South to Central

While sitting on a bus waiting for it to leave the station in Liberia, a city in northern Costa Rica, a man in his mid to late twenties came and sat next to me. The first words out of his mouth were, “Where are you from?” in perfect English. As a matter of fact, he didn’t speak much Spanish. His name is Paul and even though he looked Hispanic, and very possibly comes from a Hispanic bloodline, he was born and raised in New York. The next words that came out of his mouth surprised me even more. After I responded that I was from the states, he said, “Good. Then if either one of us falls asleep, the other can watch his stuff.”. What? We just barely met and he already trusts me more than anyone on the bus, just because I am from the states? How often do we find ourselves in similar situations? Am I the same? Do I trust people from my own country more than those in poorer countries? Is it racial stereotyping? I found myself immediately questioning myself as to where I place my trust. I’ve had my trust betrayed many times in this life, more than anyone should. Yet I also have continued to tell myself, at least in regards to relationships, to trust the people until they give you reason not to, or until the Spirit tells you not to. I feel this is good advice when it comes to relationships. The question I ask myself now is, should this same trust be given to all? The actions I have taken throughout this entire trip have implied a lack of trust on my part towards the people of Latino America in general. I hide my cash and cards in different locations. When walking through crowds my hand periodically brushes my pockets to make sure things are where they should be. I’m cautious every time I pull out my camera in public. I have heard many others say that they are the opposite in that they do not trust until they are given reason to. Is that better advice? Perhaps I can justify my actions by saying, when dealing with people one on one, my advice is best, but when looking at a people in general, you should take appropriate precautions. I find following the Spirit and not allowing yourself to be too attached to objects is by far the best route to take.

I’m not entirely sure where I left off last time, since at the time of writing this, I do not have access to the internet nor to my own computer to be able to read my previous post. No worries, I will some up until I get to the interesting stuff. I left Uruguay and crossed the Mar de Plata to Buenos Aires for the last time on this trip and boarded a plane bound for Sao Paolo, Brazil and spent the night on the comfy tile floor of the airport. I had a very long layover until my flight to Bogota, Colombia. The funny thing is that from Montevideo, Uruguay I had called the temple of Bogota and made reservations to stay there two nights in their guest building and they were totally okay with it and even said they’d be awaiting my arrival. Well, as I pulled up to the gate of the temple and spoke with the guard, his bewildered look showed that something wasn’t right. Turns out the temple was under maintenance and would be for several more days. Their must have been some sort of error in communication somewhere, or it was the Spirit preparing the way for me to have a place to stay and catch up on sleep long lost. After some phone calls were made, I was given permission to stay the night anyway. I had the guest building all to myself. For those of you who do not know, for me the accommodations were equal to those of a five star hotel at the price of a hostel. It was the best I’ve had in nearly four months. The view from my window was the gorgeous Bogota temple. The weather was still cool and it was raining the entire time I was in Bogota. The next day I caught a bus to the Caribbean coast, to the famous colonial town of Cartagena. The ride was 25 hours straight in bus.

Whenever I have spoken with people about Cartagena, the first things out of their mouths are how beautiful it is and how I will never want to leave and that many foreigners never do. I will say this much about the country of Colombia, it is stunningly beautiful. The jungles throughout the countryside are dotted with perfectly landscaped farms. This was my television for the daylight hours of the trip. Cartagena is hot and muggy as the tropics can be. Cartagena itself is rich with colonial history, itself  being one of the first and main ports for the Americas. It was a prime target for pirates and was attacked multiple times until the people built a large wall around the city, complete with a fort and cannons surrounding it. It was a success and the wall and fort still stand to this day as one of the main tourist attractions. They were quite impressive to behold and the colonial influence is thick in the “old town” portion of the city. Unfortunately, as often is the case, there are a lot of unattractive things that come with locations that thrive. My guess is that the people who have told me how incredible this place is, probably stayed in the fancier richer portion of the city where everything is top-notch and upper-class. I am one who enjoys to stay amongst the people for the culture and because it is a lot cheaper. Normally, I don’t mind the beggars and street venders, but in Cartagena there is a completely different mentality everywhere you go. There is an attitude that they should receive something for everything. Nothing is free and therefore acts of kindness and service cannot exist. Everywhere I turned, someone was asking for a tip because they pointed me in the right direction, or because they opened the door for me or bagged my groceries. I blame the rich tourists. Even though I stayed in Cartagena for a few days, I was very anxious to leave.

While in Cartagena I took the opportunity to go bathe in a volcano. Not something that many people can say they have done. The volcano is called Totumo and is an interesting phenomenon where instead of lava being ejected, it is a very fine mud. It is not a very powerful explosion when it erupts, but over time it does grow. This particular one is the largest in Colombia, but only reaches about fifty feet high. The crater, which is completely full of the actual mud still liquefied, is about twelve feet in diameter. The locals have certainly figured out how to capitalize on this natural attraction. Aside from the entry fee, there is an “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso massage while in the mud, and an “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso payment to the person who will hold your camera whether you like it or not, and finally the “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso bath that they will give you in the lagoon afterward. The reason I have phrased this the way I have is because your tour guide will tell you these are optional, but unless you are extremely firm and downright rude to them, they will force these services on you, and if you receive these services even if you did not ask for them they will hound you and do all in their power to make you pay. One kid wanted me to pay him for directing me to the lagoon and another man wanted me to pay him for getting the door of the car for me even though I wasn’t even getting in it. Honestly, we couldn’t leave there soon enough. The experience of bathing in a volcano and standing suspended chest high in a liquid clay without touching solid ground and not sinking even though you are not moving, is pretty incredible and unforgettable. So my advice to anyone wanting to do this in that particular location, just plan on accepting the “optional” services and all will be fine.

The crossing of the Colombia/Panama border was an interesting one. For those that do not know, there are no roads crossing the Darian Gap that is the border. The only ways to cross are by plane or by boat. I opted for the boat route, but wanted the cheapest boats possible. This took me southwest of Cartagena several hours across bumpy dirt roads in terribly uncomfortable buses and minivans. Due to the infrequency of the transportation and the length of time of travel, it took me two days to get to the small port town of Turbo. Unfortunately, boats toward the border only leave in the mornings. So I had to stay a third day to wait. Finally I boarded the small two engine motorboat along with about twenty others bound for a coastal town near the border called Capurgana. The boat is one solid piece of fiberglass and is not very comfortable as it slaps down on the water when crossing over swells. Luckily the swells were small for this little 3 hour trip. As I arrived, I had to purchase another ticket for an even smaller boat to cross over to the Panamanian border entry town called Puerto Obaldia. On purchasing the ticket I found that I had just barely sufficient money for the ticket. The bad part is that there are no ATMs in these tiny towns that are isolated from the rest of the world. Not maintaining sufficient cash on me was my first rookie mistake on this section of my trip. They told me that Puerto Obaldia would have an ATM. The boat ride took about a half hour around the next point. First thing on arrival was, of course, immigrations. After that, I found out there are no ATMs and that this town consisted of about 80 to 100 people and that includes the military presence. The nearest town with a road is Carti and is a four hour boat ride further up the coast and the nearest ATM is in Panama City. The cheapest way out is the plane from Puerto Obaldia to Panama City, but that is only the cheapest if you leave upon arrival and do not have to stay for days because there are only three flights per week. On my arrival the next available flight was not for another week. I was met by 5 others waiting to get enough people so the owner of the one boat in town capable of taking us up the coast would feel it worth taking us. Some of them had been waiting five days already. I explained my situation and there was one Columbian there who redeemed my view of Colombians as he offered to spot me the $150 it would cost to get me to Panama City. I thank God for the trust this man had in me that I would pay him back. There were two other Colombians that were to join us and a family of Ecuadorans along with one other young Colombian. With these, we had enough and the captain said we could leave in the morning. I attempted to make the best of the afternoon by exploring the surrounding jungles and beaches. My intentions were shot down as I was leaving the town and a military man told me I was restricted to about a quarter mile of beach and zero jungle and the town. What!? Now I did feel like a prisoner! Don’t give me rich jungle and beautiful coasts and tell me I can’t partake! I made the best of what I had and still saw several different species of lizards and birds. I even saw a couple of Jesus lizards, so called because they run across water. Sadly I did not see them use their faith, though not for lack of trying to get them to. The crystal clear Caribbean waters were as warm as a bath and rich with life as well.

The next day we did not leave in the morning due to some immigration problems with a Colombian couple. While waiting, another boat came in and we added Mikael More to our crew. Mikael is a Swedish giant at around six and a half feet tall or more. He has one of the sweetest spirits I’ve encountered and loves to talk. His Spanish was lacking, so that left me to talk to. Around noon it appeare3d we were ready to leave, but then the captain suddenly decided he didn’t feel like leaving and that we would have to wait until morning. Can you believe this guy!? The nerve! Not that we could do anything about it. He knew he had us and could do as he pleased. No consideration of others needs and desires. This is something I have encountered a lot as I’ve travelled, especially amongst the less educated and less civilized. So the rest of the afternoon and evening I spent stuck in this Caribbean prison. I guess as prisons go, there are certainly worse places. I hate being dependent though and until I could get my own money, I felt dependent and refused to eat with the others even though I knew I would pay him back, I wanted to owe him as little as possible.

Finally, on the third day in the late morning we loaded up the little two engine boat and were off. With few people on the boat and my being in the front with the swells high and choppy, I was often afraid I would be thrown completely out of the boat. I pressure set myself on my bench by pressing against the bench in front of me with my feet and my back against the fiberglass seatback. For an hour I used all the strength I had to keep myself from slapping too hard or bouncing out. With my muscles exhausted, my backside in pain, and my spine bruised, I felt I was ready to give up and said a little prayer that the seas would be calmed or my strength would endure because I really didn’t want to go back to that town, but didn’t know if I could endure another three hours of this. Moments later, the seas calmed and from that time forward the ride was bearable and in fact sufficiently comfortable to enjoy the pristine San Blas Islands as we passed and even stopped at a couple.

Carti was not what I expected. Indeed it was not even a town. It was a parking lot for those tourists coming to the San Blas Islands. There were a total of about four buildings, a soccer field, and the highway. We then piled into two suvs and made our way through the lush jungles to Panama City. I have never been so grateful for a cushioned seat.

With no time to sufficiently appreciate the next few countries, now that I was on a schedule to get to Guatemala by my birthday, my experience of Panama was such as I have shared and was finalized by watching the sunset over the Panama Canal as large tankers and cargo ships took turns being tugged through the locks. There was something awe-inspiring about watching these colossal man-made inventions cross through this amazing feat created by mans inspired intellect. Rather than use my money on a room and a bus, I caught an evening bus to San Jose, Costa Rica and used it as my hotel as I have grown accustomed to doing.

Costa Rica was a flash. Honestly I didn’t really mind too much either. Everywhere I turned in Costa Rica there were tourists and the cities are such that if I didn’t know better, I would believe I was in the states. The surrounding jungles were the only reminder, along with the tropical humid heat, that I was not in the USA. I was on buses all the way up to a beach town called Playa Del Coco. I arrived in the evening and made another rookie mistake that I was not aware of until the following morning. I ended up paying four times as much as I anticipated due to dividing the cost in half instead of doubling it to figure out the cost in dollars. It was nice to have air conditioning though. That’s what I get for trying to think when I’m exhausted and lacking in sleep. The next morning I explored the town and beach. Upon hearing people say good morning instead of buenos dias,  I realized the town was  full of rich tourists who decided to make their homes there. My intention in going there was to do some surfing, but sometimes the tide has other things in mind. There was zero surf and the ocean was almost like a mirror. Plans foiled again. The town was pretty, but expensive, much like all of Costa Rica seems to be. Around midday I made my way to Liberia to catch a bus to the Nicaraguan border. That is when I met the beach bum Paul whose soul purpose in life was admittedly to surf, drink, and smoke. I can’t imagine a life like that. It seems to have no purpose and no joy. I can barely go a few days without doing something that helps me feel like I’m progressing or benefiting mankind in some way. May we all feel a greater purpose in life than our own thrills. I leave you with that.