My world, it spins.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Nicaragua

On my last of five nights in El Salvador, I solicited a shopkeep for ideas about a good place to camp. Marvelously, he was able to understand what I was saying and I think I managed to properly translate his charasmatic hand gestures. He insisted that I camp on his lawn, protected by a sizeable fence and a dog that could easily fit into a pony costume. The man's family of 12 soon arrived and their hospitality was exceptional. To close off the evening, I stood back and watched the dozen people practice an Evangelical Christian ceremony; one that involved a fair bit of screaming.

Crossing into Honduras was reasonably straightforward just as was crossing into Nicaragua the following day. Much to my dismay, however, I had myself swindled out of an estimated $60 through currency transactions. To turn a gray day colourful, I was assisted in changing a flat tire by the 2001 Central American road cycling champion, who proudly took me into his home to show me his collection of trophies.

I spent a night in Leon, Nicaragua, albeit a quite one, having had cycled nearly 180km in the day. Despite the roads being undoubedtly the worst "paved" roads I'd ever ridden, I braved on to the capital, Managua. The city seemed to lack the charm of any of the big cities I'd previously visited. Most of its buildings (plus 10,000 residents) were destroyed in a 1972 earthquake and reconstruction wasn't really a big priority. Structures of more than 5 stories were pretty hard to come by in this city of 1.6 million people.

Naturally, with Christmas (my deadline) drawing near, I resolved to spend at least two days at a beach. I boxed up my bike for shipment, stored it at a hotel, then caught the first bus to San Juan Del Sur (given the road conditions, this was a brilliant idea.) I spent yesterday coasting up and down the surf on a rented board I'd taken to a sparsely occupied beach about 15km from the town. After a night of youthful comraderie and ambitious indulgence into spirits, I now draw myself away from the waves to compose this message.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Zaca

Towards the end of my stay in Guatemala, I was feeling optimistic about my Spanish speaking. I could capably ask for and interpret directions, I could carry on rudimentary conversations, I could even vividly express my frustrations with ignorant motorists! Enter El Salvador. In two days, my egospaƱol has been decapitated and now lies in ruins somewhere near the Guatemalan border. I can't understand a thing and only one person in five seems to understand what I'm trying to say. Alas, soon enough I'll be back in English speaking North America.

Lago Atitlan, as I had previously mentioned, was absolutely stunning. Surrounded by volcanoes, the crystal clear lake would morph through a myriad of colours throughout the day as the sun arched over top of it. While incomparable to the sunset from atop Volcan Santa Maria, there was nonetheless quite a sight to behold as the sun bid farewell for the evening.

I stayed in the small town of San Pedro on the south shore of the lake. Interestingly, a significant portion of the town was accessible solely to pedestrians via a nightmarish network of foot trails. I spent my day off, jumping from the 15m cliffs on the opposite side of the lake, accessed by boat

A six man posse of M16-clutching police officers escorted me along the thief-ridden backroad to Panajachel, from where I rode solo on to Antigua. A bit of a tourist mecca, Antigua boasted a selection of high end restaurants & hotels, most of which were well out of financial reach. I sat down for two hours at a performance of Cuban music in a hotel bar and after one drink, I managed to triple my costs for the day

I made a hasty, early morning departure to the Capital, spending an afternoon wandering the chaotic streets and a night in a hostel where once stayed Che Guevara. Not in the mood for a full day of urbanity, I took to the road again. I detoured to ride a lap of Lake Amatitlan (not Atitlan,) climbed another 500m, then barrelled downhill for 50km to the town of Barberena. After I asked for directions, my contestant, Thomas, promptly offered me a spot on his lawn and some complementary Dominoes pizza - family owned

I left early the next day, El Salvador bound. The ride to the border was comfortably downhill and beyond the frontier, a predictable inverse. I climbed to the town of Santa Ana where I spent a calm night in my hotel's lush courtyard. I left only hours ago, riding to and through San Salvador - the capital to end all capitals. I proceeded to throw away all of that accumulated potential energy by riding straight for the coast. With each meter descended, I could feel the temperature rising. As I write from Zaca, only 10km from the Pacific, I sweat. A lot.

I'm off to a riverside campground for the evening. Until Nicaragua, stay cool.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Quetzeltenango

After 25 hours of active Spanish instruction, not to mention the countless after-hours of intensive self-study to supplement, I feel like I have a pretty solid grasp of the necessities of the Spanish language. To my surprised delight, I've been understanding more and more of what I previously interpreted as utter nonsense streaming out of local mouths.

On the Sunday of my first weekend in Xela, I joined a group, guided by the non-profit Quetzaltrekkers, for a few hours of rock climbing atop a volcanic peak followed by an hour's basking in some natural steam saunas. All in a day's work, I was rightfully exhausted and slept well prior to my first day of school.

I enrolled at the Celas Maya Spanish School, principally for its high regard, but also because it was attached to the guest house at which I was staying. I was taught privately by a local and native Spanish speaker who had clearly developed boundless patience for the kind of Spanish unique to people like me. (Bad, bad Spanish.) Amidst 2 evenings of libations with a few other students and a Calgary native that lived in the room next to mine, I spent most evenings studying and practicing the language.

By Friday, I was ready for some excitement. I packed up the warmest of my clothing into a borrowed backpack, rode a bus for ten minutes, then spent two hours hiking up the monstrous Santa Maria Volcano. I spent the night at the frosty peak with a small clan of locals. The sunrise was undoubtedly the finest I'd ever seen. Watching the shadows of mountains slowly slide off of the town of Xela was nothing short of breathtaking.

A glutton for punishment, I took my already tired legs just outside of town on Saturday afternoon to join 30 Guatemalans in an aficionado bike race. I was quite pleased with my 26th place, but by Sunday morning, I was unable to stand. I spent the better part of the day at the enchanting natural hot springs called Fuentes Georginas.

I write now from Lago Atitlan, nearly 100km east. This lake is so stunning I could easily write a post about it's surface alone. For another day...