"For your kind attention please," echoed the soothing and rather lady-like British voice, "train number 5016 to Bharatpur is reported as being late by 3 hours 30 minutes. The inconvenience is deeply regretted." Not so bad, I suppose, were it not that our train finally departed at 2:30am. Our journeys by rail have otherwise been quite tolerable; seldom arriving more than 30 minutes late. Many-a-nights we've slept cruising across vast distances overnight in seedy sleepers in the company of cheery middle class Indians.
In August past, I was privileged to meet a yoga master while on visit to Freewheeling in Nova Scotia. Upon discovering that I was India-bound, he gleefully extended an invitation to me for to visit his Ashram in Rishikesh. Famous for once having drawn the Beatles into the realm of Indian music, Rishikesh has evolved into just the type of place you'd expect to find fans of the White Album. Mike and I stayed for three days of Yoga, Hindu ceremonies, a dubious rafting adventure on the Ganges and even a bit of post-Delhi/Amritsar R&R. The town was a bit more westernized than I'd have fancied, but treats from any of the thirteen or so German bakeries were much enjoyed.
Mike and I parted for two days; he to the Taj Mahal in Agra and I to Lucknow. Noticeably lesser visited by Westerners, I daresay I felt a bit out of place at times. I was put at ease by several friendly English speaking locals who proudly touted the many gems of their city. A massive mosque and temple complex, the oldest classical music school in India and a celebrity magnet restaurant serving the finest mutton kebab known to... well... citizens of Lucknow.
Our quest for genuine filth led us to the shores of the Ganges in Varanasi. Quite timely our arrival, we celebrated Diwali with lakhs (hundreds of thousands) of locals and foreigners; everyone filling the sky with fireworks from the sun's down until its rise. More somberly during daylight, we visited the burning ghat to see a genuine, exposed, campfire crematorium. Ashes of the recently combusted were siphoned for valuables then tossed into the river only 100m upstream from a well attended holy bathing site.
I now find myself feverish, bedridden and exhausted from fighting off an aggressive Nepali stomach bug. I can only hope for a speedy recover. Tomorrow, 7 hours by bus to Kathmandu.
Here's to staying hydrated!
Please see some photos:
http://www.dancorbett.ca
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Arrival
Admittedly, I was rather nervous about my arrival. I'd heard dozens of stories on the utter craziness that is New Delhi and had been questioning my ability to handle it. Touchdown came as it must always and I suddenly found myself in the New Delhi Airport, the last fragment of calm I'd see for some time. As it turns out, the stories I'd heard were as close to truth as one could expect. The evening taxi ride to my neighbourhood kept my heart pounding and the 200m walk to the hotel was no less exciting. I decided to save the thrill of Delhi until Mike arrived.
On my first morning, I boarded a flight to Srinagar in Kashmir to spend a few days in the far north. The town, 900,000 strong, was comprised of 95% Muslims and was largely built on the surface of Dal Lake. It was an interesting treat to wake up each morning at 5:30 to the call to prayer echoing eerily around the lake to the houseboat at which I slept.
I traveled 15 hours by jeep along the 400km single lane mountain road to the remote town of Leh, Ladakh. On the cusp of the Himalayas, I found myself surrounded by Tibetan Buddhists and adventurous trekkers, drawn by the incredible scenery and provincial atmosphere. I toured a number of palaces and temples over two days before returning by jeep to Srinagar.
A 7-hour jeep ride and an overnight train from Jammu brought me back to New Delhi and an extra 15° centrigrade along with it. I met Mike the following morning, sweating in anticipatio nof the 38° daily high. We toured some of the big attractions in the city, but we mostly just embraced the unfathomable numbers of people who could mob with remarkable density just about everwhere we went.
On my first morning, I boarded a flight to Srinagar in Kashmir to spend a few days in the far north. The town, 900,000 strong, was comprised of 95% Muslims and was largely built on the surface of Dal Lake. It was an interesting treat to wake up each morning at 5:30 to the call to prayer echoing eerily around the lake to the houseboat at which I slept.
I traveled 15 hours by jeep along the 400km single lane mountain road to the remote town of Leh, Ladakh. On the cusp of the Himalayas, I found myself surrounded by Tibetan Buddhists and adventurous trekkers, drawn by the incredible scenery and provincial atmosphere. I toured a number of palaces and temples over two days before returning by jeep to Srinagar.
A 7-hour jeep ride and an overnight train from Jammu brought me back to New Delhi and an extra 15° centrigrade along with it. I met Mike the following morning, sweating in anticipatio nof the 38° daily high. We toured some of the big attractions in the city, but we mostly just embraced the unfathomable numbers of people who could mob with remarkable density just about everwhere we went.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A day in the life
Historical fiction?
07:00 Get up. Put away the tent (wet, naturally.) Shake some coherence into your face, maybe go for a quick swim in order to give the impression that you've showered. Fill up on gas and make sure the fruit, granola bars & water jug are all well stocked. Also clean the van interior, it's really stinky. Head to the hotel and start getting the bikes ready.
08:00 Finish up the bikes while the guests eat breakfast. Have a granola bar. Make like you're not totally displeased about being conscious as the guests emerge from breakfast. They're probably equally displeased so work extra hard on your smile. Show the guests where they're going today, telling them where/when you'll be seeing them and bid them farewell on their ride. Panic face. Now run. Get all the luggage into the van (no small feat). Pay the hotel bill (often complicated, time-consuming and really frustrating.)
09:00 Think, "shit, they've been riding 30 minutes already." Drive pretty fast. Go to the first support stop (probably around 15km out.) Park the van and whip out the snacks, water & positive attitude. Wait for the riders. R1 (that speedy mo-fo) shows up at 9:25 and isn't in need so he keeps going. R2&3 arrive 4 minutes later and have a banana each and a quick chat, departing at 9:34. R4 rolls in a minute later and thankfully doesn't want anything. R5 & 6? Who knows where they are? At 9:45 they show up sweating out the half bottle of gin they devoured last night. Keep smiling, but hurry them up. The group is already fragmented enough. 5 & 6 leave at 9:55.
10:00 Get to the grocery store to stock up for lunch. You should probably travel the aisles at a light jog since R1 has covered some serious ground by now. Tidy up the cooler and load up the food. Drive the 20-30km to the second rest stop. R1 shows up right after you and is ready for some water. Keep him lingering in order to diminish the gap (which is surely 45 minutes by now). He's ready to go by by 10:40. Tell him to kick around at the lunch spot, you'll be there by 11:30 (not true). Looks like you've got a few minutes to spare! Maybe fill out some expense sheets, confirm dinner reservations, or just jam on your mandolin/read a book for a bit.
11:00 R2 & 3 show up. 3's brakes are squeaking. Fix them. Top up the water bottles and tell them about our noonish lunch. You'll probably beat them there, but who knows? See them off at 11:10 and wait some more. Wait. Wait. Where are they? 5 & 6 show up 10:20. Amazingly, they've closed the gap a little. Who knows what happened to 4. Neither 5 nor 6 have seen him. Oh well. He'll call sooner or later. Pack up all the stuff and boogie to the lunch spot. Make it by 11:40. Start throwing together a picnic under the watchful eyes of R1. Give him some nachos with salsa to tide him over.
12:00 2 & 3 show up and join 1 in the appetizing. The picnic is starting to take shape, but they must wait until everyone (5 & 6 since there's still no word from 4) arrives to start eating. After 20 minutes of fighting back the decidely famished R1, 5 & 6 show up and it's time to open the floodgates. Minutes later the phone rings. It's 4.
I think I'm lost.
Well, what do you see?
I'm at a road crossing, there's a barn and this long white fence.
Hmmmm... anything more specific? How did you get there?
Well, I went over a wooden bridge about a mile ago.
When you got to [town] did you go left or right at the fork?
uhhh... I don't remember a fork.
I'm suspecting you went right instead of left (which means he's both 20km sidetracked AND illiterate).
I guess that's possible.
I'll come get you. Backtrack to the bridge.
Beeline to where you think 4 is. Put him and his bike in the van and bring him to the picnic. Sit 4 down to lunch just as all the others are standing up from it. Without being too frank, tell him to hurry up and eat.
13:00 Tidy up the lunch spot and put away all the food while 4 stuffs his face. Eat scraps while you do this; it's the best choice for lunch. See the five functional riders off and 20 minutes later, R4. Finish the cleanup, stock up the fruit basket, load the van then hit the road. The next rest stop will be halfway decent since the group has been defragmented (5 & 6 are probably moving at a normal pace and 4 will catch up pretty easily so long as he doesn't get lost.) Get to the rest stop and chill out for 10 minutes.
14:00 R1 arrives and stays for a bit of chit chat. 2 & 3 arrive within 5 minutes and leave with 1 at ten past the hour. Sure enough, 4, 5 and 6 all show up together 10 minutes later. and leave in a matter of minutes. This gives you a perfect 40 minute window to beeline to tonight's accomodation. Start running. Say hi to the innkeeper (who you're sure is wonderful, but you're in a hurry), grab the room keys and attempt to ascertain the ownership of each bags (since, obviously, nobody bothered attaching the luggage tags you gave them on the first day.) Get all the bags into the rooms and return the keys. Rather sweaty, get back in the car to go set up the next support stop.
15:00 Ready the support stop (drinks, snacks, fruit basket and some fresh grapes/cherries or those fancy desert squares that you didn't have the time to spread out at the picnic.) R2 & 3 show up. Evidently R1 picked up the pace and you missed him. They top up the water, have a cherry then leave. To your relief, 4 shows up a minute later, then 5 and 6 not far behind. All three stay for a while and hit the road by half past. Sweet! 20 minutes to kill! Read a chapter.
16:00 Pull into the inn and talk to R1, the first and only to arrive thusfar. Chat with the others as they arrive within 40 minutes. Make sure everybody is comfortably settled and inform them of our 19:30 dinner reservation for which we'll have to depart 20 minutes early.
17:00 Talk to the innkeeper for a while, then excuse yourself to go find a campsite (since you're opposed to commericial campgrounds). This is a special treat since usually you don't have this opportunity before dinner. Pitch the tent and lay out your swag. Go back to the inn; they'll let you use their kitchen to clean the picnic dishes.
18:00 Finish up the dishes and discover that you've got 40 minutes to spare before departure for dinner. Plow through another chapter or two.
19:00 (12 hours moving now) Rally the troops and get driving by ten past the hour. Get seated at the really fancy restaurant by 19:35 and have drinks on the table by :50 (that's water for you, guide). Try the Lobster or the mussels; they're good here. Actually, you're sick of rich foods. Get a salad instead.
20:00 Try to keep from yawning while you wait for entrees. Talk about how great the riding was today. Laugh about R4 getting lost. Try to subtly cool R1's resentment towards his inferiors. Start eating, keeping an eye on everyone else's plate so as to finish right in the middle.
21:00 Order desserts. They're fantastic, like, over-the-top ridiculously awesome. But they take a bloody long time. Pay the bill and get everybody back in the vehicle.
22:00 Return everybody to their rooms at the inn. Try your best to conceal your exhaustion. Be happy that you were able to set up your tent before dinner. Summon some deeply stowed energy to get through another chapter of the book, but don't worry if you give up. In bed by 22:45, not bad. It's a shame you didn't get to ride today. Think about getting up at 6 for a quick spin.
Tomorrow, do it again. :)
Yeah. This is the best job I've ever had and I love 90 percent of the minutes. And that's a damned lot of minutes. Until next spring....
07:00 Get up. Put away the tent (wet, naturally.) Shake some coherence into your face, maybe go for a quick swim in order to give the impression that you've showered. Fill up on gas and make sure the fruit, granola bars & water jug are all well stocked. Also clean the van interior, it's really stinky. Head to the hotel and start getting the bikes ready.
08:00 Finish up the bikes while the guests eat breakfast. Have a granola bar. Make like you're not totally displeased about being conscious as the guests emerge from breakfast. They're probably equally displeased so work extra hard on your smile. Show the guests where they're going today, telling them where/when you'll be seeing them and bid them farewell on their ride. Panic face. Now run. Get all the luggage into the van (no small feat). Pay the hotel bill (often complicated, time-consuming and really frustrating.)
09:00 Think, "shit, they've been riding 30 minutes already." Drive pretty fast. Go to the first support stop (probably around 15km out.) Park the van and whip out the snacks, water & positive attitude. Wait for the riders. R1 (that speedy mo-fo) shows up at 9:25 and isn't in need so he keeps going. R2&3 arrive 4 minutes later and have a banana each and a quick chat, departing at 9:34. R4 rolls in a minute later and thankfully doesn't want anything. R5 & 6? Who knows where they are? At 9:45 they show up sweating out the half bottle of gin they devoured last night. Keep smiling, but hurry them up. The group is already fragmented enough. 5 & 6 leave at 9:55.
10:00 Get to the grocery store to stock up for lunch. You should probably travel the aisles at a light jog since R1 has covered some serious ground by now. Tidy up the cooler and load up the food. Drive the 20-30km to the second rest stop. R1 shows up right after you and is ready for some water. Keep him lingering in order to diminish the gap (which is surely 45 minutes by now). He's ready to go by by 10:40. Tell him to kick around at the lunch spot, you'll be there by 11:30 (not true). Looks like you've got a few minutes to spare! Maybe fill out some expense sheets, confirm dinner reservations, or just jam on your mandolin/read a book for a bit.
11:00 R2 & 3 show up. 3's brakes are squeaking. Fix them. Top up the water bottles and tell them about our noonish lunch. You'll probably beat them there, but who knows? See them off at 11:10 and wait some more. Wait. Wait. Where are they? 5 & 6 show up 10:20. Amazingly, they've closed the gap a little. Who knows what happened to 4. Neither 5 nor 6 have seen him. Oh well. He'll call sooner or later. Pack up all the stuff and boogie to the lunch spot. Make it by 11:40. Start throwing together a picnic under the watchful eyes of R1. Give him some nachos with salsa to tide him over.
12:00 2 & 3 show up and join 1 in the appetizing. The picnic is starting to take shape, but they must wait until everyone (5 & 6 since there's still no word from 4) arrives to start eating. After 20 minutes of fighting back the decidely famished R1, 5 & 6 show up and it's time to open the floodgates. Minutes later the phone rings. It's 4.
I think I'm lost.
Well, what do you see?
I'm at a road crossing, there's a barn and this long white fence.
Hmmmm... anything more specific? How did you get there?
Well, I went over a wooden bridge about a mile ago.
When you got to [town] did you go left or right at the fork?
uhhh... I don't remember a fork.
I'm suspecting you went right instead of left (which means he's both 20km sidetracked AND illiterate).
I guess that's possible.
I'll come get you. Backtrack to the bridge.
Beeline to where you think 4 is. Put him and his bike in the van and bring him to the picnic. Sit 4 down to lunch just as all the others are standing up from it. Without being too frank, tell him to hurry up and eat.
13:00 Tidy up the lunch spot and put away all the food while 4 stuffs his face. Eat scraps while you do this; it's the best choice for lunch. See the five functional riders off and 20 minutes later, R4. Finish the cleanup, stock up the fruit basket, load the van then hit the road. The next rest stop will be halfway decent since the group has been defragmented (5 & 6 are probably moving at a normal pace and 4 will catch up pretty easily so long as he doesn't get lost.) Get to the rest stop and chill out for 10 minutes.
14:00 R1 arrives and stays for a bit of chit chat. 2 & 3 arrive within 5 minutes and leave with 1 at ten past the hour. Sure enough, 4, 5 and 6 all show up together 10 minutes later. and leave in a matter of minutes. This gives you a perfect 40 minute window to beeline to tonight's accomodation. Start running. Say hi to the innkeeper (who you're sure is wonderful, but you're in a hurry), grab the room keys and attempt to ascertain the ownership of each bags (since, obviously, nobody bothered attaching the luggage tags you gave them on the first day.) Get all the bags into the rooms and return the keys. Rather sweaty, get back in the car to go set up the next support stop.
15:00 Ready the support stop (drinks, snacks, fruit basket and some fresh grapes/cherries or those fancy desert squares that you didn't have the time to spread out at the picnic.) R2 & 3 show up. Evidently R1 picked up the pace and you missed him. They top up the water, have a cherry then leave. To your relief, 4 shows up a minute later, then 5 and 6 not far behind. All three stay for a while and hit the road by half past. Sweet! 20 minutes to kill! Read a chapter.
16:00 Pull into the inn and talk to R1, the first and only to arrive thusfar. Chat with the others as they arrive within 40 minutes. Make sure everybody is comfortably settled and inform them of our 19:30 dinner reservation for which we'll have to depart 20 minutes early.
17:00 Talk to the innkeeper for a while, then excuse yourself to go find a campsite (since you're opposed to commericial campgrounds). This is a special treat since usually you don't have this opportunity before dinner. Pitch the tent and lay out your swag. Go back to the inn; they'll let you use their kitchen to clean the picnic dishes.
18:00 Finish up the dishes and discover that you've got 40 minutes to spare before departure for dinner. Plow through another chapter or two.
19:00 (12 hours moving now) Rally the troops and get driving by ten past the hour. Get seated at the really fancy restaurant by 19:35 and have drinks on the table by :50 (that's water for you, guide). Try the Lobster or the mussels; they're good here. Actually, you're sick of rich foods. Get a salad instead.
20:00 Try to keep from yawning while you wait for entrees. Talk about how great the riding was today. Laugh about R4 getting lost. Try to subtly cool R1's resentment towards his inferiors. Start eating, keeping an eye on everyone else's plate so as to finish right in the middle.
21:00 Order desserts. They're fantastic, like, over-the-top ridiculously awesome. But they take a bloody long time. Pay the bill and get everybody back in the vehicle.
22:00 Return everybody to their rooms at the inn. Try your best to conceal your exhaustion. Be happy that you were able to set up your tent before dinner. Summon some deeply stowed energy to get through another chapter of the book, but don't worry if you give up. In bed by 22:45, not bad. It's a shame you didn't get to ride today. Think about getting up at 6 for a quick spin.
Tomorrow, do it again. :)
Yeah. This is the best job I've ever had and I love 90 percent of the minutes. And that's a damned lot of minutes. Until next spring....
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Goals
I've just had a conversation with a man named Steve. Steve has just arrived in Charlottetown by bike, 9 weeks into his Vancouver - St. John's ride. I think if one were so inclined, one could find a blog of mine detailing a very similar ride I went on a few years ago.
In talking to Steve, I was unexpectedly reminded of a lesser discussed component of that bike ride of mine. I've told a lot of stories about the great things that happened to me while traveling: the beautiful days, the wonderful people, the nationalism I felt. I've seldom talked about just how much I struggled to actually complete that trip. On at least 6 occasions, I might have been heard screaming to no-one at the top of my lungs. On as many occasions, I could have been seen sobbing at the side of the road, completely overcome by a feeling of hopelessness. If the solitude-induced emotional roller coaster ride wasn't debilitating enough, by the end of the trip, I was in so much physical pain that I could not tolerate riding my bike for a month afterward. Thinking back, not for for one day beyond Banff was I in any way eager to get out of my sleeping bag and ride. I'm pretty sure I considered quitting multiple times every single day.
But upon arriving at Cape Spear, suddenly all of that was replaced in my mind. What took over was the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. Hell yeah! I biked across Canada! I don't think I ever forgot about the details, I just chose to ignore them. Questions like, "What was biking across Canada like?" would provoke vague answers like, "amazing" or "incredible" or "life-changing." But what was it actually like? Well... it was hell. It was largely the most unpleasant thing I've ever done. It was so damned physically and emotionally challenging that I had to cry to somebody on the phone most every night.
Since then, crossing Canada has been a critical personal benchmark for me (what could I possibly be incapable of?) I don't think that's unreasonable. The problem is that I think about how I biked across Canada [period], not how I suffered persistently and willfully for weeks to attain some ridiculous goal. I'm not too sure what the conclusion of this is. Perhaps I should adjust my goal-setting practices. I guess I'm just not that into suffering anymore.
In talking to Steve, I was unexpectedly reminded of a lesser discussed component of that bike ride of mine. I've told a lot of stories about the great things that happened to me while traveling: the beautiful days, the wonderful people, the nationalism I felt. I've seldom talked about just how much I struggled to actually complete that trip. On at least 6 occasions, I might have been heard screaming to no-one at the top of my lungs. On as many occasions, I could have been seen sobbing at the side of the road, completely overcome by a feeling of hopelessness. If the solitude-induced emotional roller coaster ride wasn't debilitating enough, by the end of the trip, I was in so much physical pain that I could not tolerate riding my bike for a month afterward. Thinking back, not for for one day beyond Banff was I in any way eager to get out of my sleeping bag and ride. I'm pretty sure I considered quitting multiple times every single day.
But upon arriving at Cape Spear, suddenly all of that was replaced in my mind. What took over was the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. Hell yeah! I biked across Canada! I don't think I ever forgot about the details, I just chose to ignore them. Questions like, "What was biking across Canada like?" would provoke vague answers like, "amazing" or "incredible" or "life-changing." But what was it actually like? Well... it was hell. It was largely the most unpleasant thing I've ever done. It was so damned physically and emotionally challenging that I had to cry to somebody on the phone most every night.
Since then, crossing Canada has been a critical personal benchmark for me (what could I possibly be incapable of?) I don't think that's unreasonable. The problem is that I think about how I biked across Canada [period], not how I suffered persistently and willfully for weeks to attain some ridiculous goal. I'm not too sure what the conclusion of this is. Perhaps I should adjust my goal-setting practices. I guess I'm just not that into suffering anymore.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Jazz
Presently, the Atlantic Canada Jazz Festival is underway. I'm amazed at the quality of local music and the responsiveness of the audiences. I'm weaseling my way into as many shows as possible as a festival volunteer photographer.
More critically now: I recently spent 7 months working aboard a cruise ship as a trombone player. Thinking back, my rationale for taking the job was that having devoted four years of my college-aged life to studying music, I might as well be a professional musician for a while. This conflicted with my better judgment at the time.
I found life on the ship pretty depressing. I assumed and have preached that my depression was linked to ship-life: confinement, monotony, bad food, etc. After leaving the ship and arriving in Halifax, life was great! Great job, great friends, great environment. And then one day, at my request, a friend visiting from Toronto brought to me my trombone.
I started practicing, met some other musicians, felt some excitement about jazz. I went to a jam session. I just played one song. And I hated it passionately. I hated being on stage, I hated the atmosphere, I hated what I played and I hated how I played it. I even hated hearing three people say, "Man, you were awesome." I wanted to tell them they were full of shit, but all that came out was, "thanks." I went home with a cloud over my head, a cloud whose shadow has not been cast over me since my last few weeks on the ship.
Could it be? I've always had a self-confidence issue with my trombone playing, but to think playing trombone could cause me to become depressed. Perhaps I should wait for a spike in the price of brass and have the old 3B melted down for some cash.
More critically now: I recently spent 7 months working aboard a cruise ship as a trombone player. Thinking back, my rationale for taking the job was that having devoted four years of my college-aged life to studying music, I might as well be a professional musician for a while. This conflicted with my better judgment at the time.
I found life on the ship pretty depressing. I assumed and have preached that my depression was linked to ship-life: confinement, monotony, bad food, etc. After leaving the ship and arriving in Halifax, life was great! Great job, great friends, great environment. And then one day, at my request, a friend visiting from Toronto brought to me my trombone.
I started practicing, met some other musicians, felt some excitement about jazz. I went to a jam session. I just played one song. And I hated it passionately. I hated being on stage, I hated the atmosphere, I hated what I played and I hated how I played it. I even hated hearing three people say, "Man, you were awesome." I wanted to tell them they were full of shit, but all that came out was, "thanks." I went home with a cloud over my head, a cloud whose shadow has not been cast over me since my last few weeks on the ship.
Could it be? I've always had a self-confidence issue with my trombone playing, but to think playing trombone could cause me to become depressed. Perhaps I should wait for a spike in the price of brass and have the old 3B melted down for some cash.
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.
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 egospañol 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.
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