tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26592466066702055812024-03-14T06:05:49.539-07:00Wandering Never Gets OldStories and photos from the road...coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-77194023780832522842009-04-07T08:05:00.000-07:002009-04-07T08:57:50.460-07:00A farewell kiss...Like a farewell kiss, but by a toothless dog with mange. That is how Egypt was to say goodbye after our two weeks here. And to have such shit as to be robbed of completely everything minus my passport and my black velvet, goat hair lined Jordanian vest which was a gift from a most beautiful French woman at the border. We were making our way back from Luxor after touring the western desert and at some point on the overnight train to Cairo somebody got off the train with my pack. <br />So, no photos for you all out there :-( The hardest things to lose were definitely the camera and journal which was a really big one that had travels from the past four years! Good thing i have a great memory.<br /><br />The only way to get deep into the desert is by jeep or by camel, and after having a brief feeling of what even 20 minutes on a camel is like, we opted for a jeep. After spending a much needed day of relaxation in the Bahariyya Oasis, we organized a two day tour out into the White Desert. Our 4x4 was loaded and off we went across the world. First through the black desert, a flat landscape dotted with large anthill like projectiles. The orange sand is covered intensely by iron black pyrite, a beautiful stone smooth and heavy. From the top of one of the hills we had a 360 view like nothing else.<br /><br />The highlight by far of the entire trip so far was the white desert. It is like entering a foreign world. Lunarly in nature, white monoliths of limestone erroded by wind take forms of many shapes. Like cloud gazing without the sky or the clouds. The jeep flies up and over dunes, around stones, and through the towers. At sunset, watching the massive ball drop down, the glow on the white stones turns pink and the entire horizon fades into night. The peach colored everything turns to moon shadowed rock under venus glow and the big dipper tells us where north is.<br />Our guides occasionally turn around and say "welcome" as if we havent been with them for over a day already. They were awesome though, and know the desert well. Language barriers are quikly overcome around the fire with shared tea and sheesha and lauging at jokes that probably are not understood by the others. <br />For us, accostomed to dirtbag style travel, a tour like this felt weird, everything about being super plush. But for what it was it was cheeeeeap and we had a fantastic time. <br /><br />Luxor is said to be Egypt's most hassle filled city. It can be if you're a sucker -- good thing me and danny are no chumps when it comes to telling a tout to fuck off. We stayed in a small alley hotel and ventured off to see the ancient capital of Thebes. There are too many temples, palaces, and tombs to see in a year around the area, so we picked a handful that we liked.<br />Second day we rented bikes and had a grand ol time crusuing around the west bank of the nile and seeing some incredible places. The place is packed with honkeys - millions of tour busses and groups moving like ants marching to see everything, but we raged on our own wheels. The orignal dready jews club was started on bikes, and after all these years we still know how to kick it. (Julia, you were there in spirit. You too Haley Morgan honorary Jew)<br /><br />After the shit show of losing my gear we were forced to return to Ahmed's place in Cairo, something we did not want to do at all. Tonight, after accomplishing nothing today, we leave for Israel. Yippee! Leaving Egypt right in time for passover... a sign maybe? <br />We are still going to Jordan, but only after i get some new gear from my sister in Jerusalem.<br /><br />Danny's pack was stolen on our way to Egypt, mine stolen on our way to Israel. A test in materialism and attachment that we are now able to share.<br /><br />Danny has two weeks left, i have a month and a half. I'll be doing trail work in Colorado this summer i just found out. Great Sand Dunes Natl Park. yes!<br /><br />all good things<br /><br />love love lovecoyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-78926652872420921902009-03-28T23:22:00.000-07:002009-03-29T13:21:45.527-07:00Cairohmygodthisplaceisfuckingnuts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienKXfT4AD2DHF3OWd5nORKeU-gMfqdNOF_810zDwzqtTbmEgfOPkUxnIUsIWojCG_zy0HheCSgoZKgz5ncMFGJXfUKkeMQZz8sbxQDcFBCRzYEzTZYuCUxvn1r1QEJMYtw_l9bO-2sQut/s1600-h/P1010626.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienKXfT4AD2DHF3OWd5nORKeU-gMfqdNOF_810zDwzqtTbmEgfOPkUxnIUsIWojCG_zy0HheCSgoZKgz5ncMFGJXfUKkeMQZz8sbxQDcFBCRzYEzTZYuCUxvn1r1QEJMYtw_l9bO-2sQut/s320/P1010626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318707300758850626" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGq-qbaj8OcQFLN7mJUvZQ5mE03bbhfC0CAx0u-MBs2f6ctxcjlKUr8vFWbE5vKNSrJ8e0084az7gK5jiQi8NuWev7e8R-SuU3eM1nMku2lmM45wuvSLmko6bs9aO5NY7zPt-5DjgC8-q/s1600-h/P1010622.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; 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float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0jgcTxEygTxCpVYQoR4TF5k-LSuOI5pVJIKTDVMoHK2rh9irup-YdPXgBvYk2xw5T5fPRw2nwWe-lif-mkP-dv1EoE5f_Zmx1BvWwfKLpKJnjYlCD8oC6XAj2KzVEBnlDiChg_KuJyqH/s320/P1010665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318674064562245522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pSNhxkl-_elu5IwrbXhvMLWTNOUPW6VwpGglLHfMdI19Q7x4LoMS-bMTNFNI9Be2AO_RvbWkGxoKLomDh-cn4G33jEgaEaUrMNi8aH9apflgRU6-7wLoOVPkom-thckkKTogeIp8jEev/s1600-h/P1010616.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pSNhxkl-_elu5IwrbXhvMLWTNOUPW6VwpGglLHfMdI19Q7x4LoMS-bMTNFNI9Be2AO_RvbWkGxoKLomDh-cn4G33jEgaEaUrMNi8aH9apflgRU6-7wLoOVPkom-thckkKTogeIp8jEev/s320/P1010616.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318499529316173378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The energy that circulates this place comes in pulses: sometimes instantaneous flashes of tranquility in an otherwise sea of chaos, other times small heart attacks in the already intense atmosphere. The city sprawls across the plains on both banks of the Nile, the life force behind this city. Outside the Nile river valley the desert resumes its arid ways, sand rocks sun wind desolation purity.<br />We have been staying with the amazing Ahmed Zeiden, a photographer that we hooked up with through couchsurfing.com. His apartment is on the 25th floor of a building that looks out over all of Cairo, including the pyramids. It has been incredible staying here and getting to know him.<br /><br />The city is so massive that it would take weeks to explore it all, if Danny and I actually had the desire to do that. We have been in Cairo for too long now, happily, but overrun and rundown by big city life. Our first day here will stay in my memories forever. From the beginning, walking to the metro from Ahmed's apartment we got the first sense of what it would be like to be out in public during daylight hours. Whistles, honks, stares, glares, and shouts are more than common; watermelon covered hands from small boys reaching out to pull my hair, Danny narrowly dodging the sticky redness, me not so lucky. We wonder that if we were just normal white people <span style="font-style: italic;">without</span> long hair if we would get so much attention. Never, even in west Africa, have I gotten so much attention just by walking the streets or taking public transit. It definitely takes its toll, and it has left somewhat of a sour taste in my mouth about Cairo.<br />No rules on the roads whatsoever. Real anarchy in action. No traffic signals, stop signs, speed limits, emissions controls, safety regulations, no headlights at night (they are only used to flash people to get the hell out of the way). Ahmed told us that if we could successfully cross the street here ten times without dying then we would make it in this city. It is like playing real life frogger. Im talking crossing four lane highways dodging traffic while blindfolded. It is fucking insane. At least you can rest easy knowing that the chances of drunk driving are pretty slim for the most part. Alcohol is not very common here, but luckily you can have beer delivered to the apartment.<br />There must have been a national campaign to teach English to the general public in which the entire language was compiled into, "Welcome, welcome to Cairo!" It can come from any direction at any time. But it is all genuine welcoming from the community here... maybe. Sometimes it is hard to decipher tone of voice; people could be saying "go fuck off Yankee", and we wouldn't ever know the difference. Today actually we got into a, "No, you go fuck <span style="font-style: italic;">yourself</span>" discussion with some kids on the street. For years I had been warned that Egypt is the worst place for encountering touts and people who work hard to lure the wallet out of your pants. It is the same old shit that I hear everywhere i go. Oh, dont go here dont go there, danger blah blah. Beyond the oogling at the two furry white guys strolling down the avenue, we are generally welcomed here and there has been <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> no intense hassle outside of the pyramids. People are kind here, and looking past the conservative Islamic blanket which I see sometimes as stifling the outflow of emotions in public, there is a warmth and kick in the step of almost everyone on the streets.<br /><br />The pyramids at Giza are the only remaining ancient wonder of the world, but it is hard to overcome the barrage of "hey mister you want camel ride?" It comes every five seconds, and there is no stopping. Men on camels will follow you for minutes just in case you happen to change your mind. Everyone wants <span style="font-style: italic;">baksheesh </span>(bribes); from the police to the local kids who offer to point you in a certain direction, there is a "charge" for everything. Danny and I are far from suckers and usually try to have fun at the expense of the touts, but the experience of seeing such marvels is almost ruined by the intensity of the harrassment. That and the ass load of other tourists.<br />Did you know that the Sphynx is really small? Not small, but not as big as we thought. In all the pictures it seemed like it was as big as a pyramid, but it is actually quite little in comparion.<br />It is funny the hypotheses that exist about how the pyramids were built. New Agers come and say that the aliens brought them there, but Danny and I know the real truth behind the wonderful rock pyramids. Lots of Jews.<br /><br />A higlight of the entire trip so far was definitely the Sufi dance and music show put on by the Egyptian Ministry of Culture. It was a free show in a fantastic old stone building; An open courtyard surrounded by ornate wooden balconies. The show started just with music, a group of drummers, horn players (imagine the stereotpyed snake charming horn), hand symbols, and singing. Holy shit the drumming was amazing and the players were glowing, smiling and working the crowd. After a while of just the music dancers came out and began the whirling. Sufism is the mystical side of Islam, and they are known for their whirling dervish dance, spinning for hours on end in communion with Allah. The drumming picks up, the spinners move faster and slower and faster again, arms and neck twirling almost independently from the never relaxing feet. The colors are psychadelic: blues, reds, yellows, and greens, flying through the air. Multiple skirts are worn and sometimes are lifted above the head and twirled as well. It is unreal to see. I was on the edge of my seat, hooting and shouting after each raucous finale, like Kerouac at a jazz club.<br /><br /><br />We have been in this city for too long, and we are stressed. Tomorrow we will take the train north to the legendary city of Alexandria along the shores of the Mediterranean. It is Egypt's most cosmopolitan city which is not what we are looking for, but it is at least more of a transition to the less crowded more open spaces tranquil western Egypt that is our next main destination.coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-13059686762130598482009-03-25T01:04:00.001-07:002009-03-25T03:43:04.155-07:00Dready Jews Go Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JJMM6LT6ZBWhm49eHmOP7t4CtkYfamxm44IGOJ0ZwXnoPcsAd_8afbcjgOOy7v66Vj8AZU6lCNoqUmxEJQXC8yoS82Yrcod9y61IF44lugVGaknPG5i-laqhOYGYZQLfBqdmy5BUg15A/s1600-h/P1010606.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JJMM6LT6ZBWhm49eHmOP7t4CtkYfamxm44IGOJ0ZwXnoPcsAd_8afbcjgOOy7v66Vj8AZU6lCNoqUmxEJQXC8yoS82Yrcod9y61IF44lugVGaknPG5i-laqhOYGYZQLfBqdmy5BUg15A/s320/P1010606.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317068221876818466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3krg2Cb6wUmgjDHwSfQtGfga_7vhreKX6BygtS6rpLPrt76B41si_J4IkJc7lN8I0EHtbIt5GZFHVZgw-Tk3ENNlBSscdqnLDZA4nj4F2Cqb3EnxbGuzqSQt2GNhkyjuYxT3gf4yMviF1/s1600-h/P1010594.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; 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float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSIBYHI_rDSOmSGU7xa4Pyf1h5Yb5BT-u_Q_2crUipBUcNNnxaR2h-QpI_45TSntJW_VO21UMdoKaV_oN_m4NNKGxMFAeGh9E_5NNy_JElq6jj6Ae8mVXlaGpxt03nB2NCl6Tj46xUQRJ/s320/P1010489.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317043583131619250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8tzXe4VxyhlIDQ-AkFGMmZo2r5zQKeVUWwm3M3ShnhottG9KP0dWjpJD_qQc20WT5OM1UK8szv2QLBaza_VQ7ntYhScWsRcCH9WbEUnSv2fDhGJoY-uLjikJ79GHxJ_N5utIjpPdERbR/s1600-h/P1010465.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8tzXe4VxyhlIDQ-AkFGMmZo2r5zQKeVUWwm3M3ShnhottG9KP0dWjpJD_qQc20WT5OM1UK8szv2QLBaza_VQ7ntYhScWsRcCH9WbEUnSv2fDhGJoY-uLjikJ79GHxJ_N5utIjpPdERbR/s320/P1010465.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317043571734115634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">We are in Cairo right now after making our way through the Sinai peninsula where, naturally, Danny and I would be hit by a freak wind/sand storm that would, naturally, rip the roof off of the room we were staying in on the beach. Waking up in the morning to brush the thick layer of dust and sand off of everything we noticed that, of course, ours was the only one shredded. But so it goes that to be back on the road life is always full of freak storms. That and sunshine, oceans, and incredibly kind Bedouins. But to go back two weeks now and recap how we arrived in Egypt.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">In the words of one Andrew B. "Your trip is going to be heinous."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">We assumed he would be right, in fact for the three years that we planned this trip we held assumptions that a Birthright trip would be nothing but Zionist propaganda and a crappy tour around Israel. A trip called Israel Outdoors that we knew spent no time camping, a tour bus with 40 Americans making a huge scene all over the country, and very little say in how the tour goes.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Turns out we actually had a good time. Yes, we were surprised too! Our tour guide Hagai (cha-guy... not cha like do the cha cha, but like clearing your throat) was amazing and he made the trip what it was. We heard from other groups along the way how strict and overbearing their guides were, but we had the complete opposite experience. To our surprise also, the group was not 18 year old new yorkers, but mainly folks over 23 from all over the country. Not surprising was the number of instant connections made with people on the tour. First person i saw at the airport I recognized from my cross-country bike tour in 1998. The last time I saw her was when I took her to a Phish show in Philly in 1999. Many more just like that too. The group bonded well and we had a great time together.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">BUS BUS BUS. It was our ball and chain, never parting, always there. From the minute we arrived at the airport to the mintute the trip ended it was an undeniable part of the birthright experience.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">The propaganda that we had anticipated was kept to a minimum, to our liking, but there is indeed a very simple message that all Birthright participants are pushed towards:</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 51, 255); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><br />make Jewish babies<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">And why not? It's like a big summer camp, so go nuts and keep the tribe alive.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">The days were jam packed with activities: walks, lectures, bus rides, visits with artists, meals, etc. In ten days they manage to haul you from end to end; the lush green of the Golan Heights, to the burnt amber and dryness of the Negev in the south, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Tzvat, Kibbutzes, wineries, clubs, more more more until ENOUGH ALREADY. By the end we all crash and try to remember everything we learned and all the places we visited, but it was all too much and too fast.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Israel is such an amazing place; so alive with people, culture, struggle, fear, love, that being there can be such a sensory overload if you arent prepared. The natural mysitc blowing through the air in Tzvat...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Interlude: As i write this, the time is 12 noon and the call to prayer has just begun all over Cairo. I have heard this only in two places before this: the north of Ghana and in Israel. To me it is an eerie display of complete devotion to God, the most intense form. Mosques on every corner are calling to Allah over the loud speaker, delays and echoes from the competing megaphones create bizarre time lapse effects on the prayer. Long drawn out wailings, not unlike the howlings of coyotes on a silent desert evening. Beautiful music.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">...the cosmopolitan mayhem of a Tel Aviv night, the hustle and rushing to get in all the shopping before Shabbat in Jerusalem, seeing 18 year old soldiers with powerful weapons of war and violence, the horror and pain of the Holocaust Museum, the hard yet beautifully simple life of the Bedouin. Everything is so compact and full, there is little escape.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">The question that always comes to mind for me is: can you be an aethiest and still be a Jew? Each time i have visited Israel the answer comes fully and simply. Yes. To be a Jew does not mean one needs to believe in the big guy upstairs or go to pray in a temple, or even honor the sabbath. It is a tribal feeling, the community, the sense of belonging to a group of people that spreads around the globe, holding on to identity.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">The beauty of this is that while maintaining my independence I still hold the power of tribal connection everywhere i go, and i can do this without needing to change my beliefs about the spiritual nature of things.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Danny and I will be in Egpyt for two to three weeks before making our way back to Israel via Jordan. We are already having great experiences here and truly enjoying Arabic culture. Just on the trip overland from Sinai we witnessed the intensity and barrenness of the desert here; it is everything. We plan on venturing deeper into the country to discover more about this land.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Pictures and stories to follow of course. Literally, i am looking at the Giza Pyramids right now. Soon you will be able to see them too!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">I have somewhat lost the motivation to keep up this blog, so this entry is poorly written and short, but for those that enjoy it I am glad.</span><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-91306947569689551832009-02-23T12:22:00.000-08:002009-02-24T08:21:58.123-08:00The End.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTweUtdNe3iYhMPyzOZTSpKlosIwy-5-i9eREEQE4VdX6_RBaw_u-hWiB4aEnyj2XfYxaPxQF4_6hTUoayNz7DQ5uCmI9nfxacBed_2r-zHHtImbXJLOL_-HbRC_23hLx5hppSl6Y29F6/s1600-h/P1010451.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306399762276963874" style="FLOAT: left; 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MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Da7ySWbppMIbkOs008pi7Fgf7yfXSzeg_hEwU4TX86BzRXIFzZQJ9Kxfp2gmaSkFAvEAwlyGVOGrfyDvuBPZyzXrk9ZZh_7i3tO7cEDaUnqri40RY1aq1_FpsmdhmIrgFBlptbxyWDXs/s320/P1010443.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtAMwe2fCXEsB-2wSHnx3JgYm16SHRWBDIHiyRIVPqhN1BE-KSoixHFyS2_z6XJFJ5btYOoSRt1ZJZ79XzF0gdsEHSUOYKOlk-7qSSxIlxayIL5DXud_stWSf6xz9Qx9toPtbvN4rbeJv/s1600-h/P1010400.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306395385257505634" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtAMwe2fCXEsB-2wSHnx3JgYm16SHRWBDIHiyRIVPqhN1BE-KSoixHFyS2_z6XJFJ5btYOoSRt1ZJZ79XzF0gdsEHSUOYKOlk-7qSSxIlxayIL5DXud_stWSf6xz9Qx9toPtbvN4rbeJv/s320/P1010400.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39p4pc2ARr6SoPu-FvzWnasKFHyvoHvkNMq2ptVmIzsIMftiLpAfBujEwLSaM4bhm6SfVw7XAD-6Xl8jpXz68pePr-phvWuX1qUemCqZvwUNkfSH2JlApjKs2rk_3FSfagAwOBJT0QJ2W/s1600-h/P1010396.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306393738181009746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39p4pc2ARr6SoPu-FvzWnasKFHyvoHvkNMq2ptVmIzsIMftiLpAfBujEwLSaM4bhm6SfVw7XAD-6Xl8jpXz68pePr-phvWuX1qUemCqZvwUNkfSH2JlApjKs2rk_3FSfagAwOBJT0QJ2W/s320/P1010396.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><p>The trip is nearly over. To end it I am in Bogota once again at my friend Jeisson´s apartment in Chapiñero. Zach is back from the ruckus of Carnavale in Baranquilla and I am back from a journey into the deep mountains of Colombia. Both seem to have been quite the experience.</p><p>The trip from the coast to Cocuy National Park is long and involves changing transport many times. The roads lead through the departments of Santander and Boyaca. Boyaca is definintely the mountain heart of Colombia. The dirt roads wind through an epic landscape sparsely settled by cattle farms and campesinos. There are small colonial towns once every couple of hours. These are the places that i wish i had seen earlier in my trip. Most never see any tourists, and are uniquely tranquil in a way that i´ve never experienced before. I rolled into the small colonial mountain town of El Cocuy after dark and found an incredible place to stay with an artist and musician who lives alone in a beautiful old house with a massive collection of plants and paintings around the inner courtyard of the home. I made preparations to head high into the park the next day. To get to the park I hopped a ride with the local milk truck that drives through the mountains collecting the fresh milk from the numerous dairy farms in the hills. Higher and higher we climbed, stopping to pour the steaming milk into the large vats in the back of the truck, the driver carefully noting the amount of milk collected at each location. It is real campesino life in the hills. Small brick houses made from the earth they sit on. The weather was colder, the air thinner as we continued to climb higher. I got dropped off at the end of the main road and had to walk another hour higher into the mountains to get to the farm where the park begins. </p><p>After talking to a couple austrian mountaineers a day earlier i realized that the extra wool hat i bought was going to do nothing for me in the backcountry. I sucked it up and told myself that it would be okay for me to sleep indoors and only do dayhikes being as how I had no cold weather gear and no stove. The accomodations are an unelectrified farm house with the family who has been there for generations. Around the house are their cows, sheep, and horses; corrals constructed of stones from the fields. The views from the house are insane. Miles of mountain peaks and giant valleys right out the front door. The snow capped peaks and granite cliffs loom ever higher above the camp which is situated at around 10,500 feet.</p><p>Coming from the coast direct to the mountains I had expected to be hard, but not as hard as it was. I struggled to catch my breath my entire time there, especially above 13,000 feet. My first day i did a hike up to 13,500 to a mountain pass up a steep ravine. The going was tough, having to stop almost every 50 feet to catch my breath. The water was crystaline, frigid, and perfect; like a deer, stop to drink at every stream. From the pass I got my first view deep into the sharp range, and i instantly regretted not having the right gear to continue walking.I felt like absolute shit after returning from the 8 hour hike. The altitude squeezed my ocean air accustomed lungs and used my brain as a dart board. I went to sleep without eating anything. Next morning i woke up early to the sound of four Colombian hikers come up for the day to reach the Devil´s Pulpit. I set out after them but soon we were hiking together. I was the youngest by far, the rest in their fifties and one in his eighties. What a character that man was: 29 years as a machinist on a colombian freighter. He told me tales of nearly 30 years of life on a boat, travelling to almost every continent and countless countries along the way. It´s people like that that really inspire me. </p><br /><p>The hike up to the pulpit was much harder and longer than the day before, plus much higher. We stopped at 15,210 feet, almost a thousand feet higher than i´ve ever been. Just like the sierras in california, I staggered gasping for breath along granite ridges and massive boulder fields. The going was slow but at the end it was as close to the sky i´ve ever felt. Snow cones of ice and condensed milk, sledding on my ass with my raincoat, and a brilliant sunshine day, made it one of the best hikes ever.</p><p>The two days in the park and the two days it took me to get there and back were by far a highlight of the whole trip. This whole trip has been a highlight of all the trips i´ve ever done. I am happy to be leaving, if only to continue my journey in another foreign land.</p><br /><p>This is the last entry. Im not even sure how many people actually read it or look at the pictures, but it does feel good to explain at least to the little computer elves what i´ve been up to. Maybe ill be inspired to continue from the middle east. </p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-59732191399052522782009-02-18T06:48:00.000-08:002009-02-18T10:34:19.471-08:00pura carribbean<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAZTs9mknKGufDJTESy9XUnTpa2CN-WMHxdxsDdfC9MXuytBaeW67NAWGKFAKw9seXh5OmKl7ThWVvKAKvhE9jgLRk88um_TP0Zmwh8AMHqhSTdxVTPCr1ejrTSh52NUJxBkZQSY9iliM/s1600-h/P1010283.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAZTs9mknKGufDJTESy9XUnTpa2CN-WMHxdxsDdfC9MXuytBaeW67NAWGKFAKw9seXh5OmKl7ThWVvKAKvhE9jgLRk88um_TP0Zmwh8AMHqhSTdxVTPCr1ejrTSh52NUJxBkZQSY9iliM/s320/P1010283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304162346132091106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAXuPZ8lv2KtGttl4UNHmoUy85yU8yiSZg2An1RJ1nnp9UxIAq8gjEpzKG0nM2RlBrRjK-DvX_xtbvCwlxAkddSIA4uLynJyqD80UkSCfYIXWyhajx4Z_w83lKssnBPfrolYewW5riuXo/s1600-h/P1010331.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; 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float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN4Yh_rI6va1ZxRtO8EYil1KWk4RqiEqX_Z3yqaDML42_VyZ_qjjql8Ez2q5LFTWv3aFcE7rYTlZ8ByGqs7gzwx-liVEYcL2pDa7OtN2NaETXp_KxkAr9tE-Cy424SIEvERw2GTbmhsR0/s320/P1010274.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304152197502477698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluA2HqqAawqMS1DTyIVmFxm9GW3x2ffh1bhClITLuuZT5CXleOox3MAKQ2m4V2kQlFY1Lyu8WpD2182IjXeiB7M0XZjloCtG_OU4URnBcYmZCN22OqNdlNVLL2qZWXAQJ8nd1Biyq6zV_/s1600-h/P1010273.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluA2HqqAawqMS1DTyIVmFxm9GW3x2ffh1bhClITLuuZT5CXleOox3MAKQ2m4V2kQlFY1Lyu8WpD2182IjXeiB7M0XZjloCtG_OU4URnBcYmZCN22OqNdlNVLL2qZWXAQJ8nd1Biyq6zV_/s320/P1010273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304152165653770226" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZs2Us2uMDr7BE5sKG20RXwwaknww51eE371pVj6cHCyDEjsDkRROEJLzV-pL29uD00dp7Ycx0NRmoBosIzVmQcgfA1ovcaV9ARiijuB2kmcMAEqTqrrd9lbbstJjOucQM0fEGQ8zY59Rq/s1600-h/P1010271.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZs2Us2uMDr7BE5sKG20RXwwaknww51eE371pVj6cHCyDEjsDkRROEJLzV-pL29uD00dp7Ycx0NRmoBosIzVmQcgfA1ovcaV9ARiijuB2kmcMAEqTqrrd9lbbstJjOucQM0fEGQ8zY59Rq/s320/P1010271.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304152159239359954" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5-aOYhIbBJHP_wYZ5dDMJB5P6zcfWU2eygv-42R_n3bVv7H4acptS3z0sTx38uQLbtZuYIFiCBCD_z3dmzOOuZm3uEJMoO3LrkybSsVAXG_KzEnxmvSmLikksNWGSEFSieQblTfU9BYn/s1600-h/P1010350.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5-aOYhIbBJHP_wYZ5dDMJB5P6zcfWU2eygv-42R_n3bVv7H4acptS3z0sTx38uQLbtZuYIFiCBCD_z3dmzOOuZm3uEJMoO3LrkybSsVAXG_KzEnxmvSmLikksNWGSEFSieQblTfU9BYn/s320/P1010350.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304162351472002130" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQ_u6PRnmk-XdBAm-JhkmtZnz9CniCxK0YtJoSyj1uUk_ZuOJF6OeLYvibCVsDJwquK37YObWjofEsZl6_KopSBxc2WwTpW7kMXnGOoJEA4EWTl4cXwf1BVrhdwN9waDZeIk_x0VCQ7KC/s1600-h/P1010268.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQ_u6PRnmk-XdBAm-JhkmtZnz9CniCxK0YtJoSyj1uUk_ZuOJF6OeLYvibCVsDJwquK37YObWjofEsZl6_KopSBxc2WwTpW7kMXnGOoJEA4EWTl4cXwf1BVrhdwN9waDZeIk_x0VCQ7KC/s320/P1010268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304160259698569570" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25UdZ5cmRopK-dmYcHJIhE1m5eVLsz0U0Qypbzdfsq30IGDFOIUXbhTPpoMCnpbXBQOJ3geN_b4UwSaCOlLjoYEzdI7Nl7MaXKhKY-WJdx3r9MJRygY00xDmndTBHnA-Ux8nhoYVJp5FK/s1600-h/P1010262.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25UdZ5cmRopK-dmYcHJIhE1m5eVLsz0U0Qypbzdfsq30IGDFOIUXbhTPpoMCnpbXBQOJ3geN_b4UwSaCOlLjoYEzdI7Nl7MaXKhKY-WJdx3r9MJRygY00xDmndTBHnA-Ux8nhoYVJp5FK/s320/P1010262.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304160262565283490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />has been some time since i´ve done the whole bloggy blog thing so here we go!<br />From Bogota towards the north coast is a long trip, about 15 hours by bus, but first stop was Medellin, once home (and why not still) to the infamous Pablo Escobar <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNI1TxlRP4inkugJFp6A4DTgeZDgaYNq3q1OJuT4dN7iSHAi8buG59lWFAujZKtbkahyphenhyphenthAfcgO2ElF1PVSCg2ghesKlF4LmgwfmCCgwHekt16D03CGhnFwpIeZ03gnlwnYl_2uWCS7f96/s1600-h/P1010366.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNI1TxlRP4inkugJFp6A4DTgeZDgaYNq3q1OJuT4dN7iSHAi8buG59lWFAujZKtbkahyphenhyphenthAfcgO2ElF1PVSCg2ghesKlF4LmgwfmCCgwHekt16D03CGhnFwpIeZ03gnlwnYl_2uWCS7f96/s320/P1010366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304158168426160594" border="0" /></a>cartel. It used to be one of the most dangerous cities in the world, but in the past ten years has <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpWs2YFrUaEZP8-YwxVORmOS5sVQjEO6cUV85iagTsA-OthyrjkOjepkGp6puGsd5ytqZBuvIY41-VwGowgqKonf2bn6_WANobt1NleXDMMyY0WZviu3bf2D0yubYOw7i6Vo6gc0BaF5b/s1600-h/P1010317.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpWs2YFrUaEZP8-YwxVORmOS5sVQjEO6cUV85iagTsA-OthyrjkOjepkGp6puGsd5ytqZBuvIY41-VwGowgqKonf2bn6_WANobt1NleXDMMyY0WZviu3bf2D0yubYOw7i6Vo6gc0BaF5b/s320/P1010317.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304155577307174594" border="0" /></a>become one of the safest and modern in <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZWmzw48ijMIwB8vkx7HyW2_Z2wVePjTMBarkmRKEJk0_ZOqXkVmA_3rTLgPpFimLodlVHn1JGts_fTV7ia1Sk6ikSY6dliOOXJ-RSdOIW38mjRFh6b_sbg-f3W-ArLqtXvezYb9I4tJS/s1600-h/P1010296.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZWmzw48ijMIwB8vkx7HyW2_Z2wVePjTMBarkmRKEJk0_ZOqXkVmA_3rTLgPpFimLodlVHn1JGts_fTV7ia1Sk6ikSY6dliOOXJ-RSdOIW38mjRFh6b_sbg-f3W-ArLqtXvezYb9I4tJS/s320/P1010296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304152213404784354" border="0" /></a>Colombia. It has a completely different feel from Bogota, a lot less soul and a more metropolitan feel. The pride of most Colombians anywhere in the country is the metro of Medellin. That and the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjY1g1jVi9Iz3Rs3P8D_2BXopeogU0suw1hvrOIPzDSPNcmITr9z7jaSFJenMPHFthsIIomNXjdgLp5tWU6K8TtzlYVr3w7nGGjPDr92fZcXkbjXVXH4QoUsAmXvh8F6vjAvtyZMmqxm2/s1600-h/P1010281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjY1g1jVi9Iz3Rs3P8D_2BXopeogU0suw1hvrOIPzDSPNcmITr9z7jaSFJenMPHFthsIIomNXjdgLp5tWU6K8TtzlYVr3w7nGGjPDr92fZcXkbjXVXH4QoUsAmXvh8F6vjAvtyZMmqxm2/s320/P1010281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304152209410297314" border="0" /></a>women. In fact the first things i heard when i crossed the border was, ¨wow the women and the metro.¨I must have heard that a million times before actually getting to the city. But, the metro is in fact nice, fast, cheap, and gets you from point A to B, and the women there are incredibly attractive. It is shocking actually the ratio of super good looking women to non. But there is somewhat of a fad there to have fake boobies and buttocks. People say it stems back to the Escobar days and has never slowed. There is an absurd amount of silicone walking the streets of Medellin. Who ever heard of a fake ass?<br />My favorite part of Medellin was the Botero sculpture park. Fernando Botero is probably the pride of Colombian art. He´s known for doing everything in a fat way. People, animals, fruit, everything. I first saw his work at the Botero gallery in Bogota, but there is mainly his paintings. His sculptures are incredible! Huge bronze pieces dot the park with lots of people basking in sunshine and milling around. He has this way of making fat very fun and the giant sculptures really come to life. The city all in all didnt really do it for me, so off to the beach we went.<br /><br />First stop Cartagena. This is a city that i first started hearing about in Nicaragua. It is famous for its beautiful colonial walled in zone of the city, and for being the port where many travellers from central america enter the south. Zach and I found a relatively cheap and clean place to stay just outside the walled in heart. Everybody and there mother must have been travelling through Cartagena, it is that touristy. Bus loads of old tourists file through the narrow streets and lush fountain filled parks following guides like good sheep. Sheep with video cameras. It was an odd sight to see so many tourists and a little unerving.<br />I get this selfish sence of entitlement often that demands entire cities be for only my enjoyment. I cringe at the sight of other backpackers walking in hordes, their packs big on the back, beers in hand, sun tinted skin no longer so pasty white. The gringo trail is always growing, im not making it any shorter, and i loath it. I make it a point often to avoid as much as possible the backpacker born places down here, but im finding it somewhat hard to do, especially here on the carribbean side. There are ass loads of travellers here, really.<br />Cartagena was a little to boutiquey for me, very expensive, and too tourist, so we took off after only two nights. Santa Marta was our next stop, another ocean front city known for its laid back atmosphere. It is a good place to relax and and catch a breath for a while. We found a hotel where we could camp on the roof for about the equivalent of a dollar and 80 cents. It was ocean breezes and booming music all night.<br />We took a trip out to a small town called Aracataca which really doesnt have that much to offer. We went because we found a guy on couchsurfing with a house there. The description he gave was of a farm with large garden, a pond stocked with fish, and horses. To stay for free all we had to do was help out in the garden a little. We got there and this ¨farm¨was a pretty shabby house with a large overgrown yard, a mud pit pond which served as a mosquito breeding place to the extreme, and not much else. For farm work they gave us a machete and a kitchen knife and told us to go mow the lawn. It was pretty rediculous and we gave ourselves some good blisters before boycotting the stupidity of the situation. Aracataca is famous as being the birthplace of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who writes about Macondo (his code name for the town) in most of his books. The best part of the two days at the ¨farm¨was the rope swing into the Aracataca River. We were happy to leave.<br /><br />One of the highights of the past 9 weeks of travel was Tayrona National Park. Unreal beaches with huge boulder fields and pure jungle, sun, wind, and more coconuts than anyone can count. Amazing, amazing. We easily could have stayed longer than the four days we did. We camped with some great new friends from Brazil, Spain, Argentina, and Chile and cooked our meals family style over open fires under incredible stars and bright moon. It felt amazing to be camping out of a city! Up until that point I was feeling a real lack of nature and a huge overload of city life.<br />From Tayrona, me, Zach, and Lucia our friend from Spain decided to make to journey farther east to La Guajira which is colombia´s desert region near the border of Venezuela. All we knew was that it was desert and that there is a large Wayuu Indian population there. Not knowing more than that we began the long trip by bus out that way.<br /><br />The sun and the wind got together and decided that they were going to kidnap the three of us and hold us hostage on the beach for a couple days. They tested us to see how much we could take before crying mercy. It only took two days of the brutal weather to do us in and we made the trip back to Santa Marta sunburned and mentally fried. It is mind boggling to think that people can live their whole lives in the extremes of weather. The energy in that place was not for us, we felt unwelcome by both the weather and the people in the region. The best part though was the super cheap lobster! I bought a lobster from a Wayuu man and cooked it over a fire on the beach, super good.<br /><br />Side note from this trip. Lucia, Zach, and I were very low on water so we thought we should try cooking with sea water. We had some rice and some cans of tuna so we figured a little extra salt wouldnt hurt. MISTAKE!!!! Dont cook with sea water if you want your food to taste like anything other than salt.<br /><br />Now i sit here in Taganga which is a small tranquil place just in the next bay from Santa Marta. This is the backpackers haven of Colombia, a bit over the top with travellers and artisans. It is the artisan, beach bum, hippy, crusty punk, and sorority girl capital. A bizarre mix of dreadlocks and platinum blond. But it makes sense why everyone comes here: tranquility, beach, cheap weed, plenty of hostels and beach front bars with hammocks taboot, and fish right off the boat.<br /><br />It is Carnavale time! Things are starting to pick up now and the whole coast is starting to quake with the anticipation of the ruckus to come. Barranquilla is where the main party takes place; four days of insanity in the streets. I could go... but i have made the decision to start my journey south starting tomorrow. I dont feel like i need huge crowds and a few hangovers right now, what i want is mountains baby! MOUNTAINS!!! So im going to the heart of the Sierra Nevada to do some trekking for a few days up at 14,000 feet. I will need to come across some supplementary gear to ensure i dont die up there, but ill take care of that when i come to it.<br /><br />I have been in colombia for 5 weeks and the total trip around 9 weeks. The rest of the days will pass by super quick im sure and before long ill be gettin down to Trey´s face melting guitar solos down at the phish shows in Virginia. It has been a great trip so far and i think that my remaining days will be a highlight. I am very excited to start the next leg of the journey though; three months in the middle east. Thinking about it, i have really been travelling since last august. It all started with the canadian border patrol...<br /><br />It´s a treadmill this whole travelling thing. But i have these little electrodes taped to my nipples and as soon as i stop running im going to get shocked. The belt is spinning faster than ever, but my legs know what to do. Im in great shape for it.<br /><br />This is Me, signing off.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The pictures are in no order but they include: Tayrona Nat´l Park, La Guajira, Medellin, me cooking a lobster on a stick, etc.coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-15168122647416102692009-02-01T09:24:00.000-08:002009-02-01T10:18:59.766-08:00Getting to know you<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OqXUFClXDi6PspnhM2fSCsLEJXbDmwK9x7dmAYRhSRugspmKubsQkOwFKMfO0BqUAEJKU3nWmKeW-X2eywfCNyEhyLtOlunikxFrJ_ScqrOcXp4Pc1fyrV43k6XudXtEPvdLuQBvAVwB/s1600-h/P1010159.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297887012739953618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OqXUFClXDi6PspnhM2fSCsLEJXbDmwK9x7dmAYRhSRugspmKubsQkOwFKMfO0BqUAEJKU3nWmKeW-X2eywfCNyEhyLtOlunikxFrJ_ScqrOcXp4Pc1fyrV43k6XudXtEPvdLuQBvAVwB/s320/P1010159.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoqynjtAoWrndqUhUrtdyo8GfZaOvA0fALI00gDVTicsUUEuslSARcU63qNMYsa4qaFqFp95QtBUzp7ZSqPZQoBhEArEQ6PTmnXjlmIcToG6Xk57aFEGZgVEHfAKc72lnZPeOzYHq1HTq/s1600-h/P1010156.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297886996527557938" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoqynjtAoWrndqUhUrtdyo8GfZaOvA0fALI00gDVTicsUUEuslSARcU63qNMYsa4qaFqFp95QtBUzp7ZSqPZQoBhEArEQ6PTmnXjlmIcToG6Xk57aFEGZgVEHfAKc72lnZPeOzYHq1HTq/s320/P1010156.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CkC5kkYJZM9dPHUdDYgjfDrid6fy74DTW8IBUPiFiOosz478yO97DhQwSzbF_dK6b_4pBMVDLIXNSWd7-5IjmqsR2DoHCZpBqAxS0lyuVX2-bgR0sQMylgrA5_88-bXKufRK9svhIRjr/s1600-h/P1010147.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297884698106243954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CkC5kkYJZM9dPHUdDYgjfDrid6fy74DTW8IBUPiFiOosz478yO97DhQwSzbF_dK6b_4pBMVDLIXNSWd7-5IjmqsR2DoHCZpBqAxS0lyuVX2-bgR0sQMylgrA5_88-bXKufRK9svhIRjr/s320/P1010147.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297884673432515282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffd9b4wtLUpmi8S8cfWDUhilVWX6Wz7dAnumrr0S6PwzcYZF2deNXmJ-BI9k5KGyHEsnAo4i4UHPf1aqoxb9Oru9cpigXWBwmku2XxhiUbLn_ZjOCk72alhTHLRJ5Mc70B4immPjAc_6w/s320/P1010114.JPG" border="0" />Bogota and its surroundings have been home now for almost two weeks. It is a fantastic city, probably my favorite in Latin America. Our host has been a young guy named Jeisson who is a physics teacher and traveller. He has spent the last four years travelling in south america and when we met him he was just coming back to Colombia for the first time. His hospitality has been outstanding; we have our own set of keys and come and go as we please. Our neighborhood, called Chapiñero, is quiet, tranquil and located in the middle of Bogota. It is a short bus ride into the downtown area of the city.<br /><div><div><div><div><br /><div><div><div>Many of the days are spent wandering different barrios of the city, exploring all sides of the city. My favorite part of the city is by far La Candelaria which is Bogota´s colonial heart. Small cobblestone streets with candlelit cafes, and a very bohemian feel. There are several universities in the area and the streets are filled with youth. On weekends the place is full of steet music and revelry. Zach and I have found ourselves sitting in El Gato Gris, a very tranquil spot where we can sit for hours and sip Colombia´s finest coffee, read, and write.</div><div></div><div>Other parts of the city, quite the opposite of La Candelaria, include La Zona de Tolerancia (the zone of tolerance). Just go off of the name to get a greater idea of the place. It was Jeisson´s idea to take us there because as he says, ¨It is good to know both sides of the peso.¨ Talk about shady. I went to my first nude bar! It was terrible, absolutely terrible. But we were being hosted and didn´t want to be rude. The streets are lined with prostitutes and brothels. Popular in the zone of tolerance are public ¨swimming pools;¨ we didn´t even want to know. The walk back was not pleasant and it was through a very shady part of the city, but it felt good to know that this place existed. Other favorites of Bogota are the incredible grafiti that is prevalent on any possible open surface, and a multitude of parks. From small stealh art spots to massive murals, the city has very talented street artists. In the center of the city the national park offers great hiking in the mountains and a relaxing break from the chaos of downtown. My favorite park though is Simon Bolivar Municipal park. On weekends the place is packed with soccer matches and families having picnics. There are lots of running trails around a lake, and the coolest playground I have ever seen. Ultimate is quite popular in Colombia and there are a few games hidden among the hundreds of soccer games.<br /></div><div>Outside of Bogota the best spot has definitely been Villa de Leyva, an unbelievably beautiful colonial city filled with cobblestone plazas, hidden streets and some of the best Spanish colonial architecture i have ever seen. It is a bit on the touristy side, with many foreignors and colombian tourists too. The hills around the town are some of the most scenic and tranquil agricultural lands i´ve seen on this trip. Unfortunately there is a serious development boom, as wealthy Colombians are flocking there to build second homes. We took a day trip with two friends we met while camping in town to a series of seven waterfalls knows as La Periquera. Talk about amazing! The seven falls are huge and the mountain vally deep. An amazing way to cool off and a great place to relax in a super beautiful place.</div><div></div><div>Tonight I finally leave Bogota and start the journey north towards the Carribean side of the country. Zach and I are still travelling together and we plan to until I leave for the US in just over three weeks. It is great having a travel buddy like Zach, we have become good friends and travel really well together. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7st8D8JTSdxrBbmG0jJr-ItadE84trGMxJWf-46ffe_5iaXUy1G0tZnpoH4giOgh-1Ey5nHE1hCqs4nkjIcT8wDjXtZ0a52jxDzoO7mENtzehgGKVIhfpsQ8ursysguO_y3MXGa2t3WQT/s1600-h/P1010233.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297891062824695202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7st8D8JTSdxrBbmG0jJr-ItadE84trGMxJWf-46ffe_5iaXUy1G0tZnpoH4giOgh-1Ey5nHE1hCqs4nkjIcT8wDjXtZ0a52jxDzoO7mENtzehgGKVIhfpsQ8ursysguO_y3MXGa2t3WQT/s320/P1010233.JPG" border="0" /></a> I´ll try to write more in a couple of weeks.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ4CDjkolrNa_Z3mpRCoWokO3qXQjTgdSd-jl2jOuLAoHX3Ac10CJn-ZC0C1uFCVhGD6sKdE-6tbKaqVqsWuQAhWsoZuewfAp8yOkXfO6rSOTMfJ0PvkxXb8-yE0PjbOHJxsPsJEL4q3O/s1600-h/P1010176.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297887022819354290" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ4CDjkolrNa_Z3mpRCoWokO3qXQjTgdSd-jl2jOuLAoHX3Ac10CJn-ZC0C1uFCVhGD6sKdE-6tbKaqVqsWuQAhWsoZuewfAp8yOkXfO6rSOTMfJ0PvkxXb8-yE0PjbOHJxsPsJEL4q3O/s320/P1010176.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCKyG1KzBe-nc6nC2WCDg3uOjD23qh998K_i374pMF62i5WTkDJOKwxQcQcW7AtD8uTPMWcjOVr7LatctNrrfixj3x-4tCpCtDV6Q6uriva-aeNAuLmRGqe6-Q_ICyvYvgMsyq_FHiL_f/s1600-h/P1010164.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297884717426171682" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCKyG1KzBe-nc6nC2WCDg3uOjD23qh998K_i374pMF62i5WTkDJOKwxQcQcW7AtD8uTPMWcjOVr7LatctNrrfixj3x-4tCpCtDV6Q6uriva-aeNAuLmRGqe6-Q_ICyvYvgMsyq_FHiL_f/s320/P1010164.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL2_TJOP2HlzeFnM-w36j7-kEYOZMW_EQvhzikuM3FYoOknWpNpWOWMrwnobtXcvBm48ZjwJvTRyZqhMMDaxZ7EC3vDKOcHxI8i8wvMdENDolcjYfFyxQkOZB4vsahEGBbkIwmTF0BDRc/s1600-h/P1010196.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297887024610678562" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL2_TJOP2HlzeFnM-w36j7-kEYOZMW_EQvhzikuM3FYoOknWpNpWOWMrwnobtXcvBm48ZjwJvTRyZqhMMDaxZ7EC3vDKOcHxI8i8wvMdENDolcjYfFyxQkOZB4vsahEGBbkIwmTF0BDRc/s320/P1010196.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqvL_M0efjWqzIxF1PLaip5jQZBGeRXA7MdtFEKbNlzVGwdkLJmnQYPLV8hVgKgikhrsfDKdrtW09HJuVQnDFVN4bTMmKVwOEIF0IhBiY0RurjzuXllzqYL2McuGuBQk6ztCnQNpoNOh8/s1600-h/P1010165.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297891066966358786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqvL_M0efjWqzIxF1PLaip5jQZBGeRXA7MdtFEKbNlzVGwdkLJmnQYPLV8hVgKgikhrsfDKdrtW09HJuVQnDFVN4bTMmKVwOEIF0IhBiY0RurjzuXllzqYL2McuGuBQk6ztCnQNpoNOh8/s320/P1010165.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zKbpw7OmNWaNggtFwMCdAP64qC3jMHL3mig7tnlRo7yxmx4i7tDv3MuuJataM371fOEPlvqmyF95LqsMQWxWuCWy5UpuxnNfAXYV8t2Y-uf-Vo7QS_0NObHXPsqHbnWQNE7ScJz6Rm1b/s1600-h/P1010208.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297891062800428162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zKbpw7OmNWaNggtFwMCdAP64qC3jMHL3mig7tnlRo7yxmx4i7tDv3MuuJataM371fOEPlvqmyF95LqsMQWxWuCWy5UpuxnNfAXYV8t2Y-uf-Vo7QS_0NObHXPsqHbnWQNE7ScJz6Rm1b/s320/P1010208.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3C6h71tJaiaGOyvagOxVk1uaowEJ2CIiG9D08evOOEEsf8IwREQQbuDmOoTs9N-xLEyhiKG0_WvOwpYWDqYQ0g0QIe_aiEQDgucKh36YtbCAXbTij11nZt7nDcO8gRB58dQYW8v-n7r7/s1600-h/P1010170.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297887020229008978" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3C6h71tJaiaGOyvagOxVk1uaowEJ2CIiG9D08evOOEEsf8IwREQQbuDmOoTs9N-xLEyhiKG0_WvOwpYWDqYQ0g0QIe_aiEQDgucKh36YtbCAXbTij11nZt7nDcO8gRB58dQYW8v-n7r7/s320/P1010170.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOagVGAV8el80m9MmOMd1oauZ_uMf21wDyC-hKNzQiO3JlBSKnU5r4d4cMOxrF8vwTGSUB5l4u6csWOPUgCHdnEEB2iPbdyrIoldmIccw53eDvry301TrrhN43DYX-Bl8BTDNsvIGAfh_/s1600-h/P1010149.JPG"></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgED4y0mICUxyXvWNA9F-uOrv20b5sfbCOflDCLDppg5IOcwhqufKdT5hcHjPfn8nH2SD9XDrXFtofouATBGH16lV34AYKJCd5o5hyphenhyphenkuK91zSnbOxKKGYJIBxam-LhdgqoFuqXMVAWQGro-/s1600-h/P1010149.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297894243088205218" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgED4y0mICUxyXvWNA9F-uOrv20b5sfbCOflDCLDppg5IOcwhqufKdT5hcHjPfn8nH2SD9XDrXFtofouATBGH16lV34AYKJCd5o5hyphenhyphenkuK91zSnbOxKKGYJIBxam-LhdgqoFuqXMVAWQGro-/s320/P1010149.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div>One of my favorites</div><div> </div><div>¨Without boss, without client¨</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>¨Free¨<br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-62745579610459745042009-01-18T05:53:00.000-08:002009-01-19T08:27:31.409-08:00a change, a loooooong trip, and Bogota<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33aX8ZCob3Sg25U1zARCga95zl537HUycdkSJ5ErY3Y08pDvYvKSXIsVsb9wlR1dwuhpWSbXredGsQaOWGXzpSe2SlmQFz2zRB2dEcR8FJa4Rh5nwJlEW2fUaOPj5iKrchmvve6_ylNb4/s1600-h/P1010015.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293026138110292258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33aX8ZCob3Sg25U1zARCga95zl537HUycdkSJ5ErY3Y08pDvYvKSXIsVsb9wlR1dwuhpWSbXredGsQaOWGXzpSe2SlmQFz2zRB2dEcR8FJa4Rh5nwJlEW2fUaOPj5iKrchmvve6_ylNb4/s320/P1010015.JPG" border="0" /></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292632182853208706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqstGjjsAuHfzHZDQVIJFyfClQHImbZnCXif9iwn58kvdzNWWV2hCYDbivRE8HAi6V57PPYBG1IWDwooSDX7IHAIS8qDxL4Li4ZK1Ko_5ehq_O3CuNg0IbaSXiyHBboXvuCjYrb3yXFE6I/s320/P1010026.JPG" border="0" />I dont even know where to begin really. The trip has changed dramatically in a way that i had not anticipated, but it has proven to be an amazing one. In David, Panama I realized that there was no reason for me to be riding on a road like an interstate in the US with no shoulder and whizzing traffic. It is not fun, and with 500km left to Panama City, I shuddered at the thought of spending three more days on the road. So i loaded my bike onto a bus for the trip into the city.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>I ended up in a backpackers hostel in a pretty decent part of the city, it was one of the last beds in any of the inexpensive hostels in the entire city. It was amazing to see the insane number of backpackers in the city, I dont think I have ever seen anything like it. At the hostel I ended up at, I met and had a meal with an American guy named Aaron who was about to end a 14 month around the world by biking home to San Fran from Panama. A very ambitious trip, especially for someone who was already travel weary and who has never done a bike trip in his life. But, Aaron is super commited and is raising money for Plan USA, an organization that helps impoverished children throughout the world. </div><br /><div>Over the next two days and many beers we came to an arrangement that I would sell,rent,loan parts of my bike to him for his journey. It made sense. I was tired of biking alone after a month coming down from Nicaragua, he was about to buy a bike, racks, bags, and gear in Panama. So he gave me his backpack and I gave him the bike! Just like that we each got what we wanted and were happy with the way that it happened. I decided not to sell him the bike at all, but make it my donation to his cause. At the end of the trip, he will box up the bike and gear and ship it back to me, hopefully all in working shape! I believe in his sincerity to make this journey happen and I wish him the best of luck. He has a blog as well, where you can see his progress and also contribute to Plan USA.</div><br /><div><a href="http://lasthillbeforehome.blogspot.com/">http://lasthillbeforehome.blogspot.com/</a></div><br /><div>There are only a few choices on how to get from Panama to Colombia. In between the two countries is one of the largest unknown jungle regions in the world. There are no roads, hardly any people at all, minus the reported guerilla groups active in the area, and endless jungle so dense it oozes green sludge out into the ocean because there is no more room in the forest. For the traveller there are basically four sane choices: you can fly--BORING--, take a charter sail boat through the carribean, or figure out random connections on cargo ships and small boats through the carribean or the pacific. The easiest things to set up are flights and trips on sailboats. The sailboat is more of a luxury vacation: five days in turquoise waters with a two day stop at tropical isolated islands. I inquired into a trip and actually for some insane reason booked a trip that cost almost as much as all of my airfare for this trip. I figured that it was so easy and that i wasnt going to have to spend any time waiting or looking for other options. Sometimes travellers that opt to hunt for cargo ships wait weeks to find a boat that will take them and then have complete shit shows out at sea making the voyage. </div><br /><br /><div>Then as things began to fall into place, as they always do, i completely changed my plan, as i always do. The same day that i handed over my bicycle to Aaron i met another American at the same hostel who was trying to get on a cargo ship to Colombia. Zach is from Austin, Texas and Great Barrington, Mass and right away we hit it off. It was decided that with my new backpack in tow, we were making this journey together. And then theres Dave from Vermont. He rode his motorcycle down from Colorado and is going to Argentina. Also a really fun guy, he completed the trifecta.</div><br /><div>Zach and Dave had already found a ship leaving Panama City the next day headed south along the Pacific coast. We had to convince the captain to let another passenger on, but it went smoothly, and before long we were waiting at the docks to board the Victoria C.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bhbgHn6ZQz6b7hEziIK2JlFDF_7ukucxJn_esy0SwLGCz0cch1fPrLyJpj1B8WNb0SBlPvzhjeCgYh_KjhpiAkJJssGhIDAoLF5ljR7YuCAqPvuH4wBwiUyFWepHqS_r_ebPSB81R_zi/s1600-h/P1010050.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293026991697720322" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bhbgHn6ZQz6b7hEziIK2JlFDF_7ukucxJn_esy0SwLGCz0cch1fPrLyJpj1B8WNb0SBlPvzhjeCgYh_KjhpiAkJJssGhIDAoLF5ljR7YuCAqPvuH4wBwiUyFWepHqS_r_ebPSB81R_zi/s320/P1010050.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This boat was packed to the brim with cargo and passengers alike. We boarded at night in such a chaotic scene as to actually make us nervous. We were about to begin a journey that would take anywhere from four days to who knows how many. The Victoria was to take us 14 hours to the Panamanian frontier town of Jaque, then a small two hour ride to the Colombian frontier town of Jurado, and then the final 30 hour cargo ship ride to Buenaventura. This route is rarely taken by gringo travellers, so we had very little information going into it, but the three of us were commited to the adventure and whatever was going to happen would anyway.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLl_k57qPSjijSsXmJde0PiDwMfub_xd1tvaRIsF_qDW6zmDBJzYXCbqeoT3T94NRR35VIwSpsKn8NowKo_UsZuDPoyWiCQv8_3iunXGu07x-6nLx7BouQz_X6-RzB6IeQEzwaGOuBn-C/s1600-h/P1010051.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293030004582824850" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLl_k57qPSjijSsXmJde0PiDwMfub_xd1tvaRIsF_qDW6zmDBJzYXCbqeoT3T94NRR35VIwSpsKn8NowKo_UsZuDPoyWiCQv8_3iunXGu07x-6nLx7BouQz_X6-RzB6IeQEzwaGOuBn-C/s320/P1010051.JPG" border="0" /></a> That first ride <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSf4okRzwXiBuv9qR87YReKF9tbUWaDOPvW9ZLJwEsytrUhP3lffEodHFK7cWjN4KDnhku0pG21Muqdl7Zb1afiZ0f7FFAPnhorALaGUd3dlLAzqA_R7y7Oe-h7RRr6wU4BrwEaA73Mg8/s1600-h/P1010044.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293036408307699282" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSf4okRzwXiBuv9qR87YReKF9tbUWaDOPvW9ZLJwEsytrUhP3lffEodHFK7cWjN4KDnhku0pG21Muqdl7Zb1afiZ0f7FFAPnhorALaGUd3dlLAzqA_R7y7Oe-h7RRr6wU4BrwEaA73Mg8/s320/P1010044.JPG" border="0" /></a>along the Victoria was a blast. We <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293026566798379474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeRnlBQo0HfSgsl14009G353K-nvcauC0DSv2EjWIxPOWLrmCVbkOMVKrjl3FjeVoVc1ZlkzUxLRgg3tUbRCFULmBu1W_4MxZl4ndPKjUCzl7pbhd-sgi8kgciTvn1t3FDzmbZCb3roZiE/s320/P1010043.JPG" border="0" />motored away to the midnight lights of Panama City, past the shoulder to shoulder luxury highrises out into the darkness of the Darien. We slept on the deck under the stars, and woke in the morning to dolphins jumping and playing alongside the boat. The sun fried us but we cared little becuase we we out on the open seas, laughing with the rest of the passengers on the boat.</div><div>Getting off in Jaque is another story. There is no dock so all of the passengers and cargo has to be unloaded from the main ship into little tiny boats that flock to the sides of the Victoria waiting for the passengers litteraly to jump from one ship to the other. We did this in a storm with huge swells that rocked us hard. Trying to jump into a small boat that is getting airborn is not easy. Needless to say we were very grateful to be on land again. Jaque is a sleepy town, no roads, no cars, and really fresh fish. We had to wait until the next day until we could hire someone with a boat to take us farther down the coast into Colombia. That trip was also done in a storm but this time we were speeding like mad alongside the jungle, grins blazing. The three of us would shoot glimpes at eachother with expressions of holy shit did you see that. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293027303216820482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDKHF5Vsym-qFwlzCLq6bQGni2ao4D9QHOPxwqyUDiQUz1m6sDM-oxFN9MnePHyyz3mpwiVU5zQ-UA4SEAW7eT3Td9Xc2J_QaBjx-JGMW0DGy4ddZkbkNGvN_AjIj1zehyphenhyphenLGkpBfw05i7/s320/P1010059.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293027776189924002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYg9dg4HF8X-3e5fYpv313SjlPrUvMwYO1NJQOzw3gAZytljr-YUXjMvszSPxwJkIsMxOKPe5dhagD-yNMPrm659Yn1lv-HQjspQ1k73Z8ATgRBxlubUTJsIHaTQvko-ADFIWIzxglj5G/s320/P1010065.JPG" border="0" /></div><div>Little did we know that Jurado would be our home for a week because we had just missed the boat that would take us to Buenaventura, on the central coast of Colombia. Jurado is a trip. We were greeted by a huge crowd of police and military that took as back to the compound to register as foriegn visitors and to offer us a campsite on the beach right behind the station. The police there are young kids who basically resent the fact that they were posted in the middle of nowhere while their friends were working in cities throughout the country. It was common to see officers arguing over whether or not Jurado is the shittiest place in all of Colombia. We loved it however. There are no road, no cars, lots of beach, great people, and cheap beer. We had a great campsite with free 24 hour security and plenty of time to do nothing. It didnt take long before everyone in the town knew exactly who we were and where we were from. The police hounded us constantly wanting to talk to anyone other than the other people in Jurado. They love to party even while working and they were fun to hang out with. Every day we ate the same massive plate of food at the same restaurant and loved it. <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aea9qzF_KxLWsZXwMJ69Yxs7R9Du_YQHj3wCmDLYsmkeBjyhW1HzMXaBssQmML8tVemkAs0FqznkVbkJEQD4rfkFb2rca0c6KfCuC0PtnOG8SYxoZqnMR5e8i3BHPk-EGREtG6k7rp8D/s1600-h/P1010072.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293028332522667698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aea9qzF_KxLWsZXwMJ69Yxs7R9Du_YQHj3wCmDLYsmkeBjyhW1HzMXaBssQmML8tVemkAs0FqznkVbkJEQD4rfkFb2rca0c6KfCuC0PtnOG8SYxoZqnMR5e8i3BHPk-EGREtG6k7rp8D/s320/P1010072.JPG" border="0" /></a></div></div><div>After a week of it though we were bored as shit and counted the seconds until the boat came. The only problem is though that nobody knew when it would come. It does when it does is basically the only correct answer. It came, we left, gladly.</div><div>30 hours later we departed the Correo Del Pacifico in the massive port town of Buenaventura. The city has been notorious in the past as being one of the most dangerous cities in the world, but we loved it! The street food was plentiful and cheap and the people friendly. We had a day to kill before catching the overnight bus to Bogota. </div><div>Unfortunatley the cheap food caught up with me on the bus and it made the 12 hours terrible for me. Riding through the Andes in the bathroom of a coach bus is a horrible experience, one i dont recommend to anyone. We pulled into Bogota in the early morning elated to have finally arrived at our destination after 10 days of travel. A friend from one of the boat rides offered to put us up once we arrived, and that is where we are staying right now. </div><div>Bogota is a great city. We have only been here for a day, but it is proving itself to be a great place. Zach and I will travel together for a while it seems. The two of us have become close and we make great travel mates. </div><div></div><div>I plan on staying the rest of my trip in Colombia. Already i love it and have not seen any of it. After a month longer here i hope to really get a sense of the place.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHjWHM5OvqWDy0tpG8wZtc4x6wOWimxzLvhBD-f8_tVSyhHM51w24szgj4P3628jPyLSBLQLzH6VFlz64VC_kurU36EN3B6_m3LlZsm__EOrRXDl4sHRHJiIpcGy6dhK-QzIzusYRA4gI/s1600-h/P1010089.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293032817272731122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHjWHM5OvqWDy0tpG8wZtc4x6wOWimxzLvhBD-f8_tVSyhHM51w24szgj4P3628jPyLSBLQLzH6VFlz64VC_kurU36EN3B6_m3LlZsm__EOrRXDl4sHRHJiIpcGy6dhK-QzIzusYRA4gI/s320/P1010089.JPG" border="0" /></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293031015507246514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOXZdACqGCF1V7g4fxcAiV6dvAJFRjMA4rcUyJm664wESpMp8EpnrWwou1XtJftIwdm27Arh_rOphy_nfCIuqOBcpDo-bQdAbFJQmsZQ1Iq2GZc0v0C1ltjuVMB2WeKtKNenv3REOm0AI/s320/P1010086.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUX9pxl-kjiTXv6HoDux8k16KR8HZ4Wx_pzRdpnzNB6q4U1xdrQCefA_Q1i25zO4_U_5kNjRtZlTtjD7vdcRMfGP3t98aLPry2uyf_eSirAAKb-AOYBge2zqQnlzKv2SCR4BsngkZSyMDw/s1600-h/P1010080.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293030661153265410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUX9pxl-kjiTXv6HoDux8k16KR8HZ4Wx_pzRdpnzNB6q4U1xdrQCefA_Q1i25zO4_U_5kNjRtZlTtjD7vdcRMfGP3t98aLPry2uyf_eSirAAKb-AOYBge2zqQnlzKv2SCR4BsngkZSyMDw/s320/P1010080.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aea9qzF_KxLWsZXwMJ69Yxs7R9Du_YQHj3wCmDLYsmkeBjyhW1HzMXaBssQmML8tVemkAs0FqznkVbkJEQD4rfkFb2rca0c6KfCuC0PtnOG8SYxoZqnMR5e8i3BHPk-EGREtG6k7rp8D/s1600-h/P1010072.JPG"></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-14724641436588835962009-01-03T10:45:00.000-08:002009-01-03T11:43:32.678-08:00Coastal CR and Panama<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBtTrOEOgxqK9FpWsJGOSP6jkp2BjmAnRcrNP0Inmrm-Gz8PTCxlmlRHFtf-eXT9QT9ZT_HfgL9wmfLnTfORantVZU-xvlNzjG_h9ABE7QweTwRdVlPSML0ZuVVQctq7-NJndn2HfythT/s1600-h/P1000990.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287155307614094690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBtTrOEOgxqK9FpWsJGOSP6jkp2BjmAnRcrNP0Inmrm-Gz8PTCxlmlRHFtf-eXT9QT9ZT_HfgL9wmfLnTfORantVZU-xvlNzjG_h9ABE7QweTwRdVlPSML0ZuVVQctq7-NJndn2HfythT/s320/P1000990.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8xEC5twa7_UolVxGceKF-6kNeOwjpgyZtrtd0z7DF6qPxy29Y9LGjTsi5H0FXDBkchCV_U2AqbSULJzgpzvCmCErb5G8pHwk8lZEVn5OPjECfkUZjJSRDo-LfG4jKhQCm4yaxDSI-wk6/s1600-h/P1000996.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287153512660464946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8xEC5twa7_UolVxGceKF-6kNeOwjpgyZtrtd0z7DF6qPxy29Y9LGjTsi5H0FXDBkchCV_U2AqbSULJzgpzvCmCErb5G8pHwk8lZEVn5OPjECfkUZjJSRDo-LfG4jKhQCm4yaxDSI-wk6/s320/P1000996.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Where to begin? Last i left off the road ran south towards the ocean. The road from La Tigre towards San Ramon was very hard, about 30km uphill. The weather though was nice and cool, the perfect conditions for riding. On the road i met a cyclist named Roberto who invited me back to his house in San Ramon for the night. A really great guy with a great family, he spoke english really well and is very well travelled. In his house i noticed that the sceen saver for his computer was the album cover to the Dead's 'Live' album. Turns out that not only is he a huge deadhead, but also of really great music in general. We spent the night drinking red wine and listening to Neil Young and spanish flamenco music. His family treated me to great meals and a really nice time. They had the biggest dog i've ever seen in my entire life, a sheepdog named Pesita.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDf00Tyy38ByI3A8q6Smcpy0momUjbh3JKw8i14xH17Cx9fxFt3WqwNm7vn_hB0GzgKrjtpHmcGMPFszUjtZOL0ifZUSIesIY3DEoXygfRY2_on1M7SH9Y5ug3lPqGcsD5fHEPkc_vPWGA/s1600-h/P1000988.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287142517419835602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDf00Tyy38ByI3A8q6Smcpy0momUjbh3JKw8i14xH17Cx9fxFt3WqwNm7vn_hB0GzgKrjtpHmcGMPFszUjtZOL0ifZUSIesIY3DEoXygfRY2_on1M7SH9Y5ug3lPqGcsD5fHEPkc_vPWGA/s320/P1000988.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I took off in the morning with the goal of swimming in the pacific by nightfall. The road was really hard, and i tackled the hardest hills ive ever seen. Not in length, but in grades so steep you can barely peddal even using the granny gear. The weather was nice, but as i approached the coast and bombed down some massive hills out of the mountains, i quickly learned of the heat that the coastal zone holds. I did make the beach and found a nice camp spot right on the sand. The sunset was epic, but the souds of the road and the waves made sleep hard that night.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmHEdM8Q9dfzJHggQsvwU3j_XQfwaTNTzJxBs4rDTE7levdQYLyYrngFitUytqPO5zAKsVF4EKgp54OAWkcUmEB5MoLR1W8NweZgMXSVWaDeSbrEy-wVc1-GhETTDltpnfPdu2QrHwN8Q/s1600-h/P1010004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287144188032935394" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmHEdM8Q9dfzJHggQsvwU3j_XQfwaTNTzJxBs4rDTE7levdQYLyYrngFitUytqPO5zAKsVF4EKgp54OAWkcUmEB5MoLR1W8NweZgMXSVWaDeSbrEy-wVc1-GhETTDltpnfPdu2QrHwN8Q/s320/P1010004.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>The road on the coast is mainly flat which makes cruising pretty easy, but the heat is almost unbearable. I passed through the tourist mecca of Jaco which is a pretty grim scene full of highrise hotels, atv rentals, prostitutes, and smog. From Jaco i passed the legendary surf beach of Hermosa which hosts an international surf competition every year. With no goal in mind other than to find a beach for the night and to move forward i pushed on in the blazing sun towards Quepos. The road south of there is not paved and it a giant washboard of a road, so in an attempt to save my body and bike the misery i hitched a ride. Within 5 minutes my bike was on the roof of a car driven by two gringos who own land down here. Nice guys i guess, they bought me lunch, but after a couple hours with them i realized that to costa ricans, most americans must look like complete assholes. On the ride to Dominical, where the pavement picks up again, they told me all about the escapades of buying up land here and building luxury houses and how they find themselves being robbed all the time... no shit i thought. There are parts of the coast here that have far more FOR SALE signs than there are people. The whole coast of this country is for sale.</div><br /><br /><br /><div>I decided to stay in Dominical for a couple of days. It is definitely a tourist spot for both gringos and ticos (costa ricans) alike. The camping on the beach is free and i paid a small sum to a bar to hold my bags and bike for me. I was the only gringo camped on the beach, and i joined a really nice family for my first night there. We enjoyed dinner together and lots of good laughs. The surf at Dominical is huge and there are lots of really good surfers to watch from the beach. I swam constantly and enjoyed cold beer.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNyLIyr2yrDKtd5byMwvBXFGz5zZ8I07YiGtF9q1ACznCsOWS9jRU4OYhiracUPfK3rTDuJLtObPMx-lops7Gurhk7gQJ73klpRdb_y4lSloRd-sVJmQXdrnrqvZ2kpE2_TYGneEbKukB/s1600-h/P1010008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287147062554172226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNyLIyr2yrDKtd5byMwvBXFGz5zZ8I07YiGtF9q1ACznCsOWS9jRU4OYhiracUPfK3rTDuJLtObPMx-lops7Gurhk7gQJ73klpRdb_y4lSloRd-sVJmQXdrnrqvZ2kpE2_TYGneEbKukB/s320/P1010008.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>My new years was broken into two parts. The first involved beer and a redneck from north florida. You know you are in for a hell of a time when a shirtless sunburnt redneck throws his arm around you and in slurred speech full of spittle yells into your ear, "itth gonna be a longg night ma man, right!" He's a local down there actually and not a tourist. I ditched him as soon as possible and made a new friend somewhere at sometime. Andrew was an older guy, maybe 45, an artist who is living in San Jose, but is a world traveller. We spent the remainder of the night watching shooting stars on the beach using our bottle of rum as a micophone as we spat philosophy into the morning. It was a great night, and it made my departure the next morning a little slow. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I did make it out of Dominical alive though and i peddaled along a gorgeous stretch of coast line full of amazing ceviche stands and tropical beaches. I rode about 65km into the town of Palmares where i found a great spot to sleep at the house of a bike mechanic and his family. I have become really good at showing up at peoples door and using the line, "Hi, I'm travelling on my bicycle and it is getting late. Do you know of any good camp spots around here?" The gate opens up and there is usually a plate of food in front of me within ten minutes. This family was great, and I had a great time talking bikes, travels, the US, and a lot more and watching horror movies. I left that morning with about 100km to go until the border of Panama.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Border crossings can either be really easy or really hard. This one was a pain in the ass. It is in a large duty free zone so people from both sides of the border flock there to shop. It it hot, crowded and the lines to get through customs can be long. I made it through to Panama though and was surprised to find a four lane highway with huge smooth shoulders. The traffic however is heavier and faster and drivers seem to be less courteous. In fact, as soon as i crossed the border i felt imediately a different vibe from costa rica. The people seemed much less friendly. I tried to find a place to camp but the roadsides were basically all massive cattle farms. It was getting dark, i had already ridden about 120km, and nobody would let me camp at there place. I was getting a little desperate until finally, right before dark i met two people on the street and pulled my usual line, this time with a little more desperation. 10 seconds later one of the men named Edgar says oh i have a big house with an extra room you can come stay with me. Putting aside any worry that this guy was about the kill we walked down the dark dirt roads until we reached his concrete shack where he did infact have an extra room for me with a US army issue cot included! We had giant plates of rice and garlic and some tea with sugar cane for desert. He is a dairy farmer who owns three houses but lives in complete poverty. His hospitality was incredible and it came at the most crucial moment. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I rode the last 30km to the Panama's second largest city, David, through a really crazy stretch of road with no shoulder, lots of traffic, and just when i could not get any more flustered, my ipod flew off my bike t(sometimes in situations like that i need some pumping music to keep a raging pace, necessary in traffic like that). It landed in the middle of the lane and i saw the traffic coming. It was one of those -- oh no oh no oh no-- moments but i knew better than to run into traffic to get it. The big SUV just nicked it, only a little bit on the corner, and it still works! I couldnt believe it. Panama has me a little stressed out... Im staying now at a hostel in the suburbs of the city and tomorrow im going to leave my bike here and head north into the highlands to get away from traffic and the heat. </div><br /><br /><div>I have heard that the road to Panama City, about 500km from here, is more of the same which has me a little peeved. There's a possibilty that i might take my bike onto a bus and just get to the city. I plan on staying there for about a week, pending on finding a free place to stay, and finding a boat down to columbia. I am having a great time, better than i was, and am looking forward to the next legs of the journey, specifically Colombia. I'll be there before long and the trip should take on a different feel.</div></div></div></div></div><span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffffff"></span>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-52181059396830755452008-12-26T14:14:00.001-08:002008-12-26T14:56:19.617-08:00Finca Northwoods<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqKPnVf1K01Hkaz9Fo_fkwpHGURDnXGem-BBp8-G1NxwUvQXcRtdfP5XYNVXlk-CGGoJxU_73KQAmNDdahzFTqBi1mcJFIrQuZToG6uJcNv2SZFnsFAeIA0g1l1rDN4xWG87oFItt1ike/s1600-h/P1000960.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284226715135717250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqKPnVf1K01Hkaz9Fo_fkwpHGURDnXGem-BBp8-G1NxwUvQXcRtdfP5XYNVXlk-CGGoJxU_73KQAmNDdahzFTqBi1mcJFIrQuZToG6uJcNv2SZFnsFAeIA0g1l1rDN4xWG87oFItt1ike/s320/P1000960.JPG" border="0" /></a> Look at my clean face!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Over and over again in my life when i ask the universe for something, even specifically, an answer comes, sometimes within the hour. Last i left off, i was headed around lake Arenal from the tourist mecca of Fortuna towards the backroads to Monteverde. I did leave in that direction, but after riding for 20 miles with a canadian woman i was easily turned back to Fortuna with a new route planned. Monteverde is just another tourist trap hard to get to, way overpriced, and has the same jungle as anywhere else around here, she told me. So, we biked back to town, spent the night there and in the morning i took off to the south towards San Ramon and the pacific coast.</div><br /><br /><div>The ride was fun, kind of. Big rolling hills through green valleys on a nice rain free afternoon, but my mind was moving faster than my wheels could spin. I kept thinking to myself that what i really wanted to be doing was hanging out with some good people on a farm. I passed numerous internet cafes, at each one very tempted to pull over and check out the wwoof directory. Thats willing workers on organic farms for those who are unfamiliar. For whatever reason i peddaled on until i reached the town of La Tigre where an ice cream cone tempted me off my bike for a while. After the delicious break i was approached by a gringo woman who was intrigued by my bicycle. We got to talking about her brother in law who is currently riding his bicycle alone around the world. He is in India now coming from London. Meghan informed me that she and her husband ran a private school up in the mountains outside of town and that if i wanted to i could spend the night there. All i had to do was push my bike 3km up a rock road. The offer sounded nice, i was tired, and i figured that it is not every day this happens.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg68UP-3wD5Mt1MRFIH39SBFxvn-q-tro7rPBaQ5iSpHIDI-LmcKPGZBr9ooyMxGcU84WN9t5x6OwY8mKc428fUhaOCz1hN7yEI69o1RUVY3i5K-UDa55_I82xgvHGeyvARZyYF285rmGx/s1600-h/P1000972.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284229055160241730" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg68UP-3wD5Mt1MRFIH39SBFxvn-q-tro7rPBaQ5iSpHIDI-LmcKPGZBr9ooyMxGcU84WN9t5x6OwY8mKc428fUhaOCz1hN7yEI69o1RUVY3i5K-UDa55_I82xgvHGeyvARZyYF285rmGx/s320/P1000972.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Up the hill, an hour later, i roll up at Finca Northwoods. The big beautiful house overlooks the enitre valley with sweeping views. Lush gardens, ponds filled with big tilapia fish, and about 100 acres of private rain forest. In fact the farm abuts hundreds of thousands of acres of protected forest. There house basically abuts the Monteverde reserve. </div><div></div><div>I was warmly greeted by a number of people at the house, some of which students, some workers. Finca Northwoods is a satellite program from a program in Idaho, with the same name, that is a private boarding school for at-risk teens. There are only four students here right now, but many more are in Idaho, and they usually cycle through in four or five month periods. Here, the kids have school for half a day and spend the rest working on the farm. A lot of the kids have quite troubled pasts and this program is definately a wake up call. There is nothing like working in a hot humid rainforest getting swarmed by giant ants and mosquitos to help woop someone into shape. After spending time with the kids i can tell that the program works.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Dave and Meghan who run the school were so inviting and kind when i showed up that i decided to spend another day here and do some work on the farm with them. I helped clear a plot of land that will be used to plant beans in the near future. The staff i worked with were amazing. Freddy is a local guy who is also one of the host families that house the students. All students live within the local community to get a better grasp on life in Costa Rica.</div><br /><div></div><div>X-Mas break was coming up and everyone was clearing house so Dave asked me if i would watch over the place while they were gone. I was thrilled of course! So here i am, living up on the hill with the house and land to myself. My companion is Woody, the valiant dog of the finca, and I have the keys to the 1959 land rover which is by far the most fun car ive ever driven. They come back from vacation in a couple days and after that i will head through some big mountains before the coast. I have been warned that the roads are insane from here.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubz2y5Ja2Xv0C3kNN58VTg1ESIVS9ieCLWd1m3QZu7RhMm5taTmJs5IAMy3z64SRBtNd6ZDcbEOL25lV7PoaM9D1j0twMDl94spfK1arjK5u2D2-LHT0AbMTr9_7B9eeEypKTHDUfaWfz/s1600-h/P1000981.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284233239175962082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubz2y5Ja2Xv0C3kNN58VTg1ESIVS9ieCLWd1m3QZu7RhMm5taTmJs5IAMy3z64SRBtNd6ZDcbEOL25lV7PoaM9D1j0twMDl94spfK1arjK5u2D2-LHT0AbMTr9_7B9eeEypKTHDUfaWfz/s320/P1000981.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2nsl3pzptDVNvaJZQPfO-GfNvOJWvrMYPCm949ngopp1pd4nTv10ELhZdH0nWbXkzpX8BENkAvgKE8fcIPzaEFnps6XKQr72LZ6J0caIUyMzWhMZE2pozeJMAGoQ_K0d8U4cy7PJqe2l/s1600-h/P1000971.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284230293672231954" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2nsl3pzptDVNvaJZQPfO-GfNvOJWvrMYPCm949ngopp1pd4nTv10ELhZdH0nWbXkzpX8BENkAvgKE8fcIPzaEFnps6XKQr72LZ6J0caIUyMzWhMZE2pozeJMAGoQ_K0d8U4cy7PJqe2l/s320/P1000971.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Isnt it amazing that right after i have the thought of stopping somewhere for a little bit i end up in a sort of fairytale land. This place isnt great for just the natural beauty, but also for what it stands for. In a world of corporate boarding schools and programs that are based on discipline and punishment for past actions, Northwoods is a place where kids are given skills to take control of their lives in an open community. The staff here is great and is based around supporting not only the students but also the local community. In the process, the farm is transforming into a place that will make the school self-sufficient agriculturally.</div><div>I have a feeling that the connection i have made to this place will last longer than the extent of my house sitting gig. These are good people.</div><div> </div><div>What is even more is the connection ive made to local families here. I had christmas dinner last night with Freddy and his family and they warmly welcomed me. This is what i wish all my journeys were like; getting off the road and into the communities, talking to locals, eating, sharing, laughing. It can be so easy to be trapped on the road and tourist circuits, but when i can make good friends who are real and not in anyway affiliated with tourism it is a great feeling. </div>coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-51648547399083280202008-12-21T06:44:00.001-08:002008-12-21T07:28:57.907-08:00Isla de Ometepe y Costa Rica<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPeafG-LTDSNOv_OK_w_uwaG60CEGp6QMgteqmrupBkibdOt52txLgeNLWwabaATdI89TepKzj3X3eZ_VWsf_nprdrKs58sarZLKfkGmSgj2h_LI_bcklNGzocjnrwhKMLV1DA45KBBcc/s1600-h/P1000947.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPeafG-LTDSNOv_OK_w_uwaG60CEGp6QMgteqmrupBkibdOt52txLgeNLWwabaATdI89TepKzj3X3eZ_VWsf_nprdrKs58sarZLKfkGmSgj2h_LI_bcklNGzocjnrwhKMLV1DA45KBBcc/s320/P1000947.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282265038765982162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHnGAXATqmfALTl2uTN0phPV1268aI2bwUBQJbfxW6mSVkjlcyxxPptE7g_BfIObx7ESQYwZ7gBcuCeGA0me0XuaxyvAZ4RjDzCvZ4YBoJeegZOsdGuN84J_uBVJQxQsaXRhOXwkcmPCS/s1600-h/P1000929.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHnGAXATqmfALTl2uTN0phPV1268aI2bwUBQJbfxW6mSVkjlcyxxPptE7g_BfIObx7ESQYwZ7gBcuCeGA0me0XuaxyvAZ4RjDzCvZ4YBoJeegZOsdGuN84J_uBVJQxQsaXRhOXwkcmPCS/s320/P1000929.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282264529337301410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDDxwwOc6LVBxuK_eWamzUAJujqK3j6AcQ5pgFvrdESTrOfVKOLN19FR63Y7Px6dHDtWmSslSExDJB7DS3DWMvxOb8knT3EiLv_vWiTMvN49IfcfVDKwsk0UlEdX4cRJKnG5BzF5SrjSk/s1600-h/P1000933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDDxwwOc6LVBxuK_eWamzUAJujqK3j6AcQ5pgFvrdESTrOfVKOLN19FR63Y7Px6dHDtWmSslSExDJB7DS3DWMvxOb8knT3EiLv_vWiTMvN49IfcfVDKwsk0UlEdX4cRJKnG5BzF5SrjSk/s320/P1000933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282261414060697778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />There is something about Islands that always attracts me in a very unique way. It is the isolation and the autonomy, the slower pace of life, the tranquility that comes from being always surrounded and protected by water, and the kind of people that settle in such places that are so enticing to me. All the islands I have known (Martha´s Vineyard, St. John, Vashon, Maui, Ometepe) have all left me with a connection to the land and the people there. In some ways i feel like my life in recent years has developed into an island state of being. Tranquility and autonomy are maybe the most important parts of my life, things that help me keep travelling.<br />La Isla de Ometepe is located in the middle of Lake Nicaragua which dominates the southeastern part of Nicaragua. The island is basically two volcanoes connected by a small strip of land with a road around the perimeter of each. It has become a huge tourist mecca in the country in recent years which makes perfect sense because after the hustle and uber gringoness of Granada (where the ferry leaves from) the island is an escape. Even though there are lots of tourists there is is very easy to not see a single one if you want to.<br />I chose to head directly for the opposite side of the island from the ports. The paved road quickly turns to a complete shitstorm dirt track that leads across the Playa Santo Domingo towards the Volcan Maderas side of the island. I bumped into two friends of mine, Fernando from Mexico and Toke from Denmark, who directed me to their camp spot, a small very typical backpackers hostel right on the water. It was complete with bamboo huts, thatch roofs, overpriced food, and an open tab which is the enticer to keep people drinking. I have come to know these places from travelling in other places and i usually avoid them. They are usually never owned by locals and are generally backpacker bait. But, we were the only people there! It was really nice actually to have that little tropical place to ourselves. Camping was really cheap and it was right at the base of the volcano which i climbed the next day.<br />Most people hire guides to go hike up the volcano which sits at 1394 meters, but i would never do that. So i set out under cloudy skies which quickly turned into extreme downpour. Of course i didn´t turn around, hiking up the almost vertical trail through ankle deep mud and water was awesome! I made it up the mountain in a few hours and decended into the crater which has filled with water to form a lagoon, but the visibility was mas o menos ten feet, so i retreated down the hill through dense jungle with bellowing howler monkeys allerting me that i was tresspassing on their turf. The bottom of the mountain is lush agricultural land filled with bean fields, banana plantations, and pasture.<br />The most amazing thing to me about that island is that it is almost completely self-suffiecient. All of the farms there grow their own rice, beans, corn, fruit, meat, etc. Real homesteading.<br /><br />From the island i took the overnight ferry to San Carlos which is basically right on the border of Costa Rica. I opted for second class to save a few dollars but i spent most of the night sleeping in a mountain of plantains out on the deck. Inside there are bad american movies being played all night long, my favorite of them was a really terrible movie called the cannibal 3. It was a normal escape through the jungle until the very end when it turns into a gratuitously bloody, violent and sexual film filled with beastiallity and internal organ eating. The whole boat was hysterical. The young boys next to me were in heaven while their mothers were flipping out.<br /><br />From San Carlos it is a one hour boat ride through the jungle to Los Chilles, Costa Rica. Right away the differences between Nicaragua and Costa Rica are evident. The towns are clean, there are apparent civil services abound, and the people are somehow different too. I think it is pride. The general atmosphere is very proud and happy. Everything costs a lot more here which is hard for long haul travelling, but it just means camp more, drink less.<br />Yesterday was my first long day on the bike, around 60 miles through rolling agricultural lands. Constant rain kept it cool and the sun broke through to dry me off at the end of the day. I spent the night camped on a beautiful farm 10km outside of La Fortuna which is a very touristy but clean and friendly city.<br />From here i bike west into the mountains around Lago Arenal and then south to Monteverde. I have realized that my bike is in no way equipped to travel on back roads here which is too bad, but i will be able to put my bike on busses to get me around sketchy roads.<br />I am excited to actually ride my bike all day everyday for the next little bit, already my body feels great and in shape, yet completely saturated. There is never a moment to dry out here with the constant rain and humidity, but hopefully that will change some in the higher elevations.coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-74497496732993380602008-12-14T08:45:00.000-08:002008-12-14T09:29:46.570-08:00stupid stupid carnivore<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46ridVgi95yZ5jXm9VlTmzdF2n6uRaMWNLn8pPcDOT7YZuGsXVV-E621glAIA6CFbl3nvJb19VJIoHPdnrdjenjEFV9XADwYoU1gKyAA4F_nO-Z-BAIl85MZZcjnvmjNVCsgFb12lsFWN/s1600-h/P1000917.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46ridVgi95yZ5jXm9VlTmzdF2n6uRaMWNLn8pPcDOT7YZuGsXVV-E621glAIA6CFbl3nvJb19VJIoHPdnrdjenjEFV9XADwYoU1gKyAA4F_nO-Z-BAIl85MZZcjnvmjNVCsgFb12lsFWN/s320/P1000917.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279697865984059746" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLFMitDMEAuoTO2OxYzvo0BOl-YpSKFkHxBXeZmAUqvxIiq9MVHrBP4yc2PxjioEVzYNFlc20H3Dn6L7RV4Wjq0EH_gBtWZcWDZ4eNSslUbYW7WOAZ1MCWn8umK3lYrcW_HwmepgkDvhyphenhyphenT/s1600-h/P1000909.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLFMitDMEAuoTO2OxYzvo0BOl-YpSKFkHxBXeZmAUqvxIiq9MVHrBP4yc2PxjioEVzYNFlc20H3Dn6L7RV4Wjq0EH_gBtWZcWDZ4eNSslUbYW7WOAZ1MCWn8umK3lYrcW_HwmepgkDvhyphenhyphenT/s200/P1000909.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279697365023132242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2AWknAOIyCgfmu7NxzmcFse00FBQAoniy0xJHtbkFVn7r9qCAcMbdVBzdCVzEZyTtgREOR0T1PbvbhslKkgModJ0WyGGmXLGAAqKmhqjPWcbZ4-Qge3x_uvoFwUxucZ8sT7so7JHBXGr/s1600-h/P1000901.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2AWknAOIyCgfmu7NxzmcFse00FBQAoniy0xJHtbkFVn7r9qCAcMbdVBzdCVzEZyTtgREOR0T1PbvbhslKkgModJ0WyGGmXLGAAqKmhqjPWcbZ4-Qge3x_uvoFwUxucZ8sT7so7JHBXGr/s320/P1000901.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279696478765488594" border="0" /></a><br />Oddly enough the street food of choice in Granada is a hot dog. Of course you can find gallo pinto y carne asada y ensalada but most often people chow down on a dog. These are serious weeners here: foot long, smothered in everything imagin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2r5Of-n1y28WQvLMrttaWcOkgzUuEZ1i9yPy9qsZrEipes9XeMuARf60B-53yFEI8d54WBvR8DEbAMbZihsXVqy9BTnT4xfXIWT0JO3pNSkiPCxBkymhWCxZJnzhRRab_NfPmfTLkmDD/s1600-h/P1000905.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2r5Of-n1y28WQvLMrttaWcOkgzUuEZ1i9yPy9qsZrEipes9XeMuARf60B-53yFEI8d54WBvR8DEbAMbZihsXVqy9BTnT4xfXIWT0JO3pNSkiPCxBkymhWCxZJnzhRRab_NfPmfTLkmDD/s320/P1000905.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279696907751351714" border="0" /></a>able. Granada is a latin america tourist mecca which has its ups and downs, one of the ups being the mojito happy hour at la casa blanca. Dos mojitos for 20 cordobas which is 50 cents per one. So i got hammered of course.<br />In my stupor, with hefty appetite, i hit the streets looking for a meal. It was late and the streets were empty, but i managed to find a hot dog cart. Had i been of right mind i never would have eaten such a piece of crap, but i did and it was fantastic i think. Anyway, i left without my backpack which of course had everything i need to travel inside of it: passport, travellers checks, debit card, camera, cash, my journal, and my bike lock (i was on my bike of course). It took me about 10 minutes to realize what i had done and when i did i booked it back only to find the shadow of a once existing hot dog cart.<br />I mostly had something like a heart attack with a touch of brain meltdown, but my compatriots here tried to keep me a little more positive. I went to sleep knowing the total shit show that lay ahead of me.<br />Getting a new passport is a royal pain in the ass. It involves lots of time, money, and waiting. But i started the procedure. First thing was to have an official police report, so i spent many hours waiting to take care of that, most of which was spent talking to a teenage cop holding an ak47 with him asking me lude questions about how american women like to have sex. Ah just give me the god damn papers! They did. I left.<br />I hit the streets looking for my mystery hot dog lady but she was nowhere to be seen. I thought for sure that I'd never see any of my things again.<br />BUT THEN!!!!! I spotted a hot dog cart on a street corner with a lady who looked nothing like the lady from the night before... I had described to the police that the hot dog lady was an old lady with white hair... this woman was young and had black hair... and lo and behold strapped to the cart was my backpack. Everything was in order, nothing missing. In fact she would not even open the bag, for she knew that she would see me on the street at some point. Ay que fantastico! i could not believe it. This woman was so kind to watch over my bag and what a warm hearted soul. She didnt even know what was inside of it.<br />Later, i went back to visit her to try to give her a gift for returning my bag but she refused completely and in return tried to give me a hot dog. I refused as well.<br /><br />Catastrophe avoided by the skin of my teeth. I feel like an ass still for being so careless, but it goes to show how amazing the people are down here. But here in Granada which is a very beautiful colonial city and full of tourists from all over the world there are two kinds of people: those that are trying to get your money and those that arent. The backpacker scene here is blown up and it bothers me so i leave tomorrow for Omatepe island for some volcano time. From there i can take a boat to a city near the border of costa rica.<br /><br />Oh and biking, right. It is hot and my bike weighs a ton, which makes things very hard for my out of shape self. I have only biked about 35 miles so far but it gets easier from here.coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659246606670205581.post-85035348801651367812008-12-10T17:58:00.000-08:002008-12-10T18:26:51.290-08:00PreparationsPrepping for a trip is always a busy time for me because I leave everything for the last minute. I'm great at it, but days are full of errands and the business of organizing for many months away from home (home here meaning America, for lack of a more specific residence). The reality of course is that the best trips are the ones that have most of the planning saved for the moments when a decision really needs to be made. In the case of this trip that means route, food, lodging, etc.; nothing important, but things that need to be taken care of at some point.<br /><br />This journey, my most ambitious cycle tour yet, begins in Managua, Nicaragua and will hopefully carry me down deep into the Andes of Peru. My path will cross Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru. I am in no rush and am more interested in exploration than speed or distance. Both of those attributes can be nice in a bike tour; more miles equals more country seen and experiences had, but speed also encourages blindness to culture,<br />In past tours, specifically last year's ride from Los Angles to the tip of Baja, I found myself slave to paved roads, but this time I refuse to remain tied to asphalt. I've beefed up my wheels in anticipation of riding in more rural areas.<br /><br />My flight leaves in about six hours, and I am scheduled to arrive in Managua around 10AM tomorrow morning. I am excited but also nervous to be doing this trip alone. I know the feeling though: the anticipation of lonliness mixed with the joy of adventure. In past trips the lonliness is just a forethought and never a reality. I hope to be blessed with good company along my ride, be it gringo cyclists or inviting locals.<br /><br />Seeing as how nobody knows that I have a blog (I always thought they were for dorks) it would be odd to say "Stay tuned for updates!" because there isn't anyone tuned in to begin with... But I'll say it for my sake<br /><br />Stay tuned!<br /><br />Jeff<br /><br /><br />Oh yeah, that sexy creamsicle of a bike in the main page picture is my custom steel CircleA bike, but alas, it remains in the basement of my parents house in NY. All of me wants to take it on this trip but it is just too nice (wouldn't want to go chipping the paint now would I). Instead I am using my beat to shit aluminum green machine, my first touring bike: a trusted friend and great travelling companion.coyotehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02621758975703464869noreply@blogger.com7