London Museums

Early to rise as we had a day out in London organised. Cash, card, phone, keys, camera, yes, let’s go.

A gentle walk to the train station brought us to the ticket machine.
This high tech multi-choice ticket machine was baffling to say the least. There were so many travel variations and options for the same journey. Do we take the overhead National Express Great East Anglia Line train with the required connection to the London underground train line service? Do we require an Oyster Card, or a One-Day Travel Card? Which zone 1, 2, 3 or all zones?

The queue behind us was growing by the minute.......

The necessary selections were made. The ticket came to £12.20.

We board the near empty train and after passing a few stations, the train driver announced "This train will terminate at Ilford Station, due to ongoing work being carried out on the tracks ahead. You will need to exit the station and take a bus to your destination!" What? The destination is 15 miles away! Oh well..........

To the bus stop we headed. We soon realized that the queue we were in was the wrong one and walked further ahead to the next bus stop. As we stood waiting Jim noticed an internet cafe and went in to have a look. He came out laughing and said he had photographed a sign:

The bus came and we embarked only to be told by the ever so helpful driver that there is another bus that would take us straight to Stratford Central station, where would be able to connect to the Underground Central Line that would take us to our destination - The Natural History Museum - in the West End of London.

The bus resembled a tin of sardines! Every seat was taken except for the 3 seats upstairs and every window was steamed up to the point of zero visibility.

Once at Stratford Central station we followed the crowd along to the Underground Central Line, better known as the Tube.

A little old lady in front of us was waddling along trying to balance on a high heeled pair of very impractical walking shoes, providing some light entertainment.

Once aboard the 'Tube' we had to stand most of the way as all the seats were taken. The multitude of different nationalities here was striking and all heading for the bright lights of London. It was an overly noisy bone-crushing journey, hanging-on for dear life in these trains is an art as we were being flung to the left, right, back and forth, ribs were elbowed, feet trodden and body blows worthy of a WWF championship title belt.

We arrived at our destination and headed up the 1/4 mile-long escalators, where etiquette - 'standers' to the right, walkers to the left were adhered to. Finding our way out of the labyrinth alone was an adventure. At the exit stiles our tickets were rejected. After several attempts we approached a station guard who looked at the tickets and declared they were only valid to the City (Zone 2) and not to our destination, (Zone 1) and that we had illegally travelled from the City to the West End qualifying us as penalty-worthy fare-dodgers which carried a £50.00 fine! We were advised to re-walk the miles of underground tunnels in the opposite direction to find the Ticket Office, where we could purchase a second ticket, which would allow us to exit the train station.

Off we trekked, bought the tickets, left the station.

Standing outside Knightsbridge station, we were greeted by a sea of tourists all admiring the paintwork outside the world famous Harrods. Some were seated under tree benches eating sandwiches, some where families working out where to go to next. There were couples photographing themselves outside the store whole families where exiting the store with dozens of Harrods' bags stuffed full of January sales items.........

On the pavement, was a beautiful array of cobbled stonework with circles left out for the trees. I ordered, sorry asked Jim to stand outside the famous store so that I could photograph him. He duly obliged and I snapped away. The taxi drivers carrying passengers who also wanted to visit the store, mounted the pavement with a total disregard for pedestrians, one even ‘nudging’ Jim and I out of his way, with his car!

We headed for the Natural History Museum, stumbling across an ice-skating rink full of people all skating in the same direction and a carousel in the distance.

Then we was the queue for the Museum! Several hundred metres of people just waiting to get in. It stretched from down the stairs and around the building. We headed off and found the Art Museum with no queue at all. (This should have been a sign). We wondered down the aisles admiring the various naked sculptures of male and females then found a photographic section and went in. There were very weird pictures on the walls. Very odd indeed. There was one picture of what looked like a chemical spill (just a splatter of different colours shooting off in different directions) and another of close-up dust and lint floating through the air.

Time to leave.

We headed to the Science Museum and managed to get in straight away.

We wandered around and found directions to an area called ‘Psychology; Mind Your Head’ where we saw clothes that had been made out of rubbish (trash) and a shadow on the wall of a person’s profile that was made up of modern latex penises and fingers! We looked over the balcony and saw the Victorian steam engines and headed towards them.

There was jaw dropping machinery along with black and white diagrams to show the mechanical movement. The terrible time we had trying to get into London was worth every second, for this alone.

Upstairs we saw variations of watches, clocks with their back case open so that it’s movement could be seen. Jim fondled his balls while gazing inquisitively at the technical data. There were beautifully crafted sundials and compasses too.

There were beautifully crafted sundials and compasses too.

Interestingly we saw farm equipment from times gone by, plastic replicating robots, old medical memorabilia, telephone switching stations, cray computers, atomic clocks, old composting wooden toilets and wooden vacuum cleaners.

I have forgotten how many corridors, aisles and flights of stairs we walked, but by the time we got to the wooden toilets, I removed my boots to relieve my poor aching toes and carried them over my shoulder.

Once outside, we headed up the road and saw a lovely corner pub and went in for sustenance Jim ordered an ale and I, a white wine. We went upstairs and sat down in the restaurant area and ordered our meals. I had the sirloin steak with fries and vegetables while Jim had ....................? (a truly unmemorable meal).

Jim chatted up the waitress.

The train ride home was on a half empty (or full) carriage allowing us a comfortable journey. We were going to head straight home, but we were still hungry and headed over to the Indian Take-away Jim ordered the hottest lamb vindaloo with naan bread and a lamb korma for me.

Trying to get to the airport

5:00

It was a cloudy night, the eclipse was obscured. People gathered outside the window, returning from bars in the wee hours of the morning. A knock on the dorm room to admit a keyless straggler. It was a sleepless night. I checked the time. Five oh four, why did my alarm not go off? Stuffed stuff in my backpack. Went down the stairs. No receptionist to refund my key deposit. The smell of coffee. Nothing available. Cold brewed coffee sitting in a percolator, waiting to be turned on at seven. Where is my travelling companion of the day? Where is the taxi? Why is there no one here to call a taxi?

This is going to be a long trip.

############
5:15

Another guest is about to hike to Albrook Mall, the bus terminal. No, I'm not crazy, first its a very long walk and its dark through the worst parts of town, twisting turning roads. I walked down to a major road grabbed a taxi, we passed him and picked him up. I got dropped off at the bus station paid my $2.50 even though he tried to charge us each $3. Took a one hour bus ride that passed the damn airport. Got off at the next stop, hailed another taxi, to the terminal.

7:30

Uneventful checkin other than the fact that American Airlines insists that my British Airways flight from Miami to London is not cancelled. It was cancelled yesterday, guys, they don't cancel, get everybody not to show up and then fly anyway.

Dunkin' donuts had a menu printed only in English and the woman behind the counter spoke not a word of it. So I had to try to translate the equivalent of an Egg McMuffin. "Yo quierre una pan Brittania con huevos y queso con jamon."

Wonder of wonders, I got what I wanted.

8:20 Board commences. Uneventful flight so exhausted I slept. My head crooked over to the right on my shoulder, sore neck.

12:00 Welcome to Miami International Airport
Immigration was a breezed. Got the yellow dot trail at customs, but after quick x-ray was on my way. List of Countries since you left the US? Panama, Colombia, Brazil, Peru, Bolivia, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica. What is your occupation? "None".

Tried to catch a bus to South Beach so I could call Travelocity from my Hotel. A bus pulls up, says "Dolphin Mall" I asked the driver, "does this go to South Beach?" "Como?" Ahhh sh.t, "Este autobús va a South Beach?" "No, necessito otro." I need another, so I got off the bus. Turns out I needed to get a transfer from Dolphin Mall, not wait for another bus here. So I wait, and I wait and wait some friggin' more. Three Cubans tell me that the bus comes every hour. Finally I ask a black guy, "What time is the next bus to South Beach? I've been sitting here for hours." "You just missed it, city buses, across the street and down that flight of stairs. Just look for the bus that says South Beach." Ok, I'm making progress now. Walk down the flight of stairs buses come by every 15 minutes, none say, "South Beach". One guy tells me I need to take the "J" Bus and another says I need to take the "150". I give up. BA has opened their "Customer Service by now." Last time I passed they weren't going to open for hours, despite the fact that hundreds of incoming passengers had their connecting flights cancelled. Now I was way the hell back in the line to buy tickets. Must have been 150 in line ahead of me. I saw a line 50 meters away to check in, with two people in line. That's it. I'll check into my cancelled flight. The woman dealt with a couple for twenty three minutes. She was putting them on standby on flight 208, the one I was trying to get on. In the mean time the line I just left was clicking along and people were getting into the queue ahead of me. These people just kept asking question after question. It took the same woman 6 minutes to put me on standby. My questions, "What is my position in queue?" "I don't know." Well I know why they won't tell me. They'll bump be down when BA frequent travellers show up. In the mean time I get an email from my gal in London who tells me that Travelocity can't even confirm a flight for me on the 28th. That's a week in Miami. Not that I would mind, if I wasn't spending it at the airport.

#############
7 PM

I am one of forty three people on standby. Forty are called. I remain with two others. One decides the appropriate thing to do is bitch out the ticket agent as though she had anything to do with it. I went over to ticketing. There were only two people ahead of me. I told my tale of woe to the ticket agent. "Listen, route me any way you have to, through Frankfurt, Munich, Paris. My little girl is coming home from the Peace Corp in Namibia for 8 days. I haven't seen her in two years." Guy leaves, goes to back room for a minute. "I have you confirmed on flight 208 tomorrow. Give your daughter a hug from British Airways." He handed me a voucher for a suite at the DoubleTree and $40 in travel vouchers.

Panama to Miami

I am catching a five o'clock taxi in less than four hours for a half hour ride to a three hour flight. Airports are not my friend right now. I was supposed to be in London the morning of the twenty-second after a layover in Miami. The layover is now indeterminately long. Heathrow is near shut down and more snow is coming. The American Airlines segment from Panama to Miami is non-cancellable, but the the British Airways trip from Miami to London is unavailable. I guess that means I hang in South Beach for a while. Hopefully I will get to meet my niece in Fort Lauderdale, and Jim and Pat in the Florida Keys while I bide my time. A lovely woman with some winter gear and a refrigerator filled with my favorites bemoans the fickleness of nature, looks like Christmas might not happen until January.

Tonight is the night of the Winter Equinox coinciding with the full eclipse of the moon. It is a cloudless night in Panama and the moon is directly overhead.

This weeks property loss? My iTouch. Sure it sucked. The screen was cracked, the off button broken, It wouldn't transfer notes to my computer. But, it was better than nothing, it played music and took notes. What should I replace it with?

On my way to London

My friends at Casa Verde informed my that my room was reserved for the night. I had intended to take a minibus to David and a chicken bus from David to Boquette to visit some friends, but a few things got in the way. I popped next door, Walter whisked me to the airport where I purchased a ticket to Panama City and went home to pack.

I was dismayed to find that my Machu Pichu shirt and a very well worn guide shirt never made it back from the laundry. I should have checked at the time. Looking through my pile of stuff, all in ditty bags, I pulled out the hammock, the jungle survival kit and the machete among others. Nothing I could really use in London. The aforementioned goods were stuffed into a big boat bag and given to Walter for safekeeping. Now I have goods in Sante Fe, David and Bocas.

My pack is eerily light. I returned to the airport at 3:45 the designated time. Why we need to be there an hour before the flight is a bit of a mystery. This little dual prop plan can accommodate thirty passengers. After a couple of minutes we landed in Changinola, stayed for a couple of minutes and flew onto Panama City, landing at Albrook airport, a small airport inside town.

My taxi driver took two Argentines to Texas and proceeded with me to Luna's Castle in Casco Viejo. Upon arriving I gave him twelve quarters. He insisted that the fare was $5. I insisted that he "eat me". I have done this trip scores of times. It's always $2.50.

Luna's Castle was out of rooms. I told them I would sleep in the theater a room which doubles as a dorm. My third level bunk was at least 10 feet off the floor. My hips and shoulder dug into board beneath the thin mattress if I didn't lie flat on my back. When I awoke people were scattered everywhere. Not a sound, not a breath or a snore.

I will try to rest today. It will be a sleepless night. You ask people to wake you up and they don't taxi drivers who promise to come don't show. Then for a long haul to the airport, a flight to Miama a long layover and a flight to Heathrow which is havoc over the snow.

Christmas in London

Panama, I shall return, to embrace you and be embraced by you as I wander, with a spring in my steps, lost in blissful thoughts and wordless conversation through and with boundless beauty. In the meantime, I shall be finding a long lost self as I explore the depth that lies beyond those brown windows of the soul, warmed by another heart, while the frigid London air questions my sanity. It's been a long time coming.

Gestures

Hungry as hell. The band stopped playing. I went to the kitchen to cook up a little grub. What's another chicken breast? A band member was supine on the couch. Are you hungry? "Si." Off to the chino to buy some chicken breast.

Upon my return the cook came into the kitchen. "Do you know what you are doing?"
"Just going to make a little late night snack."

"I'll whip you something up." The kitchen has been closed for three bours.

So... I got a couple of chicken burritos. But still... I have promised some grub to the band member so I am off to the kitchen to make what I was going to make. A couple of chicken burritos.

A man is only as good as his word.

Bastimentos

The Mamaloca bar needed some limes so some of the part time helpers were sent to go collect some. I had never seen the farm so I hopped along for a ride. We took a 26 foot panga across the bay. As we rounded the point to the unsheltered waters of the Caribbean the swells neared five feet. The captain surveyed the waters and the channel concluded that it was not safe to attempt to make a landing on this side.



A "camino viejo" old trail made of sand held in place with wooden slats made for easy and scenic walking. After traversing the width of the island we headed along the beach, found another trail to climb back over a muddy trail to the other side. This walk was much muckier and I immersed my boots over the top in muck repeatedly. I was glad I had decided to wear long pants. After our second traversal we walked further along the beach on the and finally arrived a the appropriate spot in front of the farm. The view after a hundred meters of ascent was spectacular. The old farmer certainly had an appreciation for the merits of the aesthetic.

I lingered at the farmhouse, the boys continued up to pick limes by the bagful. Mamaloco goes through a hell of a lot of limes. Congratulations Chester.

The big chef treated a group of friends to sausages accompanied by vegetables. I had never had chayote before, but it will certainly not be the last. The band returned and the place started to fill up again. Half the people were locals, owners of resorts on adjacent islands and miscellaneous proprietors. This lead to the stories of Bocas. Everybody had a tale. I have several myself.

The band was the same as Wednesday night, but this time it was reggae alternated with trippy, all in all it was a wonderful performance.

Music and Mayhem

Just trying to help out here, I fixed a couple of computers, a lock and the security video system in the morning. After a long walk I returned to Casa Verde and introduced myself to a very charming Dutch couple. We sat there and shot the shit for hours. It was drizzling and there was not much else to do.

It was music night at Casa Verde. The eight o'clock music started right on time, in Banana's country, shortly after nine. The Dutch returned with a bunch more of their traveling companions. The place filled up and everybody had a wonderful time. The police showed up, better to hang out here than walk the streets. I offered my chair to the police chief. Hester, a Dutch girl that is staying here joined in to the group. She said something in Dutch and then apologized profusely for not having spoken in English. I had to laugh.

Three guys tried to throw a fourth into the ocean. He had wrapped himself around a pole. I walked over and said quietly. “Don't do it, or you will be permanently banned from this place.” They looked at me like I was crazy. I said, “I mean it.” They let him go. Chester, the owner said, “Jim, nicely done. Great having you here.”

The show ended early and people left to go to Aqua Lounge. Walter had never been there. I decided to show him why he doesn't go there, but I was out of cash. The police took me to the bank in the back of a paddy wagon, but the ATM was drained as people had exhausted the supply of cash and it was Mother's Day. We went to a hotel and talked with the owner, an Italian friend of Walter's who speaks no English. The owner lent me a $100. Walter told me I was the only American ever allowed into the hotel; I don't think he was jerking my chain.

We walked down to the water taxi station and took a boat over to Aqua Lounge. Girls were swinging on swings, people were staggering about. Behind the bar, the baretender was standing, shirtless, his pants down to his crotch, his ass fully exposed as he was spanked by a barmaid. A girl was leaning against a stair rail, not a very happy person. Her purse had just been stolen. Never take anything to the lounge of the pirates.

People started to leave in droves, thirty people on a boat not fit for twenty. We took a later water taxi and returned Isla Colon. Walter, ever the more sane, left for home. I saw a guy sitting on his front stoop and stopped to ask him what was bothering him. Kid trouble. I listened for three hours. A few words about the fact that kids go through phases and reassurance that with love and attention it will pass and he was feeling much better.

Sarah

This morning I was introduced to a very cute blonde girl by the woman who is running this place and then she said "This is Sarah, she wants to sleep in your bed tonight." I looked Sarah up and down, looked into her face quizzically, I had never met her. Sarah gave me a big smile and then broke out laughing. "So we are moving you to a different room." Funny way to give a guy an upgrade.

But the woman who runs this place is a Czech with non-spectacular command of English and may be devoid of a sense of humor. Sarah and I have been laughing about it all day.

Bocas del Toro, Panama - day one

Tonight I was greatly pleased to see that Casa Verde had completed a major renovation, including a restaurant and bar and that people were filling the rooms and restaurant to capacity. I expected to meet with a very good friend, which was realized and had the great pleasure of meeting with another very good friend who had come in from Florida.

We were joined by two very charming young Dutch women and sat and chatted all night. Unfortunately after the lightweights left I was informed by one remaining friend that all of the stuff I had stored at his house in Panama had recently been under four feet of water as a torrent of water inundated his house, tour down walls and destroyed his landscaping while filling his house with two feet of mud. Although I have apparently lost $1,000 in electronics and about $500 dollars in other goods, I felt more sorry more my friend.

Uvita to David

Breakfast followed by a quick packing and room inspection was followed by a quick peck on Josephina's cheek, the woman who has been bringing me breakfast poolside for the last eleven days. I don't even have to walk into the restaurant she noticed me at the table and brought coffee unsolicited, sure that I would never turn it down. What a great place, I will have to write up a tripadvisor report.

8:00 Walking to bus terminal, except I don't know where it is and I never asked. It's a small town when I get close I'll ask; it can't be hard.

A few minutes after I arrived at a the bus stop I met a Norwegian guy in his mid forties
"Que hora pora bus hasta Palmar Norte?" What time is the bus to Palmar Norte?
"8:40" English!

8:45As I tried to board the conductor held his hand, not saying a word.

"Quento Questo?" How much does it cost?
"Hasta?" To where?
"Palmara Norte."
"mil quinientos" One thousand five hundred Colones.

Three 500 colone coins were tendered.

The bus had three seats on the left side of the narrow aisle and two seats on the right. I walked across the street and talked

It was difficult to walk my pack exceeded the width of the aisle but I finally managed to make back to a row with three adjacent unoccupied seats. I put my back pack on one, may day pack on another and took the aisle seat.

The Norwegian takes a seat net to a middle aged not very attractive tico woman, although there are plenty of unoccupied seat pairs. Within fifteen minutes she is examining the crown of his nearly shaved head, puts his hand around his shoulder and gives him a kiss on the forehead. It looks like a sympathy kiss. Just another mystery of travelling.

9:20 Thirty people board standing in the aisles. I move my day pack on top of my back. The conductor wants to fit it on the overhead shelf. The only way he could pull that off would be to jam the big SLR camera through the cover of the computer. No way I am going to let that happen. I moved over a seat and an old man takes the seat next to me with part of his right cheek hanging out into the aisle.

More people board. Pressed flesh to flesh in an unairconditioned bus. I contemplate offering my seat to one of women stating in the realized that no good deed goes unpunished and that something could easily be removed from my pack. Even worse I would be pinned between her two daughters, my crotch bumping into the back of the younger girls head while her sisters face would be banging into my ass.

9:48 People disembark in droves. The old man vacates his seat. A cute tico girl takes his place. She would obviously lean into me than the asses in the aisle. Ok, this is getting awkward, you're seventeen and rubbing me from leg to shoulder with the side of your body. Worse things have happened. Think pure thoughts.

10:30 I fought my way down the aisle passed the people that would be resuming, wearing a pack. It was an effort with no people in the aisles, now it was a battle. People boarding the bus cluster around the doorway, presumably fighting to get on for the seats so they don't have to sit in the aisle. No orderly queuing down here. Now how the hell am I supposed to get through all of you to step down off the bus? The sun was bright in my eyes, I reached up to pull down my... dammit, left the hat on the bus. This time I just barged past the queue, pushing them, urgently trying to get on the bus before the aisle were so crowded they could not be navigated. I put my daypack on the console and explained, "Regresso, solo necessito mi Sombrero", which probably means nothing. I looked in occupied seats next to the windows in the middle of the bus. After I asked a couple of people if they had seen my sombrero, the woman who had been sitting in front of me pointed behind her. I stuck out my hand to the kid who had denied having seen one, he sheepishly pulled it out from under the seat where he had hidden it.

I found the ticket office.

"Que hora pora bus haste David, Panama?" What time is the bus?
"No."
"Como?" Excuse me?
"No."
"Este bus hasta Fronterra?" Is there a bus to the border?
"Si" Yes
What the F**k, could you be a little less helpful?
"Necessito otro pora David?"Do I then need another bus for David?"
"Si."
"Que hora este?" What time is it?
"Manana" Tomorrow WTF?
"Primera bus este no hoy?"The next bus is not today?
"Once" Elevent
"Hoy?" Today?
"Si." Wow this woman says less than Helen Keller
"Yo necessito compare billete hasta Fronteras"In need to buy a ticket to the border
"En el autobús"On the bus.


So I sat and read on a concrete bus bench in the tropical sun, no shade was provided.

Hungry, I hit a soda, a small cafe that serves typical cuisine. I ordered something I had never heard of before as a comidas, which is as previously explained the meat course served with a salad, rice, beans and sometimes yucca. Five minutes later, my liver and onions was served. Far more food than I could eat, I skipped the rice. 2,300 colones, about five dollars.

8,000 colones in coins were traded in for bills. The quick way to lose a few pounds.

The eleven o'clock bus showed up at 11:44 followed very short by hawkers incessantly enumerating their products, each flavor of juice in a little plastic bag is separately announced, the fried goods, they work on out announcing one another in louder and louder voices.

As I tried to board the conductor just looked at me, not saying a word. This is getting weird.

"Quento Questo?" How much does it cost?
"Hasta?" To where?
"Fronteras."
"de mil ochocientos" One thousand eight hundred Colones.


I gave him two one thousand notes, he made no gesture as if he was going to give me change. There were people behind me. It's just not worth dicking over 50 cents right now.

I walked to the rearmost seat that was unoccupied. One woman gave me her most unpleasant look, presumably to revile me into taking another seat. I responded by sitting next to her. Both my bags sat in the aisle.

14:09 We are dropped off at the border with no explanation. No indication where customs is, where emigration is, if we are going to continue to Panama for the other side. No customs or immigration forms are provided. Tracopa this is not a class act.

I recalled where the Costa Rica office was from my trip to this spot five months ago. Applause please! I can't find my car in a parking lot. The line moved very slowly each person taking ten minutes. When I got to the front of the queue I was processed in thirty seconds, I guess this was to balance the karma of some of my previous border crossings. If I don't get to an embassy soon and get a bunch of pages added to my passport I won't be allowed to cross borders anymore.

I managed to find the Panama office. Yup, just walk down streets on this porous border until you are in Panama and look for the right building. There was a special queue for indigenous people and several hundred Kunas, all women about four feet tall in their colorful garb, some with children, all girls as I recall. Our queue moved imperceptively.

A bus parked on the curb, four feet from the line and idle, spewing black clouds of diesel exhaust, particulate unburned carbons, carbon monoxide, it was horrendous. People were obviously uncomfortable but didn't want to leave their place in the queue. There were no passengers in the bus, they weren't set to take off, the driver was running his air conditioning. I left the line, walked up to the window and banged, really frigging hard on his window five times. "Muy peligroso, toxico. Vamoose." and pointed at the exhaust. He pulled the bus forward fifty feet, shut it off and got out of the bus and glared at me. The people in line thanked me.

A female tax collector walked my with a little sticker, which must be in my passport before I can have my entry stamp. Standing directly next to me she yelled very loudly to some guy across the street, it was like cannon fire. I gave her a US 10 but she had no change. Not in Panama too now. I gave her a 500 colone coin but she insisted that I give her 600, I should be the one punished that she doesn't have the change.


Only one line was open. After more than an hour I got near the window, I was next. Some guy came up rattling to me in Spanish. I told him I didn't understand him. He cut in line ahead of me. I put my big back right in front of him, then kicked the rear, spinning the bag, banging him with my walking stick. He started talking rapidly to the guys behind me in Spanish. I heard the word "Gringo" and "Americano" from him repeatedly, they guys just smiled bemusedly. I was processed in a couple of minutes. Then he stuck his passporte in the window and said "I'm a Panamanian, we don't have to wait." What the hell? Both what you said and the fact that that you said it in English." I don't know if this is true, but there certainly was no special window for them or any sign indicating this. I replied, "Yo pensionado." I have special residency privileges.

Time to get my bags inspected. Very strange you are supposed to wander down the street, find the building have some form not available at customs and have them inspect your bags. Why not just walk to the bus stop? Oh, they won't check your bags on the bus until they see you exit the customs building. So I went in one door, waited a minute and walked out the other, without having my bags inspected.

Time to change up my money. I had received my colones at the rate of 510 to the dollar. The change guy wanted to sell me dollars for 535 colones apiece. I turned to walk away, he dropped his price to 530, my bus was starting to board. So I counted my money and he did a quick calculation, under crediting me by 10,000 colones when he used his calculator, I had computed it on my own and showed him my number. I counted the money again really slowly for him and entered the calculations on his calculator. He pulled out the equivalent amount in dollars, but tried to short me a twenty. He did everything but give me counterfeit bills.

I hoped on the bus which left three minutes later and found myself in David. After an hour.

Hungry I walked into a chino, a cafeteria style restaurant invariably run by, to no great surprise, the Chinese.

A local ordered fish and rice and paid $2.75. I ordered the same thing and paid, $3.75, I didn't say anything, maybe I misheard what she said to the other guy. The guy behinds me gets charged $2.75 for the same thing. Lot's of people waiting in line, try to embarass the lady to return my buck at the expense of those waiting to eat or not.

A two dollar cab fare took me to the purple house, a hostel. A few people sit facebooking. The owner was very brusque as I started to give myself a self guided tour. This is a four bedroom house, how much explanation is required? "I'll show you where to go, but you have to be behind me." Wow! She is a gringo. The place is very clean home in a funky purple way. The other hostel in town is Bambu, which is akin to sleeping in rural brothers outbuilding next to the tractor.

Young Europeans backpackers flowed in for hours, the backpackers beautiful people began. All friendly and considerate.

"I'm so sorry, do you mind if I turn this light on?" she asked as she wanted to see what was in the book exchange.
"Not at all."
She picked out a book and said "I left my last book on the bus."
"Well, I hope you hadn't started it."
"I know, yes, I was a hundred pages into it, it was really good."

Off to Bocas.

Uvita to Cortes via chicken bus.
Cortes to Palmar Norte via chicken bus.
Palmar Norte to David, Panama via Tracopa Bus.
David, Panama to Lost and Found for a couple of days.
Then off to Bocas del Toro.

A lot of long layovers.

Somebody needs a four wheel drive and a long term traveling companion.

Lesson learned.

Don't overtip the maids unless you want a very extended sheet turn down service.

Ten thousand colones is a huge amount of money to these women.

Class is dismissed.

Too awesome

What have I done?

Oh, what have I done? Why have I done it?

This should be a lot of fun, but parting is such sweet sorrow. It might hurt me badly.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Uvita, Costa Rica, Day 1

Keith, my real estate agent met me after breakfast at my hotel. He brought with him listings of a large number of properties. Costa Rica is crazy expensive relative to the rest of Central America. For me, this proves to be an attraction. The bay islands in Honduras are wonderful and very cheap. Dives are $25 to $30 a tank. Here they are $150 for a two tank dive. One of the reasons is that in the bay islands the reefs are ten minutes off shore, here it is a two hour boat ride, that's a lot of gas.

Why would I want to run an eco lodge and then rent out cabins for $25 a day when they can be rented out here for three or four times as much? Besides, there is so much more wildlife in Costa Rica.

We looked at many lots, some on the beach and much more expensive ones up the mountain. A ten minute drive can get one fantastic panoramas of the ocean and mountain views in a much cooler setting. We dined in Dominical where I had mahi-mahi tacos. They were wonderful, but they should be at eight bucks for two. In Nicaragua they would have been about $3. Right after we sat down a very hot tica waitress came over and handed Keith some money. I held my hand out but rather than give me money she just gave me wonderful little giggle. I raised my eyebrows inquisitively but did not vocalize a question. Keith explained that every time somebody comes down to visit he has them bring a bunch of panties from Victoria's Secret and that every barmaid and waitress in town has bought from him.

Keith has pretty much persuaded me that I should just build a really nice house on a great location. He assures me that I could rent it out on a weekly basis for $1,500 to $2,000 with at least 50% occupancy. Any real estate company in town will market the houses and charge 15% of the rental. That would yield a ten percent return or so on an essentially passive business. Tuesday I shall go over some of his booking numbers with him. Property values are temporarily depressed so there should be appreciation. The neighborhood is very upscale with many homes between 1.2 and 2.6 million dollars. We shall see, I think some of these property owners need to realize that they overpaid four years ago.

On the way to Ometepe

As I paid the internet fee for the last post I bought a BonBon and gave it to the hat girl. She acted like had just given her a car. I walked past an electronics stall and saw three micro speakers and thought that they might be a nice addition to my iTouch. A woman and a young woman, presumably the daughter worked the booth. I saw three sets of speakers labeled with three different brands, all of the speakers were the same price. A truly horrible communications non exchange occurred as I attempted to inquire which one was the best. The older woman backed away with my initial question, she was not going to subject herself to talking to me. The young woman tried valiantly to understand my question as the older woman tried her best not to break out laughing. I finally asked her which was her preference and she took one out and showed it to me, then I asked her why. She took out her cell phone and plugged it. Ahhh... they are different connectors for different cell phones, the brand name indicated compatibility not manufacturer. I finally understood why they were so confused. I just said "Loco gringo" and they both broke out laughing and gave me a big smile.

Despite my general aversion to eating Yankee food I stopped by Burger King to get a burger. Three guards armed with shotguns stood by the door. I said "These must be the most valuable damn hamburgers in the world." None of them understood me. A street vendor was hawking oranges, 20 for a dollar. Remembering the BonBon I bought a bag and walked past the police station. I took one out of the bag and underhanded it to one of the cops on the porch. The next cop held out his hand and I threw him one then walked down the sidewalk and threw one to each of the cops in succession. One cop reached over and intercepted one intended for the next guy in line. I wagged my finger at him and threw the cop another one. People started to point and watch. I walked down the street and every time I passed a traffic cop I handed him or her an orange and never broke stride. Not a one of them didn't hold their hand and accept it. Then I strolled back to the bus stop. A while later a guy was waiting for the bus and I asked him if he wanted to go out for an ice cream. As we walked by the police station I threw an imaginary orange, he made an imaginary catch. We walked into the mall and I repeated my universal crazy person gesture to the cell phone woman and they burst out laughing. The guy I was with wondered why people responded so strongly to my strange and apparently arbitrary gestures. We walked by the girl in the hat, now Miss BonBon and she gave me a big wave and a smile. My companion was completely befuddled. I offered no explanation. I just said, "I've been told I have a strange affect on people. It seems natural to me."

When I returned I ran into Kris, who turned out to be my new travelling buddy. At two o'clock we boarded the huge double decker bus. My seat was a full recliner. The bus had WiFi, this was going to be a good trip. The audio for the movies was played softly, if you wanted it loud, you plugged in your headset. These guys had it down. We headed out.

We stopped at a bus transfer station, a lovely hotel. I walked across the street to get some food. Painted on the wall of the store was a notice that they had turtle eggs for sale, I inquired inside, yes they were sea turtle eggs; I felt a wave of nausea but bought two large chicken tamales for a dollar anyway. There was a high level of agitation in the store indicating that my bus was about to leave. The tamales were too hot to carry. I insisted on a bag and they scurried to accommodate. I ran back across the street, there was no great urgency, people were slowly boarding. Unfortunately our new bus was a Mercedes Marco Polo, not nearly as roomy, no reclining seats, no wifi, no headset jacks. The rest of this trip was not going to be nearly as pleasant.

Time?

A woman came down and handed out immigration forms for the crossing from Honduras into Nicaragua. A swedish woman came back to me, all distraught "Jim, we don't have the $26 dollars that we need for the border crossing, nobody told us. Can you lend us some money?" I indicated that I didn't have it either, but that I would change some limpare at the boarder and I would go with them through immigration; she didn't have to have the bus company handle it.

The bus conductor was trying to fill out forms but couldn't see because it was dark. I pulled my trusty flashlight out of my fanny pack, attached the diffuser, set the flashlight on high and illuminated half the bus.

18:54 We exited the bus. Money changers stood by with fists of cash four inches thick ready to exchange money in the dark. Out came my flashlight again and we all calculated our exchange rate able to count the money. Some kids came over trying to sell some tiny little chinese shitty flashlights. "Fuerte?" Strong? "Si, muy fuerte!" "Yes,very strong" I turned one on pointed it at the ground, the light could barely illuminate my boots. I took out my light again and shone mine over the top of theirs; it was like daylight. They let out a gasp and then offered again to sell me a flashlight. I gave the swedes a sufficient amount of Nicaraguan Cordoba and walked them over to immigration. They were quickly processed. The guy looked at my passport for 10 minutes, flipping page after page looking for my entry stamp, I told him it was on page 17. He ignored me and kept looking through the book. What the hell, now? Finally a woman went over to him, flipped to page 17 and pointed to the stamp. He gave me an exit stamp. We all reboarded the bus and headed over to Nicaraguan immigration. The officer had the passports for every other passenger on the bus; they had been delivered by the conductor. He would not process mine until he went through every one of them. Ten minutes later he picked up mine and examined it for at least five minutes. What the hell is going on here? Finally he stamped my passport. He told me I owed $12 which I handed to him. Then he told me I owed the woman at the next window a dollar. She refused to take and told me to pay the first guy. This time he accepted the dollar. This was very weird.

19:50We gathered by the bus waiting to board. Kris was talking about a hike he took and said the guide held the group back. He indicated the guy was "Really old. Over fifty." I said nothing. We all boarded the bus and it just idled for over an hour. Apparently they were missing something. Finally immigration figured that the Swedes had shorted them what amounted to one dollar, which collected, and we left.

We pulled in Managua a little after twelve. The Swedes, Kris, and I huddled at the entrance with Pedro, a new guy. The guide books were consulted and we reached a consensus on our destination. A cabbie said he could take us for $10. We walked to his cab, no way we could all fit with all of our luggage. I said we should just take the station wagon out front. He indicated he would make two trips for the same amount of money. We left Kris and Pedro. Pedro asked us not to pay the guy, wanting to be sure that he would return.

The Swedish woman kept inspecting rooms, they were too small for her taste. Jesus, it's one o'clock what activities are going to be up to in that room? Pedro and Kris showed up. I said I would partner if somebody wanted to save $5 but I would be just as happy to have my own room. Pedro and Kris partnered. Pedro asked the guy at the hotel to go out and buy a six pack. He returned with four warm and two cold beers. Kris a Brit was happy to take two warm beers. We shot the shit, swapping travel stories until we realized it was three in the morning and retired.

My bed had a thin sheet with no top sheet or blanket.

This is getting way too long. To be continued.

San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

Yesterday I bought a round trip ride to Playa Maderas yesterday for 100 cordoba, around $5. Eleven passengers in the back of a pickup, seven male youths from all over Europe and Australia, a Portuguese woman and a woman from Quebec. The guys were all going surfing, the woman just to enjoy the beach. A few minutes after I arrived I ordered a fish taco which turned out to be a nasty bit of work. There was not a lot to do or see so I bought a bottle of water and headed back up the road to check out the pigs that had triangles of wood lashed around their necks, presumably to prevent them from crawling under the barbed wire into the jungle. Within minutes it began to rain and I returned. I sipped my water while being subjected to awful hip hop played unpleasantly loud. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, but there was no transport until five. Two more joined us on the return trip. Rather than subject the Quebeci to the last seat I took it and rode the half hour back to town with one cheek hanging off the bench. This is not my kind of town. To be fair, I could only get a hotel room, in a grotty little hotel with horrific internet. One chair on the top balcony has sufficient WIFI strength to connect. The hostels are all full, so I am without companionship, which results in a serious downgrade in my estimation.

It is seven thirty in the morning. Get some coffee, pick up my laundry and buy a Tika Bus ticket to San Jose, Costa Rica. With any luck I can get on the ten o'clock bus, make it San Jose by five, buy a lens cap for my SLR camera, which was lost in the salt flats of Bolivia, and catch a bus to Uvita on the south Pacific coast.

Tomorrow or the next day I will attempt to rent a house on the beach and stick around for a couple of months. A place to hang my hat. Me? Yeah, I know. I have some serious catch up to do on the computer science book I am writing and some miscellaneous business to transact.

Zopilote

Friday, November 19, 2010

As I was transcribing my notes from my discussion with the old Indian a couple approached the kitchen and palapa which serves as a gathering place for people staying here. They related the fact that they had seen a kid kill a boa constrictor with a rock the other day and that this morning they found a scorpion in their bed. A bit later as I walked by reception there was a bit of a fuss as one of the volunteers here was turning over rocks, attempting to locate the coral snake the couple had just seen. I tried to tell them how fortunate they were as I had never encountered a coral snake in all my years of snake hunting. Erin was not overjoyed by their encounters. TODO elapid fingers, toes,,

Later in the evening people sat around and smoked massive amounts of pot and sat in stoned silence. TODO As I headed off to bed, Sanand, the husband saw me and came running out of his cabin. Apparently they were concerned about a large tarantula that had taken up residence in their cabin. I asked him to get me a cigarette and I would take care of the problem. Several minutes later I returned and attempted to replay the manner in which I had observed an Indian in Bolivia passivate and catch a tarantula. I took a big hit and bent over to blow on the big spider my face six inches from the big spider. As soon as the smoke hit it the spider jumped. I jumped back and loudly emitted the most profane of obsceneties. Erin screamed. Time to use traditional techniques. We located a large plastic bowl and I covered the spider and coaxed it over the lip of the plastic lid of a recycling bucket. I walked down the path a couple of hundred yards and dropped it in the jungle next to the trail.

Saturday November 20

For my final adventure in Ometepe I decided to Kayak the Istiam River. I walked through the nearby town of Santa Cruz, hooked a right and walked for another 10 minutes. I found a place that rented Kayaks but there was no river access. I grabbed a bus but it let me off in the town of Santa Cruz; it did not continue to my intended destination which was midway between Santa Cruz and Merida so I started the one hour walk. I have no particular aversion to walking, but I was burning daylight. Ten minutes into my walk a van drove by, I flagged it down and for $2 they took me to my destination which was doubly fortunate as there were no signs indicating that this road led to the kayak rental place.

Within a couple of minutes I had secured a kayak. With no paperwork or deposit I was set to go. I emptied the contents of my pockets into my boat bag and headed out across the lake in search of the river; I had declined the opportunity to be accompanied by a guide. After I rounded the first corner the vegetation betrayed the location of the river which was sure to be on one end or the other of the marsh grasses. I set a course for the far side and half an hour later entered the mouth of the river. The poster described the location as having, among other things, “infidad de aves”, an infinite number of birds; it wasn't far from wrong.

I alternated paddling with drifting. After building up as much speed as I could muster I coasted over to various locations where there were interesting birds to observe. Even without paddling this disturbed many of them but by staying completely silent and motionless the birds would return or those that had stayed but froze themselves resumed their activities, hunting for fish in various ways and singing. Occasionally I had to traverse large extents of lilies, duck weed and other vegetation. I stopped near some monkeys who decided to come over and investigate although I refused to allow them to position themselves directly overhead as they are known to express their discontent by urinating or defecating on intruders.

Deep in the canopy under trees that were formerly on the banks that were now in the water of the rain swollen river I failed to observe that the sky was darkening. When I pulled into open water I decided to head back. I proceeded downstream and found my self in an impenetrable morass of water plants. Ok, where did I come in? I returned back up stream and found another branch with the same result. How many branches of the delta would be blocked? I stopped, looked at the two volcanoes to determine which way was west and set another course. After spying the lake I turned around and lingered for a bit and watched an egret hunt.

It was pizza night and the sun was setting so I paddled back to the kayak rental hostel setting a direct course, no meandering near the shore on this pass. In getting out of the kayak I almost collapsed. My legs had been straight in front of me for five hours and they buckled. A few minutes of walking around and I was fine. The sunset was about to begin, I decided I would rather miss dinner than the sunset so I stayed and read for a while while watching the sun. Three kids played near the shore and jumped off the top of a boat into the water while they sky palette was in constant flux, reflecting off the calm waters. TODO colors

After it got dark I headed back. Ometepe is very safe, unlike very many places in Central America, walking the rural roads alone at night is not a life threatening proposition. Five minutes into my walk a bus passed by and I got a ride back to Santa Cruz. Fifteen minutes later I met my friends at El Zopilote for another evening of the usual.

Sunday, November 21

While attempting to copy yesterday's pictures on to my external hard drive I encountered failure after failure. Windows would just hang, explorer would crash. I couldn't navigate the drive. Damn thing is failing or has failed. I rebooted into linux, mounted the drive and a five hundred gig drive that was filled to 97% capacity with music. After deleting about 70 gb of music from bands I had never heard of I started to copy off that which I could. Viewing the error log I was appalled to see how many bad sectors were on the drive. So I sit here and write boring stuff while I wait for the copy to complete. Sony, why, oh why did you give me one type two USB ports and two type ones? Slowly, ever so slowly the files are being copied off. Combine the slowness of USB type one with hundreds of retries on a failing drive and hours into this I have but 33 GB copied over.

I made a cup of coffee in the fashion. A pot of water was put on to boil, the gas turned off and very finely ground coffee was stirred into the water. A mesh bag of the fineness of pantyhose was lowered through a hole in the upper crossbar of a wooden frame designed for this purpose. A plastic cup was placed beneath the net and the coffee strained through it.

Later in the evening the crew watched “White Cat, Black Cat” from a DVD in a notebook computer. I lied down in a crib and read a book. When it was time to retire, I noticed my wallet lieing on the crib. All my pockets should have zippers and everything I own should be cabled to me.

Monday, November 22

“What time does the eleven o'clock bus come?”
“Around 11:30”

“What time does the one o'clock ferry leave?”
“Around 1:30 because the bus will be late.”

Hmm. Two hour bus ride to cover something that a mini van can cover in forty minutes. I have things to do. We'll see what happens.

I packed up my stuff. The clothes I set out to dry didn't. My shirt, strewn over a stump had a couple of worms on it and was covered with ants. I shook out the shirt, beating it against my cabin and placed it and the funky socks in my laundry bag. The rest of the goods I had brought were placed in my backpack and I headed down to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Most of the crew were leaving or planning to leave. Jessica had her usual level of commitment which was vacillating between some sort of action or lieing in a hammock reading arcane literature. Most of the rest were going to Grenada, a market town. I decided to head to the beach, San Juan del Sur, on the Southern Pacific. For a couple of hours I frustrated myself trying to recover pictures from this year. I had accumulated over seventy gig of pictures and my hard drive was failing fast. I booted my notebook under linux and ran an rsync operation in verbose mode.

Around eleven I headed down the hill and encountered Lee hobbling down with the aid of a makeshift walking stick. She had previously had a bad encounter with a bus, snagging her backpack in the door as the bus moved on. Elizabeth was carrying Lee's backpack. The bus showed within minutes of 11:30 . We traveled for thirty five minutes and disembarked at the transfer point with a dozen other tourists heading for Moyagulpa, crossed the road to join another half dozen or so that had reached the transfer point, presumably from the opposite direction. I stood in the aisle with eight other people for about twenty minutes until a seat freed up. We arrived in Mayagulpa at 1:10 and I wasted five minutes trying to assist Lee with her pack. She headed down to the ferry a walk of less than 100 meters. I asked the man at the ferry to wait while I ran back to Hospidaje Central to grab my boat back. No luck. I sauntered up the hill with my backpack and daypack, which was, as usual, crammed with electronics and photography gear.

The old Indian was behind the restaurant counter; I told him I needed my bag and I had to run. He was very disappointed that I wasn't going to sit around for weeks documenting his tales. Burdened by yet another thirty pounds I headed back down the hill. The ferry was gone. Ahhh well. I turned around and headed to my favorite restaurant. I had a huge order of ceviche, a fish the size of a serving platter and a separate plate of cucumbers, tomatoes and rice. The sauce, served separately was a mayonaise base with onions and jalepenos. No wonder those girls the other night said it was the best fish they had ever had. The fish, served whole, was lightly fried with flaky white flesh and large bones. It was a hell of a meal. The bill came to 200 cordoba, around $19 USD.

As the time for the three o'clock launcha neared it started to rain. I have wet bags, boat bags, ditty bags. I am pretty much ready for any unforeseen expedition on water in boats of dubious merit. Accommodations for the rain were made and my rain cover for the backpack was put in place. I walked the 100 yards down to the dock and was told there was no three o'clock launcha and that I would have to wait for the four o'clock ferry so I returned to the restaurant.

Nearing four I returned to the dock, the next wave of tourists were flooding out of the boat. I approached the registrar who was filling in the names, ages and nationalities of people who walked past him, all locals. I, of course, had to enter the information into the passenger manifest myself.

This time I took a seat in the lower salon. After freeing up some space in my windows partition I copied files from my camera storage and edited my pictures of the previous three days and headed astern in the vehicle area, encountering a Spaniard. We chatted for a bit, his girlfriend, from Miami joined us. They related their stories. Their exploration of the island was in the dual cab Toyota Luxman truck next to which we were standing. As we docked the Spaniard asked me if I wanted a ride to Rivas. Hell yeah! Two other Nicas asked if he was going to Managua and if they could hitch a ride; after receiving an affirmative response they hopped into the bed of the truck. The girl's sister had been living in Nicaragua for six years and now called herself a Nica. As we pulled into Rivas a woman recognized the truck and went into excited animation. What a sight. Shake it, baby, shake it. She got in the back seat next to me and asked me where I was going. I wanted to say “wherever you go, I will follow” but I recognized that I was ten years too late for that action. Within a block she told me that this is where I could catch my bus, or a taxi, “Don't pay more than $15”. Thanking all, I exited, my pulse elevated from the most delightful woman I had seen in five hours.

I stood at the bus stop for less than five minutes, a car drove by, “San Juan del Sur?” I flagged him, he turned around, I asked him the price... $15, “Bien”, and we headed out. My chosen hotel was fully subscribed and told the driver, “Necissito otro hotel” I took the room in which I am currently writing this. Ostensibly they had WIFI but there were but a couple of hotspots, about the size of a chair. I tried to connect in the balcony and banged the living shit out of my head on a beam while traversing it. The room is $15, I proffered a 500 cordoba note, the matron didn't have the 180 change. Nobody has change north of Costa Rica. I'll find another place tomorrow, I don't like hotels, I like hostels. I want to mingle with other people. I'll give up TV and air conditioning for companionship.

Saving a culture - Help me out here reddit.

I have long said, "If it's not on google it doesn't exist." I was wrong.

The Lno Indians of Ometepe, Guatemala have their own language, glyphic writing system, and religion. There are but 22 adults left. I am in daily contact with the 80 year old Harvard educated "voice of the people." They are looking for a way to raise one million dollars to buy a 622 acre of land on which the people would relocate. They do not wish to own the land, they don't believe in land ownership, they wish to be "guardians of the land." They would invite hundreds of people of any race or nationality that wish to learn their language and culture to preserve it before it disappears. Living for free in paradise would just not suck.

I am welcome to any serious ideas. Please don't make this a joke thread.

Thank you and wish them luck.

Tegucigalpa, Honduras

At five o´clock the taxi driver showed up. We pulled up to the gate, this time he decided not to go under it. We walked my bags to the terminal, two women were at the Sosa counter and 1,826 Limpare later and five minutes later I had a ticket to Tegucigalpa, Honduras. I didn´t have a ten, I have my driver a fifty and he returned thirty, fair enough. I checked my backpack, which in the US would have cost me a $75 overage. Spying the food court, I set up camp and continued programming. At ten to six a little kid ran up with 90 eggs and opened up the restaurant. At precisely six some woman presumably his mother entered and the shutters were opened. I order juevos ranchero and a coffee. Twenty minutes later I was served, my flight leaves in twenty minutes, but I am too hungry and this is too good so I finished off and got my coffee. This wonderful meal cost me 140 Limpare. I had to pay my airport tax of $2 then it took about 30 seconds to clear security.

We sat around and then some incredibly hot chick came in with a low cut dress, perfect everything and a lot of it showing, but it was a sun dress over a swimming suit on a tropical island; it didn´t look slutty. But every guy in the room turned his head. Even the guys with their wives and the wives just understood.

Time to watch a little TV then a ¨"Paso verde primero, rojo segundo" or something close. My boarding pass was red, I moved to the second group. It was funny looking at the guys faces when stunning hot walked down the aisle, the seats at the back had filled first, who would it be. The look on the guys face she sat next to was priceless.

All the craft were thirty passengers or so turboprops.
We took a fourteen flight to Ceiba, deboard the craft, the guy was asking us where we were going to give us boarding passes to our destinations without asking to see our tickets. We went into the terminal, another plane took off, and five minutes later we were boarding again. Some of us, miss hot wasn´t there.

Forty minutes later we pulled into Tegucigalpa. Some Americans in Roatan told me that Honduras was the poorest country in south america. I´ll have to check that out, I doubt it is true on a per capita basis. The houses were all very nice, late model cars in the airport parking lot. I met a taxi driver. Strangely enough they weren´t crowding the doors. Very smartly dressed man in gray suit and brown shoes. I told him I needed to get to a bus terminal to take me to Rivas, Nicaragua. Like the way I preplan this stuff? He started yelling to an American it is yelling down here it is just an excited extremely high volume level talking. I think he was offering to drive me to the border and I could get a bus there. Hell the border is five hours away. Nice car by the way, what kind of honda is this? A huge amount of space in the back room. We drove through down I took some pictures, short block buildings, barred windows and doors, old men leaning in door ways watching the world go buy and huffing bus exhaust. Young men clustered on stoops. Horns blaring, exhaust. Dirty streets, litter free being swept by women with brooms too small for the task, pushing upgright in that strange way they do down here. I wonder how long those brooms last.

Half an hour later we pulled into a tiny block building. I recalled this spot, that woman over there sodomized on a currency exchange last time I was here. The guy at the counter told me in spanish that they were all sold out, for $20 I could buy a ticket for 9:30 tomorrow. Fuck me, in the ass, with a hot poker. I inquired if there was another bus company in town he wrote down the name and advised me that they would be leaving today at two but cost $40. Ok, I get to leave today, the company is still in business so their busses must be a lot nicer than Tica Bus, let´s go. My driver took me over there, we pulled up in front of a hotel a shotgun toting guard in front a nice looking hotel. No, no, no, I don´t want a hotel for the night. I want to get the hell out of here. He walked me inside, sure enough it was a bus company. I bought a ticket, checked how much it cost to leave this country, $2. When you do it at the airport it is $25. She kindly gave me a place to store my bags. I asked where an internet cafe was. Three blocks down the street.

Buses, bus farts, fruit vendors, people hanging out of buses yelling their next destination, horns, more people yelling, more horns. About fifteen police men, in armored vests holding old assault rifles. I held up my camera, "Permissio", sure. The puffed out there chests and flexed a cop on the porch noticed and laughed.

I took a movie of two minutes of street traffic. I believe you´ll say, ¨"Yup, don´t need that." A big guard standing with his shotgun with a menacing look on his face in front of a bank. "¿Donde este cafe internet?" He snarled at me, looking like he would take a step back if he weren´t leaned against the wall. "Internet, computadora". No comprehension on his face. I pulled out one that worked before, "Facebook" made a silly face and pretended I was typing. He laughed put his gun in one hand and pointed down the street.

I entered the mall, put my hat on manequin´s head, took a picture, then asked the girl to pose for my collection. She was flattered and loving it, you´ll see by her face. Now I in the internet cafe having just caught up except for pics. I think I´ll go see what other wild stuff I can find three or four blocks from here.

Catch you tomorrow.

Cats

Back in the seventies the family vacation was in August, on Finch Creek Road, 37 acres of paradise, near Mancelona, Belaire, and Alden Michigan. Finch Creek was a trout stream, in piney woods that yielded to deciduous forests. The road ran north and south, given a compass I was told, "On this side of the road, head west." I wandered where I may. Kids these days are coddled. Let me fall and bruise. Cold creek came right out of the side of the hill, I found it, walked right to it in 1998 with my sis and a couple of brothers.

My dad sold a couple of acres on Elk lake to buy the place. He figured Elk Lake property values had peaked. The Elk Lake property value quintupled. The land on Finch Creek Road is probably still worth less than forty k. Dusty days as the cars drove by, now it is paved.

Mittens and Patches were the family cats. Mittens would come when you called him. He followed me through the woods. He was my dog. I had no idea that cats are generally antisocial.

Just some random thoughts going through my head.

Ride across Roatan

Notes that will probably never be fleshed out. If I had a netbook, I could write on a bus.

Rented scooter - piece of shit won't idle have goose it while holding both brakes.

The gardens, beautiful, great view from top. Many blocked trails.

Heading east. A Pepsi delivery track roars down on me and blow its horn. This thing is going as fast as it can. A Truck cuts around me. A taxi cuts around me. Three minutes later we are all bumper to bumper for the next 15 minutes.

Parrot Tree plantation, couldn't get served at restaurant.

Road side typico comidas. Oxtail was nasty. Fish was fried to rocks. 130 Limpares. No tengo cambio. I gassed up and got some change. WTF? I was told this tank would take me from one end of the island to the other twice. It won't get me to one end of the island.

Back to view point.

City after city on the bay, housing developments. Beautiful homes on lush gardens overlooking the Caribbean.

Dirt roads, riding directly into the sun, can't see, turning around.

Heading home it is getting dark. If I look through my glasses all the spray on them makes it impossible to see. If I pull them down, dirt and bugs fly in my eyes. Cars riding up my ass.

Made it home.

Head 'em up.. Move 'em out.

Packing was arduous. I am in a tiny room. Usually I have another bed to keep my stuff on. I had to take an inventory of all my stuff. I headed down to Reef Gliders to settle my account. They took my picture for my Advanced Diver Card. I gave them my son's address in Indiana. I have none. Paid my tab at the scooter rental and now I am trying to figure out my bus route.

It appears I have to take a ferry from Roatan to Ceiba at 6:00 in the morning and then sit around the terminal from 7:30 until 2:00. From there we make stops at Tela, Aeropuerto San Pedro Sula, San Pedro Sula, Siguatepeque and finally arrive at Tegucicalpa, where I will have to figure out how to get to Rivas Nicargua.

The bus companies site is http://www.hedmanalas.com/index.html, which everyone says is the best. To order tickets on line, you send an email to info@hedmanalas.com which bounces. I don't know what I am going to do if the bus is sold out. Teguicicalpa is not my kind of place apparently what one does when one gets there is head out to some near by cities and shop for souvenirs.

This is going to be a long haul.

I walked back to Reef Runners to get my temporary Advanced Card and asked a guy who works there how long the bus ride was going to be. He told me the airline was running a special it was 3,369 Limpare round trip. That was a hell of a deal, but apparently not available online. I tried to go online to see their flight schedules but their website was down This website is temporarily unavailable, please try again later.

Four hours after getting my bounced email message I got this.

We have Bus Service from La Ceiba to Tegucigalpa at 5:15 am, 10:00 am, 2:20
pm (with 8 hours of duration)
- Service Executive $ 25.00 round trip $ 50.00
- Service Plus: $ 30.00 round trip $60.00

Executive Service and Plus Service:
The difference is in that the chairs are more comfortable, Pullman seats,
(sofa) the snacks are better. TV, Restrooms.

let me know what type service do you want to travel?

The Following requirements to buy your ticket on line and I will send you
the confirmation number:

- date and hour of travel
- full names every passenger (name, middle name, surnames)
- passport numbers
- birth dates
- nationality
- number of credit or debit card to make a charge
- Expiration date of the card
- Type service

The Schedules are the same every day.

We hope that you travel with us.


Right. A one and a half hour ferry ride a wait of an hour and a half and an eight hour bus ride. And you want me to email my id and credit card information.

By now it was after five, the dive shop closed at six and Jennifer was busy with other customers. She hadn't filled out the information yet. Ok, please give it to Madam Wet Spot and
I'll pick it up from her when I get back from the airport.

Every day, walking down the street, "Want a taxi?" Now I wanted one so of course I couldn't find one. One the far end of town about one click I found three guys lean up against a taxi, shooting the bull. "How much for a round trip to the airport?" "Twenty-five" "Twenty." He looked at me wondering if I was going to walk, but accepted the rate.

A half hour later we pulled in. There was a crossing bar, he drove under it, I thought it was going to come through the window. A metal scraping sound. "Antenna." Just as I feared, there
was a row of stations, all unoccupied. I didn't see Central American Air. At the far end an
indescribably hot flight attendant with incredible flecked brilliant hazel eyes sat on a bench. "Pardon me where is Central American?" "Como?" Oh, we're back to Spanish again. English/Spanish, Dollars/Limpare, Liters/Gallons. "Aero Centro Americano?" Which is not its name, it's name is in English. "Primero estacion." Huh, there was a little booth, looked like something you would run a vending operation from at a grade school fund raiser on the other side of the airport and there were two guys in the booth.

I walked over, one guy was diddling with flashlights the other just looking off into space. From above the awful cacophony of construction, banging, hammering, metal against metal. They both seemed impervious. "Habla Ingles?" "Yes, I do." without the trace of an accent. How much
is a ticket to Tegucicalpa?" "1943 Limpare." "But round trip is..." and he finished "3369 Limpare, 177 dollars. But we don't fly tomorrow, it is charted." Ok, your web site is down, you are operating out of booth that wouldn't have got a passing grade in seventh grade workshop and you have chartered a regularly scheduled flight. "Sosa air has two flight tomorrow, one at 6:40 and one at 11:40." He never looked anything up, but I guess with only 8 flights a day and six competitors it's not that hard to remember.

So, I got in the cab and drove back. The driver wanted to pick me up in the morning. I told him to be here at 5:15. "Out of my brain on the 5:15". It seemed appropriate. I started Entwhistling it. I'll stop now. Hopefully I can buy and fly. Then a cab and a long bus ride.

Cheeseburger please.

"Hey, Rick, cheeseburger please."

"Man you've dropped a few. Sorry, the kitchen is closed."

"Can't be, that woman is cookin'. Jim, and you are?"

"That's my wife."

"Only in your dreams bud. Only in your dreams. Is this storm ever going to end?

Seven guys; one hot bar maid... only two eyes not watching the Jets.

Feeling a little better

I decided to walk to West Bay over road for a change of scenery. The walk is only 5.3 km; round trip doesn't get my days quota in. So I hooked a right at the end of town and walked up a hill and kept on walking up a hill. Not a lot going on in the center of this island, there is just lush vegetation and the occasional entrance to a resort. Two kilometers into this hike in the direct sun, temperature in the mid eighties, high humidity. At the 3k mark I stopped to catch my breath. Man I am one sorry son of a bitch. The view from the summit was pretty amazing, miles of jungle ending at the azure waters of the Caribbean.

West Bay is long expanses of white sand and luxury resorts. A few lucky sods have houses right on the beach, maybe forty feet from the water. Is that Charlie Parker? Where da hoes? I sat down at the ??? bar. This place did not sell bottled water, you bought water in paper cups or buy a $6 nalgene bottle or $8 aluminum bottle and get free refills for life. That was a good price for the aluminum bottle alone and it says "Roatan, Honduras" on it. I took one. The bartender said, "Did you just walk in from the West End?" "Yup." "Man, that is tough." The guy sitting next to me looked over at the bartender, I didn't see his expression but the bartender said, "He walked the road." The guy said "Wow!" and the girl said "You know you can come by beach." "Yahh, I did that a couple of days ago, but I needed a change of scenery all I have seen for the last five days is endless stretches of white beach and deep blue water." I don't think they knew what to make of that. In any event I was feeling a little better.

I walked to the dive center and inquired about the shark dive. Apparently for $100 you can you put yourself on the edge of a feeding frenzy of eight foot reef sharks. There is a big cage of dead bloody fish and when it is opened the sharks go nuts. Seems like a must do to me. Probably not everybody's cup of tea. "They don't answer their phone, they haven't answered it four days." "They must have caller ID I talked with a guy who went on the dive the other day. I'll check through my dive shop." I did notice that they have a package of 15 dives for $375. I'll have to talk with the guys back at Reef Runners and tell them we need to work out a better deal. I wouldn't go to West Bay, I can't go more than 100 feet here (West End) without a "Hey, Jim" from one of the local proprietors or diving buddies. West Bay is upscale, the staff at the resorts are just doing a job, not living the dream. The guys running their own businesses in the West End living the dream, in Paradise, loving life.

It looked like rain, great excuse to take a taxi back. I paid for my bottle with a twenty dollar US bill and was given my change in Limpare. With a quick calculation I realized that he actually had given me a damn good exchange rate, but still I asked for my change in dollars.

We had to wait for ten minutes some other passengers wanted to come along. The boat was moored offshore, I would have to take off my boots and wade over to the boat. When we got to the West End the step off the boat onto the dock dedicated for water taxi use was over 30 inches. There is next to no tide here. Get a clue.

Emasculation

This morning's dive was over. We emptied the boat of the dive gear. Around here people are expected to participate, carry the gear off the boat, rinse it, hang it up. It's part of diving.

Yesterday I wanted to give my divemaster, a pretty 25 year old blonde upon whose head I could readily rest my chin, a T-shirt that says, "I'm your dive master, not your bitch. Take care of your own gear." There is no such shirt, but if there were she wouldn't wear it. Instead she borrowed my guide shirt so she could go out as Steve Irwin to a Halloween party yesterday. She never asked me she just told the woman who owns the Wet Spot that the shirt I was wearing would be ideal, Madame Wet Spot asked me if Jennifer could borrow my shirt for the night. "I'll give you a free Don't sleep on the Wet Spot T shirt." I really don't need a T shirt, thanks, all my clothes are plastic. They dry in 10 minutes in the sun.

Jennifer was very embarrassed that I was asked. Then she told me that she couldn't use it because she was going to go as Steve Irwin and would have to put a big blood spot over the heart and it might not come out. "This shirt's life is over. I have worn it over a 80 times in adverse conditions, it has been torn and patched. When I get back down to Panama I'll pick up some others that I have stashed. A blood stain over the heart would just add some character."

I switched into the T shirt and handed her my shirt, she took a whiff of it and said "I don't know." Hell, I had been wearing all day sometimes after coming out of the sea and still wet; if you don't know, sea water gives everything a funk. Madame Wet Spot assured her that this just gave it some authenticity.

This morning I strolled into the dive shop wearing my T shirt, Jennifer gave me a half smile and a bit of a laugh with a "Hi, Jim." What now? I never asked, I don't know if I want to know. My shirt was hanging up to dry, quite a bit cleaner, but with a bit of residual blood stain in the central chest. There were many more speckles of blood on the shirt from my Bolivian Jungle days, it mattered not.

Now it was time to carry the dive gear to the shop. (Nice chronology) I hefted a few weight belts, and grabbed a BCD which was secured to a now empty tank. Jennifer said, "I'll take that one, it is heavy." Shoot me now.

Advanced Diver

With my drift dive I completed five adventure dives including my mandatory dives. I passed the knowledge review and now can get an Advanced Diver Certification. With this comes a card which is used at dive centers when one wishes to do deep diving. The most difficult part of this process seems to be getting my card. First of all, my forms require a home address but I am homeless. I am going to see if I can get it sent to a place I expect to be in a about a month. Processing takes two to six weeks. So I need to pick a place I will be six weeks from now that is really long range for me.

I'll try to get back and describe the various dives, it was a lot of fun. I have to go now and get ready for my night dive. I should have plenty of time tonight to blog as I watch the Halloween mayhem.

Jim and Pat Anderson, will be coming to Roatan on November 6. That is awesome, I was thinking I was going to have to hump my way down to Costa Rica, blowing through Nicaragua to catch them. Jim Anderson recruited me to RepublicBank Dallas in 1980 and is the man responsible for inflicting me on the State of Texas. Jim is now a great grandfather. Whew! We have a lot of catching up to do.

Cute Dog

A young blonde was walking an adorable seven or eight week old Labrador puppy down the street.
"You have the cutest dog on this whole island." I started to bend over and scratch the little puppy behind the ears when a scroungy mutt bounded out of the open air restaurant and jumped on the dog, biting on its neck. I gave the dog a healthy kick and it ran back to the restaurant with its tail between its legs. The cutie said, "thank you". "Sure, anytime, I'd be glad to do it."

I walked into the restaurant and confronted the owner, "you need to keep that dog under control." They looked at me and smiled. "Do you want to be next?" "Its just protective." "No, that is a public street, I was being protective, your fucking mutt here was being aggressive." "He was a street dog." "That attitude is why the dog is the hellion that he is, you people don't know shit about dogs."

Kind of a strong confrontation with the owners of the place in which one is staying, but, so be it.

Roatan, Day 1

Wednesday, October 27

For the day I had two objectives, get out of this hotel and start diving. The sound of heavy equipment before seven in the clock in the morning. What was that? Some sort of construction equipment, no horns, something big. I figured maybe I should conduct my search on the internet as I had failed so miserably the previous night. The end of the road was blocked off, six guys were leaning against various objects, checking things out. Four cops were standing around, doing pretty much the same thing. A big yellow Caterpillar road grader was working over the sandy road, churny up some of the rocks, knocking the high spots into the low spots, generally doing road grader stuff. I walked down a long dark trail that lead promisingly off the road, but entered Independence, Belize a minor junk yard of collapsed buildings, cars on blocks, a microwave unexplanably resting on a board nailed to a tree with no electrical outlet nearby, corrugated steel patched walls. No I am not going back to Indendence literally or figuratively. A few more were attractive, but to close to the road. I walked to the end of town and beyond, the sea at morn calm and blue on my right beyond the narrow beach of white sand, lush green vegetation and palms on my left and not a piece of trash in site. No creole interjecting the ultimate explecitive as every third word in a sentence. Nice place here, me thinks. I walked around the corner to the end of the road and turned around and headed back. I spotted a place that was now showing the beginnings of morning activity, private cabins for rent, internet, hmmm. About a hundred yards up the path was a reception office. Two European tourists sat at computers updating their Facebook postings, which seems to account for 80% of tourist computer usage. No, they didn't know where the manager was. I inquired at the restaurant and realized that I was talking to everybody in English. This whole island spoke English that was easier to understand than most folks back in the U.S of A. Two young ladies blending the mornings fruits into juices pointed to a man accross the yard in a blue "SECURITY" shirt. He showed me a little cabin, no TV, no air, private bat, big bed next to no room, right past the chicken coop that also housed numerous parakeets. Using my worst negotiating skills I said, "I'll take it, let me go getmybags." Back on ??? I entered my air conditioned room easily two, maybe three times the size of the cabin into which I was moving, packed my bags, grabbbed my room key and headed out the door. I walked accross the street to the little store that serves as the offices. The narrow door could not accomodate my shoulds and with a 70 liter backpack and a 30 litre day pack, a fanny pack and a camera no way I would get in there sideways. I had quickly grown to be annoyed by the little place the night before. The way the front door opened into the counter where people were always standing, paying for something, blocking the door. Last night as I tried to enter the people just stood there; behind them was an ice cream freezer, there was no where to go but down a store aisle. I opened the door with my right hand and threw the keys on the counter around the door in a hook shot and left.

A thousand yards later a strap on my backpack gave way. I really should have had Mark bring me down a much better one, but the one I had my eyes on was 110 liters, roughly the size of a ballroom. A thousand yards later, with only a few hundred meters left to go I walked on with the bag on one strap, somewhere a chiropractor was rubbing his hands in glee, "here comes another one." I was in a different world. A cat surveiled the chickens. The parakeets ignored it all. The sand had been recently raked clean. I dropped my bags onto the porch and entered the cabin which had been unlocked. I can pretty much take over a place in a hurry. I unpack my pack and spread out all my diddy bags making a quick appraisal of their contents and throwing the ones with things I wouldn't need for a while, a rainjacket, a heavy explores vest, solar powered battery chargers, nature survival gear, etc, from the books, computers, cameras and clothes.

The wall fan made an incredible noise, I stopped by the office, got the key and asked the manager to have the fan fixed. He yelled to some guy across the street and I left to go check out the dive shops. By now it was nearing nine and shops were open. I soon discovered that all the dive shops offer the same trips for the same price. The manager of the "resort" at which I was staying had recommended Reef Runners. Half a kilometer later I walked through the front doors and sat down in a chair in front of a guy who obviously owned the place. "Hi, where do I get a cup of coffee that I can drink while you explain to me why I should use your dive company?" Business was slow, they had over half a dozen dive masters and would take me out anytime I want even if there were no other students or divers. That was quick. I went to the bank, withdrew U.S. Dollars, returned an paid half the $320 price of the Advanced Course and did what? I walked around of course, passing the same people six or eight times already that morning. "Hey you, quit stalking me." I said to two girls that had been on the bus, the boat, the beach and on the road many times that morning. No wonder everybody is polite, you will see them again in twenty minutes. Camera, itouch, sunglasses, sunscreen, hat, utility knife, wallet, ditty bag, passport, waterproof passport holder, flashlight, light attenuator, four extra batteries my fanny pack was its usual felix the cat grab bag of goodies. A quick breakfast and I came back to surf on the itouch while looking at the ocean and talking with the staff of Reef Runners. Eight dive masters, one customer, one waitress, the couple that owned the place. I was soon a fixture, just one of the gang.

I read my Scuba Adventures book, which is really also the Advanced Scuba book, it just depends how many certified specialty dives one takes. Hmmm, drift diving, that was first dozen dives, down in Cozumel, deep water, I went through strong current, low visibity, through the head of a giant coral and emerged from Devil's throat my first day of open water diving. Of course it wasn't a certied dive and my log book had long since disappeard. Search and rescue? Advanced bouyancy? High Altitude (not likely at sea level), propelling devices (the were broken) boat diving, I have only dived off shore twice. Ahh time will tell.

At two thirty my charming dive master came over and asked if I minded if we brought some other people along. She was certifying another dive master who had to lead some dives. This was about as easy as it could be, clear water, less than 60 feet and one diver. Sure, no problem, then another dive instructor candidate and another dive instructor, with whom I had been chatting. Gear was gathered and assembled, how big a BCD did I need? "Look at me... do you have anything bigger than extra large?" Fin size, 45 / 12. Mask? Sure. Hey wears the snorkel? Three women and a guy took the one paying passenger to the drive. The captain was aboard. The pre dive talk took about 10 minutes. Considering everything she had to tell us, the terrain, the water conditions, the dive plan then the mundane: the symbols to be used how we were getting into the water and out of the water, etc she did pretty well. I paid a little bit more attention than when the stewardess tells you about the oxygen masks.

Then we covered the boat, the radio, the cell phone, the flares for emergency communication. I could yell to shore. Oxygen, we are only going to eighteen meters. Ok, they were training dive masters, but this was the most safety concious operation I had ever seen.

Total time from the dock to the dive site was probably eight minutes, with three of those minutes filled with the captain of the boat telling divers they shouldn't be swimming in the boating channels. We moored off to a bouy, the water was azure, I put on my gear and rolled back into the water, we met at the bouy and the Dive master to be be led us down. Fifteen meters later I had to tell her I couldn't clear. The pressure on my left ear could not be abated. She led led me back up and down, but I didn't want to go. I have never had a problem clearing. If I am congested, I'll just skip this dive thank you very much. She did a terrific job. We swam around the boat and they had a boarding ladder. I am used to grabbing the gunwhale, giving a hellacious kick and flopping less than gracefully at the hips and kick a foot over.

?? Where do I get a burger?
??? The instructor to the dive masters told me to get some ibuprofen, practice purging without swallowing and maybe I could go tomorrow. Throughout the day at least eight people expressed their condolences. It was just a missed dive trip, I'd have felt worse if I smacked my thumb with a hammer.

??? Told me where I could find a pharmacy, back down to the main road, make a right.... On a hunch I walked to the mini-super next door and inspecting the scant supply of personal hygiene supplies, next to the condoms, where would they be? "Yo necessito medicina ibuprofen." "Sure", she said and turned around pulled a big box off the shelf and put it on the counter, pulling out a vacuum pack of 10 600mg ibuprofen. "Quento questo?" "Fifty Limpares." He I was again talking with someone in my version of Spanish, so obviously deficienat they were replying in English and I didn't even notice. This is central america. I could have bought one pill.

A little more hanging about at the shop then time for.... yes! another walk. Two big black guys sitting on a log next to a pile of poles. The one asked me if I wanted to go fishing. We talked for 15 minutes, about wahoo and dolphin, black fin tuna, yellow tails, fish which are sought in these waters but nowhere near as prevalent as they are on the other side of this isthmus, in the Pacific. Strange, this time I noticed no Creole, no ???? Jamaican, just like to talking to some guy from middle America. For the Caribbean coast this struck me as unusual. But really, $250 USD for half a day of fishing 5 minutes off shore, no I'll go to Pixvae in Panama or some place equally off the beaten path, where there is one satellite pay phone and the electricity only runs from six to ten at night. This was just to mainstreamm for me. Down to the other end of town, past the end of the road sign, past the place where the home made submarine is on display, where for a thousand dollars you can descend to 2000 feet and look at the marine life.

Back into town to the other end of town a few pictures of the sunset, a guy staying at ??? rushing out behind me with his camera, could I take a picture of him? Sure, here ya go, that looks better than the sunset, I changed your camera to program mode and your scene to sunset, and shut down the aperature to get you and the horizon in sharp focus, you might want to reset your camera to all it's default setting. "You looked like you knew what you were doing." It's all an illusion. "Wow, thanks." We chatted, he is on his way over to Copan, then down to Costa Rica and Panama. Had I ever been there? "Yeah I could tell you a thing or two, probably two hundred blog entries on those countries alone." How long have you been traveling? For thirty years, this trip is in its fifteenth month. I am a little tired of that tale, besides, people would rather talk about themselves. He had a great dive today a dozen eight foot sharks in a feeding frenzy.

Ok, something else to add to my list of things to do while I am here. "You going to the poker game?" I asked, oh, yeah, right after I use the internet? How is the connection? "Ok, enough" "You can check your email and update Facebook but you can't watch youtube?" "Exactly." Later.

Back to Reef runners with my notebook I sat at the bar with my notebook, a club soda and half a lime please. People started filing in. "Mandy I'll have the curry." "Coming up." "Mandy, fish please." "ok." "May I have some fish?" "We only have curried chicken tonight." "I'll have that." "An order of fish?" "We don't have any." I don't know when she decided whether or not they had fish but chicken was available for all. With my 100 limpare buy in for the poker game my bill came to 260 Limpare, about fourteen bucks.

The guy next to me asked when I would stop serving food if the poker game started at seven. I replied that I had long ago given up going to foreign countries and telling them how I would run the place. He laughed boisterously, "Marko." He was decidedly American, the whole place was filled with expats, many of them owners and operators of competing shops. They had all come together for a night of low stakes Texas Hold 'em. We went upstairs, drew cards and split ourselves into two tables of eight each. I made it down to the final five I think, after being on the edge three times, going all in and winning substantial hands when I had not enough money to bet after the big blind.

One pretty woman sat high on a rail on the back taking it all in, maybe she was fetching drink orders, she was fetching but as much so as the blonde at the end of our table who kept our game in line, made sure everybody bet in turn, the correct amount. Every fifteen minutes the blinds doubled. What started as a 20 "dollar" big blind became 640. We were down to eight players the tables merged, introductions were made and the play resumed. At one point a player thought I had missed him in a deal, took a card from the player to his left, by the time I had gotten around the table the old man on the end said he had three cards I had blown the deal. WTF? that is the card that the guy who thought he was missed was supposed to get. The German next to me insisted that I be fined the amount of the big blind in accordance with the rules. Marco, said that it should be ignored, nobody needed to know. I really couldn't have cared a whole lot less. This went on for ten minutes. Marco called out "What kind of a German are you? You can't even make sour kraut." A guy next to him said, "German's don't dance they march." Oh, man, c'mon guys this is a five dollar game obviously this is over something else. From below at the bar somebody said, "My tongue is bigger than your dick." If that's the rule, I'll put my money in, I don't care.

Five minutes later, the German put his cards below the table. Marco insisted that he ante up a big blind? For what? Said the German putting his cards on this lap? Now it is two. Oh this is absurd, do you think I was cheating? Mark said, "Mr. Guatemala" wasn't cheating when he misdealt. Everybody insisted that he put in two blinds. "If that's the way you are going to be, I won't come." Nobody raised an objection. I am glad I lost my hand. Now I was out of the game. The German dealt. He dealt me in. I said "I am not in, I just went all in and you took all my money, it was just a misdeal that's all." Now the voices starting raising higher, I grabbed my stuff and said, I'm sure I'll see all of you somewhere tomorrow, hope you each make it to morning and went downstairs to mingle with the other losers.