Adventures in Corcovado

Where do I even start? I've been intending for a couple of weeks now to sit down and write about my trip to Puerto Jimenez and Corcovado National Park. After a week spent in San Gerado de Rivas, I found myself with just over a week to kill, so I decided to head down to the Osa peninsula. Remember in the early 90's when rainforest destruction was the number one topic of environmental concern and statistics such as 'every second an area of rainforest the size of a football pitch is destroyed' were heard on a daily basis? Well this is what was being referred to and as a result Costa Rica became one of the top eco-tourism destinations in the world, and in terms of primary rainforest, you don't get much better than Corcovado. Described by National Geographic as 'possibly the most biodiverse place on earth' they're not kidding. This is the rainforest of those Athena prints that everyone had on their wall, primary forest with a thick canopy and a mind blowing abundance of wildlife.


I started my trip in Puerto Jimenez, a ramshackle little town with dirt roads and a certain wild-west style charm, not dissimilar to some of the smaller villages on the coast of Belize, a cross between Caye Caulker and Hopkins I guess. Picture a nice black sand beach edged with almond trees full of scarlet macaws, a few places to eat, a handful of cabinas and a ton of agencies offering tours to Corcovado and other surrounding natural areas and you have Puerto Jimenez. I decided to stay at Cabinas el Perezoso (perezoso is 'sloth' in Spanish), a sweet little place run by an Italian guy called Omar, right at the furthest end of the main road where all the accommodation is. Tucked away under some cashew trees, it was basic, but a great little spot to chill out for a few nights.


Accessing national parks in Costa Rica is an art. Or a lottery. Most require an entry permit that, in order to acquire one, involves jumping through some hoops and Corcovado is no exception. Since February this year rules have also been changed for Corcovado and it is now compulsory to hire a guide in order to visit the forest, which adds another organisational element to the game. When I arrived in Puerto Jimenez I had no real plans, so I asked around and spoke to a few people and it immediately became clear that guides varied greatly in their knowledge. I spoke to a couple that I wasn't particularly impressed with before I received a recommendation from someone I met who had just come back from the jungle. She introduced me to Rodolfo, a guy the same age as me who has been working as a guide there for 14 years and really knows his stuff.


In order to make a reservation to enter the park and to stay overnight at Sirena ranger station in the heart of the forest it is necessary to visit the park office in Puerto Jimenez. Providing space is available you then have to take your reservation to the bank in town and pay your fees. You then take your receipt back to the park office and you're issued with your permit. Luckily Rodolfo did this for me, but I spoke to many people who had to figure out the process for themselves. Information and straight answers I've found are not very forthcoming in Costa Rica so I'm grateful this is an element I didn't have to trouble myself with. I also spoke to many people who struggled to make a reservation because Sirena was full for the following few nights.

After a few nights in Puerto Jimenez waiting to find a few more people to join me and thus reduce the cost of the trip, we finally set off for Corcovado. An early start and a drive to Carate, the starting point for the trek, gave us the chance to see both spider and squirrel monkeys, American crocodiles swimming in the river, black bellied ducks, a green heron and many other birds. From Carate we walked along the coast, zig zagging in and out of secondary forest. A couple of kilometres past La Leona ranger office we were lucky enough to stumble across the holy grail of Corcovado sightings...a puma, laying behind some driftwood on the edge of the beach. Very few people are lucky enough to actually see one of the big cats, although there are plenty of tracks if you look carefully.


The walk from Carate to Sirena is a shade under 20km, much of it along a sandy beach so the going is a little tough at times. Overall though, not a difficult hike, fairly level and we had plenty of time to stop and see things and to take photos. It was also low tide when we set off so walking on the firmer damp sand helped too. As well as the puma we saw coatis, all four of Costa Rica's native monkeys and a multitude of birds, reptiles and insects including beautiful blue morpho butterflies (which are virtually impossible to get a good photos of!) We arrived at Sirena around 5pm, a very basic but comfortable research station with a number of dorm beds, a camping deck and basic kitchen facilities. There is only generator power available there from 6-8pm so after a simple dinner an early night followed, ready for a 4.30am start the next day.


On day two we got to walk through primary forest and to see the strangler figs, balsa trees and the thick forest canopy. It was then that I really realised how important it is to have a good guide. Unlike many of the other guides we met along the way, Rodolfo had not just binoculars, but a spotting scope. At intervals he'd suddenly stop, set it down and we'd get to see many things I'd never have seen if I was on my own. How he spotted some of the things he did I'll never know. On day two we added peccaries, chestnut mandibilled toucans, tapirs, white faced capuchins and too many birds to remember to our list. It was also a full moon that night and seeing it up close through a telescope was a rare experience too.


On day three, due to a mix up with other bookings, we ended up returning to Carate with another guide. Unfortunately, although a nice enough guy, he spoke no English and appeared to know very little about the forest. We saw virtually nothing on the way back and arrived back in Carate in record time. Still, it was a nice walk and surprisingly easy even with the heat and humidity. A cold beer was very welcome upon arrival back at Carate though!


It's hard to describe how incredible it was to be able to visit Corcovado. Lots of people seem to complain about the heat, humidity, the long trek and the bugs, but none of these things could have taken away from the sheer majesty of the place. Yes there were ticks to pull off each evening and no, they really weren't a problem. Bug spray and sunscreen took care of the other main irritations. This was one of those rare untouched places, a place that lingers in your thoughts for a long time after you leave. It makes you think about how important these forests are and about the impact that our actions have on their survival.

I'm not sure where else I'll visit in Costa Rica yet, but my experience in Corcovado will be hard to beat and if I leave here having seen nothing else then my time spent there will have made this unexpected side trip to Costa Rica worth every penny.

Voluntourism in Costa Rica

After spending a couple of weeks in Mexico City feeling out of sorts...partly emotionally having had to say goodbye to a couple of people in recent weeks and partly physically having come down with a nasty flu like bug that wiped me out for a few days, I finally got my act together and realised I needed to go somewhere or do something. Sitting around in the city without a plan was doing me no good so I did the only logical thing I could do...I booked a flight for the next day to Costa Rica.

My last night in Mexico City I stayed in a nice little hostel right in the city, only a block north of Zocalo and two blocks from the metrobus line that runs straight to the airport for 30 pesos. There I met Celeste, a girl from California who was in pretty much the same position as me and so over a few drinks we cheered each other up. It was nice to be back in a hostel again with random people to talk to and bounce ideas off.

My flight to San Jose was earlyish so I found myself wandering through Mexico City at 5am. It was interesting to see the place sans people. I'm not sure I've ever seen so many police cars patrolling. As soon as one reached the end of the block, another appeared around the corner. How the city is considered to be so unsafe is beyond me.

The flight was uneventful, only about 20 people on the plane which surprised me, but also explained the relatively cheap price of the flight. Upon arrival in San Jose I met a woman from Kitchener as she was waiting to leave, who reinforced yet again that Canadians are my favourite people by giving me her unneeded Costa Rican SIM card with $20 credit on it for nothing. It also turns out that cell phone use here us incredibly cheap...nearly a month later of almost continuous data use and I've used less than $5!

After a couple of days of sitting around in San Jose and a few emails enquiring about possible volunteer opportunities, I found myself on a bus headed for San Gerado de Rivas to stay for a while at a hostel at the foot of Mount Chirripo. Casa Mariposa is without a doubt the most beautiful hostel I've ever stayed at. With six private rooms and half a dozen dorm beds, this place is pretty remote as far as hostels go. An hour and a half on a bluebird bus from the nearest large town, the last few kilometres of road into San Gerado are unpaved and rocky. When the bus ends its journey next to the soccer pitch and the general store (pretty much the entirety of the village!) there's still another 1.2km to walk up a very steep hill to reach the hostel. Climbing 600ft in that distance, the altitude rises quickly.

What awaits at the top is truly beautiful though and I always enjoy seeing new guests walk into the place, most instantly forgetting the hike it took to get there. The place is situated in the forest adjacent to a privately owned reserve that is open to the public for free. Cloudbridge is an area of rainforest at the foot of the Talamanca range with a variety of trails and a huge variety of wildlife. I haven't explored it fully yet, but I'm looking forward to doing so over the coming weeks. For now I'm just happy to be stopping somewhere for a bit and not to be packing my bag and moving every few days and I couldn't have found a better spot to do so.

Which leads me to what I want to talk about: voluntourism.

Having moved around a lot over the last couple of months, I knew what I needed to pull myself out of this rut was to find a place to call home for a while. Therefore as soon as I got here I had a look through the HelpX lists for Costa Rica and talked to some people at the hostel in San Jose about possible opportunities and within a few hours of sending some emails I had four offers of places. Three straight offers of work exchanges (bed with or without food) and a fourth that I'd failed to screen out of the 'voluntourism' kind.

In recent years volunteering has clearly become fashionable. At a risk of generalising, it provides a way for gap year students and people going through a mid life crisis to go on holiday but at the same time feel like they're doing something worthwhile with their time and money. This has led to some of the places providing traditional volunteering opportunities trying to turn it into big business. Now, rather than being grateful for the help of a few hardworking people in return for some food and a bed as part of an honest work exchange, they've realised that there are people who are willing to not only work for free, but they're willing to pay for the privilege. Companies have sprung up all over the world, for example, offering a weeks work in an elephant sanctuary in Thailand, a snip at $1500 including a hammock to sleep in and a couple of meals. All the advertising gives the impression that you'll be contributing to a worthwhile cause, but the reality is often very different.

I decided to ask some questions of the place that offered me a paid-for volunteering position. I explained that I was willing to give my time freely and work hard, but that in return I required a place to sleep and my food provided. I also explained that I could not afford to pay for the 'privilege' of working and that I was prepared to give far more of my time in value than a bed and food would cost.

The reply I received didn't surprise me. They explained that they ask their 'volunteers' to work only 4 hours a day and that most volunteers didn't really work at all. They also pointed out that they can pay a Tico $8 for the same amount of work and get five times more output. They admitted that their 'volunteer' programme was really just an option for a cheap holiday and that the income from this benefitted a private business.

I politely replied explaining that this was not what I was looking for and asked them to reconsider their use of the term 'volunteering'. I also pointed out that there are many people out there, like myself, who are happy to work hard, want to learn and do not consider it a cheap holiday and that it's insulting to be lumped in with all the holidaymakers who choose to slack off whilst on their 'volunteer holidays'. I also pointed out that it's a catch 22 - I've spoken to many genuine volunteers about this and the consensus is that as soon as someone is paying to be somewhere they feel less valued and less like they have to earn their keep and therefore productivity will inevitably be lower.

I fully respect that, in this case, local people are being employed and that should always be top priority. Volunteers should be adding something to the community they're working in, not taking jobs from local people. It's just a shame that genuine volunteers are losing out so often now to the voluntourism sector. To be asked to pay to work goes against everything I believe in. It devalues your efforts and leads people to expect to have to pay in the future. This sector unfortunately is growing though, with more and more extreme examples. I've heard stories about child daycare centres in Asia for example, being touted as 'orphanages' to attract paying volunteers.

It is of course admirable that so many people are willing to give their time freely to help organisations and I'm not putting those people down. I guess what I'm asking is that before you consider one of these types of holidays, please do your research. Find out where exactly your money is going and what it us being used for. Make sure that by volunteering you aren't taking a job a away from a local worker. There are many charities and organisations that would love to have your help in return for providing you with food, a bed and a wealth of knowledge. Check out HelpX, Wwoofing and Workaway for genuine work exchange opportunities in the country you plan to visit. There you'll find plenty of opportunities to do something worthwhile and to fully experience a place by living and working with local people and truly experiencing the place.

Next up...my trip to Corcovado National Park!

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave...

Soon after leaving Trinidad in a shared taxi headed to Camaguey after discovering that the bus was fully booked (sadly without Sharen & Vickie who had both left the day before me bound for Toronto & Santa Clara respectively), I found myself with some new travelling companions...a family from Berlin who adopted me for a few days. Daniel and Julia and their two children aged 2.5 and 11 months were in Cuba for 6 weeks, and like me (only braver for doing it with two such young children) had few plans about where they were going. For a few days we hung out first in Camaguey, then after Daniel kindly blagged us a ride to Holguin on a local bus, I decided to follow them to Gibara and Guadalavaca rather than heading for Santiago de Cuba after all, which was my original plan. My time was already limited and as nice as it would have been to see the former capital city, I was more concerned about ensuring I could get back to Varadero on 4th, something that the further south I travelled seemed to be a far less likely proposition. For some reason the procedure for buying viazul tickets changed from them being available several days in advance in Havana and Trinidad to only being able to buy them an hour before the bus left by the time I got to Camaguey, not leaving you with a great range of options if the bus was full.


Gibara was an interesting place, a fishing village almost completely destroyed by Hurricane Ike in 2008. If you goggle it you can see pictures of the utter devastation it caused. The buildings still standing now are often just facades with little behind them, yet people still live in them. Everywhere I went I found people wanting to tell me what buildings used to be...a restaurant, hotel, etc, always adding sadly that there is little money available for rebuilding. There is one very beautiful hotel there that stands out like a sore thumb, but when you go inside you realise that even that doesn't have the facilities you'd expect from such a place...no internet, phone between rooms, etc. The other thing that struck me about Gibara were the high numbers of young people. Lots of teenagers and young children. Again here the poverty was evident...a small child played with what on first glance appeared to be a balloon tied to its pushchair, but on getting closer I realised was actually an inflated condom.


Guadalavaca was a typical small tourist beach town...a market, beach cabanas, mediocre fast food offerings and an endless line of hotels. The best part of the day was the ride there and back in a 1952 Chrysler Saratoga. Navy blue bodywork with a red leather interior, lovingly maintained by Miguel, the cars owner who looked horrified when he realised half way there that my legs were covered in hydraulic oil from a leaky gasket somewhere under the passenger side bulkhead. Still, the trip was well worth it, like being in a real life version of wacky races. Very few cars here are less than 20 years old. A recent opening of the car import market (for the very few who can afford to do so) has meant that car prices have now reached the realms of fantasy. The standard Lada taxis you see everywhere here? Five years ago selling for $5,000, now with a price tag of $15,000. A ten year old BMW? $100,000.... These are cars you'd only get scrap value for back home and the condition of most of them isn't far off despite the extortionate price tags.


When we first arrived at Holguin bus station, we managed to attract the attention of a taxi driver who drove a Lada, one of the better examples of the many of these relics to be found throughout Cuba. He decided to appoint himself our general tour guide and organiser of everything we were planning (and not planning) to do while in the area and he agreed that he'd ensure I was back in Holguin from wherever I was in time for the night bus back to Varadero on 3rd. Given that there's only one bus a day and it leaves at 11.35pm I knew I'd be in for a lot of sitting around at Holguin bus station that evening, but I didn't realise quite how spartan the place would be. A few chairs and a TV showing a baseball game. It reminded me of the old concrete benefit offices in the UK 20 years ago. I managed to entertain myself though, first talking to an English couple fresh off the plane from Manchester, followed by a few 'speed dating' style drinks with a Cuban doctor whose bus was leaving for Havana only half an hour after we started talking. Around 9pm I was just making myself comfy on one of the hard bus station seats and planning on trying to sleep for an hour when my Lada driving friend suddenly reappeared and with much flourish announced he'd found me a ride to Varadero with his taxi driver friend for just $50. A little wary, I figured nonetheless I probably had nothing to lose, so I accepted. An hour into the journey, shared with a Cuban/Peruvian couple who had the back seat, I really started to wish I hadn't.

The first thing that started to make me nervous was that the engine of the car, a Chinese brand I'd never heard of 'Geely', started to cut out periodically. Now this isn't the sort of place where when you break down you just wait for a national tow truck company to show up. This place doesn't even seem to have repair garages and these roads are unlit at night and go on for hundreds of kilometres between towns with nothing in between. Secondly, the driver, who apparently had had a days rest between his drive from Havana and the drive back again, was falling asleep. He'd rub his eyes, twitch, speed up, slow down and occasionally almost stop in the middle of the road. Several stops in quick succession for red bull and espresso didn't seem to make much difference, so eventually the three of us got together and insisted he stop and sleep. Reluctantly he agreed to sleep for ten minutes and pulled into the noisiest, busiest layby we'd seen on the whole journey. Three hours later he woke up and finally twelve hours after we'd left Holguin we arrived in Varadero. There are few journeys that have been so bad that I've seriously doubted that I'd even make it to my destination alive, but that was definitely one of them. At least I was back in Varadero though which had been my biggest concern for most of the previous week.

Being back in Varadero I felt like I could relax for the first time since I'd been in Cuba. By now I knew where things were in the town and how they worked, I didn't have to feel like I was on a constant search for everything. It meant that I noticed far more, like just how weird the country actually is.


Welcome to the Twilight Zone. If ever a town deserved such a title then Varadero is it. On the surface you could be forgiven for thinking it is just like every other beach resort type town. Then you look closer and you get a feeling something isn't right. The majority of people who visit Varadero do so by way of an all-inclusive package deal so they probably don't notice the strangeness of the catering options, but when you're trying to find places to eat two or three times a day you soon realise that everywhere has the same menu. The restaurant may have a different name but the food is virtually identical. Mediocre and cheap admittedly, but the same as everywhere else. A glance at the 'where to eat' section of a friends Lonely Planet confirmed this with exact photos of what you would receive if you ordered fish or chicken...the photos could have been of the exact plates of food we were served. Occasionally there was the odd exception to the catering and hospitality rule such as the surprisingly good steak house at Calle 65 or drinks at the Xanadu mansion, the upmarket former Dupont residence, but on the whole it's all the same. And if one place runs out of something you can guarantee no one else will have it either...as our endless search for french fries proved!

It's not just food though that's the same, you soon realise the same applies to everything. Everything here works to a formula. Souvenir stalls line 1st Avenue all selling identical imported trinkets and wooden carvings, probably from China, but no one seems to care if you buy anything. Market traders in any other country would be falling over themselves to relieve you of your money, but not here. The things for sale are cheap and no one really cares if you buy anything. The stall holders just sit and quietly read a book, play on their phone or have a game of chess with their neighbour. The only people who seem remotely interested in selling you anything are the guys in the shadows who occasionally offer you coke or weed. The most excitement and action we saw in town all week was the arrival of a Canadian led motorcycle rally and the festivities connected to it.


You soon realise that the place is largely run by robots. Whether it's souvenir sellers, waiters or tour salespeople, they just don't really care. They're there to give the impression that everything a tourist could possibly want is available, but they're not real and they don't appear to have any vested interest in anything they're doing. After a while you find yourself being sucked in to the weirdness of it all too. For example, you order dinner. The waiter or waitress rarely writes down your order. After a period of time you may, or as is more likely may not, get what you ordered. The food will usually be lukewarm at best, but edible. Then you'll be ignored to the point where you have to go to the counter to pay the bill in order to leave. At this point the waiter will write down some random figures, punch some numbers into a calculator and ask for an amount. Usually it will be completely wrong, surprisingly almost always well in your favour, but they aren't in the least bit bothered even if you try and point out their mistake. Eventually you even fail to care on the odd occasions when you're overcharged.


Upon talking to some people things start to make a little more sense. Pretty much everything here is government owned and run. The hotels, the restaurants, the souvenir stalls, everything. The workers it seems are paid a basic wage just to be there. Any kind of visibly successful entrepreneurship is soon greeted with a visit from the authorities requesting a 'donation' in light of the income being generated. Any business that's seen to be too successful may even be taken over as a government venture, then when it fails it'll be offered back to the person originally running it on a waged basis. With the average wage here only $20 a month, it seems the only way to better your situation is to be making money somehow on the quiet and making sure you keep it well hidden. You soon realise that there are a number of little sidelines going on, for example a lot of Casa Particular's apparently obtain their food supplies, cutlery and crockery on the black market from the many hotels in town. Even doing the most basic things here requires a high level of ingenuity. If your car breaks down you're unlikely to find spare parts, so you make what you need from recycled aluminium cans. Visits to electrical and furniture stores, purely out of curiosity, revealed old style chunky televisions for sale at four times the price of a modern flat screen back home. The most shocking price we found was for a wicker babies crib at an astonishing $2,200.

Still, even when you start to understand how it all works, you can't help but wonder why whoever is running the show is doing it so ineffectively, if indeed all the above is true. If making money is the name of the game then they appear to be failing dismally. A visit to a large upmarket hotel the other day just because we were passing revealed a ghost town of a place. No visible guests, no life at all and this place must have had over 100 rooms. In the evening the downtown area is dead after 8pm. Something here isn't working at all despite the facade. The only thing that ever seemed to be packed full were the open top buses carrying hotel dwellers into the downtown area and back. Few seemed to even get off the bus, many opting just for a round trip.


Nevertheless, I like Cuba. It gave me the chance to spend a very weird and wonderful week with a very good friend trying to get to the bottom of how that crazy country works. It also has extremely good coffee. With no ability to simply google the answers, Cuba provided us with hours of mystery solving interspersed with regular visits to the beach in the hope that there would be enough wind for kite surfing. Unfortunately there rarely was, so we decided a day out was in order and we caught a bus to Havana.


Now I'll admit I wasn't too worried about going back to Havana again after my first experiences there, but in hindsight I'm so glad we went. This time I saw a whole different place. Havana is a beautiful city. The buildings may be slowly crumbling away but the architecture is still stunning. This time I saw a city full of life and things happening around every corner. Musicians, artists and more culture than I'd witnessed anywhere else in the country. We spent the day just wandering the streets and had lunch at Cafe Taberna, the oldest cafe in Havana dating back to 1772, with a 50's style Cuban band playing. It was like being in an old movie. Maybe the highlight of the day was a visit to the Camera Obscura with its 360 degree panoramic views over the city. Here you could really see the scale of old Havana, the beauty and the decay.


I wish we could have spent a few days there; suddenly the place I'd written off as a place I disliked on my first visit held so much potential and I felt like we'd only just scratched the surface. The last bus back to Varadero leaves at 5pm though, so we had to smile when, just as we really needed to catch a taxi to the bus station some way out of town, there were suddenly none to be found. Thanks to a last minute dash in a coco taxi we caught the bus by the skin of our teeth and soon we were back in the Twilight Zone once more. Back to the same loop tapes of 80's power ballads, Adele and what must be songs by the Spanish equivalent to Justin Beiber playing everywhere while you ate your dinner. Back to the nonchalant serving staff, the laughable maths and the constant sound of horses hooves on the tarmac of 1st Avenue.

All too soon the week was over and a decision to try one last time to get some kiting in ended in the only way it possibly could have in that crazy country. On arrival at the kite beach, despite there being the most promising wind we'd seen for days, we found there was no kite school tent, no flags. In fact no sign that it had ever existed at all. Perhaps it never did. Perhaps even Cuba was just one big weird dream.


The following morning I had to smile when, as the taxi I had managed to persuade to take me to Havana airport for a reasonable price pulled into the terminal, once again 'Hotel California' started to play on the stereo. On talking to a few different people, it seems it is often one of the first songs people hear on arrival in Cuba and as I was arguing with the check in guy about him not wanting to let me on the plane without having an onward ticket out of Mexico, its lyrics seemed so apt.

Whatever, I'm glad I decided to go and check out Cuba. It's a place that will clearly change a lot in the not too distant future and I'm glad I got to see it before it does. The beaches there are the most beautiful I've ever seen, the people friendly and it gave me the opportunity to spend some time again with a friend I love very much, so I have no complaints despite my relationship with the place getting off on the wrong foot. Who knows, one day I may even go back.

Next time you're at the checkout and you hear the beep...

Remember Supermarket Sweep? For those who don't it was a 90's daytime game show where teams competed against each other to win the chance to do a trolley dash - the Super Sweep - around a fake supermarket with the grand prize being the value of the goods you collected within the time limit. Simple enough, you'd think, but the teams always seemed to be idiots who spent their time filling their trolleys with cans of soup and apples rather than heading for the large electronics and grabbing as many tv's and video players as they could. You'd find yourself shouting and swearing at the screen, wondering how those people could be so stupid as Dale congratulated them on winning £138. Well, that's how Cuba has made me feel for the last four days....like one of those contestants on Supermarket Sweep.

This is by far the most frustrating country I've ever been to. From the moment I set foot on Cuban soil in Havana nothing has gone to plan. Part of the problem was not actually having a plan and that just doesn't work here. This really isn't a place you can wing it that easily. I have never had to fill in so many pieces of paper prior to flying either. Customs, immigration, tourist card, lists of electronics you are bringing into the country, etc, etc. Then you have to deal with border control. Never have I experienced an immigration process so slow, yet when you finally get to the counter, they ask you virtually nothing and just stamp your card. Then it's one final security scan of your bags and you're free to go.

Nothing is simple here though. For a start we didn't have anywhere to stay. We had a vague idea, an address of a hostel, but we were immediately warned by a friendly tour operator upon arrival at the airport that we really didn't want to be staying there because it was in a bad area. Knowing this is usually bull and just a way for them to coerce you into taking up their alternative offer of accommodation, nevertheless we were tired and gave in, accepting the offer of a room at a casa particular run by his 'cousin' in the city centre. As it turns out his cousin was a very nice guy, didn't rip us off and his place couldn't have been better located, if only we'd ever had the chance to relax and enjoy the city.


First though we needed find two things - an ATM and an internet connection so Sharen could book her flight back to Toronto. Sounds simple, but this is Cuba. The guy who we we're staying with said that internet was available at hotels and waved his hand in the general direction so we set off. Two hours later we'd visited about half a dozen hotels only to be told by each one that internet wasn't available there, but it would be at x, y or z. We also managed to somehow pick up a very persistent jintero who insisted on trying to take us to the hotel Hemingway stayed in before demanding money from us despite the fact we'd never asked him for any help with anything. We finally found Hotel Telegrapho who advised us that we were welcome to use their wifi, except that they had sold out of access cards so we would have to find a card somewhere first. Out we set again and finally found cards for sale at a Hotel Sevilla. However, here their wifi was down! So we bought a few cards (at $4.50 an hour!) and headed back to Telegrapho only to be told that the cards we had bought wouldn't work there!! With most of the morning wasted we decided to try to find an ATM instead. Another hour later still no joy despite lots of different directions from people. Even two different official tourist information places gave us conflicting advice. Feeling thoroughly pissed off and ready to punch the next person who asked if we wanted a taxi, we made our way back to Hotel Sevilla where luckily their wifi was now working. That was when we realised that internet here is dial up speed and an hour allows you to send approximately 3.5 emails and perhaps do one google search if you were lucky.

It was during the next hour that we found that it was almost impossible to book a flight online from Cuba, especially a one way flight. We didn't realise it at the time, but this meant that the next few days were going to be spent trying to find some way for Sharen to get home, a problem that would still not be solved 4 days later.


Anyway, we ended the day with a rather strange dinner that consisted of very dry fish, rice and salad, but with a complimentary mojito and laundry soap flavoured ice cream. Our search for a flight meant staying an unplanned second night in Havana and eventually we did manage to see a little bit of the city, but there has been a distinct air of frustration about our time here so far and tempers have been frayed.

Next it was Varadero, a far more touristy beach resort place a little to the east of Havana and again, frustration reins. I have spent two whole days trying to book a hotel for next week, my time split between trying to find a place for less than $180 a night and queuing to use the now $6 an hour internet. When I did finally find a hotel yesterday I was informed that I couldn't make a reservation because it was Sunday and the reservation lady didn't work on a Sunday! To make matters worse there doesn't seem to be any wifi here so you have to use the provided computers, a la 1990's Internet cafe, but with no 'cafe' about them. Last night one of the five machines was out of order while a second was being avoided by everyone due to the large puddle of pee all over the seat and floor underneath it kindly left by a woman tourist who was clearly very drunk and not in control of her bodily functions. As I sat waiting my turn I had to smile when I realised that the picture on the front of the internet access scratch cards is a woman sitting calmly in the lotus position. I'm not sure whether that is a suggestion as to how to survive the system or someone being ironic, but either way I've found nothing relaxing about this place so far.

I'm trying to like it though. Almost dying from fumes in my room caused by a burning wires due to an electrical fault with the shower on the first night didn't help either, but yesterday we walked on the beach and last night went to watch some Cuban music at Calle 62 so it's not all bad. I've also discovered that a good mood restorer is a ride in a coco taxi. Touristy as hell, but you can't help but smile as you run down first avenue with the wind on your face in a little yellow bubble like car!


Trinidad is definitely my favourite town so far. It's like Havana but prettier and without everything being so hidden. Internet and banks are marginally easier to find, probably on account of it being almost purely a tourist town, but not in a negative way. Trinidad has just celebrated its 500 year anniversary so most of the buildings have been recently restored or at least had a fresh coat of paint. It's pastel coloured houses remind me somewhat of a Cornish fishing village. There are hustlers but they're far less menacing and persistent. They don't follow you, they merely reel off a list of places they can take you to as you pass by. It's cheap enough to eat too. One of the only foods that Cuba seems to do really well is good, cheap pizza. A 'personal' sized one being at least 12 inches, there's plenty left for breakfast too. The fish is usually decent enough too, the chicken pre-cooked but edible. The best food item I've seen so far was in a typically sparsely stocked grocery store in Trinidad...a small can labelled 'tinned meat for tourists'!


Trinidad was been fun though and certainly more active. We took a taxi and visited Topes de Collantes and climbed down a waterfall and yesterday we went horse riding down into the valley to escape the heat of the town and to visit a sugar cane plantation. Sugar cane juice mixed with bitter oranges is wonderful. So now I'm aching somewhat and I can feel the muscles in my shins from the after the waterfall climb. Next up I'm heading for Camaguey, Holguin and Santiago de Cuba for a few nights before heading back to the beautiful beaches of Varadero for some much needed rest!

Guatemala

I feel like I've been writing a lot lately, but I seem to have had a few days with time on my hands and the last week has been so full of adventures that I don't want to forget, that now I'm sitting on the Caribbean shore with a warm breeze blowing in from the sea, writing and contemplating life seems like the only thing to be doing.

This week I decided that crossing the border and seeing a little of Guatemala was something I would regret if I left this area without doing so, despite the many warnings that it was not a good idea. Being ten minutes drive away it seemed wrong not to though, so after an early start we arrived at the Belizean border checkpoint just before 8am. There was already a queue and after a short wait, we were through, another $20 lighter after paying our departure fees. Ahead of us was a bridge over the river patrolled by more soldiers than I was expecting, but still, they were friendly and wished us a good morning as we passed. On the other side of the bridge we asked for directions to the town and we were advised that we had actually walked straight past Guatemalan immigration and hadn't been stamped in! Incredulously we walked back, got our stamps and were on our way.

We'd decided to head to Tikal, a Mayan ruin site a few hours from the border. All the tour companies in San Ignacio were selling day tours for between $110 and $150, but we figured we could go there, spend a night at a lodge in the forest and get back to Belize again all for under $50 and it meant we could pick our own schedule. After a much longer than expected collectivo ride to El Remate that involved driving past several tanks and other vehicles full of military personnel, being stopped at a police checkpoint and almost running over a pig, we were able to flag down a passing tourist minibus and got a ride to Tikal. The site itself was impressive, one of the largest we've visited so far with much larger and more impressive pyramids still surrounded by jungle, so the walk between them without a map (because we were too cheapskate to buy one) was a bit hit or miss. By the end of the day though we'd found them all, and tired from a last minute dash to a pyramid we'd missed earlier, we caught the last tourist bus from the site back to Ixlu where we caught the crazy overflowing collectivo ride I talked about earlier.


Upon arrival at La Maquina, much to our surprise, a guy appeared who spoke no English at all, but managed to say 'El Sombrero' and 'Gabriella' so we figured he had been sent to collect us. We then set off at breakneck speed in a pickup truck down a small side road which turned out to consist of extremely deep, slippery mud. Questioning whether we'd been a little quick to accept his offer of a lift, we hung on for dear life for nearly half an hour as he picked his way through the worst bits and eventually delivered us to our lodge.

Given that it was dark by this time we arrived, we didn't really appreciate just how remote the place we were staying was until morning, so we had a quick dinner, showered (cold water only) and went to sleep. The following morning we realised that our room was actually made almost entirely of mesh and that save for a thatch roof, we were outside. The sounds of all the creatures around us in the forest was incredible to hear. Watching Collared Aracari's and Blue Crowned Motnest's fly around as you eat your breakfast isn't something you do every day and for that reason the visit was worth the effort of getting to the place. However, when we discovered that pretty much everything apart from our bed involved an extra charge, we realised that we couldn't afford to stay a second night. I guess that's the trouble when you're so far away from everything...you can't pop out to that little cafe down the road, you have to just accept what you can get. The food was good, but much more than we'd got used to paying. The real crunch came when we found that the ride from La Maquina the night before was going to cost us $20 USD, a crazy price given our 4 or so hours to Tikal from the border had cost us only about $8. I think sensing our dissatisfaction and realising we were heading to Yaxha, Gabriella offered to send someone by bike to buy us our tickets and then take us to the site by boat across the lake for free. Agreeing this was a fair compromise, we found ourselves the first and only people at the site with everything to ourselves. Even the park rangers looked confused as to where we'd come from!



Several hours of climbing steps later, we decided it was probably time to head back to the parking area to try and hitch a lift with a tour van. When we got there the lot was empty bar one little 4x4. Nothing. No-one. The driver of the vehicle, a guide on a private tour with an American couple, looked disinterested when we asked for a ride to the road, telling us it wasn't possible. A ranger then appeared, only to shrug and advise us that our only option was to walk back. He added that it was 11km and it would take us 'about 40 mins'. Doing the maths myself, given that average walking speed is about 5km and hour and that's not taking into account foot deep muddy hills, I realised we had a very long hike ahead of us.


Nevertheless, we set off and half an hour later the little blue 4x4 passed us, ignoring our renewed request for a lift with a shrug and a shake of the head. Annoyed, we continued on, only up find the car stuck fast half way up a very muddy hill a couple of kilometres ahead. Walking past smugly, commenting that maybe we'd be back before them after all, the woman who was on the tour spoke to us sympathetically and said she didn't know why they couldn't help us out and that if they got out of the mud she'd ask again for them to help us out. A short while later, having been freed with some local help, they drew up beside us and offered us a ride...Sharen got a seat, I got the trunk wedged in beside the cool box. I didn't care though, the sun was beating down and it meant we could get back to the border before dark.

The moral of the story I guess is that sometimes a bit of planning makes life a hell of a lot easier. We've been winging it for a week or two now, not booking accommodation and just seeing what we find when we get there, but if guess every now and then some research in advance helps.

Guatemala was beautiful though and I'm glad we went. I wish in a way we had spent longer there, but the draw of heading back to Belize was too much and we decided we wanted to make the most of our time there instead.


Which brings me to Belize...easily one of the best countries I've ever visited. Some places you arrive in just feel instantly right and Belize is one of those places. When I arrived in San Ignacio I was only planning on staying a couple of nights at most. In actual fact we left today after 6 nights there in total and even then we had a serious debate this morning about whether we should stay a further night. Why? A combination of lots of things really. The people there are super friendly. No one passes you in the street or sits next to you on a bus without at least saying hello and asking how you are. On buses or if you find yourself sharing a table with locals over breakfast or dinner then you've pretty much got a friend great life an hour later.

Quite by chance we ended up staying at Hi Et guesthouse, a wonderful little family establishment that charges per room rather than per person. This meant that Sharen and I could stay in a double room with a shared bathroom for only 25BZD a night (about £3.75 each!). It was clean, comfortable and we even had a little balcony which came in very handy for drying our laundry.

It was also about half a block in any direction to a great breakfast place, Topp's and really nice Belizean restaurant, Cenaida's, both serving food way above the quality we'd have expected for the low prices. The bank was a block away. There was a corner store next door for drinks. When we went to Guatemala the family who ran the guest house kindly offered to hold on to our backpacks for us until we came back free of charge. Everything about the place was right and both of us said more than once that we could happily stay there for the rest of the month. It was also a street away from the bus and when we decided to go riding in the jungle on one of the last days we were there, it was a minutes walk away from the place where we had to arrange that.

Speaking of which, during a last minute 'what shall we do tomorrow' conversation one evening, we decided that horseriding would make a nice chance to visiting Mayan ruins and although Sharen was reluctant, we arranged a mornings riding with a local guy, Andy, who had a number of horses on his families ranch. When we set off the sun was shining brightly, but just as we reached higher open ground the heavens opened and it poured. I guess we shouldn't have been surprised given that our horses names were Thunder and a Rain. Still, it was an exhilarating experience and I'm glad we went. It was back in Iceland last year that I realised how much I miss riding. It's something I'll make a conscious effort to do more when I can. I had forgotten how much it hurts though to ride for several hours after not riding for a while!


So we finally left San Ignacio and headed to the east coast, Dangriga to be exact. As we were getting ready to leave we happened to bump into Narciso in the town, who sadly bade us farewell and told us he'd miss us and that we were always welcome to visit again one day.

Right now I'm sitting in a hammock about a hundred feet from the shore with a warm breeze blowing in from the Caribbean Sea, watching local kids taking advantage of the last of the daylight for a final game of football. I don't know what my plans are even for the next few days, but life is good.

Planes, Trains....and Autobuses

Forgive me, but I feel a small diversion into the world of public transport in Central America is necessary...
Despite having spent a few weeks there and having travelled a lot by bus and train, public transport in Mexico is still a mystery for the most part. Before I arrived there I'd read somewhere that 'buses run to a schedule that only they know' and that if you were used to greyhound buses in the USA then you'd be pleasantly surprised. The former is very true, the latter often so.

There are about a hundred bus companies running in Mexico, or so it seems, none of which seem to publish their full timetable or give you any obvious clue where they run to. This means when you decide you want to go somewhere you have to turn up at a bus station and pick a company to start with and join the inevitable queue to buy a ticket. Upon reaching the front of the queue you are then told (unless you've been lucky enough to pick the right company) that they don't run there, but that X,Y or Z company does. You then join a new queue and start the process all over again.

There are also often a multitude of different ticket types too, ranging in price. Some bus terminals we discovered even have two different classes of bus station, usually side by side. One is fancier with electronic price boards and sells 'premium' tickets, the other more run down selling 'regular' tickets...and rarely does either tell you that the other exists, especially if you find yourself in the more expensive one!

One of our best discoveries (quite by accident) was the first class service run by Primera Plus. Buses in Mexico are often fairly rough and overcrowded, with people standing in the aisle once the seats are full, so you can imagine our surprise when one day we were greeted by a coach driver in a suit along with a woman who resembled an airline hostess who proceeded to hand us each a bag containing a complimentary drink, sandwich and cookies. We were then met at the bus door by an armed police officer who checked our bags before wishing us a good journey. On board the bus we found seats that looked like they'd been taken out of the business class section of a plane...leg rests that folded down to turn the seat into a kind of bed, electric points, free wifi and and headrest tv monitors with free films! At a cost of about $4 more than a regular ticket, even on a budget, for a long journey more than reasonable.

It's not just buses though that surprise here. Everywhere there are little things that you don't expect to see. The pedestrian crossing signs use the common red and green men, but here often the green man is animated so that he's running, something that has been a constant source of entertainment to us. Buses and trains are often segregated too with designated carriages/sections for women and children. On one station platform there were phone chargers for nearly every brand of phone provided free of charge and a free shoe shine station at the base of an advertising sign!

Average buses about town though are very different. Blowing exhausts, screeching brakes and things held together with gaffer tape are commonplace. Buses don't usually leave until it's almost impossible to squeeze another person in and journeys, although very cheap, can be hot and uncomfortable. This is also the land of speed bumps...I have never experienced so many anywhere else in the world. This only slows down already slow bus journeys to almost walking pace at times. At every stop you also pick up a new trader who tries their best to sell you something you never knew you needed...pens with built in lights, tiny screwdriver sets or tights, usually for 5 pesos a time. It's an assault on the senses too to travel by bus. Often there's a TV that's playing a film, whilst at the same time 80's power pop is blaring from the stereo and at least one passenger is competing with music from their phone. Sleeping is impossible.

In Belize and Guatemala most of the buses are the old US blue bird school buses, usually painted in bright colours. Some have luggage compartments underneath, on others you have to carry your bags on your lap or pile them up at the back. That is if you're lucky enough to even get on the bus in the first place. Queues mean nothing, it's sharpened elbows and every man for himself. There have been times we've had to wait an hour for the next bus...fighting through the crowd with a backpack on leaves you at a distinct disadvantage.

The best bus ride I've had yet has to be a crazy collectivo ride we took in Guatemala. The van stopped and the driver got out, asking where we were headed. When we said La Maquina (about an hour away) he looked a little uncertain and mimed what I took to mean 'it's cold' by wrapping is arms around himself. Slightly bemused as it wasn't cold at all we headed to the bus, only to discover that he actually meant 'there are already twice as many people in there as the van is designed to carry so it'll be a squeeze to get in'. The bus had 18 seats and at one point during that journey there were 26 people in that van plus a couple of babies. I was wedged in against the sliding door, my backside inches from Sharen's face and my face, neck bent sideways against the roof, uncomfortably close to a young Guatemalan guy, who decided it was a great opportunity to practice his English! Luckily he was a nice guy and didn't take advantage of the close proximity to pose creepy questions as some guys have tended to do. I can't remember a time when I was more uncomfortable though. By the time we got to our destination discomfort had turned to pain and cramp, but it was getting late and we weren't sure when the next van would come or if indeed there would be one, so beggars can't be choosers I guess. The funniest part of the journey was when the driver insisted we had to try and shut the door because we were going past a police checkpoint and it was illegal to have the door open. No mention of the ridiculous number of people on the bus! It's the same for taxis though, as many people as you can fit in if you ask for collectivo rates seems to be the way it works. Another time the conductor on a blue bird bus orchestrated a 'group squat' while passing a police point so they couldn't see that anyone was standing!

I'm writing this as we're preparing to pack our things and catch a bus probably to Dangriga to venture up the Cayes over the next week or two. Who knows what public transport adventure will greet us next!

Hopkins...aka my favourite place in Belize so far

Let me start by saying that I love Belize. I don't just quite like it, I love this country in a way I never expected to. Not because I expected to dislike it, but it really has been one of the highlights of my time in Central America. One town however I've loved above all others, and that was Hopkins.

I love Hopkins. I love the village, the people, the food, the social life...everything. A sign at the hostel there said something along the lines of 'it's not perfect but it's paradise'. I'd say that sums it up pretty damn well.

A little over a week ago (I think?) after spending a couple of nights in sleepy Dangriga, we were having our perpetual breakfast discussion about where to go next and the options were to either head north to the Cayes or to make a quick diversion for a night in Hopkins, a small Garifuna fishing village to the south. To be honest we didn't really know why we felt like we should go there, especially after reading the wikitravel page for the place...go look it up and see what I mean...but a few people we'd met had said it was worth a nights stay so we decided to give it a try.


There are two buses each day in and out of Hopkins, one leaving Dangriga at 10.30am and another in the afternoon. In Dangriga we'd met a guy from Quebec, Max, and he'd decided to come to Hopkins too, only he suggested that walking might be a more interesting way to get there rather than getting the bus and then sitting around all day. Sharen wasn't keen and opted for the bus, but I like a challenge so I said I'd join him. On asking around, local opinion was that we were crazy, but if we insisted to it was 'about 8 miles' and that we shouldn't try and walk along the coast because there were at least five rivers to cross and we might encounter crocodiles. Probably not that wise, especially carrying backpacks!


So we walked, and it rained, and we walked some more and a few hours later we finally reached the junction with the southern highway only to find a sign that said the hostel we were heading for was still 15 miles ahead! At that point with a few blisters and a realisation that we probably wouldn't make it there before nightfall we decided that a few beers in the next bar and then hitching the rest of the way would be a far better option. Three beers and three truck rides later we were there, much to the amusement of the people in the village who were expecting 'those idiots who tried to walk.'


There started my love affair with Hopkins. On arrival we discovered that Sharen had met a local guy on the bus, Tony, whose uncle owned a place that rented kayaks, so the following day we paddled around the mangrove lagoons and out to the sea, swimming and that evening we drank a lot of local beer and rum. In fact I learnt a lot about rum in that place...the difference between one/two/three barrels and why there are parrots and vultures on the bottles.


The hostel wasn't great - no hot water, virtually no electric sockets or lights that worked and it was cold at night, but the people working there more than made up for it. The beaches were beautiful and something that seemed to be a recurring theme there was waking up in a bed full of sand...probably as a result of our many impromptu late night swims or walks home along the beach. They also had the best hostel dog I've ever met, Luna-Tic, on account of her nervous tic. Every day she'd lay in the sun sleeping like she was recovering from a hangover, then as soon as it got dark she was wide awake and raring to go. That dog came everywhere with us...to bars, for dinner, to the beach, everywhere. She was a true party dog and she greeted us all like long lost friends when we returned if we'd somehow managed to leave the place without her.


Every night there was something going on somewhere in the village, whether it was late night pizza at Driftwood, 'ladies night' at a place that reminded me of house parties when I was 16 and played music to match or karaoke in a bar that involved a crazy ride on the back of a pickup with 15 other people across a few fields. One of my lasting memories of the place will always be watching Max sing gangnam style at karaoke to a room full of stunned people who really thought he could speak Korean! Everywhere we went we'd bump into the same people to the point that it felt like you were meeting up with old friends. No-one treated you like a tourist, you felt like you belonged there and that's rare. Food was great too...one night I ended up eating Gibnut/Paca (look it up, it's cute!) because of a mistake with an order and it was very tasty! I also had the best fish and chips I've ever tasted at a little place called Windschief - fresh grouper caught only hours before.


We planned to stay a night...we stayed a week and even then we had to tear ourselves away. It was just one of those places. Leaving felt like we were breaking up our little family. Me, Makou, Sharen and Uncle Patrick. I'm glad we stayed as long as we did, because arriving at Caye Caulker was a huge anticlimax. It was the first time that I'd felt in Belize that anyone was less than sincere when they started a conversation with you. In Caye Caulker you knew that the banter had been used a million times before and that eventually the conversation would come round to money. We got told off by someone for going fishing with kayaks we borrowed from a hostel, but it just came down to the fact we hadn't paid the guy for an organised tour to do so. The only plus point about the place was it's proximity to Hol Chan Marine Reserve where we went snorkelling and saw turtles, nurse sharks, rays and some really beautiful coral reef. I didn't like the place though and I liked Belize City even less. I miss Hopkins and all the people I spent time with there. Sometimes lots of things align to bring good people together and this was a perfect example. I hope all the people that I shared some time with there are enjoying their travels wherever they may be.