Manaus, BrazilWell, i have made it to Brazil aka Fruit Juice & Smoothie Heaven.
The story goes a little bit like this:
On Thursday, December 27th, in Caracas, in the Montserrat Hotel, as I´m going up the stairs to my room, I run into a guy coming down the stairs. He says “buenas”, I say “buenas tarde”. he says, “are u American?”, I say yes. So, the night before the day i´m to check out (of course), I meet this guy Nate, who is celebrating his 4 year anniversary to his beautiful Venezuelan bride Irina.

The next morning, after picking up my passport from the Brazilian Consulate, I return to the Montserrat, gather my things, go down to the lobby to check out, and Nate & Irina are in the lobby. They reside in Minnesota. Nate is in the insurance business, and Irina is a columnist for a Venezuelan newspaper. They offer to walk me to the bus terminal to assist me in purchasing a ticket. The bus doesn´t leave intil 7:30pm, so we hang out. Irina takes us to one of her favorite restaurants for breakfast. We walk over to the Parque del Este & hang out there for awhile. On the lawn at the cultural center behind the Montserrat there is a free live music concert featuring a variety of bands, in preparation. We get in line to go in. The line is divided boy/girl. And while we wait, two guys go through each line distributing a single condom to each of the guys, and a female condom to each of the women. After being searched & admitted, it turns out the concert is not starting ´til much later, so we take a few photos, @ return to the hotel to wait for Irina´s friends. After their friends arrive, we hang out & talk for a while, then go out to purchase baseball tickets (baseball is Venezuela´s favorite sport) for Irina & Nate (coincidentally, Nate was wearing a classic San Francisco jersey T-shirt from the days when Nate Thurmond played for the Warriors), for the next evening, and then we went in search for dinner, finally settling on a sushi restaurant. The food was good, but the service was lousy, so, instead of money, we left one of the condoms as a tip! Returned to the hotel, got my backpack & my horn, said our farewells to Irina´s friends at the Altamira Metro station (a block away from the hotel), then Nate & Irina walked me to the bus station, & Irina assisted me in navigating the crowded terminal & getting on the bus. It was really a joy to have met them & be able to hang out with them on this day.

Caracas to Ciudad Bolivar via Bus

It was about a 12 hour bus ride to Ciudad Bolivar, and i arrived there the next morning at about 6:30. The featured film was "Inside Man" starring Denzel Washington, that consistently froze at the most crucial parts (though i had scene it already last year when it came out). Irina suggested i book a tour in Bolivar to visit the famous Angel Falls, but to be honest, i was ready to get out of Venezuela. After walking around for 2 hours in vain to find an ATM that would give me some bolivares because i got on the bus with only 2000, i finally bargained for a 60,000 Bs ticket to Santa Elena, for $21US plus the 2,000 Bs.

Ciudad Bolivar to Santa Elena by Bus

About 12 hours to Santa Elena. Though my ticket read "Servicio Ejectivo", this was not one of those big, cushy buses, designed for a long trip. To the contrary, this bus was small, the space between my seat and the seat in front of me was cramped, and i was squeezed between the window, and a gigantic 20-something. To add insult to injury, for 4 or 5 hours ), the bus driver blasted latin big band music from the 40´s & 50´s , and then for the remaining 7 to 8 hours, latin ballads from the 60´'s(?) featuring vocalists, guitar, drums, & this eerie sounding organ. Pure misery.

Santa Elena

Arrive in Santa Elena at about 6:30 at night. Santa Elena is about 10 miles from the border with Brazil. As soon as i walk off the bus, i´m face to face with a "man" in the form of a mustachioed pit bull in camouflagearmy fatigues. He asks to see my passport. I show it to him. He holds on to it & with his arm, signals me to follow him. We walk into a room with a desk and a few chairs. He closes the door. Asks to search my cornet case & my backpack (i can never quite understand what these guys are looking for - "brains"?, "courage"?). Then another guy in the form of a pitbull (no mustache on this one), in army camouflage fatigues enters the room. Were they lovers? (well, they were dressed alike, and sometimes couples do that as a sign of their affection for one another). In my backpack was my money belt. Mr. Mustache finds & unzips it to find about $1,000 in U.S. bills. He then started talking some dog doo-doo to me in spanish about "declaracion" & "illegal" & i was like "hay una problema?" & "no intiendo" (i said that a lot). Then his lover wanted to get in on the fun, saying in spanish did i want to give them a Chistmas present (!!!). I could get on a soapbox here about "men" abusing their authority, but i don't want to digress too much. Suffice it to say, after i said "no intiendo" one too many times, & these fools not having the courage to just take my money, there was some unspoken signal that this charade was over, and i put my backpack on, grabbed my cornet, walked out of that office, and out of the terminal, into a dark, unlit street, and started walking. i walked to my left for a while, then decided to turn around, and walk the other way. And i walked, and walked, and walked in the dark, on the narrow shoulder of the street, trying to stay out of the way of speeding cars, until i passed by a sign that read "Suites Refugios Cristal". I almost walked past it because i thought they were apartments. But i decided to inquire. There was a door with a sign that said "Abierto", so I opened it. Inside was a young girl on the computer, and i asked her in spanish if she had rooms available, and she called for another woman (turned out to be her mother), who came in & started laughing when i asked her for a room. She took me to one of the suites. It was huge. 2 bedrooms. 5 beds. livingroom & kitchen. i was thinking to myself no way am i going to be able to afford this on the $20US i had exchanged at one of the stores we stopped at on the bus to Santa Elena. She said "treinta y cinco"(35), and i said "treinta y cinco mil?", and she nodded yes (i got 80 mil for my 20). I said i´d take it. after paying her and dropping off my stuff in the room, i returned to the office to inquire about a nearby place to eat, and the woman was there with 3 other girls which i took to be her daughters, and when i asked, they started laughing, and one of the girls said something to her mom, and that´s when i realized what they were laughing about. They spoke Portuguese, not spanish! So i ran back to my room, got my phrasebook. Asked about a place to eat in (very poorly spoken) Portuguese, and understood the answer good enough to find a pizzaria about 7 minutes walking distance away. Ordered a vegetarian, and it was scrumptious.

Santa Elena to La Linea, the Border

Yesterday morning, checked out, and took a taxi to the border. The border between Venezuela & Brazil at La Linea is clean. No trash. No vendors. No money exchangers. No traffic (except for the taxi line to pass by the Venezuelan uniformed inspection officers). As we passed by the Brazilian immigration office, i told the taxi driver i was Americano & needed to get my passport stamped, so he let me out, i paid him. I went into the clean Brazilian office. The pleasant agent there, went through my passport, noticed i didn´t have an exit stamp from Venezuela & i explained to him in spanish that the taxi driver drove right past the Venezuelan office. He shrugged his shoulders, & stamped me into Brazil at about 12:30pm.

Took a bus from La Linea to Boa Vista. Then Boa Vista to Manaus. Neither bus had music nor were equipped with televisions. Tomorrow, i should be taking a ferry up the Amazon River to Belem. Brazil? So far, so good. The smoothies & fruit juices are fantabulous!

Caracas, Venezuela

Day 7

Well, tomorrow at 11am, i am scheduled to pick up my passport which should include my Brazilian visa. Then, i plan to catch a bus to Ciudad Bolivar.

Some final thoughts about Caracas. Caught the Metro twice today, and did much walking around. Today was a particularly good day because i serendipitously discovered a buffet that had a reasonable selection of food including (drum roll please) salad! fresh vegetables! lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, avocado. This was for lunch. Later i went back for dinner & they weren`t offering food, only pastries. So i started walking again (i`m on the Venezuelan Plaza which is lined with shops for miles), walked through a door which seemed to open into a mall, & it indeed was the entrance to a small restaurant emporium which just so happened to offer one of my favorites - falafels. So i had a falafel for dinner (yum! yum!).

i´m about less than half a block away from the beautifully lit plaza that i mentioned in my previous post, & was sitting there for awhile, taking in the atmosphere on this my last night in Caracas, and it occurred to me how we never hear about Caracas in the news in The States. It seems to me that Caracas is the most civil & "peaceful" big city i have ever been in, and i´ve visited all the big cities in The States. I´ve been walking around for days, having observed thousands of people, young, old, & in between, and not once have i witnessed anyone acting out, acting rude, being loud & obnoxious. And with all the street vendors, have observed no instances of stealing. Not a single instance have i observed anyone fighting, or of a boy, teenager or man being disrespectful to a girl or woman. Boys walk around here civil, in their saggy, baggy jeans, & caps on backward. On the Metro (subway), i have observed more than once, men giving up there seat for a woman. Today i say a younger woman (not a teenager), give up her seat to an older woman. Speaking of the Metro. Some of the stations are very, very crowded. But people jam themselves into the trains orderly, with no pushing or shoving or bad attitudes.

It is common to see men & women walking with their children, holding their hands. Lovers holding hands. Boys & girls holding hands. As an outsider, because in general, everyone seems so cooperative (Venezuelans are cooperative, but they are not necessarily a smiley-face culture. In other words, a Venezuelan may be absolutely, sincerely courteous to you, but not necessarily give you a smile) (i guess, somewhat opposite from the states where someone may "smile in your face", but not necessarily be sincere), the people of Caracas seem like a family. And as i mentioned in a previous post, it seems common for families to go out together, mom, poppy & the kids.

Another interesting observation, or comment regarding what i´ve seen of culture in Mexico, Latin America, Colombia & Panama is this. The culture that u see down here, in my opinion, would be de facto illegal in the U.S. One example, and think i brought this up before, is that of street vendors, & particularly food vendors. Selling food on the street, as i understand it, is absolutely against the law in the US, due to health, sanitation, & zoning regulations. As a matter of fact, when i was residing in San Francisco some years back, a fellow who had worked with an organization called "Food Not Bombs", told me it was against San Francisco city law to distribute free cooked food on the street to the public.

Skin Color

One thing this place has brought up in myself, is my own skin color consciousness. What i mean is, & pardon me if this is a false generalization, but i think intrinsic to American "culture", or American "consciousness", is the awareness of a person´s skin color. We speak of "diversity", "people of color", "Asian-American", "Latino", "Black", "African-American", "White", "Caucasian", etc., etc. Here in Caracas, the skin color of people is anywhere from what we would call "white" to what we refer to as"black" (have never quite understood why in America we call a people, the majority of whom are brown in skin color, "black"), but mostly everybody is in between. In the park on Christmas, I saw families, where mom, dad & the kids, in our world, would all be considered of different "races". You see couples, and families, that we in the States would consider "mixed race" or "inter-racial". Colors mix comfortably here, and at least as an outside observer, i get no sense of this culture defining the "other" in terms of skin color. As I observe it, here, regardless of the lightness or darkness of your skin, you are Venezuelan. Period.

Stranded in Caracas, Venezuela

Compared to the other countries i have visited so far, this place is crazy expensive. A quick example: Big Mac, fries & soda costs 17,500 Bolivares (2,150 Bs per $1US). So that would be about $8. Now i don´t buy or eat Clown Food, but my suspicion is that Ronald´s customers in the states aren´t paying that much for a burger, fries & soda.

Caracas is a big city. Mucha, mucha gente, traffic (best be careful crossing the street, pedestrians DO NOT get the right of way), hi rises, banks.

I am residing in the Montserrat Hotel in the Altamira section of Caracas. This is my 3rd hotel. After leaving the Brazilian Consulate, i hailed a taxi, and asked the cabbie to take me to a good, but cheap hotel. First he took me to a good, expensive hotel (about $90US), then we got back in the cab & he took me to one of the hotels i had on my list, The Hotel Ritz in the Sabana Grande district. The hotel was neither ritzy, nor Sabana "grand", but i took the room anyway. 8th floor. The traffic on the street was so loud, i had to wear earplugs in order to sleep.

I was not particularly impressed with Sabana Grande, so the next day i checked out, and took another cab to another motel on my list. Turned out it was practically around the corner from the Ritz. So, I decided i would try to find a hotel near the Brazilian Consulate. I found a couple of cabbies chatting at the curb, waiting for a passenger, and told one where i wanted to go. Neither he, nor his colleague knew where the consulate was, so i told him i would get the directions, and come back. Found an internet cafe. googled the consulate, wrote down the address, returned to the taxi stand. Different guy. Gave him the directions and off we went. After much asking for directions, we found the consulate. He dropped me off and i went in search of a hotel. Well, to make a long story short, after much walking around, i found one, Hotel la Floresta. It cost a lot more than i wanted to spend but i was in a "nicer" area, and i was tired of walking around toting a backpack. The next day i checked out after inquiring about the availability of a cheaper room, and being told i was already in the cheapest room. So off in search for another place to sleep. And again, after much walking around and being time and time again, no rooms were available, i returned to the Montserrat (i remembered having buzzed it the day before and told no vacancies), and did my best to charm the receptionist, in spanish. She gave me a long look, then ask me to wait for a moment. i sat in the lobby for a few minutes. she called me and said she had a room for me. i was ecstatic. Room 333. In the rear of the building, so quiet, with a view of the landscaped grounds of some kind of cultural center.

Language

Caracans speak fast, and are fond of rapidly rolling their r´s and cutting off the ending of words. "Diesiete" becomes "diesie", "gracias" is "gracia".

Cuisine

I have found it a challenge to find food here that i want to eat. Fast food restaurants seem to be all the rage. There are also guys who have hamburger/hot dog stands. The hamburguesas come with a fried egg as a topping on the meat. Sandwiches are big here too. Made with processed meat. Ham. White bread. Yesterday i bought something called a cachapa, a folded crepe over some cheesy stuff. There is, however, near my hotel, a fast food sushi restaurant. Real sushi. Though the portions are rather small.

Spent most of Christmas at the Parque del Este, a huge public park with a zoo and exploratorium similar to Golden Gate Park. I had planned to take the subway there, but the station on the corner of my block was closed. I thought perhaps, the Metro was closed due to the holiday, so decided to take a walk anyway. I walked right to the park, about 10 minutes from my hotel! It has a small zoo, with monkeys, these big hairy, chipmunk looking animals, toucans, and a huge bird called a aguila harpia . Many, many families were in the park. Balls flying about, remote controlled airplanes and cars. A little girl in pink on her new pink bicycle. Kids running and jumping. Dads playing with their boys. Hanging out at the park, i got the impression that Caracas (or Venezuela) is a family oriented culture. Or, perhaps it is just this time of the year that brings all the families out.

Went to the consulate this morning to inquire if perhaps i could get my Brazilian visa before Friday. The answer was "no".

Caracas, Venezuela
Well, made it to Caracas safe & sound (& tired) after two, not quite "Bus Rides from Hell", but challenging nonetheless. The 1st bus ride from Cartagena to Barranquilla to Santa Marta featured a Japanese horror film, played a bit too loud. The movie was played back to back, from Cartagena to Barranquilla, then from Barranquilla to Santa Marta (4 hours total). The movie was about 2 hours long, 90 minutes of the soundtrack consisting of a woman screaming & shrieking, a baby crying, & glass breaking & shattering. Indeed the movie was a true horror. Thank goodness for earplugs & the iPod.

The next bus ride, about 17 hours (!) from Santa Marta to Caracas featured the movie "The Bourne Identity". It was shown in english, in english subtitles. I didn´t notice anyone complaining & even saw the 2nd driver (on most of these long distance journeys there are 2 drivers), look at it for a while, but he didn´t do anything to change the subtitles to spanish.

La Frontera (The Border)
The border crossing was slow & disorganized. We had to disembark & wait in line in front of the immigration office to officially exit Colombia. Then we had to walk through a noisy, crowded, trash strewn area to another, unmarked building to officially enter Venezuela. We stood in line about 2 hours. Finally, a guy, don´t know if he was Venezuelan or Colombiano, pitched a fit at one of the Venezuelan immigration officials. And this is why: there were about 100 people waiting line. The Venezuelan immigration "office" consisted of 2 windows, one marked "SALIDA", the other "ENTRADA". The "SALIDA" line, oddly enough, moved quickly, but the "ENTRADA"window moved at a snail´s pace. And even when the "SALIDA" line was emptly, the immigration agent would not take a person from the other line, those of us waiting to enter the country. After 2 hours, when i finally got to the window (a blue tinted window with a small slot at the bottom, and a circle about 4 inches in diameter at face level), what i saw was this: a fat, uniformed guy in a small, naked room, sitting & chatting next to a scantilly dressed woman, displaying much cleavage, sitting with her legs crossed ala Sharon Stone in "Basic Instincts". He thumbed back in forth through my passport enough times to give me the impression he was intentionally taking his time (as he continued chatting with Sharon). Then, apparently satisfied that he had made everyone wait a sufficently uncomfortable & inconvenient amount of time, he stamped my passport & gave it back to me. Not a particularly stellar introduction to one´s country i must say.

The remaining bus ride to Cartagena featured a western flick (before screening i heard folks asking the driver to make sure it was not in english). The air conditioning was set at 19 degrees celcius (66.2 degress F) , so the ride was a bit chilly & i found it difficult to sleep.

Applied for my Brazilian Visa this morning. It will not be available until next Friday, the 27th. So looks like i´ll be doing a Caracas Christmas.

,

Santa Marta, Colombia
Wanted to comment briefly on the street vendors in Cartagena. There are a lot of street vendors in Cartagena selling practically everything - fruit, coconuts, cooked food, snacks, gum, cigarettes, umbrellas, cellphone minutes, jewelry, crafts, paintings (particularly copies of Fernando Botero), chips, orange juice, clothing. There are even guys who go around with thermoses & little plastic take-out catsup/salsa containers selling shots of coffee. They also have motorscooter taxis (they call'em "telemotos") - where a guy (saw no women driving them) on a small motorcycle provides the customer with a helmet and a reflective vest and provides taxi service i suppose for a fee less than the car taxis. There is also a lot of street hustling. A guy asking me for spare change all of sudden became a guia (guide) upon discovering i was not particularly fluent in Spanish. However, the best example of spontaneous improvisational entrepreneurship i saw was after about a 10 minute downpour. As i mentioned in a previous post, the streets in central Cartagena are narrow, the same streets used back in the horse & carriage days going back to the 16th centuryThe draining is not very efficient. As a result, some streets became flooded enough to make it impossible to walk across some intersections without dipping ones shoes or sandals in the water. I look up the street and see a guy with 2 yellow hard plastic milk cartons (similar to our old style recycle bins), placing one in front of the other in the street, creating a moving platform for women to use to cross the street!

Another thing i noticed is that everytime (and i'm not exagerating), everytime someone "befriended" me on the street, the encounter eventually turned into some sort of hustle. Have i mentioned yet all the prostitutes? So eventually i got the impression that money is tight here for a lot of people, and there must be some poor folk. From the window seat of the bus from Cartagena to Barranquilla, i got to see where some of the poorer folk reside . Just about 15 minutes out of downtown Cartagena, i saw shacks built on the river where people lived with their small boats and fishing nets. Young boys cycling bicycle taxis. Men using horse drawn carriages as trucks. Kids transporting stuff on donkeys. Shantytowns. And i realized that downtown Cartagena was at the top of the wealth pyramid. Home to the descendants of the conquerors, and their entourage and support staff.

Bought a ticket today for a bus leaving tomorrow morning at 11am for Caracas Venezuela. Received a very snooty, entirely unfriendly attitude from all the ticket agents for the Brailia Venezuelan bus company both here & in Baranquilla. Don´t know if it was because I spoke no Spanish or what. It reminded me of something i read on the Lonely Planet website where a guy said after being in Venezuela for a while, he thought they didn´t like Americans. Guess i'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to find out what´s in store for me from my Venezuelan hermanos & hermanas. Adios for now!

Cartagena, Colombia

Yesterday i checked out of the Hotel Familiar in the Getsamani District & am now residing at the Hotel de Viajero in Centro (i think it´s also referred to as downtown or Old Town). Michael, Ryan & i had been sharing a room at the Hotel Familiar since Thursday evening. Michael´s Lonely Planet guidebook suggested lodging in other barrios of the city. The barrios around here are Centro (The Old City), Matuna, San Diego, Cabrero, Getsamani & Manga. Regrettably, i didn´t get to say ¡Buen Viaje! to them in person. They had left early in the morning & by noon hadn´t returned, but i was able to leave them a note.

After checking into the Hotel de Viajero, i went in search of comida. Exited the hotel took a right, and then took another right at the corner. The streets here are narrow, extant since the days of the horse & carriage. I walked up this street, avoiding the taxis as i oftentimes had to step off the sidewalk to allow oncoming pedestrians to pass. This street was lined with various shops, many, clothing shops. I entered an art supply store, & purchased replacement lead for my mechanical pencil & some rubber bands (i wrap them around my clothes for a more compact fit inside my backpack). I had previously made a mental note to purchase a second pair of walking shorts, and so, went in search of these. Most of the clothing shops stocked inexpensive "modern" youth gear, multicolored spaghetti strap tops & tight jeans for las chicas, polos, khaki & bermuda shorts, "designer" T-shirts for the guys. After i walked in (& i discovered later this is common in these types of shops), i was greeted by a friendly, smiling young lady in a T-shirt with the stores insigna on the front, who asked me what i was looking for, and made every to help me find some shorts. Overhead, pop music was pumping, and many of the other young ladies employed there were singing & dancing to the music! I tried on a pair of shorts, but they were not to my liking. I seemed to be getting a lot of attention from the other girls. I think perhaps they were surprised to discover i was not Colombiano or even Panamanian when they heard me struggling to speak Spanish. I told the very helpful young lady I would continue up the street to look around, and if I didn´t find anything, I would return later. She said OK, she would wait for me!

I exited the store, headed up the street, noticed a guy selling bolsitas of sliced mango, bought one, ate, then discovered another clothing store across the street. This was a huge discount clothier (reminded me of Kmart). Mostly ropas por las chicas. Didn´t see anything that caught my attention, and headed down the street. Passed another store. This store had a DJ in the front pumping pop tunes out of a large boom box. Here too, I was greeted by a salesclerk, a yound lady in a skyblue T-shirt, who asked me if I needed help, and what was I looking for. Here also, many of the salesclerks were singing & dancing to the music. Eventually, I did find a pair of shorts to my satisfaction, and a shirt. I paid, thanked the young lady for her kind assistance (and later in the day wondered if I was supposed to give her a tip - seems like it´s like that here - more about that later). The belt that I have been wearing was a bit worn before I began this trip, and as I headed back to the hotel, I passed a young man selling belts on the sidewalk. I bought one, dropped my purchases off at the hotel, and resumed my quest por la comida.

Exited right from the hotel, but this time, instead of turning right at the corner, i turned left. Walked down a few blocks, to my left looked interesting, and I walked into a plaza, Plaza Santo Domingo, covered with tables under umbrellas imprinted with "Cafe De Colombia". Surrounding the plaza were small restaurant fronts, the Museum of Modern Art, the Embajada de Colombia (Colombian Embassy), and the sculpture Mujer Reclinada ("Reclining Woman"), by artist Fernando Botero.

I found a chair, a waitress brought me a menu featuring Italian cuisine, much of which I didn´t understand. Reggae music was booming at a reasonable level from a restaurant booth near to mine. I inquired about a salad on the menu, heared the words "lechuga" (lettuce), tomato, queso (cheese), and her recommendation of it being very good and ordered it. While I waited, various street vendors came by my table (& others), offering their wares - bracelets, watches, Cuban cigars, soccer shirts, drawings, T-shirts, CD´s, DVD's. Sometimes one vender would stand in line behind another just waiting to make his pitch. Some don´t wait.

The salad arrived. Six large squares of (mozzarrella?) cheese, each covered with a large slice of tomato, basil leaves, and the plate sprinkled with shredded basil. Included French bread, and lemonade ("limonada" is quite common here at most of the eateries, and is quite good, made from freshly squeezed lemons). I wasn´t expecting so much cheese, but I enjoyed the salad anyway. While eating, a well dressed "gentleman" of 31, handed me a business card, and politely invited me to visit his shop of "handmade" Colombian art. He hung around for a while & we chatted. I finished my meal, paid la camarera, and as I rose to leave, the art guy was back, gently insisting that I visit his shop about 10 steps to the left of my table.

The "handmade" Colombian art was a jewelry shop specializing in emerald jewelry. He escorts me into the shop of mirrors & glass & shininess. The door closes. Just to the rear behind the display case a small group is huddled. From the group emerged a perhaps 50-something, bespectacled, moderately heavy set man, with a big belly, in a dark, pressed, short sleeved shirt. He had a, but respectable command of english (apparently he had already been briefed by the other guy), gives me a quick discription of the Colombian emerald business, and tells me that since I am in Colombia you "must" purchase an emerald (he said it, politely, with passion, like it was some unspoken commandment) to take home as a souvenir. He shows me a few of the pendants and earrings, all the while continuing a steady stream of dialogue describing their preciousness. I countered, politely, that I was not a rich man, just a humble traveler, on a meager budget, carrying a small backback, trying to make his way to Carnaval in Brazil. He said something like "Yes, of course, but if you should ever change your mind please come back and visit us". I exited the store with a smile, and my usual "Gracias. Tiene un buen dia."And waiting for me just outside the door was the other guy, now trying to give me a (subtle) pitch about visiting las Islas del Rosario in the morning. There was a guy standing next to him with some kind of a form apparently having to do with this, but I kindly declined, and told him I would think about it (I must have told him the hotel I was staying in because at 7am this morning I got a call in my room, and it was the same guy, reminding that the boat was leaving soon for del Rosario).

After disintangling myself from this guy, i found myself walking alongside a young fellow, maybe 15, who had offered his bracelets to me while I waited for my tomato & cheese salad. So we walk around for awhile. He speaks a little English & sort of took on the roll of a guide, explaining to me this area of Cartagena. He says, disgustingly, that the people that live in this area are rich, that the restaraunt I just ate at, is way over priced, and continues to walk with me explaining to me the history of this part of Cartagena. This area is interesting in that, probably similar to what you see in many cities in Europe, the buildings and streets have existed for centuries. We turn down a street and run into another guy who was trying to sell me CD´s back while I waited for my salad. This guy was a riot. Hilarious. He could probably sell sand to the desert! Water to the ocean! Wings to birds! I would have loved to get this dude on video as he improvised one pitch after another about why I needed to by a CD from him.

I headed back the hotel, said farewell to the youngster, and returned to my room for a late nap.

My 1st Saturday Night in Cartagena
The way I figure it, in the land of cumbia, it is mandatory you go dancing your 1st Saturday night in Cartagena.

With my check in to this hotel, I was given a Cartagenas de Indias Pocket Map which listed a discoteca not too far away called Diva. So I put on my new threads, went and had dinner, and all excited, headed to Diva. After I thought I found it, I headed up the stairs (I´m wearing shorts), until a guy calls after me, (I noticed other people going up the steps too, a bit older than me, and dressed quite a bit more conservatively). So I stop, turn around, descend the stairs and ask the guy "Hay la discoteca Diva?", he looks at me with a frown, and says "no". Another man points to a spot further down the square (I didn´t mention this square, the Plaza de los Coches (Square of the Carriages) is crowded with people, a big nightlife spot) and I find a young guy sitting on a stool in front of the entrance to some stairs. I see the sign "Diva". H begins talking a mile a minute to me about "chicas bonitas", and says the cover is 10,000 pesos. I pay him, go up the stairs and enter. Turns out it´s just a bar. So I leave a bit disappointed. He implores me to come back later. I tell him I would. As I walk away, another guy starts talking to me about another club just on the other side of the building. As we walk there, I ask him if there is club that has a large..., i couldn´t think of the word, so I pointed at the ground. "Piso" he says. Yes, he says, the Club La Salaba has a large dancefloor. He gives me the wrong directions, says it´s located in a direction totally opposite from it´s actual location. So, after some walking around asking for directions, I find the Club La Salaba. Walk up the stairs all excited, the bouncer says something to me I don´t understand. I didn´t hear a number, so he wasn´t asking for a cover. And I didn´t here "donde eres", so he wasn´t asking me where I came from. I continued to look puzzled, "Yo no intiendo". Finally, he points to my shorts, and shakes his head. OK, I get it. I descend the stairs, exit the building. And now I was determined to get into this club. I head back to the hotel.
I pull the Guatemalan trousers I purchased in San Juan del Sur from my pack. I change the laces in my Converse Hi-Tops, wash them up a bit in the sink just outside my room, change into a sportier shirt, and head back to Da Club. I enter the lobby, Senor Bouncer is there, and before going up the stairs I look at him, open my arms and say "Esta bien?", he shakes his head OK, and up the stairs I go. I pay the pretty girl my cover, and ascend another set of stairs to be greeted by a young lady in a T-shirt with the la Salaba insignia (similar to las chicas at the clothing stores), who asks me "Crossover or Electronica". I reply "crossover". She escorts me past a lounge with a large video screen, to a double door, opens the door and lets me in. The music was kind of old & slow, and I could faintly hear a faster beat pumping nearby, so I turn and tell her "electronica". She escorts me to another set of silver double doors, opens them for me into a regular room, with a bluish glow, and about 8 metallic circular raised table islands distributed lengthwise, about 5 feet apart in the middle of the room, incribed with "Red Bull" along their stems, a bar at one end, a subwoofer located in the center of the room, and the DJ station located at the other end of the room. There were also modern sofas with what looked like large cow spot motifs, surrounding the floor/dance area. She asked me if I want anything to drink and I ordered water. It is probably about 11pm. I am the only person in the room. She brings me my water, 4000 pesos (by the way, $1US = 2000 pesos). I give her $5000 (1000 peso tip), but she gives me back the 1000 peso bill. Well, it´s Saturday night, the music´s pumping, I have the dancefloor to myself, I´m in Cartagena, The Home of Cumbia, so - I dance! Either it was too early in the night, or the folk of Cartagena aren´t to keen on techno yet, but I danced by myself for a couple of hours. Overall, it seemed there were about 10 to 15 people in the room eventually, mainly standing around or sitting, holding drinks or cigarettes and chatting, by the time I left. The dancefloor was not that big.

I went to the "crossover" room. It was very crowded. Mainly couples. I didn´t feel appropriately dressed in this room (the Converse just weren´t kicking it in here). Many of the folks, especially the women, were dressed to kill. I found a seat to take in the vibe, until a waitress told me I had to buy a drink in order to sit on the couch, so I left.

Since I had already paid my cover at Diva, I went back there to see what it might look like 2 hours later. The guy at the door remembered me, and as I headed up the stairs, to my surprise, he called a lady just outside to accompany me (there were other scantily dressed women also). So we walked up the stairs, entered the "disco" that is not a disco but a bar, and inside, there were maybe 3 guys, one seated with a woman, another the bartender, and the other the DJ. Everyone else in the room, about 20 or so, were scantily dressed women. Nobody was dancing. The music was so loud how could anyone even hear themselves or the other speak? You have to understand that in all of these situations I get myself in, it is in a language that I speak very modestly. So I tell my long legged, minidress wearing escort "la musica is grande" (how´s that for Saturday night out on the town Spanish?), and she suggests we go out on the balcony that is separated from the main room by doors. So we go out there. Now, I´m being truthful here, I felt very awkward. I wasn´t interested in hiring an escort, and I couldn´t even deflect the situation with interesting conversation not being fluent in the language, so clumsily I explained to this young lady that I was leaving. I politely thanked her for her company - "Gracias por tu compania", and exited. The guy at the door tried to get me back up there. I should have demanded my money back. So, as I get away from this guy, and step away from Diva, the guy I spoke to earlier who told me about the Club la Salaba greets me, "Que pasa?". I tell him as best I can that I went to the Club La Salaba, and that I was headed to my hotel. Before he could respond, this little twitchy boy steps between us, waving dirty Colombian dollar bills, asking me for money. His shirt & shorts were too big and filthy. Some of his teeth, though not rotten, seemed broken. His face was clean. He kept waving these bills, then he would pull up his short to rub his belly saying he was hungry. There was no pity in his eyes or in his personality. He was quite matter of fact in his presentation: i have the twitches, i am dirty, hungry, poor and asking you for money. I even remember him saying a few english words. Perhaps he was 7 or 8. So he says, instead of money, buy me some food, "yo tengo hambre". So I ask him what he wants, and he points to a chickent fast food restaurant just across the square. So we walk there. I asked him about his parents. He said they live in the street. Apparently, he knew the employees at the restaurant & they knew him. When they saw us, did I see pity in their eyes? Or anger? Or both? He pointed to the pictures on the menu, and I ordered something for him including lemonade. I told him to wash his hands, so quick as a whistle, he was through the door (we ordered outside), coming out a few minutes later with wet, cleaner hands. I paid for his order and I left him at the table to eat. I headed back to my hotel, but then decided to turn around to check on him. He had already gone. The guy at the restaurant pointed in a direction in the center of the square and I found him again. I asked him if he had eaten already "Comes ya?", and he said he shared it with his friend. He asked me for money to sleep. For some reason, I declined to give it to him. Twitching, he thanked me for the food. Did he smile slightly? We looked each other long in the eyes. His asked for no pity. And mine didn't cry.

Cartagena, Colombia
Greetings Gentle Readers. I am happy to be reporting to you from Cartagena, Colombia, South America after 9 grueling days (!) traveling with The Papillon from Portobelo Panama.

The boat: The Papillon, a 31 foot schooner
The crew:
Captain Tom Valentine, originally from Germany
Mette (pronounce Mit-tuh): Danish, recent Business School graduate
Martin: Danish, 22, excellent swimmer. He & Mette have been traveling through Latin & now South America since September.
Ryan Baker: recent graduate of NYU with degrees in Philosophy & Business
Michael Baker: recent graduate of Syracuse University with a major in Computer Science.

We boarded The Papillon on the early evening of Wednesday, December 12. We were to spend the night that evening to make preparations, and to familiarize ourselves with the boat. To put it politely, the boat was modest (or to put it not so politely, and to quote one of my crewmates whose family has their own sailboat, the boat was "disgusting", the kitchen was "disgusting", and the captain?: "He´s crazy!")

We set off on Thursday morning for Port Venir, one of the San Blas Islands, where we were supposed to get our passport & immigration documentation taken care of. However, the immigration officials were not there, scheduled to return in 4 days. So we sailed to a "nicer" island, anchored, and spent about 3 nights there (one night we spent in a hut on the island), avoided a mutiny (the crew was getting impatient), then returned to Port Venir. The next morning in Port Venir, we had our passports stamped & immediately set sail for Cartagena. This would be about Tuesday, our 7th day with the boat. And by this time, we were sick of the boat, sick at looking at the ocean, sick of peanut butter, and after we hit the open sea, I was seriously sea sick! Days 7, 8, & 9 on that boat were a case study in enduring misery & discomfort.

The highlights:
Learned how to snorkel. If u´ve never done it, I highly recommend it. It is much fun to swim with the endless variety of pretty fishies. I even saw a seahorse.

The San Blas Islands
The San Blas Islands (there are about 400 of them) are just off the coast of Panama. They rise just above the ocean about 3 feet, are totally flat, have white sandy beaches, and are covered with palm trees. On closer inspection, one also finds the island shore littered with a plethora of plastic detritus - empty water bottles, oil containers - obstensibly swept ashore after being tossed overboard from sailing vessels in the sea. The islands are home to the Kuna.

The Kuna People
Met many of the Kuna. I would translate Kuna into english to mean "no worries, just gently swing in a hammock?". The Kuna essentially subsist off what the island & the sea provide - coconuts, fish, lobster & crab, though some Kuna had chickens & I even saw a family with a little piggie. The Kuna women are famous for sewing Molas. I met some of the children who spoke Kuna, Spanish & English, and learned a few Kuna words. For example, a common sea bird on the island is called a dui-dui (dewey-dewey). Another interesting thing is that many of the Kuna men, though not quite "flaming", are very open & queenly in their gayness. Apparently, one of the islands is famous for the molas made by gay Kuna men.

Soup
I received rave reviews for taking some left over rice, and 4 cans of Campbell´s Chicken with rice soup, and preparing dinner for the crew on the boat. That was on our 3rd night on the boat. When we arrived in Cartagena yesterday evening, I was told it was the best & most memorable meal we had during our adventure on The Papillon.

In about 30 minutes we meet with Captain Tom who should be returning to us our stamped passports making us official visitors to Cartagena, Colombia - The Most Beautiful City in South America (or so they say).

Panama City, Panama
Currently rooming at Mamallena backpackers hostel, in a dormitory of 12 bunkbeds. I have a top bunk (reminds me of my dear, dear childhood). This afternoon I booked a spot on a boat leaving Thursday from Portobelo with a final destination of Cartagena, Columbia. We will be spending 2 or 3 days on the San Blas islands, and should arrive in Cartagena on Sunday. There will be 6 of us on board, including 2 other American chaps headed to Carnavale de Rio.

Panama City is a noisy (during the day) big city of high rises, hotels, free-for-all honking traffic, taxi's Just around the corner from this hostel is a store similar to Costco. Also in this area are two large casinos (saw a newspaper headline that read "Is Panama City Becoming the Las Vegas of Central America?")

Panamanian Economics:

• From what I've sampled so far, the food, though cheap, is bland (I had a full course vegetarian dinner including beverage for $4.95).


• lunch (full course including beverage): $2.40
  


• Hotels are priced about the same as in the states.


• Internet service: .50 per hour.


• Pedicure: $10
  


• 40 minutes of long distance calls to the states from a "call center" : $2.50.


• Taxi's charge $1 to $3 for rides around the downtown areas.


• Met a construction worker Angel Maria Herrera Butilla working on a new bank next door. He told me for December he will work 5am to 5pm Monday through Friday for $1 per hour.


• He and his wife own their own home which cost $7,000.


• His wife is a nurse. Her salary: $380 a month.


• Immigration punks, I mean immigration "officers" will demand a bribe from a tourist in lieu of 5-days of jail time for said tourist, for the "crime" of walking around at night without a passport.

Cultural observations:

• There are substantially less street vendors here as compared to the rest of Central America.


• Guys whistle and honk at women.


• According to Angel, and from what my eyes verify, Panama has no skin color trip. Lights, darks and in-betweens mingle congenially like a basket of warm, clean laundry.


• Also according to Angel, the country is full of extranjeros (foreigners), and the Spanish (from Spain)(including the women) are known for their vulgar speech.


• Saw a security guard in front of a bank checking women´s purses before they entered the bank.


• Many business have locked doors with buzzers to screen and control entry.

Panama City, Panama
got into Panama about 6am this morning after about a 16 hour bus ride from San Jose, Costa Rico.

A quick re-cap:
after 4 relaxing days in San Juan del Sur, i took a bus to the border. from there boarded another bus to Liberia, Costa Rica, & from there to Nicoya. On the ride to Nicoya met an up and coming boxer named Marito who turns professional in December. Nicoya to Nosara (in a rickety "chicken bus", 1-1/2 hours of which was over a bumpity-bumpity pothole infested dirt road) where i got off in Nosara. Remote countryside, though according to my map, close to Ostional. my plan was to visit the Ostional Wildlife Refuge, the place where 4 species of pregnant sea turtles go to lay their eggs. after some walking back and forth, asking different people for directions, i was told that just down the rode a bit was a supermarket where i could catch a cab to Ostional. so i walked to the entrance of the store and asked the bagger about a taxi, he called over to a moderately heavy set guy, about my height, in spectacles, slacks & a beige short sleeved shirt. he quoted me a price to Ostional, i ran it thru my mental money conversion calculator and told him "OK, esta bien." turned out the "cab" was a jeep. so, as the sun gently set, we drove the dark, dusty, bumpy road to Ostional. awhen we came to the first river crossing, i realized why the cab was a jeep. at the second river crossing, wider and deeper than the 1st, Walter looks over at me and says confidently "No hay problema!". in about 30 minutes, we arrive in Ostional. He drops me off at the Cabina Ostional where i get a room for about $5US.

Ostional Costa Rica
well, turns out i missed la arriaba (the arrival of the turtles (las tortugas)) by 2 weeks!

but got to relax on the beach. and the following morning an Aussie chick named Sarah came by the cabin next to mine where i was talking to the folks who worked with the Refuge organization whose task was to protect the egg nests or relocate the eggs to a hatchery just up the beach a bit. i heard "monkeys howling this morning" (speaking of "howling in the morning", i had a rooster Cock-A-Doodle-Doo Championship going on near my cabin. Started at about 3:30am with the rooster across the road competing against about 10 other roosters in the general vicinity. I guess the way the contest worked is that the rooster across the road would start with the 1st Cock-A-Doodle-Doo as loud and as forceful as his little rooster vocal cords & lungs could muster, then the nearest rooster would try to top that, and so on down the line, and I guess a rooster or chicken somewhere would keep score, because after the last distant Cock-A-Doodle-Doo ended, Mr. Rooster across the road would go again. Must have been like a best of 10 play-off or maybe even the World Series of Cock-A-Doodle-Doodling because the next morning i didn´t hear a peep out of ém) so i asked her if i heard her say "monkeys", and she said yes, that they were in the trees behind where she was staying. so i get all excited like a little kid (like i´m prone to do now & again) and say "can we walk there?". and she says "sure". so off we go, me, her & this dude Chris (by the way Chris is a New Zealander & you should have heard him & Sarah get into it after i asked them "so what is this thing i hear about between Aussies & New Zealanders?, and her explanation begins by getting on him because he calls flop flops "shandles", and she calls them "thongs", and he says "thongs" are little skimpy bikini bottoms, and she says, well if "thongs" are "shandles", then points to his shorts, does that me those are "shants"? and she was getting a bit agitated and it was very funny how serious they were about the names of things) to Sarah´s. And yes, there in her yard up in the trees were about 10 or 15 Howler Monkeys including 2 babies, one of which was climbing around up high in the branches, and the other baby had a very tight, snuggly embrace around his mommy.

quick Ostional Costa Rica cultural observation:
i´m at a "Soda", their word for a small "Mom & Pop Restaurant". i'm sitting at the outdoor counter eating, facing the kitchen where the proprieter Oscar is washing dishes. to my right, a teenager about 15 or 16 swoops up on his mountain bike, parks it, romps into the kitchen, and just as he passes his father whose back is to him, bends over and gives him a kiss on the cheek!

Cuisine: fish, black beans with white rice, and fried plantanos are big here.

Instead of "de nada", Costa Ricans say "mucho gusto". intead of calling the check "la cuenta", they call it "la fractura".

just like in Nicaragua, they have these small lizards that make this "tweek, tweek, tweek" call.

they also have a creature called an "iguana", which in english means "gigantic prehistoric genetically mutated lizard".

Panama City
I am a 5-day boat ride away from South America (Cartagena, Columbia).

Panama has what apparently is a minority, of peoples, we in the states "blacks" or "African-Americans".

Panama uses the same currency as the United States.

So far from what I can tolerate, their food is not very good. Is there actually a Panamanian cuisine?

Nos vemos!