Stop Press!

Trying to finish Cyprus trip. Four new videos uploaded into previous posts.

After trotting around Southeast Asia over the summer, I'm now back in the UK - Cambridge to be exact. Am trying my best to update as frequently as my clinical course will allow.

Entries on Italy and France two winters ago have been put on hold indefinitely. Read: possibly never. But we shall see.

Entries on Greece and Turkey last winter have also been put on hold for the time being.

Posted:
Don Det (Laos), Don Khone

Places yet to blog about:
Ban Nakasang, Champasak, Pakse, Tha Kaek, Vientienne, Vang Vien, Ban Phoudindaeng, Luang Prabang, Khon Kaen (Thailand), Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), London (England), Cambridge

Friday 13 August 2010

Pining

It's only been six hours since we took off from Guate and I'm already missing Central America. I'm sitting next to a middle-aged woman who thinks she owns the plane just by having paid for her ticket: she's reclined her seat and won't straighten it for meals, take-off or landing (despite being told to do so by the stewardess). Then there's the girl sitting in front of me who violently shoved her way past another stewardess who was distributing newspapers down the aisle. I'm sorry, but if this is how the Spanish behave, I have even more reason to push Spain further down the list of places I'd like to visit. God forbid, you'd never see this sort of thing happen in Central America.

Note: On flight bound for Madrid

***

In El Salvador - particularly big cities like San Salvador, houses are surrounded by thick, high walls (one of the factors that would lead me to almost lose my mind). Neighbourhoods in turn, are closed off by barbed wire fences, cement or concrete walls. Then there's the craze for machete- and rifle-bearing security guards - you can find one in almost every business establishment, even small ones like the nearby restaurant (not unlike Malaysia's late-night mamak restaurants) that I frequented for meals. For $10 per household per month, our neighbourhood - Residencial Santa Margarita - hired a security guard to keep watch over it (ours was not fenced in). Our guard wielded a machete but the one guarding the neighbourhood just across the road from us had a rifle.

But despite their impermeable walls (a reflection of the country's social security), Salvadorenos are quick to let you into their lives - the English-speaking ones even quicker. And they always appear at the most unexpected moment: sitting at the next table in a restaurant or standing next to you at a bus stop. I can still remember the night the security guard at the aforementioned restaurant spoke to me in English (as perfect as American English can be) of how he had grown up in the States but had been deported back to El Salvador as a teenager following some 'bad business'. And my first proper conversation in Spanish was with this woman who had brought her elderly father to Boqueron for the clean fresh air of the mountain. Wheelchair-bound, he was dying from metastatic disease and the doctor had only given him another month to live.

I've also never encountered a people so keen, so ready - almost as if anticipating - to help. They'd patiently explain the menu and help you with the order. They'd answer your questions and show you the right way, sometimes leading you to the correct place or bus. Or even give you a lift if it's on the way or up a tree to get a better view of a procession. In a few moments, we'll be landing at Heathrow (I'm writing this between Salman Rushdie's The Jaguar Smile and sleeping) and I'm not holding my breath yet for someone to help me with my heavy rucksack.

***

England welcomes me home with rain at 14°C but my heart is still in Central America.

Thursday 12 August 2010

Tobes

I'd forgotten how cold it can get here in Antigua, the start of the Guatemalan highlands. The first time I was here, I had to bring my blanket up to the rooftop where a few of us were chilling. The walls were high but the night was clear and one of the three volcanoes around Antigua loomed up in the distance before us.

Tonight, I'm up on the rooftop of another hostel with three layers on (I'm counting my vest as one layer). Fog shrouds the surrounding highlands but the walls are low and I can see the comings and going of the cobbled street below.

I'm glad I broke the backpackers' code of not visiting a place twice. Strolling down the familiar streets of Antigua, it feels different than when I did the whirlwind tour of the city. And with no time restrictions, I'm beginning to experience Antigua's charm.

The city still feels touristy with hostels a stone's throw away from each other (at times side by side) with tourist services filling the gaps in between. But now that I have the opportunity to look inside these businesses, it's absolutely interesting to see how they've customised themselves to find their own niche in the wide and varied market of tourism, be it an overpriced bookstore to a wine and cheese tasting parlour to a shisha smoking salon.

Conversely, I'm glad I honoured the philosophy of backpacking by deciding against a direct luxury bus from San Salvador to Guate. Instead, I made my way there slowly by various chicken buses with the entire weight of my rucksack on my shoulders. This gave me an extra day at El Tunco where I learnt how to surf (proof that at 24, you can still teach an old dog new tricks).

That's where I met Tobes (that's what I call him). Tobes (as in Toe-b-s as in Toby as in Tobias) and I shared a room in El Tunco. He had been paying $10 a night for his room until I arrived, after which we shared the room for $14 per night. So he had every reason to be happy, really.

But Tobes is a really cool German guy. We got on really well together somehow. We hung out together (he'd read on the hammock whilst I wrote on a table nearby or vice versa), we'd grab food together, and he even invited me to surf with him (he took the bigger waves while I the smaller).

He was going to leave the day before I did but changed his mind so that we'd travel together when I told him I was also heading to Guatemala. And the night before we left, he convinced me to join him in Antigua.

I don't think I'll ever forget the chicken bus ride along El Salvador's coastal route to the border at La Hachadura with Tobes: the occasional view of the Pacific crashing upon beaches isolated by sheer cliffs and the intermittent clucking from two chickens at the back of the bus. This crazy mash-up of classic love songs (including More Than a Woman and Sugar, Sugar) was playing, so I leaned over to Tobes and cheekily said, 'You know, with all these love songs, it's a shame we're not boyfriends.' And we had a good laugh.

He may be no boyfriend but I truly treasured his company and I wouldn't trade our time spent wondering the streets of Antigua amidst the colourful houses with an evening by myself in Guate.

Wednesday 4 August 2010

Leon

Leon is, as they say here, muy tranquilo. And in more than one way.

It's very much a functioning city catering to the local population. Home to a few universities, it has a young population demographic. And although the two most popular backpacker hostels were full when I arrived, you don't see many of them around so there's none of the Western decadence I saw in Antigua. The hustle and bustle of the city is locally produced with locals leaving you to your own business while they go about theirs.

Then there's that sense of security which pervades the entire town (from now on, I shall refer to Leon as a town because it feels more like it - despite having a cathedral). When I first arrived, I was scared: it was after sunset and roads were badly lit - if not at all. The bus station was quite a distance away from the town centre but I decided to hoof it; and although the streets were filled with people, I couldn't help but anticipate that they would set upon the lone foreigner with slitty eyes.

But as the days went by, I got to see the opposite side of Leon: where the streets are lit by light streaming out of houses through open doors and windows - something you don't find in El Salvador where walls are built high and opaque.

Here in Leon, people leave their doors wide open in the evenings. An irresistible invitation to look into their homes, you see people rocking away in their rocking chairs. Some bring them out on to the pavement whilst others simply sit on their doorstep to watch the comings and goings of the neighbourhood. Even the street leading to the hostel from Parque Central - which isn't lit at all and is usually empty - has so far been safe. But apparently - according to American bloke - Nicaragua is really safe: I've left my bag unattended twice (I know it was an unbelievably stupid thing to do) and it didn't get stolen. But whether that was due to nice people or good luck, I don't know.

And finally, the hostel. Run by three generations of women - the grandmother, the mother and the daughter - the hostel is one of the lesser-known budget accommodations for backpackers in Leon. For USD$5 (100 Cordobas) a night, you get a dorm bunk bed (although no hot water) which I think is pretty decent. At any one time, there'd be at most around two to four people spread out over the hostel. (Three would fit in our dormitory and after American bloke had left for Costa Rica, there were only two of us until I left. The other was an Italian literature student from Padua on an Erasmus-ish exchange programme here in Leon). But the clincher were the hammocks in the communal area upstairs with the balcony overlooking the street. Did I ever tell you that I love hammocks? All this and the quiet location made it a perfect pace to relax, recuperate and reorganize my thoughts.

Tuesday 3 August 2010

Wanderlust: found

Last night, I laid in a hammock and swung myself. The night was cool after a day of intermittent (tropical = heavy) showers and the crickets were throwing in the kitchen sink. I was exhausted and had had a lousy dinner. My body itched all over from angry mosquito bites that don't appear to be getting better at all. And I was dreading the trip home the following day. I was obsessed with just one thought: that I'd lost my Wanderlust.

But by the fickle finger of Fate (as Charity would put it), just before climbing up into my top bunk, I decided to stay another day: I switched off my mobile which was set to go off at 4:00 am (although it still managed to ring despite being a really cheap mobile).

This morning, I was sitting at the feet of giants and gazing down at the people milling about Parque Central. I explored the cupolas of the cathedral against the dramatic backdrop of the volcanic range.

In the afternoon, I walked to the indigenous village of Subtiava (which was the focus of the area before the Spanish founded Leon) to catch a bus to Poneloya. And before I knew it, I was getting my khakis wet with the Jose brothers in the high rolling waves of the Pacafic.

Now I'm back in the very same hammock, swinging myself side-to-side. It's raining outside but the crickets are stubborn. I'm happily sunburnt (for now) and I'm looking forward to heading home tomorrow. It wasn't that I'd lost my Wanderlust; I just didn't know how to look for it.

Sunday 1 August 2010

Blessing in disguise

I didn't make it to Granada today - which was the original plan: to do Granada at 6:00 am like I did Antigua and make it to Meridia on Isla de Ometepe by sunset. And yet, it may just be a blessing in disguise.

I think somewhere between Guasaule and Chinandega, whilst talking to other passengers on the bus, I realized I wasn't going to make it. So I got my Lonely Planet out and started recalculating ETAs and making alternative plans. My main concern was if I'd taken two days to get there, I'd need two days to get back. And if I wanted to catch San Salvador's procession as part of its Festival de El Salvador celebrations on Thursday, that would mean spending just one night at Meridia before making my way back early the next morning.

In the middle of all this, I thought, 'This is ridiculous. I can't force myself to make Ometepe.' And it was only after putting away my Lonely Planet that I looked out of the window to see the unmistakable perfect cone of a volcano towering out from a range of mountains. I would later find out that Momotombo was the southernmost volcano of Condillera de los Maribios, a chain of ten or so volcanoes. That's when I decided to pass the night in Leon - the safer option than Managua.

***

Over dinner at a roadside food stall, I met these two girls who teach French on Ometepe. They told me that boats from Granada only ran on Mondays and Thursdays. I checked my trusty Lonely Planet and found that they were right and that I'd misunderstood what was written. Plan A would still have worked but it would've been slightly more tricky. Blessing #1.

Back at the hostel, I discovered that there was a communal area with hammocks and a balcony. There, I met this American bloke who had been to the island. He said that it probably wouldn't be worth the trip if I only had an evening to spare there. He said I'd probably enjoy it more here.

So here I am, on one of the hammocks just by the door looking out into the balcony and beyond and really, for the first time, relaxing