Medellin and Manizales

Our second day in Medellin, we went downtown and explored.  The main attraction in the centre is many statues by Fernando Botero, a Colombian artist, who claims to be the most Colombian there is.  Given that he doesn't live here anymore, we're not sure what Colombia thinks of that, but his work consists mostly of human and animal figures that look like the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine and we rather liked them.  In the background is the striking Casa de la Cultura.

We have also been enjoying Colombian food.  Lots of juices with fruits we had never heard of, like lulo and tomatoes de los arboles.  Also, lots of shops which are half deep-fried parcels of things and small pies and half sticky cakes.  Being from Scotland, we feel at home, and are expecting to run into the Aberdeen advertising slogan for pies any second now.  There is even a Colombian only, vaguely nationalist orange soda.  Sound familiar?

We also rode the city's cablecars (and they didn't even break under the weight of all those empañadas), which is part of the metro system and a way locals actually use to get around as it is a very hilly city.  So these views came with a metro ticket.

Though there were strict warnings against any unsuitable behaviour.

Good job it said that, you never know when the urge to prance and/or bustle about is going to overcome you.

The next day, it was more cablecars out to Parque Arví, an eco-tourism park near the city.  It is really gorgeous and we were so high above the city in the cablecar that took us up there it was like being in an aeroplane looking down.  We wandered the park all afternoon;

and had lunch up here (where we were not supposed to be, shh);

but gave us views like this;

On the way back we met this chap (which the internet has been unable to help us identify);

We spent the next day chilling and watching another Colombian film, Los viajes del viento (which featured a surprising amount of accordian rap-battles) and eating chargrilled arepas.  On Thursday it was time to try our first hitch-hiking in South America.  We hadn't heard good reports about Colombia (that it was safe (especially in the west where we are), but could take a long time).  We certainly waited a while but still made it to Manizales in one day, so we shall see how things continue.

We are even higher in the mountains now and Manizales is a beautiful town, clinging to the steep slopes of several hills.  The town centre is very pretty and the statue in the main square asks the important cultural question "What if Simon Bolivar had been half-man, half-condor?!"

Yesterday we went for a walk out to a park, messed about and picnicked;

And today we hiked all the way into town and then up the 113m high cathedral tower, which gave some dizzying;

but stunning;

views.

This has been interspersed with munching plantains coated in local cheese and drinking lots of coffee, as we are right in the centre of Colombia's coffee region.  Tonight we are going to some local thermal springs as a reward for all the hilly hiking, and tomorrow we strike out for Bogotá.  Wish us luck.

Messing about in boats

Despite 'Wind in the Willows' being a childhood favourite of C's, we have to disagree with Ratty about the pleasures of boats.

Our nautical nonsense began with a visit to the Panama Canal.  This seems like the obvious place to go in Panama and we searched for other things in Panama City to see and visit, but basically it's all about the canal.  There's an exhibition centre and museum at one of the three locks.  We saw a cruise-ship coming through, which was pretty impressive, and some parts of the museum had interesting facts and scale models of crazy, steam-punk, Victorian machinery.  However, the overall experience is actually kind of ridiculous, turning one of the world's greatest engineering projects into a low-grade local aquarium level of entertainment.  There were several pointless exhibitions about whales, pictures of wildlife, and a lack of any actual, in-depth history of the Franco-American project and war against Colombia etc (the museum made it out that Panama woke up one day, decided to become independent and the U.S. just happened to show up around the same time with a canal plan).  What there WAS was a 3D movie.  It used all the power of 3D to make you really believe you were at the Panama Canal.  Which of course we were, but you can never be sure until you've seen it in 3D film with lots of needless pointing and birds flying into the audience.  It should be said that we actually enjoyed this experience greatly.  How could we not?  We were next to one of the most incredible feats of engineering ever known, a testament to the genius and hubris of the Industrial Revolution.  But it wouldn't be the pinnacle of Western civilisation without a 3D movie, the lamest and most kitsch invention since nodding dogs.  The juxtaposition of the two couldn't be a funnier microcosm of our culture.

Still giggling, the next day we struck out for Portobelo, which we had been told was the best place to start finding boats from Panama to Colombia.  The port did not seem to exist and the local gringo hostel advertising itself as "experts" on the subjects of boats and local captains just wanted to sell you a $500 island vacation/sailboat cruise.  We camped out for a couple of nights, trying to gather information and exploring the town, which had lots of pretty colonial/pirate era forts, which are now the haunts of vultures.

Also, as you can see, we had our own tour guide.  A small dog with ridiculous ears appeared during our first day and proceeded to hang out with us until we left.  She never begged for food, just curled up near us, slept outside our tent, followed us to the shop and back and generally made sure we were all in order.  She is probably recounting to fellow street-dogs about how she had to look after some helpless backpackers for a few days.

When we moved up the coast to Miramar, as we had heard that more boats left from there for San Blas, we wished we still had someone as organised as her.  Our first real piece of bad luck was that the seas were too high for anyone to go anywhere for three days.  We amused ourselves swimming in the Caribbean, eating very tasty seafood in the little restaurant we were camping outside and by the second day finding a couple of other confused tourists.  Boats were supposed to leave on Tuesday, but for one reason or another did not.  By Wednesday we had multiplied to a crew of nine and were able to get a small launcha boat to El Porvenir.  We got completely drenched on this journey of about two hours and one of our companions spent the entire time cackling maniacally behind us.  El Porvenir is the capital of the Guna Yala autonomous region, which covers a stretch of the Caribbean coast and many small islands.

We caught another short, much drier, boat to Carti, a main port in the area.  Our tempers were a little strained here to discover there is actually a road from Panama City direct to Carti which two people we met there had successfully hitch-hiked.  We would recommend this route to anyone else trying to make it to Colombia, as even though in Carti things are still very ad-hoc, there are a lot more boats.  While cooling our heels for another day we went swimming in the beautiful, clear blue waters.  A cargo boat would have been willing to take us down the coast for $100 each though this would have taken five days.  In the end a gang of eleven of us got another speedboat to Puerto Obaldia, where we could get stamped out of Panama and he would wait for us to take us to Carpurgana in Colombia.  Of course, the migration office in Puerto Obaldia had closed at 5pm sharp (we arrived at about half past) and there was one more night to wait there.  The next day, we only traveled the half an hour to Carpurgana as rough seas meant there were no boats for the final leg of our journey until the next morning, Saturday.  Because there was neither Internet, Western Union, nor ATMs at many of these places, we were running short of immediate funds, not to mention desperately needing a shower.  Finally we crossed the bay and made it to Turbo, not sorry to see the back of the Caribbean and seas in general for a while.

We had a Couchsurf arranged in Medellin, but the aforementioned financial faff delayed us getting a bus until six in the evening for what was supposed to be an eight hour journey.  It turned into a twelve hour one due to delays, and meanwhile the brutal air-conditioning had us shivering (bonus luxury we do not think).  We rocked up in Medellin this morning and seem to have fallen on our feet as our host is lovely.  We've been discovering some of the many Colombian baked goods, showering, sleeping and generally starting to feel a bit more human.  Tonight we also enjoyed a Colombian movie, Contracorriente, which we'd heartily recommend if anyone feels like a very beautiful film about love, responsibility, and Doing the Right Thing.

Thus restored, we've remembered to be excited that we are on a whole new continent and shall begin exploring tomorrow.

(Not so) Rapid Transit

We rented bicycles and set off to see where we could go and maybe find a quiet part of the lake.  Full of energy, the wind in our hair, J's bike broke after 5 mins of cycling.  We went back and swapped it for another bike.  We set off again, less cocky this time, but all was well and we cycled for a few hours around the island unable to see the volcano for the clouds or to find a route to the enormous lake that surrounded us.

After 45m of descent over a reproductive-ability damaging excuse for a road, we found a quiet strip of sand with a few little houses and numerous locals bathing and playing in the lake.  The water was as warm as the Pacific had been and we splashed and scrubbed and generally had a good time.  Of course by the time we cycled the twelve odd kilometres back we were sweaty again, but at least it was fresh sweat.  Since we've been in the tent lately we've been waking with the light at about 6am and often going to bed around 9pm since we lose the light at 6pm (and had failed to get new torch batteries).  Thus we were up and on a ferry back to mainland by seven for a full day's hitching into Costa Rica.  C had read about the very scary threat of a $28 tax on people leaving Costa Rica so we were prepared for the worst.

We got there fine, though we had to collect a form and pass a policeman through a gate to gain access to the immigration checkpoint.  Costa Rica were taking this 'having a border' business seriously indeed.  We were stamped out of Nicaragua (occasionally paying a dollar for seemingly random pieces of paper) and when coming in to Costa Rica we were asked how long we were planning to stay, where we were going next and for evidence of that (though not about yellow fever vaccinations which the internet had told us they would and the inoculation of which had led to C vomiting on a temple's grounds prior to leaving the UK (for which he remains very sorry)).  However, given that they accepted the printout for a flight leaving Beunos Aires on the 29th Oct 2012 with a hand scrawled note of "2nd June 13:00" as a valid itinary, seems to suggest it's still not nearly the Vogon hassle that the UK is. 

We actually managed to hitch from the border and were left at a crossroads with one route (the larger one) apparently taking a large coastal road towards Panama, the other being the Pan-American, that went by San Jose (the capital).  We decided that this was supposed to be a Pan-American journey (though sharp observers or those who know how to navigate Google Maps, will notice we've not been following it that strictly) and ... waited for a lift. 

The next day we got stuck in the urban sprawl of San Jose and Cartago and ended up walking about 8km with our backpacks.  It was like actual hiking or something.  We were eventually rescued by a very friendly cheese merchant who took us up into the moutains.  Which were surprisingly cold.  We shivered the night away, but in the morning very much enjoyed the Costa Rican equivalent of a road-side greasy spoon.  This consisted of a huge pile of gallo pinto, fried cheese, fried plantains, fried dead thing and strong coffee.  Thus heartened, we continued hitching.

Maybe we should take a brief interlude here to explain how we feel about Costa Rica.  Obviously it is great that it is relatively peaceful and prosperous for Central America.  The story of its development is interesting.  Although only a minority of places in the world can develop in this model (i.e. solely tourism) because the global economic system and global tourism industry rely on the existence of exploitation in other areas and gross inequalities in global wealth distribution, things that haven't existed in Costa Rica (natural resources to be seized or a large indigenous population to do all the work) helped to highlight the stories of other countries.  This does mean it is more expensive than everywhere else in Central America and Mexico (though the notes for colones are extremely pretty and colourful).  This is not great for us, also the tourist attractions are in national parks and beaches and we've done enough of both these things for our tastes for a while.

However, we will always habour a true resentment of the place for the simple reason that it is No Country For Hitch-Hikers.  OK, so we had been spoiled since coming south of the Rio Grande, hour-long waits were starting to seem almost unacceptable and we were getting too used to being in the back of a pick-up almost as soon as we put out our thumbs.  But Costa Rica gave us more consistently long waits than the U.S.A.  Meanwhile, the amount of insulting/baffling gestures and perplexed looks increased ten-fold.  It clearly just isn't the culture there, and in fact, pretty much everyone who picked us up was either not from Costa Rica or had lived in the U.S.A (mostly New Jersey for some reason).

But it really is as beautiful as everyone says.  We never saw the coast, but we went from flat plains, through rainforests and chilly mountains, to the world's largest crop of pineapples (which are not from trees at all, but a shrub/cactus like affair where the fruit sprouts out the middle).  Every half hour or so, we were in a different micro-climate.

Interlude ends.

The next ride we got took us across the cheeringly named Mountain of Death, which is the highest point on the whole Pan-American Highway (at 3,451m or 11,322ft).

Due to the speed of the hitch-hiking, we had to spend another night camping in Costa Rica and were rapidly running out of colones as we hadn't expected to be there for so long.  But we managed to make it to the border, thanks to some friendly Panamain truckers.  There we experienced about half an hour of panic/dread/depression as the customs official announced that the guys on the way in should have stamped us (though they did take our passports at two separate points they did not do this).  Without that, the customs man said he could not stamp us out.  We'd have to live here forever with a handful of colones and people giving us rude gestures from their large, spotless four wheel drives.

Luckily, the officials decided it was more trouble than it was worth (we had caught them right before their lunch-break) and stamped us out anyway (with no fee at all, hurray!).  So, we walked into Panama (making sure they stamped us in) and caught a bus as far as David (as it was cheap) to get away from the border.  We still had an hour's daylight left, so tried to get a bit further down the road.  First impressions were not good and we began to wonder if we were in another Costa Rica.  Night was falling and we pushed our luck under a street lamp, but were just giving up (this is not artistic embellishment, we'd stopped thumbing and started to pick up our bags), when a large car pulled up containing a large guardian angel.  Five minutes later, we were humming along in his air-conditioning chatting about all kinds of things.  A couple of hours later, we were munching yuca and coconut patties and drinking strong black coffee and an hour after that, we finally parted company but he left us with some friendly traffic police who let us sleep in their hut.

This morning we made it to Panama City quite easily.  We haven't found a Couchsurf, but as we had had neither a real bed, nor a shower in 2013, we've splashed out on a hostel (with beds and fans and breakfasts and free water and everything!).  After relaxing for a bit, we enjoyed a delicious meal of mystery meat stew and fried fish and a wander round the old town.

Tomorrow we're off to see the city and the world's most famous water-filled ditch.    

P.S. We're sorry, but there will be no pictures this week as the computer doesn't want to play along.

Happy New Year

We had booked our volcano boarding adventure with Quetzeltrekkers Nicaragua, and were very excited.  We booked into a hostel as we would return to Leon too late to get out to our camping and raccoon filled spot, ate some ice cream to cool us off, and with an hour and a half to spare J tripped gaily off to do some Couchsurf busywork online.  What she discovered was that volcano boarding was cancelled.

As we we had decided to leave Leon the next day it was our last chance, and she delivered the news to C before heading to the Quetzaltrekkers office to retrieve our money.  Somewhat forlornly she enquired if anyone else in town was running volcano boarding.  A man also loitering in the Quetzaltrekkers office waved and announced that his group were leaving a hostel opposite ours in twenty minutes.  This gave J just enough time to run to the hostel and beg pathetically and when they agreed to our joining at the last minute we jumped into action and joined the group.

In the interests of not breaking them, we left cameras at the hostel, but this image is of the same slope we went down and the same Guantanamo style jumpsuits.  The boarding was a lot of fun (even the bit where C fell off and bounced on his face for a bit) and the walk up the volcano stunning with views of the sunset and sulphur jets, some parts of the ground hot to the touch.  The tour group we had joined however gave us a lot to think about.  There were several very lovely people, of course, and though the whole activity was a bit beer-based and not everyone was lovely (the tour guide could have done a better job of reining in some of the young mens comments, given there were also kids and also that they weren't funny), its not really that that we are pondering.

The thing is, you can get by in certain areas of Nicaragua only spending dollars.  All hotels, hostels and tourist restaurants/bars are priced in them.  Tourist material is all in English.  And its terrifyingly easy to never talk to anyone from Nicaragua, certainly not in Spanish.  The tourist strip of the same destinations is like its own little world.

The next day we hitched to Granada (the centre of said tourist strip) and checked out some bookshops with books in English, a benefit of the cultural imperialism that we cannot help but enjoy.  We obtained, and J has since started and could not recommend more strongly, Open Veins of Latin America, an amazing work of history and analysis (including all kinds of imperialism) that anyone interested in the region should read.

In Granada we also visited the Chocolate Museum, as the museum part was free.  We did learn some interesting things about chocolate, but mostly the staff are just supposed to sell you the expensive "make your own chocolate" workshop and the all you can eat buffet.  Also, we felt like the museum's historical sections skimmed over the darker side of chocolate production.  It's not that every museum has to be a searing indictment of global capitalism's cruelties - though it would be nice =) - but the story of exploitation is so essential to the story of chocolate, that the way it was told came across as dishonest white-washing, designed to allow tourists to indulge guilt-free.

Our couchsurf was another hostel, and a very kind man he is too, to let us camp for free.  But the hostel was only another example of what has been making us feel uneasy recently.  Its an amazing place, basically a treehouse built up the steep side of a jungly hill

and staffed by volunteers.  Everyone there is young and english-speaking.  Everyone has been to San Juan del Sur, the big beach resort.  Most people are not even trying to speak spanish or learn how many cordobas there are to the dollar.  All the activities people go off to do each day are far beyond what the average Nicaraguan, let alone a poor one, could afford.  There's a sense the entire country is an adventure playground here for our amusement, and that each central american country is nothing more than its tourist centre.  When people ask where we went in El Salvador they mean which beach and are amazed to hear we didn't even see the sea there- they have never heard of the museum at Perquin.

All this starts to sound pretty smug if we completely discount ourselves, but we're not.  It's a constant niggle trying to find a balance between accepting you can't break every stereotype and privilege and just enjoying the odd slide down a volcano, and trying to get off the beaten track a bit, see the country itself and learn about where we actually are.  Hitching is a godsend here.  You end up making conversation in potted spanish with people from every different walk of life in the country.

Bearing this in mind and with all these thoughts, we undertook an expedition to the Caribbean Sea, which failed in all important respects, except getting far from the beaten track.

Google maps lied.  It says there is a road (the BR20) between El Rama and Bluefields.  Anyone who does not believe us look it up.  One hitch also lied to us about this road.  This road does not exist.  It is not there.  The only way from El Rama to Bluefields is by riverboat, which we could not afford.  So after a long day's hitch out to El Rama on New Year's Eve, we spent the night in a slighty suspicious hotel by the river that gave the impression of being patronised by pirates down on their luck, listened to some enthusiastic fireworks and the next day found ourselves in a town that had shut down for the 1st of January, trying to hitch-hike back the way we had come.

This made us look both desperate and pathetic.  Traffic was slow to the point of non-existance and we ended up in one small town (more a suburb of El Rama, which is not a metropolis)  for six hours.  The advantage of looking both desperate and pathetic are that people pity you.  We received:  free Fanta, a bag of doughnut-like things, two huge plates of chicken and rice, and two slices of cake.  Also a small boy let us play with his baby rabbits.  Eventually we got to Juigalpa that night and hitched on again today, with much more success.

With some free bananas from a friendly trucker, we got to Rivas, which contains a port for ferries out to the Ometepe islands in Lago Nicaragua.  It seems very pretty here, though we have not explored yet, though the views approaching the islands were quite something

We are squarely back on the gringo trail, although remain as cheap as ever, as we have begged a camping spot in someone's yard for a fraction of the normal prices.

Tomorrow we intend to give ourselves a much needed clean in the lake.