Barney and Claire's Travel Diary

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:: Thursday, May 22, 2003 ::

Panama


Panama City


We stayed in Roatan for a few days after "graduating". We hit the beaches again, met some top people (including a 32-year-old bloke from Norfolk who owned more diving-related gadgetry than you could shake a 2nd-stage regulator at (as well as a 28 grand car and a paid-up mortgage - well, he does work for Mars!). We also met an American photographer and an Ozzie couple - the bloke was an environmental politician no less, trying to save the Great Barrier Reef from the effects of overfarming. The stress of political infighting had driven him to go travelling for a year. Sounds familiar. A few days later, we said our goodbyes and jumped on a plane bound for Panama. Actually it was four planes, and we stopped twice in Honduras, then again in the capital cities of El Salvador and Costa Rica before finally hitting Panama City 10 hours later, and checking into a cheap hotel in the city centre.


Although they use the US dollar in Panama, they call it the "Balboa" after the guy who discovered that it was an Isthmus between the Atlantic AND Pacific Oceans. They even print their own coins to prove it. And the good news is things are cheap! In a supermarket cafe in Panama City, a full buffet meal including orange juice is less than $2.50. Beer is under a dollar, and travel costs next to nowt. In the city, the main attractions are the ruins of the original Spanish colony (Panama la Viejo), and the Casco Viejo, or Old Town. The former is just a pile of stones, as Welsh Buccaneer Henry Morgan sacked and burned the town in the good old days of Piracy. The only thing he was prevented from nicking - a golden altar, which was painted black by a cunning Priest to fool Morgan into thinking it was worthless - was moved to a church in the Old Town. Confusingly, the Old Town was built to replace the even older original town, so it is in fact new. But not as new as the new town, with its gleaming silver skyscrapers and modern seafront promenade. Got that? The whole city is reckoned to be unsafe at night, but the old town is dodgy even during the day. So we headed straight there, dressing down and only carrying a disposible camera to minimise our mugging-worthiness. In the end we had a great time, walking round the colonial buildings, checking out the Plaza Bolivar, which with its topiaried hedge and flower gardens is one of the nicest town squares we-ve seen anywhere. We also ran into a Worker's Demo (you know, that thing that people used to do in England, where they voice their opinions in public). Interestingly, we also passed the bombed-out ruins of a club, where ex-Panamanian Dictator, Drug Trafficker and CIA Agent Manuel Noriega used to hang out. The building was one of many bombed during the American invasion. While we're on the subject - and it seems topical - this invasion also claimed the lives of hundreds of innocent Panamanians. Anyway, enough politics - it's a pretty area to walk round, and we even got an impromptu guided tour from a friendly local who talked us through the history of the country, its ethnic mix (the greatest in Central America because of the multinational workers drafted in to build the canal), and the US handover of the canal to Panama in 1999.


The next day we headed for the canal itself, or rather the first set of locks (Las Esclusas de Miraflores). For those of you that we traversed the Warwickshire Ring with, the locks are a bit like that, only muuuuuuuch bigger. They have to fit the world's biggest ships through them after all (called Panamax, cos these are the biggest ships capable of passing through the Panama canal). We saw two ships pass through the dual-locks, one on each side, and were informed that each was paying in the region of $100,000 to do so (the cost is dependent on the weight). The cheapest passage was by some muppet who swam the length of the canal and paid around $0.35 for the privilege. We also visited the Canal museum, and learnt about the tens of thousands who died of Malaria and Yellow Fever in the first (French) attempt at building the canal. (The second attempt, the American one, was a bit less catastrophic, but it meant that all the money from the canal went to America until 31st Dec 1999.)

David


We took a bus to the Western provincial capital of David, which took a piddling seven hours. Here we found a great family-run hostel, whose Panamanian/Italian owners shared their home-grown Avocados with us. We stayed for three nights, and on the second day took a bus to Boquete, up in the hills. This is a beautiful and highly photogenic garden town. We took loads of piccies and sampled some locally-grown coffee, among the best in the World. Then, after another night (and a brutal $2 haircut by a woman who looked like a larger version of Dolph Lundgren) we jumped on a bus Northwards to Almirante on the Atlantic (Caribbean) coast, then got a boat to the archipelago of Bocas del Toro. It's not as nice as Roatan in Honduras, but it's got some great beaches, and more excitingly, colonies of Sea Turtles and Manatees. Believe it or not, both these animals had been on our list of must-sees for a long time. Tonight we're heading off with a conservation group for a four hour nighttime stroll along the beaches to see the turtles, which allegedly get up to 1.7m in length. If we can find anyone to go with, we'll head off tomorrow night to see the manatees. Manatees for the uninitiated are the giant sea-cows, which Ye Olde Sailores used to mistake for Mermaids. More news soon. The Dude abides...
:: Barney 8:07 PM [+] ::
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Diving on Roatan


This was what we'd been waiting for. We'd heard vague rumours in Asia about how Honduras was the cheapest place to dive, and an American pair we met in Mexico gave us the lowdown on Roatan and said it was THE place to check out. We were not disappointed! It is a developed island, but not overrun with splurging Americans in the same way as Cancun or other hell holes in the region. Yes, there are tour groups (an American cruise ship stops one day a week, and an Italian package tour company flies in once a week), but they keep themselves to themselves. The other novelty fact about Roatan is that they film the truly awful "Reality" TV show Temptation Island there. One day, when we were strolling up the coast to West Bay (the island's top beach), we were stopped by a large American with one of those MacDonna microphone/headpiece things who directed us round the back of the Temptation Island resort. When we emerged further up the beach, we located where they were filming their Temptee interview and stood in the background making obscene gestures at the camera. Oh what fun - I'm sure they'll be inviting us back.


We headed for a dive shop called Reef Gliders, run by a cheery Cherman called Justus (pr. "Yoostoos", hence he was known locally as "Useless"), who was anything but. He quickly put the two of us - and our Dutch comedienne pal Loes - in touch with Divemaster Elan. This French guy was the person charged with turning us from poxy "Open Water" divers, to full-on "Advanced" divers. We immediately hit it off, as he had previously worked in a dive school in Thailand near to where we did our diving. He even sported the nerdy in-joke Thai T-shirt which says (Nitrogen) Narcosis is the Oasis typeface, with "Mad for it" emblazoned across the back. More of the 'Narcs later. Onto the dives:

:: Barney 8:06 PM [+] ::
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:: Wednesday, May 21, 2003 ::

Honduras


We knew we were in Honduras for two reasons: Firstly, because a road sign said "Honduras" and secondly because the tarmac ran out suddenly, and we were back on dirt tracks. After passing through customs at the town of Corintos, we caught a bus to the seaside at Omoa. The Lonely Planet raved about this place as the next big thing - even printing a letter from a reader who loved it so much they stayed three weeks. However, it turned out to be a croque monsieur. The only interesting thing, apart from the old Spanish colonial fort, was the ongoing legal battle between two hostel owners - one Swiss, one Dutch - who competed viciously for backpacker Lempiras (cash). The old white haired Dutch lady told us how the Swiss guy hurt her feelings. His promotional flyer reads:



"!!Warning!! Old white hair lady waiting @ the bus stop in Omoa center all day long, attacking all new comers, promoting her place as the only one in town, don't buy that!! free rides to her Place!? more like just to get you before you can check out some better Places !!! Her place is not on the beach neither !!!"



Despite the entertainment this gave us, we chose the Old white hair lady's place, and ended up feeling that it was a bit cack after all. And it wasn't on the beach. However, this was a good thing, as the beach was filthy and unappealing, and nobody except local drunks went anywhere near it. Three weeks? We wanted to leave after three hours, and a power cut in the evening only made it worse. So we got up the next day, were refused a lift to the bus stop by the "Old white hair lady" who allegedly spends half her life at the bus stop, and jumped on a chicken bus. First stop was Puerto Cortes, then San Pedro Sula (Honduras' crime capital, and Central America's AIDS capital), then back up to La Ceiba (named after the tinsel tree), on the coast. This journey was spiced up by "Crescendo of Religious Zeal" Woman, who got on the bus and started ranting in a quiet voice about various religious topics, then got slowly louder as the topics moved onto the terrible things that would happen to us if we didn't immediately convert to Christianity. Having made a fuss of putting my earplugs in, things started to improve, until CORZ Woman moved to the back of the bus and started again! I turned away, and focused instead on the acres and acres of banana plantations, all owned (as are the nearby towns and infrastructure) by the American United Fruits Company, more recently repackaged as Del Monte. The man from Del Monte says, "whoooooooaaaaa!" Someone's making a lot of money from Northern Honduras, and it sure ain't the Hondurans! Having said that, they do eat a lot of bananas, but mainly in the form of fried, salted plantain chips, which incidentally I was munching on at the time.

Roatan


From here we took a fantastic 18 minute flight to the island of Roatan. The plane was so tiny, we sat (with our Dutch companion Loes) right behind the pilots, and watched all the action, inside and out, up close. The landing in particular was superb, as we had a full view of the island's edges and the approaching runway. Roatan is a different world from what we'd seen of Central America till then. It is a diving island - like Koh Tao in Thailand - and offers eveything from high class resorts to budget dive shops in the island's West End. This is where we headed, bypassing Sly Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger and - most amusingly - Chuck Norris, all of whom have holiday homes there. The first night we stayed at a place run by an eccentric tuberculotic American woman named Valerie, who wasn't in the least embarassed that the only working toilet in the place was at the other end of the building from the only working tap. Halfway through a shower (at the bit just after the soap was applied) the water supply gave up the ghost completely, and when - minutes later - the electricity failed, we decided that staying in the cheapest place isn't always the best option. The following day we moved to Anderson's cabins. Mr Anderson is an old Afro-American who runs his place like a military camp. Before we could occupy our cabin (which turned out to be right on the sea shore and very nice), we were made to sit down and given a talking to with forceful gesticulations on Anderson's part about the importance of security when travelling. We politely told him we had 10 months' experience, but only then discovered he was deaf. Only when his wife stepped in (and was mercilessly derided for even daring to talk to him) did he get the message and let us go to our room, with an emphatic "Yes, Sir!" A few days later when he begrudgingly got our bank card out of the safe so we could go into town for money, he announced that the banks were closed. We countered that one of the banks had an ATM, which was open 24 hours. Not wishing to let us have the last word he pointed a finger and reminded us "If you are going to the cash machine, don't forget to take your passport". You couldn't make it up really... Whilst in Roatan, we took a fantastic three day course and became Advanced SCUBA divers. Not only is this one of the world's most beautiful diving spots, but also the cheapest (and best value) too. More details about the diving in the next instalment. Since then, we've caught a plane to Panama City, visited the canal's locks and had a stroll through cloud forests in the West of the country. But more of that nonsense in due course. Check out our newly-uploaded photos in the meantime.



:: Barney 1:31 AM [+] ::
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Guatemala


Tikal


This day started badly, as most days do when you get out of bed at 4am. We jumped on a bus full of eager tourists (mainly German and Dutch, which is to be expected at such an early hour, and realised we didn't have enough cash to see us through the day. Having successfully begged the bus driver to stop the bus at a cashpoint, Barney hopped out, stuck the card in the ATM, and the ATM laughed and spat it out again. On to the next bank. This one goes through the motions, makes the right noises, then spits out the card. And guess what? There are no more banks. On the point of suicide, we announced to the bus driver that we'd have to get off and walk back to our hotel, thus rendering the early morning a wasted effort. Then, just as we were getting off, like a guardian angel, pipes up a voice from behind: I can lend you the money. Saved by a Canadian couple! So off we headed, gurning in our best impression of a smile, to Tikal. After a quick breakfast from an on-site restaurant whose menu contained a great selection of "homelettes", we headed off with a guide (well, it IS a big site, and we couldn't have read a map by ourselves for love nor money). The guide was less interested in the history of the Mayan buildings, most of which are more decayed than their counterparts in Palenque, and more concerned with showing us all the wildlife in the surrounding forests. We saw howler monkeys, spider monkeys, toucans and tarantulas, all in their natural habitats. We also saw the unusual Ceiba tree, with its tinsel-like branch perching at the top of the trunk. We clambered into giant underground chambers which the Mayans used to keep their food cool. We clambered up the stairs of the "Mundo Perdido" or lost world temple, where only two weeks previously a German tourist had fallen 24 steps to her death. The temple had been closed until the morning we arrived. The only change since the accident were the little signs by all the temples saying "Climb at your own risk". With each step 1,000 years old and nearly a metre high, it's easy to see how mishaps could occur. At the other end of the site was a temple where a scene from "The Return of the Jedi" was filmed. It's something to do with the Ewoks, but I'll have to watch that bit again to work out where. Oh yeah, and they filmed a Dutch 'Tango' advert there, too...


Our next stop was "Finca Ixobel" - an American-owned working farm-cum-hostel, where guests stay in rustic accommodation while locals do all the hard farm labour. There are loads of volunteers from around the world who help with reception / kitchen / bar duties, and all of them were top people. We planned to stay one night, but when we discovered that they operated a tab system instead of demanding cash all the time, and had a pool table and darts board, this quickly turned into four nights. To say nothing of the fact that our historical interference over the previous weeks had left us with a touch of Montezuma's revenge, which we needed a few days to fully reconquer. We amused ourselves with a horse-riding trip (predictably, the rainy season arrived 15 minutes after we jumped in the saddle, and the horses tried to bolt with the thunder). We swam in the "lagoon", which turned out to be a stagnant pond which left us covered in green algae. And on the nights when we weren't gatecrashing staff parties, we had games of round-the-clock on the darts board, which started off with two or three players, who quickly became nine or ten. The longest game lasted three and a half hours. Eric Bristow, eat your furry heart out!


From the Finca, we took a bus down to Rio Dulce, the Sweet River. We caught a boat over the river to the Hacienda Tijax, which also claimed to be a working farm, although the only animals in evidence were a couple of mutts in the bar (to say nothing of the dogs walking around). This place even had an activities board which listed such activites as "Swim... Eat...Rent a Dog". The last one in particular caught our eye, as Simon, who we travelled with in New Zealand, had based his entire future career on renting dogs to holiday makers. Looks like he's been beaten to it. We confined ourselves to the pool and jacuzzi, before heading off the next morning on a catamaran to the otherwise-unreachable town of Livingston. This place is a Carribean backwater with little happening. During the evening, we overheard an enormous Carribean woman (Black Carib as they are officially known!) tell a tourist at the next table she looked "red, like a lobster" before bursting into fits of laughter. Later on we bumped into our old Kiwi pals Dean and Lee, who despite their best efforts to lose us, had miscalculated, but cheerfully joined us for a drink and a chat anyway! The next morning we caught a lancha boat to Guatemala's largest port- Puerto Barrios. There we jumped in a cab with a bad-boy who had silver-rimmed teeth and balcked-out windows. When he asked us if we wanted to hear his CDs we expected Public Enemy, but instead we got Chris de Burgh. The world can be cruel sometimes. Thankfully, as the last bars of "Lady in Re-he-he-he-he-he-hed" died away, we were at the Honduran border.

:: Barney 1:26 AM [+] ::
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