The Journey That Matters

It was time, the sun was not yet up and my alarm clock buzzed me awake without much effort. The sun had just begun its ascent into the sky and the island was still with silence. dressed and ready, i embarked into the brisk morning air in search of the shop I was supposed to meet my crew at. Anybody who knows me even relatively well can guess what happened next. I of course found myself in a part of the town that was unfamiliar and quickly realized that I was lost. Backwards and forwards I paced through recognizable parts and unrecognizable parts and still couldnt find my destination. The hour that we were supposed to meet at came and went while I was still walking about the island trying to get some semblance of bearing. After I was about a half hour late, I chalked it all up to a loss and was going to head back to the hostel before trying to book again for the next day.

As I was on my way back, a bus pulled over in front of me and out popped my tour guide who I had met the night before. The bus was full of about six people and after I was found, it continued around town to look for one other lost soul. Unfortunately, this person wasnt as lucky and we had to leave for the volcano before we could find him. We drove out into the country where we were dropped off at another bus stop where we boarded and were shuttled to the base of the volcano.

I still had hopes of making it to the top but those were quickly squelched when my guide pointed out the massive clouds of methane gas surrounding the summit. He said that with plumes like that, today would not be a safe day to do the entire climb. Slightly less excited, we set off. We were a hodge podge group of all shapes, sizes and ages. we had some larger hikers and we had an older man of about 60 who was in our pack. He always had some sort of off color witty remark to say about everything and it was cheeky at first but quickly grew old. He also became very winded after the first few miles (which was the easier part of the climb) so our pace suffered the consequences.

The hike was a sturdy one, and beautiful. we trudged through thick and lush forests all the while our tour guide pointed out to us what each tree, fern, flower, etc was. He also spoke better english than many native speakers which blew me away because he told me he had never taken a course. everything he learned was from being a tour guide on the island. He would point out what birds were more likely to be found where on the island and speckle bits of Nicaraguan political history along the way as well. The country has had a corrupt and sordid history that continues to this day. Their current president Daniel Ortega is a good friend of Hugo Chavez and there is a lot of distrust within the citizens due to the large amounts of money he regularly accepts from him yet continues to keep his people impoverished and sold on false hope.

the sun continued to rain its heat onto us but our pace was so slow due to the older gentleman that i didnt really break a sweat. About a half mile from our vantage point destination, he sat down and told us to go ahead. we booked it, hitting the pace that we would have liked to have carried for the entire hike and made it up in a matter of minutes. When we arrived, you could see the brush clear from the volcano and panoramic view of the island. You could see all over the lake and back to the mainland as well. Winds reminded us that we were at a decent altitude but aside from its chatter, everything was serene. everything, except the bellowing volcano top that was still engulfed with methane clouds. Even from our distance, the odor was strong enough to cement the fact that today wasnt the best day to peak the top.

After snacking on some oranges and soaking up the sights, we began our trek back down the hillside. We picked up the old man on our way back and slowly but surely, made our way down to flat land. A few quick bus trips and a hike through town was all it took to get back to the hostel. I had done it, I had climbed as much of the volcano as I could and seen the sights from a good altitude. Still, something inside of me was a little disappointed. I had dreamed of this day for so long and had anticipated a long arduous climb that was going to push me to potential breaking point in hopes of seeing something extroardinary. Dont get me wrong, the views were incredible and I will never forget the feeling of climbing the mountain to the point that we did, but as far as physical and mental abilities being taxed, this was literally a breeze compared to what I had already been through.

These thoughts all ran through my head over and over as I rested on my extremely firm and dusty hostel bed. The tour took up a good four to five hours, but much of it was spent in transit and our pace up the mountain was so slow that even when encountering steep parts, there was no challenge involved. After pondering for what seemed like hours, I realized that in this circumstance, my mental and physical taxation had come entirely from the journey to my destination. As has played true in my life so many times, its not the destination that is entirely important, but moreover it is how you get there. The travel, famine, and adventure experienced over the past few weeks had brought me to see another side of life and culture as I had never dreamed of before. Some for the better and with more understanding, and some for the worse seeing the way humans all over the world are still out to take advantage of each other at any expense. This volcano that I dreamed would hold many answers was just a piece of natural beauty.

Once again contented, I hoofed it down to the hotel/restaurant I had eaten at the night before, conversed with the waiter again and feasted. Afterward, I returned to the hostel without and idea of what to do. I hadnt really planned past this point and wasnt quite ready to head back to Costa Rica. There was still a whole other part of the island to explore along with another volcano. Before I could get too involved in my planning, I saw the old native american woman hard at work painting a mural on the wall of the hostel. I went up and began to talk to her about her work. She showed me everything she had done and her painting was actually pretty amazing. Of course there were many psychedelic and acid infused images but she was a versatile painter beyond that as well. We spoke for a while and then I went back to my room to finish my planning.

Upon looking at my funds, it appeared that I had mismanaged my cash situation once more and since there werent any atms on the island, my departure was forced to be the next day. Christmas was nearing and the best way I could think of to spend my holiday if I was to be away from friends and family was clearly surfing. Also as luck would have it, San Juan del Sur, a very popular surfing town in southwest Nicaragua was only an hour or so away. With next to little thought afterwards, I cemented the plans in my mind and started asking around for the best way to get there. When I told my native american friend, she said that her and her son had lived and painted there for a while. she gave me some easy to follow directions (after all, it really wasnt that far away) and then asked me for a favor. There was a man who ran a surf shop out there that possibly had some work for them. She asked me if I could deliver him a note. I said that would be no problem as I would be in the town for a while anyways, but after looking around the vastly decorated hostel, I decided to ask her for a favor in return. I asked her if she would decorate my guitar with a painting. Kind of excited at the exchange, she obliged and once again showed me around the hostel asking me what parts of her work i liked the most.

She had done a small piece on a bench seat that was based around the Nicaraguan national bird called the Motmot. I had seen a number of these birds along my travels they had always amazed me. on top of that, her painting was beautiful. I let her know it and she asked to grab my guitar. She also said she had to hear me play before she could put anything on it so I strummed out a few tunes and got the small group of people around me singing and dancing. afterwards I gave her the guitar and she went to work.

The rest of the day was spent in leisure because by the time I got back from the hike, the sun was pretty much going down. As the night grew later, I heard some lively voices back around the bar area and sure enough it was Morgan and Kelley, the Canadians. A grabbed a few drinks with them and swapped stories of the days adventures. When I told them that where I was going next, they said that they were thinking about going as well. However they had a few more things to do on the island and wouldnt be leaving for a few days. As the night closed down, I said my goodbyes to them and passed out.

The next morning was a traveling blur. Woke up, snacked, packed my bags and headed out the door. Just before i left, the native american woman handed me the note that I was to deliver. I told her she could count on me to get it there and off I went. A half hour later, I was on a ferry back to the mainland and the wind was heading in the opposite direction towards the island. It looked just as picaresque leaving it as it did heading towards it, but now excitement was back in my blood to get over to the beach.

I convinced some travelers on the boat to pitch together on a cab to get us over to San Juan. the distance wasnt too far and collectively we saved hours and really didnt have to spend any more money than we would have on a bus.

From there, it was hostel hopping time. I went from place to place and the rates all seemed outrageous compared to what I was used to and the service and hospitality from place to place was callous. Rules were rigid and everything came at a price. Eventually, I stopped by a place called Casa Oro who had drastically reduced their rates due to some in house construction at the time. If you could stand the saws and hammers waking you up at 8am every morning, then you could have a reasonable bed at a great price. Not moments after I walk into the place, I hear my name called. I look over and sure enough, my friend Cooper (the brother of the drummer boy) from Santa Teresa was standing in the hallway. He had since gotten a job at the hostel had pretty much taken up residence there as well. There he stood in boardshorts and a sombrero, chauffeuring guests around the hostel and giving them advice about the town.

Excited to see a friendly face, I decided that it wasnt going to get much better than this place and bought myself a few nights in the dormitory. The rest of the day was spent walking the beaches and figuring out how I was going to get out to surf. The town was illusive. it was billed as a surf town, but built on a marina. the only way to surf was by taking shuttle bus about an hour north to some rideable beaches. either way at this point, I was okay with it. The night rolled in slowly and before I knew it, i had checked out for the evening once again without many plans for the next day.

Upon waking, my first goal was to find the surf shop the woman on ometepe had told me about and deliver her letter. The detective game began as I set out on the streets asking the locals where I could find it. This one however was much quicker and easier to find because it was only a few blocks from the hostel. The man I was supposed to deliver the letter to was a little tougher to track down. Throughout the day, I returned a number of times and it wasnt until the evening that I was actually able to catch him. I upheld my part of the bargain and gave him the womans letter to which he smiled and said that he did have some work for them. He thanked me and I headed back to casa oro. Once again, upon entering the place, I heard my name called by another familiar voice. I turned around to see Morgan and Kelly with backpacks in tow checking in to the place. For the next few days, nothing too eventful happened outside of surfing, eating well and going for ocean dips at all hours of the night. This part of the journey held much more of a carefree vacation feel, but was amply enjoyed.



From here on, I believe the story connects back with what I had posted last year. All the gaps have been filled and even though the quality of the writing may not be the greatest, this a pretty objective account of my travels and is most likely what I will hold as the truth for when I grow old and my stories change. Along the way, I was fated to meet some of the most incredible people that I have ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with. These travels also reinforced the power of a positive perspective and the fruits that it will bring you if you can continue to view the world in that light. Many times in this along the way, the harsh elements of travel could have gotten under my skin and steered me away from some of the interactions and relationships that I was able to create. I reinforce this because currently, I live in another type of south and am forced to fight with my choice of perspective every day I am here. Anyways, to any of you who have actually followed me this far through the posts, I hope youve enjoyed it. This has been the adventure of my life to date, only to be trumped by the next one...



This is the only photograph I have of my guitar after the first dedication.

A Duck In a Bag Is Worth Two In The Bush

The sun rose and after a comfortable (more or less) recuperation for a few days, it was back to the traveling life. It was bright out by 8am and my eyes didnt open a moment before. Still without a travel guide, directions and insight came entirely from the locals. Quickly the realization came that this insight could usually be trusted and so far had almost made things easier and more reliable than what the travel guide had to offer. The hostel-mates gave me sharp directions as to where the bus station was in Granada and where I needed to go. From Granada, I needed to head to a town called Rivas. from Rivas, hop a cab to a few miles to San Jorge and from there, jump on a big taxi-boat to the fabled volcano island.

I said goodbye to the few people who had been more than hospitable to me at the hostel and made my way into the streets of Granada. The bus station was about a mile away, so along the route, I picked up some fruit and snacks in preparation for any future catastrophe, but all in all, everything went well. Of course the local beggars harassed me every step of the way as I trudged backpack and guitar in tow through the narrow dirt roads of the city. unscathed, and at the bus stop, i purchased a ticket to Rivas and then had about an hour and a half to kill.

Right by the bus station was a little cabana where a family sold drinks and some food. All the locals waiting for the bus and some yokels who looked like they never left the place gathered under the thatched roof to escape the sun. The heat had come out quickly and I, like the others went over to seek refuge from the heat. Once under the thatch, I treated myself to a fresca and took a seat at the bar. Immediately after, a shabby looking Nicaraguan man caked in dirt and missing a few teeth from his gristly face took a seat beside me. Immediately he goes into the bit where he asks me for money for one reason or another. I think in this particular instance, it was for food. I dug into my little man purse (for my backpack was loaded on the bus) and found the loaf of break i had gotten the other day. I broke a piece off and offered it to him. with a scowl on his face, he shook his said and reiterated that he needed money. annoyed, I put my bread away and told him I would only give him food and no money. He muttered something less than pleasant under his breath and swung his body from the bar back to a table that was right beside it. There he sat and scowled at me until I left.

Eventually the time came to board the bus. Actually, you could have boarded the bus anytime you wanted, but it was so humid inside that only those intent on getting the seat of their choice dared to enter. I could have cared less, as long as there was a space for me to wedge myself into then I would wait till the last moment before boarding the bus. Personal space, hygiene, comfort, commodity, excess, all this was irrelevant. My thought process at this moment was split in two and it revolved around humid and cool. The hour and a half passed as time always would and the passengers began boarding the heat trap of a bus. Of course, as I had so decided, I was the passenger who followed onto the bus after the driver. Sure enough, it wasnt a packed trip and I found a nice little bench seat that I could have all to myself. A few moments later, we departed. It was one of the easiest routes taken in my travels. Two hours on decent highway without any hiccups or delays.

In a way, I blinked and arrived in another bustling little boomerang town where buses and taxis were more plentiful than cars. Little kiosk shops were all over the place and the owners all sat out in the front harassing the travelers to purchase their goods. bus drivers and taxi drivers hollered out their destinations and tried to scrounge up every last passenger. I found a hollering cabby and asked him if he could take me to San Jorge. He said he gladly would, but for twenty dollars. I knew San Jorge was only about two or three miles away, so I told him he was outrageous and tried to haggle. the cabby wouldnt play the game and refused to budge so I made my way down the line to find somebody who would. A few cabbys later, I was starting to think that I was being played. Nobody would budge on the 20 dollar price. getting a little frustrated, I continued down the line and eventually came to a driver who settled on the equivalent of 7 dollars. I was still being ripped off, but it was much more manageable than the others. I hopped in the cab and a few minutes later I was at a port where I could see the two volcanoes off in the distance.

I paid the cab driver and then took a moment to marvel at the beauty of Concepcion and Maderas, the two volcanoes on the Island that rested in front of me. The sky was clear blue everywhere except over the island where clouds covered up the volcano tops but it was by no means a daunting coat of gray. The water reflected the light back and forth from the dense white clouds and lit up the whole island in what was some sort of natural halo. I hadnt quite arrived yet, but just having the island it sight, and it being so magnificent, was a feeling enough of satisfaction.

I purchased a ticket for the taxi boat and boarded shortly after. It was another hour or so before we took off and I waited impatiently as vendors would come on and off trying to sell people things for their journey. Mainly Nicaraguans were on the boat, and many with bags of groceries, appliances, and other things that required trips to the mainland. I at one point, saw a family of three (husband, wife, and kid) board with a few bags of groceries, a dog the size of a guinea pig and a large duck that was patiently sitting in a plastic bag. I couldnt help but come to the obvious conclusion that the dog was probably going to be a pet, but this well mannered duck was going to be dinner. Sure enough, they sat right behind me and I tried to listen in on their conversation but all i could make out was that the kid was having a tough time holding on to the dog. Still every few minutes or so, I couldnt help but look back and see what the duck was up to. It was a pleasant as could be.

By the time we took off, the boat was pretty full of people, both national and international. Still it was mainly spanish that surrounded me. As we made our way to the island, I stood near the side of the boat and looked out at the passing water. Right next to me, was the kid from the duck family and he was having a blast. He had cob of corn that he had already cleaned out and he would bite off part of the cob and spit it into the water. as soon as he would do that, fish would surface really quickly and eat all the little bits of cobb. He caught me watching and instantly began talking to me. He knew exactly what type of fish they were and what other animals could be found in the lake and only in the lake. He continued to spit his cob into the water and laugh with excitement only a child could have and then look my way to see if I was having fun. Although I cant remember now, I know i picked the childs brain about the area and relished in the fact that I was speaking with him. I had found that speaking Spanish with children was always very insightful because i was more on their level. I also had to ask him about his duck and what he was going to do with it. He replied that it was a pet, just like the little dog that his father was holding.

Eventually, we made it to the island where I said my goodbyes to the boy and focused my sights on finding room and board. I could have looked into hostels before I left Granada, but the only sight on my mind at the time was to get to the island and climb Concepcion the next day. Besides, there were always people more than willing to give advice on where to go in their town and as small as community as this was, I figured it wouldnt be too hard.

Sure enough, as I was walking off the dock onto solid land, A man ran up to me and asked me where I was going. Of course I replied i dont know and that i needed to find a hostel that was close and cheap. As luck would have it, the sun was setting as well and I always have that sinking feeling when I dont know where I am and dont know where I'm going. Right off the bat, the man told me I should stay at Merida (at least I think that is the one). He gave me quick directions and then was off to help the next person. I began my trek up the hill and eventually made the turn that I was told to make. Another few blocks down the road, the town started to thin out and a big wooden structure with Hacienda Merida on the side jumped out to me. I stepped in and the place was vacant. There was an old man who was absolutely wasted at the bar and the bartender quickly asked me what i needed. He Checked me in, took my cash and showed me to the dorm where I chose a bed.

The hostel was pretty impressive. Everything was in shambles, but the bar/restaurant room was huge and it had a little patio that separated the private rooms from the dormitories. There was also artwork everywhere and a pretty extensive library. One of the better hostel libraries I had seen. Still there were few books that looked worth a damn in the english language. As described, it all held a very rustic feel to it looked like it was constantly under construction. Either way, I knew I would have ample time to explore the place later, but while there was still some semblance of light out, I needed to get dinner and figure out how to sign up for a volcano hike the next morning.

I asked the bartender and he directed me to the front of the island for the hike. When I arrived there, It was a quick process to sign up and come 8am the next morning, I would be on a bus out to 1500 meter tall active volcano. My next question for the man was to make sure Ometepe was a safe place at night. The man assured me it was and that I wouldnt have problem. With that, i thanked him, told him i'd see him in the morning and started heading back up the hill through town.
On my way back, I found a hotel that served a reasonably priced casado dish. I dipped into the chatted with the man seating me for a moment and then sat down to enjoy some fresh coffee and decent food. mid meal, the man who sat me (and who also happened to be the owner of the hotel came up to me asking me if I could translate to english for somebody. I obliged and he brought over a young traveler who couldnt quite understand the terms of the hotel. The man spoke to me and I spoke to the kid in what was my first formal translating experience. Basically he needed me to convey to him that there was no electricity before five PM and no hot water before the same. In order to conserve power, most of the island operated that way. The kid ended up taking the man up on his offer and the man thanked me for helping out. Content with the clear improvements of my new language, I contentedly finished my meal.

On my way out, I thanked the man for the meal and began to head back to my hostel. Night was in full force and the electricity was on throughout the town. As I made my way up, I passed another little hostel/restaurant that was brightly colored and very nice looking. There was a young girl out in front and asked me if I knew where I was going. I let her know and this led her to more questions. Before I knew it, I had taken a seat alongside the girl and we engaged in conversation. She was an Island native and had actually spent very little of her life off the island. of course my next question was to see if she had made it to the top of concepcion because I had heard it was no easy feat. She had never even tried to climb it. Truthfully, she said it scared her. She also told me about past times it had erupted and island evacuations took place. We talked on and on, and then we got into something that I wasnt quite understanding. A string of words and her other descriptions werent helping me either. In times like these, I would resort to my little dictionary so that is just what i did, but just as I was telling her this, my words froze and I realized that I had left my little man purse at the restaurant. To make matters worse, along with my dictionary, that purse also carried my passport and some cash. I let her know what happened and quickly took off running the other direction.

A minute or two later, I arrived back at the other hotel and as soon as the man saw me, he greeted me and asked me if I left my bag. I thanked him a bunch and the group of men that had since congregated around the entrance gave me a hard time as they drank and smoked cigars. Crisis averted I made my way back to the hotel where the girl was. She told me she had to go back in and get back to work, so I said goodnight and headed back to my place of residence. Once back at merida, I read for a bit in my room and then took up a stool at the bar.

The wasted man from before was still there and still ordering beer. The man was beyond belligerent and had to be quickly reaching toxic levels. Also at the bar was a native american looking middle aged woman with wrinkles all over her face and long blond hair and what definitely looked like her son who was gawky, dressed in black, and thickly bearded. They began talking to me and sure enough, they were related and they were from the states. They had packed up and headed south in 2004 when Bush was reelected and had been traveling and painting for work ever since. At this hostel, they were painting murals on all the walls in exchange for their stay. Both mother and son had a spaceyness as maybe a little too much LSD had been ingested at one point or another, but they were nice and entertaining.

A moment later, another couple burst into the bar. Two kids from Canada who had just arrived in town. I grabbed a beer and began talking to them. their names were Morgan and Kelly, and they came in full of excitement and excited to rent some dirt bikes the next day and ride all around the island. They were on a quick few week vacation before Kelly had to go back to school and literally as a stab in the dark, chose Nicaragua. We had a few more drinks and then I said goodnight because I knew I had a potentially rough day head of me tomorrow. I wanted so badly to make it to the top of the Volcano. I was in decent shape and figured will power alone would get me there. My eyes closed that night with nothing but excitement for the next day.

Longing Eyes

That night, I slept like a lead weight. As soon as my head hit the pillow, i was out and not to be disturbed until the next morning. Now being used to constant travel, my sleep was hard and rejuvenating. It also didnt take much to get the batteries recharged. At the ripe hour of 8am, I was awake and moving slowly about the morning. Crisp Nicaraguan air filled the hostel along with the fresh aroma of somebody cooking breakfast. As soon as I stepped out of the dorm, I ran into the Nicaraguan guest who I had met the other night. He immediately greeted me and told me he had made me breakfast.

Sure enough, in the kitchen there was a fresh plate of gallo pinto and brewed coffee waiting for me. Once in the dining column, I sat down next to my new friend and began to feast. Dinner from the night before hadn't been much and it had been almost a day and a half without food before that so needless to say, this little traditional dish that should have already been dulled to my pallet was immensely pleasurable to my deprived taste buds. Every bite was savored and energy quickly returned to my dull frame causing my conversation with the Nicaraguan to quickly become much more involved.

He was a funny guy. Exuberant to speak what little English he knew and would often revert back to Spanish but follow up every sentence with, "you understand?" He was in Granada waiting for some sort of paperwork to come through and kept telling me how he couldnt wait to get back to his wife. For some reason, I couldnt figure out exactly what he was waiting on in Granada, but he was very upset with how slow everything was moving.

With breakfast said and done, I moseyed on over to the computers where I was greeted with a message from Dane, the drummer boy who I shared a bromance with and he said he was currently staying in Granada. This bit of news absolutely made my day and I quickly replied asking where he was staying and giving him a time to meet me at the gazebo in the city square.

Insanely excited about the unexpected surprise, I grabbed my guitar and hit the town. I killed time wandering for about an hour before setting up shop in the Gazebo. There I strummed and waited for another hour or so, stopping every now and then to listen for darbuka drums in the distance. There was never a sound. A little disappointed, I made my way back to the hostel (which upon further investigation, I have found that it is called Mochilas, not Azul) and checked my email. Sure enough, Dane had responded to my message with a hostel and an hour later in the day regroup at the gazebo. Sadly, I cannot remember the name of the hostel he gave me.

At the time though, my spirit could not be broken. Resigned to spending another day or two in Granada, I hit the town with my guitar again in search of his hostel. Like usual, everybody I asked had a different idea of where the place was located so I was willing to play the detective game. Every stop I arrived at where the hostel should have been, I would ask somebody else, receive and entirely new set of directions and then head on out. I probably followed senseless directions for an hour and a half before getting some that were worth a damn. The passerby I flagged down told me it was on the outskirts of the city about a mile away, but if I stayed on one road and just headed north, I would reach it.

So I set out on the dirt road, stopping people occasionally to ask them if I was still heading in the right direction. It looked very promising because everybody seemed to confirm that the place was just down the street. The last person I flagged down told me it was just a few meters away over the bridge that was approaching and to the right. I arrived to find that it in fact was not a hostel, but a preschool with the same name. At this hour, the heat for the day had set in and I was less than pleased to make the trek back into town entirely unsuccessful. however, there seemed to be no other choice.

Around the time I made it back to town, I made my way directly to the gazebo to see if my buddy was there. For the next hour or so, I was harassed by every shady Nicaraguan in town. Numerous people coming up asking me if I wanted pot, cocaine, even crack! until then, I had never been offered crack before. The pushers were easy though, they just took a few shakes of the head to send in the other direction. The beggars were more persistent, but still tolerable. After all, I was still under the assumption my buddy was going to arrive shortly.

In the midst of all the peddling, one particularly well dressed Nicaraguan kept coming over to speak with me and gazing up at me with very longing stares. He spoke very earnestly and for a while, I couldnt quite understand what he was saying. Bits and pieces were understood, but no full sentaences. Something about beautiful eyes... maybe a girl, I wasnt sure. He then started describing facial features how beautiful they were. As he got closer and closer to me, I began to hear him more clearly and quickly put two and two together. He was talking about me!. The dude was trying every move in his book and I kept inching away and trying to get the point across that I wasnt interested. In any other situation, I would have just left, but Dane was going to be meeting at the gazebo fairly soon, so I endured it. The guy wouldnt let up. It grew tiresome after a while and I tried to be more curt with him to get him away. Poorly played on my part because it only proved his desire to grow stronger. After waiting and waiting, I decided to get out of dodge and head back to the hostel. I was a little worried this kid was going to follow me, but i think i successfully broke his heart and turned him uninterested.

Of course, waiting for me back at the hostel was another message from Dane and I analyzed it with a little more scrutiny because obviously we both were missing something. Upon further investigation, it became clear that we were NOT in the same city. In Central America, names are recycled everywhere you go and that had been the case in what led me to the preschool. Another recurring structure in a Central American city is a Gazebo. Of course both cities have them! For the first time that day, I saw things clearly and the quick bit of sobriety hit me like a ton of bricks. It was a full day of search with nothing short of failure and the sun was now setting. Beaten from the days events, I messaged my buddy back with my findings and began to wind down for the night.

I hit a market where I picked up some vegetables and tortillas and went back to the hostel to cook dinner with the Nicaraguan guy. We relaxed, feasted and smoked a cigar to close down the night. I laid myself to rest early that night and decided that tomorrow I would head to Ometepe, the dual volcano island that had captivated my attention for what seemed like so long. Yes, tomorrow, the pilgrimage would begin. As for the night, I had a belly full of food and a room with a fan. All was well. Never before in my life had I learned to appreciate a full meal as much as in that moment after experiencing the pains of actually going hungry. It was almost a novelty.

Shopping

This post may be a little scrappy because I am kinda sick right now, but here it goes anyway...


The bus set sail out of the big city. Reflecting back, I dont know what I was thinking. There were numerous borders to cross all of which I had no currency for and I had a cumulative eight ciky cookies to tide me the whole way. I also hadnt eaten much the night before or in the morning. Right off the bat, my stomach rumbled out to me and in about five minutes, my cookies were consumed and I had nothing else to tide me over. Energy was also something I didnt have to my advantage. I hadnt slept well the night before and it was now becoming more apparent that I hadnt eaten enough either, so with that, I tried to close my eyes and wait out the rest of the trip.

This plan of action was useless. A few hours later, I was awoken while we were still on the highway to one of the bus attendants telling everybody they needed to prepare their passports for the pending border check. I checked my pockets and of course, my passport wasnt there. I had spaced once again and realized that it was in my backpack in the cargo bay below the bus. When I told the man, he grunted in disgust and told me to hold on. A group of travelers around me who seemed to already know my name reassured me that it was no problem and that the man was just being rude. Either way, I really didnt care at this point and returned to my sleeping post curled up against the window.

About ten minutes later, I was woken again by the same man and was told to wait at the front of the bus. Once I got there, I waited for a while and watched from the large front glass pane at the numerous cars traveling by highway. Another few minutes went by and at no place in particular, the bus pulled over to the side of the highway and opened its doors. The man next to me jumped out and told me to come with him. He ran over to the cargo bay, opened it and began tearing through luggage until I signaled to him which bag was mine. Quickly, I opened up the top and fumbled through the many loose items i had placed in there until I found my passport. All the way, the man was trying to hurry me along, but in my current condition, it still just didnt really matter to me. I took my time in finding what I needed, threw my bag back in the bay and ran back onto the bus. They driver kicked it into high gear and we were cruising the highways again in no time.

I have to say, I felt a little bad about sluffing people off every time they wanted to talk me, but something had grabbed ahold of me and I was thoroughly exhausted. Either way, that didnt stop them. They were all very nice and found great interest in the foreigner on the bus. Most of them were nicaraguan, the rest were guatemalan and all had business to attend to in Managua for one reason or another. They also kept asking me to play the guitar and I continued to politely decline. The guitar was also currently below the moving bus in the cargo bay.

The first boarder back into El Salvador was hit while the sun was still out. There we got off the bus, unloaded our luggage and waited for inspection. Like always, it took a long time for the officers to even show up to check out luggage. Once they were there, it was a pretty quick process, but adequately frustrating because of the loading and unloading of every bag. Entering this country was the quickest and easiest of the night. A few people bought some food before the currency change rendered their money useless but it was mostly an off the bus on the bus type of affair. After my luggage was checked and I had safely stowed everything back on the bus, it was back to sleep for me in my little corner.

Eventually, we hit the road again and I woke up just in time to see the colors of the sunset light up the sky. It was kind of enchanting knowing that in a few hours, I would be back in Nicaragua and making my journey to Isla de Ometepe, the volcano islands that had captured my imagination since back when I was living in San Diego. On the downside, and as every journey thus far has been, it just wasnt as easy as imagined.

With the sun gone, it was impossible to see much of anything out of the windows. Dim lights were on inside the bus and it was still early enough that everybody was fairly alive with chatter. At this point, I came out of my slumber and decided to be a little more social. I remember talking for a while with the passengers, but i cant remember what about. I do remember however that they all had names that I couldnt hold on to. It made me feel pretty bad because it felt like everybody in the bus knew my name. If ever something was said from the front of the bus, I had ten people yelling my name and making sure that I understood what was going on.

We rode for hours on end. So long that I began to wonder if I was on the right bus because I know El Salvador isnt the largest country. Around midnight, we hit the border into Honduras. Nothing eventful happened at this cross, it just took forever and I started to feel my stomach giving me orders to feed it. Too bad I was in no position to do so. The guards also took their time to check everything at this stop. Honduras I had noticed was always very thorough with their check points. Everybody on my bus had nothing to hide and passed the exam. Maybe an hour later, we were traveling the Honduran highways.

The bus had quieted down and many of the passengers had dozed off for the evening. I decided to do the same in hopes of waking up in a few hours at another border cross. Some unknown amount of time later, I awoke to the same feeling I had earlier when I took the overnight bus to Flores. The bus was full of humidity, sweat and B.O. I peeled my face from the leather seat to look around and of course, we were stopped and from the look and smell of everything, we had been stopped for quite some time. Still in Honduras, I knew I was penniless and had to wait it out.

I tried to sleep but it was useless. I just ended up doing what I usually do in these situations and close my eyes in hopes of forgetting about my surroundings. This went on for hours and at one point, I opened my eyes and it was light out again. The sun had risen and the day was anew but we still werent moving. A few more hours went by and now the entire bus was awake and demanding that we get going. Just to play with us, the drivers took their time with whatever activities they had been attending to and eventually got back on the bus to get a move on.

The open windows and cool morning air quickly blew the sleep from our eyes and rinsed us of the sweat and stench from the stagnant night before. Even though I was awake, I could feel the coarse scrape of my eyelids against my bloodshot eyes every time I blinked. looking around, everybody else looked the same. After some time had passed, my stomach began roaring again to which I tried to muffle out the noises. A kid behind me eating a package of cookies heard it and quickly offered me some. I thanked him and took a few. It wasnt much, but it was enough to satisfy my body and offer a little more energy to my present situation. Soon we would be hitting the Nicaraguan border and I needed to formulate my plan of action. At this point, I was kind of reserved to spending the night in Managua even though I knew it was a dangerous place to be. I just hoped we would arrive when it was still light out unlike last time.

Hours passed and eventually the bus stopped at the border line. It took a little over an hour to proceed through the checkpoints to get onto the other side. As I mentioned before, there are two stops to every border check. After passing through customs on the Honduran side, we loaded up the bus and drove a few hundred feet over to the Nicaraguan side to do the same chicken dance all over again. Once we were packed up and back on the bus, I started to really set out my plan of action.

I think a few posts back i told a little lie. If i remember correctly, I said I had about 20 dollars worth of Nicaraguan currency. Not true. I didnt have anything. We strolled into the new country and everybody's spirits were lifted. Our journey which was supposed to take fifteen hours was now hitting the twenty-four hour checkmark. First and foremost I knew i needed to find an ATM when we got to our destination. without hard cash, I wouldnt be able to get anywhere and in Managua, you always want to be able to get to where you need to go. Because I was on only my own time at this point, I decided to take my time getting to Ometepe which probably meant spending the night in Managua and taking a bus into Granada before making the final plunge.

Hours more passed and the bus eventually rolled into a gas station to fill up. A few people left the bus but the drivers wouldnt let anybody stray too far as they wanted to get going quickly. I poked my head out the window and saw a sign saying there was an ATM in the mart. I ran off the bus and told the drivers to wait for me. They started yelling at me as i ran into the mart but I had to give the ATM a chance. I got in quickly and tried my luck. amazingly, fortune fated me well and I was able to withdraw cash in Nicaraguan currency. Money in hand, I ran back out to see the bus started up and driving off. Once again my heart sunk to my stomach as I knew my guitar and backpack were in the cargo bay. I took off running after the bus and it pulled a quick turn in the parking lot before stopping. I picked up my pace to a dead sprint and began banging on the door. The drivers were laughing at me, but they opened it up for me to board. They asked me what I was doing and when I told them, they nodded in acceptance and then got the bus moving again. With a belly still on empty but cash in my pocket, I was ready to fare the streets of Managua. I now knew that my first order of business in the city would be to find an internet cafe where I could look up a hostel to stay in for the night.

We drove for a few more hours before we reached the city. As soon as we entered it, I knew we had arrived. Street vendors flailed their arms harassing people for their business as passersby yelled back. Cars sped rapidly in all directions and it looked like sheer pandemonium. On top of that, the bus stopped and I got off to find that it was the wrong stop. My friends on the bus hurried me back on because they said they knew which stop had a local internet cafe near it. Bullet dodged, I sat and waited.

My exit finally came and the passengers let me know it. They sent me off the bus with smiles and I thanked them for their help and company. The bus ride at that point had taken nearly thirty hours and with a travel fried brain, I set foot into the rampant streets of a dark city.

I passed through the market centers asking everybody which way to an internet cafe. People would lead me in false directions and it took a while before some of the shopkeeps would lay it on me straight and tell me I was SOL.

A little down, I knew I had to make a rash decision and very quickly the best idea that jumped out at me was to keep moving. As I had been strolling the city, a man kept harassing me about bus tickets to Granada. I had already ignored him a good three or four times, but on this pass-by, Granada seemed like it could be a good place to go. It was still relatively early in the day and I would get there around sundown. It was also a heavily traveled tourist location so I knew there would be internet cafes and hostels-a-plenty. As I passed the man, he yelled at me again about tickets to Granada and I asked how much. After haggling with him a little bit, we reached an agreement and I hopped on.

I had actually scored. I was in the front seat of this little van and everybody else that ended up piling into the back after me were packed like sardines. I knew exactly how they felt and was sure I would experience that type of travel again so I relished my spacious passenger side seat. We drove for about two and a half hours before the bus stopped in a cobblestone alleyway. Everybody got off as if they knew exactly where they were and where they were going. I on the otherhand was entirely lost. I confirmed with the driver that we were in Granada and that we were close to the city square. He told me we were and gave me directions so I payed him and off I went.

My head was light, my stomach in revolt and my body dragged. in the past 30+ hours, I had eaten a handful of cookies and hadnt consumed any liquids. The weight of my backpack nearly leveled me and even the light guitar seemed overly excessive at this point. Step by step, I trudged into the city square where everything was vibrant and full of light. It was exact opposite of every emotion I was currently feeling. Still I pressed on. On the other side of the square, I spotted a sign that said internet and guided my feet toward it.

It was a beautiful building and a restaurant/hotel. In my given state, I knew I needed food so before getting a computer, I eyed the menu. Everything was grossly overpriced so in my stubborn way, I purchased myself a fresca, the cheapest thing on the menu and sat down at a computer. I ravaged the internet to find a hostel and sure enough, a cozy little place called "Azul" popped up that fit my budget and personality. I got directions, wrote them down and headed out.

With a little bit of sugar in me, the trudging was made marginally easier but still painstakingly heavy. Food was still an important objective at the time, but the sun was going down and I didnt know if the city was safe or not so lodging remained the top priority. I walked for blocks and blocks and and with every corner I turned, three more popped up. Before I knew it, my directions were useless, my vision was blurry, it was dark out and I resorted to asking people for directions. about three people and many blocks later, I finally rolled into Azul where two happy nicaraguans greeted me. I got right in and they put me in a dorm of which I was the only guest.

Without the weight of the backpack tying me down, I was a reborn man ready to fill his ailing stomach. I asked one of the Nicaraguan guys if it was safe to go out at night and he assured me that Granada was the safest town in the country. The other guy backed up his claims so I then asked them where I could get some dinner. Directions given, I set out walking but couldnt find anything... well I couldnt find anything that didnt look absolutely disgusting. I ended up settling that night for some tortillas, a strange type of cheese and a fresh loaf of bread that I thought would be useful to snack on.

Later that night, the guy from the hostel (Nicaraguan guest, not employee) took me to the city square where he then left me to make a phone call and I walked around for a bit. Eventually, I sat down on bench where I intended to relax and people watch. The square was alive with kids running around and adults enjoying the night after a hard days work.

In the distance, I saw two kids heading my way. There is an intuition I have come to master and it is knowing when people are going to hassle you, or when they are fixed on something else. These kids were going to hassle me... or at least thats what I though. The two of them asked me how I was doing and then both took a seat on either side of me. I was sure they were going to ask me for money, but it never came up. When they found out I was from California they began asking question after question as to how it was and what I was doing in Granada. After conversing for a bit, they asked me if I wanted to buy some pot. Slightly disappointed that that was all they wanted, I sighed and said no. They then asked me if I wanted to smoke some pot. I looked at them again and told them I didnt want anything to do with it. They noted the disdain in my voice and then backtracked. They told me I didnt have to pay for anything, but wanted to know if I would go with them. Still I said no.

The subject then changed. They told me there was a big party at one of the clubs tonight and asked me if I wanted to go. I said that I would go to that and then we were back to the general conversing from before. The kids were young, maybe 17, 18 and were actually very nice. After a while, one looked at me and said in english, "lets go shopping."

I asked what he meant and he told me that they were going to go get some pot. At this point, I had established a little relationship with the kids and decided why the hell not. Lets go get some pot. We walked through some of the side streets still fairly close to the city square. I felt safe with the kids and trusted them, but made sure that I still knew exactly where I was. About a block later, one of the kids told us to wait and he ran off. The other stayed with me and we sat and chatted about Granada. A few minutes passed and the kid who ran off showed up again with a big grin on his face. We immediately got up and started walking again.

The kids rolled a quick joint on the go and passed it around as we headed back into the city square. When we got there, they asked me if I liked coffee. I said of course and with that, one kid ran off and returned with three cups of coffee. We drank and watched the commotion of the night, refilling our cups many times. Every time I offered to grab the next cup, they shot me down and refused to let me pay. It was a latin american experience unlike any other from people that I had randomly met on the street.

The night grew late and the streets grew thin. Off in the distance, a group of three ragged looking kids were heading our way. I thought they were friends of my new friends but they walked straight up to me and asked me something in English. With my caffeine rush, fatigue, and having spent the night speaking spanish, I wasnt quickly caught off guard. I asked them to repeat themselves and they sheepishly asked in goofy Israeli accents if I knew anywhere they could get some pot. I laughed out loud and my Nicaraguan buddies were eager to hear the translation. I told them and the same smirk quickly appeared on their faces. I let the Israelis know that they had come to the right place and right afterward, one of the kids next to me looked at the crew and said in a heavy nica accent, "lets go shopping."

The Israelis didnt understand, so I let them in on the little bit of new slang. I also told the Nicaraguans that I was going to go back to the hostel and get some sleep. They were alright with it as they had new friends to entertain so I thanked them, shook their hands and said goodnight. Before I left, one of the Israeli kids asked me in a whisper if they could trust the Nicaraguans. I assured them that they had found the best kids in the town and that they had nothing to worry about. With that, I made my way back to the hostel and promptly passed out. After a whirlwind of travel and an impromptu night on the town, I was ready to knock out, and knock out hard.

Fire! Dance! Sing!

The morning took its time roll on in and my slumber in my little cot was wholesome and entirely rejuvenating. Brisk mountain morning air passed through the open slits in the tin roof and a little bit of rain pattering on the in wooed me to sleep and awake again as softly as I could have hoped for. The thin flannel blanket provided provided the essential amount of warmth for the evening and all in all, there really couldnt have been a better evening to spend our last night in the mountains than the one given to us.

I also gently awoke to the sound of packing and zippers being closed up. My eyes rolled open and I saw Anne was already showered, dressed and almost ready to go. In no hurry at all, I rolled over on my side and tried to catch a few more moments of bliss. Once that was accomplished, still in slow moving morning delight, I peeled myself from my cozy bunk and began to do the same. I wasnt nearly as concerned with my general hygiene because i knew the day would be spent on a bus. A shower could be had when we were back in Guatemala City.

when the packing was complete, we ate a light pancake breakfast and then found Edgar to figure out what our hostel tab was and that the bus was actually going to take us to an ATM. Honestly at this point, we were starting to believe that they didnt exist anymore and the financial structure of the entire country had shifted to 100% cash. Our tab was reasonable and Edgar assured us that the bus would take us directly to a functioning cash machine. Still we were skeptical but it was all out of our hands.

Not too long after breakfast, the little tour van showed up and we loaded our belongings on the roof. Allen the crazy irishman and a few other guests we had come to know at the hostel were accompanying us on our journey to Coban but after that we would all be going separate ways. We spent the next few hours squished together in the van as we trailed the rocky dirt Guatemalan roads. There was a slight mix up with who was going where when quickly stopped in Lanqin before making our final departure, but it was a minor hold up in the grand scheme of things. We stared back in awe at the mountains of Semuc Champay and said our goodbyes as it slowly waned from our view.

A few hours later, the bus abruptly stopped in what appeared to be just another little passerby village but actually turned out to be Coban. Nothing was going on in this little town, but Anne and I were eager to see if these ATM rumors were true. The bus driver let us out and walked us into an Alley where sure enough, there was a cash machine. One by one, we stepped into the little booth and withdrew hearty amounts of Guatemalan currency. I took enough to pay my hostel tab and to pay my way out of Guatemala entirely. Anne damn near emptied her bank account and was pretty much running on fumes in hopes to make it safely back to the U.S.

Cash in hand, we payed the bus driver as Edgar said we would and like that, our extreme poverty was over. Now we were back into the "marginally stretching the budget" traveler mentality which was more than comfortable for us given the events of the past week and a half.

The tour van pulled away, we said goodbye to the people who stayed on it and then marched down to the bus station to catch a chicken bus to Guatemala City. It was all too easy. We hopped a bus and in three hours or so, we were back into the most dangerous city in central america. Luck was on our side once more and we arrived in the daylight, and in the same bus station that I had put my old sugar daddy on a few weeks prior.

Satisfied that I knew where I was in the city, we disembarked from the chicken bus and luggage in hand, made the march a good eight blocks to pension meza. It was quiet but bright we arrived and we quickly got in and got ourselves a room. I kept looking around for Mateo but I didnt see him. I figured he was probably out on the street selling his jewelery somewhere. In the back patio area, the same group of scraggly latin americans were gathered around the table smoking joint after joint... just as i had left them. There were however a few newer additions to the crew, but everybody was high spirits and from what i could understand, the conversation still hadnt drifted far from what kind of pot they were smoking, where they got it, and how much they love to smoke it.

At one point, I saw Danilo, the tico kid who was drumming on the water jug my last time at the hostel. I flagged him down and asked him if Mateo is still staying in the hostel. He told me he was, but couldnt remember who i was. Either way i was pretty excited to play some music later in the night. as for now, Anne and I unpacked what we needed for the evening and began to brainstorm our plan of action for the morning. mid discussion, I had to leave to go into the patio and accompany one of the scraggly old men who was strumming out a favorite buena vista social club song of mine. As soon as I began playing the guy, Danilo ran up to me and told me he remembered who i was and that I had to go the park and play with them that night. I obliged to him but thought it probably wasnt the best idea to be strolling the city streets at night. nonetheless, it wasnt my top priority to worry about the evening at this point. I was consumed in in music and still had to finish detailing the travel plans with Anne.

When Anne and I finally got down to business, she told me that she had to catch a shuttle to the airport that left from the same bus station we had come in on. She had done her research and the shuttle was at 8am. Next on the list was getting me out of Guatemala and back into Nicaragua. We hit the streets and were going to return to the other hotel I had stayed at to use their internet, but on the way, we heard a man calling out in the street about tickets for a bus to Nicaragua. He told us it was a straight shot to Managua and it was a 24 hour ride for 25 bucks. This sounded so much better to me than taking the three day ticabus jaunt and having to fend for room and board each night as well. I bought a ticket from him right there and he told me to return at noon tomorrow. We continued for a little while walking through the city and every time we would see the ticket vendor, he would remind me of my ticket and what time the bus was. I guess that was a case where it helped to stick out like a sore thumb. He wasnt about to let me miss this bus.

We continued our walk through the city and returned back to pension meza as the sun was starting to set. When we got there, Mateo was sitting on a bench putting away his jewelery that he had been trying sell. He was pretty excited to see me and I told him the feeling was mutual. Returning to this hostel was like yet another homecoming. After being away for a while and going through some adventurous but trying times, the little bit of familiarity and friendship was very comforting.

After lounging around for a few hours, we got a knock on our door from Danilo and Mateo telling us it was time to go to the park to play music. I then questioned about the safety of it all and in few words, they tried their best to reassure me. After talking with Anne, we came to the consensus, if there was every a time to trek the city at night, it was now, and with these two who had been living there for some time. With that, I grabbed my guitar, Mateo grabbed his and Danilo strapped the water jug to his bike and we all set out to the park.

After walking for a little bit, we entered through large rod iron gates into "the park" and were instantly told that whatever was going on there was not normal. There were swarms of people. Thousands crowded the confines of the park and we weaseled our way through the masses to get to the back area which was slightly less crowded. Kids walked around with instruments and street vendors lined the inside selling food and merchandise. Mateo told me he had never seen so many people there and didnt know what was going on.

The three of us squeezed onto a small section of stairwell that was already overly crowded with people and pulled out our instruments. Mateo and Danilo were seasoned. They had a busking routine they knew and knew well and barreled into it. I just kept up by backing the chords mateo played and adding some extra voice whenever i could figure out what they were singing. In the midst of all the other noise, we were loud and people began to turn.

As soon as we kicked it off, a small crowd began to circle around us. A few minutes later, the crowd had increased. When our numbers grew to about fifty or sixty, Danilo put down his water jug and ran to his bike while Mateo and I kept playing. Before I knew it, something lit up space right in front of us and looking up, I saw it was Danilo with Poi lit on fire. He danced with the burning ropes while we continued to play. Once the flames lit up, even larger crowds of people surrounded us and it seemed like we were a spectacle from within the park. We kept the show going for a little while and eventually Mateo and I stopped playing while Danilo kept entertaining everybody with some jokes and a speech that was extremely hard for me to understand. I also cant remember even remotely what it was about, but I do remember that it had everybody laughing and applauding.

pretty abruptly after Danilo's speech, almost as if it had been preplanned and synced up, live and heavily amplified music began belting from the center of the park where we could see a stage and speaker setup. After asking a around, we were told that it was the semifinals for the latin american idol championship. It was being held in Guatemala City and what i found most interesting is that it was free for everybody to enjoy. I doubt anything like that could ever happen in the U.S.

After sticking around for a bit, Anne and I left the concert as a latin american idol allstar was singing none other than "my heart will go on" and hoofed it the few blocks back to the hostel. Thoroughly spent and exhausted from the days travels and adventures, we set out alarms for the morning hours and knocked out cold.

The morning came swiftly this time and Anne threw her bags together in minutes before we set out to get her a cab to take her to the station. With a cab hailed, we said our goodbyes and I sent her on her way. My adventure companion was gone and I was now on my own again.

The rest of the morning was spent lounging around the hostel and mingling with the group of people that seemed to never leave the patio table. When the hour was right, I grabbed my backpack and guitar, said goodbye to Mateo and headed back to the bus station. When I got there, the man who sold me the ticket flagged me down and told me once again about every detail of the bus trip, only this time he said it would take about 15 hours instead of 24.

With a little time to spare, I checked my wallet to see how much money I had left. I had a few dollars in Guatemalan currency and about twenty in Nicaraguan currency. I hoped that the bus would travel as quickly as planned, because I would have two countries to cross who use other currencies than what I had. I walked across the street to a little vendor and purchased two small packets of ciki cookies (which i had come to love over there) to tide me over for the day of travel. I gave the rest of my money to a street beggar as I knew that I wouldnt be coming back to the country and didnt have a use for weighty coins. I took a brief moment to chuckle at the fact that I was flat broke again and then walked across the street o board the bus. After sitting there for about an hour, we finally embarked.




I'd like to also add a little bit about what Anne is currently doing. After spending almost a year back in Seattle, she has made her way back to Guatemala where she aligned herself with an organization teaching English in the city of San Pedro Carchá. She also maintains a blog about her experiences and if you wish, you can follow her at http://abarkett.blogspot.com/

Scott Jumped Wrong

The next morning I awoke bright and early and ready to explore the beauty that Semuc Champay had to offer. We breakfasted light, gathered some water and headed into the mountains with Edgar, our tour guide and a hodge podge group of adventurers.

We hiked up into the hills for an hour or so and eventually came out to a lookout point that was the main attraction of the hike. It was beautiful alright, hundreds of feet above a reserve bursting with life where trees sprouted everywhere and rivers commanded the valley below. Allen, our crazy Irish friend (who was only on the hike because he heard there was a ten meter cliff to jump off of) scoffed at the view and then proceeded to tell us how you can get jaded when traveling Latin America. The first few times you see a volcano or a rainforest its amazing, but after a while, its just another mountain and just another rainforest. only the truly amazing ones start to ring out. As much as I'd hate to say it too, I somewhat felt this way after spending time in Santa. beaches just havent been the same since. nonetheless, we gave him a hard time about it and he finally admitted the view was pretty impressive.

With the sight seen, we headed down the mountain towards the valley with the flowing water. it took about have the time to descend and before we knew it, we were bathing our sweaty bodies in a refreshingly cool river. Like Allen, this was also the part of the tour I was most excited for. The water would collect in one pool and still downward into another. The only way to get down to the other was to jump and the jumps started off small. we waded our way to the end of the pool we were in and hopped the three foot ledge into the next. So on and so on through a good four or five pools. the three footer was followed by a six footer which was followed by one slightly larger and then we came to the big mamma.

Edgar gathered us in a group and said anybody who didnt want to make the jump could climb down from the side of the rock face. truth be told, I thought the climb down looked more dangerous than the jump itself. we were a group of ten or so and after hearing Edgars directions, everybody fled to the side and in a matter of moments, Allen, Anne and myself were all that stood in front of the jump.

Allen made some comment about everybody being sissies and then he stepped out to take the first plunge. Edgar brought him down a few feet to a rock that jutted out over the pool and I could see him directing where to jump, but I couldnt make out what he was saying. Allen stepped up, went to jump and quickly buckled. Like the rest of us, it had been a while since he had done anything like this. He took a step back, gathered himself and hurled his body off the ledge screaming all the way down.

I was next. Edgar motioned for me to come down and i climbed my way down to his rock. The sound of the waterfall was immense, but Edgar made sure I heard what he was saying. So certain that he detailed it to me both in spanish and english. He pointed to the left of me and said there was a rock, then pointed to the right of me and said there was a rock (under the water of course) and then he pointed straight in between the two and said, "jump there!"

I nodded in accordance and stepped forward to jump. As soon as I was about to fling myself, I caught a far too real glimpse of the height that i would be plunging from. My body wanted wanted to go but my mind slammed on the brakes and halted every bit of momentum I had worked up. Since I was already at the edge of the cliff, I looked down once more for good measure. Yup, it was a big one alright. I backed up a step or two to where Edgar was standing, told him i'd see him later and without giving my mind a second to process my actions, hurled my body from the cliff. The only problem with not thinking about this jump was that I was more concerned with getting myself off the ledge than with where I was going. In that grave error, I flung myself directly to the right of where I was supposed to jump. Anne stepped down tot he ledge after I jumped and Edgar looked at her with a big goofy smile and told her, "Scott jumped wrong."

There I fell, a good few seconds of hangtime as adrenaline surged through my body. As I neared the water I straightened myself out and entered in pencil position. As soon as I hit the water, my momentum slowed and I relaxed and let myself sink deeper. About a second later, I slammed into something very solid with my right shoulder. It really didnt hurt, but it was the last thing I was expecting and it certainly scared me. I turned around and opened my eyes to see the rock.

Still on rush from the jump, I surfaced and swam over to the log where everybody was waiting for Anne. She, just like Allen and I buckled for a minute but then flung herself over the ledge and into the water. She also hit the rock, but like my encounter, it was nothing serious.

At this point, we gathered the group and headed back up the rock face. The only way back was to wade up the streams. When Allen got to the top of the cliff, he decided to go for one more jump before going back to the hostel. The rest of us began our trek home. he caught up to me a few minutes later with an Edgar-like smile on his face and told me on that jump he "also got some rock action."

We made it back to the hostel a little while later and gathered to go on part two of the tour, the caves. They brought us about half a mile in the other direction to a dumpy little building where they tied our sandals to our feet with ribbon and gave us each a white candle. Our tour guide, a 16 year old Guatemalan boy lit our candles and led us into the abyss. For the next half hour or so we swam through flowing pools of water, climbed rope ladders and explored what was really an impressive cave. The group was fairly large so the tour was made to be mild. It would have been great to really get deep inside the caves, but what we did was still a beautiful experience.

That night, tired out from the days adventures, we sat down to a nice dinner at the hostel and some Guatemalan guys who had been doing some work for the hostel began buying Anne and I round after round. We eventually got our second wave and it turned into a party... I was even pressured into doing the worm (which I have now done on multiple continents).

The whole time, my mind couldnt help but wander through the past month of my life. It had gone from living in paradise on the beaches of Santa directly to penniless and having somebody pay my way, back to the glorious travel life and back again to desperately broke and hungry without an end in sight and here we were tonight, drunk, full and in an astoundingly beautiful mountain reserve. The world works in funny ways, but to this day, I wouldnt trade those highs and lows for anything.

The evening expired and before we knew it we were in bed. The next morning, Anne and I were slated to leave Semuc Champay and head back to Guatemala City. It was only a few days before she would be back on a plane to the homeland and I would be starting the next chapter of travels.

Deliverance

The time on the bus breezed by. Both my companion and I had passed out for what seemed like hours. We awoke in a slightly more bustling town as everybody was exiting the bus. We picked ourselves up, took one more look at the sign on the white piece of paper just to make sure it said what we thought it had said and exited. It was a new day, a young day, the sun was out and it seemed that we had all the time in the world to solve our little problem.

The little town was moving. People were out and on a mission to accomplish their daily chores. Cars, tuc tucs, bikes and pedestrians flooded the streets. After our bus took off, we began walking with no destination in mind. We stopped and asked a few pedestrians about the ATM situation and of course, it turned out that the sign on the bus was correct. They didnt exist in Lanqin. On the bright side, we had finally made it to our destination, we just had no money for food or room and board. We continued our hike down the streets to see what spoils awaited us.

As usual, we stuck out like sore thumbs in the streets of any Guatemalan city. Anne with her red hair, my curly locks and of course, our height. On top of that, the backpacks signaled to everybody that we were not from there. As we hiked, a taller Guatemalan man came up and introduced himself to us. He had picked us out of the crowd and began to tell us that he worked for a hostel called hostel ecologico. This was actually the place that the couple from Tecal who gave us the bus route had told us about. They said it was a beautiful little place right in the mountains of Semuc Champay and that it was owned and operated by Guatemalans (evidently there is another hostel owned by some expats that have a pretty crooked business plan within the town). As excited as we were to meet this guy and listen to him sell us on the hostel, we had to break it to him that we couldnt possibly stay there. We told him our problems and he listened with a large grin on his face and then told us that we could still stay there. He said this sort of thing happens to travelers all the time in Lanqin and we could stay at his hostel as long as we wanted where they have rooms, a restaurant and bar.

We asked him how we could pay for all of this without access to an ATM. Simple he told us, when we decide to leave, we would take a shuttle bus from the hostel into a town called Coban where they would take us to an ATM and settle our tab. We asked if there were any other assorted fees along with this transaction and he tried to make it as clear as possible that there werent. This deal just didnt make sense to us. It seemed way too easy to just cop out on the tab and book it from town. On top of that, it also seemed like one of those tricky little scams where due to some language discrepancy, we would end up owing a lot more than we planned. The mans name was Edgar and we went back and forth with him for some time in both English and Spanish trying to make absolute sure that we understood what he was saying. In the end, the deal looked to be legit and we really didnt have any other options on the back burner, so we obliged.

The smile that never seemed to leave Edgars face grew larger and then he told us to follow him. He took us down one of the dirt roads and told us to wait in front of one of the buildings. A few minutes later, a truck came by and Edgar reappeared, telling us to throw our luggage and bodies in the back bed. After that, off we went, on the twenty minute drive up into the mountains of Semuc Champay. The sight was beautiful, it was one of the most well kept nature reserves in all of Guatemala. We passed coffee plantations, cacao trees and a wealth of wildlife as the wind blowing by us slowly woke us up.

We eventually pulled off the road onto another dirt road where bright colored cabinas quickly came into view. The truck dropped us off in front of the restaurant portion of the hostel and it was equally beautiful. Well constructed canopies and wildlife all around. we could hear the sound of the river flowing flowing beneath us, and it looked like we had finally been delivered from our struggles. The place was beautiful, the rates were cheap and we could still adventure and had a sure fire ATM waiting for us when we left.

The rest of the day was spent lounging around the cabinas and in the restaurant. Still fatigued from the past few days, we wanted nothing more than to relax. We ended up meeting an Irishman named Allen who took us down to the river where we found a nice rock to jump off of. This dude was crazy, he would backflip from the rock and then talk about hiking barefoot through the Amazon rainforest. he was also a character, and it had been a while since we had even interacted with any other travelers.

Before we knew it, the sun was down, we had eaten a hearty meal of casado and it was time to crash. We made our way back to the cabina and called it a night. It was the first restful sleep we had had in four days and we knocked out cold. Tomorrow it would be time to explore the reserve.