As we rolled into the sleepy reggae town of Cahuita on the Caribbean coast I had something on my mind... Does Cahuita have a pie shop? And if so, do they weigh the pies there? And when they weigh the pies, do all the pies weigh the same, or do they weigh different amounts? Indeed, I was keen to find out about the Pie Weights of the Caribbean... (It took a while to think that one up, but it seems to be taking even longer to work it into conversation.)
Cahuita is just what you expect from a small Caribbean town - reggae music fills the street at night, the beach is picture perfect, and there's no such thing as a 'rush' - everyone goes at their own, ambling pace. My favourite thing about Cahuita, however, is the drug dealers. They have an almost childlike innocence about them, a lovely naive quality. They'll ask you if you want some of their drugs, and if you say no they'll still come back a wee while later just to see if you've changed your mind - they're nice like that. Drug dealers in Cahuita also have a brilliant opening gambit, which mostly involves offering you some fruit before moving onto the harder stuff: "Hey brother, you want some grapefruit? You want some drugs?" We've just started telling them we once overdosed on papaya - they know what that's like. Don't get high off your own supply. At least they're eager to see we're getting our '5-a-day'...
As things stand we've changed our plans, skipping the expensive and somewhat innaccessible Tortuguero for the South Caribbean coast. Last night we had a bit of indoor camping at Rocking J's and a bit of nightswimming with some crazy Americans. At time of writing, Woody and me have hired what must be the two girliest bikes in Puerto Viejo (pink, with baskets) to cycle to Manzanillo to check what Punta Mona are saying to it, and also to do some snorkeling... Word.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Friday, 23 October 2009
Mother nature - 0 Woody and Tink - 1...
Most people are familiar with the riddle about the farmer who is on one side of the river, and needs to get himself, his hen, his bag of corn, and his fox over to the other side. Nobody ever questions why he has a fox with him in the first place - is it a pet? Has he kidnapped this fox and holds it for ransom so the other foxes will stop bothering his hens? Who knows.
Imagine that the hen in this case is Miss Woodward, the corn is a sack of wet clothes, and the fox is in actual fact a bag containing cameras, passports, wallet and plane tickets. And the river is a river. A big one... Where riddles meet reality, I love it.
The precursor to all this river-based malarky is two days living in a cabin in the middle of the rainforest - La Bolita. Just outside of Dos Brazos del Rio Tigre, the cabin is surrounded by a series of trails, some of which lead sneakily over the border into Corcovado National Park.
Myself and young Woody had arrived here after a rollercoaster boat ride from Golfito, over the Golfo Dulce into Puerto Jimenez, or Port Jim. We hopped on the collectivo bus to Dos Brazos and then hiked up to the cabin - through the aforementioned river - in the lashing rain. This rain would persist for the next 12 hours, and swell the river considerably...
The cabin living was great - it felt like real `into the wild´ stuff, cooking before darkness falls because there was no power, lighting candles, then searching our surroundings for wild animals. Particularly exciting for me were the two rather sizeable machetes in the kitchen... `I AM SAVAGE MAN, I CHOP TREES, I MAKE FIRE, I HAVE SOUP AND PASTA TWIRLS FOR MY TEA´.
Among our discoveries along the trails were parrots, poison dart frogs, big spiders, a wee snake and a couple of hari kari toucans - so called because of the red circle they have on their stomachs. Not to mention a giant bat that smacked Woods in the face as it flew by. As the rain drove down, our thoughts then turned to the growing river - potentially cutting us off from Dos Brazos and our eventual passage back to San Jose. While it was great to be completely on our own in the rainforest, the feeling of isolation would become much stronger if we were trapped there by the forces of nature...
Having walked the trails all day, we decided to head for the river and cross while there was a break in the weather. We arrived at the bottom of a very long trail, faced by the beast which was now waist deep and flowing fast. The choice here was to go all the way back up the trail and try and make a crossing elsewhere, or just batter in and hope for the best.
I always think that when you intend to `batter in´ somewhere, it pays to do it sensibly and responsibly. So, priorities being as they are, the camera, passports and tickets were transported slowly but surely over the flowing rapids. Then, upon the next journey the two of us held hands and waded across in a more or less diagonal fashion with the flow. Victory, and with it many a congratulatory smack on the ass...
The collectivo bus back to Port Jim was great fun. How many places on Earth can three pregnant women can sit side by side with a machete weilding, toothless 90-year old man and it seems completely natural. The collectivo may be the only one..
While we dried our sodden kit out back in Port Jim, we went strolling. Strolling straight into a mangrove filled with crocs, waiting for birds to land and then trying to munch them. We relaxed with a few travelling companions and a few beers before emerging for the 5am bus to San Jose; a ten hour journey. Next stop: Tortuguero, on the Caribbean coast, where the turtles lay their little egglingtons on the beach. Much love...
Imagine that the hen in this case is Miss Woodward, the corn is a sack of wet clothes, and the fox is in actual fact a bag containing cameras, passports, wallet and plane tickets. And the river is a river. A big one... Where riddles meet reality, I love it.
The precursor to all this river-based malarky is two days living in a cabin in the middle of the rainforest - La Bolita. Just outside of Dos Brazos del Rio Tigre, the cabin is surrounded by a series of trails, some of which lead sneakily over the border into Corcovado National Park.
Myself and young Woody had arrived here after a rollercoaster boat ride from Golfito, over the Golfo Dulce into Puerto Jimenez, or Port Jim. We hopped on the collectivo bus to Dos Brazos and then hiked up to the cabin - through the aforementioned river - in the lashing rain. This rain would persist for the next 12 hours, and swell the river considerably...
The cabin living was great - it felt like real `into the wild´ stuff, cooking before darkness falls because there was no power, lighting candles, then searching our surroundings for wild animals. Particularly exciting for me were the two rather sizeable machetes in the kitchen... `I AM SAVAGE MAN, I CHOP TREES, I MAKE FIRE, I HAVE SOUP AND PASTA TWIRLS FOR MY TEA´.
Among our discoveries along the trails were parrots, poison dart frogs, big spiders, a wee snake and a couple of hari kari toucans - so called because of the red circle they have on their stomachs. Not to mention a giant bat that smacked Woods in the face as it flew by. As the rain drove down, our thoughts then turned to the growing river - potentially cutting us off from Dos Brazos and our eventual passage back to San Jose. While it was great to be completely on our own in the rainforest, the feeling of isolation would become much stronger if we were trapped there by the forces of nature...
Having walked the trails all day, we decided to head for the river and cross while there was a break in the weather. We arrived at the bottom of a very long trail, faced by the beast which was now waist deep and flowing fast. The choice here was to go all the way back up the trail and try and make a crossing elsewhere, or just batter in and hope for the best.
I always think that when you intend to `batter in´ somewhere, it pays to do it sensibly and responsibly. So, priorities being as they are, the camera, passports and tickets were transported slowly but surely over the flowing rapids. Then, upon the next journey the two of us held hands and waded across in a more or less diagonal fashion with the flow. Victory, and with it many a congratulatory smack on the ass...
The collectivo bus back to Port Jim was great fun. How many places on Earth can three pregnant women can sit side by side with a machete weilding, toothless 90-year old man and it seems completely natural. The collectivo may be the only one..
While we dried our sodden kit out back in Port Jim, we went strolling. Strolling straight into a mangrove filled with crocs, waiting for birds to land and then trying to munch them. We relaxed with a few travelling companions and a few beers before emerging for the 5am bus to San Jose; a ten hour journey. Next stop: Tortuguero, on the Caribbean coast, where the turtles lay their little egglingtons on the beach. Much love...
Saturday, 17 October 2009
In-flight entertainment...
When the Nicaraguan Contras were fighting the Sandinista regime in the 1980's, they purchased a load of military equipment from the US, under the Reagan administration. Among their purchases were two fairchild C-123 cargo planes; one of which was shot down over Nicaragua. The other was left abandoned at San Jose airport until 1990 when it was taken to pieces, hauled up a mountain, reassembled, and turned into a bar. It's one of the most surreal experiences to be sitting atop a mountain, drinking one or two Costa Rican Imperials with our new friends, inside a cargo plane looking out to sea as the rain lashes down at sunset. Rachel left her socks in the cockpit.
Once again we've moved down the Pacific coast to the small town of Quepos, which is the jumping-off point for visits to Parque Nacional de Manuel Antonio - home to some of the most exotic wildlife Costa rica has to offer. We saw crocodiles, capuchin monkeys, agoutis, raccoons, little red crabs, and even a wee friendly deer who met us on our arrival!
In sports... The previous night we'd suffered heartbreak to the extreme. After holding a 2-0 lead until the very last minute, Costa Rica could only manage a draw with the USA, meaning that the nation's hopes of World Cup football lie in a crucial playoff with Uruguay. The football was great though - so good that the kitchen of the bar we were in caught fire.
To me this kind of sums up the difference in attitudes between Costa Rica and the UK. Imagine a pub filling with smoke in Britain - it'd be everyone out onto the street, call the fire brigade and generally ruin everybody's football party. So it was brilliant to see the barmaid come from the kitchen, fire extinguisher in hand, laughing and waving "It's OK - this happens every night!" Pura Vida!
At the time of writing we're in the sleepy surfer's town of Dominical. It's about a million degrees outside...
Once again we've moved down the Pacific coast to the small town of Quepos, which is the jumping-off point for visits to Parque Nacional de Manuel Antonio - home to some of the most exotic wildlife Costa rica has to offer. We saw crocodiles, capuchin monkeys, agoutis, raccoons, little red crabs, and even a wee friendly deer who met us on our arrival!
In sports... The previous night we'd suffered heartbreak to the extreme. After holding a 2-0 lead until the very last minute, Costa Rica could only manage a draw with the USA, meaning that the nation's hopes of World Cup football lie in a crucial playoff with Uruguay. The football was great though - so good that the kitchen of the bar we were in caught fire.
To me this kind of sums up the difference in attitudes between Costa Rica and the UK. Imagine a pub filling with smoke in Britain - it'd be everyone out onto the street, call the fire brigade and generally ruin everybody's football party. So it was brilliant to see the barmaid come from the kitchen, fire extinguisher in hand, laughing and waving "It's OK - this happens every night!" Pura Vida!
At the time of writing we're in the sleepy surfer's town of Dominical. It's about a million degrees outside...
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Stop! Hammock time....
At the time of writing, I have to say it's been a good day, but also a challenging one. Firstly Woody and me awoke obscenely early to get the 4.45am bus from Montezuma back to San Jose. Which didn't arrive. A quick change of plans led us to a later bus at 5.30am, then a ferry, and another bus back to Costa Rica's capital. The journey was smooth - we didn't have to wait anywhere for more than 15 minutes and we seemed to have got over our initial bus-based speedbump with flying colours - arriving much earlier and much more cheaply than we'd anticipated...
We stepped off at the bus station to get a taxi to the hostel, and were immediately faced with various different scrappy young men trying to hail taxis for us and generally doing a lot of moving around behind us and in our peripherals. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but when you've got a heavy rucksack on your back, a bag on your front containing passport and tickets, and one hand on the wallet in your pocket it can be a frustrating experience. Especially when you've got both eyes on the wee Woodward (although she can probably handle this type of crowdy mess better than I can).
With the backpacks front and back, I imagine we're like beached turtles, and in this scenario the scruffy taxi men were like baying hounds. When we eventually got in a taxi, it was all I could do not to scream "DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!" at the driver. Although this would have been completely useless as he spoke no english, and the drama of the situation would definitely have been lost as I rummaged for the Spanish-English dictionary.
Our lack of coherent Spanish led to the following: Despite being given an address which included the neccessary street number, avenue number, name of the place and surrounding landmarks (and at one point a fairly accurate compass bearing), our driver had no clue where he was going.
With our broken Spanish, and general lack of more information, he must've been tempted just to stop the cab, take our bags out of the boot and tell us to get another taxi. He must've been tempted, because that's exactly what he did... Papped out of a cab in the middle of San Jose. He's just lucky I don't know what the Spanish is for 'bawbag'. Yeah.
For two people who have only visited San Jose once before, we found our hostel with ease, before being told we hadn't paid when we already had. In addition to the taxi debacle, this confusion was just generally frustrating. And one of my flip flops is broken. Yeah, life's difficult Toddy.
Prior to today me and Woody have had a fantastic 3 days in the beach town of Montezuma. Our room was at the front of a beach hut, and the only thing between us and the Pacific was a row of palm trees with hammocks swinging in the breeze. Every night we sat in the hammocks with a few beers watching the electrical storms out at sea, until last night we were hit by one. It caused a powercut along the whole beach, but it was cool to sit in a hammock in the complete darkness watching the lightning flicker all over the place as the winds raged and the warm rain splashed down.
Yesterday we trekked up to a waterfall for a wee swim and a wee jump-off-the-rocks which was brilliant. The highlight of the trek was on the way back down, we looked into the trees and were met with the cheeky face of a 'Caro Blanco' (whiteface) monkey... not just one, but a whole family including one with a monkey child clinging to it's back as it jumped from tree to tree. Amazing. That trek is also how I broke one of my flip flops....
We stepped off at the bus station to get a taxi to the hostel, and were immediately faced with various different scrappy young men trying to hail taxis for us and generally doing a lot of moving around behind us and in our peripherals. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but when you've got a heavy rucksack on your back, a bag on your front containing passport and tickets, and one hand on the wallet in your pocket it can be a frustrating experience. Especially when you've got both eyes on the wee Woodward (although she can probably handle this type of crowdy mess better than I can).
With the backpacks front and back, I imagine we're like beached turtles, and in this scenario the scruffy taxi men were like baying hounds. When we eventually got in a taxi, it was all I could do not to scream "DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!" at the driver. Although this would have been completely useless as he spoke no english, and the drama of the situation would definitely have been lost as I rummaged for the Spanish-English dictionary.
Our lack of coherent Spanish led to the following: Despite being given an address which included the neccessary street number, avenue number, name of the place and surrounding landmarks (and at one point a fairly accurate compass bearing), our driver had no clue where he was going.
With our broken Spanish, and general lack of more information, he must've been tempted just to stop the cab, take our bags out of the boot and tell us to get another taxi. He must've been tempted, because that's exactly what he did... Papped out of a cab in the middle of San Jose. He's just lucky I don't know what the Spanish is for 'bawbag'. Yeah.
For two people who have only visited San Jose once before, we found our hostel with ease, before being told we hadn't paid when we already had. In addition to the taxi debacle, this confusion was just generally frustrating. And one of my flip flops is broken. Yeah, life's difficult Toddy.
Prior to today me and Woody have had a fantastic 3 days in the beach town of Montezuma. Our room was at the front of a beach hut, and the only thing between us and the Pacific was a row of palm trees with hammocks swinging in the breeze. Every night we sat in the hammocks with a few beers watching the electrical storms out at sea, until last night we were hit by one. It caused a powercut along the whole beach, but it was cool to sit in a hammock in the complete darkness watching the lightning flicker all over the place as the winds raged and the warm rain splashed down.
Yesterday we trekked up to a waterfall for a wee swim and a wee jump-off-the-rocks which was brilliant. The highlight of the trek was on the way back down, we looked into the trees and were met with the cheeky face of a 'Caro Blanco' (whiteface) monkey... not just one, but a whole family including one with a monkey child clinging to it's back as it jumped from tree to tree. Amazing. That trek is also how I broke one of my flip flops....
Friday, 9 October 2009
No need to ask - he's a tour operator...
Our last day in Miami was amazing - we've met loads of brilliant people, who hopefully we will rendezvous with in various South American countries... We partied at Club Nikki Beach with our friends Javier, Gabriela and Nicola. The club was cool, on the beach with huge mattresses and sofas, although it was $14 for one drink. In true Scottish style we got a few bottles of wine and sat further down the beach, listening to the music. Stayed up all night to watch the sun come up over South Beach, only for sleepyhead Woodward to fall asleep at the last moment! Was incredible to see a place that's usually so crowded, totally empty... except for a wee man with a metal detector looking for lost jewellery and change.
We arrived in San Jose early in the morning, and went for an initial explore to get our bearings. Save for a few nice cafés and a market or two, it was a city like any other. So, after a quick team meeting we decided to change our plans and head North for the volcanic region of Arenal, via the wood carving town of Sarchi. We stopped off to do a zipline over the rainforest at San Luiz which was amazing. Very few times in my life have I felt like James Bond and Tarzan at the same time, and the views were unbelievable.
We stopped for 'las comidas tipicas', wherupon our guide Arturo pointed up to one of the tall trees by the roadside exclaiming 'slut, slut'... I know what you're thinking - the South American sex industry isn't what it used to be - but when we looked up the 'slut' in question was covered in long hair, had claws and was clinging onto a branch with its eyes closed. So our first ever sighting of a sloth at lunchtime on day one! When we turned around we were pointed to another tree, which had an orange and black iguana the size of a deckchair, its long tail drooping down like a snake. Needless to say Rachel pissed herself and dived for her camera, with eyes and smile as wide as each other...
Arturo drove us up to a hot springs, passing papaya plantations, sugar cane fields and coffee farms on the way. On arrival Woody and me were straight into the water and remained there the rest of the day - hot springs under a volcano in Costa Rica. Life is good.
Yesterday we had a good adventure, travelling from La Fortuna (where the rain is as heavy as in Scotland, but as warm as a shower) to Monteverde. We used what the locals call JeepBoatJeep, self explanatory really. The boat was great, and the final section driving was fun over the roughest, steepest roads I've ever seen. You know it's a bumpy ride when the driver takes one hand off the steering wheel to hold onto a handle!
The Costa Rican football team (Los Ticos - so called because Costa Ricans always use a diminutive way of speaking. For example a Colombian would say 'poquito', which means small. A Costa Rican would say 'poquititico', which I imagine means 'wee small') are playing tomorrow, so hopefully we can find a bar in the hippy town of Montezuma and absorb the Latin passion for football...
We arrived in San Jose early in the morning, and went for an initial explore to get our bearings. Save for a few nice cafés and a market or two, it was a city like any other. So, after a quick team meeting we decided to change our plans and head North for the volcanic region of Arenal, via the wood carving town of Sarchi. We stopped off to do a zipline over the rainforest at San Luiz which was amazing. Very few times in my life have I felt like James Bond and Tarzan at the same time, and the views were unbelievable.
We stopped for 'las comidas tipicas', wherupon our guide Arturo pointed up to one of the tall trees by the roadside exclaiming 'slut, slut'... I know what you're thinking - the South American sex industry isn't what it used to be - but when we looked up the 'slut' in question was covered in long hair, had claws and was clinging onto a branch with its eyes closed. So our first ever sighting of a sloth at lunchtime on day one! When we turned around we were pointed to another tree, which had an orange and black iguana the size of a deckchair, its long tail drooping down like a snake. Needless to say Rachel pissed herself and dived for her camera, with eyes and smile as wide as each other...
Arturo drove us up to a hot springs, passing papaya plantations, sugar cane fields and coffee farms on the way. On arrival Woody and me were straight into the water and remained there the rest of the day - hot springs under a volcano in Costa Rica. Life is good.
Yesterday we had a good adventure, travelling from La Fortuna (where the rain is as heavy as in Scotland, but as warm as a shower) to Monteverde. We used what the locals call JeepBoatJeep, self explanatory really. The boat was great, and the final section driving was fun over the roughest, steepest roads I've ever seen. You know it's a bumpy ride when the driver takes one hand off the steering wheel to hold onto a handle!
The Costa Rican football team (Los Ticos - so called because Costa Ricans always use a diminutive way of speaking. For example a Colombian would say 'poquito', which means small. A Costa Rican would say 'poquititico', which I imagine means 'wee small') are playing tomorrow, so hopefully we can find a bar in the hippy town of Montezuma and absorb the Latin passion for football...
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Bienvenido a Miami...
The adventure has finally begun!
So far Miami Beach has been magic... Started off with a beer, a burrito and a walk down Miami Beach at sundown, then a classic diner breakfast the next morning. Walked around South Beach, the marina, and Ocean Drive which is vibrant with music, fancy cars and lots of beautiful people asking you to eat in their restaurants... The weather is hot, but the people are cool - very relaxed and sure of themselves as they go from place to place.
Of course we've been on the beach, swimming in the sea trying to avoid sunburn and pelicans in equal measure. The pelicans are huge and crash into the sea trying to catch the small fish that nibble your feet if you stay still too long... Just waiting for a pelican to crash land on Rachel's head - I'll have my camera ready!
We've met some good people, namely our room-mates Javier y Gabriela - Colombians who have moved to Miami to find work. During the afternoons we sit outside the hostel talking to Javier (who has no english), in the most broken Spanish ever heard! With our respective phrasebooks, somehow we manage to get along...
Had a great night with people from the hostel, playing pool with Javier, a Californian named Tony, and a big drunk black guy called Nate who insisted on finishing every sentence with 'and shit' and describing Rach and Gabriela as 'pretty ass girls'. Found it hilarious to be complimented with the phrase "you raw as fuck!". A lifetime ambition achieved on day two... 
From there we went to Automatic Slim's, a bar where the barmaids look like playboy bunnies, wear leather bikinis and pour booze into your mouth from the bar. Glad to say that I was able to play it really cool, didn't bat an eye. I absolutely was not clapping my hands in delight and screaming "I want some," while pushing my way past Javier to the bar. That absolutely did NOT happen, because that wouldn't have been cool at all...
So far Miami Beach has been magic... Started off with a beer, a burrito and a walk down Miami Beach at sundown, then a classic diner breakfast the next morning. Walked around South Beach, the marina, and Ocean Drive which is vibrant with music, fancy cars and lots of beautiful people asking you to eat in their restaurants... The weather is hot, but the people are cool - very relaxed and sure of themselves as they go from place to place.
Of course we've been on the beach, swimming in the sea trying to avoid sunburn and pelicans in equal measure. The pelicans are huge and crash into the sea trying to catch the small fish that nibble your feet if you stay still too long... Just waiting for a pelican to crash land on Rachel's head - I'll have my camera ready!
We've met some good people, namely our room-mates Javier y Gabriela - Colombians who have moved to Miami to find work. During the afternoons we sit outside the hostel talking to Javier (who has no english), in the most broken Spanish ever heard! With our respective phrasebooks, somehow we manage to get along...
Had a great night with people from the hostel, playing pool with Javier, a Californian named Tony, and a big drunk black guy called Nate who insisted on finishing every sentence with 'and shit' and describing Rach and Gabriela as 'pretty ass girls'. Found it hilarious to be complimented with the phrase "you raw as fuck!". A lifetime ambition achieved on day two...
From there we went to Automatic Slim's, a bar where the barmaids look like playboy bunnies, wear leather bikinis and pour booze into your mouth from the bar. Glad to say that I was able to play it really cool, didn't bat an eye. I absolutely was not clapping my hands in delight and screaming "I want some," while pushing my way past Javier to the bar. That absolutely did NOT happen, because that wouldn't have been cool at all...
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