Cambodia Part I: Same Same, But Different

So last time I left you I was preparing for my flight to the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh, via Bangkok. That was last Monday and it was a full day of travelling. Tuk tuk to airport, flight to Bangkok (where I dropped off a bunch of gear at left luggage with my trekking bag), flight to Phnom Penh and tuk tuk (Cambodia style....same same, but different) to many different guest houses until deciding on a half decent one by the river. I should explain "same same, but different". It is a phrase that one hears with extreme regularity from the locals whenever they want to express that something is similar to something else, or, more likely, that they have no idea how to explain the differences/qualities of something else in English. Therefore, it is used to describe another dish at a restaurant, a tour costing 30 bucks more, another room at a guest house...you get the idea. So, in that spirit, I describe Cambodia as just a little bit same same, but different.


On arrival in Phnom Penh, I obtained my visa for $20 and hopped into a tuk tuk (which is a 3 wheel taxi pulled along by a motorbike) with a French guy named Nelson, who kindly obliged letting me accompany him into town. It was ridiculously hot and I cursed my decision to wear jeans because it was a travel day. The traffic here was thick and the noise and crowds of the big city hit me pretty hard. In a very short time, I just wanted to get into a shower: jeans and all! We tried to find a decent hotel room, and I was quite surprised by the prices (all in US dollars, by the way...you only get Cambodian Real as change for something costing under a dollar) which were all over $20. I settled on a guest house on the mighty Tonle sap river, in what appeared to be a very touristy part of town...though I was too tired to care. Nelson was here to volunteer for an NGO designing a UV water purification system in Battambong and was only in Phnom Penh one night. After freshening up, we set out for some dinner. As I was still feeling under the weather, we settled on a place close by overlooking the water. My first impression here was the sheer number of tuk tuk drivers who bombard you with "Lady, tuk tuk? Lady, tuk tuk?" (I once counted 26 of these identical piercing queries during only a five minute stroll...which would test any one's polite travel demeanor. I was so tempted to say..."Oh, yeah! I've changed my mind in the past TWO STEPS that I've taken since the last guy asked me, you annoying, screeching idiot!!! If I need a tuk, tuk, I'll let you know!) Of course, men have it easy- they only hear ""Tuk, tuk?" In fact, I can honestly say that if I am never called "lady!!!!" again, it would be too soon...and I've only been in this country for 6 days.


I ordered Lemongrass chicken soup and was enjoying our conversation when we were joined by a rather strange Canadian man who appeared to be in his late fifties. He asked if he could join us, and began telling us that he was hear celebrating his engagement to a Cambodian woman whom he'd met here a few years ago, and that he'd just got back from her village where he stayed with her family on their farm along the Mekong River. That was all OK- I've gotten used to seeing old North American and European men with giant bellies prancing around with their trophy tiny young and lithe Asian women. But when he mentioned that she was all of 19 years of age...I was completely grossed out. He could probably read my expression, because he innocently asked, "What? Don't you think we'll be happy together?", to which I responded, "You don't want to hear my answer to that". "No, no...I do" he insisted. So, I let him have it. I explained, which Nelson squirmed in his seat, very politely but firmly that he disgusted me, and that taking a young innocent girl, who doesn't speak English, away from everything she holds dear, and taking her to the snowy north of Alberta and marrying her will only result in her extreme misery. However, with any luck, I said that I sincerely hoped that she used him to get a fine education, after which she'd figure out the mistake she'd made, and then take him for half of his money in a divorce and use the proceeds to give her family here a good life. He said he appreciated my honesty. I sincerely doubted him.


After wishing Nelson all the best for his volunteer work...I headed to my dark but air conditioned room and passed out.


The next day, I spent a solitary day sightseeing around the city...but having lots of small and wonderful interactions with various people. After breakfast of the smallest shake on earth for $2 I took a Tuk Tuk to the Tuol Sleng Prison museum, a gruesome reminder of the torturous occupation of Phnom Penh in the late seventies, during which a genocide of 2 million Khmer citizens took place. For those of you who don't know, Cambodia suffered a horrendous civil war in the early 70's, which culminated in the taking of Phnom Penh by the Khmer Rouge army, led by the insane and crazed Marxist, Pol Pot, on April 17, 1975. Every single citizen, man woman and child was forcibly removed from their homes, year zero was declared, money was abolished, and an agrarian class-less commune society was established which involved the mass production of food through forced hard labor in large "concentration camp-like" communes scattered throughout the countryside. What's worse, families were separated, including children taken from their mothers. It was nearly 4 years of sheer terror for the people, while the military shot, and bludgeoned to death any persons failing to comply with their new gruelling life, suspected of siding with the old regime, intellectuals, professionals, teachers, and their children. Tuol Sleng used to be a high school but it was turned into a prison of torture where the KR could interrogate suspected rebels of the new order.


Of the 20,000 or so estimated inmates of the prison, none made it out alive.


The museum is a chilling collection of implements of torture, first hand accounts from the soldiers, holding cells, and of course, thousands of photos and documents that tell the story of crimes that few in the world realized the enormity of when it was going on.


It was so hard to believe that this was happening during my first few years of my life: in fact, I distinctly remember hearing about the situation in Cambodia while I was in the hospital at age 3 recovering from my burn accident. It is one of my first memories...


After that gruesome few hours, I walked over to a cafe that a friend in Chiang Mai had recommended that I try out. It was an incredibly delicious deli that served amazing paninis and cakes. It was just what I needed...a little taste of home. There, I met with Clare, an American from San Francisco who was also in Phnom Penh working on a clean drinking water project, but this time for her non-profit employer back home. It was interesting getting her perspective on life here in the city, and on how much the people struggle. We talked about the prevalence of PTSD, and how there was literally no-one in this country who didn't have family who were murdered by the regime in the 70's. By all accounts, Phnom penh is still a "new-ish" city that is trying to re-build and recover, mostly psychologically.


In the afternoon, I wandered over to the grounds of the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda. I must have inadvertently found a sort of "secret entrance", because there was no-one around and no ticket booth. I wandered around, happy to have the place to myself and standing underneath sprinklers that were working on the flowers. After an hour the place began to fill up and I realized that the grounds had been closed before! oops. Oh well. It was beautiful just wandering around the decadent gold and green buildings and going inside some of the silver laden temples to contemplate.


The heat was getting to me. I needed to head back to my hotel for a siesta- but before I did, I ran into and struck up a conversation with another single traveller named Andrea. We both had noticed one another because we shared a striking resemblance to one another. After sharing a tuk tuk back to town, we arranged to meet up for dinner that evening.


Later I tried to get on a boat for a sunset sail, but just missed it. Instead, I walked along the riverfront, calmly shaking my head at every "Lady!!! Lady!! you want....?" request for tuk-tuks, rooms, books, souvenirs etc. and tried to enjoy the sunset. I met Andrea at 7 and she convinced me to join her on the afternoon bus the next day heading to Siem Reap (a day earlier than I had originally planned) I agreed, deciding to visit the "Killing Fields" in the early morning, before the heat set in, at which point leaving this giant, loud metropolis would be just fine.


It was a 14km tuk tuk ride out to the Choeng Ek Killing Fields the next day at 6:45am - just one of the more famous areas of uncovered mass graves that were found after the fall of the Khmer Rouge in 1979. The most chilling site greets visitors as you walk through the main gate- a tall shrine eight stories high that is literally filled with thousands of human skulls. It is quite a sight.


As suggested, I bought some flowers and incense and paid my respects to these souls last "resting place", before exploring more of the site. Human bone fragments could still be seen just below the surface of the ground in many places and there were at least 16 distinct marked graves, that were discovered with hundreds of naked rotting corpses in them. Extensive forensics have been performed to try to establish sex, age, and cause of death. In the majority of cases, the victims were bludgeoned in the head and then had their throats slit. Difficult to comprehend was that babies and children's skulls were often smashed against a tree before being tossed in next to their mothers. The museum again did a good job of interpreting the series of events that led up to this atrocity in history, and there was also a 30 min documentary in English, which just happened to be showing in an AC auditorium (which was extremely welcome). After 2 hours or so, I returned to the driver who was waiting for me.


I had the chance to observe a lot of the suburbs and surrounding towns on the drive to and from the Killing Fields, and here, in no particular order, are some of my observations:

- Cambodia is developing very fast. There was a tremendous amount of construction.
- Lots of women seem to enjoy wearing pajamas as their day wear. Curious?
- There was a lot of pollution in the rivers....plumes of grey and purple chemical froth pools clogging up the area.
- Most people and families get around on their moto (motorbike). It was very common to see 4 people and children seated on one bike dodging the traffic.
- I saw several babies "attached" and sitting behind their moto driving mothers simply by a too large cardigan that forced their little arms out straight like ram rods and their mothers then took the long sleeves and tied them around their own bellies!
- Most businesses are open air and simply line the main street.
- Stray dogs are everywhere as well as lots of water buffalo.
- People of all ages were hard at work in the fields.


Anyhow, I'll end it there. I got the six hour bus to Siem Reap that afternoon (nearly forgetting
my passport at the hotel!!) and funnily enough, Andrea wasn't on the bus! Oh well....adventure at Angkor Wat lay ahead.


Will write Part II tomorrow from Bangkok as Tuesday I fly to Nepal for my Everest Adventure!

Thailand Part II

I'm back in Chiang Mai and preparing to fly to Cambodia tomorrow, while fighting a weird cough/cold. It has not dampened my enjoyment and its been a full week here in Thailand.

So I last left you on my last evening in Chiang Mai before heading out on a 3 day/2 night trek into the rural hills north of the city to visit the indigenous Karen tribe villages. We spent that last evening travelling up to Doi Sudathep, a temple perched on a mountain about 20 mins outside the city which boasted incredible views of the sunset. After taking in the views, the five of us headed out for dinner and drinks to bid farewell (only Raizel was joining me on the trek) to our group of five. It was a memorable evening punctuated by the obligatory Irish pub for another St. Patrick's day spent away from home. (and of course, there isn't a city in the world that doesn't have an Irish pub!)

After a quick breakfast and picking up my airline tickets for Cambodia the following Monday, we piled into a van to head out to the start of our trek. There were seven of us in the initial group, with only four who stayed for the full 2 nights of the excursion. We began our adventure with an elephant ride through the jungle. Now, I've been on elephants before, so I wasn't initially that terribly enthused to give it a try, but decided that it was included and the elephants looked pretty happy and well treated. So up we went, Raizel and I.

Whoops of excitement from both of us prompted Raizel to point out that we were being rather "loud American tourists", and we both vowed to tone it down a little. The scenery was beautiful and the elephants trotted along nicely with the weight on their backs. Then came time to feed the elephants, including the two baby elephants who came along sans riders to partake in the fun. We were given bananas to place gingerly into the elephants' trunks which kept "snaking" into our laps hungrily almost immediately after a banana had been swallowed. It was once we were out of bananas that all hell broke loose. The elephants started to snort in discontent, flinging a mucous banana-filled spit all over us, and causing Raizel to begin shrieking at the top of her lungs. Add to that the fact that the baby elephant was ever more persistent in snottily rummaging through our legs, arms and laps with his hungry and snotty trunk, and you have two very loud "American tourists" screaming. To make matters even worse, our guide, who up to that point had been sitting on the elephant's head navigating for us, decided to just jump off and let the elephant we were riding just do its own thing. That got Raizel into a complete frenzy as she recalled frightening memories of being thrown from a horse. The elephant sometimes would break out into a little run that made Raizel scream so hard it hurt my eardrums as I tried to soothe her by saying all was well (which of course I didn't know for sure). One couldn't help but notice as well that the snotty trunks very closely resembled the male sex organ which made their pursuit of our scared beings more...tasteless, shall we say? It all became even more entertaining when the whole group of us headed into the river and then the banana snot became fountains of muddy water, rocks and no doubt elephant poop all raining down over us. We should have worn plastic parkas!

It was all easily forgotten as we witnessed the baby elephants playing in the water and whooping for joy with their mom's. It was wonderful to observe.

Filthy and covered in banana mucous, we headed to the trail head and happily hiked our gear ten minutes in to a raging waterfall. It was idyllic. We ate fried rice from little plastic bags and then ecstatically cooled and bathed ourselves in the turbulent water which was just cold enough to be bitingly refreshing.

After our swim, we hiked for a couple of hours to the location of our first night's camp: a Karen village complete with a bamboo "hut" made for our shelter. It was delightfully devoid of tourists (which I had feared would be lining up to buy knick-knacks at souvenir stalls) and actually quite authentic from what I could tell. The village held about 10 different "homes" and we witnessed families returning from the rice fields' and a days' work, children running barefoot and playing with the chickens and the colorful outfits that adorned the married women (single women in Karen tribes wear only white to make it easier for the men to court them!)

Settling down to our outdoor table for a deserved chilled beer, I noticed that there were some pretty dark grey clouds looming towards us over the horizon. Our guide, Det (spelling??), said that he had heard on the news that a storm was coming tonight. This was very rare because we were slap bang in the middle of the dry season. Hmmmm. We waited, anxiously, as the "atmosphere" created by the dark clouds, the sticky heavy air, and the gathering winds spelled weather to come. Before we could start dinner, the first raindrops began to fall. And then, the heavens opened and unleashed their fury for the next several hours. It was one of the most violent downpours I've ever witnessed, churning the ground into a sea of red gushing mud, furiously plummeting down the hillsides. Needing to pee required running through a small exposed area between our shack and the outhouse, and we were soaked by the brief exposure to the elements. Safely inside our bamboo hut, we were incredulous as we began to hear the sound of giant hail pounding on the roof together with the rain. Hail? In Thailand? In this heat?


Apparently, yes.

We ended up dining inside our sleeping quarters, a wonderful red curry with rice, and then shared songs and stories to the sound of the storm outside.

We slept on little mattresses spread out on the bamboo floor, and I cursed myself for not bringing my cotton "mummy" liner as I looked on at the filthy pillow covers and sheet less beds with blankets that may not have seen the inside of a washing machine this past decade. Not expecting the rain was one thing, but none of us expected the temperature to plummet the way it did. It was so cold during the night, that all regard for sanitation vanished and I pulled four blankets tightly around every exposed piece of skin, shivering away. Brrr.

The next morning we awoke to a fresh air that had been cleaned from the smoke of the last 3 days (all the crops are being burned at present, creating horrendous smog in the area and difficult respiratory conditions) and no signs of damage from the storm, except for our chilled bodies which responded well to a fresh cup of hot coffee. After scrambled eggs and toast, we strapped on our backpacks and headed out on the trail.

We past several more villages this day, witnessing farmers at work in the fields, women gathering frogs to eat for dinner, a tarantula which our guide "poked" out of its nest with a stick (it emerged with such speed that the guide had to take a leap backwards to get out of its way...it was epic!), and lots of farm animals such as water buffalo, pigs, and chickens. It was beautiful countryside and only the heat kept us rambling at a comfortable pace. We said goodbye to our 3 "2night" friends and continued on our way to our lunch spot.

This was taken in a villager's little bamboo home and it was a very memorable part of the trip as we watched four of the Karen people prepare their own authentic lunch of frogs, a BBQ bird which resembled a small chicken but clearly wasn't, and a grilled concoction of red ants and larvae! Our Dutch companion, Dave, was brave enough to try all 3... including the bird's brain and liver. We happily took pictures of him doing this and smiled at the offers to try for ourselves as we ate our safe noodles in broth.

Our guide, Det, was a fey little man, and he told us that he was in "training" to lead this tour himself. It was difficult to form an opinion of him because his English was so terrible. Whenever you asked a question, rather than admit that he didn't understand a word you were saying, he would do the classic Thai "saving face" move of giggling lightly and then responding with the last word in your question, an incomprehensible word that was not English, OR, my personal favorite: just "yes" or "no". On several occasions, he hit on Raizel and suggested that the "bunk" together...so after that, I didn't trust him at all and he really got on my nerves.

After lunch he offered our group more noodles and then laughed at me implying I shouldn't have a second helping because I was "fat", at which point he poked me in the tummy. Irritating little man.

Things got a little amusing, albeit embarrassing, when we were offered chocolate bars for dessert which we happily agreed to pay 10 baht for. The bars were called "Beng Beng", and when it came time to pay, each of us offered up information on how many "Beng Bengs" we were responsible for payment for. Our guide kept giggling at us, and it was difficult at first to determine if this was just his regular giggle that he did constantly, or if there was some unknown reason for his amusement. Eventually, he started telling us that "Beng Beng" was a bad word in the Karen language. "What does it mean?" we asked, shocked at our innocent mistake, realizing that since the Thai don't have the same alphabet, they would have no idea what the name of the chocolate bars would sound like in the English language. He literally took out his dictionary and drew a little diagram of a vagina and said "it means middle of woman". I couldn't believe it! We didn't know how to say hello, thank you, please, or goodbye, but we managed to repeatedly say "vagina" to the Karen people who hosted our lunch! Unbelievable.

We walked on another couple of hours and found ourselves in a rather muddy section of agricultural land. I gingerly took steps to avoid sinking into the mud, and heard Raizel mockingly comment "Is it a little muddy, Anita??" at which moment I heard her shriek as she herself stepped knee deep into the bog. I smiled broadly and said "Be slow to point out other people's shit for you will soon step in your own!"

That evening brought us to another waterfall where we happily dragged on our swimsuits and jumped in the cool water. Marley and Dave (from the Netherlands) happily made out in front of us under the cascading water, so in love that they were oblivious to our onlooking stares. Its always so lovely to see people madly in love...except when you yourself are so very single.... I gave them both a hard time which they took extremely well ;-)

Filing into our jungle camp for the evening, we came across a lone Korean man whom I fondly named Mr. Bath, because of his fascination with asking nonsensical questions about showers/baths/spas the following day. Apparently, he had been with a large Korean group, forgotten his towel in camp, dropped his bag to go fetch it, and then gotten horribly lost. He was very sweet, but communicating with him made communicating with Det seem easy as pie. It was painful even trying to convey agreement or refusal. After choosing a bamboo bungalow as far away from the "lovers" (who no doubt were going to make the most of having a private room) as possible, we all sat down to enjoy a cold beer before dinner. We noticed, to our chagrin, that storm clouds were gathering AGAIN, and this time...with two beers muddling my brain and lowering my defenses, I gave up some raucous entertainment singing my heart out as the clouds rolled in and my new onlooking fans (including ardent audience member Mr. Bath who kept saying "encore") played the drums with their hands. It was an evening I will not soon forget. The rain started pounding down shortly after our dinner of yummy spiced vegetables and rice, and we had no choice but to retire to the storm safety of our huts as early as 8pm.

The storm was not quite as violent as the night before but it did provide some wonderful lightning and thunder claps. It was extremely engaging and I thoroughly enjoyed laying in my hut and listening to the sounds of the sky and watching as the river and camp light up with each strike of electricity.

Our last day involved a relatively short hike out to our waiting truck, which was colored by Mr. Bath's insatiable questions about our hotel, whether they had showers, baths, or air conditioning. Mr. Bath was apparently very particular and after answering Raizel's pleading glares to come and "save her" from her constant 'I'm sorry...I've no idea what you are talking about" pleas, we together managed to ascertain that he was actually enquiring as to whether we knew of a public bath house available in Chiang Mai? We suggested he ask for a "spa" and hoped he'd give up with his ceaseless questions. Mr. Bath really was very sweet and I'll not soon forget him. He was "picked up" by his lost group at the place we stopped at for lunch and we waved fond goodbyes.

Our truck took us safely (standing in the truck bed holding on for dear life) to a lunch stop before our Bamboo Rafting experience. Another first, which I love! We ate Pad Thai noodles, fried rice, and melon greedily.

The rafting experience was definitely improved by the fact that there had been such a significant down pouring of water the previous two evenings...the river was rather swollen. We imagined calmly sitting on this pontoon-like structure whilst being gently glided down the river, but the reality was rather different. We were soaked to the skin almost immediately by a combination of waves lapping over the rafts and our laughing river guide slapping down his oar on the water sending a wave of water over our heads. It was very good fun, especially when we navigated over the albeit mild rapid sections, because the raft itself was so flimsy. We watched as other groups capsized, and cheered ourselves as we managed to stay afloat through the last series of turbulent water.

I was very happy to get back to our guest house after the 2 hour drive home in a bumpy truck, though the ride was definitely aided by our hilarious recollections of Det, "Beng Bengs", Mr. Bath, and the amorous forays of our Dutch friends.

We showered, re-humanized, and had an amazing organic salad dinner before heading out to the "Silver Temple" for "Monk Chat", an opportunity to talk to a Buddhist Monk and ask random questions about his studies/life/Buddhism, and a free two hour class on meditation. Our "Tuk Tuk" driver dropped us a short walk from the temple and we navigated what turned out to be a wonderful Saturday street market full of Thai vendors selling everything from waffles to leather handbags. On arrival at the temple, which was a glorious aluminium/silver building, we were informed that the meditation teacher was away in Quebec, and that only the monk chat was available that evening. Slightly disappointed we sat down with the eager young monk to try out our questions.

His name was Thuy, which he told us meant "Fat", but that after his nephew was given the same name, his parents added "Big", so his name was "Fat Big"....which I thought was very sweet. We asked lots of questions like, "How old were you when you became a monk?", "why did you choose this for yourself?", "what's a typical day like?", and "Why can't you be touched by a woman?". He calmly and in his rather good English explained that in Thailand, it is a matter of cultural pride for every family to have at least one boy enter the Buddhist monastery..so he wanted to do that for his family. He entered at 18 and had been there for 3 years as a novice, sleeping on the ground while the monks each had an assigned bed. He said that his monastery focused on studying Buddhism, as opposed to studying meditation, which was interesting to learn. He also explained that he can't be touched by a woman because it may lead to "Sexual Misconduct". He was earnest, endearing and very encouraging of our exploration of his faith and beliefs.

After navigating the market back home, and guiltily stopping for a banana waffle filled with chocolate sauce which was so good it brought tears to our eyes, we happily crashed in our beds, ecstatic to be between clean sheets tonight.

Today brought a wonderful new experience of a Thai cooking class, which I was determined not to miss despite waking up with a horrible cough and stuffy nose. It lasted all day, and began with an informative tour of the local market where spices, vegetables and fruits were classified for us, and we all went back to the school laden with baskets straight out of "The Sound of Music".

I really enjoyed the style of learning and the hands-on attentive teachers. I learned how to make Pad Thai, Chiang Mai Curry, Red Curry Paste, Mango with sticky rice, Seafood coconut soup, and Green Papaya salad. The group was lively and happily shared travel stories in between dishes, which we individually happily consumed as reward for our tested skills. By the end of the day, my tummy was so full I could barely move, and needed to take the rest of the day to "recover" and take it easy before my flights tomorrow to Cambodia. So, I've been writing this, and uploading my pics, which I hope that you enjoy!

SO ....that's all for now, the next installment will no doubt be from the Khmer capital of Phnom Penh. I bid goodbye to Raziel sadly, happy that she will not be far away for me to visit when I get back to Seattle. I await further adventures!!

Much love,

Anita

Thailand Part I

Friends,

Its hard to believe that this is only Day 4 of my trip thus far to Thailand. Feels like weeks have passed by. It was also very difficult to wrap my head around the speed at which I progressed from my job offer, to my travel plans, to actually leaving- five days in total. It sort of made my head spin. That was pushing it, even for me! I was filled with the usual anxieties of traveling alone, going somewhere exotic that I’m unfamiliar with, and not having done enough in the research department to calm my usual detail-oriented nerves. However, the moment I stepped on my first of three flights to Bangkok…everything dissipated and I was filled with a sense of excitement for yet another Anita Adventure extraordinaire.

My journey was extremely smooth and I cannot recommend Cathay Pacific more highly. They were incredibly particular about every detail of their flight service. I initially flew to Vancouver to catch my overnight flight to Hong Kong where I lost a Saturday night going over the dateline (but at least I didn’t need a date!) It was great seeing all of the Olympic paraphernalia again, and I managed to purchase a little Olympic Mascot keyring of “Quatchi” – the little furry Sasquatch that I liked so much in Whistler. I thought he would be a good little omen for me, and make my photos of tourist sites much more interesting when there was no-one around to take pictures for me.

My only complaint on the flight was that the Indian Mumbai-bound gentleman sitting next to me on my flight to Bangkok insisted on picking his feet for the duration of the 3 hour journey. Yuck. I arrived, bleary-eyed at Bangkok International at 1:30am local time. I’d been traveling for more than 25 hours. I was quite proud of myself for thinking that it might be best to pay for luggage storage at the airport itself for my giant duffel bag full of gear for my Everest trek, rather than lugging it around Thailand with me. I found left luggage for a little under a buck a day- and then grabbed a cab heading to my guest house for what was left of the night.

The city was buzzing. The driver of my cab assured me in broken English that he might be able to drop me “while walk from hotel” because of the “big meeting”. What was he talking about? “It’s not dangerous”, he assured me, “just many many traffic. You not hurt” Hmmm. I was not feeling reassured. As we drove towards the city centre, it became immediately apparent what he was referring to – thousands of red-shirted people protesting in the streets carrying anti-government banners, and lots of police dressed in full riot gear with bottles of tear gas. Oh, lovely. What a great date I picked to arrive… My “while walk” ended up just being a few hundred meters hopping through a mob of backpackers all drinking and partying up the night in the streets.

Once inside my hotel, I was very impressed by the cleanliness of my room and the peace and quiet within. I showered and quickly fell asleep. The next morning I awoke around 7am and took off for a wander around the nearby streets. I immediately grabbed a fresh fruit shake for breakfast (under a dollar) and noticed that every other storefront offered a variety of massages for about 6 dollars per hour. I was in heaven. Just leave me here!! Looking for a certain travel agency, I asked 3 people sitting to breakfast what street I was on, and promptly struck up a conversation, ascertained that they were all from Manchester, England, forgot all about my morning errand, and joined them on a jaunt to see The Emerald Buddha and Grand Palace.

On arrival, our wits were tested by an official looking man who informed us that the temple was not open until 11am and that we should take a cab to go visit another temple and then return…his “friend” would take us there for only 10 Baht each. This registered in my brain as a scam and we promptly moved on past him and entered the main entrance to find hundreds of other people enjoying the clearly open historic site. After the girls were given clothes to cover our shoulders and knees, we headed in to the site. I rented an English audio tour- I always get so historically nerdy and think that I really want to learn everything about a site like that…and then the heat hits me and I realize I’ve been listening to “Number 8 – The Chadi” for five minutes and I have no idea what’s been said.

The buildings were amazing, ornate and all built by one of the “Ramas” (1-4 if my memory serves). I took lots of pictures and took off my shoes to sit cross-legged in contemplation in front of the Emerald Buddha. I melted. After a refreshing Singha beer and lunch we all headed back to our rooms for a little kitty nap and met up later for some meandering around Khao San Road, shopping, and dinner. Feeling exhausted from jet lag, I eagerly paid 6 bucks for the Thai massage and got pummeled into oblivion. I kept screaming every time she worked on my foot’s surgical site, my English and frantic pointing to my scar apparently not enough to deter this tiny but mighty Thai lady from insisting on punishing it with her fists. Small price to pay for bliss everywhere else.

The next day, my new friends (Drew, Katie and Lucy) and I took a day trip to the Damnoen Saduak Floating Market, the bridge on the River Kwai, and the Tiger Temple. It was a full-on day… The market was extremely touristy but I didn’t care- it was full of the iconic picture-perfect boats overflowing with produce and straw hat wearing old ladies trying to sell you Mango with sticky rice. We happily sat in our canoe-like boat and enjoyed our water-based shopping trip for a couple of hours before we headed to the town of Kanchanaburi and the World War II museum overlooking the famed Bridge on the River Kwai.

I found the museum fascinating and moving as I read of the over 100,000 POW’s who perished building the railway the Japanese used as a supply and escape route from Thailand to Burma during WWII. There were lots of displays of authentic Japanese armored vehicles, currency and signs from the occupation of Thailand, as well as harrowing stories told by some of the survivors. A walk across the now re-build bridge took me back in time as I imagined what it would have been like to be forced to march out onto this bridge knowing that the allied planes were about to drop bombs on it. Chilling. They say that the river ran red with blood for over 4 days.

Another long drive took us to the controversial Tiger Temple, where about 30 tigers live and roam the grounds offering visitors the chance to get up close and personal with pictures and nervous petting (really? Petting? The tigers? I didn’t believe until I saw…) I had to buy a new pair of pants on arrival as I was informed that red and orange could make the tigers aggressive. I handed over cash very willingly upon hearing that for a blue pair of “fisherman’s pants” (which took me another 2 days to figure out how to tie properly I was a little uneasy about how the tigers were treated, especially since most of them were leashed and seemed very habituated to the humans stroking them. I did get my photo taken, my favorite encounter being with the cutest little tiger cubs.

After the 3 hour journey back to Bangkok, we were relieved to hear that we had managed to secure beds on the overnight sleeper train to Chiang Mai leaving in a couple of hours- so after a quick shower, we grabbed our backpacks and braved the crazed streets via taxi to the train station.

The train journey was quite a surreal experience: very exciting, romantic and patience-testing. Thank goodness we managed to secure the air conditioned cabin- the faces of the pained travellers sitting in the "fan-only" cars said it all. I slept extremely well despite the fact that they kept the fluorescent lights on all night (thanks to Cathy Pacific's eye sleep-cover thingy).

In the morning, we stumbled down to the restaurant car (after taking an obligatory pee in the toilet/standing hole over the train tracks while holding your nose for the stench) and ordered coffee and coffee. While only 8am, the "manager" was blaring Thai pop tunes at a decibel that required yelling for passable conversation, and insisted on singing (badly) over the top of it at the same time. He was clearly on a controlled substance of some kind as evidenced by his inexplicable euphoria, announcement that he "does boys and girls, you know", and then tendency to pass out when someone wanted to pay their check, muttering in Thai and shaking his head.

A few hours later, it became pretty obvious that we were going to be delayed because the train kept stopping every 10 minutes. We could but hope that the restaurant manager wasn't sharing his drugs with the train driver. A lovely waitress came by and served us sandwiches for lunch as we sat hunched over on our bunk beds, unable to sit up because of the low ceiling. We made a new friend, Raicay, from Seattle (!!!) and sat laughing for hours at the situation, especially when the waitress would break out into a little song and dance for no reason.

Four hours late, we pulled into Chiang Mai station, and were immediately assaulted by the afternoon heat. Negotiating a fair price for a Sorng Taa ou to a guest house, we headed into town, checked in and then grabbed another mouthwatering delicious meal.

The food in Thailand has been outstanding so far. Fresh fruit and juices, and tons of veggies in every meal combined with delicious amounts of coconut milk and spices. Its been a huge part of the experience thus far and I look forward to every meal to try something new. In fact, I intend to take a day's cooking class (wish you were here Magda!!) on Saturday after returning from a trek.

This morning I headed out around 6am ( I know - I'm NOT a morning person, but for some reason when I travel I metamorphosize) on a solo walking tour of the city temples when the peace and coolness of the morning was briefly interrupted by a terrifying encounter with a stray dog who attacked me. I did not provoke it in anyway, he just came right at me and bit me on the leg...THANKFULLY not puncturing the skin. A saffron-robed Buddhist monk came to my rescue and hit the dog with his stick getting him off of me. It was rather unnerving but after another twenty minute walk, I had brushed it off.

The temples were beautiful and I snapped a hundred photos before wandering back to the hotel via this Internet cafe.

Tomorrow, my new Seattle friend and I are heading north to do a 3 day hill-tribe trek, staying in traditional bamboo huts with the Karen people. I'm looking forward to it and getting some cardio exercise in. I will write again on my return.

Much love, Anita

Epilogue

I always start with the best of intentions to write a summary of my travels once I'm home. Something about the return to the familiar surroundings of reality usually squishes any creative impulse left in me to write; its as if the inspiration created by the constantly new stimuli fades away leaving nothing but...despair.

Yes. The culture shock of coming home is bad. All who have traveled for an extensive period of time are aware of this. Well. Let me tell you: it is made even worse by 1 - not having a job or significant other to come home to, and 2 - not having a crowd of people ready to throw you a "welcome home party".

I was not even enthused significantly when I discovered that I had passed the CFP examination that I had been studying so hard for, during the months leading up to the trip.

Or worse yet: friends who've had you off their radar for so long they won't even answer your wall-to-wall on Facebook.

As you can tell, I am sad to be home. And I'm going to need a lot of encouragement if I'm going to finally put pen to paper (figuratively of course) and make this blog into a book which I've been talking about writing for at least ten years, and still have done nothing about.

So, a conclusion of sorts to my time in Central & South America. That's what I've been asked to write. Ok. I think I only have the strength to do this in list format. So, here goes:

1 - What were your favorite things about Central America?

- Its always warm enough to throw on a tank top, shorts, and a pair of flip flops.

- The men will ALWAYS remind you that you are a sexy, desirable, woman by hollering at you from every possible vantage point.

- People have an incredibly apparent sense of community and family. They stop and talk to each other on the street (forget Facebook!) They offer rides to each other as they drive down the street. They go out as families in the evening. They all live together under one roof and share everything they own. They take care of their elders.

- It seemed perfectly normal to be drinking beer at 10 o'clock in the morning.

- Oh! 50c beers! Ladies drink for free!

- Less than 40 feet of visibility seemed like a good reason not to go diving. (WHAT was I thinking??)

- Chicken buses with blaring music and a strobe light on the ceiling!

- Volcanoes

- Same power outlet voltages as back home

- Lots of adrenaline activities to try out - white water rafting/kayaking, canyoning, zip-lining canopy...

- No one is in a hurry to DO ANYTHING

Things I hated about Central America:

- No one is in a hurry to DO ANYTHING

- Each time you past a roadside store, restaurant and shop, it would be a requirement for there to be at least two stray dogs, and at least one, if not several crying, underclothed children.

- The idea of buying fast food fried chicken, and the speed at which it would happen is the equivalent to placing an order with God on a slip of paper.

- Forget trying to complain. About anything. Ever.

- Trash, everywhere...especially plastic bottles. People throw trash into rivers, and out of the windows of moving vehicles.

- Can't order ice with your drink, or drink tap water anywhere except Panama City.

- Rice and beans does not constitute a good breakfast food item.

- If you sit down to order a meal in a restaurant, the wait staff will quickly think of ways to actively ignore you, for fear they might be required to actually do some work

- Chicken buses. That do not cater to the leg length of any individuals past Grade 8.

- "Is it safe?" is a question you have to leave behind in the hotel room.

- What were your favorite things about Peru and Bolivia?

- When my mountain guide told me how beautiful I was. And then proceeded to explain how all foreign women are SO BEAUTIFUL.

- Vast, breathtaking altiplano expanses.

- The incredible Andes mountains with their jagged snow capped peaks which begged me to climb them, altitude sickness be damned!

- Coca leaves. Observing what an active part of the culture they play. How chewing is as socially acceptable among friends as meeting for a drink is back home. How black it made everyone's teeth.

- Llamas. And Alpacas. How cute they were. And how tasty!

- Inca Kola. How yellow it was. How popular it was- way more than Coca Cola.

- How almost every conversation, with every traveller you met, started with: "So, where are you from? Where are you travelling? Where are you going next/where've you been? How long are you going to be away?"

- How many conversations I had that last more than a few hours, at which point I realized that I didn't know the person's name.

- Ordering a meal which includes cocktails, wine, steak, and dessert for under $10!


- Things I hated about travelling in South America:

- Hostels that have become overrun with groups of Israeli backpackers, who clearly did not leave their country to experience any other culture other than their own.

- Paying for toilets. And the "whammy" system (which usually came out as just one whammy). Single whammy - toilet was clean enough to stomach using. Double - it had toilet paper. Triple - there was hand soap (which usually moved me to tears), and finally, Quadruple whammy - when you didn't have to pay for it!!

- Long overnight bus journeys that contained every human endurance test known: Blaring loud violent movies to sleep through, temperatures ranging from a modern convection oven to the arctic. Seats that lovingly promised to recline which then failed to. Seats so large you bounced around in them like a ball in a ping pong machine. Death by Pan Flute music. All night. Creepy, secluded bus stations full of a few people who will hound you as you sleepily stumble off of the bus at 3:30 in the morning.

- How there are basically two directions you can travel through Peru and Bolivia in...and for a while, how each time I met somebody really cool that I could hang with- they would be travelling in the opposite direction to me.

- How you could never let your bags out of your sight. Even in Public bathrooms...hauling your backpack into the stall with you, being hardly unable to close the door!

- Never getting used to the altitude, past Cusco. I was always huffing to walk up a steep street. Knowing that people here are just born with a different lung capacity to my own.

In any case...I had a fantastic journey, which I must now turn into a book.

In summary:


Days away from home -76
Separate flights flown - 13
Countries visited - 7
Number of friends connected with on Facebook -24
Number of men I kissed - 3
Days spent at altitude -36
Days spent on bikes - 3
Archaeological sites visited - 5
Days I got up before 5am -12 (!!!!)
Days spent on buses (entirely) -11
Days spent in the jungle -5
Days spent in cities -19
Days of diving - 1
Days of snorkeling - 7
Days on tropical beaches -13
Nights in a tent under the stars - 6
Days spent hiking or climbing a mountain - 17 (!!!!)
Nights spent on overnight buses - 5
Religious festivals observed - 3

AND....number of first things attempted!

-Canopy "zip lining"
- Canyoning
-Riding a scooter
- Eating Alpaca/Llama
- Sand buggy/boarding
- Climbing a 20,000 foot mountain
- Going to a wrestling match
- Biking down the "world's most dangerous road"

Panama Adventure II

I am sitting in an Internet cafe in Alajuela, a tiny town north of San Jose that is just a five minute cab ride from the International Airport. At 8am tomorrow, I will board the first of three planes bound for Seattle. What an incredible journey and experience it has been. I plan to write an epilogue of sorts when I get home (I'm sure I'll have more perspective then too!) but for now, here is the last week of my time in the beautiful country of Panama.


I last left you in the mountain town of Boquette, as I was de-Bocasing and coming down from the high of constant sun and parties. Boquette was a very quiet town. And quite chilly and rainy. Sadness! However, saying that, it really was beautiful and surrounded by lush cloud forest and Volcan Baru...the highest point in Panama. It was also famous for its whitewater, and Abraham and I decided to do a raft trip for the following day.


The alarm sounded at 6am, and we dragged ourselves out of bed to ready for the big day. I was very very sleepy, but the sight of extremely hot rafting guides in the van soon woke me up. he he. It was a two hour ride to the river, which we were told was in peak condition, for it was well into the rainy season, making some of the class IV rapids more like Class IV.5ish.... We'll see!


The trip turned out to be very thrilling indeed. This was probably my sixth or seventh experience doing this, but I can honestly say I've never been through water this rough before. There were definitely moments where if you fell out of the boat you would have to kiss your own sweet ass goodbye. Curtains. Abraham did fall out of the boat, but luckily it was not in one of those places. It all happened so fast, and I went to move over to drag him back in the raft but found myself pinned down by the guy in front who had also fallen over by the ferocity of the water. Once all were safe and back in the boat, it was all a bit funny.


We were well and truly smashed by the end of the 3 hour long trip which included several portages and a lot of very heavy paddling. Lots of fun though, and once I had gotten more used to the constant rapids (there was no waiting between them like I'd found floating on other rivers, the thrills just kept on coming) I was able to relax a little more and just enjoy it.


By the time we got back into town, we both needed a nap which was glorious. Then we decadently returned to Boquette Bistro, and this time fell upon the Baked Brie and Chicken Teriyaki. Yum.


On our second day in Boquette I was starting to have difficulties deciding on my next travel destination. I had heard that Santa Catalina was a pretty coastal town that offered access to some of the best diving in Central America at Isla de Coiba. However, communication with the scuba company, or indeed any hoteliers down there was proving fruitless. On top of that, I was told it was an epic 8 hour journey there. Abraham and the girls were leaving for Panama City on the overnight bus, and if I went with them, I would have just enough time to visit the islands of the Comarca de Kuna Yale and the city before needing to come back to San Jose. It was either Coiba or the islands. Once I found out that a two tank dive was going to cost me $140 plus two days of travel time...I opted to head out that night to David and on to Panama City.


Trying to decide what to do that day, we stumbled across a place that rented scooters, and they looked like they would be a cheaper (not to say more fun) option for visiting some of the local waterfalls and hikes in the area. Abraham was very excited to try them, and since I could barely stay upright as I tried to drive one down a side street, we agreed that he would drive and I would be the passenger. We donned cute little helmets, filled the tanks with $2 of gas..and off we went into the hills to explore.


This was another "first"". I love doing things for the first time, and the scooters were a blast to ride and offered a unique perspective on the countryside around us. Abraham was loving the speed and corners, that is, until we were faced with giant hills where the tiny little engines sounded like they were issuing their last dying breath and at one point we were forced to dismount and push. Miraculously, we found the trail head to a 2 hour hike the owner of our hostel had recommended. It was a very pretty walk and I was enjoying the effortless way I seemed to be climbing uphill with the abundant oxygen in the air.


Driving back down to town I was determined to give "holding the reins" by driving the damn scooter myself another try. We fell about laughing as I crashed and burned several times, screaming along the way because there was a semi coming. At one point, Abraham had to reach over me and grab the brakes because we were "going down". But I was determined and after learning to trust the bike itself (kind of like riding a push bike for the first time) I managed to drive all the way back to town, switching before traffic got too intense. Thank you for putting your life in my hands, Abraham!!


Heading back to the rental place, the heavens opened and pelted rain upon us. We got completely drenched, whereas our friends, who were five minutes ahead of us, stayed high and dry. But we'd had a great time.


We were to be on the 7pm bus to David, the second largest city in Panama, and then the overnight bus which was leaving at midnight. It was going to be a long night. David was by far one of the roughest cities I'd had the misfortune to spend a few hours in on this trip. Abraham and I walked around for hours looking for any restaurant that might be open, and we were told that everything was shut because it was...wait for it...8:30pm! Date night in David must be really hot and heavy. Eventually, after walking through dark rainy streets which looked like the perfect hangout for gang activity, we happened across a semi decent Chinese place before heading back to the terminal.


How I dislike overnight buses. This one turned out to be not so bad, actually. Somehow, having a seat which didn't really recline very much helped me to fall asleep. Before it had felt like five minutes, we pulling into the bus station in the capital at 5:45am. Dazed and confused, we muddled out and got in a taxi bound for Casco Viejo, the older part of the city where the hostel Abraham had stayed at before was located: Luna's Castle. Since beds weren't ready yet, and Abraham was leaving that afternoon for Colombia, I offered to take him out for a final breakfast together before I made the most of the morning by visiting the Panama Canal. We found the best little cafe and ordered a slamming breakfast of fresh bread, eggs, bacon and goooooooood coffee for $4 each. It was fantastic, especially after that bus journey. I was very sad to see my Dutch friend leave, but he promised to meet up with me, maybe this year, and go diving together in the Red Sea....which I will hold him to!


I grabbed a cab and headed to the world famous waterway, trying to get there for 9am because that was when the big ships usually passed through. It was all rather fascinating though I was a little disappointed not to see any big cruise ships coming through. On top of that, my ex Jonathan, musician extraordinaire had only just finished his gig aboard Princess cruises and had been transiting the canal over the last several months and we'd missed each other by a few weeks. That would have been fun...to wave at him from the cafeteria as he stood on one of the ship's balconies. Kind of like when we met up in Civvitavechia, hey Jonny?? ;-)


I watched two ships pass through the Miraflores locks, one a container ship and the other an oil tanker. Seeing how little clearance the vessels have on either side is really astonishing, and how many people it takes to guide the ships through without hiccup. I really enjoyed the museum exhibits too which detailed future plans for two new sets of locks which would allow for much wider ships..up to 56 metres instead of the current 38 (gee, I hope I got that right...?) They also had a display on all of the bugs of Panama, and displayed dead samples of some of the largest and ugliest beetles, spiders, stick insects, crickets and moths.


By the time I got back to the hostel, my dorm bed was ready for me, and Abraham was still there with a fresh new hair cut. I gave him the gift I'd bought him at the canal...an emergency rain jacket, after what had happened on the last afternoon in Boquette. I bid my adieu, and then took a very needed shower and nap, hanging out in the hostel for the afternoon, arranging my trip for the next morning to head to San Blas (Comarca de Kuna Yale) and more Caribbean Paradise...


The Kuna are an indigenous people in Panama and have retained autonomy from Panamanian government and basically self govern. I was looking forward to seeing them and their beautiful costumes...the women in particular have a distinct look: short hair with a headscarf, lots of gold jewellery, layered very colorful print clothing, and most notably, large and ornate jewellery for the legs which cover from the ankle to the knee. I would be staying on an island called Senidup which was going to be a 90 minute boat ride from the Carti Airport where I flew into.


The flight I booked was only $40 (I didn't know how long I was going to stay so I decided I would probably take the jeep option back to the city) and originally was scheduled to leave at 6am. So you can imagine my relief when I received an email stating that it would be delayed until 10! Yay!


I was meeting two friends that I'd made in Bocas del Toro on Isla Senidup. The transfer there went pretty smoothly but on arrival, I came to be informed by my friends that despite the fact that the island itself was only the size of a football field, there were two owners of two distinct set of huts. Turns out, I had reserved the huts on the wrong side of the island... No problem, right? Well, apparently, the two owners have kind of a war going on between them, and during my 3 day stay, it felt very much like I was in an episode of Lost, and I was one of the "Others", because the two groups of backpackers staying on either side didn't seem to mingle that well. Given the size of the island, it was a little ridiculous.


As was what happened when I first got there. Explaining to the owner that I wanted to stay with my friends on the other side of the island, he got very agitated and started demanding that I pay, and at one point, he and his 3 buddies had me cornered in a straw hut screaming about money and threatening to throw my bags in the ocean. The fact that this was supposed to be the idyllic paradise "get away from it all" island didn't seem to be applying to my first encounter here. It turned out just to be a language mix up because all they had wanted was for me to pay for my boat transfer, which was easily accomplished by handing over $7. Phew.


Those 3 days were a very strange, wonderful and unique experience. I've visited many incredibly isolated and beautiful islands in my life...but I've never stayed on one that was this basic and untouched. And it was so cheap..one of the cheapest things I've done in my entire 3 months. The price was $20 a night for your hut, including breakfast, lunch and dinner! The days consisted of sleeping in till about 9am, walking around barefoot everywhere (even the straw huts had a sandy floor), eating meals in the communal straw hut, reading in hammocks looking over the crystal blue waters, snorkeling around the island's reef about twice a day, sunbathing, napping, drinking, taking another swim, chatting to other travellers, playing cards, another nap...you get the picture? That first day I also took a day trip over to Isla Perros and had the distinct joy of snorkeling an artificial reef created by a shipwreck of a vessel that had the sense to sink in 20 feet of water. It was incredible and the visibility was great as was the variety of the fish.


It was a really relaxing time and I enjoyed the company of my fellow islanders muchly, especially Katherine and Fabio (who owned a restaurant in Casco Viejo which they invited me to come visit when I got back to the city) and a Brit named Gabi who, like me, escaped England to go work abroad in Austria 8 years ago. She especially liked my singing, and in the evenings, I would become a human jukebox and sing songs on the beach around a fire as we listened to the only other sound which was the waves lapping the shore. Of course you all know how much I must have hated that. :-)


The afternoons on the island also brought thundershowers. It was a unique place to watch the lightning, especially in the evening when it lit up the entire sky. On my last morning there, we had a violent thunderstorm about 3am which lit up the whole island like it was daylight. Rain pouring in to my hut woke me up pretty suddenly...I had to switch bunks to avoid getting wet. My friends had left, and I admit to being a little frightened by the power of the thunderclaps which lasted for hours. What a memory though.


The only sad thing that happened during my 3 day stay in Paradise (other than the violent welcome I received) was that I accidentally dipped my camera in the ocean. Oops. It has stopped functioning, and whilst I may still be able to fix it, I am relieved that this happened near the end of my journey and not near the middle. At least my memory card is safe and had lots of pictures taken during the one really good day of weather on Senidup.


That jeep ride home was pretty rough going as we climbed up and over the central mountain range of Panama before arriving back to the Pacific coast and the city. I ran into Gabi back at the hostel and we happily scampered out to grab dinner at Cafe Havana before she got a night bus to Bocas del Toro which was her next destination of choice. We happily chatted over mojitos, ceviche, and Cuban sandwiches...and Gabi tried to convince me to grab my bags and come back with her to Bocas. I must admit that I was very tempted indeed, especially since I had to head back to Costa Rica in any case. However, since I'd already given money to someone to buy me my bus ticket to San Jose and I hadn't really seen Panama city yet, I reluctantly declined.


In hindsight, I kind of wish I had just gone with her, but then again, it might not have had the same magical appeal as the first visit did, and it would forever alter my perception of it. and the time I had there.


I had two more days in Panama city and I explored. The first day I walked, for miles, around Casco Viejo and took in all the major sights and monuments to a Panama city of yesterday, that is experiencing much investment into renovation and restructuring. In fact, you could generally hear drilling from 7 in the morning from my hostel which made early starts much easier. Right before the afternoon rainy season storm, I grabbed a cab to the bus station (my friend wasn't able to buy my bus ticket without my passport! So I could have gone to Bocas and not felt bad about that!) and bought my ticket for Tuesday night to San Jose (arriving at 3:30pm the next day) then went to catch a movie and some needed air conditioning. It was hot, hot I tell you!


That night I went to visit Katherine's restaurant, Indigo, and dined like a princess. The food was amazing, I enjoyed a passion fruit infused ceviche of Sole, followed by fresh baked goat cheese and spinach spanikopita, and topped off with the softest fudge chocolate cake ever and coconut ice cream. And a bottle of wine. Fantastic. At Katherine's request, I stayed and sang songs too until about 2 in the morning, and developed my Panamanian fan base. They all plotted to keep me there and enter me for Panamanian idol. It was a wonderful night to remember!


My final day I went north for a hike around the Parque Natural Metropolitano and promptly left after 15 minutes and about 1000 mosquito bites! ouch! A cab picked me up and scolded me for walking around the area alone, telling me that it was very dangerous. I agreed, but primarily because of the mosquitoes. I asked to be taken to Ave Balboa, to a spot where I could enjoy a stroll along the water. Of course, I was told. Yeah, my ass. Ave Balboa was completely closed due to construction, and I ended up walking through it to a neighborhood where I could hail another cab, all the while enduring constant whistles and cat calls from the construction workers I passed. I have never in all my travels, met men who felt they had more of a right to vocalize their intentions towards women as I found in Panama city. Nearly every passing car, some guy yelled out to me, sometimes sweet things, other times more vulgar. That's not counting all of the "Chica"", ""Amore!", "Corazon!"" shouts I counted. At times I thought maybe I should be flattered, but the thing is this: the cat calls are not discriminating...they are directed to most all women. Its just an everyday normal thing.


Finally I visited the causeway which joins 4 islands together and has great views of the city, the canal, and the rest of the ocean on the other side. I rented a bike and went for a casual ride, stopping for a delicious lunch of garlic shrimp. After some last minute shopping, I returned to Luna's, showered, re-packed, ate some sushi and grabbed a cab with my fellow traveller, Sarah, for the international terminal.


That bus ride was a nightmare. They had the air con blasting so much it must have dropped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I was wearing every layer I had and burying my face into my sweater to stop my nose icing over. Couldn't sleep it was so cold. Then we were awoken by the loudest music imaginable at 5am to tell us we were at the border with Costa Rica. The border crossing took 3 and a 1/2 hours because they strip searched our bus for drugs. I've never stood around just waiting in the heat for so long, when I was so tired before. What made things worse was my last minute realization that my flight home from San Jose could have been changed to return from Panama City!!! I simply hadn't considered this as a possibility until the last day, and then I was faced with having to come back to San Jose because I had left 1/2 of my luggage here!! That's travelling brain for you...where has mine gone I ask you?


I managed to sleep for the next few hours despite the LOUD and horrifically violent movies they seem to always play on buses. We arrived in San Jose and jumped on another bus for Alajuela (the town closest to the airport) and checked into the hotel where I had stashed my things two weeks ago.... After pizza, we came here, I wrote this letter....and now its time to end....go back and pack.....and face the fact that my odyssey has come to a close.


My flight is at 8am tomorrow so I'll be leaving around 6am. I plan to write an epilogue of sorts on my return and provide some overall observations of my time spent here.


I look forward to seeing many of you in the coming days and weeks!!!

Panama Adventure I

I have changed my flight yet again...for the last time, I think! I fly home on June 4th and am very very sad that my journey is coming to an end. It has been an incredible trip that interestingly has improved as the weeks went by...I feel like I am finally in the groove of travelling, and alas, it is time to return to reality and look for work. Sob.

I last left you on my return from the top of the world after my climb up Huayna Potosi. I spent the next two days in La Paz as I was unable to change my flight to leave earlier to go back to Central America. As it turned out, I really needed the rest. The first day I just slept, got a massage, did email and then spent the afternoon going out with the boys to see the Sunday afternoon locals´entertainment of Cholita´s wrestling. What is a Cholita? It is an indigenous Bolivian woman living in the city who continues to wear traditional dress. It was supposed to be riotous fun.

It was not. I don´t know what had happened on the day that other travellers went, who had recommended this activity to me, but I´m not sure if I could describe it as fun. Public display of female abuse would be a more appropriate description. Whilst the fighting is only supposed to look ¨real¨, the message that it sent to the crowd was extremely disturbing.

We watched as guys fought, as the opening act, and then the first set of Cholitas appeared (one was a dwarf, or is it midget? Can´t remember which is politically correct) and we basically watched them get repeatedly punched, slapped, kicked and beaten to a pulp. At one point, the midget was hit so violently in the skull that fake blood poured down her face. Just as she was cowering and crying in the corner of the ring, the aggressor took one of her pigtails and lit it on fire. It was very disturbing and a bunch of people left. We just kind of sat and stared.

Afterwards, I felt quite tormented. The boys and I took off for a slap up meal which we found at the first restaurant I had visited upon my arrival in La Paz two weeks ago After, to dull the visions of beaten cholitas, we all went to the movies to see Angels and Demons which was a lot of fun. Then we said our goodbyes as the boys were leaving in the morning for Sucre. Ah....alone again! Sniff.

My final day in La Paz took me around the city actually as a tourist for the first time. I visited the Coca museum to learn the history of the leaf that is so negatively viewed back home (source of cocaine production), the Witches Market, strolled down the Prado and visited the Sopacochi neighborhood.

The next day was an epic journey day. I took a cab at 6am to the airport and flew from La Paz to Lima where I had a 2 hour layover before my flight to San Jose. On arrival in San Jose, I took a cab to an airport hotel where I unloaded half of my stuff in storage as I wouldn´t be needing all the winter clothes whilst travelling in the tropics. Back in a cab, we navigated a torrential thunderstorm to get me to the Caribe Terminal where I boarded a 4 hour bus bound for Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, a southerly Caribbean beach town near the border of Panama.

I was absolutely exhausted upon arrival and opted for my own hotel room where I could just take a shower and get some needed rest. I was hounded by some locals as I walked the five blocks to the hotel, and learning how many people were mugged over the next day in Puerto Viejo, I realise now how stupid I was to walk there alone in the dark.

It was very strange to feel the humidity in the air again...and to be able to breathe!! I was back at sea level, and very excited to experience some BEACH.

The following morning I set about deciding if I was going to stay in Puerto Viejo for the day, or if I´d catch the bus straight to Bocas del Toro in Panama. I set out for some breakfast to mull the decision over coffee and met up with 3 lads from Montana who promptly invited me to stay at their hostel and hang out with them for the day. We decided to rent some bikes and ride down to Manzanilla stopping at beaches and snorkeling along the way. Sounded like a great idea, and they even offered to carry my bags for me! Never gonna be concerned with travelling alone ever again!

The day was perfect. The ride was leisurely and the scenery lush. We spotted monkeys as we cruised along, stopping a couple times to swim and frolic in the surf. At Manzanilla we enjoyed one of the best lunches I've had on the trip: Garlic shrimp and coconut rice. Delicious.

Getting back to our hostel, I headed over to the beach to watch the sunset and met 3 people who would become friends over the next several days in Bocas Del Toro: Aurelien, Matt, and Kelly. We all decided to head over to a bar after dinner that was playing live music (I was hoping to be able to sing, which I did! Remey, one of the three guys I'd met at breakfast was quite the musician and played guitar while I sang "Me and Bobby McGee" made famous by Janis Joplin). It was a good evening followed by dancing at a club downtown which we arrived at in style after hopping on to the tailgate of a passing truck. Ah, good times.

In the morning, a group of us jumped in a minivan headed for the border and the backpacker haven (or should I say pit of sin) of Bocas Del Toro, situated on the beautiful Isla Colon in the blue Caribbean azure. The town didn't look like much as we sweatily clambered off of the water taxi that had brought us here, but it would soon grow on me in its affection. I knew where I wanted to stay and began to haul my bags north up the main drag, losing the guys in the process to a haggler trying to sell them a dorm at his hostel. Weak, I tell you!

I was very happy with my digs, named Mondo Taitu, which became as much a character in my stay as the islands themselves. Mondo Taitu has a funky appeal with bright colors, hammocks littered across balconies, and a free pancake breakfast. Each night hosts happy hour with prices that make your head spin: beer for 50c and cocktails for a buck. We never missed a happy hour.

Matt and Kelly were already there and I added Christina, Abraham, and Carina to the list of friends whom I made during my stay. We became quite a connected happy little bunch. After a shower and a happy hour, I decided to lay down for five minutes in my dorm before heading out.

I woke up the next morning at 8am.

Wanting to head out and see more of the islands, I joined a sailing trip aboard a catamaran which took a leisurely day out to such points as Dolphin Bay and coral key, stopping along the way at choice snorkeling spots. I'd been told that the visibility was particularly bad here, but I was pleasantly surprised by the color of the coral which we found in the shallower areas. It poured out of the sky in the early afternoon and we all had to take shelter inside the boat and wait for it to pass. All in all, by 4pm I was completely mellowed out and operating on island time, blissfully ignorant of the time on my watch except for when it would signify happy hour, of course.

Stopping by the supermarket on my way back to the hostel, I was stunned to find they had fresh milk for sale. Not being able to resist, I bought the half a gallon bottle together with a slice of fudge cake and sat in the sun gloriously gulping down the white stuff that I hadn't imbibed in nearly 3 months. It was spectacular.

Walking into the hostel I was greeted by a familiar face from Puerto Viejo: Aurelien (from Paris) had decided to travel south and spend a few days at Mondo Taitu as well. The whole "crew" from Rocking J's was here. It was going to be a good stay.

That night we all got a taste of Bocas' night life, where every single night, women drink for free. It is shamefully hedonistic and blatant in its marketing, but it seems to work, because the entire town seems to visit only one specific different bar each night of the week, which makes for a fun, if slightly high school atmosphere. I happily danced the night away until sleep beckoned. Even then, Aurelien and I ended up hanging out on the balcony outside my room for the next several hours anyway...

The next day, having woken too late for a boat trip, Matt organized us into a beach targeted group and we grabbed a collectivo to the north of the island and a stretch of beach called Bocas Del Drago. It was picture perfect with little surf, swaying palm trees, white sand, and lots and lots of starfish. It was the perfect beach day with swimming, a delicious lunch of red snapper sitting in swim gear, snorkeling, exploring, and taking lots of pictures. This was paradise. Little did I know it could get even better.

The following morning Aurelien was distraught as his ATM card didn't seem to be functioning. I offered to buy breakfast, and during the meal it occurred to me that when the same thing happened to me in Copacabana, Bolivia, I went to a hotel and they kindly ran my card through their merchant machines in order to give me cash back. After trying the story out at several retailers we found a dive shop who was willing to give him cash. Relieved at being able to "do" things again, we immediately booked a boat charter out to the one island I desperately wanted to visit before leaving this place:Isla Zapatillo. It is supposed to be the most beautiful and unspoilt of the islands, completely uninhabited and circumnavigable on foot in about 30 minutes.

Despite being horrendously delayed by this very strange Persian man who insisted on making 7 of us wait an hour for him while he ate lunch at a stop along the way, it was an incredible day. I felt like I was in a movie and luxuriously breathed in the incredible scenery and utterly crystal clear water that lapped at our toes. It was so so beautiful, and I think honestly to say it was the best beach I've ever seen in my life. We ate a picnic under a palm tree and then happily lazed away the next five hours or so we had before being forced (literally) to get back in the boat and head back to Isla Colon.

I knew I needed to leave this place the next morning in the same way I know I need to leave Las Vegas after 3 days. This kind of self indulgence was starting to get to me. So after another memorable night spent at a club that was designed around a sunken ship and artificial reef, complete with sand, I packed up my bags, and Abraham (lovely sweet Dutch guy from Utrecht who had been travelling with Christina for the past month and who was headed back to Columbia) and I headed down to the docks for our water taxi and subsequent buses on to the mountain, and coffee town of Boquette.

After five hours of buses, Abraham and I felt the shift in climate and donned another layer. It was a welcome relief to experience a little chill, and watch the daily afternoon downpour come down over the cloud forest, and this little town which is apparently rated as the third best place to retire in the world! Walking over to our hostel in the rain, I couldn't help feeling disappointed at the unearthly quiet that abounded. I was de-bocasing. It was going to take a day or so. I was already missing my friends. The parties. The happy hour. The beaches. Mondo Taitu! But no, it was time to move on and travel.

After setting down our bags in our hostel of second choice (the first was full! Damn!) we headed out for a good meal to lift our spirits. And we found it in a little American owned restaurant called Bistro Boquette. As soon as we arrived, a server came over and poured us both ice water. It was so beautiful it almost brought tears to my eyes.

We happily dined on rather expensive (for travelling that is) fillet Mignon with garlic mashed potatoes, red wine, and a brownie with ice cream for dessert. It was fantastic. After booking a trip to go white water rafting the next day, we settled in for the night at our hostel by watching a movie with our fellow roomies (some of whom had also arrived from Mondo Taitu).

I'll leave it there for now as its getting rather long...I am in Panama City now and will be leaving for the San Blas Archipegalo in a few days for my last dose of sunshine before heading Stateside.

Much love to you all!

Bolivia Adventure Part II

By the way!! I have FINALLY uploaded pictures from the last month on Picasa...here is the address (haven't had time to write captions yet, but I will!)

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/Boliva2009#

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/PeruvianAmazonAndLakeTiticacca#

I write this from the Carribean shores of Bocas Del Toro in Panama. I feel very behind in recording my adventures during the middle of my time in Bolivia, and if I do not complete my story with due haste, I feel it may be overtaken with the far warmer memories I am creating at this moment.

I already wrote to you about climbing Huayna Potosi, and the previous email, I believe, left off with me the night before I joined a tour of the Salt Flats and the volcanic region south of them, on the border with Chile.

We left early in the morning for the train station as we were told that there were strikes going on in downtown La Paz and the journey to the bus station might be slow going. As it was, we were fine. The station was an experience for its toilets, which were quite disgusting..and like so many bathrooms in South America, inexplicably gave you a ticket for paying to use the facilities. Why do they do this? Are armed police going to raid you in the stall, mid pee, and demand to see your ticket?

The bus journey to Oruro was uneventful (yet again, I was the new addition to the group of 10 travellers and they didn't seem too keen to engage me) but I was very happy to see Michael, Tiago and Samara at the train station as we collected our tickets for the 7 hour train ride to Uyuni...one of the coldest placest on earth with temperatures in the winter of up to -100 degrees celcius. We all lunched together and then got on the train.

Unfortunately, they were playing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on the train. Whilst I love this movie, it is a very sad memory for me when I saw it for the first time, and that coupled with the fact that it is a very sad movie overall, had me crying for about 3 hours of the journey and arriving in a rather sour mood which was not aided by the fact that none of my new comrades wanted to share a room with me. Probably for the best, I cried myself to sleep.

We piled in groups of 4 into our 4x4's for the next 3 days and headed off to see the world's largest salt flats. The tour itself turned out to be somewhat disappointing with absolutely no interpretation...we were just driven around and told to get out at various points of interest and take photos. Not that the locations were not stunning, because they were.

The first day was a highlight for me as we took a lot of perspective photographs in the area of blindingly white ground, piercingly blue sky, and sun that could burn your eyes if you walked around without protection. The idea was to have objects in the foreground appearing to interact as if in the same plane and space with objects (usually other people) way way in the background, creating unique illusions. This was a lot of fun, but took a good while to get a hang of together with a lot of patience.

We also visited a very strange mountain covered in cacti which stood in the middle of the salt and seemed very oddly out of place. The entire area was like an illusion, especially as we drove on the horizonless "freeways" of salt that carried no mark or indication of direction. I would not want to be stuck out here with my own car.

That first night we stayed in a hostel that was made entirely of salt. Really. You could lick the walls. The ground was covered in thousands of salt crystals which crunched as you walked on them. Definitely an alternative to floor vacuuming and cleaning. ?

It was very cold that night, but thankfully our room, though not heated, had good protection against drafts. The evening meal was spent bundled up and ladling soup complete with gloves. My new group seemed to love playing cards, but I didn't join in, opting to read instead. Later, some musical talent from a local school stopped by to sing and dance for us. That was very sweet and we all tipped and thanked them.

The next two days we continued our journey south stopping at incredibly colorful lagoons scattered with flamingoes, unusual rock formations that stood out in stark contrast to the unending desert behind them, and beautiful volcanoes that had a pretty sprinkling of snow on top of them.

Our second night was far more frigid than the first and we resorted to wearing nearly ALL of the clothes we'd brought with us whilst trying to keep warm in the silly thin sleeping bags the company provided, all the while inside the beds covered in 7 more woolen blankets. If you didn't lay awake from the cold, it was from fear of being smothered by the weight of the covers. Just turning over was quite a task.

That morning we had to ready ourselves in the dark (other than a plastic roof which let in a blustery wind, the hostel only had electricity from 7-9pm) using our headlamps and set out into the night sky at 430 in the morning. our first stop were some steaming geysers and bubbling mud pots, which ended up being quite wonderful to stand in front of, trying to warm our butts and hands in the steam.

The thermal baths, therefore, came as a very welcome sight. Our guide had said she didn't like them because they were too hot, but I for one think she is mad, and after dipping in a toe, needed absolutely no encouragement to strip in the frigid cold and dive right in (keeping my wooly peruvian hat on, of course). The water was fantastic and Tiago and I were the first ones in. Lots of people came up to the water, hesitatingly putting in their toes only despite our shrieks for them to f*%^*ing get their kit off and get in! "Oh, but it'll be too cold to get out again!" Clearly none of them had lived in a ski resort long enough to know that if you sit in a hot tub for 30 minutes, you're very much protected from the chilly night air for at least a few minutes after you get out. After much whining, we were joined by more people as they got up the nerve.

I bid goodbye to my friends that afternoon as Michael headed back to La Paz on the night bus, and Tiago and Samara went on to San Pedro de Atacama (which, ironically was only about 20kms from where we were...and where I had spent such a fantastic time in March, 2008). I loved meeting you guys and hope that we stay in touch!!

That night getting back to Uyuni, we were all in need of some solid gringo food and fell upon the most delicious pizza, apparently, in Bolivia and washed it down with fresh homemade chocolate cake (heated!!) and ice cream. It was fantastic.

The following day we had a long, hungry, bus journey to Potosi, followed by an even more famished trip to visit the world famous unesco world heritage silver mines of Potosi. Somehow our guide had neglected to realize that the mines would not be worth visiting in the morning as it was a Sunday, and therefore had last minute arranged for us to have a late afternoon tour on Saturday. However, it didn't afford us any time to stop for lunch. By the time we had our second meal of the day it was 945 pm! Luckily, I had leftover pizza from the night before to tie me over.

The 3 hour or so visit to the mines will stay with me for a very very long time. The mines are now almost stripped of silver, during the time of Spanish conquest, thousands of African slaves were brought over the ocean to work the mines in unbearable circumstances, sometimes being forced to stay in and work in the mines for six months at a time. The descendants of the lucky few slaves who survived make up the tiny african bolivian population who live in the north of the country. We all bought gifts for the miners which consisted of coca leaves (which the miners chew religiously to battle symptoms of altitude, since the mine is at 4300 metres, as well as to suppress appetite and provide energy to work in the deplorable conditions) cigarettes, unfiltered, and sticks of dynamite. The mine is a cooperative, and each miner is not salaried, his wage is determined by the amount of mineral he is able to extract and sell. The principal minerals being sold today are tin and lead.

These miners work in horrifically cramped spaces, at 4300 metres, in temperatures of 45 degrees celcius (115 degrees fahreinheit), breathing air that is full of noxious fumes such as cyanide, and silica dust, carry loads of rock up to 100 kilos at a time on their backs several times a day through miles and miles of back breaking low clearance tunnels, risk their lives from accidental death or dismemberment due to explosives, and generally have a life expectancy of about 15 years after entering full time work in the mines, at which time they usually contract silicosis pneumonia. We asked several groups of miners how much they were able to make for a day's work: Their answer? Between $6 and $9 a day. If they have to stop working due to a loss of lung capacity of MORE than 50%..they can earn a pension of $1.50 a week.

I will never again complain about the working conditions of any job I have back home again.

We were all completely filthy and having great difficulty breathing after just two hours in the mine. Just walking was hard enough. I couldn't begin to imagine actually spending 8-10 hours a day here. It was too difficult to contemplate. The passageways were impossibly cramped and my heart was racing at some points from the fear created by such enclosed spaces. At some points we literally had to crawl on all fours and squeeze through the narrowest of halls. When asked if we wanted to go visit a blast site a few of us volunteered.

I soon asked myself what on earth I was doing as I found myself climbing up a ladder with more rungs missing than present (definitely no health and safety code in Bolivia) all the while with rocks and silica crashing down on my helmet and clothes. The passageway at the top of the ladder was not only tiny, but it had a significant degree of slope to it. Susie, who was ahead of me, was having a very hard time and eventually decided to back out. We were told that during the day, as many as 10 men would be working in this tiny tiny space. We all backed out and had quite a difficult time squeezing back down the shaft, not able to look down. I was very unnerved by it all.

Thankful to be back out into the fresh air (still hard to breathe though because of the altitude, Potosi is the highest town of its size in the world) we were next given the opportunity to experience a dynamite explosion. How cool? Well, first I managed to get a photo of me holding the lighted stick of dynamite before a volunteer together with the guide ran down the hillside to set the charges before legging it back to where we were. When the first bang came, I almost fell over from the sheer force of it. It was incredible. Forget taking a picture..I practically dropped my camera.

After a memorable morning spent wandering the streets of Potosi, which had many seemingly moorish influences in its architecture, we all jumped in cabs for the 3 hour ride to the capital of Bolivia> Sucre.

Our hotel was lovely, and at this point, I was enjoying my unpopularity in the group because I was still enjoying a room all to myself. After a yummy dinner we headed out for karaoke which Sole, our guide, had arranged. Of course, everyone in the group just wanted to have fun and I wanted to SING. And I wanted to sing alone, not with the entire group crooning drunkenly along with me. That's not karaoke for me, at least (but as you all know, I'm weird and a voice snob). Disappointed, I headed back to my room and settled in for a delightful if subtitled movie in bed.

Much better.

I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the white capital of Sucre the next day. It was a stunning little city, and one in which I think I could happily live for a while. There were parks and trees everywhere with little outdoor cafes and lots of places to sit and watch the world go by. I was thrilled to find a beautiful Potosi silver ring for a ridiculous price, and drink glasses of fresh "tambo"...unripe passion fruit juice, at the local market. In the evening, a few of us took a cab up the main hill to a cafe called Mirador which had an incredible patio view over the entire city. It could have been Spain or Tuscany with the setting sun warming our toes as we sipped tea and ate fantastic chocolate cake. I was in heaven.

On our last day in Sucre, 3 of us decided to go on a guided walk through the mountain range east of the city, the Cordillera de los Frailles. The route took us first down an original Inca trail (apparently part of the trail that connected Buenos Aires to Machu Picchu), through villages inside an ancient volcanic crater strewn with violet and red rocks, and then several miles further over hills to a set of original and fossilized dinosaur footprints. They were fantastic and much better than expected as we could walk right up to them. Anywhere else in the world and these incredible artifacts would be cornered off away from tourists and viewable only by binoculars. The scenery was also very different from all else I'd experienced thus far on this trip, and together with the green hills, dramatic rock shades, glorious sunshine, and abundant eucalyptus trees, I would have guessed I was in Australia.

It was a long 18 km hike followed by a two hour off road drive through rivers and over many boulders. We were wrecked by the time we got back and after a shower, I barely had the strength to make it to a restaurant and get food to go.

The next morning a few of us boarded a plane back to La Paz as the rest of the group continued on their South American odyssey on to Santa Cruz and Brazil. I was looking forward to doing my own thing again...and as I mentioned in my last email..I decided on that flight to climb Huayna Potosi. The rest you know!

OK...I will leave you there and pick up next time with my last two days in La Paz before flying back to Costa Rica and journeying on to Panama where I am now.