It's research - I swear

Mayan ruins, Caribbean paradises, Hanging from highwires, and Chicken buses

irish-rover — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 10:09:00 GMT

'Jees, those Mayans - pretty smart guys, huh?' These words represented the sum total of my knowledge of the ancient Mayan civilization before I got to Central America. (I also knew made that Mel Gibson made that really gorey movie, but I'm not sure that ranks as substantive knowledge about the ancient civilization.) In Copan, Honduras, however, I was treated to the most impressive array of rocks I've ever seen. Yes - way ahead of the Celts. We also had a terrific guide, who was able to weave the story of the Mayans into this impressive tapestry of the entire origins and development of Central America, and into contemporary astronomy/astrology. Anyway, the outcome of it all is that, apparently the world's coming to an end in 2012. Complete meltdown and destruction. Noone will be saved. That, or (and this was my preferred interpretation) the world's going to begin anew, with renewed enlightenment and optimism and mutual understanding. The end of conflict and famine. As for the exact reasons behind all this, I haven't a clue... From Copan, we made our way to brief stop in Tela, the official armpit of Honduras. Mercifully, it was brief. (You know you're in trouble when random passers by start telling you to go back to your hotel, 'it's dangerous here'.) The dinginess of Tela did, however, help us to fully appreciate the splendor of the Carribean paradise that is Roatan, Bay Islands. It was my first time in Carribbean, and the blueness of the water really was stunning. You just don't get that in Donegal. Three days of snorkling, sailing, drinking tasty rum-based cocktails there, and we had to move on to Tegucicalpa. Hmmm, Tegucicalpa. I'm now re-thinking my assertion that Tela is the armpit of Honduras. Tegucicalpa (or 'Tegus', as it's more commonly know) is the Honduran capital, and it was also the most threatening place I've been in all my travels. The bus sort of abandoned us on the side of the road in the middle of the Tegus ghetto, and we then stood there with our bags while the guide arranged taxis. The taxi driver had no gas, and so had to pull into a gas station in the aforementioned ghetto, while I closed my eyes and contemplated the detail of the crime report I would no doubt be making in a few short hours. Around the hotel, we tried to find a place to eat, but the place is so unsafe that the only eatery available after 9pm was Burger King - and even that closed at 10. Making our way home, we noticed that the even the police who had been visible in the central square were gone. It's not a good sign when even the heavily armed police force don't feel secure in an area. After Honduras came lovely Granada, Nicaragua. A beautiful and quaint city, nicely-equipped for tourists, but not too well-equipped. A day-trip to Leon, Nicaragua's revolutionary capital, and a guided tour by a former Sandinista. On this tourist trail, the grinding poverty of Nicaragua was inescapably obvious - the poorest of all of the countries I visited. It's not hard to see why the revolutionary fervour remains strong in the country. The Nicaraguan leg of the trip finished in Ometepe, an incredible place - an island composed of two volcanoes. Two nights there involved far too many bottles of Tona, the local lager... The guided tour part of the trip concluded in San Jose, Costa Rica, where the group parted company. I said goodbye to my wonderful companions from the previous two weeks, while Michelle and I made our way to beautiful Monteverde, to sample some of Costa Rica's famed adventure sports... (Check out http://www.flickr.com/photos/48413187@N00/ for photos of all of the above.)

The definitive guide to Central American discotecas

irish-rover — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 08:44:00 GMT

'Central America in a G-string' - a range of travel guides to the discotecas of Latin America, set to rival the hegemonic market position of Lonely Planet's 'on a shoestring' series. And it's going to make me a fortune (cue evil laugh: ha, ha, ha)... This blog entry, however, will be rather less saucy. In the latter two weeks of June, I made my way from Guatemala to Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, finishing in Panama. And yes, I did visit a discoteca in each country. They weren't all fun, but they were all interesting. From the Guatemalan venue, where all the gringos stood around watching the locals dance salsa until the music changed, and all of the locals stood around watching the gringos grind to North American R&B. Or the Honduran discoteca that felt more like a wedding than a nightclub - it had that bizarre mix of ages that you usually only find at large family events. And there was the Nicaraguan discoteca with the very angry young Nicaraguan man who spend the night telling us how much he resented our presence and our tourist dollars. (In the end, we just politely excused ourselves, and took our unwanted foreign dollars to another bar). And of course, there was the Costa Rican cesspit. Unequivocally the sleaziest place I've ever been (and I've been to the Bot, more than once). The night's entertainment took the form of a dance 'competition' among the local women. Seriously, this place made wet t-shirt events look high-class. I put it down to cultural differences and held my nose for the night. The discoteca tour finished, happily, on a high note, in a very cool venue in Panama City. A live reggae band in a beautiful courtyard, surrounded by beautiful people. In its nightclubs, as in all else, Panama maintained its status as the least Central American city of all Central American cities (and just to be clear, I'm not suggesting that that's necessarily a good thing). But yes, between the assorted discotecas, I did manage to fit in some time for sightseeing. Of which more anon...

Culture shock - I´m in a mall

irish-rover — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 02:55:00 GMT

I´m writing this in a mall. A mall. Yes, those three-storey monuments to capitalism, with bright lights, escalaters, dunkin doughnuts, and clean (oh, so clean) toilets. This is definitely the most surreal experience of my entire travels. One day ago I boarded a bus in dodge-mcrodge San Jose, the Costa Rican capital. As with all Central American capitals (or, so I thought), the bus station was dirty, threatening, and I clinged to my belongings for dear life. Panama City bus terminal could not be more different. For the first time in five weeks, I haven´t hurried to padlock my bag and I feel like I can use my IPod publicly. This whole place feels bizarrely first-world-like. We don´t have malls this big and fancy in Ireland. (They even have special escalators that speed up when you stand on them, and slow to nearly a stop when nobody´s using them).

Taking a walk in the newly-rejuvenated (and heavily gentrified) Casco Viejo quarter of the city with Robyn, I have genuninely never before seen so many SUVs, BMW, Audi TTs, etc, concentrated in such a small area. Casco Viejo feels much more like Sloan Square than another part of Central America. There´s more evidence of prosperty and wealth in this city than in Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala combined. Even Costa Rica, reputedly ´the Switzerland of Central America´ looks decidedly down-on-heel compared to this place. My dollar (and the official currency is the dollar, known locally as ´the balboa´) doesn´t get me much further here than it did in DC. I suddenly see why the border crossing here from Costa Rica took much longer than any other of my border crossings - Panama is the shop window full of sweeties that teases the other Central American countries, illustrating in brilliant technicolor all that they don´t have.

Speaking of.... the border crossing. One. big. nightmare. We left San Jose at 1pm on Monday. Then spent five hours crawling (literally) around bendy corners on mountainous roads. I then nearly get left behind at our rest stop. (Racing after a moving bus while wearing flip-flops, carrying a backpack, in the spilling rain, I somehow manage to get the bus to stop). We run into a big delay very close to the border, which I subsequently learn was a motor accident (it being Central America, nobody actually tells you anything. Instead, you´re expected to divine this information). We finally get moving again, but arrive at the border too late to make the crossing. Seven (yes, SEVEN) hours later, we get moving again, as the border has finally reopened and we get the assorted stamps and searches required to enter Panama.

After such an epic journey, you can probably now appreciate my enthusiasm for the first-world comforts of the mall. I´m glad that I´m finishing my Central America travels here, and not starting them. This way, clean bathrooms with toilet paper and soap, and endless amounts of hot running water in the shower, seem like the greatest luxuries I´ve ever experienced.

Right, I´m off to cycle the banks of the Panama Canal, just as soon as I can bring myself to leave the mall...

The rain, and the rain, and the rain...

irish-rover — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 02:33:00 GMT

My Lonely Planet guide to Central America refers to Guatemala as 'the land of the eternal Spring'. Right now, that line feels like a cruel joke. Four solid days of rain has given me a whole new appreciation for Irish weather. Of course, all of us foreigners have been plotting our escape to sunnier Central American climes (of which more in the next blog entry). The locals, however, are incredily zen about the sudden change in climate. Their constant response to complaints from disenchanted visitors is: 'Es el tiempo de la lluvia' ('it's the season of rain'). They mouth the words slowly ('Es ... el ... tiempo...), which is uncharacteristic of Guatemaltecas, who normally speak at a thousand miles an hour. You can tell that they're just waiting for the words to sink in, in the vain hope that - once we dumb gringos finally get the message - we'll quit our darn whining.

My last week in beautiful Antigua. Despite the rain, it's quite possibly been my most fun week in the city. Climbing the Volcan Pacaya was a real highlight of the trip. I was literally standing next to a river of molten lava (sorry mum!). It was exhilarating. I can't imagine that this trip is going to survive much longer in its current incarnation (i.e. no safety requirements whatsoever), so I'm particularly glad to have had the opportunity to see the Volcana up close and personal. After a very fun night in local Antiguan discoteca, I bade farewell to my Antiguan friends and entered the next phase of my Central American adventure - a two-week whirlwind tour of Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica (of which more anon).

Mosquitos, Gringos, the dreaded subjunctive, and mastering the Spanglish language

irish-rover — Sun, 25 May 2008 18:34:00 GMT

'Spanglish' - a hybrid language created by the fusion of Spanish and English. Commonly spoken by Latin America immigrants in North America, and North American tourists visiting Latin America. Popular examples include 'The food is muy bien', 'Do you serve American cerveza?', and 'Las chicas are hot.' The official language of Antigua, Guatemala.

I'm pretty sure that Antigua is the world capital of Spanish schools. While this definitely detracts from experiencing the 'authentic' Guatemalan lifestyle, on the other hand, it means that this is a city designed for young foreigners to have fun. Lots of bars and clubs and scenic cafes with pretty gardens - the ideal place to spend the afternoon revising irregular verbs in the preterite tense. The only problem is that everybody has the same idea - and I keep bumping into classmates in the same haunts, and instead of studying, we happily distract each other for a couple of hours. For some reason, declining the verb 'tener' in the 15 different Spanish tenses that I now know, is less appealing than shooting the sh*t about our pretty surroundings and which internet cafe has the fastest connection.

Word seems to have got around to all of the local mosquitos that there's a very pale Irish girl with tasty blood in town. Other than that, thankfully, the first week of my travels have been even better than expected. There's a great bunch of young folk here, dead friendly, and very like-minded. My host family are taking good care of me, and forcing me to speak la lengua. The mom is super happy, super keen, and manages to maintain an incredible amount of enthusiasm and warmth towards the foreigners who routinely invade her house. The dad is loco. Really completely loco. But in a very endearing way. He likes to hold court over dinner, and oversee cultural exchanges between the various students and his own family. Other than that, he works a lot, and spends his spare time teaching the parrot how to speak. That last part is entirely genuine. As I was leaving the house yesterday, I could hear him reciting vowels to the parrot over and over. (By contrast, the American newly-qualified doctors I've been living with invest their energies in trying to have the parrot say: 'malas palabras'. Alas, they both left this weekend, and never realised their ambitions.)

So that was pretty much the first week. Good fun. We'll have to see what new blood the new week brings to the Spanish school and to my Guatemalan family. It's a funny existence - everybody on the move all of the time. In any event, I better get myself moving ... to the salsa beat. My next posting will include regaling tales of my newly-discovered rhythm (either that, or my personal injuries from trying...).

Hasta la vista.

P.S. Check out some of my photos at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48413187@N00/

The journey, the suspicious immigration officials, and PS - this movie sucks

irish-rover — Wed, 21 May 2008 17:30:00 GMT

My flight here was both more straightforward and and more stressful than I had expected. I anticipated delayed flights and missed connections (concerns that never actually materialized). I did not, however, expect to be interrogated about my travel plans from assorted US immigration officials. In Dublin, a rather austere looking woman with an Eastern European accent asked several redundant questions about my onward travel plans. Apparently, the plane ticket to Guatemala wasn't sufficiently compelling evidence of my intention not to stay in the US... Then, I get to Newark, where a very uncuddly immigration official starts to ask me 'why have you been to Jordan several times?' Me: 'I've only been to Jordan once.' Him: 'You have two entry stamps for Jordan'. Me 'Well, I visited Syria on the same trip'. (Before I even finish the sentence, I realize that this is not an answer that Homeland Security will find reassuring). Oddly, as soon as he spots the student visa for Cornell, he calms down and allows me to pass.

The third and final leg of the flight was from Texas to Guatemala. By this stage, I was pretty exhausted, and the prospect of a nice in-flight movie was very inviting. To my grave dismay, however, I learned that the only movie available was 'PS, I love you'. Believe me when I tell you that this a truly excreble movie. Horrific. It makes 'Love, Actually' look like a cinematic masterpiece. I actually feel like I (along with all of the other Irish people who contributed to its box office takings) should have to surrender our Irish passports. And as for Celia Ahern... hanging would be too good for her.

Ok, tengo que ir, but I promise that the next installment will include a bit more about Antigua, and some photos of my very pretty surroundings.