Panamá – REW. – Costa Rica

This post will probably be a long one. I was waiting for a moment to write about Costa Rica and I meant to do it now. However, I have just returned from Colon and that made all the difference. I’ll be writing backwards, starting with Panama. It is a bit strange but you’ll understand why I’m doing it this way.

I am stuck in Panama. I can’t move on because of the guerrillas’ activities in the Darían Gap. It is virtually impossible to cross by land; some tried and most never came back. So, I am not intending to this by land but the other options are expensive and/or complex. Well, I’m still working on this, so will keep you up to date. That will be a either a coconut cargo ship or an airplane. The cargo or a sail boat is definitely a more appealing option; this is why I had to go to Colon to check out the marina. Well, it was some experience I tell you.
Earlier I was speculating about the word “peligroso” (danger), the true meaning of this word was reviled today in Colon. Couple of days ago I met an American girl and together we walked to the old (colonial) part of Panama City (San Filipe). The general direction we were going to described as dangerous. I told her that Latinos abuse this word and apply to anything they fell like. After some picture taking and exploration, naturally we got lost a little. It has gotten dark, and Caroline began to worry, so we decided to go to a nearby Police station to ask directions. The policeman made crazy big eyes and gave me another of the “mucho peligroso” speech. He looked so scared, as if we jeopardized his safety by asking questions. To relieve the natives we took a taxi ride back.
There was some suspicious activity going on the streets, more so when I came back there the next day. I met a guy in Guatemala who told me about a black market in Panama City, where they sell stolen stuff. Ironically, he got his camera stolen there too; he said that he took the camera to take pictures. The market was in San Filipe too. There was a local guy with us that day, an islander from Kuna Yala. He knew where it was, or at least he said he knew. We went there, all three of us, Carolina, an American girl, Gamaine and me.
Three musketries marching through hidden but somewhat obvious merchants, keeping our belongings as close to the skin as possible. Not only I bought a cell phone there, I even took a picture of them after the trade. It was $30 for a Samsung SGH-X156, not like I needed it but I had to do this for the hell of it, I was curios. Later, I found out that the phone was locked to a Panamian carrier, and it took me the next afternoon to unlock it using the “power of the internet”.
I have been to dangerous towns before. Hell, all of them are dangerous, or at least everybody says so. I had a blast in Mexico City, but there was a Korean guy I met traveling for a year and that was the only place where he got mugged. In Belize City and Tegucigalpa people stay in their hostels after dark or avoid these towns’ altogether, well, I had a good time there too. In San Jose, I met a guy who returned from Puerto Viejo where he got robbed in front of the hostel where he was staying and another time when he arrived to San Jose. I went to Puerto Viejo the next day (not because of this, I planned to anyways) I consider both cities relatively safe and definitely a lot of fun, especially Puerto Viejo.
This previously described “peligroso” experiences are nothing compare to Colon. I read that it was especially dangerous, a lot of people told me so, as well. However, to get to Colombia, I needed to know which boats leave for Cartagena and when. The other option is to find one of many sailboats doing just that, they advertise these services in local hostels and the price for such voyage is around $275!
So, I wanted to see if it was possible to get a better price by talking directly to the captains of the boats. I went to Colon and there took a bus to Coco Solo – cargo ship port. One the most dangerous places in Latin America. I hoped to get to the gates of the marina without exercising my luck there. It was really meant to be that simple. I look a little Latino but I can’t help looking like not a local kind of Latino. So apparently there were some people who were interested to get to know me “closer”. It was heavily raining, which contribute to the image of “unwelcomeness”. I had to find someone to help me; there was a guy on the bus, and he almost dragged me out of the bus before the last stop. I guess he saved me from those people… There were no streets, just couple of unpaved roads with very almost ruined buildings, surprisingly they looked inhabited. I told him that I was looking for the port and he walked with me there. It was like walking through the war zone or a wild jungle at night, I could feel the eyes on me from the ruins. We waked to the gate. I could not stop wondering how helpless this place was. I have seen things like that in some rural parts of Central America and Russia. But this was different, it looked like Chernobyl, yet people lived there. I asked Carlos (this was the guy’s name) why would he live in such a place, the answer was obvious: the money, I don’t even think anybody charges them to live there…
Anyways, I did not get in to the port. Apparently, it was bought off several years ago and now the entrance was restricted. Now, I had to go back, the bus was not supposed to be back for another hour. Taxis were none existent there and telephones did not work. This was when I met Pastor Michael. I actually did not know he was a pastor. He certainly did not look like one. He had black sandals, completely worn out, a “wife-bitter” shirt, a sort of old English club jacket and an orange condom like hat. Both of these “gentlemen” walked me back to the road to get a taxi. I was so careful that I even slipped into a puddle, after Carlos helped me up; I felt that I could trust this person. My trust grew even stronger when couple of taxi drivers just ignored us, while Carlos was using to hands to point at me, indicating that it was me who needed a lift. Finally, wile Carlos was showing me his scar after he got shot (right under his heart), a taxi stopped for a woman with a little girl who came out one these buildings. I went to the city with them…

Now, let me tell you a little about Panama City itself. It does not look like New York, a lot of people say it does but it doesn’t. It looks like a merge of Acapulco and San Diego. Though, it does feel like New York at times. I mean it feels a little like home. There is a little of everything here. I found a Russian bar (accidentally) called “Rasputin”. I have never seen a Russian bar since I left, not like I miss it a lot, but Potemkin battleship poster made me feel a little nostalgic. To my surprise there were no portraits of Putin, just old soviet slogans and photos of Russian hockey players. I was told there are about 500 Russians living in Panama City. There also was Bank Leumi – an Israeli bank, I have never seen this one outside of Israel. There is a lot to like about Panama City. It is situated on a beautiful bay, where you can watch pelicans hunting for fish. There good theaters and museums here. Skyscrapers did not impress me much but the renovated historical part of Santa Ana and San Filipe, despite the “peligroso” part was amazing.
The city is pretty big but it’s missing one vital feature: subway. It took me 2 hours to get back to Panama City from Colon and the same time from terminal to my hostel (of course I got on a wrong bus at first). However, the most important feature of course is the canal. I went to the Mira Flores locks yesterday. I saw it in action. It was amazing, a true modern wonder. It was raining too (it rains everyday now, no sun at all), and the scenery was very dramatic.

Previously, I spend half a day in David. Again, it was raining and I had a bus to catch in 5 hours, so I went to… the movies. I got myself chips and 3 bottles of beer and watched The Marine. The movie was so bad. I loved it. I felt like being back in US. Even more so, after that cheese was done I went to see another one: Primeval. It was bad too but overall experience of David was pleasant.

To get to David I took a minibus from Bocas del Toro through Chiriqui Highlands. That was the best bus ride I have ever had. I never understood the term “cloud forests” until I saw that. There were clouds moving from one hill, completely covered by the vegetations, to another. Some clouds were raining, some were not, it looked absolutely unreal.

Bocas del Toro is a set of several islands, on the northern Caribbean side of Panama. It is just a kind of (one of a very few) touristy destination in Panama. I did not really want to go but it was close to Puerto Viejo (Costa Rica) so I went. Nothing special, except for the fact the have special kind of poisonous red frogs (really small ones) and I actually took a picture of one.

Puerto Viejo was much better. That was a special place. Costa Rica is overdeveloped and it is almost impossible to find a place like that unless you go on jeep or hike through insane number of reserves (35% of Costa Rica’s land is protected). The alternatives are a number of beach towns like Tamarindo, expensive and overpopulated. I did not go. I went to Puerto Viejo, partially because I did not want to cross the border at a Pan American highway crossing, which is a major border-crossing, and the waiting time could easily exceed 4 hours. I met Carl, a Swedish guy; he had 10 year old white dreads, a 6″ reddish beard, a pierced lip and blind style black sunglasses. It was like traveling with 10 foot pink crocodile. But it was fun; we got all the attention on the bus.

So, the town was well worth it. It was a little pricy but it is Costa Rica and I am sure it is much more expensive in Tamarindo. The beaches, the sunsets, the trees and crabs, that was Puerto Viejo. Central Americans generally suck in making seafood dishes (they usually fry the fish like it owes them money) but this town was good for fish. I tried to read my newly exchanged Oliver Twist book but I just gave up on it and drank beer all day long (eventually I exchanged it for some space opera, about a Hispanic refugee on Jupiter; an easier read). There is also another very apparent feature of this village. It is a weed paradise. When I was checking in my hotel the receptionist was rolling a joint, which was offered to me before the actual room. There is a police station there too; it is located on a beach in front of the dancing bar, and they burn huge fires every night with loud music, drinking, and obviously ganja smoking. I stick to cigars and Panama beer, although bad, it satisfied the thirst.

Several days before that I was in San Jose, I don’t know why people generally don’t like San Jose. I did but I like big cities especially the capitals. The costal was kind of fun. The best backpackers’ hostel I ever stayed at. It was called Costa Rica Backpackers. There was really nothing to do there but I did meet some interesting people. I met Chris, the Norwegian, who taught me 3 things. One Norway is one of the most expensive countries in the world. Two, only 3% of Norwegians were actually Vikings back in the days, other were farmers. And three, the most important one, how to be “Norwegian drunk”. Apparently, several Scandinavian nations dispute for the right to be called the most drinking nation. In any case, “Norwegian drunk” is when you “drink till you drop”. Well I did. San Jose is perfectly suited for that. I was so drunk I order French fries in a Jazz bar. They had to semi-carry me to the taxi. To be honest, he did not teach me how to be “Norwegian drunk”. I knew that skill before Costa Rica, I just did not know it was called that.
Despite all the obvious fun, I also visited a Golden Museum in San Jose. It was a wonderful experience. I had no idea that it was possible to make miniature golden sculptures using “indigos” technology. Some of the figures were so detailed I could not believe that some called these people savages. Also, there was a theater. One of the most impressive architectural structures I have seen so far in Central America, not including the churches and cathedrals. I did not get in, because the performance was due the following week, and the charged $5 entrance fee just for looking.

I can’t really summarize my experience about Costa Rica. I did not do the most obvious things, like bird and turtle-egg-laying watching, jungle hiking, and surfing. However, Costa Rica is a very pleasant country. Very clean, extremely clean, comparing to the rest of Central America, but also much more expensive. I almost had a culture shock when I crossed the border from Nicaragua. Many Americans have their second homes here many study a semester, or two “abroad”. A very welcoming country and still cheaper than most US resorts. Nevertheless, I prefer something a little less touristy, developed and luxurious. Panama? Maybe. Some say Panama is like Costa Rica 20 years ago. Don’t know it is still more expensive than, say Honduras. However, there still options, in San Jose I ate a local dish from the market for $2 with natural juice. And in Panama City I went to McDonalds for $7 (just followed the stupid crowd from hostel, don’t know why), the same amount I spent going to Colon having 2 meals there, one taxi ride, and a bus back.

Well enough for now :)
BTW Thanx everyone for cheering me up with your comments.

PS If you were to send me an sms, please provide your name with the message, because my phonebook was lost with a previous phone

My complains + Nicaragua

Hey all. I'm a little (to say the least) discouraged by the comments, or actually, by the lack of them. In fact, it makes me not wanna write anything at all. I was considering this option. Hell yea, I'm complaining. I'm perfectly aware, that it is virtually impossible for most of you to understand what I'm going through here. I guess it is my fault. I write, what i think, is interesting and ¨safe¨ to write. Of course, there is much more to it. Alomg with great things, I'm also experiencing some very exhausting trips on shitty buses on somewhat terrible roads throughout Central America. Often sickening food (it sometimes takes me days to recover); imagine feeling like that on a 4-6 hour bus ride with no stops. When it does in fact stop, nobody tells you when it leaves or check if you are on a bus. One time, i had to run for it through a very crowd market (the terminals, for some reasons are always in the markets), because i was getting some food when the bus left with my backpack. So yea, it gets very difficult; the sleepless nights followed by dirty towns and not very dangerous but very annoying harassment from some of the locals. The search for a hostel or a hotel sometimes becomes a journey in itself, usually a very tiring and unpleasant journey.
It was my choice and I'm happy with it. I'm doing what i want, where I want and whenever I want (according to the circumstances, of course). However, I have decided to proceed. After all, I'm doing this for myself. It is MY journal. The very dirty and juicy details will most likely escape this blog but will stay in my memory (hopefully). I'll save them for later, to tell when I came back, if I come back (just kidding).

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Anyways, here is for Nicaragua:
Amazing country, and very cheap too. It requires much more time then I spent there, but I had a different plan. The north, where I did not go, is mostly the cloud forests, beautiful I'm sure. Also, there are Corn Islands in the Caribbean; where there is good diving and sunsets, but since I recently had Utila experience I did not go (it is also quite far). What I did go for is the colonial feel of Nicaragua and also I wanted to get the an idea of the communistic past of the country. The Soviets used to help Nicaragua back in the days along with Cuba, trying to set up a fort-post in Latin America. They have succeeded for some time. The only soviet things left, were some LADAs driving around Nicaragua and couple of graffiti walls from the old days in León (most of them were painted over).

León
I had a great time there, unlike in Granada. It is a small colonial town with unrestored and unpainted old churches. I usually try to avoid ¨gringo¨ hostel (there is at least one in every touristic town), but this time I walked 6 miles with my backpack from the terminal in a steaming heat. Then suddenly there was a rain. The raining season is not due for another month, talking about global warming. So, I set myself for Via Via Cafe, a small chain of hostels in Central America, I stayed in one in.., shit I don't remember where, but they had good beds (added later: Copan). This one did not, but it was OK. Everybody hang out at this place, even locals. I met a cool guy from NY. His name was John, he was the first black and first New Yorker I have met on my trip. New Yorkers don't travel much, and American blacks especially. By the way, the most traveling state appeared to be Colorado and North Carolina, funny huh? In any case, there where no Americans in Nicaragua. Only fearless Europeans, Canadians, some South Americans and this crazy J. J. He was complaining about backpackers being very cheap, while he was ordering a bottle of white French wine in a backpackers hostel. His family was quite rich, so his education level was high; he was a T-shirt designer, who got tired of his life in New York and set his foot in Costa Rica. Many Americans did. Costa Rica is a dream, but Ill get to this later. (He arrived in Mexico with 2 suite cases, one with his clothes, another with only T-shirts. he ended up giving this suite case to the poor children somewhere in Mexico, so, if you'll see kids with funky designed T-shirts in the poorest parts of Mexico, don't be alarmed, the credit goes to John J).
So, we were drinking Flor de Caña with Coke (Cuba Libre), an incredibly cheap and very smooth rum. The best Ive ever tasted. We were bar hoping in León, where he would always try to be friends with security guards. and they, in return, would touch his mussels and his braided hear. he complained about that too. He said that he was happy someone saw it, because his friends would not believe him. It was really funny. Apparently they did not see blacks here. He was also afraid that, me being sometimes unfriendly with some of the guards, would get him (us) in trouble.¨Drop the NY attitude, man¨ he said to me, he did not know that is not NY attitude, just me, or is it? Well, we had a lot of fun. There was a waitress in Via Via, one of the most beautifully women in Central America, according to John, well, I agree on that. He was trying to hit on her, or at least communicate to. But she did not speak a word of English, or at least pretended like she did not. After couple of drinks he asked me to translate his feelings in Spanish to her. Asked me to translate, hilarious. Well, my Spanish was better than his but not to the point where I cans say: ¨You are the most beautiful woman on earth, your eyes are like to shining stars and I would very mush like to get to know you closer¨, or some cheese like that. I could only say: ¨John is very much crazy about you¨ but she knew it anyways; talking about lost in translation. I left León and don't know how this story ended just yet. Possibly Ill see him in Costa Rica in his beach house, to hear the end of it.

Granada
I did not have much luck in Granada. Something was off about this city. The city was burned during the period of government of mad American, William Walker. But the city is restored now. The central cathedral is painted bright yellow, the street were relatively clean and flocks of tourists (even Americans) were walking around the town. I walked the town too, for couple of days but did not like the feel of it. However, there were some good news. Finally, after searching practically in every country in Central America, I got myself some good cigars, and plenty of them. Granada is famous for good Nicaraguan cigars. I went to every store and tried every cigar there.I bought 15 cognac (brandy) flavored cigars, from Doña Elba Cigars (they store tobacco leaves in the chest with brandy for several years) then roll them on a spot. It is amazing how they do it. Also, I met a local girl who sold me a box of 25 premium, pure (unflavored) Nicaraguan cigars. I'm reach now; if I were to sell it in US, I'd make quite a profit.
Another good thing in Granada was Laguna de Apoyo. It is a small crater lake, 1.5 hours away from Granada. I did not take my camera but you just have to trust me it was a great view from the top of the mountain, than a nice hike down for 40 min, through the jungles down to the very clean and beautiful lake. The beach was mine. I swam and had cigar with Ernest Hemingway's "After the Storm", there also was movie script by Hotchner. It was almost like watching a movie on a lake. I continued reading in a small local beach bar, with Toña (Nicaraguan beer) and some local treats. That was a good day. I left Granada feeling stressed (there was I fight between me and a book exchange place, i wanted to change my "Old Patagonian Express" to "Pickwicks Papers" but the did not want to do it, and also charged me a crazy price for the Internet.)
So, I went to San Juan del Sur, a surf town. There was nothing to do but I had to soak up some relaxing atmosphere. I even considered surfing lessons but they were expansive and I was off to Costa Rica next day.

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P.S. Yea, yea, I know, this post will be responded to. Huh, I even made it easier, there is no need to have a gmail account now.

the “Psss” or “anti-tranquillo”

It has gotten into me today. I am so tired of these people grabbing me and whistling at me. It is in their culture, I know. But I could not take it anymore. The fucking taxi drivers honking their availability, these fat mamas, at the markets, grabbing you by the hand, so you sit and eat that always undercooked food, drug dealers trying to sell you something, drunks and bums just yelling at you, some sort of communication method. But most of all, I’m tired of being whistled at, and psssed at. The psss, oh, how much I hate that, all of them, the old ones and the young ones. These boys, trying to get something out of you, sell stuff, show stuff, and tell you stuff. Shit you don’t need but can’t avoid. Just be tranquillo (calm, chill) I was told by gringos and locals. I try. But I could not anymore. I was looking for something like this for some time now. I imagined the worse case scenarios in my head. I was looking for trouble. For days I would take long walks around town at night.
“Peligroso” is the word for danger in Spanish, the word doesn’t sound dangerous to me it is too melodic, like a song or an Italian cake. This word is as common as the word “tranquillo” almost interchangeable.
This boy psssed at me I the central park of Granada. Any other day I would’ve continued going my way, but today was different. I stopped and waited for him to come closer. I was boiling. This is my fucking TV moment. He was the personification of all these people, the money changers who jump in your face, the drivers who are almost running you over when you pass in front of them, the beggars who stick their dirty and often wounded hands in your face. He came close to me. I began to yell at him, I was cursing him out in Russian, in the middle of a busy street, nobody seemed to pay attention. Russian is an absolutely useless language in Latin America; I almost never use it here, except for cases like that. Apparently, he wanted to show me a hostel to stay. Ironically, that was the same hostel I was already staying at. Of course, he did not understand a word of what I said but he got an idea. He tried to show me that he was not afraid. He was shorter than me with uneven teeth and huge ugly pimples were covering his face. He pulled his face very close to mine and yelled back at me. He was yelling that I should’ve use Spanish for cursing and also things like “do you want problems with me” and “do you wanna peace of me”. My Spanish has gotten to be much better and I understood almost everything he was saying. Naturally he was bluffing, I was not. I was ready to punch this poor bustard. I know it was not his fault, but whose fault is this? Not mine. I was enjoying every minute of this. Enjoying my anger, his fear and his fake machismo, when I raised my hand he would jump out and then back in, like nothing happened. I‘d stamp it loud with my foot, he would back out and his face would show sudden fear. Realizing that he was loosing this, he began to curse furiously in Spanish. But it was over. I turned back and walked away… Away, to the hostel he was trying to show me.
Tonight, when I'll be walking the streets, I am keeping my leatherman knife in my pocket, just in case.

Utila 2 (addition) & Tegucigalpa

I spent almost a week in Utila. Originally I wanted to do 10 dives, jam them all into 3 days. But the island was so relaxing so I managed to do only 2 dives a day. There were some people who spend several weeks on the island without even diving, well, that I cant understand. Like many people there I did not leave the island when I was supposed to, which brings me to the local urban legend, which is being told as true on Utila. The legend goes like this: ‘There are 3 lies in Utila. The first lie is when you say it is my last drink or even further – I’ll never drink again in my life. The second lie usually goes right after the first one, here it is: I love you. And the last lie is: Içm leaving this island today (tomorrow)’ I was told this when I said the last sentence to my co-divers, they laughed at me. We were sitting on the beach at night drinking rum and burning marsh melons. There are only 2 boats from Utila, the first one leaves at 6:20 am, and that was the one I needed to catch, if I wanted to make it to Tegucigalpa the same day. Well I made it, so Im not sure if the legend is true.
There was another funny thing about that island. I met a very strange person. She was German. Her name was Silvia. We had a lot problems communicating, my Spanish was even worse than her English. She spent her last money on the boat trip to Utila hoping to get a job. Before that she lived in Tegucigalpa for several years (she gave me some tips on the city). Silvia, was wondering around Central America for over 10 years. She claimed to be in love with Honduras (there obviously was a man involved). She would spot me after my dives and we would play chess. Then she would catch me when I was going to get some food. I could not really avoid her, the island was too small. I don’t know whether or not she got a job, but because of her I made sure I got on my boat off the damn island.

Ohh, almost forgot, another thing about that island, very bad thing, the worst. In addition to the mosquitoes, there were 3 (!) types of sand flies. Sand flies are little, almost invisible, hideous creatures that eat you alive. The locals call them flying teeth. I did not use a repellent, so with couple of days my body was completely covered with there bites and oh god that was itchy…

Tegucigalpa

Tegucigalpa is a very attractive city. It is dangerous but all Central American cities, especially capitals are dangerous. I had a lot of fun there. First of all, like I said before, I finally submerged myself into some culture. I went to several museums, an art gallery (a very good one). Also, there was a street theatre, showing ´Don Quijote de la Mancha´ , right on the main square.
I stayed in a funky backpacker’s hostel, owned by an American who escaped the American politics and particularly Bush. Where I met some people from Utila, for them Tegus was a stop over before going to Leon or Granada. Well, there was a taxi strike in the morning and they blocked the whole city, so nobody went anywhere. I was even going to. I was exploring the city. There was a huge stature on top of the mountain, overlooking the city (next to the stature there is a Coca Cola sign, Hollywood style, locals told me it was there as long as they can remember, it even used blink with red and white). Anyways, I hiked all the way up, through the villages on the hills (people live there, on a 45 degree angle, and kids play soccer), then through the forest, stones and water pipes. I had to stop twice to get some coca-cola, which was kinda funny, because they sell coke twice as expensive if you buy in a bottle (about 50 c) but usually they would pour it in a plastic bag (for 25 c), coke in a plastic bag, amazing! It took me 2 hours but the view was stunning.

When I was going down I saw ¨waterfalls¨ of these plastic bags and other plastic shit going directly into the rivers. There were thousands of tons of this shit. Latinos have absolutely no sense of ¨their environment. They literally shit where they eat, sleep and ride the bus. They throw all that plastic stuff out of the buses´ windows passing rainforests, jungles the beaches… It is hard to imagine, that their ancestors worshiped nature. However, somebody told me that they have no understanding of what plastic is, maybe they are used to organic trash. That is probably why sometimes they are burning plastic trying to get rid of it. It is nasty.

I stayed one extra day to see a football match between Olympia (Tegus) and Vida (La Ceiba) with another German guy I met in Utila. I don’t know mush about football but that one was not interesting. But watching the funs was amusing. They would hop and sing their fan songs for 3 hours straight, regardless of the score. Also, there were Pizza Hut employees, running around the stadium selling pizza slices in the 35C degree heat, along with beer, cigarettes and all the other snack sellers.

I crossed the border with Nicaragua yesterday. I was preparing myself for this ¨big step¨ for 2 days. I managed. There were money changers (coyotes) following me in a large flock, once I stepped off the bus at the border. I was cursing them out in Russian but they would not stop following me. It looked funny and it was, except I knew how badly it might’ve end up. I refused the help of annoying rickshaws. I walked 5 km in a melting heat across the border. I was so please with myself that I even changed few banknotes to Nicaraguan cordobas. Naturally, they ripped me off, a little, on the exchange rate but it was really minor, about 50c. I decided not to argue.

PS If anybody is interested, there are some good artists Galería Nacional de Arte. I personally liked Miguel Angel Ruiz Matute, Anibal Cruz and some others