on the immensity of the country. For most of this trip - especially in Central America - we have become accustomed to the conveniently small country, where no two points of interest are ever that far from one another. Even Peru and Bolivia, while larger than the rest, are miniscule in comparison. Argentina, as it turns out, is the eighth largest country in the world closely on the heels of India in seventh.
As the landscape changed slowly from barren rock to rolling pasture, I recalled a conversation that I had had in passing with a couple in Bolivia. They were making a similar trip to ours, but in reverse starting with Argentina. They spent a month in their first country, a week of which was spent in busses alone. Not the better part of seven days, no; 168 hours... Hell, I can easily believe it. To date, Thai and I have taken three busses and we've already amassed more than 45 hours 'on the inside.' And we have plenty more to go.
We spent a few days in Salta soaking in the relaxed pace of the place. We also began to bring the taste buds back to life after the Bolivian hibernation (there are many reasons to go, just don't travel there for the cuisine). We started slowly with fresh produce from the markets and salami sandwiches from the myriad delis about town. Eventually we graduated to chicken and rice. We would have to wait for the capitol for our first encounters with the legendary beef, but it was plenty for the time being.
After a quick assessment of our 'end of the trip' financial situ, we decided the best course of action would be to make a break for Buenos Aires where we had friends awaiting us with spare beds. From there, we could plot our strategy further without throwing away cash in the meantime. So we caught the 22-hour bus to the capitol, wincing at the price of the tickets, but marveling at the change in quality from Bolivia to Argentina. If we have to spend a week inside these things, at least it will be in relative comfort. We went with the cheapest company we could find and they still served us wine with our hot dinners in (near fully) reclined seats! This isn't Greyhound.
Once in Buenos Aires, we figured out how to maneuver across town in the subway and found Sean and Katrine, two of Thai's friends from high school that she hadn't seen in over six years. After graduation the two of them moved to Norway (Katrine was a Norwegian exchange student at Dallas HS) and got married. They are currently in BA for a semester abroad which, by their admition, is more of an obstacle to their school work than anything, but worth the experience (I hope). They rented an apartment in Recoleta - one of the ritzier neighborhoods situated to the north of the city center. They were nice enough to take us in for close to a full week while we figured out how to tackle this monster of a country. During that time, we got (re)acquainted, discovered a mutual love for cooking and cards, discussed the lay of the capitol, and met many of their close friends in the area. Even more importantly, Thai and I discovered a semblance of home in a far flung place - a very welcome comfort after an extended period of wandering in unknown territory.
Over the course of many days, we explored the city. We took in the Recoleta Cemetary, a marble sea of monuments to Argentina's wealthy and famous - most notably Eva Peron. The cemetary is actually considered the pinnacle of Argentinian architecture. This may seem a bit morbid, but it makes more sense once you step foot inside the gates and experience the immensity of the place. Some of the mosoleums would have made quite sizeable houses in many of the countries we have visited.
Thai also took full advantage of her access to a fully-stocked kitchen. With her and Sean climbing over one another to get to the stove we all ate our fill of home-cooked bliss. In the realm of cuisine, it can be said that Argentinos don't enjoy a great range of flavors; they don't much care for spice, and their meat is often served plain. The local diet could probably be 90% summed up by pizza, red meat (steak, sausage, or salami), and pasta alone. But, my god, what they lack in breadth they make up for in quility and afordability. Steak and red wine in the supermarket are obscenely cheap - for perhaps $2.30 US, you could walk out with a sizeable slab of cow and a halfway decent cabernet. We've made plenty of steak on our own with great success, but we have yet to go out to a nice dinner to see what they can do. We have plans for that when we return to the city, though - I hear they can work miracles with the stuff.
One weekend we wandered about the nearby park to take in the local artisan markets and live music. Laying in the grass surrounded by the 20-something inhabitants of the burrow sipping their yerba mate from hollowed-out gourds, we gorged on pan relleno and drank in the scenery. For all the talk our guidebook devotes to labeling Argentinos as brooding, ungracious, and deeply marred by a militant past, we have had nothing but peaceful and warm impressions of the people we have met - great conversations with strangers on the Metro, old ladies stopping to tell Thai how beautiful she is... This is, perhaps, with the exception of the pickpocket on the subway who got away with my wallet, but I guess certain lessons are inevitable and necessary at one time or another.
During its glory days, Argentina was actually one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Unfortunately, a series of brutal military regimes that followed in the turbulent wake of the Perons squandered much of the nation's money and resources trying to maintain their authority. Today, the country continues to recover from near bankruptcy as recently as 2000, and steady economic growth has led to a greater sense of national pride and security. However, the mistakes of the recent past are still fresh in the minds of many and protests are a frequent sight in the streets of downtown Buenos Aires. The government has also recently begun to put those responsible for the genocide of the past 50 years on trial which will be a long but all too necessary process for its people. Their wounds are fresh, but they are recovering.
Buenos Aires is constantly described as a very 'European' city. I couldn't tell you whether this is true or not, given that I've never been, but it has definately proven itself to be distinct among the places we have visited. While Bolivia boasts the highest indigenous population in Latin America (at 60%), Argentina is quite the opposite. The descendants of the original inhabitants make up only 2% of the nation; the vast majority of the remainder are either mestizo or immigrants from Spain, Italy, and other European countries. Today, Argentina (especially the capitol) is a place of small cafes and thick accents, of foreign food and local pride. It is a place where people assume we are locals that speak Spanish because Porteños (those who live in BA) themselves are such a diverse group.
Sean and Katrine were more than gracious and welcoming with their home, but in the end they had a make way for the next guests - Sean's father and younger brother. While looking for a place to stay, Thai and I decided to visit a website which we had heard a lot about - CouchSurfing.com. The site serves to connect an international group of like-minded travelers devoted to cultural exchange (and cheap accomodations). We set up accounts and began to look over the members in Buenos Aires. It took a bit of hunting before we found someone with a free room (we seem to be following high tourist season on this continent), but we finally made contact with Diego who offered to take us out to a bar to get to know one another. He also brought along Manuel from Portugal - another CouchSurfing member who was staying with him at the time. Together we went to a small concert of really great local bands. It was definitely more of a local hangout; Thai and I were the only tourists in the entire place. But on such rare occasions you feel a bit priviledged to have found your way there. We were there until five in the morning before Thai was too tired to continue, but Manuel told me they stuck around until the end of the show... at 11AM.
In the end, Diego became our first CS experience, quickly followed by Juan - another member of the site who was able to house us for three more nights. He also happened to live on the 16th floor of his apartment building with a great view of the downtown area. He showed us several really great places to eat on a budget and even took us an hour north of the city on our last day together to explore the small riverside town of San Isidro. It might take some work, but so far we have had an excellent time with the Couch Surfing gig - new friends, great advice on the area, excellent views of the city, and free places to stay! Unfortunately we have had no luck finding anyone with the room and/or the desire to host us in the other areas of the country that we plan to visit so it looks like we're back to hostels for a bit. We will definitely have places to stay when we get back to BA, however, and we are both set on opening up our couches to guests when we return home.
Yesterday, following Katrine's birthday party and the arrival of Sean's dad and brother, we finally said our temporary goodbyes and got on a bus to Mendoza. As I write this, we are resting in a hostel in the heart of wine country. To be sure, the cost of accomodation in Argentina is more expensive than it was in Bolivia, but for $10 each we have a room to ourselves, a pool out on the patio (the smallest pool I've ever seen, but still), free breakfast, and all the complimentary wine we can drink. Rough. We should be here for about three days or so before moving south. Thai and I really want to rent mopeds and scuttle about the vineyards for some tastings. Then its off for Glacier National Park in Patagonia, Valdez Peninsula for whales and walruses, and up north again for Oktoberfest in the central hills of Cordoba (there is apparently a small German town that is famous for its celebration). We would like to get down to Ushuaia - the southernmost city on the planet - while we are in Patagonia, but we have heard mixed accounts of whether its reachable by bus. We shall see... Either way, after Oktoberfest we would head north to see Iguazu Falls and then return to the capitol for a few weeks before flying out.
Good luck to you all, wherever this finds you. And don't worry about us; we'll tipping a glass to each of you come tomorrow!

Lines in the Desert... Suprise Birthday for Thai & A Tearful Farewell... Beautiful Bolivia - Where Everything is Possible and Nothing is Safe...

Wow! So much to talk about! It seems like we've been traveling by whirlwind for the past month or so. Since I last wrote, we made it down south of Lima to Nazca for a quick flight over the desert. The tiny pueblo is home to a handful of locals and a slightly overwhelming tourist niche surrounding the famous Nazca lines - a series of mysteriously oversized and unexplainable drawings out in the heat of the immense arid landscape. The glyphs, it has been shown, are easy enough to create with a long rope, a bit of geometry, and a few days work. What remains a mystery is the 'why.' Many theories have been lobbed at the patchwork - calling it everything from as astrological calendar to a map of water sources to a series of alien landing pads - but none have turned up any definitive proof. Most experts today believe them to be sites of religious worship among the Indians who inhabited the plain over 1,000 years ago. The lines have survived due to the protective layer of heat that lies close to the surface during the day.
Today, the town of Nazca is filled with agencies selling flight tours over the lines. Unfortunately they are not the cheapest (about $80 to $120 depending where you shop) which makes buying tickets a bit akward in an area of the county where the average local eats for about $3 a day... But hell, when you're already this close... In the end we went for it, but the experience was not without its frustrations. For the cost, the flight only lasts about 30-40 minutes and comes with no guarantee of when you will actually take off; we remained 'on call' in the tiny terminal from about 9AM to 2PM before we were shown to our plane. Pains aside, the desert itself is amazing. Once you are in the air, you realize that the whole of the area is covered in intersecting geometrical shapes and images. The immensity of the creation just blows you away. We returned to Lima equally thrilled and put off by the weekend.
During the week to come, we relaxed and reunited with the friends we had made during our trip to the mountains a week before. Thai's birthday happened to coincide with Jorge's who we met on the same excursion, so plans were made unbeknownst to either to have a huge BBQ. Everyone pitched in to get them gifts - Thai ended up with a vinyl poster of her head superimposed on Wonder Woman's body... Wonder Thai, hm... You just have to see it I guess. The party was also a nice farewell as it came two days before our flight to Bolivia. Peru has definitely been the hardest country to leave thus far - the time we spent and the friends we made will never be forgotten.
For better or worse, we made our way to La Paz on the 10th and began to acquaint ourselves with a new country. The capitol is less than pristine, but it does have its distractions. For one, it is set on the side of a hill at about 11,400 feet which means you spend half of the day stopping to catch your breath. We toured the Witch's Market during our first few days. As we meandered between the stalls of amulets, statues, aborted llama fetuses, and stuffed animals (not teddy bears), I had to wonder whether the place would exist without the tourist industry. To be sure, local religious beliefs are a mix of Catholicism and pantheistic superstition, but I didn´t see a single local shopping in the alleys... And the sheer volume of abortions taking place among the llama population is either brutally high or inflated beyond natural numbers, because every stall seemed to have an eerily abundant supply. La Paz also has a very interesting coca museum which lays out the plant's history from its use as a sacred herb by the Andean indians to its medical aspects and on through its eventual narcotic transformation. To this day, 'Andinos' chew dried coca leaves and drink coca tea to combat the effects of altitude sickness and increase their work capacity during long shifts.
La Paz is also home to San Pedro Prison, supposedly the strangest in the world. While it is entirely illegal, it is well known that the guards accept bribes in exchange for a tour of the facilities. The complex is divided into two halves. Those who can afford it (mostly foreigners who have been caught dabbling in Bolivian cocaine trafficing) are allowed to pay for nicer accomodations - some even have multi-level penthouses complete with kitchens; those who can't (the Bolivians) are kept more or less in a collective yard. Many of the paying 'guests' even bring their families in to live with them as the conditions are better on the inside. Safety is also great incentive for the foreign inmates, as they are often quickly killed if they are thrown into the communal hold. This fact keeps the more upscale side in line, because the punishment for breaking the prison rules is immediate removal from their private housing. We heard from many tourists who went in and spent their day playing video games or otherwise hanging out. They made it sound very interesting, but in the end we decided we didn´t have the cash ourselves. True, the guards will let you in, but only after you hand over 250 Bolivianos ($35) per person. Cheap by American standards, but extremely pricey down here especially when it all goes into their pockets...
While we were in the city, we also made friends with some of the other travelers that were staying in our hostel: Claudia - from Ecuador, Wojtek - the Polish Australian dual citizen, and Magda and Yuli - sisters from Colombia. After a night at the bar, we decided to take a biking tour of the Death Road - a 35 km stretch of narrow downhill gravel road that runs along the edge of a steep cliff. The hairy conditions have earned the road its legitimate reputation as the deadliest stretch in the world - people have fallen to their deaths by the bus-loads during high traffic. For better or worse, its infamy has encouraged a healthy tourist trade which sends travelers racing down it with two wheels, a helmet, and often limited experience. Our group definitely fit this description as most of us hadn´t been on a bike in years, let alone on steep gravel roads with hairpin turns... Fortunately, despite a fair bit of hesitation from some of the girls, we all made it down in one piece. In the end, Thai even discovered that she was a natural at mountain biking and was usually in the front of the pack! The experience was definitely hairraising and by no means legitimately safe (we saw plenty of other groups who seemed to have been much more well equiped; at times, our guide wasn't even in the lead!), but it was an absolute blast. At the bottom, we were treated to a hot shower, an hour by a pool, and a buffet lunch - all of which was very welcome after our ordeal.
During the trip we added another traveler to our snowballing group - Gium (sic?) from France - who joined us at our hostel. That night we also bumped into Yoann, another Frenchman who Thai and I first met in Honduras when we were scuba diving. The next day the seven of us took a bus north to Rurrenabaque. If there was any significant difference between the Death Road and the one we took this time, I was not aware. Some segments were so narrow, and the drop-off so steep, that I could not see any road between my window seat and the river some 2,000+ feet below. I spent much of my time with my hands fixed deep in the foam of the seat before me contemplating what a plunge over the side would be like; some of the girls we were with had to take sleeping pills just to keep from crying.
Upon arrival in the jungle, we reacquainted ourselves with the heat and humidity we had left behind in Central America. We took a three day tour of the Pampas - or wetlands - which brought us several hours down a river tributary into the heart of things. All along the way the banks were lined with capibaras (a sort of oversized guinea pig) and alligators. We sat and watched river dolphins surface and sink. At one point on our way to camp, we pulled the boat over to the shore by a tree which immediately began to fill with curious tiny monkeys. Before we knew what happened, they rushed the boat, jumping from shoulders to heads and back again in exploration! Our guide pulled out a banana which only prompted more frenzy as people continued to squeel and giggle and monkeys scrambled for the fruit. During the next few days we slept in bungalows under the canopy, went out in search of anacondas (christ, they stink!), fished for piranas, swam with the dolphins in alligator- and pirana- infested waters (one pirana actually bit Yoann's nipple!), and cruised about the river in the dark. Thai and I also discovered just how much the Colombian and Ecuadoring girls love to sing... loudly and out of tune... So there was an element of torture to the whole, but it was still ruled by a sense of energy and excitement that epitomizes the high points of travel. It was easily one of the greatest tours that we have done this far. And the sounds of the jungle just before dawn are indescribable... It is the hour when all of the life enfolded in the shadows and reeds makes itself known in roiling unison.
Upon returning to Rurrenabaque, we were waylaid for a day as the city shut down for a collective strike. Every form of business and public movement was haulted for a 24-hour period in an attempt to focus the central government's attention on the needs of the region - the idea being that they deprive the rest of the country of local products as well as disrupt through-traffic. Apparently such action has been very successful for La Paz (which is known as the whiny brat that always gets its way), a fact which has prompted many other regions to make similar attempts. Unfortunately I don't know how successful they have been for more remote areas who only seem to be hurting themselves in the process.
The following day we caught a bus back to La Paz after saying goodbye to Yoann - he decided to hang around and return by boat. If it weren't for the additional cost we would have joined him, especially given the prospect of staring down the same intense drop-offs as before. But we swallowed hard and slept through what we could and kissed the ground when the bus finally stopped. We didn´t have long to rest, however, as everyone quickly agreed that we should head south towards the altiplano and salt flats of Uyuni. So once again we jumped on a 13 hour busride headed for the far corner of the country. This time, the reward was three days in the most bizarre landscape that any of us had ever encountered. Before we went, we bumped into Jordi and Mee So, a Spaniard and South Korean who had traveled with the others through Ecuador - and our multi-national troop became nine... The first day we drove across the Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flat in the world. The remnants of a long dead sea, the landscape is barren whiteness in all directions surrounded by a distant ring of hills. Towards the southern end, you begin to come across a series of distantly spaced rolling hills that play host to giant cacti. The mounds themselves are the remains of coral reefs, now long petrified. After lunch, we continued on to our hostel for the night, riding across the expanse on the top of our jeep at 50 mph with only the roof rack to save us. Like our driver said: Bolivia - where everything is possible and nothing is safe...
That night we stayed in a hotel built entirely out of salt bricks. There are a few such places around the salar which are quite impressive if a bit impractical. Everything - the walls, bedstands, floors, tables, etc. - have been constructed from the white stone which makes for an eerily beautiful (at least from the inside) and suprisingly warm structure. Unfortunately they have to wrap the entire exterior in plastic to protect it from moisture... We awoke early the next morning to watch the sunrise cut over the hills before having a big pancake breakfast and setting off.
Day two brought us through entirely different scenery. First, a unique indian cemetary constructed amidst the petrified remains of coral columns. Then a series of red desert expanses and colorful lagoons. At times the view from our windows looked eerily identical to photos of the surface of Mars - rusty flatlands encircled by countless cinder cones. At over 12,000 ft we broke over a hill and found a deep blue lake rimmed by a brilliantly white shoreline and teaming with flamingos. It would not be the last time we would find such a bizarre scene. Over the next two days, we repeatedly stumbled upon similar vistas in an array of different hues. The lagoons shifted from turquoise to tan to black to green to red, each given its shade by a distinct combination of minerals. The effect of a red lake full of flamingos set aside a volcano at 13,500 ft was almost too outer-worldly to believe, yet there it was.
Our tour also took us by a series of bizarre rock formations, including the 'Tree of Stone' - a rather top heavy and aptly-named spire which seems like it might be toppled by a moderate breeze. And geysers and hotsprings as well! I still can't get my head around all of the different scenes that we came across in the matter of a few days. Uyuni may very well have been the highlight of this trip.
After returning to reality, we said goodbye to Jordi and Mee So and set out for Potosì. At over 12,000 ft, this mining town is the highest city in the world. During the height of the colonial era, Potosì was larger than either Paris or London due to the rich silver trade supplied from the nearby Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain). Unfortunately, the city's history is one of unfathomable exploitation. For over 450 years, the silver mines have been picked and scraped by desparate hands, largely for the profit of others. In the early years, the Spaniards forced African and indigenous slaves to work in the blackness of the mountain's interior without any exposure to sunlight. Coca, the sacred plant of the Andes, which was briefly outlawed by the church as 'a diabolical impediment to Christianity,' was distributed en mass among the workers after the taskmasters realized just how much it increased production. At its height, the mines of Cerro Rico provided over half of the world's silver - all of which was immediately transported from its home back to Spain. Now much of the precious metal is gone, but thousands continue to drill and detonate the mountain's innards attempting to grab the remaining minerals. And as they continue to dig without mercy or thorough planning, the rock becomes more and more like swiss cheese, making a massive collapse continuously more likely...
It is estimated that over 8 million people have died in the mines. It is known as the 'mountain that eats people alive.'
A small group of us went on a tour to see the conditions in which the miners work. Many of the mines still work without ventilation, pneumatic drills, or even electric lamps. The larger, better equiped cooperatives make use of such equipment, but it is many decades outdated and often faulty to a scary degree. Sublevels within the mines are reached by rickety ladders that drop down narrow tunnels ranging from 45 to 150 ft. At the extremities, where workers are drilling and setting explosive charges, the dust is so terrible that it is impossible to see more than two feet through the haze. We were down within the mountain for a little less than two hours and I emerged with weak limbs, a soar back, and a cough that I still have yet to shake. It is hard to imagine that the average man spends eight hours, six days of the week, down there. Many pull double shifts to make extra money, and some even work 24 hours in a single stretch in the inky gloom surrounded by deadly gasses, raw explosives, and suffocating heat and dust... I've tried to picture this life but I know I can't.
The average life of a miner is 18 years once they begin their work. Most die from silicosis - a rupture in the lungs caused by the dust. They literally sacrifice their lives for their families... and they know it.
Since the mines, we've been resting in Potosì waiting for a large festival set to take place this weekend. We had to say goodbye to the rest of our party. Claudia left for Ecuador a two days ago, and Tek, Magda, and Yuli caught a bus down to Salta in Argentina. We're actually giving serious thought to blowing off our flight from La Paz to Bueno Aires on the 11th and heading across the border early. I have come to love this country for its beauty and excitement, but the constant altitude has become difficult, especially for Thai. The incredible poverty, too, makes one feel very guilty about being a simple backpacker here. We are paying 29 Bolivianos (the equivalent of $4) each to stay in a hostel; this is about the same daily wage paid by the better mines on the mountain above... Comparisons like these have begun to choke me and I feel naked without a greater purpose in this place. After this weekend, we will leave...

Viva El Peru!

So we've finally landed in Sur America! We flew into Lima on the 8th and made our way across the city to Sandro´s house. He and Thai knew each other from Tahoe when she worked as a ski lift operator for a season in '02. They kept in contact through e-mail all this time, but they hadn´t seen each other since. We arrived on his doorstep while he was still at work; his mother, Flavia, greeted us at the door with a warm welcome and showed us to our room. For the first time since we left the States we have a semblance of home, which inspires both comfort and meloncholy. It's hard to sink in here without thinking about our family, friends, and city (oh, Portland!) waiting up North.

We were promptly treated to a snack while we waited for Sandro to arrive. In the meantime, we also met his father, Pedro, and Justa, their kind but soft-spoken maid. In the early evening, Thai was reunited with her long-lost friend from the mountain who was equally excited to see us and hear our plans for Peru. We talked about the last six years, the possibilities of the next few to come, and the must-see sites of our first South American stop. In total, we had about a month to kill in the country - which, I might add, is a lot larger than either of us had realized. As a rough guess, I would say Peru is equal in length, North to South, as the West Coast of the US.

For the next five days, we toured the main districts of the capitol city, seeing the upscale Miraflores and historic Downtown. We also got acquainted with Sandro's neighborhood of Surco. We went out for Pisco Sours - THE drink of Peru - which we enjoyed a bit too much. Thai even got to see three other Peruvians that she had met in Tahoe which was an unexpected surprise.

The following Monday, we set out on a circuit tour of the South starting with a 15-hour bus ride to Arequipa - the second largest city in Peru. Set in the desert amidst three snow-capped volcanoes, its central plazas do not hint at its size. It certainly demonstrates just how large Lima is in comparison to the cities and villages of the rest of the country (40% of the population live in the capitol). The most interesting site in Arequipa is the Monastary of Santa Catalina - a city within a city that was closed to the public from its creation somewhere in the first century all the way through to the 1970's. The fortress was home to an order of nuns who were hidden away from the outside world except for carfully monitored communication from select visitors that took place through obscured grates. Walking through the streets and buildings of the complex is both stifling and whimsical - brightly colored walls cut odd lines, staircases that seem to go nowhere but do... The monastary still houses nuns, but in a small portion of the complex. The rest is now open for tours.

From Arequipa, we took a two-day, one-night tour of nearby Colca Canyon. The canyon - deepest in the world seconded only to the nearby Ventana del Colca - is home to a handful of small farming villages as well as the endangered Andean Condor. We stayed in Chivay, the largest of the villages, where we got to relax in hotsprings and take in a sample of the local song and dance over dinner. We both got roped into some of the wierdest 'traditional' dancing we've ever seen - whipping one another, sitting on faces, and all of it way cleaner than it sounds... The culmination of the tour was a trip up to the Cruz del Condor lookout where we sat and watched some of the world´s largest birds glide over the nearly 10,000 ft deep rift below. It was an impressive sight. Condors can weigh 80 lbs and have a 9 ft wingspan. They also only lay one egg every two years, which probably accounts for their scarcity. On our trip through the canyon, we also discovered that high altitudes do not play nice with Thai, who sat up all night in Chivay breathing heavily and complaining of bad chest pains. The locals chew Coca leaves or drink Coca tea to combat these effects, but neither helped too much. Luckily, modern medicine triumphed where Andean wisdom fell short and we found a pharmacy upon returning to Arequipa.

The next morning, we jumped on a five-hour busride to Puno on the shore of Lake Titicaca. At 3,800 meters (something like 11,400 ft), it is the highest navigable lake in the world - a fact which Thai was, for obvious reasons, less than thrilled about. Puno itself had next to nothing to do, but since it serves as the main port by which to access the islands in the lake, it sees routine tourist traffic. After only one night on the mainland, we jumped on a ship for a two-day island hop. Our first stop were the Floating Islands of Uros - a series of islands which are actually constructed by hand out of the surrounding reeds and anchored out on the lake. They... Are... Amazing... Each island houses about five to seven families and comes complete with its own chief. During the day, everyone gathers for the daily slog of tourist ships which bring a considerable amount of money for their community and childrens' education. Then the men set out to fish while the women spin, knit, stitch, and construct crafts for future visitors. Every three to four months, they gather more reeds to construct a new layer of the island, as the bottom rots out continually. We spent about an hour and a half on Uros before moving on to Amantanì - an island (stone, for a change) set more in the middle of Titicaca. We spent the night there with a local family who invited us into their home and cooked for us. The food was less than stellar (Peru is home to more than 2,500 varieties of potatoes, which amounts to a plethora of boiled starch), but the experience was wonderful. That night, everyone marched to the top of Pachatata - the highest point on the island - to watch the sunset over the lake. The mount is home to an early pre-Incan ruin where rituals are still held yearly, steeped in the local blend of old- and new-world practices. The shaman sanctifies the ceremony with a rosary and Catholic prayer before purifying the site by burning an aborted llama fetus among other artifacts... We were also treated to a dance by firelight, for which we were required to dress in local attire. The next morning, after saying a quick goodbye to our host families, we also visited Taquìle - another island - on the way back to Puno. Other than lunch, though, there wasn't much to be done there other than wonder, so we sat in the main square until the boat picked us up.

That night we made our way to Cusco, the former capitol of the Incan empire and the doorstep of Machu Picchu. Now gripped in the height of the tourist season, the city was teaming with visitors. Despite this, we still managed to have a great time, and even met some great people because of it. While we were expecting a quaint mountain town, what we found was anything but. The Cusco of today is a bustling city set about its numerous historic buildings and sites - a busy, modern pace amidst ancient churches and Incan foundations. Saksaywamàn, the site of indigenous religious rites even today, crowns the hill overlooking the bars and fine restaurants of the central plaza. Admittedly, we had a blast bar hopping with our fellow hostal mates, but we also fell in with the quieter pace of the San Blas district which is literally built upon the remaining stones of Incan buildings ravaged by the invading Conquistadors.

After a couple of days in the city, we made our way for Machu Picchu. While we had originally planned on taking the train directly from Cusco (there isn´t any road), we had to leave from nearby Ollantaytambo when we discovered just how busy the site gets during tourist season. People literally book their train tickets up to six months in advance! Luckily, there exists a secondary, less direct but also less costly route taken by locals and ill-prepared travelers alike. After spending the night in Ollantaytambo, we jumped aboard the train at 5:30 AM for the hour and a half ride before transfering to a bus for the final 20-minute push up to the summit on which the ruins sit. In the spirit of honesty, I will admit to a certain level of skepticism about Machu Picchu during our journey. Everyone gets so saturated by its characteristic image and mystique before they reach it - hell, before they even leave home! - that I was afraid it wouldn´t live up to the hype. Was Machu Picchu the 'Lost Citadel of the Incas' or the gaudily-bedecked and heinously over-ridden Peruvian cash cow? I didn´t know. So I tried to bite my tongue, especially around Thai for whom the site was to be the planned pinnacle of this entire trip, and waited to see for myself.

... I can guarantee, without a doubt, that all of my doubts were extinguished upon entering the grounds... The pictures, though they try, just don´t do justice to its size! The stonework of the temple walls is so understated yet completely mesmorizing, you could spend a remarkable amount of time just tracing the intersecting joints between the rocks of a single wall. The surrounding hillsides are something to behold in themselves - ruins aside! The whole site just possesses an energy that is difficult to define. The fact that we had seen numerous ruins along the way down here before reaching Machu Picchu did not diminish its immensity or weight in the slightest. It WAS the reason for the entire journey in our time there. I was even lucky enough to make it up Wayna Picchu - the spire-like mount that sits in the background of most images of the ruins that you come across. Only 400 people a day are allowed up its side due to its confined spaces at the top. But the view from the temple at the summit was spactacular and well worth the trouble of the hike (which is a ridiculously strenuous hour). When we left for the return train to Ollantaytambo, we left thoroughly satisfied.

After a few more days in Cusco, we caught a return bus to Lima to meet up with Sandro and a few of his friends for an extended weekend up North. Independence day for Peru falls on the 28th of July; they also receive the following day off which gave everyone four days to play. While we thought it was going to be a 'few' friends, we quickly discovered that we were caravaning in a group of 14. Despite the inconveniences of organizing the movements of such a large group, the trip was a blast. We traveled north through Huaraz and spent the first two nights in Caraz amidst the peaks of the White and Black Ranges (Cordilleras Blanca y Negra), including the highest mountain in Peru. There we took in the craziest fireworks display that I think I´ve ever seen. The small town constructed a 60 ft tower meticulously built out of lengths of bamboo and twine over the course of four hours. The 'castillo,' or castle, swayed like it would tople over at any moment. Somehow, it held its ground, along with its dangling managerie of home-made fireworks constructed out of simple rockets and various of contraptions of bamboo, paper, twine, etc. As a brass band played, the wick was lit and layer by layer the plumes of sparks and whiring bobbles ascended the tower until, half way up, the whole thing went off in a chaotic spray of flame and color and noise crowned by a smoldering '¡Viva El Peru!' I didn´t see any injuries personally, but there had to have been some burns as rogue rockets freed themselves from their moorings and shot off into the crowd. It was a blast in every sense of the word.

Amidst the festivities, we also toured a series of nearby lagoons and mountain vistas. We drove the whole caravan over the Cordillera Blanca through Punta Olympica, the highest navigable pass in the country at nearly 15,000 ft. Navigable is a term I use lightly, because the road was one of the worst we´ve seen along this entire trip. It was also only wide enough for a single car in most places which made passing oncoming traffic while perched on the side of a sheer mountain face a less than graceful experience. After another day of touring the small villages of the area, we returned to Lima. I don´t know how relaxing the whole experience was for those who had jobs to come back to, but it was definitely an adventure.

Now we're back in the capitol catching up on rest and blogging. Tomorrow we leave on a bus for a two-day trip to see the Nazca Lines out in the desert. Should be fun. Otherwise we´ve gotta lay a bit low for the next week as money is a bit tight and we still have several more months to plan for! Then again, Thai´s birthday is coming around (August 6th) so we can´t just sit inside the whole time! We'll see. Oh! As a note, we've added a bunch of pics to our PhotoBucket, so take a look if you can! Otherwise, nothing but the best to all of you at home. Ciao for now.

A Walk in the Jungle at Night... Reaching the End of Central America... Saying Goodbye to Fanny

Okay, we´re Oregonians. We pride ourselves, among other things, on being able to brave the rain. I now confess that I didn´t even know what rain was until we stayed the night in Tortuguero - a small town on the banks of the rivers of Northeast Costa Rica. It lies in the wettest region of the country on a flood plain which doesn´t allow for roads. The only way in or out is by river taxi. Even when it´s not raining the air is so humid there is no way to stay dry - there only exist varying degrees of soaked. Needless to say it takes a special breed of person to live out in this environment - preferably part aquatic.
While there, we took a night tour of the beach where we were lucky enough to see a giant green sea turtle laying her eggs, burying them, and crawling back to the ocean. In retrospect, it was an amazing experience. At the time, we were soaking wet and equally cold contemplating the merits of having paid for a two mile walk in the pitch dark downpour. They don´t show you that part on National Geographic. We also took in a canoe tour of the surrounding river system where we got to see various kinds of monkeys playing in the canopy as well as toucans and other birds.
Though we had originally planned on spending two nights in Tortuguero, the weather and general lack of things to do convinced us that an early retreat was in order. After getting back to the car, Dave, Thai, and I headed west for Monte Verde Cloud Forest. In retrospect, we should have gone there first, but in our zeal to return to the Caribbean coast we neglected to check what else we might want to do in Costa Rica. As a result, we did a bit of zig-zagging across the country. We arrived in Santa Elena on the edge of the park late in the evening after tangling with the highways in the capitol, San Jose. Costa Rica was the first country where we got the go ahead to drive at night, so we were able to continue on our way after nightfall.
The last 30km of the drive took and hour and a half... A dirt road amounting to an endless collection of treacherous hills, careening turns, potholes the size of suitcases, and rocks large enough to take a chunk out of the bottom of the car... We didn´t know what to expect of the town, but judging by the road, we didn´t hold out for much. All of a sudden, we hit pavement, streetlights, and a giant supermarket! Little did we know that Santa Elena is actually a bustling little place complete with all the amenities of any city just off the main highway. I still don´t know what to make of the road in, but you could definitely see the effect of the tourist dollars at work on the forest gateway.
We quickly found a place to stay at a small hostel which had hot water and FREE COFFEE! I took a moment (well, a lot of moments) to appreciate our proximity to the coffee plantations of the Costa Rican interior. We made Santa Elena our home for three nights while we toured the city and planned our jungle explorations. We took in the frog and butterfly sanctuaries which were home to all of the hard-to-find wildlife of the area. We also took a night tour of primary forest, during which we saw all sorts of wildlife that is only active in the evening - tree frogs, wolf spiders, tarantulas, white-faced kowatis, olingos, and yes, even racoons. Seriously, we´ve made our way from the 25th to the 10th parallel and we´re still surrounded by racoons, possums, and skunks. Unfortunately, the three-toed sloth, Thai´s chosen critter-to-see, eluded us. I guess it just gives us a reason to come back.
Before we left the area, we also went on a suspension bridge tour of the canopy which gave us a bird´s eye view of the cloud forest. It was beautiful (at least to those of us not afraid of heights... Dave...), but definitely skint on animals.
After making the treacherous return to the Pan-American Highway, we traveled south towards Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean just above the Panamanian border. We spent a couple of nights in Rockin´ J´s, a funky but definitely over-populated backpacker´s stop. Dave and Thai stayed in the tent for $4 a night; I found a hammock to crash in for $5. The town was nice, but just not up to what we had seen of Caribbean towns to the north - have I mentioned we loved Belize? We did manage to find a couple of amazingly oversized hammocks for sale, though, so I can´t hate the area completely. If you are in the mood to travel to a foreign country only to meet nothing but other Americans (and Cancun is getting dull) take a trip to Puerto Viejo. Besides, one can only take so many nights living on the same grounds as one of the busiest bars in town. It´s not good for your sleep, or your wallet.
We crossed into Panama a few days later through Sixaola with little trouble and made our way to Bocas del Toro. Bocas is an island just off the coast that hosts a jumping surfing community. It was a good time, but we could only handle so much of it. New faces, new places, new bars... A lot of the same old atmosphere that comes with the backpacking scene. Plus we were beginning to stress a bit about what we should do with our car once we reached Panama City. After two days, we decided to move south to the capitol. We left Dave on the island to take in the beach a bit more, but he met up with us three days later, so we still didn´t shake him.
Since the 2nd, we´ve been bumming around the city seeing some of the sights and getting a hand on our car situation. We toured Casco Viejo, the colonial section of town, and made our way to the Panama Canal lookout. All very fascinating, but our focus in this city has clearly been getting rid of our car!
And so while most tourists in Panama might spend their time taking the train along the Canal or shopping in the many large malls in El Cangrejo or along Balboa, I have spent the last week mingling with the Indian and Pakistani used-car salesmen of Vista Hermosa getting my feet wet in the Panamanian Customs process. We learned very late along the way (once we had already crossed into Panama) that I would not be allowed to leave the country without the car! This definitely threw a wrench in our original plan of storing/ditching Fanny in the country while we continued on to South America. On top of that, our tour books had led us to believe that selling the car was next to impossible. So we began to think. We thought about returning to Costa Rica where we were pretty sure the laws were not nearly as strict. We thought about ´losing´the car in the city and reporting it stolen. Neither sounded wonderful to us.
Then we found some advice on a travel website that suggested hunting down an Indian used-car lot as they were known for sorting out such problems quite expediently. With the aid of our hostel keeper, we found the right area of town and quickly began haggling. In the end, we got $1,100 for Fanny - a much better price and much less hassle than filing a false police report. Over the next few days, we sorted out the loose ends of the deal - alerting Customs and getting the stamp for the vehicle canceled from my passport - and as of this afternoon, we are cleared to leave the country. Which is REALLY helpful, because we fly to Peru tomorrow morning at 5:30 AM! As of tomorrow, we are officially on to South America!

A Brief Update

Hey everyone! Just jumping on here to let you know what we´re up to. We left Utila, Honduras and headed for Nicaragua. We lost Michelle, who decided to stay and complete her Master Diver course (I'm jealous!), but we traded her in for Dave and Lucy - a Brit and a Czech. They both came along to Managua, the capitol of Nicaragua, before we dropped Lucy off at the airport. We had some run ins with the policia who are absolutely horrendous - I spent five days jumping from station to station tracking down my driver´s license after one of them chose to confescate it! Dave continued on with us as we made our way to Granada, a colonial city on the shore of Lake Nicaragua which is so big you can´t see the other shore. We got a tour of the city from Alan, a guy we met in the market. Nicaraguan history is crazy - look it up some time (especially a guy named William Walker!).
After a couple of days there, we decided to make a break for the Costa Rican border. Granada at least showed us that the country does have a nice side, but after paying $40+ dollars in fines and bribes for less than three days of driving, we were just fed up and ready to get the hell out.
The Nic.-CR border is easily the most frustrating crossing we have made thus far, yet ironically the cheapest. It took nearly six hours to get through the throng of offices and free-lance ´helpers´clamouring for tips. While I got to know a group of Central American truckers, all of us waiting on an old man with failing vision and a faulty computer to issue our temporary vehicle permits, Thai and Dave sat in the car and got serenaded by a thoroughly gay 15-year-old who danced to the radio and otherwise peddled Chicklets and cocaine - he took quite a liking to Dave in those couple of hours too. After I got my permission and we jumped the car battery (Thai killed it playing music for their newfound dancing queen), we said our tearful goodbyes and entered the country.
We quickly turned East, heading for Tortuguero on the Caribbean coastline via Hwy 4. We had to stop for the night in Upala, as the border crossing had taken most of the day. We continued on in the morning, making it to Cariari where we must leave the car and take a boat the rest of the way. Tortuguero lies in a permenant flood plain making it impossible to drive to. So we are stuck here for the night and must wait for a river boad first thing tomorrow.
As always, we hope all is well at home. We´ll try and post some pics as soon as possible.

The Proper Way to Roast Marshmellows... Lake Atitlan is Beautiful... The First Pangs of Car Trouble... Back to the Islands...

Before leaving Antigua, there was one last thing we had to do... You see, it had been a while since we had had marshmallows and when the craving hits, well, you just have to. Luckily, there just happen to be plenty of active volcanoes in Guatemala just waiting to help you out should you find yourself in a similar predicament. In my case, I made the trek up to Pacaya - the most active volcano in the country - with Michelle; we had a hunger to kill. Unfortunately, Thai was still feeling the effects of the fried chicken from before, so she decided to hang back.
After an hour of hiking uphill, we came upon an expansive field of cooled volcanic glass, the remnants of massive eruptions over the past decades. We crossed the precariously craggy landscape following the waves of heat emanating from just beyond the next hill. All of a sudden, the heat took us by surprise. It was coming at us from in front and, we eventually realized, from under our feet! Between the thick plates of already cooled rock, there were vents through which active lava could be seen coursing below the surface! And then we saw what was on the other side of the hill... An active flow bubbling out the side of the mountain! The heat was unbearable even from 40 feet away, but for those of us with marshmallows on the mind, it was a necessary speed bump. After loading up a stick with three of the tasty treats, I ventured out to within 4 feet of the flow and held out my hand. I came back triumphant, but lacking some knuckle hair. I wish that photos could communicate the feel of standing that close to liquid rock... Michelle had to move away when she discovered that her calves were burnt and her shoes were melting! Oh, but I do love me a good marshmallow... Yum.
With our craving in check, we headed West towards Lake Atitlan - the next typical stop on the Guatemalan tour (seriously, Guatemala is beautiful, but the tourism circuit is practically set in stone - Tikal to Coban to Rio Dulce to.....). While most of the foreign traffic finds its way to Panajachel, there are many cities on the lake that hold their own charms and perks. In our case, we had heard from a friend in Antigua - remember the one that got pistol whipped? - that we had to visit San Pedro. The town was much smaller, but it had a great atmosphere. We got a couple rooms in a hotel with a lake view and explored the waterfront which is strewn with all sorts of funky restaurants and lounges catering to the tourist traffic. In fact, while it was a wonderful break from the local food, the area was a bit overly foreign. So much so that there were visible signs of tension between the tourist area and the surrounding town. A couple of block from our hotel, a larger wall was scrawled with the words ¨Gringos go home!¨ Nothing happened to us or anyone we knew while we were there, but we definitely remained alert.
I haven´t even mentioned the rain! Our first night in Guatemala also brought our first encounter with the wet season. Ever since, we have been treated to showers at relatively frequent intervals. And they usually bring rolling thunder and lightning with them. Our first night in San Pedro, we sat on the roof of our hotel and watched a storm come in over the volcanoes that surround the lake - the clouds slowly creeping over the hills, only visible intermittently with the flashes of lightning back lighting the entire scene. It has been a nice change, but it has definitely increased the surrounding humidity.
When we were ready to leave San Pedro, we also had to say goodbye to Borja who was on his way to Cuba before starting his job as a mountain guide in Nicaragua later in the month. So, with teary eyes and a slightly lighter load, we began the steep climb out of the valley. Unfortunately, we didn´t make it very far before the Corolla (whom Michelle has lovingly named Fanny II, after her former Corolla which she took off a bridge!) began to sputter and the battery light came on. We pulled over, found that the engine was tremendously overheated, and flagged some one down for help. Eventually, after hitching a ride back into the nearest town and getting in touch with a mechanic, we discovered that, not only was our car over heating, Fanny also had a bad alternator. So, with no other choice, we left her with the mechanic and made our way back to San Pedro for another two nights. Michelle, who had become quite smitten with Borja, tried to keep her smiles in check while I groaned about the inevitable bill for new engine parts...
In the end, the mechanic was able to reconstruct a working alternator from available pieces which was much cheaper (and faster) than ordering a new one altogether. On our second attempt, we made it out of the hills and headed towards the border of Honduras with plenty of daylight.
Unfortunately, around mid-day, with 4 hours left to the border, Fanny got grumpy again - this time overheating in the middle of nowhere. After several stops to add water and allow her to cool down, we were able to eek into the small town of Sanarate. Now, I doubt that any foreigners have ever stopped in Sanarate, and they might not ever again. Nothing but teeming streets of markets and kids playing soccer in the open squares. And the staring! I have been stared at before, but something about this town made it exceptionally uncomfortable. Literally ALL eyes were on us anywhere we went. Although we did manage to have a great time one evening when we found a local pool hall and played a few games.
Of course, Fanny had to break down late on a Saturday so we had to wait until Monday to talk to a mechanic. When we did, though, we quickly found that we were horridly low on transmission fluid. In the end, we got away with a working car for only the cost of two liters of the stuff and 4 dollars in service. And thank god too, because we were seriously inches away from abandoning the car and going by bus.
So, with that out of the way, we were free to hit the border. Getting into Honduras was a bit of work, but it was really more costly in time than sanity. We got through with relatively limited trouble and began heading towards the Caribbean coastline where, we heard, there were a few islands to visit where Thai and Michelle could get certified to scuba dive quite cheaply. We stayed our first night in Santa Rosa (de la something) before making it to La Ceiba on the coast the following evening. From there, we caught a boat out to Utila, a small island that specializes in diving. I´m telling you, if you ever want to get certified, come here! I´m serious! For $270 you get 4 1/2 days worth of classes that include 5 dives, 2 fun dives, and accommodations at a hotel within walking distance of the dive center! That is nearly half of what I paid in Maui and I definitely didn´t get my room paid for at the same time! I even decided to get my advanced certification because of the price. We are taking classes at Utila Dive Center which has been ranked number one in the world by PADI. You just can´t beat the value or the quality. Both Thai and Michelle plan on doing their basic and advanced classes back to back so I´m going to wait and join them after they are done with the first. Then we will be able to take the second class together which includes deep diving, wreck diving, night diving... even underwater photography if you want! I can´t wait. Right now, I´m just lounging around the pool waiting. Oh well, it gives me plenty of time to update this thing, I guess.
As of now, we only plan on completing the advanced certification. Although the idea of completing the Rescue and Dive Master courses and seeking jobs as scuba guides does sound appealing... Who knows. We´ll have to see how we feel next week. It is a lot of money, but that would be one hell of a way to support ourselves in South America, don´t you think? Well that´s all for now. All the best to everyone!

The Color of the Water is Insane!.. UnBelize-able Island Getaways... Guatemalan Roads Can Be Loco... Fun With Food Poisoning...

So it's been a while since we've been able to update you all on our adventures. It can take a bit of will power to drag yourself into an internet cafe when you know you could be doing something else you've never done before. But I'm hear now, so here we go...
After leaving Celestun, we - Thai, myself, Michelle, and Matt - made our way East across the Yucatan. Along the way, we took in the ruins at Uxmal. While the complex itself is nowhere near as impressive as Palenque and others, it has an amazing array of very intricate and well preserved carvings and plaster sculptures - the largest collection of its kind in the region. The area was also teaming with iguanas which always makes for a distracting, but enjoyable day. By nightfall, we pulled into Cancun and located a hostel.
Upon waking, we made our way towards the beach and the heart of the resort strip. The area was obviously out of our price range, but curiosity got the better of us. We strolled along the white sand beach, trying to regain our breath after the color of the ocean took it away. Honestly, I always thought the photos of the Caribbean that you find in magazines were enhanced to make the ocean look more spactacular than it really is... Not at all... Absolutely beautiful!!! We worked up our hunger playing in the surf and then made our way across the road for an authentic Cancun meal at Hooters... Okay, so it was single-handedly the most expensive meal we had in Mexico, but it was a much needed break from cheap tacos. And it was a nice slice of Americana for Michelle who couldn't wait to tell her sister where we'd eaten.
After lunch we made our way south towards Tulum where we planned on finding a cheap cabana on the beach for the night. Unfortunately they were a bit pricier than we had been led to believe, so we pulled out the tent and found a place near other campers. After Palenque, we were more than excited at the opportunity to camp with other travelers. Unfortunately, reality turned out a bit different than we had expected. Our neighbor, who had been living at his present location for over a month by then, was a bit quirky to say the least - very earthy, VERY earthy. He was nice enough to let us use his fire to cook some hot dogs, but he made it clear that we were not to use any chemicals (lighter fluid, etc.) in the process. We honored his wishes and had a wonderful dinner before curling up for the night - Thai and I in our tent, Michelle in her hammock, and Matt tucked under an overturned scooner resting on the sand. The next morning, however, Thai threw a cigarette butt into the charred remains of the fire and sparked a prolonged monologue from its owner on the slow decomposition rate and pollutive aftermath of such actions, complete with "Man, I just knew you guys were going to do something like this..." Between this and Matt managing to get caught using the bathroom of a nearby cabana ("I'm calling the cops!" and such) we got the message and packed up early.
Before moving south, we went and saw the Mayan ruins of Tulum. Serving as a port for the Mayan empire, the city is set on cliffs overlooking the Caribbean. Though the site is not as large or grandeous as others, the location makes it absolutely breathtaking.
Tulum was also where we said our goodbyes to Matt who had to catch a flight the following day. So after exchanging e-mails we parted and headed towards the border of Belize. Originally, we had planned on making it to Calakmul - yet another ruin site, but between the expense and the fact that we were a bit 'ruined out' we decided to skip it for the time being.
The following morning, we began jumping through all of the hoops that a border crossing entails. Shifty immigration officials trying to squeeze extra money out of you, self appointed guides vying to help you in exchange for tips, untrusting and overworked customs officials who lack the patience to answer ANY extraneous questions you might have... After two hours of declining to pay the 'Mexican Exit Tax' (which doesn't exist), getting involved in the ongoing dispute between official and unofficial porters, and staving off a bloodsucking guide who demanded $40 US for his single hour of work ("You can pay me whatever you think is fair" my ass!) we crossed into Belize.
Our first night was spent in Corozal, a small northern coastal town where we found excellent food and wonderful company. It took us a few hours to unwind after the craziness at the border, but when we did we began to realize just how friendly the Belizean people really are! We met Che, a man in his late 20s who was involved in an ongoing battle with the government to allow him to open up a local radio station. He even took us to his hair salon which he is trying to convert into his broadcasting locale. We spent the better part of the evening letting him take us around town, telling us about the place he loved most in the world, the city where he had been born and which had lured him back after several years of hectic life in Chicago. Although we had originally planned on only spending a couple nights in the country (Belize is the most expensive country in Central America), we quickly became convinced that we needed to stay a bit longer. Che even came by our hotel in the morning to help us extend our auto insurance.
From Corozol, we made our say south to Belize City, parked the car in a secure lot, and caught a taxi boat out to Caye Caulker - a tiny spit of land 40 minutes off the coast. All I can say is wow... First off, I should tell you that Belize has more in common with the islands of the Caribbean than with the rest of Central America. The official languange is English, but everyone speaks Creole, which amounts to a sort of Island English. Just imagine a Jamaican accent, then multiply it until you can barely understand what anyone is saying! That is, unless they want you to. The pace of life out on the Cayes is amazingly slow. Nobody moves faster than they absolutely have to. Everywhere we went, there was somebody there to shout, "Slow down! You on da island now!" It is home to a very small and close-knit population of born-and-raised Belizeans and ex-pats from around the world. On foot, the Caye only takes two minutes to walk from its East to West coast, and only ten from North to South... Tiny...
We found a cabana on the beach for $20 US a night, rented a couple of bicycles, and settled into a much welcomed island getaway. In the morning, we took a boat out for a day of snorkeling around the reef. It was Michelle´s first time, and only the fourth for Thai, so it was quite exciting - plenty of fish, corals, sharks, rays, and even a few sea turtles. At one point, we watched our guide feed the nurse sharks before climbing in the water with them! Luckily, they aren´t partial to the taste of people, but the experience is still a bit menacing. For lunch oursleves, we made it over to San Pedro on Ambergris Caye (Madonna´s ´... last night I dreamt of San Pedro...´ That one). Nice, from what we got to see in two hours, but definately a bit more built up than Caye Caulker.
After returning, we wasted a bit more time lounging in hammocks, generally relishing the complete lack of places to be and things to do. We watched the sun set over the dock while children fished amidst the rusted and sunken hulls of the ships next to us. They turned three sardines, bought from a nearby fisherman, into dinner for their whole family in the time we sat there.
After three days, we pulled ourselves tearfully away from the cayes and returned to the mainland. After reuniting with our car, we headed South yet again towards Placencia, a town on the tip of a very narrow peninsula. It took us over an hour to drive the last 20 miles of rough dirt road, but we finally made it. When we arrived, we quickly found a guest house along the main sidewalk (Placencia has no main roads, only two central sidewalks running parallel to the shore). Our purpose there had been made clear a few days before when, by chance, we opened up a travel magazine on Belize and found a full page picture of a man snorkeling with a whale shark. It just so happened that we found ourselves in Belize just in time for their migration through the area. We were even there during the full moon, when they are at their most active. The following morning, we climbed onto yet another boat and made our way out towards the open ocean beyond the barrier reef. Over the course of three dives, we swam alongside a whale shark as well as a pod of wild dolphins which just happened to be in the area. No pictures for you unfortunately. You´ll just have to take our word on this one.
The next morning, we made our break for the Guatemalan border. Far less hassle than getting into Belize, although I did manage to lock the keys in our running car just to spice things up. Luckily, there just happened to be someone on hand with a broken-off coat hanger for just such an occasion. I thanked him for the rescue and bit back my curiosity about where he got the instrument so swiftly. We continued on to Flores.
Flores is a small city set on an island in the middle of an expansive lake. Quite beautiful, but populated almost entirely by backpackers... Seriously, at least 50% of the people we saw. We found a place for a couple of nights, and even sent our clothes in for laundry service, which was such a relief after surviving on half-successful attempts at self washing and otherwise dingy garbs. While in the North of the country, we took in Tikal - the largest complex of ruins in the Mayan civilization. Needless to say, it took a bit more time to explore than other sites that we visited, but it also managed to take our breath away anew. At its height, this was a city of 18 sq. mi. and a population of over 100,000. While the hutments of the outer lands are totally gone, the great stone structures of the city squares still break through the jungle canopy and tower over the surrounding landscape. Absolutely worth the humidity and 4-5 hour walk. And it has plenty of wildlife - from toucans to animals we didn´t even recognize! It was a wonderful introduction to Guatemala - a country which is still 50% Mayan in population.
From Flores, we traveled into the central highlands towards Coban, Lanquin, and eventually the remote jungle surrounding Semuc Champey. We stayed in the open loft above the restaurant of a guesthouse for $2 a night each. During the day, children from the surrounding villages would venture onto the house grounds - drawn by curiosity and rumors of free pens... Thai, having received them from another traveler in Flores, took to handing out pens and paper to those who were brave enough to come up to her. Soon, mothers were hauling their kids out over all arms to get in on it.
Semuc Champey itself is something one would imagine in the Garden of Eden. Its remoteness strips away any presence of people trying to hawk souvenirs and even most tourist traffic. At its heart is the convergence of two rivers. The first one, rough and powerful, travels through the center of the valley and into an underground cave about a kilometer in length before moving swiftly beyond. The second one rolls gently off the surrounding hillside and stalls in a series of tranquil, clear pools before cascading over a waterfall to join its counterpart. It reminded us all of Agua Azul in Mexico, but much more relaxed. We lounged in the sun and lingered in the pools, letting the fish tentatively nibble at our toes. We also traversed the strenuous hour and a half long vertical trail to the lookout (some more willingly than others) for a spectacular view of the surrounding jungle and falls.
After two days, we made the arduous journey back to Coban and began to head South... with a new friend in tow. This time, we picked up Borja (pronounced bor-ha), a Spaniard whom we had run into several times in Belize and Northern Guatemala. We figured after so many random encounters we should at least officially introduce ourselves... he ended up in the car. Although I think we appreciated his company much more than our car appreciated the added weight. Did I mention how rough the roads to and from Semuc Champey are? Seriously, you shouldn´t go without a four-wheel vehicle; I´ve never seen roads this steep! But our Corolla made it through... with a bit of wear on the transmission (she makes a bit of a groan when we start to move now, oops).
We moved along to Antigua, an old colonial city of colorful houses and crumbling churches. Hmm... where to begin... What does Antigua mean to me? Food poisoning and danger might roughly sum it up. On the way there, all four of us managed to eat some bad fried chicken - a moved which kept us confined to our room for the better part of a day. Even Borja, who was still recovering from his las case of intestinal fireworks, had a relapse! Travel sickness... it´s a necessary experience, but by no means pleasant.
Our first night, as we settled into a crampy and interrupted sleep, someone came knocking on our door. It was a man from the hostel telling me that I had to move my car or it was going to get smashed in. Apparently, NOBODY leaves their car on the street at night because, if you do, you WILL wake up to an irreparably vandalized vehicle. So, with my belly in utter protest, I got to spend an hour driving over cobblestone streets looking in vain for an open garage... No luck... So I had to completely unload our bags, remove the Oregon license plates, park it in a well lit center of town near policemen with shotguns, and pull some fuzes before going back to bed. Thankfully, the car was fine the next morning.
While we were there, we continually heard stories of people getting robbed in the markets. One girls we knew got mugged and pistol whipped less than a block from out hostel... It was definitely a dodgy place to be at night. None of us had realized just how tumultuous Guatemala´s recent history was until Antigua. In a country still reeling from brutal takeovers and police-led massacres within the last 30 years, the people are a bit untrusting at times. Spray-painted images of faces on buildings still attest to the tens of thousands of people who have and continue to go missing never to be heard from again. Although the growth of the tourist industry has provided much needed money and increased stability, it has also provided a new reason for increased petty crime.
After we recovered from our ailments, the four of us decided to move on in short order.