Some more videos and photos

I've just put some more of the little video clips I took on my trip up on YouTube, though YouTube seems to have done me the favour of reducing the image quality of them all, but never mind. You can see the videos I've uploaded here if you're interested.

I've also been sorting through some of my photos since I've arrived home, and here's a few I took in Belize, of Garifuna drumming and dancing that required some photo shopping to become visible, still not brilliant, but the results have some interesting effects.

A week in Belize, a week in California, then London

Oops, I guess I should finish this blog thing off on the off chance anyone still reads it.

So I landed back in Mexico from my month in Cuba a bit thinner, a bit more tanned, a lighter rucksack, and to be honest, getting tired of being on the road, and being in Latin America and being with Latin Americans.

I had the opportunity to do some volunteer work teaching software engineering in a charity in Nicaragua, which would have added another 6 weeks minimum onto the end of trip. It was something I really wanted to do; volunteer work had been high on the priority list for my trip, and the work involved would even have been good enough to make it on to the CV. But my self-imposed 6 month (ish) time limit on the trip had been and gone, and my thoughts had already turned strongly to heading back home. I could leave saving the world to a later date I thought. So heading home it was to be. It was then just the issue of finding the cheapest one way ticket(s) back home - which turned out to be a flight up to California, then a reasonably priced ticket from LA to London.

Belize

I had a week to kill before taking a flight from the south of Mexico up to San Diego. Now I don't class myself as a passport-stamp-junky, but Belize was the only country left which I hadn't been to, it was close, it had a Afro-Caribbean-English culture, and another stamp would fill up the back page of my passport quite nicely. Belize is here by the way.

I knew nothing of Belize when I crossed its northern border from Mexico (and I still know only a little more), I'd heard rumours some form of English was spoken here, and they listen to Reggae. I was tired of being on the move all the time, so I was determined to spend my week in Belize staying in the same place, in the same room...and of course that didn't happen.

My first stop was Belize city, the biggest place in Belize, which I thought would surely be adequate for my weeks stay. Its not really on the tourist map as a place to stay, but that didn't bother me; I was fed up of being a tourist anyway. I had visions of hanging out in local bars every night, drinking the local ale and loosing at pool with the locals.

Typical house in Belize City

You probably didn't know it, but Belize was one of ours until recently - it got its own independence from the British in the early 80's, though is still in the Commonwealth and has Her Majesty as the head of state. The official language is actually English - though five minutes on a bus or walking down any street will leave you confused - the radio stations are broadcast in the Caribbean equivalent of the 'Queen's English', the Creole's speak Belizean Creole English (which might as well be Arabic for all that an English speaker can understand), the Mestizos are speaking their Spanish, the Garifuna are speaking their own mystical Garifuna language, and the Mayans choosing from one of their 25 languages (English gets you around here, with Spanish proving an infrequently useful tool). And to add to the mix (and the variety of restaurants), there is a large number of Indian and Chinese immigrants. All this makes for a refreshing and interesting cultural smack in the face.

Belize was a bit of a shock at first, having just come from Cuba; one of, if not the most strictly enforced communist states in the world, where literally everybody is equal in terms of wealth and quality of life (all be it an incredibly low quality - in my opinion), to Belize; a highly corrupt capitalist country where inequality is the name of the game. In Belize City at least as in the rest of Latin America, there is a huge difference in wealth and numbers of the rich and poor. The few rich dodge the extremely poor on the pot-holed roads in their 4x4's as they commute between their large homes and office jobs.

After four days in Belize City I'd had enough, I'd never been in a town with so many apparent homeless people, each with their own unique story of addiction, betrayal, bad luck and bad choices. My best friends consisted of Prince; an ex-cocaine and gambling addict hustling the rich and the visiting for money and food, Edwin; an ex-convict selling hand made jewellery on the streets, and Harry; an elderly, polite though unintelligible tramp with less than a few teeth left. Apparently, Harry used 'to be up' when he was younger (meaning he was successful with some money and a business), though now he lived on the streets begging, and no-one remembered the story of how he ended up their.

Harry - a lover of diet coke

He survives by offering to guess the capital city of a country of your choice in exchange for a few dollars. Not being one for just handing out money, I offered to buy him food instead. Over the course of the next 3 days, Harry ate whatever I was eating, and after 3 days I think I was starting to ruin his image; he could hardly beg on the streets claiming hunger, whilst sporting a large carrier bag full of packets of coconut cream biscuits, a modest collection of tropical fruits and a healthy supply of cheese and ham sandwiches (with mayonnaise I might add).

The food in Belize is unsurprisingly poor, with the ever predictable rice and beans forming the basis, if not the entirety of each meal of the day for local people. An amusing item of Belizean cuisine is the difference between 'rice and beans' and 'beans and rice', the difference being the way in which the beans are prepar... oh it's really not worth the effort of explaining.

I had about 4 days left to spend in Belize, and after a near-violent encounter with a beggar, I decided my time in Belize City should come to an end, and headed for Hopkins, a village further south on the Belizean coast. Hopkins is populated by the Garifuna people, an intriguing 'Amerindian and African' race of people populating the Caribbean coast of Central America (Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua) and nearby islands, upholding their own language, lifestyle and music and dance traditions.

Local kids playing on Hopkins beach

Typical house in Hopkins

Those living in Hopkins, a small village not yet reached by paved roads, lived in a different world from those driving their all terrain vehicles dressed in suites in down town Belize City. The Garifuna are master fishermen and harvesters of the Caribbean coast; snorkeling and spear-gunning a stingray, then filleting it on an upturned canoe at the back of the beach ready for the evening meal was second nature, and an everyday occurrence. What they eat depends on what they catch each day, which in turn depends on the conditions at sea; a storm out in the Caribbean means choppier waters on shore, when fish are less likely to bite so crab and lobster are on the menu. In the morning you might be diving for sharks, in the afternoon out harvesting in the banana plantations, cutting crops with your machete or putting up a thatched roof on the community temple. There was also a strong tradition of arts and crafts in the village; wood carvings and paintings; the expert thatcher was also a dab hand at painting the local wildlife.

They were paid for the work they did, though they didn't treat money in the same way we in the west might; if you had money in your pocket, then it was used to buy the beers that evening, ensuring everyone at the bar got one, anything left at the end of the evening would be handed out at random on your drunken stagger home.

At first glance you could say this was a complete lack of responsibility towards you and your family's future, an illogical waste of time, an ignorant disregard for improving your situation and quality of life; a behaviour close to insanity (not to mention the unhealthy past time of alcoholism). Or you could admire them for their apparent complete freedom from materialism.

A night of drumming, dancing, singing and drinking in the local bar in Hopkins. Ok, so its too dark and you can't see much, but you get the sound.

Californication

It was then to California for a week, staying with friends near San Diego. I met Al while studying Spanish at the start of my trip in Venezuela; he was a fellow student, though one with a difference. After what sounded like a distinguished career as a psychologist, he had decided on a career change to I.T. via a return to university; and finished the last 10 years of his working life as a consultant for one of the most prestigious technology companies in the world. That's not to mention the enthusiastic pursuit of other interests from playing sports, film making, acting, Spanish, international politics, oh and raising a bunch of successful kids as well.

My weeks at Spanish school in Venezuela were spent in cafes talking and listening in English to Al trying to take in and learn as much about the world and life as I could - my Spanish could wait. I was left with an open invitation to visit Al and his wife at their home just north of San Diego, and a stones throw from the Californian coast. With the financial benefits of flying home from L.A., I saw my opportunity to take up this invitation for a week.

I was nothing but impressed with southern California; if I was to live in the States, that's were it would be. I couldn't see the logic of not living there. Perfect weather 362.75 days of the year, miles and miles of great beaches with the sea temperature at an acceptable level, spectacular mountain ranges in striking distance, and a healthy helping of friendly, polite and interesting people.

The highlight of the week was a 15 mile hike with Al's wife Kathy up and down Mt. San Jacinto, you can view my photos to see how beautiful the scenery was. And here's a little movie from the summit:

So that just about covers the end of my travels, of course there's tons more that I never wrote about, but I will probably do another post or two in the next few days, so watch out.

Post-Cuba

Its over. I had 30 days, first in the cities of La Habana and Santiago de Cuba, before starting my cycling trip from Baracoa in the very south east, following the south coast all the way to the very south west in Granma Province, before continuing north.

I passed through some great mountainous and coastal scenery, either staying with local families in the countryside in their wooden huts, camping on the beach, staying in the very down to earth holiday huts for holidaying Cubans, and in the official bed and breakfasts run by Cuban families in their own homes.

It was a trip of mixed experiences, often at times it felt the bad ones were out numbering the good ones, but overall I would have to say not out weighing them. And that's all I'm going to write about it here; any more and it would get a bit too opinionated, potentially offensive, a little controversial and just not really appropriate to publish on the web. You'll just have to buy me a beer one day, and I'll tell you all about it.

You can view the photos from my trip, with a few captions added here and there:

La Habana, Cuba

Guantanamo Province, Cuba

Santiago de Cuba, Cuba

West Santiago de Cuba Province, Cuba

Granma Province, Cuba

Sancti Spiritu Province, Cuba

I am currently hiding out in the depths of Belize City, hanging out with the tramps and Creole speaking Taiwanese and Indians. There are even rumours that I'm thinking of heading back home soon.

A little more from Cuba

All I want to buy is a simple pen, nothing fancy, just a simple pen. But I´ll be damned if I can find anywhere that sells a pen. I ask around, people point me to 'over there', 'down that street on the right'. Bollocks. I started to ask around on the 'black market'; the guys standing on the street in the plaza, who know people who know people who know people, who can get hold of things that no one else can get hold of, who sell you what you would consider the most basic things, for extortionate prices. They know you want it, and you can't get it anywhere else. But can they find me a pen (and can I find the 'question mark' key on this stupid key board - no!). A country that prides itself on bringing literacy to the masses, but it can't provide them with the means to write. Just one of the many contradictions in this country.

Cuba is frustrating. I'd put up some more photos but this damn computer won't let me. And now I only have 4 minutes left of my 3 pounds sterling an hour Internet time.

The biking is still going great, the weather still hot, and the experiences flowing.

later.

The Cuba Cycle Diaries - Week 1

So Communism. How is it? Different, very different that's for sure. Technically Cuba is considered Latin America, but after 10 days here I've completely forgotten all about the village markets of Guatemala, the shopping malls of Venezuela, the hectic bus terminals, and the streets lined with shops selling anything imaginable. Its how I imagine visiting another planet like Mars would be; completely different from anything else you've previously experienced, and hence so fascinating, but not in a million years would you ever want to live there.

La Habana

The capital. This was my landing site, and will be my take off site, when I return to earth. You could describe the infrastructure of Central America as 'falling apart at the seams' whilst being patched up here and there. La Habana, on the face of it, seems to be crumbly apart from the centre. But it was beautiful once, and in a way, in its gradual disintegration, still is. It holds some atmosphere about it that are beyond my literary skills, especially as I rush to get everything down in my limited internet time.

The internet here is far too expensive, and yet at the same time the connexion is frustratingly slow - photos, email and blog posts will be few a far between, but thank you so much for all the emails I have received.

Cycling

My first 4 days were spent in La Habana, and then Santiago de Cuba, the second largest city situated in the south. These cities are now ticked off the list, I am free to explore the countryside on my bike; I never have been much of a city tourist.

The first day...
I started my cycling adventure in Baracoa, a small city in the very south east of the country. Its hot in Cuba at the moment, and hottest in... yep, you guest it, the south east. About 36 degrees on a daily average, which is proving a big challenge for my little Cornish legs and heart.

My first day of cycling I think will go down as one of my best days of cycling so far in my life, even though it was all on concrete. 65 kilometres winding through a spectacular mountain range, cutting through it from the east Caribbean coast of Cuba, and finishing on the south coast. I was first accompanied by a local road cyclists, who is a member of a local cycling team - that's his job, he receives a wage from the government for doing it.

I bought food from locals along the route, home made chocolate bars, sugar-coconut mulsh, bananas, pineapples and mangoes - all being sold on the 'black market'; I was happy to give capitalism a little helping hand, especially to those people who needed it most. Contrary to a lot of the government propaganda, there are still a large number of people living in wooden shacks or 'bohios' in the countryside.

I collected my water from fresh mountain streams, went to the toilet in the woods, and bathed in the glorious Caribbean when I finally reached it at the end of the day. I ended up camping on a beach that night, kept company by evil, evil sand flies and mosquitoes (note to self: don't camp on the beach again).

The next day was long and hot, it was supposed to be 85 km ride, but by 45 km I was done for. I made one major oversight when planning this trip - I haven't ridden a bike for more than 6 months. I ended up staying the night with some locals in their wooden hut. They were very kind people, and it was a great and humbling experience to stay with them. (so much more to write, but no more internet time).

I still have so many questions about this country, like a jigsaw puzzle I am still identifying and collecting the pieces before I can arrive at the answer. And its finding the appropriate people to give me those answers that is half of the challenge; you have to be tactful and sensitive about things here. You are never sure of peoples opinions of the situation, and you never want to offend anyone. I always take the stance of the inquisitive and neutral tourist. Any negative conversations always refer to the head of state (you know who) as 'he', never by name.

anyway, until next time.

!Cuba por bicicleta¡

So I had flights booked to Cuba for a month. Mmm, a month in the Caribbean. I was looking for something a bit different from the same old thing I was coming across in Central America, something to break the trip up a bit; throw some stones at Castro, stick my fingers up at Bush through the gates of Guantanamo bay, visit the infamous 'Bay of Pigs', explore the key places where the 1958 Cuban revolution took place.

Then I started looking at the prices for things in Cuba; it has a very unique approach to tourism, which has hampered the ability for the tight arsed budget backpacker to do things cheaply. But then an idea started to form, spurred on by my recent camping adventures in Mexico. Why the hell not travel Cuba by bike and camp most of the way?


In the theory of course it was very possible; the hardest part appeared to be getting an appropriate bike sorted in Mexico, and fixing it up so that it could carry me and my belongings around Cuba. But I finally managed it, after 1 day in the city of Mèrida, Mexico searching for a bike shop, and then the huge mission to find a place selling the basic tools to help me maintain it on the road. You would have thought the bike shop would have sold the tools, but that requires a bit of initiative on the part of the bike shop owner, and initiative hasn't exactly made it into the curriculum of any education system in Latin America yet. So a whole hot afternoon was spent searching the town increasing my tool shop vocabulary with things like 'Allen keys', 'variable size spanners' etc.

After Mèrida, my next stop was Cancùn, the city which I am flying out to Cuba from. Cancùn is out on its own in Mexico I think. It seems like its a city in the United States, just the language is a bit different. Everybody drives around big wide gridded streets, 15 lanes wide in unnecessarily big 4X4's, driving short distances between well stocked air conditioned shops, and pedestrianism is just some eccentric past time for the minority. Cancùn is like a proper western city, with proper shops selling proper items. There was no open air market to pick up cheap fruit, veg and street food, so I was forced to go to the supermarket; and wow, what an experience. There was a wonderful bakery, making fresh bread and sweet pastries, a huge cheese counter selling all types of cheese, and the meat section.. oh the meat section. I didn't realise how good things were back in the real world. I treated myself to some fresh bread and a big block of Roquefort blue cheese, and went running back to my hotel room like Charlie when he found the golden ticket!


Anyway, yeah, I'm off to Cuba soon to go cycling. Here's a summary of the equipment I'm taking:

• The bike. The bike is a fairly basic, no frills affair, and was the only one in the shop worth getting. It cost about 55 pounds, which isn't bad for what it is; there's not too many parts made of plastic that shouldn't be. I had a rack fitted to the back to allow me to carry a bag on the bike, and I got the shop to box it up for me ready to take on the plane to Cuba.


• Camping stuff. I'm just taking a sleeping mat and a small excuse for a tent. I was deliberating on whether to take a hammock instead of the sleeping mat, but the sleeping mat won.


• Other stuff. I'm taking an alarmingly small amount of things to live off for one month. Just a small rucksack that I will tie to the rack on the back of my bike with a piece of rope. Its going to be a smelly month!

Internet access isn't all that fast and cheap in Cuba, so don't expect many emails replied to, but I'll try and put in the odd blog entry or too when I get the chance.

!Me voy¡

A man without his fridge

Well Mike, as you don't keep your own blog, I'll keep one for you...

Things haven't gone completely to plan in the latest developments in Mike's solar powered fridge project. After returning to the U.K. for a month to continue testing and tweaking the prototype, Mike came across some small print in the published output figures thingys of the solar panels. It turns out they don't quite produce the same amount of power output under the conditions present in Honduras that he thought they did (apparently its too hot and there's too much sun in Honduras). This apparently makes the whole design unfeasible.

This is a big shame as Mike's has been working on this for more than 3 years, and got to the point of a working prototype, and setting up a business plan in Honduras, - and to have it finally fall apart now is such bad luck.

But this hasn't stopped Mike. Like Kylie Manogue or Madonna, Mike has reinvented himself (not the fridge), and acquired a job in Peru (as you do), working for a charity called Practical Action developing 'small hydro stations' (whatever they are).

In Ruins

After the wilderness of the 'dinosaur country' in central Guatemala, I headed to the jungles in the north to visit the famous Mayan ruins of Tikal.

Tikal, Guatemala

The only way to see these ruins really is to see them at sunrise; of course to see dawn break over the ruins from the top of the highest pyramid, but also to experience the activity of all the wildlife in the surrounding jungle at the start of the day (and to beat the best of the intense heat). The fairly unique part of the Tikal ruins is that it is situated in the middle of the jungle, and for the most part, none of this has been cleared immediately surrounding the ruins themselves. You still have the impression of being in the middle of the jungle, rather than some kind of museum sight. We were surrounded by spider monkeys, who we saw climbing on the pyramids in the distance, serenaded by howler monkeys (who sound like sea lions on 20 cigars a day), loads of birds (sorry Jon - it should have been you there not me) which I cannot tell you the type of, snakes and some furry red animal.

The museum was unfortunately closed, and our guide was more interested int he wildlife than the ruins, so I didn't really get to learn much about the ancient city itself, other than the dimensions of the buildings given in terms of buses and football pitches.

Some Illegal Immigrants...

After Tikal, it was up towards Mexico, via the scenic route; through the middle of nowhere and out the other side into the jungle again. First I got dumped out in a small border town of Guatemala, where I got chatting to some locals whilst waiting for some kind of transport to take me further.

The locals turned out not to be locals; one El Salvadoran, and one Guatemalan from the other side of the country. They had both been working illegally in the United States; one had been living there for 5 years (where he had a girlfriend and a kid), only to be deported when he was finally arrested for drug dealing. The other guy worked as a construction worker in New York; he works there for a year or so, saves his money, then comes back to live in Guatemala for a year or two, before returning to earn more money again. They were on their way to return to the United States.

This was a really out of the way place, where border controls between Guatemala and Mexico were really slack (I really had to go out of my way to get my passport stamped when entering Mexico); both of these guys were staying a few days in this small town, waiting for 'other friends'. It seems this was one of the routes for illegal immigrants making their way north. They told me how they were paying a few thousand dollars to a 'Coyote' to get them across the U.S./Mexican border, and how that involved about 3 days worth of walking through the desert at night. Once in the U.S., they use an underground network of trucks transporting illegal immigrants around the country, and secret hotels in which they can stay in to allow them to reach their final destination. Interesting stuff.

Then Mexico...

Anyway, I finally got myself over the border, crossing a river on a small boat. I spent the next few days around this area, visiting some more Mayan ruins (Yaxchilàn), reached by an hours boat ride up the same river into the jungle. This again was a great experience as it was just me, the howler monkeys and the iguanas in the ruins in the middle of the jungle.

I decided to camp these first few nights in Mexico - Mexico is quite a bit more expensive than Central America, and I had a sleeping mat and some kind of tent/bag thingy with me for camping, so I thought I might as well make some use of it. This was an 'interesting' experience, I camped just outside a small town in the sub tropical jungle - I'll just say the insects and toads kept me company.

The next part of my journey saw me dumped at the entrance to a National Park a bit further north and west in Chiapas State, Mexico (I did ask the bus driver to dump there). This is a national park consisting of about 60 lakes, with mountainous scenery, blah blah blah. The bus ride to reach it was truly awesome.

Anway, I went wondering off into the national park, again prepared to camp some where in the forest (the climate was now nice and cool and the insects had gone). I came across some locals selling street food at the car park to the national park. They were very friendly, and we quickly got talking, and I expressed my plan to camp for the night. They helpfully informed me there was a thunder storm coming, well it was imminent - it didn't need a meteorologist (or Dan Cornford) to work it out. They politely offered me their table situated underneath a corrugated iron roof as shelter for the night; I jumped at the offer, and was glad of their advice, as sure enough, later that night the heavens opened, and was comfortably laid out on their table in the dry cover of a piece of metal - what more could you want?

The next morning the family returned to set up their road side cafe again; luckily I had cleared up my bed in time. The family had a load of kids hanging around, who were about 6 to 10 years old, not doing much with their day. I wanted to go and explore the area, so I asked the mother if I could take the kids with me - if the kids wanted to come that is. They thought I was a bit strange - wanting to entertain children that is - but said I could ask them to come with me. The kids of course were up for it, and they knew the way so they took me along some of the paths in the local area.

On that trip me and the kids took lots of photos with my digital camera. This was a really poor family, who didn't have hardly any possessions, and I think had never ventured further than the small village they lived in. So I said I would get some of the photos developed when I got to the nearest city, and send them the copies in the post. I asked for their address - they looked confused, unsure. They didn't have a house number ('third shack on the right after the big pine tree' I think was probably the best they could have given). So I took their full name, and their village etc, hoping it would be enough. I did get the photos developed when I got back to civilization, and then tried to post them, but unfortunately the post office would not except the address I had. This just highlights how isolated poor people can become in a country like Mexico - they have no address, can probably not even read or write, no telephone of course - does the government even know these people exist?

I wanted to stay longer in this area, explore this national park more and visit some of the remote villages there, but as always, like all westerners - I was in a rush! It was only a week before my flight left for Cuba, and there were so many things to get done before then....

The Mayans, Their Ruins, and My Ignorance

Guatemala's population is comprised of 60% Mayans - an indigenous native American race that survived the onslaught of the Spanish and the continuing prejudice against them from those damn white people.


The Maya are spread all over Guatemala, the southern states of Mexico and parts of Belize. They were once an advanced civilisation, between approximately 700BC and 900AD. They developed their own languages and technologies, and are one of the only 5 civilisations in the world to develop their own writing and number systems (answers on a postcard for the other 4 please).



But somehow, for some reason, the ancient cities in which the Mayan civilizations were based were abandoned more than 1000 years ago and had been completely forgotten about until the last few hundred years as western explorers started to get around a bit. The main theory I think on the collapse of the ancient civilizations has been attributed to over population and lack of sustainable resources - mmm, that sounds familiar.



Anyway, somehow the ancient cities collapsed, but obviously some of the Mayans survived, setting up communities elsewhere, retaining some of their customs and culture, but forgetting all about the great cities they had built.



Today in Guatemala the Mayans in general are at the poorest end of society, depending mainly on agriculture for a near subsistence living. I'm guessing many are illiterate, and anyway, are discluded from a lot of opportunities in Guatemala for not speaking (or reading) Spanish. They have also been discriminated against and persecuted in recent years - any quick glimpse at Guatemala's history in the past 50 years will show you this.



But there's always more than meets the eye; especially that which meets the eye of a western tourist quickly passing through, just happy to be there, enjoying the pretty clothes the Mayans wear and smiling at the incredibly cheap prices of everything. There was an interesting article in the magazine supplement of the national newspaper, interviewing an anthropologist, Robert Carmack, who spent several years living in a Mayan community, learning their language, studying their customs and their history. It became very apparent from reading this article that the Mayans are far more today than just the uneducated oppressed rural people that I perceived them to be.



They live within their own societies which have their own unique structure of governance, and have retained some parts of their own religions, and take an active interest in studying and protecting their history.

The wheels on the bus go round and round

This is my effort of a quick summary of what I've been up to in the past couple of weeks; my enthusiasm for posting to this blog, as you may or may not have noticed, is rather sporadic.


After visiting Mike and Sol in the central highlands of Honduras, it was out to the Caribbean coast again - yippee!


First stop was a scummy coastal town, Tela; typical of many Latin American towns I've visited; situated in a wonderful location, and with so much potential to be a great place to live as well as for us tourists to visit, but where pollution (in the rivers, the sea, the air) and litter every where had beaten me to it. The river flowing through the town and out into the Caribbean was thick and green, with a layer of scum on the top, not surprising in itself really, though what was alarming was to see local kids playing in the river.


Anyway, it was then out to a Caribbean island, Utila, one of the Bay Islands, and a very popular backpackers hang out. It is in fact a very small island heavily devoted to gringos with rucksacks, and their pursuit of having fun and scuba diving. So, when in Rome.... have fun and scuba dive, right?


I spent a week there taking the obligatory course and getting the certificate to go scuba diving. If you've never scuba dived before, it is great fun - you have this really unique sensation of weightlessness, where you can stay suspended in any position with out moving, and even fine tune your depth in the water by just altering your breathing patterns. It gives you access to a whole other world which so completely different from anything else; diving is essentially a fun form of wildlife watching.


Though I really enjoyed the diving, I was not tempted, like so many other travellers, to stay on the island to continue diving. Maybe it was the lack of physical effort required in diving (it really is a lazy man's past time), or the fact that it was all about paying more money to take more courses to get a higher certification (kind of like the Church of Scientology right?). A week was a enough for me, some great new experiences, but time seemed to be passing too quickly on the trip calendar, so I decided a new country was in order.

My first few days into Guatemala I travelled with Mike (the fridge man) and Sol, who were on a short holiday from their time in Honduras with a side purpose to renew their visas exiting and entering Honduras to extend their stay there.

The route through Guatemala has been fairly unadventurous, by my standards anyway, but has taken in the typical 'must see' places:

• Antigua - a beautiful, almost perfectly preserved old city, full of rich tourists - kind of the Vienna of Central America. Within in minutes of arriving you are reminded of being back in a European city like Prague, or I'm sure somewhere nice in Spain. Its a quiet and safe city, in such contrast to Guatemala city; the most dangerous city in Central America situated just 40 minutes away (7 bus drivers have been randomly murdered there in the past couple of weeks, and the streets are now occupied by the national guard.)
• Lago de Atitlan - A big lake surrounded by volcanoes. Perfect. And the shore dotted with Mayan villages. The Mayans being the indigenous people that make up the majority of the population of Guatemala. Their first language is one of 25 of the different Mayan languages, and Spanish, for most, is a very distant second language. They still wear beautiful traditionally made clothes and make decent bread. They are however, the victims of much prejudice in Guatemala, and remain, in general, the poor uneducated class, and up until recently held no positions of power in local or national government.
• Quetzeltenango - A big city in the highlands, the most interesting city so far in Central America, with a young student population, and almost a cosmopolitan feel to it. I climbed a volcano while I was there, about 3700m, and was rewarded with views of a the smaller Santiaguito erupting ash below. Most of my time there however, was spent vomiting and going to the toilet, due to a bout of food poisoning from somewhere, a trip to the doctor revealed some nasty bacteria in the stomach.
• North of Guatemala - I have recently been travelling through to the north of Guatemala, through what can only be described as 'dinosaur country', dramatic mountains covered in tropical forest, with deep valleys, raging rivers, and almost completely unpopulated.

A man and a fridge

Mike has been on about this solar powered fridge idea for quite a while now - a few years at least. Friends around him have always listened with interest and expressed excitement about the idea, but even after he made a market research trip to Kenya last year, maybe none of us ever thought it would actually happen - that he'd actually have the balls to go ahead and do it.... Well he's got the balls, and he's doing it.

Mike's a product design graduate from the now prestigious Aston University. He designed a community sized solar powered fridge as part of his degree course with the altruistic if not ambitious aim of saving all the poor people in the world. The idea is that poor remote communities in tropical countries don't have money, electricity, or air conditioned milk trucks, but they do have cows and lots of sun. So give them a big solar powered fridge and they can store lots of milk, for longer, allowing them to sell more at markets and at a higher quality and drink more themselves. The fridge unit can also have other stuff plugged into it, utilising all of the energy available from the solar panels.

The Remote Community Refrigerator prototype

The only remaining problem was making the business model work. Poor remote communities don't have several thousand dollars to invest in a solar powered fridge, let alone the foresight to appreciate the concept of 'investment'. So not being a billionaire philanthropist, Mike had a few gaps in the figures.

Mike is now settled in Siguatepeque, a mountain town in Honduras, where he's trying to get his Remote Community Refrigerator (RCR) business off the ground. The latest break through has come from the main milk distributor for Honduras - Sula. They collect milk via pickup trucks from small independent farmers around the country, and then process and distribute it through a number of regional processing plants before sending it out to the shops. The problem they have is that by the time their pickups arrive at the farms to collect the milk, its already been sitting there in the sun for a good few hours, as a result, they end up selling low quality milk (milk is given some kind of quality grading apparently). So they are looking for an appropriate solution to allow them to process and deliver better milk.

Mike has got all the details worked out to build the fridges in Honduras; importing components from Canada, Italy, Spain and sourcing the timber from a locally sustainable (of course) supplier. The prototype has already been built in the UK, and is currently being tested and tweaked. The only thing left to do is rent out a workshop, place the component orders, buy a pickup truck to deliver the thing, oh and persuade the Honduran milk company they want to buy the fridges.

Oh and Mike is now engaged to his Brasilian girlfriend Solange, with the wedding in Brasil in January! Congratulations. And me invited as the best man.

Mike working out the finer points of his fridge design with Sol

Watch www.native-ambition.com in the future for news on Mike's quest.

Into Honduras

Things don't seem to change much between countries here in Central America; Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras - the history might be different, the politics varies, and in some places the climate can be different, and the currencies have different names. But the culture, or more specifically, the mestizo culture (the main group of mixed Indians-Hispanics) is pretty much the same.

So heading over the border from El Salvador provided us with no great surprises. The first week was spent in the central highlands, first visiting two unspectacular mountain towns, despite their quite optimistic names; Gracias and La Esperanza ("the hope"). The only thing of real note in Gracias was a charity running a program educating local kids with an aim to lead environmental and community projects in their local area - to help preserve the environment, educate those in the surrounding communities and develop eco-tourism opportunities. I can't find a web link to the charity, but here's a link to another charity doing some related work in the area, addressing the huge problem of deforestation.

La Esperanza provided us with the chance to visit some hot springs. Natural hot springs are fairly common around these parts, so its not a huge novelty, but if there are some in the area, and you have a spare afternoon, its better than a kick in the teeth. The interesting event at these hot springs was that what appeared to be a local remote community were on a day trip to the hot springs. It became apparent they had never seen a westerner before, let alone two of the them, half naked sitting in a pool of water, who occasionally did this weird thing with their arms and legs which made them float and move across water. We definitely felt like zoo exhibits for the afternoon, as our audience just stared wide-eyed at us, following us between the different bathing pools at the springs.

The next leg of our journey was to take us to see a man about a fridge....

The Saviour

All we really knew about El Salvador before we entered was that there used to be a civil war, a fairly nasty one at that, its a little richer that its neighbours, and very few tourists bother to go there.

Within a few bus rides of entering the country we had big smiles on our faces; the avocados and mangoes were dirt cheap, the people were so friendly - bemused and inquisitive about us, and reggaeton was on the stereo everywhere.

The general reactions from local people in previous countries was not always over warm, and conversations were often started as a pretext for begging. It was always clear that many westerners had been there before us, setting bad examples with their ignorance and rudeness, and obviously flashing money around. This wasn't so much the case in El Salvador, especially in the eastern part where we started off. Not a huge amount of tourism had passed before us to give them the impression that we were rude, rich, and easily exploited.

First Encounters.

Our first interesting encounter with the locals was a family on a bus, they were returning from a market where they had been selling grapes. It turns out they were from Guatemala, staying down in El Salvador to sell their produce. Our conversation seemed to be a little more pained than usual, something didn't quite fit - we seemed to be teaching them Spanish words. But then it dawned on us; these were Mayan people, an indigenous group still existing in great numbers in Guatemala. Apparently they have still maintained a lot of their indigenous culture and most importantly their language; Spanish comes a very distance second for them. They were incredibly friendly and warm and seemed delighted and fascinated when we showed them a world map, and I showed them some photos of Cornwall. Though the huge gap in culture and education was highlighted when they asked me if the street in the photo was the Pan American highway.

Alegría

The first few days in El Salvador were spent in a charming little mountain town; Alegría. We stayed in a strange kind of hostel/house - the lady running the place only worked there during the day and went back to her own house in the afternoon. So essentially it was like our own house, with bedrooms, a kitchen, dinning room and back garden. Rest assured we made full use of the kitchen by cooking up a storm of a vegetable and been soup one night, and omelets for breakfast.

Casa Alegre - Our happy house

During out time there, we paid a visit to a local Volcano crater lake - as you do when there is one in the area. The journey there again brought us into contact with the hospitality of the locals, as we hitched a lift in the back of a truck to get there.

The crater lake wasn' t quite as draw droppingly beautiful or spectacular as we had imagined, but interesting none the less. The lake was half empty, with the exposed land being a kind of sulphur mud, providing the now familiar smell of rotten eggs in the air. There was a group of school kids playing football on an area of grass by the side of the lake. We approached them and struck up a conversation with their refereeing school teacher. The children were all from families living on the slopes of the (dormant volcano); all were poor subsistence living communities. The school itself was situated in the crater - how many kids in the world can say they go to school in a volcanic crater?!

The crater lake, Alegría

On our way back out of the crater back to Alegría, we spotted a woman walking up a path off to the right with a huge load balanced on her head, and a small child walking beside her, also carrying bags. In a 'why not, what else have we got to do today' moment, we decided to follow her and see where she was heading (which was apparently into the middle of nowhere).


We caught up with her and her son, and helped them carry their bags - full of food from the local stores. They were on their once weekly 3 hour round trip walking to the local town and back for supplies (and their bags were really heavy). The path we were following led down the outer slopes of the crater which were covered in tall cultivated vegetation such as banana and coffee plants. It turned out that there was a whole community living on the side of the volcano, living in mud huts hidden by the vegetation.

Mud hut house, near Laguna de Alegría

These are the communities that the school in the crater served. This was a whole world that you just couldn't see from just looking a the volcano's slope from afar.

Juayua and Santa Ana

Moving on from Alegría we arrived in another quaint mountain town (again avoiding the horrible heat of the Pacific coast), Juayua - which yes, was difficult to pronounce correctly at first. The attraction of this town was it had a weekly food market, where stalls were set up by people from surrounding towns serving allegedly good food. Note - the average Salvadoran dish is equally as poor as anything else we'd found in Central America. The food in this market was OK, nothing more, apart from a little expensive. Our hostel had a kitchen though, with an oven (!), so we didn't care. Other trips around the area included trips to some wonderfully clear waterfalls, the huge ancient crater lake of Coatapeque, and climbing the youngest volcano in the world; Volcan Izalco.

Me in the crater of Volcan Izalco

All these trips with the exception of Volcan Izalco were tarnished with the ever present abundance of rubbish everywhere and polluted rivers, sadly a theme running throughout Central America so far.

So all in all, we spent maybe 2 weeks in El Salvador, we could have spent more time - there is always more to see, more people to meet. But there are more beautiful countries in the world (Norway for example - damn that passport expiry date!); El Salvador is the most densely populated country in Central America, only 2% of the native forests are left, and a huge part of it is dominated by the dry, ugly pacific heat. Most travellers over look it due to some false rumours that its dangerous because of the past civil war, and its a little more expensive - both are complete rubbish. The people were probably the highlight of the country - oh, and the coconut ice cream on the corner of the plaza in Juayua.

Life on the Road

Life travelling out here is a bit different to being back in the real world, so here's a short description of what goes on.

Commuting

To get around as economically as possible, and to mix with the locals, travelling is almost exclusively achieved by public bus. The bus network is fairly good in most Latin American countries (no one has a car), there is a regular service through every town. In Venezuela it was even better, there was some kind of public transport running along virtually every road in the country. In Central, public transport only seems to run between towns, not within them and around the local area.

In Central America (excluding Costa Rica of course - which is like the 51st US state), the poor man's buses are the 'chicken buses', which are the old US school buses - the big yellow things which look more like army trucks with bad camouflage, than vehicles for transporting school children. And true to their name, its not unusual to see live chickens being transported, you can expect to see anything from birds in cages, big sacks of flour and rice, piles of wood...

Spiced-up Chicken bus, Nicaragua

The passengers are always entertained with music, usually at an annoyingly and inappropriately high volume. If you are lucky, then its Reggaeton, if you are unlucky then its some cheesy Latin guitar pop (Gustavo Leyton should be shot). And if you are really unlucky, then the driver has taped an old TV to the ceiling at the front, and the passengers are subjected to the music videos of these terrible songs (I don't mean Reggaeton of course).

The buses often double as markets, at every opportunity local sellers get on to try and tempt you with their wonderful products on offer, whether it be the quite useful chilled water in a plastic bag, or the usually poor and tasteless local street food, to any other random selection of items available in the world - gin-seng, foot fungus cream, sex education books, English dictionaries, or of course super glue.

Food

Life can get fairly simple out here, and there's usually one thing dominating your thoughts - food. To keep things as cheap as possible and to try and follow the local cuisine where ever you are, the best way to do this is to stick with the street food and whats available in the markets. The problem with this is the poor quality and taste of local food. If its meat its generally been deep fried, in a frying pan of one week-old oil, slapped on a plate with no sauce, and accompanied by rice, beans, an excuse for salad and vile tasting tortilla-looking things.

A plate of the usual - chicken, rice, beans

Other street food is equally uninviting, pastries or biscuit type things tend to be dry and pretty much inedible. A pastry we keep running into in Central, consists of some kind of disgusting cheese and sugar mix inside - cheese and sugar??

So its not really possible to stay happy and healthy on solely local food. Breakfast now consists of a trip to the local market for fruit - pineapples, mangoes, avocados, melons, oranges, coconuts, bananas, watermelons - whatever is the cheapest and most popular in the current location. In El Salvador avocados suddenly got really cheap for some reason, on the Caribbean, coconuts are fee of course, in Honduras bananas are literally given away, and in Nicaragua pineapples were a good deal.

The great market in León, Nicaragua

The jackpot is to find a hostel with a kitchen so we can prepare our own food, then not only do the meals become cheaper, but also full of taste, vitamins and goodness. Every place we stayed at in El Salvador had a kitchen, one even had an oven!, and coriander, Cinnamon, and fresh cream started to appear in the markets, aah, great memories...

When we haven't found a hostel with a kitchen for guests to use, the next best option is to find a cheap hotel that has its own restaurant included, then we tell the owners we are professional chefs and love to cook, and ask if we can use their kitchen - its worked a couple of times, but not every time.

Choosing the route

The route is kind of made up as I go along, any kind of serious planning and I tend to come out in a rash. There are plenty of travellers on the road out here - much more in Central America than in Venezuela, so often the best information can be gathered by asking them, but also a lot of information on places you can get from guide books and the Internet.

Crime

If you have a high level of common sense, and keep your whits about you, especially in the most risky places such as markets, bus stations, airports and border crossings, then crime isn't a huge problem. I've been robbed 3 times so far - all in Venezuela. The first time was within a few days of arriving, the police for some reason were not happy with my passport and documents, and so felt the need to dissect every part of my rucksack. A few days later I realised I no longer had my head torch - Venezuela police are scum! The second time I had my shorts stolen from the beach whilst I was busy swimming in the sea. The third time must have been at Caracas airport when a customs official or baggage handler took my penknife from my rucksack. All school boy errors that I have now learnt from.

Finishing off Nicaragua

I haven't written for a while, so here's an update for anyone who still remembers about this blog.

Estelì in the North

After the adventures in Leòn, our time was running out in Nicaragua. We had one more stop in a mountainesque town, Estelì, towards the northern border with Honduras. Our main objective in Estelì was to visit a 25 metre waterfall rumoured to be a short distance out of town.

The journey there consisted of a bit of walking, some bus rides and a bit more walking, before arriving at a dirt track accompanying a small river leading out into the wilderness. Hence our anticipation was of a pristine waterfall, with clear water, surrounded by rich native woodland, unicorns drinking from the splash pool, and parrots serenading us with their songs.

But oh no, unfortunately it was typical scene that we had become far too accustomed to in Nicaragua, but to be fair, in most of Latin America. Rubbish. There was plastic garbage everywhere despite many signs posted around instructing people not to drop litter, and the water smelled. We carried on towards the actual waterfall we were after, to find a little less garbage, and a little cleaner water. We decided it was worth the risk and swam in the pool formed by the water fall, to escape the heat of the day. For the next 4 days I had an ear infection. Lesson learned.

Observations of Nicargua

Nicaragua is a very poor country, and it can be seen in every respect. Not only are the people poor in terms of their monetary wealth and posessions, but also in their education, their culture, their hygiene and their food (!). Statiistical evidence of this can be seen by a quick look at the demographic data of the country.

Rubbish

Generally the towns in Nicaragua are full of rubbish and pollution, the markets and the bus stations are especially bad, and it breaks your heart when you see young children playing around in all this mess. Hygiene, germs, cleanliness - these are all things that people have no knowledge of, let alone the affects of pollution on the natural environment, or even just the nice appearance of their own town, street or indeed their own garden. Most houses you pass with any kind of land infront or behind, are covered in garbage.

Food

The diet of the people appeared to me to be pretty terrible. I am trying to travel as economically as possible; the best and most interesting way of doing this is to get around how the local people get around, and eat what they eat. You might think that being a fairly tropical country, which produces all kinds of weird and wonderful fruit and vegetables, the popular cuisine might be rich with all these ingredients. Couple that with the fact that fruit and vegetables are the cheapest thing available to the market shopper, I am still bewildered at the fascination with tasteless deep fried fatty crap, rice and beans, and poor quality fried chicken. We really were suffering at the hands of local food, but to be fair to Nicaragua, we still are whilst travelling through El Salvador, Honduras, and rumour has it, the poor food continues into Guatemala. Though did I here a rumour that the Mexicans make good food..?

People
Well its hard to sum up the people I encountered in Nicaragua in one paragraph, as there were so many different experiences from different kinds of people. Some people live a hard life here, doing lots of physical work for literally no reward. Then other people do literally nothing all day, and quite rightly also recieve very little income. There weren't a huge amount of smiles flying around in Nicaragua, this really became noticable when you actually saw children having fun, smiling and laughing - playing football on the beach or diving into rivers from ever greater hights to impress their friends. This was such a constrast to the majority of glum faces - kids sitting in the gutter in the markets, selling chewing gum on the streets or carrying piles of wood up dirt tracks back to their house.

The poorest countries in Central America are turning out to be very similar, so although these comments are directly about Nicaragua, I have encountered the same kinds of things in El Salvador and Honduras.

North West of Nicaragua

So after our trip out to the Corn Islands in the Caribbean, we headed for Leòn in the north west of Nicaragua. Like Granada, it too has some nice colonial architecture, but seems to have a bit more energy to it than Granada, but just like the rest of the Pacific coast in Central America so far - its god damn hot and dry.

A Nicaraguan Hospital

One of my travel companions, Max, is unable to catch a ball properly, which caused him to fracture his finger - meaning a trip to the hospital in Leòn. All public medical care in Nicaragua seems to be free, as well as prescription drugs (although don't quote me on that). But the hospital we went to was a mess, and resembled more of a warehouse than a hospital. Here are a few pictures, including one guy lying on a stretcher on the floor in a waiting room with a drip attached to him.




Max never had the patience to wait all day for an x-ray, so ended up paying a little in a private clinic to have everything done in no time at all.

Volcàn Momotombo

We were staying in Leòn in the north west of Nicaragua, and the thing that attracted our eye the most was the tallest volcano in Nicaragua; Volcàn Momotombo. Its only 1200 metres odd in altitude, but everything we read about it said it was a fairly difficult ascent.


A local tour company offered a two day trip; 5 hours to ascend, camping near the summit, and a few hours to descend. But we thought, 2 days is surely not necessary for such a short ascent, and climbing a volcano in the midday heat was surely insane. We suggested to the tour company that climbing through the night and arriving at the summit by sunrise - arriving back in Leòn by midday would be a far better option. After a bit of persuasion and a few access permit issues, our tour guide was persuaded.

We headed out of Leòn at about 11:30pm on a Friday night. A hydroelectric power plant holds access to the land approaching the volcano; some photocopied and doctored access permits got us through their property, which officially you're not allowed to enter at night. The Pacific coast in Central America is hot, and this doesn't change at night. So the first three hours of our ascent were spent sweating and hiking up through dry and bare woodlands, searching for the tenuous narrow path that would lead to the most strategic point to start the climb of the volcanic rocks. We eventually reached the start of the 'difficult' part of the climb by 3am.

Our guide had only ever made the climb during daylight, and had failed to tell us back in Leòn, when we were twisting his arm to take us up during the night, that the volcano was always covered completely in cloud until the sun burnt off the moisture in the late morning. Entonces, we could see jack sh*$ when we started to climb beyond the woodlands on the volcano's slopes, only about 2 metres in front of us, and the guide couldn't find the best route of ascent. With only weak head torches, we battled our way up the volcano's slopes, which consisted of small loose volcanic rocks, which acted as ball bearings against each each other as we tried to climb them; constantly slipping backwards - two steps forward, one step back. After a short while trying to find the best route of ascent, our guide, Adam, gave up hope of finding the usual route, and told us just to head straight up. He didn't seem to have the strength of me and Max, and couldn't keep up, I think in fear of letting us down even further, he told us to head on up and he would meet us at the summit.

The next few hours were incredibly tough and painful; we were just scrambling with our feet and grabbing sharp loose volcanic rocks with our hands, all the time in almost complete darkness and cloud, just following the gradient skywards. We finally reached the summit at sunrise; 5:20 am. Though to our dismay, the volcano was completely covered in cloud, by this point we had maybe 1m visibility - we could see no more in the day light than we could in complete darkness. There went our hope of seeing the sunrise over Nicaragua.

We suddenly felt very stupid and in danger; the summit was almost constantly immersed in sulphur clouds (which smell of rotten eggs), it was so strong that one breath caused us to cough and our eyes to sting; to the left of us there was a huge drop into apparent nothingness, above us was the crater and we had no idea what dangers lay ahead, plus the sulphur fumes seemed to get more intense the higher we got higher.

The warm and poisonous sulphur rock beneath our feet

A quick scout to the right revealed stronger sulphur fumes and more extreme terrain. The wind was strong and we became soaked by the surrounding cloud, hence we were damn cold. We tried to take shelter for a while behind some rocks...

... but soon realised our only choice was to descend, a thought we didn't relish as the slopes we climbed up were so steep and unstable, they seemed far more dangerous to climb down than to ascend. We realised it was a pretty naive decision to leave our guide behind; the volcano had become a very powerful and dominating place.

After descending for ten minutes or so we bumped into our guide; he had waited for sunrise before continuing his climb - he was fearing for the worst for us as he had not yet found us, and didn't believe we would make it to the top in the darkness. Por eso, he was very relieved to find us alive and well. We continued the difficult descent together; for me, this was the most difficult part of the trip. I had enjoyed the physical challenge of climbing the 'mound of ball bearings', but descending was hell. The slopes were covered in small loose and sharp volcanic rocks...



We were constantly loosing our balance and falling over as we descended, cutting and bruising our hands even more. The sun started to rise and turn up the heat, and the lack of sleep started to catch up with us. At one point we all laid down in the rocks and slept for half an hour, only to be rudely awakened by the heat and the humidity.


We did eventually make it down to the hot safety of Lake Managua, and although our view from the summit was completely obscured by clouds, we did get some great views and photos on our descent, both of the volcano itself and the surrounding land. Though we both agreed that the trip wasn't exactly fun, climbing at night was fool hardy, and leaving the poor guide behind was frankly naive.

More music

Me encanta the most popular style of music here amongst the young people; Raggaeton. Which is what that telèfono song was that I posted a while ago. I just love that beat - ok, so its the exact same beat in each song, but it has so much energy. To be best appreciated, Reggaeton should be played obtrusively loud no matter where you are or what time of day. As lots of you told me you liked the last songs I posted, here are a few more current Reggaeton hits, though unfortunately I have just lost the CD with the track names on...

http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/01Track01.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/02Track02.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/03Track03.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/04Track04.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/05Track05.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/06Track06.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/07Track07.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/08Track08.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/09Track09.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/10Track10.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/11Track11.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/12Track12.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/13Track13.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/14Track14.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/15Track15.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/16Track16.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/17Track17.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/18Track18.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/19Track19.mp3
http://trevorreeves.googlepages.com/20Track20.mp3

I've been making a little website for the Spanish teacher I had back in Venezuela, to help her get more business for her private classes. The English version of the site is finished, and the French and German parts are on their way. But if any of you native in another foreign language have a spare half hour and want to do a quick favour and translate just the front page of the site that would be great. The website is currently here : http://spanishinmerida.googlepages.com
Drop me an email if you are interested.

Miskito Creole English

All along the East coast of Nicaragua (the Miskito coast) Miskito Creole English is spoken, something that provided us with great amusement on our trip. The words that are spoken are English, but the accent is so heavy (like a Jamaican accent but stronger), the words are spoken so fast, and the grammar is terrible (some of it is Spanish grammar), that it was almost impossible for us to understand.

A creole language is a type of language, which is a combination of two or more languages but with unique features of its own as well. All along the East coast of Central America - in Beliz, Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica, English creole languages exist. We had fun trying to speak it as well, although we didn't get very far; you just have to say 'man' a lot, miss out some words in your sentences and swap the grammar around a bit. Here is a long document on the Miskito English Creole for any language fanatics out there. We tried to find out some unique Creole expressions from our creole friend on Little Corn Island, though we didn't get much -

"Its as easy as kissing your teeth"

"Fire on one end, and a fool on the other" (when someone is smoking a cigarette)

Though I don't think these are really uniquely creole.

So we've recently started to develop our own creole language - a unique blend of English and Spanish. Sentences must contain words from both languages, but all words are spoken with an English accent, and the different rules of the formations and conjugations of verbs from both languages can be mixed together. It provides for great entertainment while helping each other out learning new vocabulary. Why not try it out yourself?

To the Caribbean and back; the foolish way

Aim of the Trip

After a good 5 days disfrutanding in Granada, a nice sleepy town with traditional colonial architecture (see photos), a plan had formed with some fellow travellers to make a small adventure. The idea was to try and go somewhere a bit different, and make our way out by land and sea to the Corn Islands, a couple of allegedly unspoilt Caribbean Islands of the East coast of Nicaragua (kind of like the Isles of Scilly, but with more coconut palms). You can fly there direct from the capital, Managua, but then where is the fun in that? I teamed up with two Australian's Max and Jen, and an American Ben, who seemed to share the philosophy that the journey is just as important as the destination.

The journey out there was long, and in places annoying, but ultimately rewarding and really interesting. It involved travelling from the capital Managua, in the centre of Nicaragua, by bus out to El Rama, a town in the middle of nowhere, where the road stops. Then you take a panga (speed boat) for two hours to Bluefields, a port town on the East coast. Boats then depart twice weekly on the five hour journey out to the islands.




The Journey out there

The East of Nicaragua, for the most part is unpopulated. Looking at the map, you think, 'surely someone lives there, there's all that space', but nope; there's a few towns along the one road leading through the area, but there's not much else. (Of the total land area in Nicaragua suitable for cultivation, only 27% is currently being exploited). Near Managua its dry and hot, then it gradually gets more humid and forested and wet as you reach El Rama. We had a 7 hour bus ride over night from Managua to El Rama. The idea of travelling overnight is to save time and money (you don't pay for a bed for the night), though after this trip, we all agreed that travelling overnight does in fact suck, as you end up spending an extra day sleeping anyway. So we arrived in El Rama at 3 in the morning in the torrential rain. Huddled under a shelter, tired and wet, it seemed like the perfect time for Max to teach me the rules of chess. And it was here in El Rama that we had our first encounters with the Creole people of the Caribbean coast, who speak a strange brand of English (more on that later).

Our next mode of transport was an outboard motor boat which took us down Rio Escondido for almost two hours.


This part of Nicaragua really is remote. There are no roads of course, the only way to travel is along the rivers, all the land was jungle, the climate was warm and humid with frequent downpours. Occasionally along the banks of the river we would see wooden huts built on stilts, often with their inhabitants wondering outside with a machete.


These people obviously really did live in another world, and I guess were almost completely self sufficient. Finally we arrived in the port of Bluefields; a town I think its safe to say we came to love to hate. Due to our over casual approach to planning our trip, we were shocked and disappointed to learn that no boats were leaving to the Corn Islands for another 3 days, we asked around at the dock, hoping to find a cargo ship or something going, that we could stowaway on, but there was nada. One thing became immediately apparent, and that was that we didn't want to spend 3 days waiting in Bluefields. So we bit the bullet and bought a return flight from Bluefields to the Corn Islands - this is just a short hop of about 25 minutes, but provided us with some great views of both Bluefields and Big Corn Island .



Bluefields

One of the most interesting parts of this trip for me was the different cultures that we came across; it proved a nice change from the Mestizo (mixed race of Hispanics and Indians) people and culture (or lack of culture) that dominates the majority of Latin America. There are three main races of people on the East coast of Nicaragua; Mestizos, Creoles and Miskitos.

The Creoles originate from Jamaican slaves; Bluefields was a British protectorate until 1796, and after this date, many slaves fleeing persecution in the Carribean Islands made their way to Bluefields. As a result, Bluefields and the Corn Islands have a different feel from the rest of Nicaragua. Reggae music is played everywhere, a welcome change from the samey, more traditional Latin music played everywhere else, and the Baptist Church dominates here. It is easy to pick out the Creoles, they have distinctly darker skin and appear more African.

Though Bluefields can only really be described as a dump. In 1988 it was flattened by Hurricane Joan and then hit again by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. Some of the locals recounted some of their stories to me from Hurricane Joan; how most people in the town were evacuated before the hurricane hit, and those left sought shelter in the strongest looking buildings. Apparently there was a big aid effort from the west, one guy told me he remembered Hercules planes bringing food and supplies, and they all had to eat porridge. So as result of these hurricanes, Bluefields is a bit of a mess, and didn't really attract us to stay for long.

The Corn Islands

It was the Corn Islands that we were after though. They consist of two Islands; Big Corn and Little Corn. Big Corn has a population of about 8000 people, has a road around the island, a seafood processing plant, some basic hotels and a small town. Tourism hasn't really hit these islands yet in a big way, so there are no hotel complexes or anything. But Big Corn is far from an unspoilt paradise though; the local people seemed really uneducated (most locals we came across were illiterate), rubbish is everywhere on the island, the people just don't care or realise, and mangy stray dogs are abundant. And the food; the food is terrible! Everybody eats seems to eat the same tasteless food for every meal of the day; rice and red beans. If you're lucky the rice has been cooked in coconut milk, and you get a piece of deep fried chicken and shredded salad dumped in vinegar. The frustrating part about this, is that the islands are abundant with tropical fruits, and fruit and vegetables are the cheapest thing you can buy here, but people just don't seem to each them much, as a result they have a really poor (and tasteless) diet. But we sure as hell made up for it. In our week on the Corn Islands we learnt a lot about coconuts; how to open them, how not to open them (Mum, Dad - I want a machete for Christmas), how to cook with them, how to drink rum with them, the type of flesh it will have according to its age, how to make the coconut milk, that coconut water goes off pretty quick, and gone off coconut water is the most vile substance in the whole world. The islands were covered in coconut palms, so we had a constant supply of free coconuts, and nothing amused us more than spending an afternoon hacking open a bunch of coconuts.

Little Corn Island proved to be much more of the 'unspoilt gem' we were after. It was an exciting and rough 30 minute speed boat ride across the Caribbean from Big Corn to Little Corn. The waves were big, and our little boat had 400 horsepower behind it, ensuring some serious air time. Little Corn has a population of 500, no roads, no cars and a small village. There are great sandy beaches and the Caribbean is so warm, too warm in fact; you cannot go in the sea to cool off as the water is just the same temperature (something that's really hard for an English guy to understand). We stayed in a cheap hostel that consisted of a few huts on the beach, and prepared our own food in a basic kitchen. After despairing at our attempts to cook coconut rice, a local Creole guy showed us how to make coconut milk properly, which we then boiled our rice in to make tasty coconut rice.





We had a great few days as beach bums on Little Corn before starting on the long trip back to civilisation. Our plan was to head back to Bluefields to then spend a few days visiting some of the remote communities along the coast. This plan was foiled however by Samana Santa, as everything useful was closed, but also exacerbated by the locals inability to give us useful information to fairly simple questions - the normal rule of asking at least 4 people before trusting any information didn't get us anywhere. So we cut our losses and continued the long trip back to Managua and then Leòn where we are currently lazing by a pool.