In 1995 I had a trip planned to Costa Rica. Coincidentally, the high school where Carol taught Spanish took part in a student exchange and we wound up with two students in our home for a couple of weeks. One of the boys was a magical lad who was destined to become one of my best friends. They call us "Los gemelos," the twins, even though one was 55 and the other 15.
This friendship led to a union of families where we visited Costa Rica on several occasions, to Celebrate birthdays, weddings, babtisms, Christmas and new years and three of the children coming to live with us for six months or so over the years. Marco, Dixie, Jessica, Antonio (mi gemelo), Rolando, and Laura became our extended family and made several jaunts north as well. The letters that follow are snippets of our times heading to or from Costa Rica. The letters are not necessarily in order since there were seven trips over all and most of them have been lost.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Costa Rica 7 September, 1999
Heredia, Costa Rica
9/7/99
Hey Mom and Dad:
Hope all is well with you. It will come as not great surprise that we’re living large. Today is Carol’s and Dixie’s birthday so we’re having a party tonight. Just what I need, another excuse to drink down here. I’m getting too old for this stuff☺
Once again I’ve been able to experience one of my greatest joys in life, to wit: traveling in less developed areas of the world. I always feel a quickening sense of life in places like this. I hate the term “Third World,” but for the sake of brevity, it works. When I travel to a place where people live on the edge there’s always a more acute sense of what’s real and what’s not – of what’s really important, and what we tend to think is important in our daily lives, but really isn’t at all. There’s a beauty and simplicity to life and in the small successes which each day brings to us, if we only recognize them when they occur, as they do to each of us.
Guatemala has been a terrific start to our trip. It gets such bad press in the states for being a dangerous location for travel, but we encountered people from all over the world whose countries are not caught up in the hemispheric politics. It was quite an eye opener to see the variety of travelers – families from Spain, businessmen from Sweden, two single girls from Scotland, and lots of young people from all over who recognize the beauty of the country and it’s people and who have come to study at one of the myriad Spanish schools located there.
A midnight departure from SFO guaranteed a tired twosome upon arrival in Guatemala City early on Sunday morning. A $25 taxi ride brought us to Antigua, 45 minutes away by road, but centuries away in attitude and customs. Antigua, the old capitol of Central America when the Spaniards ruled the entire area was leveled by an earthquake and the officials decided another location might be in order. Still the city thrived in its colonial mold and today it’s like stepping back in time. Cobblestone streets are the only streets in the town. Buildings date from the 1500’s for those which survived the earthquake and the entire city seems to have gone under some moratorium for new building some time in the 1800’s. The town center remains a simple reminder of times less complex. The city square around the cathedral is a microcosm of life itself. Girls hawk simple bracelets woven from fabric spun as it has been done for centuries, by drop spindle. Young boys sell gum, shine shoes, hawk newspapers, and generally do anything they can to supplement the family’s meager income. The whole town seems to have an air of tranquility with a gentility of spirit.
The overriding feature of life here is the spirit of the indigenous population. Guatemala has the largest percentage of full blooded native Indians - 70% with another 20% of mixed blood. But while we must look like fat cats to their poverty, we continue to be struck by the friendliness of the people and the happy faces we’ve met in our five days here. People who live below the poverty line according to international standards are seemingly unaffected by that fact. They laugh all the time at almost everything, are incredibly friendly to strangers always saying hello when passing on the street, and helping in whatever they can. Never have we faced any hostility – never a surly word or face have we encountered. I can’t emphasize that enough! They books tell us that 87% of the people live below the poverty level, but as always it’s poor by our standards. But that’s like trying to place our values on their customs. If they have no expectations of our priorities and all they need is provided for are they really poor because they don’t have internet service? We are so keen to put our values on other cultures. This is not to negate serious problems, but they have decent clothing, live in a warm climate, and do not seem undernourished. The markets are filled with goods bought and sold on their economic level, and seemingly, their needs are met. There is little crime projected onto the more affluent visitors. There is little begging, and on the whole, the people seem healthy and happy. So we left a little perplexed.
We spent our first three days in Antigua looking at local handicrafts, checking out hotels (so I can write off the trip) and slowly catching up on sleep. On one occasion when we were at a cooperative for local handicrafts, Carol was thoroughly fascinated by the whole scene. She loved everything she saw, and I enjoyed watching her enjoy herself. A few of the women asked me if they could help me, and I said: “No thank you, my wife is in heaven.” They all quickly crossed themselves and hoped that she was resting in peace. Carol heard all this and about died laughing so hard. That would have really confused them if she had. I quickly explained that she wasn’t dead, but merely totally enjoying herself. A little bit of foreign language is a dangerous thing in the hands of someone like me. I too often try direct translations and that just doesn’t work.
Meals are very cheap and with excellent preparation, a combination which endeared itself to the two of us. We ate a wonderful dinner at a great restaurant, which had the distinction, they thought so at least, of having Slick Willy eat there when he was doing his presidential thing. Our meal cost $10, which was probably $10 more than he paid. The joke was that he had all male waiters for the evening. See, they do have a great sense of humor.
We took a bus ride out to a small pueblo where we could see some different artisans at work. We rode for 20 minutes to a village and were going to walk the remaining two miles to the next village When we asked directions to make sure we got the right fork in the road, we were told to wait for the next bus. We tried to explain that we wanted to walk, ut they insisted that we take the bus. It cost us an extra .10 cents for the ride. On the way back since we knew the directions, we didn’t ask. We just walked do we got our leisurely stroll anyway.
The stereotypical “dirty” latin country just doesn’t exist in Antigua. We were amazed at the pride the people have in their city and how well they keep it clean. As I mentioned, there is very little begging. In five days, we were approached only four times. Each time, it was by somebody who couldn’t earn a living because they were horribly crippled or deformed. But never by people capable of working, just to lazy to do so.
There are artisans everywhere trying to sell their good. How they can earn a living is impossible to figure out. There are literally thousands of people selling very similar items, and very few tourists at this time of the year. Yet, they are polite, not pushy, and are happy to show you their wares in a cheerful way. It makes saying “no” difficult to do. The kids are really little dolls, and are a lot of fun to bargain with. Of course, even after bantering and bargaining, you’re paying too much, buy what’s the difference. The prices are so ridiculously low we never get too serious about it. Often after the fun of trying to get the price lower, we pay the original amount. We feel so cheap to do otherwise when we have so much and they’re just trying to get through the day.
Travel in and around Guatemala is very unscheduled. There are mini vans which go from one town to the next when it’s filled, and I mean filled. There’s always room for one more person with a box if chickens to sell at market. Taxis also can be hired, but it’s far more fun to do the local thing.
A trip to Chichicestango and Lake Atiltan completed our journey to the center of the country. We scheduled our visit to Chichi on Sunday to take advantage of Sunday market, when thousands of indigenous people converge on the streets to buy, sell, exchange, and barter there goods. It’s as colorful as anything we ever saw in Peru or Ecuador. The traditional dress is not something which the locals don for Christmas parades, or mid summer’s night. It’s the daily wear, every day. All commodities from some wild looking foods to kitchen utensils to auto parts are all strewn out on the streets for viewing as you weave your way in and around the makeshift stands and shawls spread out on the ground. A wonderful look in the people’s lives was all there just for the eyes to feast upon.
9/7/99
Hey Mom and Dad:
Hope all is well with you. It will come as not great surprise that we’re living large. Today is Carol’s and Dixie’s birthday so we’re having a party tonight. Just what I need, another excuse to drink down here. I’m getting too old for this stuff☺
Once again I’ve been able to experience one of my greatest joys in life, to wit: traveling in less developed areas of the world. I always feel a quickening sense of life in places like this. I hate the term “Third World,” but for the sake of brevity, it works. When I travel to a place where people live on the edge there’s always a more acute sense of what’s real and what’s not – of what’s really important, and what we tend to think is important in our daily lives, but really isn’t at all. There’s a beauty and simplicity to life and in the small successes which each day brings to us, if we only recognize them when they occur, as they do to each of us.
Guatemala has been a terrific start to our trip. It gets such bad press in the states for being a dangerous location for travel, but we encountered people from all over the world whose countries are not caught up in the hemispheric politics. It was quite an eye opener to see the variety of travelers – families from Spain, businessmen from Sweden, two single girls from Scotland, and lots of young people from all over who recognize the beauty of the country and it’s people and who have come to study at one of the myriad Spanish schools located there.
A midnight departure from SFO guaranteed a tired twosome upon arrival in Guatemala City early on Sunday morning. A $25 taxi ride brought us to Antigua, 45 minutes away by road, but centuries away in attitude and customs. Antigua, the old capitol of Central America when the Spaniards ruled the entire area was leveled by an earthquake and the officials decided another location might be in order. Still the city thrived in its colonial mold and today it’s like stepping back in time. Cobblestone streets are the only streets in the town. Buildings date from the 1500’s for those which survived the earthquake and the entire city seems to have gone under some moratorium for new building some time in the 1800’s. The town center remains a simple reminder of times less complex. The city square around the cathedral is a microcosm of life itself. Girls hawk simple bracelets woven from fabric spun as it has been done for centuries, by drop spindle. Young boys sell gum, shine shoes, hawk newspapers, and generally do anything they can to supplement the family’s meager income. The whole town seems to have an air of tranquility with a gentility of spirit.
The overriding feature of life here is the spirit of the indigenous population. Guatemala has the largest percentage of full blooded native Indians - 70% with another 20% of mixed blood. But while we must look like fat cats to their poverty, we continue to be struck by the friendliness of the people and the happy faces we’ve met in our five days here. People who live below the poverty line according to international standards are seemingly unaffected by that fact. They laugh all the time at almost everything, are incredibly friendly to strangers always saying hello when passing on the street, and helping in whatever they can. Never have we faced any hostility – never a surly word or face have we encountered. I can’t emphasize that enough! They books tell us that 87% of the people live below the poverty level, but as always it’s poor by our standards. But that’s like trying to place our values on their customs. If they have no expectations of our priorities and all they need is provided for are they really poor because they don’t have internet service? We are so keen to put our values on other cultures. This is not to negate serious problems, but they have decent clothing, live in a warm climate, and do not seem undernourished. The markets are filled with goods bought and sold on their economic level, and seemingly, their needs are met. There is little crime projected onto the more affluent visitors. There is little begging, and on the whole, the people seem healthy and happy. So we left a little perplexed.
We spent our first three days in Antigua looking at local handicrafts, checking out hotels (so I can write off the trip) and slowly catching up on sleep. On one occasion when we were at a cooperative for local handicrafts, Carol was thoroughly fascinated by the whole scene. She loved everything she saw, and I enjoyed watching her enjoy herself. A few of the women asked me if they could help me, and I said: “No thank you, my wife is in heaven.” They all quickly crossed themselves and hoped that she was resting in peace. Carol heard all this and about died laughing so hard. That would have really confused them if she had. I quickly explained that she wasn’t dead, but merely totally enjoying herself. A little bit of foreign language is a dangerous thing in the hands of someone like me. I too often try direct translations and that just doesn’t work.
Meals are very cheap and with excellent preparation, a combination which endeared itself to the two of us. We ate a wonderful dinner at a great restaurant, which had the distinction, they thought so at least, of having Slick Willy eat there when he was doing his presidential thing. Our meal cost $10, which was probably $10 more than he paid. The joke was that he had all male waiters for the evening. See, they do have a great sense of humor.
We took a bus ride out to a small pueblo where we could see some different artisans at work. We rode for 20 minutes to a village and were going to walk the remaining two miles to the next village When we asked directions to make sure we got the right fork in the road, we were told to wait for the next bus. We tried to explain that we wanted to walk, ut they insisted that we take the bus. It cost us an extra .10 cents for the ride. On the way back since we knew the directions, we didn’t ask. We just walked do we got our leisurely stroll anyway.
The stereotypical “dirty” latin country just doesn’t exist in Antigua. We were amazed at the pride the people have in their city and how well they keep it clean. As I mentioned, there is very little begging. In five days, we were approached only four times. Each time, it was by somebody who couldn’t earn a living because they were horribly crippled or deformed. But never by people capable of working, just to lazy to do so.
There are artisans everywhere trying to sell their good. How they can earn a living is impossible to figure out. There are literally thousands of people selling very similar items, and very few tourists at this time of the year. Yet, they are polite, not pushy, and are happy to show you their wares in a cheerful way. It makes saying “no” difficult to do. The kids are really little dolls, and are a lot of fun to bargain with. Of course, even after bantering and bargaining, you’re paying too much, buy what’s the difference. The prices are so ridiculously low we never get too serious about it. Often after the fun of trying to get the price lower, we pay the original amount. We feel so cheap to do otherwise when we have so much and they’re just trying to get through the day.
Travel in and around Guatemala is very unscheduled. There are mini vans which go from one town to the next when it’s filled, and I mean filled. There’s always room for one more person with a box if chickens to sell at market. Taxis also can be hired, but it’s far more fun to do the local thing.
A trip to Chichicestango and Lake Atiltan completed our journey to the center of the country. We scheduled our visit to Chichi on Sunday to take advantage of Sunday market, when thousands of indigenous people converge on the streets to buy, sell, exchange, and barter there goods. It’s as colorful as anything we ever saw in Peru or Ecuador. The traditional dress is not something which the locals don for Christmas parades, or mid summer’s night. It’s the daily wear, every day. All commodities from some wild looking foods to kitchen utensils to auto parts are all strewn out on the streets for viewing as you weave your way in and around the makeshift stands and shawls spread out on the ground. A wonderful look in the people’s lives was all there just for the eyes to feast upon.
Costa Rica 10th 1999
Costa Rica 9/10/99
Hello to All:
We are here in Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast in the huge swamp area, but more about that next time. I wanted to get you up to date on our time here since arriving in Costa Rica.
We arrived in San Jose and were met at the airport by Marco, Dixie and the kids with kisses all around. We went back to the house where we got them up to speed on our time in Guatemala, how Angela, Rich, Jeff, Bandit (the dog) and all the sheep were doing. This takes about 10 minutes at which time Marco’s mother and father showed up. There were kisses all around and we caught everybody up on our time in Guatemala Angela and Rich, Jeff, Bandit and all this sheep. This not takes twice as much time as before because those who have heard the stories now throw in their own version of the stories. After this, the ex-communist grandmother who was instrumental in bringing social change to Costa Rica and a fascinating woman in her 90’s shows up with her daughter. There are kisses all around and we have to tell about our time…………. This now becomes a full conversation because there are even more people throwing information into the mix. It’s a wonderful dynamic to watch this grow from the pleasantries of greetings to a full fledged story with a life all its own. I’m convinced that whoever developed proportional mathematics must have studied Hispanic families at work.
We were informed that early, 6 a.m. the following morning we were heading for the Panamanian border on the Atlantic side. We went to a resort which was quite nice where we stayed for two nights. In all, there were 16 of us since nobody goes anywhere alone in this country. We relaxed while the kids played soccer on the beach, on the grass and in the water. Meanwhile we drank on the beach, on the grass, and in the water. We went to a small village inhabited by a a bunch of Rastafarian types. Difficult to think to think of a place more isolated. Just a bunch of thatch buildings one of which was a drinking hole posing as a restaurant. We sat down to eat (drink) when we heard this sound being uttered from the mouth of somebody in a noisy throng of people behind us: “Oh my God, Mrs. Simas and Mr. Owens?” Sure enough, there were a couple of our ex-students from Lincoln High. Girls who had bused their way down from UC Berkeley and were now studying Spanish in Costa Rica. It’s great to know that we’ve had such a good influence on People☺
On Monday we returned late to Heredia, and I learned a valuable lesson for clients. Never drive after dark in Costa Rica. It’s really dangerous. There are no rules, at least none adhered to, about passing on blind hills, around curves, and the speed limit is whatever the car can take in the pot-hole riddled road. Just let the IRS claim I’m not working down here.
Tuesday was Carol and Dixie’s birthday, the ostensible reason we came at this time, and we were out buying a little present for Dixie when I felt a robber’s hand in my pocket. I grabbed the hand, spun around and there was Marco’s mother laughing her head off. We had to go to the airport to deliver a ticket to the son of the travel agency owner, and they insisted on taking us there. They then insisted on waiting for us, and taking us back to the house and, well, since it’s almost lunch time why not go to a restaurant for lunch and spend the afternoon together. All of which was done and the afternoon spent in great company. There is no such thing as “Dead time” here.
The birthday party was a small, intimate affair of family, neighbors, general passers-by and people who nobody could account where they came from. No problem, if they weren’t causing a problem, what’s the issue? In all about 50 people of four generations were there and needless to say, the alcohol flowed. The local beer, which isn’t bad by the way, Imperial, was well stocked in coolers as was the local fire water, Guaro. It’s an innocuous looking clear liquid but can make ones limbs go numb in a hurry. A mariachi band was booked, all dressed out in Jalisco’s finest mariachi outfits – huge sombreros, silver threaded black suits and all very authentic. It was a little other-worldly being in Costa Rica, but what the hell, cultural crossover occurs everywhere in the world these days.
We came to Costa Rica laden down with 16 pounds of pistacio nuts,VCR tapes, camera film, pants, Vaseline (for Laura’s ichthyosis), and other sundry gifts we were requested to bring due to the scarcity of such items in Tico land. We came with the anticipation that our return home would be much lighter after depositing all the above with our hosts. This would mean easier travel on our bus ride to Panama. NO such luck. We now return with as much loot as we brought. Lots of birthday presents to my birthday girl from all the aforementioned four generations, 20 pounds of Café Britt, very good chocolates with Guaro centers, yummy, and beautiful wooden objects, from bowls to trivets to decorative ornaments. The woods are a rich variety of color, from deep red to yellow and make excellent gifts four those at home who want/expect souvenirs from our travels. It all required a rethinking and reorganization of suitcases.
At least we had Wednesday before heading to Panama on Thursday. Carol wanted to go out and look for some weaving magazines – surprise, surprise, surprise, but we had the evening to ourselves with the family in a quiet household. But wait, Jorge calls, and there’s just one table left at this mountain-top restaurant with an amazing view of the valley, great food, and folkloric dancing and singing and we might as well have a drink while we’re there. Well, how could we say no to that. Needless to say we had a great evening. Everything they said was true, it just wasn’t the quiet evening we thought we had in store.
Naturally, we’re trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of such travel disasters. Good company, good food, and just a little alcohol to make everything wash down a little easier. Life is good.
C and J
Hello to All:
We are here in Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast in the huge swamp area, but more about that next time. I wanted to get you up to date on our time here since arriving in Costa Rica.
We arrived in San Jose and were met at the airport by Marco, Dixie and the kids with kisses all around. We went back to the house where we got them up to speed on our time in Guatemala, how Angela, Rich, Jeff, Bandit (the dog) and all the sheep were doing. This takes about 10 minutes at which time Marco’s mother and father showed up. There were kisses all around and we caught everybody up on our time in Guatemala Angela and Rich, Jeff, Bandit and all this sheep. This not takes twice as much time as before because those who have heard the stories now throw in their own version of the stories. After this, the ex-communist grandmother who was instrumental in bringing social change to Costa Rica and a fascinating woman in her 90’s shows up with her daughter. There are kisses all around and we have to tell about our time…………. This now becomes a full conversation because there are even more people throwing information into the mix. It’s a wonderful dynamic to watch this grow from the pleasantries of greetings to a full fledged story with a life all its own. I’m convinced that whoever developed proportional mathematics must have studied Hispanic families at work.
We were informed that early, 6 a.m. the following morning we were heading for the Panamanian border on the Atlantic side. We went to a resort which was quite nice where we stayed for two nights. In all, there were 16 of us since nobody goes anywhere alone in this country. We relaxed while the kids played soccer on the beach, on the grass and in the water. Meanwhile we drank on the beach, on the grass, and in the water. We went to a small village inhabited by a a bunch of Rastafarian types. Difficult to think to think of a place more isolated. Just a bunch of thatch buildings one of which was a drinking hole posing as a restaurant. We sat down to eat (drink) when we heard this sound being uttered from the mouth of somebody in a noisy throng of people behind us: “Oh my God, Mrs. Simas and Mr. Owens?” Sure enough, there were a couple of our ex-students from Lincoln High. Girls who had bused their way down from UC Berkeley and were now studying Spanish in Costa Rica. It’s great to know that we’ve had such a good influence on People☺
On Monday we returned late to Heredia, and I learned a valuable lesson for clients. Never drive after dark in Costa Rica. It’s really dangerous. There are no rules, at least none adhered to, about passing on blind hills, around curves, and the speed limit is whatever the car can take in the pot-hole riddled road. Just let the IRS claim I’m not working down here.
Tuesday was Carol and Dixie’s birthday, the ostensible reason we came at this time, and we were out buying a little present for Dixie when I felt a robber’s hand in my pocket. I grabbed the hand, spun around and there was Marco’s mother laughing her head off. We had to go to the airport to deliver a ticket to the son of the travel agency owner, and they insisted on taking us there. They then insisted on waiting for us, and taking us back to the house and, well, since it’s almost lunch time why not go to a restaurant for lunch and spend the afternoon together. All of which was done and the afternoon spent in great company. There is no such thing as “Dead time” here.
The birthday party was a small, intimate affair of family, neighbors, general passers-by and people who nobody could account where they came from. No problem, if they weren’t causing a problem, what’s the issue? In all about 50 people of four generations were there and needless to say, the alcohol flowed. The local beer, which isn’t bad by the way, Imperial, was well stocked in coolers as was the local fire water, Guaro. It’s an innocuous looking clear liquid but can make ones limbs go numb in a hurry. A mariachi band was booked, all dressed out in Jalisco’s finest mariachi outfits – huge sombreros, silver threaded black suits and all very authentic. It was a little other-worldly being in Costa Rica, but what the hell, cultural crossover occurs everywhere in the world these days.
We came to Costa Rica laden down with 16 pounds of pistacio nuts,VCR tapes, camera film, pants, Vaseline (for Laura’s ichthyosis), and other sundry gifts we were requested to bring due to the scarcity of such items in Tico land. We came with the anticipation that our return home would be much lighter after depositing all the above with our hosts. This would mean easier travel on our bus ride to Panama. NO such luck. We now return with as much loot as we brought. Lots of birthday presents to my birthday girl from all the aforementioned four generations, 20 pounds of Café Britt, very good chocolates with Guaro centers, yummy, and beautiful wooden objects, from bowls to trivets to decorative ornaments. The woods are a rich variety of color, from deep red to yellow and make excellent gifts four those at home who want/expect souvenirs from our travels. It all required a rethinking and reorganization of suitcases.
At least we had Wednesday before heading to Panama on Thursday. Carol wanted to go out and look for some weaving magazines – surprise, surprise, surprise, but we had the evening to ourselves with the family in a quiet household. But wait, Jorge calls, and there’s just one table left at this mountain-top restaurant with an amazing view of the valley, great food, and folkloric dancing and singing and we might as well have a drink while we’re there. Well, how could we say no to that. Needless to say we had a great evening. Everything they said was true, it just wasn’t the quiet evening we thought we had in store.
Naturally, we’re trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of such travel disasters. Good company, good food, and just a little alcohol to make everything wash down a little easier. Life is good.
C and J
Costa Rica Sept 15th 1999
Hey:
We’ve just returned from a jaunt up the Ganacaste coast, and we leave for Panama tomorrow at 6:00 am, so this will be the last letter before we get home. We just wanted to catch you up with the last week.
We went to an area that we’ve been wanting to visit for a long time, called Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast up near the Nicaragua border. It is a large swamp area – no roads lead into it, and you have two options to get in and out: by plane or by boat. We chose to combine them and do each one on a one way basis. We were happy we did.
We came in by boat. After a three hour bus ride to the place where we caught the small launch – a 10 passenger flat-bottomed boat which took us on the final two hours of our journey. On the way in, we stopped to watch monkeys, snakes, river turtles, sloths and a whole host of bird life.
All in all, it helped acclimate us to the remoteness of where we were going. The residents of the “town,” have no automobiles, hence walking is relaxing and without stress. The town is flanked by a canal on one side and the Caribbean on the other side. It’s really just a grouping of small wooden houses, on stilts mostly. It is the Caribbean coast, after all. The hotel where we’re staying is quite nice and has great food. There are only nine of us in the hotel, surprisingly, three honeymoon couples, a Spanish woman, Carol and myself. The honeymooners surprised me because it isn’t exactly a hot destination listed in the bridal books. One couple from San Diego, Brits and Italians made up the other couples. It is all very informal, and even though everybody was staying for just two nights, it was a very informal group. All meals are taken communally and so conversations flow easily between people from all parts of the world experiencing the same thing in much the same way. There are a lot of really cool people in this world.
In spite of the remoteness, there are a lot of things to do. We opted to do the turtle walk at night. About 10 p.m. we set out and watched green turtles come in for nesting. It is the largest nesting in the Caribbean for them and we watched one famale lay over a hundred eggs in the chamber she dug out. It was very fascinating. We had mixed feelings about it because we felt that it had to be disturbing to the animals, but we did it anyway, typical tourists, regrettably.
In the Galapagos Islands, we had to be off the beach 30 minutes before dark so the turtles could come onto shore with no disturbance whatsoever. But here, they allow it – with conditions – no cameras, no lights, and totally under the supervision of licensed guides. The guide waits until the female has built the chamber and starts laying the eggs. Then he uses a red light so as not to disturb her, and the light only shines on the tail end, which is where all the action is anyway. This ensures that there in no direct contact with the observers. While we were on beach, people from the Caribbean Conservation Corps came by and inventoried whether she had been tagged. She had been, so her size and exactly where on the 27 mile beach she came to lay her eggs, and assorted notations, and measurements. Talk about not disturbing the egg layer. Oh well. It’s actually quite a project. It’s been going on for over 30 years, and they have a lot of data on the turtles. There is a museum which chronicles their activities. The son of the owner of the travel agency where I work spent three months volunteering on the project.
Since our hotel is on the other side of the canal, we are backed up by deep, dense rain forest, with a smaller finger lake behind that before the really scary stuff.
There’s a cool photo of it at:
http://www.govisitcostarica.com/travelinfo/photoLg.asp?phID=125V
Trails have been carved out of the dense tree growth, and on the second night we ventured into the black. With just enough light to see our way and figure out what we were doing, we were lucky to run in to the Brits who had night vision glasses. They naturally became our new, best friends. We checked out all the forest tops and discovered dozens of monkeys – white faced, the rarer spider, and let’s not forget the tocsin of the jungle, the howler monkey. The Brit said: “Watch this,” and imitated the howler. They don’t like to be made fun of and they voice their objections loudly and persistently. “Revenge is mine,” sayith the howler. He starts up his bit as soon as there is light, and he does so from the trees directly outside your room.
We could have spent more time there, but the old bugaboo “time” bit us and we left the third afternoon. The morning was spent combing the coastline, shell hunting and wading in the rich, warm waters of the Caribbean. It was great, but I wouldn’t care to ride out hurricane season there. `After our walk we headed over to the canal and sat on the bank watching the life on the water. The canal is an artificial waterway, cut to provide access to the coastal people. We sat there awhile and eventually someone from the hotel saw us and motored over in the launch to take us back across the canal. It was a great afternoon. In the late afternoon, a six passenger plane settled down on the makeshift strip and exchanged incoming for outgoing passengers. Lucky for us, we were only ones going out so Carol had the ability to see out of both sides of the plane from her back seat. Beyond the fact that as we all know, a woman’s place is in the back seat☺ she always give me the front seat since she knows that I used to fly and it’s always a kick to have the right seat. Sweet girl, that Carol. We flew low enough that the rain forest is a lovely combination of colors and textures, easily differentiated. There are so many hidden little spots which are impossible to see unless viewed from above. It was only a 25 minute flight as compared to a all day excursion on the way in.
Back in Heredia we had a couple of hours to clean up, get clean clothes packed and be out the door once again. Marco and Dixie took us up the pacific side where the majority of beaches and resorts are located. Of course, I wanted to see these areas for my travel agent gig, and not for my own pleasure. This side is very different from the Caribbean side: people, vegetation, beaches, you name it. They all speak Spanish, but that’s about it all the have in common.
After celebrating the grandmother’s birthday at their summer home in Higuito, a small pueblo about an hour from San Jose, we came back to Heredia and our farewell dinner. There will be 16 of us drinking, eating, and drinking, with a little drinking mixed in somewhere in the middle. Tomorrow it’s hangover time and a long bus ride to Panama – just Carol and myself. They all want to know when we’ll come back. I try to explain that the reason they like me so much is because they only see me once every two years. Carol, however, they love like a sister or daughter.
Tomorrow’s bus ride will be nine hours and we’ll put up overnight in the city of David, no not the biblical one, the Panamanian one. That will be followed by a seven hour ride to Panama City. We only have two nights there, however. Less than we hoped for, but that’s travel. You just adjust and work with what you have. We wouldn’t have missed out on anything in our stay in Costa Rica to save the time for some unknown in the future. My only regret tomorrow will be that I missed a few rounds at the bar, but that’s another story. We’ll be home for only a week before heading off to Korea and Jeff’s wedding. Wonder what that will be like?
We’ve just returned from a jaunt up the Ganacaste coast, and we leave for Panama tomorrow at 6:00 am, so this will be the last letter before we get home. We just wanted to catch you up with the last week.
We went to an area that we’ve been wanting to visit for a long time, called Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast up near the Nicaragua border. It is a large swamp area – no roads lead into it, and you have two options to get in and out: by plane or by boat. We chose to combine them and do each one on a one way basis. We were happy we did.
We came in by boat. After a three hour bus ride to the place where we caught the small launch – a 10 passenger flat-bottomed boat which took us on the final two hours of our journey. On the way in, we stopped to watch monkeys, snakes, river turtles, sloths and a whole host of bird life.
All in all, it helped acclimate us to the remoteness of where we were going. The residents of the “town,” have no automobiles, hence walking is relaxing and without stress. The town is flanked by a canal on one side and the Caribbean on the other side. It’s really just a grouping of small wooden houses, on stilts mostly. It is the Caribbean coast, after all. The hotel where we’re staying is quite nice and has great food. There are only nine of us in the hotel, surprisingly, three honeymoon couples, a Spanish woman, Carol and myself. The honeymooners surprised me because it isn’t exactly a hot destination listed in the bridal books. One couple from San Diego, Brits and Italians made up the other couples. It is all very informal, and even though everybody was staying for just two nights, it was a very informal group. All meals are taken communally and so conversations flow easily between people from all parts of the world experiencing the same thing in much the same way. There are a lot of really cool people in this world.
In spite of the remoteness, there are a lot of things to do. We opted to do the turtle walk at night. About 10 p.m. we set out and watched green turtles come in for nesting. It is the largest nesting in the Caribbean for them and we watched one famale lay over a hundred eggs in the chamber she dug out. It was very fascinating. We had mixed feelings about it because we felt that it had to be disturbing to the animals, but we did it anyway, typical tourists, regrettably.
In the Galapagos Islands, we had to be off the beach 30 minutes before dark so the turtles could come onto shore with no disturbance whatsoever. But here, they allow it – with conditions – no cameras, no lights, and totally under the supervision of licensed guides. The guide waits until the female has built the chamber and starts laying the eggs. Then he uses a red light so as not to disturb her, and the light only shines on the tail end, which is where all the action is anyway. This ensures that there in no direct contact with the observers. While we were on beach, people from the Caribbean Conservation Corps came by and inventoried whether she had been tagged. She had been, so her size and exactly where on the 27 mile beach she came to lay her eggs, and assorted notations, and measurements. Talk about not disturbing the egg layer. Oh well. It’s actually quite a project. It’s been going on for over 30 years, and they have a lot of data on the turtles. There is a museum which chronicles their activities. The son of the owner of the travel agency where I work spent three months volunteering on the project.
Since our hotel is on the other side of the canal, we are backed up by deep, dense rain forest, with a smaller finger lake behind that before the really scary stuff.
There’s a cool photo of it at:
http://www.govisitcostarica.com/travelinfo/photoLg.asp?phID=125V
Trails have been carved out of the dense tree growth, and on the second night we ventured into the black. With just enough light to see our way and figure out what we were doing, we were lucky to run in to the Brits who had night vision glasses. They naturally became our new, best friends. We checked out all the forest tops and discovered dozens of monkeys – white faced, the rarer spider, and let’s not forget the tocsin of the jungle, the howler monkey. The Brit said: “Watch this,” and imitated the howler. They don’t like to be made fun of and they voice their objections loudly and persistently. “Revenge is mine,” sayith the howler. He starts up his bit as soon as there is light, and he does so from the trees directly outside your room.
We could have spent more time there, but the old bugaboo “time” bit us and we left the third afternoon. The morning was spent combing the coastline, shell hunting and wading in the rich, warm waters of the Caribbean. It was great, but I wouldn’t care to ride out hurricane season there. `After our walk we headed over to the canal and sat on the bank watching the life on the water. The canal is an artificial waterway, cut to provide access to the coastal people. We sat there awhile and eventually someone from the hotel saw us and motored over in the launch to take us back across the canal. It was a great afternoon. In the late afternoon, a six passenger plane settled down on the makeshift strip and exchanged incoming for outgoing passengers. Lucky for us, we were only ones going out so Carol had the ability to see out of both sides of the plane from her back seat. Beyond the fact that as we all know, a woman’s place is in the back seat☺ she always give me the front seat since she knows that I used to fly and it’s always a kick to have the right seat. Sweet girl, that Carol. We flew low enough that the rain forest is a lovely combination of colors and textures, easily differentiated. There are so many hidden little spots which are impossible to see unless viewed from above. It was only a 25 minute flight as compared to a all day excursion on the way in.
Back in Heredia we had a couple of hours to clean up, get clean clothes packed and be out the door once again. Marco and Dixie took us up the pacific side where the majority of beaches and resorts are located. Of course, I wanted to see these areas for my travel agent gig, and not for my own pleasure. This side is very different from the Caribbean side: people, vegetation, beaches, you name it. They all speak Spanish, but that’s about it all the have in common.
After celebrating the grandmother’s birthday at their summer home in Higuito, a small pueblo about an hour from San Jose, we came back to Heredia and our farewell dinner. There will be 16 of us drinking, eating, and drinking, with a little drinking mixed in somewhere in the middle. Tomorrow it’s hangover time and a long bus ride to Panama – just Carol and myself. They all want to know when we’ll come back. I try to explain that the reason they like me so much is because they only see me once every two years. Carol, however, they love like a sister or daughter.
Tomorrow’s bus ride will be nine hours and we’ll put up overnight in the city of David, no not the biblical one, the Panamanian one. That will be followed by a seven hour ride to Panama City. We only have two nights there, however. Less than we hoped for, but that’s travel. You just adjust and work with what you have. We wouldn’t have missed out on anything in our stay in Costa Rica to save the time for some unknown in the future. My only regret tomorrow will be that I missed a few rounds at the bar, but that’s another story. We’ll be home for only a week before heading off to Korea and Jeff’s wedding. Wonder what that will be like?
A most happy place
Greetings from Belize:
Well, that’s a lie. We’re not actually still in Belize, since we arrived in Costa Rica last night, but our thoughts and minds have not yet made the transformation from that newest point of the planet about which we have fascinated. It’s easy go get caught up in the life around the Jara household and so I need to write this before things get lost in the vacuum. Belize had been a place in which I have been really interested ever since I flew over the blue hole and saw the magnificence of the water and cays from 33,000 feet. For Carol the interest was about this place in the center of Spanish Central America where the Brits established their enclave and maintained a presence until the 1962 when independence was granted.
Ethnically, it is a colorful mixture of peoples. Creole are British pirates who mixed with black slaves and created a lilting language of their own. Mestizos, are a mixture of the Hispanic and local Mayan peoples, and the Garifunas are a combination of African and Mayan with the African features being predominant. Throw in a small, but important, bunch of Menonites and you have a combination which works in a wonderfully, vibrant way – and amazingly well.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier group of people than the Belizeans. You can’t walk down the streets ride in cars, or simply sit somewhere and not be bombarded with smiling faces, people inquiring about your health, wanting to know if you’re having a good time, or simply waving to you as you pass by.
From old to young, people are genuinely friendly. There doesn’t seem to be anything contrived about it. It just creates a wonderfully relaxed atmosphere to enjoy where you are. It’s easy to get cautious when traveling. Strangers will come up to you and give you the old “Aren’t we best friends,” bit, then proceed to try and sell you something. But there’s no false friendliness here, it just an honest, straightforward smile and inquirey to make sure you’re okay.
Our arms got tired of waving to people as we drove down the highways. People we’d never seen before and would never see again. No matter. They were passing and acknowledged you with a smile and a wave. This must have been what the British royal family must have felt like back when people actually liked them.
We had a serious discussion yesterday with some young Yanks on the subject of poverty. We remarked that we didn’t see the grinding poverty to which we’ve become accustomed in much of Hispanic America. They said that we obviously hadn’t been where they were because they saw plenty of it. We realized we’d seen the same things, we just looked at it differently. From their point of view, they saw homes that barely qualified as shelter, and lots of kids with little in the way of decent clothing. They thought this showed that poverty was rampant.
We told them that we looked at it differently. First there was no begging. A real indication of desperate situations, There wasn’t anybody selling things that nobody wanted in the first place who look at you with eyes that told you things were indeed dire. There were no babies with swollen bellies or flies around their eyes because it takes too much effort to keep brushing them away and conserving energy is a good thing. Mostly, though, it’s just the laughter in the air. No matter how remote the village, it’s a constant. Geographically, the land sits on the Caribbean, with Guatemala on the west and south, and Mexico’s Yucatan to the north. No more than 75 miles wide at any point and 175 miles along the coast from north to south, a total of 250,000 people live in Belize, with 70,000 in Belize City, a place, honestly which didn’t interest us. It’s the islands and the jungles that draw people to its ever burgeoning tourist industry.
The coastal temps are in the 80’s for highs most of the year and mid 70’s are the lows. Both are accompanied with high humidity. Staying warm is not a problem. Warm weather people delight in the consistency of it all. Up in the mountains, it will cool down all the way to the 60’s and they complain whey they actually have to cover up at night to go to sleep.
The highlands near Guatemala form a thick jungle rain forest, but the country is really dominated by the coast. Containing the largest barrier reef in the western world, It is simply magnificent. Small cays stick out of the water everywhere around the reef, some with only a single palm tree growing out of them, while others contain hundreds of people living on them. One of them is called “One Man Island.” It should more properly be called, “One man, one dog Island” for the inhabitant has built a “house” of about 10 square feet which takes up most of the island. He has posted signs of “No Loitering,” and has just enough land left for the dog to run which it seems to do constantly. Whenever a boat comes too close, he runs up the stairs into the house, out the back door, around the house and back again. This seems to be his routine, complete with constant barking. No sneaking up on this guy.
It must be written into the law books that nobody has the right to get seasick, because these people live on the sea. It serves as their livelihood. From fishing to tourism to transportation, there is the constant whirr of outboard motors as somebody is going somewhere by boat. Lots of areas don’t have “roads” or even foot access, and hence boats are the essential item. Without one, it’s total isolation.
All this movement takes place on a sea of green varying from dark azure to turquoise, and all of it is truly incredible and you never get tired of just sitting and looking at it. And there’s not just pockets of it, it’s everywhere. Naturally, the place is a huge dive area. You can choose whatever level of experience you want to have, from snorkeling in a Marine sanctuary, to scuba diving around the coral and reefs, to the ultimate, an all day trip out to the famous “Blue hole.” A crater that collapsed in on itself, it’s a perfect circle with that iridescent color all around the rim where the is shallow and that deep, deep blue of the hole itself, which just goes straight down over 400 feet. There’s a cool picture of it at:
http://ambergriscaye.com/pages/town/greatbluehole.html
At one of the resorts we were offered a drink of rum which had a snake in the bottle – for extra flavoring I guess. An alternative would have been the one with a scorpion in it. I passed on both, but one of the guys who didn’t said that the stuff with the scorpion in it wasn’t bad, but that the snake one was just pure fire. I guess they had to fortify it because of, well I don’t know why.
Drinking is a favorite pastime of most tourists and the bars are full of heavy partiers at nighttime. They start filling up in the late afternoon when the dive boats come back from their trips and get downright congested as the night progresses. We didn’t stay to see just how late they do their thing, but it’s safe to say early morning is not a favorite part of the day here. Dive boats can go out at any time of the day and afternoon dives are a particular favorite. Wonder why?
The majority of people coming to the various cays are snorkelers and scuba divers. As mentioned before the water is so clear, such a beautiful color and the sea life so close to the surface that all levels of skilled people can partake and enjoy themselves. The humidity will soak you through almost immediately and so people dress as casually and skimpily as decorum and their personal levels of decency permit. There is usually a nice breeze which blows off the water moderating the heat, but it still feels much hotter than it actually is. All that reflection off the water means that some very heavy-duty sunscreen is necessary, and never mind all this all day protection stuff. Using it liberally and often is the modus openendi.
We began our stay in the southern part of the country near Placencia. It is very remote and villages are populated in the hundreds, not thousands. The resorts range in quality and Francis Ford Coppola is building a mega joint which will be 5 star all the way. For people who want to experience good diving, but not big crowds, it’s an ideal place. Our place had AC in all rooms, wonderful, but expensive, food, cable tv in all rooms and was thoroughly enjoyable.
We then went to the highlands to get a feel for that part of Belize. Towns have a rugged self-reliant feel to them. Fewer mosquitoes, and some beautiful resorts catering to people who want luxury in a rain forest setting. It serves as a jumping off place for Tikal, the magnificent ruins of the Mayans, which is just across the border in Guatemala. There are lots of things to do from lazily drifting down rivers, to cave tubing, to river rafting and jungle walks looking for wildlife.
This area, so close to Guatemala, is naturally where you see most of the Guatemalan refugees. With a long border through the jungle, it is impossible to control migration and since Belize has a minimum wage more than double that of Guatemala, naturally lots of people come here seeking better lives. The two countries still have major disputes about territory with Guatemala claiming that since Belize was ruled by the Brits as British Honduras, the independence which the Brits gave to Belize really has no validity.
Tensions remain but have not broken out in outright total hostilities. Once in a while, the Belize army sweeps through warning the illegals to evacuate the camps. They are ignored, the army comes back, shots are fired, people die, and both governments posture for their respective citizens and then things go back to the way they were. Interestingly, the Guatemalans living in Belize don’t want to see Belize become Guatemalan territory because, they say, things would just deteriorate to the point where they are in Guatemala. Tis a puzzlement.
But of all the places in Belize that are really cool, the signature location is that of Ambergris Caye and it’s town of San Pedro. Funny, doesn’t sound very British. Just a 15 minute flight from Belize City, this is the mecca for visitors. The number of dive sites, their closeness (because you’re already on one of them) makes it the center of tourism. Again you can select your level of isolation, but most people stay in close to San Pedro because of the night life and the aforementioned watering holes. S. P. has a population of 4,000 permanent residents and the whole island has only 632 rooms, which is about the size of some of the mega resorts in Cancun to the north. Yet the place really rocks and everybody has a good time since it’s still happy Belize.
The streets of S.P. are a chalky sand and clay mixture and the vehicle of choice for locals is the golf cart. Some pick-ups can be seen, mostly used as delivery vehicles, but the golf carts are everywhere. Tourists can rent them for an hour or a day up to a month at a time. Cheap to buy, operate and maintain, they negotiate the narrow, dusty streets easily without choking the life out of the place with traffic jams and pollution. Almost all of the streets are one way. Okay, there are only three streets going north and south and two of them are one way with the third being anything goes. Each of the side streets, and there are probably 10 of them are all one way as well.
The island of choice for those on the cheap is Caulker Caye. It is the backpacker’s haven. We didn’t go there, but everybody says the same thing. There is an inexpensive hotel on the island and people go there when they want the experience, but don’t want to spend the money at the major resorts. Sanitation seems to be a problem, and we did hear complaints about the general odor of the place.
Ecotourism is certainly a buzzword in the travel industry nowadays, and resorts use it for their own purposes with varying degrees of commitment to environmental protection, but Belize really seems to be doing a good job. They realize that what they have is a unique environment and try to maintain it for the long run, not just the short term advantage. This is how they will survive in a fickle tourist market. Belize seems to be far better known to easterners and southerners than to us on the left coast, but we met people from all over the U.S.
The use of Palm trees for thatch has practically stopped, and ceramic tiles are the roofing most commonly used. All containers sold have to be recyclable, a source of income for people to gather and return and we were very impressed with the cleanliness of the areas we visited. Seems like everybody’s bought into the concept.
The Mennonites and the Amish presence has added a lot of agricultural emphasis to a place where it was significantly lacking before their arrival. They exist in colonies of varying degrees of religious fundamentalism. The Amish still go around in their horse drawn carts, just as they do in Lancaster County, Pa.. while the Mennonites are far more involved in commercial enterprises. They build houses and sell them to the Garifunas and Creole people, and their industriousness as a mini society with the whole has had a positive effect in a land where the heat, the humidity, and the abundance of natural food can easily create a culture of “Everything’s fine, let’s do it later.”
It’s not hard to get around the country. There are only three main roads, all of which are paved, and there are two airlines operating small single prop 12-17 passenger service to various places for $50 to $100 bucks a pop, and it’s really a beautiful way to see the place. High enough to get an overall picture, low enough to really get some detail. It was like flying back from Tortuguero in Costa Rica.
Our last day we rented a car and went to a spa resort where they had a pet baby monkey. This is where we found the viper rum. Naturally, Carol had to find it and play with it. Well, it’s a baby, and like a kitten, it has sharp teeth, so play, but play at your own peril. Carol left with a smile on her face from the experience and hours later had no trouble recalling the experience by simply looking at the tooth marks on her arm. No blood, no serious damage, no dreaded diseases.
We left Belize to come to our friends place in Cost Rica where we have been happily received once again. We flew Taca airlines from Belize to San Jose, changing planes in San Salvador. We taked to the agent when we checked in at Belize City and he upgraded us to first class since I was a travel agent. Free drinks flowed on the one hour flight to San Salvador, with rum being my choice and orange juice being Carol’s. I swear, that woman has no sense of imagination. Anyway, we bought Carol’s ticket on the internet for $300, yes, cheaper than even I could get as an agent, (and we wonder why travel agents are dinosaurs) while mine was purchased on a travel agent discount for $88. All well and good until we reached San Salvador and I decided to walk around checking out the airport. I returned before boarding and Carol was nervous, saying: “Didn’t you hear them paging you?” The gist was that the flight was overbooked and since Carol had purchased a full price ticket, she could fly, but since mine was a t.a. discount, I wasn’t going anywhere. I was the first to be bumped. There was another flight an hour later, so it really wasn’t the end of the world – just inconvenient for us and for our friends who would have to wait or make two trips to the airport.
I did my best whining, cajoling, groveling, and whatever else I thought could get me on the plane. I’d have to wait and see if there were any no-shows. She had no idea as to whether I was going on the same flight with her when she boarded the plane. Just before they closed the gate, they told me I could board the plane, but since they had given my seat away when they cancelled my ticket on that flight, I would have to take Carol’s seat, and she would have to move to first class. NOW, WAIT A MINUTE!! I’m the travel agent here. I should be the one upgraded. She’s just another passenger like everybody else. I’m the one who sells Taca. I’m the one you have to take care of here. She’s only on this flight because I put her here.
Well, no, it doesn’t work that tay.She paid full fare, so she gets upgraded, and I get the cattle call. The agent in Belize who upgraded us was the station manager, and he has the right to do that, they are just workers and can’t, so stop complaining, get on the plane and shut up, or stay here. Could I be upgraded if I waited for the later flight, I asked? No! Are there first class seats available, I asked? Yes, but you can’t have one was the unwelcome response. So, grudgingly, I traipsed on the plane and had to tell my elated wife that she had to move to first class. This was just adding to the insult to my professional pride.
I considered not saying anything and just taking the first class seat, but figured they’d come on board and check, which they did, so she moved and I sat. She got the free drinks totally wasted on orange juice and I had a small glass of coke filled mostly with ice cubes. She got the first class meal, while I had a huge roll of bread where somewhere inside was hidden something that tasted vaguely of cheese and had wilted lettuce.
Trust me, she’s paying for Taca’s insult and will continue to pay for as long as think I can get away with it. But in the end we were on the same flight, were greeted by the whole Jara clan at the airport and have once again begun to enjoy life as extended members of our second family.
Love to all,
Carol and a pissed Jim.
Well, that’s a lie. We’re not actually still in Belize, since we arrived in Costa Rica last night, but our thoughts and minds have not yet made the transformation from that newest point of the planet about which we have fascinated. It’s easy go get caught up in the life around the Jara household and so I need to write this before things get lost in the vacuum. Belize had been a place in which I have been really interested ever since I flew over the blue hole and saw the magnificence of the water and cays from 33,000 feet. For Carol the interest was about this place in the center of Spanish Central America where the Brits established their enclave and maintained a presence until the 1962 when independence was granted.
Ethnically, it is a colorful mixture of peoples. Creole are British pirates who mixed with black slaves and created a lilting language of their own. Mestizos, are a mixture of the Hispanic and local Mayan peoples, and the Garifunas are a combination of African and Mayan with the African features being predominant. Throw in a small, but important, bunch of Menonites and you have a combination which works in a wonderfully, vibrant way – and amazingly well.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier group of people than the Belizeans. You can’t walk down the streets ride in cars, or simply sit somewhere and not be bombarded with smiling faces, people inquiring about your health, wanting to know if you’re having a good time, or simply waving to you as you pass by.
From old to young, people are genuinely friendly. There doesn’t seem to be anything contrived about it. It just creates a wonderfully relaxed atmosphere to enjoy where you are. It’s easy to get cautious when traveling. Strangers will come up to you and give you the old “Aren’t we best friends,” bit, then proceed to try and sell you something. But there’s no false friendliness here, it just an honest, straightforward smile and inquirey to make sure you’re okay.
Our arms got tired of waving to people as we drove down the highways. People we’d never seen before and would never see again. No matter. They were passing and acknowledged you with a smile and a wave. This must have been what the British royal family must have felt like back when people actually liked them.
We had a serious discussion yesterday with some young Yanks on the subject of poverty. We remarked that we didn’t see the grinding poverty to which we’ve become accustomed in much of Hispanic America. They said that we obviously hadn’t been where they were because they saw plenty of it. We realized we’d seen the same things, we just looked at it differently. From their point of view, they saw homes that barely qualified as shelter, and lots of kids with little in the way of decent clothing. They thought this showed that poverty was rampant.
We told them that we looked at it differently. First there was no begging. A real indication of desperate situations, There wasn’t anybody selling things that nobody wanted in the first place who look at you with eyes that told you things were indeed dire. There were no babies with swollen bellies or flies around their eyes because it takes too much effort to keep brushing them away and conserving energy is a good thing. Mostly, though, it’s just the laughter in the air. No matter how remote the village, it’s a constant. Geographically, the land sits on the Caribbean, with Guatemala on the west and south, and Mexico’s Yucatan to the north. No more than 75 miles wide at any point and 175 miles along the coast from north to south, a total of 250,000 people live in Belize, with 70,000 in Belize City, a place, honestly which didn’t interest us. It’s the islands and the jungles that draw people to its ever burgeoning tourist industry.
The coastal temps are in the 80’s for highs most of the year and mid 70’s are the lows. Both are accompanied with high humidity. Staying warm is not a problem. Warm weather people delight in the consistency of it all. Up in the mountains, it will cool down all the way to the 60’s and they complain whey they actually have to cover up at night to go to sleep.
The highlands near Guatemala form a thick jungle rain forest, but the country is really dominated by the coast. Containing the largest barrier reef in the western world, It is simply magnificent. Small cays stick out of the water everywhere around the reef, some with only a single palm tree growing out of them, while others contain hundreds of people living on them. One of them is called “One Man Island.” It should more properly be called, “One man, one dog Island” for the inhabitant has built a “house” of about 10 square feet which takes up most of the island. He has posted signs of “No Loitering,” and has just enough land left for the dog to run which it seems to do constantly. Whenever a boat comes too close, he runs up the stairs into the house, out the back door, around the house and back again. This seems to be his routine, complete with constant barking. No sneaking up on this guy.
It must be written into the law books that nobody has the right to get seasick, because these people live on the sea. It serves as their livelihood. From fishing to tourism to transportation, there is the constant whirr of outboard motors as somebody is going somewhere by boat. Lots of areas don’t have “roads” or even foot access, and hence boats are the essential item. Without one, it’s total isolation.
All this movement takes place on a sea of green varying from dark azure to turquoise, and all of it is truly incredible and you never get tired of just sitting and looking at it. And there’s not just pockets of it, it’s everywhere. Naturally, the place is a huge dive area. You can choose whatever level of experience you want to have, from snorkeling in a Marine sanctuary, to scuba diving around the coral and reefs, to the ultimate, an all day trip out to the famous “Blue hole.” A crater that collapsed in on itself, it’s a perfect circle with that iridescent color all around the rim where the is shallow and that deep, deep blue of the hole itself, which just goes straight down over 400 feet. There’s a cool picture of it at:
http://ambergriscaye.com/pages/town/greatbluehole.html
At one of the resorts we were offered a drink of rum which had a snake in the bottle – for extra flavoring I guess. An alternative would have been the one with a scorpion in it. I passed on both, but one of the guys who didn’t said that the stuff with the scorpion in it wasn’t bad, but that the snake one was just pure fire. I guess they had to fortify it because of, well I don’t know why.
Drinking is a favorite pastime of most tourists and the bars are full of heavy partiers at nighttime. They start filling up in the late afternoon when the dive boats come back from their trips and get downright congested as the night progresses. We didn’t stay to see just how late they do their thing, but it’s safe to say early morning is not a favorite part of the day here. Dive boats can go out at any time of the day and afternoon dives are a particular favorite. Wonder why?
The majority of people coming to the various cays are snorkelers and scuba divers. As mentioned before the water is so clear, such a beautiful color and the sea life so close to the surface that all levels of skilled people can partake and enjoy themselves. The humidity will soak you through almost immediately and so people dress as casually and skimpily as decorum and their personal levels of decency permit. There is usually a nice breeze which blows off the water moderating the heat, but it still feels much hotter than it actually is. All that reflection off the water means that some very heavy-duty sunscreen is necessary, and never mind all this all day protection stuff. Using it liberally and often is the modus openendi.
We began our stay in the southern part of the country near Placencia. It is very remote and villages are populated in the hundreds, not thousands. The resorts range in quality and Francis Ford Coppola is building a mega joint which will be 5 star all the way. For people who want to experience good diving, but not big crowds, it’s an ideal place. Our place had AC in all rooms, wonderful, but expensive, food, cable tv in all rooms and was thoroughly enjoyable.
We then went to the highlands to get a feel for that part of Belize. Towns have a rugged self-reliant feel to them. Fewer mosquitoes, and some beautiful resorts catering to people who want luxury in a rain forest setting. It serves as a jumping off place for Tikal, the magnificent ruins of the Mayans, which is just across the border in Guatemala. There are lots of things to do from lazily drifting down rivers, to cave tubing, to river rafting and jungle walks looking for wildlife.
This area, so close to Guatemala, is naturally where you see most of the Guatemalan refugees. With a long border through the jungle, it is impossible to control migration and since Belize has a minimum wage more than double that of Guatemala, naturally lots of people come here seeking better lives. The two countries still have major disputes about territory with Guatemala claiming that since Belize was ruled by the Brits as British Honduras, the independence which the Brits gave to Belize really has no validity.
Tensions remain but have not broken out in outright total hostilities. Once in a while, the Belize army sweeps through warning the illegals to evacuate the camps. They are ignored, the army comes back, shots are fired, people die, and both governments posture for their respective citizens and then things go back to the way they were. Interestingly, the Guatemalans living in Belize don’t want to see Belize become Guatemalan territory because, they say, things would just deteriorate to the point where they are in Guatemala. Tis a puzzlement.
But of all the places in Belize that are really cool, the signature location is that of Ambergris Caye and it’s town of San Pedro. Funny, doesn’t sound very British. Just a 15 minute flight from Belize City, this is the mecca for visitors. The number of dive sites, their closeness (because you’re already on one of them) makes it the center of tourism. Again you can select your level of isolation, but most people stay in close to San Pedro because of the night life and the aforementioned watering holes. S. P. has a population of 4,000 permanent residents and the whole island has only 632 rooms, which is about the size of some of the mega resorts in Cancun to the north. Yet the place really rocks and everybody has a good time since it’s still happy Belize.
The streets of S.P. are a chalky sand and clay mixture and the vehicle of choice for locals is the golf cart. Some pick-ups can be seen, mostly used as delivery vehicles, but the golf carts are everywhere. Tourists can rent them for an hour or a day up to a month at a time. Cheap to buy, operate and maintain, they negotiate the narrow, dusty streets easily without choking the life out of the place with traffic jams and pollution. Almost all of the streets are one way. Okay, there are only three streets going north and south and two of them are one way with the third being anything goes. Each of the side streets, and there are probably 10 of them are all one way as well.
The island of choice for those on the cheap is Caulker Caye. It is the backpacker’s haven. We didn’t go there, but everybody says the same thing. There is an inexpensive hotel on the island and people go there when they want the experience, but don’t want to spend the money at the major resorts. Sanitation seems to be a problem, and we did hear complaints about the general odor of the place.
Ecotourism is certainly a buzzword in the travel industry nowadays, and resorts use it for their own purposes with varying degrees of commitment to environmental protection, but Belize really seems to be doing a good job. They realize that what they have is a unique environment and try to maintain it for the long run, not just the short term advantage. This is how they will survive in a fickle tourist market. Belize seems to be far better known to easterners and southerners than to us on the left coast, but we met people from all over the U.S.
The use of Palm trees for thatch has practically stopped, and ceramic tiles are the roofing most commonly used. All containers sold have to be recyclable, a source of income for people to gather and return and we were very impressed with the cleanliness of the areas we visited. Seems like everybody’s bought into the concept.
The Mennonites and the Amish presence has added a lot of agricultural emphasis to a place where it was significantly lacking before their arrival. They exist in colonies of varying degrees of religious fundamentalism. The Amish still go around in their horse drawn carts, just as they do in Lancaster County, Pa.. while the Mennonites are far more involved in commercial enterprises. They build houses and sell them to the Garifunas and Creole people, and their industriousness as a mini society with the whole has had a positive effect in a land where the heat, the humidity, and the abundance of natural food can easily create a culture of “Everything’s fine, let’s do it later.”
It’s not hard to get around the country. There are only three main roads, all of which are paved, and there are two airlines operating small single prop 12-17 passenger service to various places for $50 to $100 bucks a pop, and it’s really a beautiful way to see the place. High enough to get an overall picture, low enough to really get some detail. It was like flying back from Tortuguero in Costa Rica.
Our last day we rented a car and went to a spa resort where they had a pet baby monkey. This is where we found the viper rum. Naturally, Carol had to find it and play with it. Well, it’s a baby, and like a kitten, it has sharp teeth, so play, but play at your own peril. Carol left with a smile on her face from the experience and hours later had no trouble recalling the experience by simply looking at the tooth marks on her arm. No blood, no serious damage, no dreaded diseases.
We left Belize to come to our friends place in Cost Rica where we have been happily received once again. We flew Taca airlines from Belize to San Jose, changing planes in San Salvador. We taked to the agent when we checked in at Belize City and he upgraded us to first class since I was a travel agent. Free drinks flowed on the one hour flight to San Salvador, with rum being my choice and orange juice being Carol’s. I swear, that woman has no sense of imagination. Anyway, we bought Carol’s ticket on the internet for $300, yes, cheaper than even I could get as an agent, (and we wonder why travel agents are dinosaurs) while mine was purchased on a travel agent discount for $88. All well and good until we reached San Salvador and I decided to walk around checking out the airport. I returned before boarding and Carol was nervous, saying: “Didn’t you hear them paging you?” The gist was that the flight was overbooked and since Carol had purchased a full price ticket, she could fly, but since mine was a t.a. discount, I wasn’t going anywhere. I was the first to be bumped. There was another flight an hour later, so it really wasn’t the end of the world – just inconvenient for us and for our friends who would have to wait or make two trips to the airport.
I did my best whining, cajoling, groveling, and whatever else I thought could get me on the plane. I’d have to wait and see if there were any no-shows. She had no idea as to whether I was going on the same flight with her when she boarded the plane. Just before they closed the gate, they told me I could board the plane, but since they had given my seat away when they cancelled my ticket on that flight, I would have to take Carol’s seat, and she would have to move to first class. NOW, WAIT A MINUTE!! I’m the travel agent here. I should be the one upgraded. She’s just another passenger like everybody else. I’m the one who sells Taca. I’m the one you have to take care of here. She’s only on this flight because I put her here.
Well, no, it doesn’t work that tay.She paid full fare, so she gets upgraded, and I get the cattle call. The agent in Belize who upgraded us was the station manager, and he has the right to do that, they are just workers and can’t, so stop complaining, get on the plane and shut up, or stay here. Could I be upgraded if I waited for the later flight, I asked? No! Are there first class seats available, I asked? Yes, but you can’t have one was the unwelcome response. So, grudgingly, I traipsed on the plane and had to tell my elated wife that she had to move to first class. This was just adding to the insult to my professional pride.
I considered not saying anything and just taking the first class seat, but figured they’d come on board and check, which they did, so she moved and I sat. She got the free drinks totally wasted on orange juice and I had a small glass of coke filled mostly with ice cubes. She got the first class meal, while I had a huge roll of bread where somewhere inside was hidden something that tasted vaguely of cheese and had wilted lettuce.
Trust me, she’s paying for Taca’s insult and will continue to pay for as long as think I can get away with it. But in the end we were on the same flight, were greeted by the whole Jara clan at the airport and have once again begun to enjoy life as extended members of our second family.
Love to all,
Carol and a pissed Jim.
May I check your cultural bias, please
Whenever I travel, along with my suitcase, I try to check my cultural biases at the ram which leads to the plane taking us to the places we visit. However, I still get caught short sometimes and this happened to me this last day in Belize. We were waiting for the 16 passenger plane which would take us to the int’l airport when a dog wandered by and someone remarked that there went one which made it through the night. I asked him what he meant, and he told me that there were signs around town for people to keep their dogs inside for the night because they were going to poison the strays that night and pick up the dead bodies the following morning.
My first thought was one of revulsion at the barbarian actions of going around killing dogs randomly. Having a dog poisoned when I was a boy probably added to the feeling, but I was really repulsed by this idea.
Upon talking with Carol ,who initially had the same reaction as I, we reflected on the places where we have seen packs of hungry and uncared for dogs which pose a health and safety problem for any and everything who gets in their path. So many times we have seen them create so many problems. We also thought about home, where the city pound will routinely go around and pick up dogs which are unlicensed and then gas them after a few days if they’re not picked up. The difference in method couldn’t hide the fact that the results were the same, and at least in Belize, everybody had warning and could protect their animals. Suddenly, it seemed a whole lot more humane and certainly more logical than the alternatives.
AS I write this, there is a hurricane battering western Mexico and Belize has certainly had their share. Ironically, the years that end in “1” have been hurricane years – 31, 61, and lastly 01. Last year when Iris hit Belize and did such terrible physical damage, there was no loss of life, with the notable exception of a boatload of American tourists who, instead of taking shelter o land, decided to ride it out on their 100 foot boat and weather the storm, as it were, with a hurricane party. Some crew members were summarily fired (lucky them) when they refused to be part of the Gringo stupidity and wanted to go ashore. Those who strayed on board drowned when the boat capsized with 19 people getting up close and personal with a petulant female named Iris.
On the coast houses are built on concrete columns and living space is 10 feet or so off the ground. In the small village of Monkey River where there were 38 houses before the storm, only seven were left standing afterwards and only three did not have significant damage. The 160 people crowded into the school and community center to ride out the storm and all survived. Since the village members are mostly related in one form or another, they all pitched in to rebuild. However, they still don’t have electricity or phone service, because the privatized electrical company doesn’t see a profit in spending money to reconnect a small village.
The guy on One Man Island lost his tin home and half his island and had to rebuild accordingly. He and his dog did survive, apparently by fleeing the island prior to the storm hitting.
Houses in the highlands are build in much the same manner as on the coast, but in this case it’s for ventilation. On a personal note, anything that keeps the Fer de Lance poisonous snake from crawling into my shoes at night has to be seen as a positive aspect as well as channeling the breezes.
As you might guess, fishing is a major industry, and small boats and big boats alike ago after all kinds of delicacies. We didn’t see a menu where fish was not prominently featured. We had a grilled lobster dinner and an entire tail and half another for $15. They have shrimp ponds where they cultivate them commercially and the fish is both delicious and cheap. We saw people free-diving close to shore and many make their living catching the spiny lobsters displayed on the menus of the restaurants. All classes of restaurants have it offered, not just the big, expensive resorts.
I need to talk about safety for a moment because so many people fear going to places here in Central America. Not once during our time in Belize did we feel threatened or intimated. Now, we understand that Belize City can be different, but then there are parts of Stockton where I would never venture during the day, much les at night.
One resort worker told us they would give us a key to our room if we wished, but there was no reason to think our things would not be totally safe. They understood the fear factor of many Americans, and so they are sensitive to it, but the general attitude is to not worry, everything will be all right. On Ambergris Caye, the big dive center, we walked down dark alleys at night with never a fear. We were merely accosted by continuous hellos, how are you doing? having a good time? and similar expressions of friendliness.
There is a 55 mile an hour speed limit on the three main highways of the country, there is a mandatory seat belt law, and people are forbidden to talk on their cell phones while driving. All good rules, except there is no enforcement. No highway patrol, no radar guns, no hiding policemen, just public acceptance of the law, which as far as we could tell, was adhered to by the citizenry. It’s interesting that while at home people’s eyes would light up at the lack of enforcement, people accept it and obey it. Okay, so they cheat a little on the speed limit, but I never saw anybody really doing the pedal to the metal thing. “Over 10 over,” as my CHP coworker called it, seemed to be the natural limit and most people didn’t even go that much faster than 60. It took some real self-restraint to maintain a slower speed when the highways are so empty of traffic. I kept catching to drivers in front of me and then having to slow down or pass them, and then slow down again when my vision of the road ahead was no longer blocked.
They do have speed bumps. They call them “The breasts warnings” since the signs alerting you to their presence looks like a picture of a woman’s breasts taken from an overhead camera. Carol noted that some of the different signs looked more like fried eggs, but that must be a girl thing. Certainly I’d never come up with something like that.
We’re off to Costa Rica again. Antonio’s birthday was last weekend and they waited for us to arrive before having the party. So tonight, the joint will be jumping and the liquor will be flowing. There will be much kissing of cheeks upon arrivals and departures, and any excuse in between that. We’ll all look like prunes in the end. The whole family will be coming. That means five generations – from 95 to two years old. But that’s part of the Cost Rica letter to be coming later. We know the family plans to take us somewhere for the weekend, but after tonight’s bash, it won’t be early. Early is when the party will finish, as ins 3 a.m. or thereabouts. This is the land of the fiesta, after all,
Thank god they love baseball here, so I got to see my beloved Giants crush the Angels, but I’m betting ahead of myself.
Love to all,
C and J
My first thought was one of revulsion at the barbarian actions of going around killing dogs randomly. Having a dog poisoned when I was a boy probably added to the feeling, but I was really repulsed by this idea.
Upon talking with Carol ,who initially had the same reaction as I, we reflected on the places where we have seen packs of hungry and uncared for dogs which pose a health and safety problem for any and everything who gets in their path. So many times we have seen them create so many problems. We also thought about home, where the city pound will routinely go around and pick up dogs which are unlicensed and then gas them after a few days if they’re not picked up. The difference in method couldn’t hide the fact that the results were the same, and at least in Belize, everybody had warning and could protect their animals. Suddenly, it seemed a whole lot more humane and certainly more logical than the alternatives.
AS I write this, there is a hurricane battering western Mexico and Belize has certainly had their share. Ironically, the years that end in “1” have been hurricane years – 31, 61, and lastly 01. Last year when Iris hit Belize and did such terrible physical damage, there was no loss of life, with the notable exception of a boatload of American tourists who, instead of taking shelter o land, decided to ride it out on their 100 foot boat and weather the storm, as it were, with a hurricane party. Some crew members were summarily fired (lucky them) when they refused to be part of the Gringo stupidity and wanted to go ashore. Those who strayed on board drowned when the boat capsized with 19 people getting up close and personal with a petulant female named Iris.
On the coast houses are built on concrete columns and living space is 10 feet or so off the ground. In the small village of Monkey River where there were 38 houses before the storm, only seven were left standing afterwards and only three did not have significant damage. The 160 people crowded into the school and community center to ride out the storm and all survived. Since the village members are mostly related in one form or another, they all pitched in to rebuild. However, they still don’t have electricity or phone service, because the privatized electrical company doesn’t see a profit in spending money to reconnect a small village.
The guy on One Man Island lost his tin home and half his island and had to rebuild accordingly. He and his dog did survive, apparently by fleeing the island prior to the storm hitting.
Houses in the highlands are build in much the same manner as on the coast, but in this case it’s for ventilation. On a personal note, anything that keeps the Fer de Lance poisonous snake from crawling into my shoes at night has to be seen as a positive aspect as well as channeling the breezes.
As you might guess, fishing is a major industry, and small boats and big boats alike ago after all kinds of delicacies. We didn’t see a menu where fish was not prominently featured. We had a grilled lobster dinner and an entire tail and half another for $15. They have shrimp ponds where they cultivate them commercially and the fish is both delicious and cheap. We saw people free-diving close to shore and many make their living catching the spiny lobsters displayed on the menus of the restaurants. All classes of restaurants have it offered, not just the big, expensive resorts.
I need to talk about safety for a moment because so many people fear going to places here in Central America. Not once during our time in Belize did we feel threatened or intimated. Now, we understand that Belize City can be different, but then there are parts of Stockton where I would never venture during the day, much les at night.
One resort worker told us they would give us a key to our room if we wished, but there was no reason to think our things would not be totally safe. They understood the fear factor of many Americans, and so they are sensitive to it, but the general attitude is to not worry, everything will be all right. On Ambergris Caye, the big dive center, we walked down dark alleys at night with never a fear. We were merely accosted by continuous hellos, how are you doing? having a good time? and similar expressions of friendliness.
There is a 55 mile an hour speed limit on the three main highways of the country, there is a mandatory seat belt law, and people are forbidden to talk on their cell phones while driving. All good rules, except there is no enforcement. No highway patrol, no radar guns, no hiding policemen, just public acceptance of the law, which as far as we could tell, was adhered to by the citizenry. It’s interesting that while at home people’s eyes would light up at the lack of enforcement, people accept it and obey it. Okay, so they cheat a little on the speed limit, but I never saw anybody really doing the pedal to the metal thing. “Over 10 over,” as my CHP coworker called it, seemed to be the natural limit and most people didn’t even go that much faster than 60. It took some real self-restraint to maintain a slower speed when the highways are so empty of traffic. I kept catching to drivers in front of me and then having to slow down or pass them, and then slow down again when my vision of the road ahead was no longer blocked.
They do have speed bumps. They call them “The breasts warnings” since the signs alerting you to their presence looks like a picture of a woman’s breasts taken from an overhead camera. Carol noted that some of the different signs looked more like fried eggs, but that must be a girl thing. Certainly I’d never come up with something like that.
We’re off to Costa Rica again. Antonio’s birthday was last weekend and they waited for us to arrive before having the party. So tonight, the joint will be jumping and the liquor will be flowing. There will be much kissing of cheeks upon arrivals and departures, and any excuse in between that. We’ll all look like prunes in the end. The whole family will be coming. That means five generations – from 95 to two years old. But that’s part of the Cost Rica letter to be coming later. We know the family plans to take us somewhere for the weekend, but after tonight’s bash, it won’t be early. Early is when the party will finish, as ins 3 a.m. or thereabouts. This is the land of the fiesta, after all,
Thank god they love baseball here, so I got to see my beloved Giants crush the Angels, but I’m betting ahead of myself.
Love to all,
C and J
A good lesson in my life
If at first it appeared to be a wasted day and a bad decision, it ultimately turned out to be one of the best travel days I have ever had, and a excellent example of how you should never let small amounts of money deter you from doing what you want to do in life, because in the end you never remember the money you spent, but you always remember the events the money brought to your life.
When I made the original reservations, our flight was to have left Panama City at 4p.m. and stop in San Salvador on its way to our final destination San Francisco. I then noticed on the computer that there was a flight leaving Panama City at 6 a.m. which would leave us with 10 hours in Salvador and catching the same plane from there to SF. It seemed like a free day and an opportunity to see something which was not part of our schedule. So, after discussion with Carol, I booked the flight with the 10 hours layover in San Salvador. On the way down we also stopped in San Salvador, and knowing that I had the long layover on the return, I made sure that we could leave the airport on our return and venture out into the city. We were assured that since we would be in transit on our way home we wouldn't have to pay the airport tax. However.....When we got to the airport in San Salvador on our return we were informed that if we left the airport we would have to pay $25 apiece for the airport tax, and a $10 visa fee to enter the country. That meant $70 for ten hours and seemed not worth it. But we had planned to spend the time in the city, and the idea of spending 10 hours in the airport didn't particularly appeal to me, so we bit the bullet and paid the fees. Since it was raining we decided rather than head to the beach, we'd catch the $.60 collectivo and ride to town. A woman was walking behind us
and we asked her where we caught the bus. She told us that she too was going to take it, and to follow her. At the corner, we waited until the collectivo screamed around the corner and came squealing to a halt. Since it was totally full, we knew we'd have to wait for the next one, but
nothing is ever full in the land of the collectivo. Everybody just squeezes a little more and the 23 of us in a VW bus headed into town. Thirty minutes later, with all parts numbed by the lack of movement, we tumbled out and found ourselves in the middle of San Salvador on a Sunday
morning.
It's impossible to describe the visual and audio picture. I wish that I had a microphone to capture the sounds. It's somewhere between cacophony and harmony. The crowded streets are a rumble of sounds: bus engine roaring, hawkers selling anything and everything, ticket takers on the buses hollering out the destinations, and thousands of people talking, all trying to be heard with the general din of all the sounds.
After walking the streets for a few hours just soaking up the general scene. We ducked into a Salvadoran version of a fast food place for a quick bite, since all the "restaurants" seemed questionable from a sanitation standpoint. Pollo Campero, or country chicken was an easy winner over burger king. Fast-food places in poorer countries are an interesting contrast to American Fast food places. First of all, only middle class Salvadorans eat there, since prices are higher than the street food. The uniforms worn by the workers are worn with pride, not embarrassment as in the states. The workers are of a higher educational level than the general public just opposite of those working here by and large. There is a high degree of cheerfulness and the workers clearly enjoy their work, instead of the attitude of many who work here. We were well taken care of by a young Salvadoran girl, who had the most trusted and prestigious job of all, that of cashier. she had a smile nearly as big as her five foot tall, thin frame. She couldn't help us enough, from getting good directions on where to catch the bus to go to the zoo, our next directions, to where we should go after that. She wanted us to visit her hometown a few miles away, since it was so special in her mind. She was really sweet and her general warmth just made eating at a fast-food place a really enjoyable experience.
After three near collisions between our bus and another bus, a car, and a truck respectively, we made it to the zoo and watched people more than the animals. Sunday is family day in Hispanic countries and it's great to see all classes of people enjoying something in common. Since we were the only Gringos we saw all day, we were watched as much as we were observers, but always with friendly curiosity.
It was now two in the afternoon and Carol wanted to be back at the airport by four. We were both getting tired and she didn't want to wait till the last second and stress about getting there. I read in the tour book about a lake which was supposed to be pretty and was in the general direction as the airport, so we'd be close after seeing the lake. We made it to the lake an hour later after our $.15 bus ride and discovered that the airport was only a small one and in totally the opposite direction from the international airport. We then weighed our options with me on the side of
retracing our steps by bus and catching another collectivo back to the airport, and Carol opting for catching a cab and doing it all in one ride.
We asked one cab driver, but he wanted $25 and I told Carol that I didn't want to pay that much, and so we walked to catch the bus. As we waited, another taxi came by and we asked how much he would charge to go to the airport. Again we were told $25, again I said “no,” and he countered with $20. I looked at Carol and was given that look of: "I really want to get to the airport!" So we agreed and we got into the taxi. It was at that moment and for the next 40 minutes that everything came together and created one of the most riveting moments in my travels. We sat in the back seat and surveyed the scene inside the taxi. In the front seat there was the "Taxista" a young man of probably 25. Beside him was his wife of maybe 18 and their 4 month-old baby. The taxi was a jumble of masking tape, wire, cardboard, and loose upholstery. It looked like that
scene out of "Apollo 13," where they dumped everything out on the table and announced that they had to create the filter. But in this case they dumped a bunch of junk out on the table and announced: "Okay, now we have to hold this taxi together." The taxi moved better at higher speeds, because when we slowed down for lights the extent to which the wheels were out of alignment was much more pronounced. The muffler was such that you knew at one time it must have been one but the noise now told you that it did no practical good. The black exhaust that emitted from the back of the taxi looked like Professor Fate's car in the "Great Race." Ah, but the radio worked. How I don't know, because it dangled there by wire, and play it did. He tried vainly to find a station that played "Gringo Music," to help placate his fares in the back seat. You had to be careful how you sat because the springs in the seat protruded at very dangerous angles. But as we traveled to the airport this surrealistic scene became one of beauty and understanding. The sweet smile on the face of the girl as she patted her baby asleep on her lap as mothers down through the millennia have done, the tender looks that passed between husband and wife over things which we couldn't hear in the back seat, and the frankness with
which they talked about their lives were very touching.
These were simply two kids trying to eke out a living as best they could. It was Sunday, the family day, and yet they had to try to make a buck or two. So the only logical solution was for the three of them to spend the day combining both needs, being together riding around in the taxi looking for fares. They told us about the war and their experiences. They were glad that the war in El Salvador was over, but now, they said, gangs ruled the streets and it was more dangerous for the average citizen than ever before. Because of the distance to the airport we had to stop for gas. She reached up under her blouse (safer there, she said) and pulled out some money. We pulled into the gas station, he looked at the price of gas, and we pulled out looking for another station. He bought $4 worth of gas, that was all they could manage, and we pulled out, wobbling from side to side in a noisy, cloud of exhaust.
I sat there in the back seat ashamed that I had bargained my way down to save $5 when I had blown twice that much the night before on the turning of two cards in a game of blackjack at the casino in Panama City. Why was I trying to do this to these two kids without any semblance of certainty in their lives, struggling to make a life for themselves and their baby. They were not bitter or unpleasant about their situation. This was their lot in life, and they were making the best of it. He wasn't blowing his profits on cigarettes, and there wasn't a hint of machismo in his actions to her. They were not in rags, but their clothes were not the best. The baby, however, had a nice, clean jumper on and knitted red booties. Their priorities were definitely in place. I wish that I could have felt the same about mine.
We passed squalid villages and huts and wondered what kind of house they lived in. I counted my money in the back seat, a combination of US dollars and Salvadoran Colones, and I asked Carol if she had a $10 bill. She handed it to me and said, quietly: "Give him a good tip." I nodded in
acknowledgement. We were of the same mind. I knew that I was going to give him the original asking price of $25. In fact, it worked out to be about $28 with the $20 US and the rest of my colones.
When we got to the airport, I gave him the money and told him that the extra was a propina, a tip, and then I looked at her and asked her if she would do me a favor. She nodded, and I gave her a $10 bill. I asked her if she would buy the baby a gift, a present from the "Gringos." Her eyes
filled with tears and she said yes of course. I have no doubt that the money went to the baby, and for no other purpose.
In El Salvador, in contrast to the other countries of this visit, we encountered a lot of begging. I always have difficulty with that. I've explained before that I don't know who needs it and who simply wants it and I can't give to everybody who asks for money. I can't make a big
difference in the world, but here I had the opportunity to make a small difference for one day only to someone who I knew needed it and
appreciated it. These two kids have entered that inner sanctum where I keep my most treasured travel memories. Like the woman in Cuernavaca selling tomatoes, like the grizzled old woman in Chile who badgered me over the gulf war. I'll never forget these two, who helped refocus my priorities in life and and made me remember that the world and it's people are really one and can be in harmony if we all work at it. We four people were, for that 40 minutes, together. I don't know their names, I have no idea what their life has in store for them, but I feel very confident that given half a chance, they'll be fine and will raise their children to be good, productive individuals in this world.
I'll never forget them.
When I made the original reservations, our flight was to have left Panama City at 4p.m. and stop in San Salvador on its way to our final destination San Francisco. I then noticed on the computer that there was a flight leaving Panama City at 6 a.m. which would leave us with 10 hours in Salvador and catching the same plane from there to SF. It seemed like a free day and an opportunity to see something which was not part of our schedule. So, after discussion with Carol, I booked the flight with the 10 hours layover in San Salvador. On the way down we also stopped in San Salvador, and knowing that I had the long layover on the return, I made sure that we could leave the airport on our return and venture out into the city. We were assured that since we would be in transit on our way home we wouldn't have to pay the airport tax. However.....When we got to the airport in San Salvador on our return we were informed that if we left the airport we would have to pay $25 apiece for the airport tax, and a $10 visa fee to enter the country. That meant $70 for ten hours and seemed not worth it. But we had planned to spend the time in the city, and the idea of spending 10 hours in the airport didn't particularly appeal to me, so we bit the bullet and paid the fees. Since it was raining we decided rather than head to the beach, we'd catch the $.60 collectivo and ride to town. A woman was walking behind us
and we asked her where we caught the bus. She told us that she too was going to take it, and to follow her. At the corner, we waited until the collectivo screamed around the corner and came squealing to a halt. Since it was totally full, we knew we'd have to wait for the next one, but
nothing is ever full in the land of the collectivo. Everybody just squeezes a little more and the 23 of us in a VW bus headed into town. Thirty minutes later, with all parts numbed by the lack of movement, we tumbled out and found ourselves in the middle of San Salvador on a Sunday
morning.
It's impossible to describe the visual and audio picture. I wish that I had a microphone to capture the sounds. It's somewhere between cacophony and harmony. The crowded streets are a rumble of sounds: bus engine roaring, hawkers selling anything and everything, ticket takers on the buses hollering out the destinations, and thousands of people talking, all trying to be heard with the general din of all the sounds.
After walking the streets for a few hours just soaking up the general scene. We ducked into a Salvadoran version of a fast food place for a quick bite, since all the "restaurants" seemed questionable from a sanitation standpoint. Pollo Campero, or country chicken was an easy winner over burger king. Fast-food places in poorer countries are an interesting contrast to American Fast food places. First of all, only middle class Salvadorans eat there, since prices are higher than the street food. The uniforms worn by the workers are worn with pride, not embarrassment as in the states. The workers are of a higher educational level than the general public just opposite of those working here by and large. There is a high degree of cheerfulness and the workers clearly enjoy their work, instead of the attitude of many who work here. We were well taken care of by a young Salvadoran girl, who had the most trusted and prestigious job of all, that of cashier. she had a smile nearly as big as her five foot tall, thin frame. She couldn't help us enough, from getting good directions on where to catch the bus to go to the zoo, our next directions, to where we should go after that. She wanted us to visit her hometown a few miles away, since it was so special in her mind. She was really sweet and her general warmth just made eating at a fast-food place a really enjoyable experience.
After three near collisions between our bus and another bus, a car, and a truck respectively, we made it to the zoo and watched people more than the animals. Sunday is family day in Hispanic countries and it's great to see all classes of people enjoying something in common. Since we were the only Gringos we saw all day, we were watched as much as we were observers, but always with friendly curiosity.
It was now two in the afternoon and Carol wanted to be back at the airport by four. We were both getting tired and she didn't want to wait till the last second and stress about getting there. I read in the tour book about a lake which was supposed to be pretty and was in the general direction as the airport, so we'd be close after seeing the lake. We made it to the lake an hour later after our $.15 bus ride and discovered that the airport was only a small one and in totally the opposite direction from the international airport. We then weighed our options with me on the side of
retracing our steps by bus and catching another collectivo back to the airport, and Carol opting for catching a cab and doing it all in one ride.
We asked one cab driver, but he wanted $25 and I told Carol that I didn't want to pay that much, and so we walked to catch the bus. As we waited, another taxi came by and we asked how much he would charge to go to the airport. Again we were told $25, again I said “no,” and he countered with $20. I looked at Carol and was given that look of: "I really want to get to the airport!" So we agreed and we got into the taxi. It was at that moment and for the next 40 minutes that everything came together and created one of the most riveting moments in my travels. We sat in the back seat and surveyed the scene inside the taxi. In the front seat there was the "Taxista" a young man of probably 25. Beside him was his wife of maybe 18 and their 4 month-old baby. The taxi was a jumble of masking tape, wire, cardboard, and loose upholstery. It looked like that
scene out of "Apollo 13," where they dumped everything out on the table and announced that they had to create the filter. But in this case they dumped a bunch of junk out on the table and announced: "Okay, now we have to hold this taxi together." The taxi moved better at higher speeds, because when we slowed down for lights the extent to which the wheels were out of alignment was much more pronounced. The muffler was such that you knew at one time it must have been one but the noise now told you that it did no practical good. The black exhaust that emitted from the back of the taxi looked like Professor Fate's car in the "Great Race." Ah, but the radio worked. How I don't know, because it dangled there by wire, and play it did. He tried vainly to find a station that played "Gringo Music," to help placate his fares in the back seat. You had to be careful how you sat because the springs in the seat protruded at very dangerous angles. But as we traveled to the airport this surrealistic scene became one of beauty and understanding. The sweet smile on the face of the girl as she patted her baby asleep on her lap as mothers down through the millennia have done, the tender looks that passed between husband and wife over things which we couldn't hear in the back seat, and the frankness with
which they talked about their lives were very touching.
These were simply two kids trying to eke out a living as best they could. It was Sunday, the family day, and yet they had to try to make a buck or two. So the only logical solution was for the three of them to spend the day combining both needs, being together riding around in the taxi looking for fares. They told us about the war and their experiences. They were glad that the war in El Salvador was over, but now, they said, gangs ruled the streets and it was more dangerous for the average citizen than ever before. Because of the distance to the airport we had to stop for gas. She reached up under her blouse (safer there, she said) and pulled out some money. We pulled into the gas station, he looked at the price of gas, and we pulled out looking for another station. He bought $4 worth of gas, that was all they could manage, and we pulled out, wobbling from side to side in a noisy, cloud of exhaust.
I sat there in the back seat ashamed that I had bargained my way down to save $5 when I had blown twice that much the night before on the turning of two cards in a game of blackjack at the casino in Panama City. Why was I trying to do this to these two kids without any semblance of certainty in their lives, struggling to make a life for themselves and their baby. They were not bitter or unpleasant about their situation. This was their lot in life, and they were making the best of it. He wasn't blowing his profits on cigarettes, and there wasn't a hint of machismo in his actions to her. They were not in rags, but their clothes were not the best. The baby, however, had a nice, clean jumper on and knitted red booties. Their priorities were definitely in place. I wish that I could have felt the same about mine.
We passed squalid villages and huts and wondered what kind of house they lived in. I counted my money in the back seat, a combination of US dollars and Salvadoran Colones, and I asked Carol if she had a $10 bill. She handed it to me and said, quietly: "Give him a good tip." I nodded in
acknowledgement. We were of the same mind. I knew that I was going to give him the original asking price of $25. In fact, it worked out to be about $28 with the $20 US and the rest of my colones.
When we got to the airport, I gave him the money and told him that the extra was a propina, a tip, and then I looked at her and asked her if she would do me a favor. She nodded, and I gave her a $10 bill. I asked her if she would buy the baby a gift, a present from the "Gringos." Her eyes
filled with tears and she said yes of course. I have no doubt that the money went to the baby, and for no other purpose.
In El Salvador, in contrast to the other countries of this visit, we encountered a lot of begging. I always have difficulty with that. I've explained before that I don't know who needs it and who simply wants it and I can't give to everybody who asks for money. I can't make a big
difference in the world, but here I had the opportunity to make a small difference for one day only to someone who I knew needed it and
appreciated it. These two kids have entered that inner sanctum where I keep my most treasured travel memories. Like the woman in Cuernavaca selling tomatoes, like the grizzled old woman in Chile who badgered me over the gulf war. I'll never forget these two, who helped refocus my priorities in life and and made me remember that the world and it's people are really one and can be in harmony if we all work at it. We four people were, for that 40 minutes, together. I don't know their names, I have no idea what their life has in store for them, but I feel very confident that given half a chance, they'll be fine and will raise their children to be good, productive individuals in this world.
I'll never forget them.
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