Nazca
Sunday, 28th February, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckely @ 11:49:52 AM
I wanted to check out Nazca and the mysterious Nazca lines. They are a series of shapes made on the scorched earth by removing the darker rocks from the surface, leaving the lighter earth below exposed.
Nazca itself was a hot and dusty town and I saw a couple of overland bikers stopped at the bus stop at the start of town so I pulled over to say g’day. I caught a glimpse of one of the riders and recognised her through the slit in her helmet, but didn’t recognise the guy.
He was on a German registered BMW 1200 and she was on what I thought was an Australian wa registered bike, but reasoned that it was probably a US registration. I followed them down the road to a hotel with camping, and it wasn’t until we got there and took our helmets off that i saw it was Axel and Kat, the German couple Todd and I had met in an alleyway in Bangkok while we were looking for somewhere to park.
They didn’t have their bikes in Thailand, they were flying over to meet them in Canada at the time we met them.
A quick reunion and it wasn’t long before we were on the way to the airport to take a flight over the lines. It was the only way to really see the lines apart from in photos, so we were ushered into a small 6 seat plane and off we went.
It was definitely interesting, both the bumpy flight and seeing the lines. The pilot banked one way around in circles over each formation, then the other for the other side of the plane. It was a bit gut wrenching, and a real challenge to get a look at each formation and snap off a photo or two spinning around in circles for about 30 mins. it was the first time I had felt any kind of motion sickness thinking to myself "ok, enough now, that’s plenty, lets wrap it up".
That evening Axel and I had a good old chat over a couple of beers discussing all things adventure touring and more. I also met a Tasmanian couple who had spent the last few days with a good friend of mine from uni and her husband, who I was hoping to catching lima, but was about a day late. Small world.
I was intending to head up to Copa Canyon via the back route, and then hook around to Copacabana onto the bolivian side of the lake, but Kat wasn’t feeling well and they weren’t moving as fast as me so I took off alone, headed south once more.
You all happy now?
Sunday, 28th February, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:47:09 AM
It was a long day to Lima from Chiclayo, about 800km, and the road was the same the whole way – the Pacific on one side, sand dunes on the other. Long haul.
I stopped at what I learned was an institution of a roadhouse on the way, and got chatting to a German guy and his Peruvian friend. Lunch was on the house and I took off, arriving in Lima just on dusk.
Miraflores is the ‘nice’ part of Lima, and could be mistaken for any European city. Getting there I rode through slums of mud brick, but the system on one way streets and masses of traffic made it difficult to find somewhere to stay that had parking. I ended up getting a taxi driver to help find me somewhere, and ended up at the hotel Ejecutive on 28th July. The place was basic but the staff were very friendly.
Lima was going to be my last city before hitting Ushuaia, and so I wanted to pick up a few things that were going to be difficult to get anywhere else. Leandra, one of the Swiss girls from the boat to Colombia, had sent me a message on Facebook that she was held up in Lima with a mystery illness and I rang the place she was staying to see if she was up to a little shopping.
I needed a warm sleeping bag, a new camping mattress, speakers for my mp3 player and cleaning solution for my helmet lens. A pretty straight forward list, one that would take an hour or two at the most in Melbourne. It was 7pm by the time it was all done, but i had everything I wanted so it was a good days shopping.
I wanted to make an early start of it the next day, with all of my gear squared away, and ordered a wake up call for 6.30am. I had spent the evening repacking my bike and was ready to go at about 7.30am, packed, suited and booted. I turned the key and hit go, but nothing. the engine turned over and over, but nothing. It didn’t want to go.
I tried everything, clutch, air, fuel, but no go. After about an hour and a half of trying, I gave up and got help from the girls in reception to find a mechanic and a truck to transport it there. “My moto es roto.”
I checked back into the hotel and unloaded the bike, loaded it on the truck and headed over to the mechanic. the nephew of the mechanic was helping out for the day and spoke English so it was a bit easier to explain the problem, they hooked up an extra battery and it went first go.
The mechanic tried to explain that the driving lights were the problem, running the battery low, and I was convinced that the problem was something else. He said we should fix the headlight so I wasn’t running the driving lights and putting pressure on the electrical system.
I left the bike for a service and although I had resigned never to leave a bike with a mechanic without standing there and watching I felt ok with this lot, but got back to watch them fiddling with the relays for the headlight for an hour and change the oil and filter. The bike looked spotless, apparently a thorough clean was part of the service. The battery was boiled almost dry, but all good after a charge. I was ready to hit the road again.
Katuwira Backpackers
Sunday, 28th February, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:43:50 AM
The Katuwira backpackers on Pimentel beach near Chiclayo was an interesting setup. The beach its self was very barren, as was the town, but there were a lineup of little shacks selling lunch and drinks along the beach. Katuwira was just a few meters away from the beach boasting Japanese and English speaking staff.
I walked into the reception/restaurant and set about finding out about accommodation. Andy from Canada was sitting at a table near the bar and had also just arrived and a sat next to him. I am not too sure why it was all so difficult, but eventually I was organised into a tipi next to the bar area.
There was one other guest i was told, Helen from Switzerland, but apart from that the place appeared deserted. I was pretty keen on a day at the beach to get organised and just relax a little bit so I didn’t need anyone around, in fact there would be less chance of a distraction.
Accommodation included breakfast and lunch, and I ordered the Katsu pork which was delicious. I think reading the menu must have counted as speaking Japanese, because I’d be buggered if anyone spoke Japanese, no more than good old ‘mushi mushi’ anyway, but that didn’t bother me, neither did I.
The pork was amazing, the best meal I had had in a while (probably because it wasn’t rice and beans) and Andy and I sat around swapping travelling stores and drinking beers. He worked in film and television in canada, and had me when he mentioned Degrassi junior high – those were the days. I let him in on the secret that I always had a little bit of a crush on spike, but he couldn’t get me her number
The beds in the tipi were straw mattresses, as were the pillows which made for in interesting sleep, but it was nice to spend a day at the beach. I was interested at the setup of the place. It reminded me of an old greek island resort, off season. Empty but with a lot of infrastructure.
It seemed that Bobby (the owner) was trying to recreate some kind of Asian shanty town with buildings on top of each other, one more dilapidates than the last, all made from bamboo.
There was little huts stacked full of broken furniture and rubbish, strange bee hive huts out the back, full of rubbish, an empty nightclub building. It was as though the place was set up to take 100 people, but no one comes anymore. Unusual.
What happened to the jungle?
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:32:43 AM
Getting out of countries seemed to be getting easier and easier, just hand over the permit and get a stamp. Done.
Getting into countries is a little more time consuming, but no more difficult – handover documents and copies of documents, wait until they get stuck imputing the data because they have never seen an Aussie document before, point out what they need then wait around for them to finish and print it out, then sign.
It seemed to be taking forever to input the data, but after an hour of chatting to the guys out front of the customs office, and telling the shoeshine kid he was doing a great job watching my bike, I was on the road looking out for donkeys and looking forward to the coast.
Ecuador had pretty much ended at the bottom of the mountain, and Peru started across the river. The change in temperature and humidity was marked, and the scenery changed from alpine to rolling hills.
I was about 35 minutes down the road, enjoying the heat and the change of scenery when I was stopped at a customs checkpoint.
There was something unusual about this, and the guy came out of the office going on about something at 1000 miles an hour. Once I got the idea he was trying to help, I realised what he was saying. The customs guys at the border had forgotten to put the exit immigration card back into my passport, and it would cost me up to $100 to leave the country unless I went back and picked it up. What can I say, although the guy took an hour to sort out my paperwork, he didn’t quite get it right.
Take two and I made it to Piura this time. I stopped to use an atm, riding down the footpath on the wrong side of the rod and a lovely old lady was kind enough to point out that the footpath was not for motorbikes. From time to time the bike was running like a truck, but emptying the carb bowl seemed to be doing the trick, so I continued doing so.
The road from Piura to the coast was 250km of desert. I not talking about your semi arid weird little plants and the odd tree desert, I mean sand dunes and wind. I was super surprised because I didn’t expect that in Peru, but I made it to Chiclayo and headed to a place I read about on the beach with tipis and other strange accommodations.
South Ecuador
Sunday, 28th February, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:28:36 AM
Another market and breakfast with a fellow Melbournian and it was on the road for Quito. I was to be meeting one of Karen's tree planting friends, Shawna who was in Ecuador researching in alternative energy.
Unfortunately I had her address and details on my old computer, which someone was kind enough to relieve me of. another pang of rage hit me and for a minute, I hated everyone who had ever seen my computer. I managed to get a phone number from reliable Facebook and called for directions, then promptly left the internet café without my notebook.
I had a printout of the map to the street, but not the street number. I had to find another internet café to get the number again. I eventually found Shawna and she arranged for me to park the bike in her favourite bar just a few doors down which was an adventure all of its own.
We spent the evening talking about Karen and ended up out the front of the shop next door chatting to a group of volunteers from Argentina and Germany. We stepped inside the shop whenever a suspect group came up the street as these guys didn’t mess around with pleasant smelling foam, they were into the huevo.
We did get hit in a fantastic move, where all of the suspect youngsters walked in front of the woman who could well have been their grandmother, and when we thought it was safe, she let loose with the can of foam, behind the back! it was awesome. The after party was at Shawna’s apartment, and I had to decline an offer of a day bushwalking and hallucinogenic cactus hunting on the count of my schedule, just as well, might have stayed on indefinitely.
The ride to Cuenca was about 600km, and was a lovely ride until I came around a mountain and the rain started. Miserable cold driving rain, roadworks and a carby full of water. It took me until about 8pm to get the Cuenca and I was dry and warm at 9. Miserable, but the ride was worth it because the food was awesome. After weeks of rice and beans it was great to see hummus and salad on a menu it was only a few hundred kms to my next stop just before the border to Peru, but I made a late start as I was downloading a backup of emails my brother had been kind enough to store for me. The passes were again amazing and went up and over 4500m. I could feel the air getting thinner and it was harder to breath, but the bike was working well and I didn’t feel anything of what I thought altitude sickness would feel like so that was a bonus.
I ended up taking the ‘B’ route towards Macara on the Ecuadorian side of the border instead of the more direct route, falling for the old Macara sign trick. I mean both roads went there, it was just that one was the road I took, and the other was good. I really enjoyed the ride, up above the clouds.
I was only about 50km from the town I was planning to stop in (it was getting dark), descending the mountain when the clouds I was so proudly riding above became clouds I was riding in. At dusk. Pretty hard to see anything at all and the roads turned to slippery mud. My speed reduced to a measly 15kmph for the last miserable 20km, and I arrived into a town were pretty much everything was closed.
I found an open shop, right next to the only hotel in town. Rooms at the hotel were $3 with shared bathroom or $4 con bano. deal, and all the shops and restaurants opened up again as soon as ashe Wednesday mass was finished, I headed to the internet café.
I was lucky enough to meet the crowned queen of Zozoranga in the internet café. She was on the computer next to me looking at a slideshow of girls in bikinis. As it turns out it was part of a beauty pageant that she won. There was about five local fellers hanging around with her, and one was kind enough to offer that she liked tall foreign guys. She said they were all stupid, everyone in the shop laughed and i went to bed.
The Freaking Hatrick
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:14:58 AM
The border to Ecuador was pretty straightforward, and after the usual rigmarole, as well as extremely friendly customs staff we were on our way – destination Quito.
The first little town was alive with carnival fever, water bombs, eggs and foam (must be a special blend made especially for spraying people on carnival) flying around everywhere. We both got nailed on the way through town, and not only did it smell great, but there was a feeling of connection, being part of the celebration of carnival, that only being sprayed in the face with foam whilst riding a motorbike can give you. Steve slid sideways into a truck on the way out of town in an unusual undertaking move, I blame carnival.
Not far down the road again and I felt that familiar feeling of my rear tire going flat so I started to slow down to pull over when all of a sudden it went bang! The tire went dead flat instantaneously and going downhill on a bend at about 70kmph I had no hope of staying upright.
The bike threw me down on the left hand side and slid off in one direction as I headed straight down the road on my Draggin jeans and Rjays tourtech jacket, giving them both a good workout. I lay stunned for a second in the middle of the road expecting to cause a bit of traffic chaos, but there was no one around.
I got up, picked up the bike (powered mostly by adrenaline at this stage) and pushed it down the road to a suitable spot to do a tube change. All the while all that was going through my head was about the Kawasaki dealer in Medellin, what did they do? Needless to say i was a little disappointed.
After spending time fixing the tube, we headed for Otavalo for the night, about 100km from Quito. We stopped at dusk at a town about 30km away, but the traffic was so heavy between the towns that it took over an hour. We lucked out with accommodation though, the cheapest place in the good old guide book also had a secure area for storing bikes – winner.
Destination Ecuador
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:12:26 AM
The next day I picked up a new laptop, determined not to let it all drag me too far down for two long. I figured that the sooner I got onto it the sooner I would be back on top of it and in control of my information. I just wanted to get the ball rolling. The guys at the computer shop were able to install English language programs for me, and although the keyboard is a spanish one, it was good to be in control again.
Steve and I were going to ride together for a couple of days, and we headed south the next morning, but there was something a little strange with my bike. It wasn’t for a while that I thought to check the chain and it was ridiculously tight. It was too tight with just the luggage let alone my 100kg. Idiots. I wasn’t in the mood for idiots, but was too far away now to go back and teach them how to do their jobs so we pushed on through the coffee region of Colombia, finding ourselves in the delightful little town of Cartago.
We got great help from the locals when looking for a place to park and sleep, with one guy actually doing the groundwork for us. Dinner was interesting, I ordered a meal then asked to change it but got both, so the unusual looking kid who was staring at me the whole time I was in the café got lucky because the leftovers were a meal. It was a pretty uncomfortable town, and I was happy to get back to the hotel room.
Leaving the next day we hit Puno, an interesting little city near the Ecuadorian border. It was a beautiful ride on fantastic roads through the mountains and you could really hook into the sweeping corners, all the while admiring spectacular mountain scenery.
That was until my back brake failed.
It felt like there was air in the line or something. Glad I got the experienced technicians to have a good look over my bike for safety, idiots. After a quick look at the markets with Steveo, and a big feed of the most amazing pork ever, I spent the afternoon checking over my bike and bleeding the brakes. The idiots didn’t bother to tighten the nut on the brake hose. (*keep in mind idiots wasn’t the word I was using in my frustration on the day).
The Computer Incident
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:07:48 AM
I hit Medellin around noon the next day, and with very vague directions (on the back of a business card), went looking for a hostel called Casa Kiwi run by, guess what… a Kiwi expat. On the way into town I asked a fella on a scooter for directions and he took me to the door. I love it when that happens, he was a student at the nearby university.
On the way down the street I spotted a guy fiddling with his KLR out front of another hostel. I stopped for a chat and after ensuring there was no room for my bike at Casa Kiwi headed back to bunk down at Casa Blanca. Steve was from Colorado travelling around South America looking for good climbing and had just been to the Kawasaki dealer for a service and was big wraps for them, so I got my gear sorted and headed over.
I needed a new rear tire, a couple of spare tubes and a good looking over from a professional point of view. I wanted them to pop on my new chain and brake pads as well. The place looked very professional and the owner asked for a few of my pictures that he could buy off me and print for his adventure travel wall. I definitely left the place on a high. I felt comfortable leaving the bike there and felt comfortable that the work was going to be done well.
The next day I headed out to lunch with a group of Americans, Jen, Susie and Adrian , to a thai place that served half priced meals and two for one drinks during the day. I had intended to do some backing up on my computer, but thought it would be a good opportunity to have some veggies, so I stashed the computer under my sheets.
I was in two minds whether or not to leave the cord hanging out, but decided to leave it plugged in and charging, i mean it was only me and Steve in the room, and you had to be let in and out by a key through the security door out front, so it felt ok, and I headed off to lunch.
After lunch we ended up having a couple of beers at hooters just for fun and I left the others to make the rendezvous with Steve. when I got back Steve wasn’t around, so went up to the dorm room to grab my computer and get to working but it wasn’t there. Half the cord was there, and the bag, but no computer. I was meeting Steve to go computer shopping with him, so I assumed that he had taken it to have a look at. A bit bloody rude, but at least it will be around somewhere.
I looked around, but he wasn’t around, and the woman from the hostel, who was obviously pregnant, told me he left a short while earlier. This was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. I went up and grabbed my bag and came back down to the front desk “my computer is missing, any ideas?” just then the husband came home and they spoke quickly in Spanish and I got the following story;
“There was a group of about 5 Colombian guys who barged their way into the hostel through the security gate and while my wife was trying to get them to leave one went upstairs and must have gone into your room and taken your computer.”
You know that sinking feeling when you know that something really bad has just happened, and it is reasonable to assume it is your fault, but that the consequences were not going to present straight away, but over time and you know it is going to thoroughly piss you off for a long time?
Well that hit me hard. I couldn’t blame anyone else, I mean steve could have locked the door when he left, and the security door could have stayed closed, or i could have rethought leaving the cord exposed, but at the end of the day, I am ultimately responsible for my gear and it hit me hard. I was absolutely furious.
My first reaction was to think that maybe they were up to the same gig at the hostels down the road so I headed down to Casa Kiwi to ask around and the guy at reception was pretty nonchalant. I mean it wasn’t his problem at all, but this was no time to give me that attitude, I was ready to rip someone in half.
I headed back down to the hostel and jumped on the internet to change all of my passwords and did a mental manifest of what was lost. This didn’t help my mood any. I aside Julian from the hostel to call the police, and they came while I was in the restaurant next door chatting with Bob from Sydney. The cops said I had to go to the station to get a report for insurance. I was pretty wound up, got my report from the cops and headed back to brood. everybody knows the drill ‘it isn’t the hardware…’, but it was in Canada that I did my last backup, I had lost everything from then, and all of my email history which was vitally important to the wrap up of the project. Again no one else’s fault!
Steve got back from the shops and had a slightly different slant on the same story, in his version there was “two guys in suits and a woman, and he slipped out the door as she opened it for them”, but in my mind everyone in the city, in the hostel, in Colombia was a filthy thief right then and there, and I wanted to remove myself from it.
I was feeling pretty shattered just wanted to get the hell out of the place. Medellin was a great city, and the hostel was nice (I would have said safe), but it tasted sour and smelt foul just then and i just wanted out - of Medellin and Colombia. I couldn’t trust anyone. Everyone was a filthy thieving liar. Could have been anyone, could have been everyone.
So that evening, filled with rage and scepticism I headed back to the Kawaskai place to collect my bike. As i walked in the front door the boss was chatting away and ushered me to his desk – “pictures, you got some for me? where?” one of those moments that you remember just how pissed off you are, I mean it only just happened but it was a knife twist for sure, because not only did I have to explain it, I had to try and do it in Spanish, that was hard work. I moved on to my bike.
Everything looked in order but my visa card didn’t work so I had to go looking for an atm, finally got back, paid and took off back to the hostel, parked it in the secure area and got to thinking about my options.
Night Rider
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:03:05AM
I had entertained the idea of going to mud pools with Andrew and the Jens the following day, but really wanted to take care of my motorbike paperwork, and these things can take some time.
After the passports arrived, I headed down to customs and took priority parking at the front door so I could keep an eye on my bike. I jumped in the queue, but no sooner had I appeared than I was sent into the offices looking for ‘Maria’.
Asking around I got hold of Maria, and my paperwork was done then and there on the spot, the only hold up was a smoking break for Maria's boss, who had to sign it all off. I cannot recommend a smile and friendly attitude enough, the customs team were extremely helpful, and chatted at me for a while (i hardly understood a word, they were going 1000 miles an hour) before sending me off with a smile and all the paperwork done.
Cartagena is a beautiful port town, fortified and walled, but unable to keep out the cruise shippers, there literally by the boatload. There were one or two boatloads a day into town, and a well organised and greased tourism and accompanying arts network. It was nice to have made my final boat trip for a while and I spent a couple of days recouping and planning the next leg. I was intending to hit Medellin, where there was a Kawasaki dealer, then head south and into Ecuador.
I made an early start from Cartagena for the 700km run to Medellin, but no further than 250km in I blew a tire. Really blew the tire, the valve stem ripped right out of the tube. no big deal, except for that my spare tube had a small leak in it, and Todd had taken the patches and glue home with him. What are the chances, the one day I didn’t have a spare. I actually thought to myself ‘what are the chances, 700km and I will be in Medellin, what are the chances I’ll get a flat.’ So there you have it, the chances were pretty low, but the odds would have been good, wish I had put a bet on!
I had only just got the wheel off when my first helper arrived, a kid on a bike. We chatted for a while (because that was the extent of my Spanish) and I showed him how deal with the problem. I had some glue, and cut a patch from the old tire and glued it on. while i was waiting for the glue to dry another guy came along, this time pushing a motorbike. He was out of gas so I siphoned a litre or so for him and he was off.
Putting the tube back in, I was showing the first visitor how to reset the tire, but in his urge to help put the tire back on the rim he plunged the tire iron into the tube, makng another, somewhat bigger hole. This was beyond the scope of my glue repair so we hailed a motorcycle taxi to take the tube to the next town and get it fixed.
He returned a short time later, in which time I had had another stunted conversation with a guy on a horse, and another kid on a pushbike had turned up, after bringing a couple of bags of water for me. We fitted the tube, and when I blew it up, it seems neither of the putty patches this guy had applied had actually worked.
This time, one of the bike boys jumped on the motorbike with the taxi guy with the whole back wheel and took off. It was a fair while before the bike and wheel come back, all the while the first kid sat quietly keeping my company. We had exhausted our conversation so we just sat there in a knowing silence waiting for the wheel to return.
A couple in a jeep stopped to offer me assistance, but they were heading the other way, but offered it was pretty good and safe 7 hour trip to Medellin from my paddock. Wheel fitted, business cards and handshakes and I was off, only another 7 hours to Medellin, and it was already close to 3pm. I stopped for fuel, somewhere just before the first mountain pass, and needed to check the tier pressure. It felt a little low.
By the time I was leaving the Gasolinaria it was pretty apparent it was flat. “Jeepers” (some expletives have been changed here to protect any innocent readers – not you) I thought and I headed across the road where luckily there was a tire guy. These tire guys are everywhere, all across the world in 3rd world countries anyway, just a little shack with tome tires piled up and some kind of press equipment to fix tubes. He looked at the bike, asked the standard questions, and we were into it. Took the tire off (again) and there were three patches on it… this would explain why it took so long to come back from the tire and wheel guy, obviously he had put another hole in it, and dome a pretty poor job of fixing it, because when it went in the water, every patch leaked!
The way they fix tires here is with a kind of tire putty and and an old iron on a press. the tire man took two wires from the light overhead and put them into the old iron making sparks, and placed a match on the iron so when it lit he knew when it was hot, and then worked with a bottle of water to regulate the temperature. He then took the live wires and put them into a compressor, and took a couple more to kick start the motor, again sparks everywhere. The whole episode was pretty ingenious, but I was pretty careful not to touch anything, just in case.
If that wasn’t enough, and it was dark by now, the wheel wouldn’t go on. It kept jamming with the brakes and wouldn’t turn, so it took another 45 mins to get that sorted. I washed my hands with petrol, more handshakes and back pats and I was off again. Just another hour and I’ll find a hotel and get some rest.
About 30 mins later the highway turned into a mountain pass, climbing for about 25 mins into fog with no sign of a hotel. I finally came across the town of Yarumal about 3 hours later, knackered and wet.
A kid jumped on my bike and directed me to a hotel with parking in the centre of town, and after throwing my wet gear in the room, headed to the square where some street vendors were doing their thing. I got pig on a stick and one of the best hamburgers i have ever eaten (I was starving and very, very tired so it might not have been that good), then headed back to the hotel to watch classic 70’s Colombian Rock on MTV and crash out.
Softair Sailing
Sunday, February 28th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 10:56:57AM
Softair was scheduled to leave on Wednesday or Thursday, and I had to get my bike to the port (or beach) to load on Thursday afternoon, but the crew eventually got their ducks in a row on Friday afternoon, explaining that we would load up and leave late in the evening in order to take advantage of calmer conditions.
Due to the weather and ’Colombianism’ of the boat crew, we didn’t end up leaving until Saturday night. By the time we headed off everyone except for Petr, a Czech cyclist, was staying at Hostal Wunderbar, so we all had a chance to get to know each other. There were the Swissys, the Jens, Andrew (Jens bro), Alex and myself. Cool bunch of cats, which is important if you are going to spend four days in close confines.
By the time we got going there were 12 of us on a yacht with space for not more than 9, a pushbike and a motorcycle precariously strapped onto the front. I shudder to think how they were planning to tie the bike on if I hadn’t had my tie downs with me, but I was reasonably happy with the set up and we were off. The first night was a cruise to the San Blas Archapeligo, a set of islands that are an autonomous region off the coast of Panama.
We spent the next day swimming and wandering around the island and had a fish dinner. The next day we headed to another island for a swim and then it was all stops out for the blue water crossing to Cartagena, which basically meant everyone and everything got wet, no one really slept, most everybody was pretty ill all trip. I was one of the lucky ones. By the time we got to Cartagena, JP (the owner) was even under the weather and not as welcoming and obliging as he was at the beginning, although I suspect his mood on those early days may have been somewhat enhanced.
All things said and done, we were at our destination, tired and wet, but alive and kicking. My bike suffered some salt water damage, but what could i expect having strapped it to the side of a 50ft yacht for a few days!
I found a parking yard around the corner from the hostel everyone ended up in and had to wait until the next day to complete my paperwork because the boat crew needed the day to take care of our immigration, and still had our passports. I rarely give my passport to anyone who doesn’t have a stamp in their hand, or a rifle, but i felt pretty sure, although these guys were a little eccentric, that they were above board.
Bike on a Boat
Thursday, February 25th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 01:44:19 PM
The border was an old train bridge, barely wide enough for two motorcycles to pass let alone cars. It was an easy border, complete with the obligatory insurance, dozens of photocopies of documents and shoe shine kids. Very friendly on both sides.
We got chatting to a family at an ice cream stop who talked us into a stop at Bocas Del Toro, a small and very well visited tourist island. You become immune to people yelling at you from various places, and coming into the port it was at fever pitch.
A local guy on a bicycle gave me about three different stories about ferrys and water taxis, and when he could see that I had absolutely no trust in him, he confided that he was from a local church, and that after a life of substance abuse he was now dedicated to the church. I guess that explained the confusion. The fire station was a safe place to park, and we headed for the water taxi station and over to the island for the evening.
It was a day of contrasts, coming from the wet, lush and green Caribbean coast, over the mountain range to the hot dry and dusty pacific side. A beautiful ride through the hills, Karen got stuck in to taking photos. We crossed the Panama Canal as we entered town, and it really was a sight. There were two prominent points out into the bay, one with the steel and glass skyscrapers of the new town, and across the water the beautiful colonial buildings of the old town. Another striking contrast.
I bid farewell to Karen in Panama City who flew home to Canada to visit her father who had become ill and was in intensive care. A scary time for her, and luckily her travel insurance covered the cost of returning home. I continued up to the North Coast of Panama, to Puerto Lindo and hostel wunderbar to organise a yacht to Colombia.
When I arrived at the hostel was no sign of Silvia, the owner with who I had been corresponding, just Ludwigo, an ageing Italian Artisan. I had intended to spend a day looking around for options, and failing finding anything
suitable, head over to Carti, a bigger and busier port, where I had lined up a couple of possibilities, but there was no direct road. To get there I had to head back to Panama City and then up through the jungle.
Although there were stories of people getting through the darien gap, and others still of people taking local boats and transport around the gap to turbo and Cartegena in Colombia, I didn’t have the time to work my way through the drug cartel controlled territory. I had resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to reach Cartegena, as most yachts were only heading around to Sapzurro in Colombia, Two boat rides and an 8 hour drive away, but a yacht came up that would not only take my bike to Colombia, but take it over to Cartagena.
The team at hostal wunderbar, were awesome, Guido is a welder and helped fix my cracked engine mount, all the while dealing with a baby, and a psychopathic next door neighbour, in her 60’s and going seriously around the loop. that is a whole other story.
Costa Rica
Saturday, February 20th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 10:02:34 AM
The ferries started running again around 1.30 pm, and they rushed the vehicles on to the ferry so we could get going. There was a fair backlog of cars and trucks and the ferry was jam packed, but they kept on sticking stuff on there. I felt safer on the deck, both for the ease of disembarkation should there be an issue and to watch the bike. On the other side there was no sign of the little ratbag who stole my gloves, and we pushed on to the border, making it there late afternoon.
I got my photocopies and headed through the first border checkpoint. The guard mumbled something to me and wrote something on my slip and sent me on to the main circus that was the border. There were people running around all over the place, and after taking my paperwork, an official disappeared. I waited for him to return. After 30 minutes or so I went looking for ‘the Latin guy’, only to be confronted by the news that the joker at the Nica entry border had given me only one day rather than the one month we agreed on, and I had to pay a fine. $54 all together, paid at the bank.
It was dark by the time we hit the Costa Rica side. Coming into Liberia, we stopped at a mall, that’s right, a shopping centre, for a coffee and to get our bearings. I was tired and needed a bed, but didn’t want to pay a fortune. There was also the issue of parking for the bike. We found a place that was well priced with a secure place to park the bike. The place was awesome, glass missing from the windows, one sheet between two beds that both sagged in the middle in some kind of cross between bed and hammock. The bathroom was right next door, and there were a couple of American guys in the next room having a conversation about how cool they were at the top of their voices. Bless.
People are very friendly, as a general rule, but it takes a special type to go that extra step to put two and two together. I never met one of those extraordinary types and consequently when asking for directions to La Fortuna, we ended up in the wrong La Fortuna. One, a backwater local town with a thermal power plant, and the other, a turbo charged tourist town with hot springs and all manner of adventure trips and the associated riff raff. they were only a few hours apart, but the riding in Costa Rica is not particularly interesting so it feels longer.
After sampling the local helado we bedded down at La Virgen hostel in La Fortuna, one of the best examples of a small backpackers I have seen. Over the next couple of days we swam in hot springs, visited all sides of a volcano and ate helado. although I had wanted to see lava flowing before I got to town, the way that the idea had been commercialised and marketed in town, made me start to wonder why I wanted to see lava at all. As it turned out, there was none to be seen whilst we were there anyway.
The last stop in Costa Rica was at Cahuita on the Caribbean coast. If La Fortuna was anything to go by, I was not interested in heading down the Pacific Coast through American holiday resort after resort, and either way, Karen had a family friend with a summer house in Cahuita, and we stopped with Marie and her family for a couple of days before making the move into Panama.
Cancun, Mexico
Friday, February 5th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:30:21 AM
On the way into Cancun I ran into a Russian couple in a coffee stop at a Gasolineria. They were heading to Cancun with a chauffeur, and were obviously pretty cashed up.
I needed to borrow a pen to record distance and fuel consumption and the girl obliged, handing me a broken plastic one from the depths of her handbag. When I went to return it she told me I could keep it much to my delight, I had lost so many pens to officials along the way who never seem to return borrowed pens.
Her giving a pen to an absolute stranger must have upset the fella she was with and he demanded that she get the pen from me, and I laughed and handed it back. When the couple left the cafe shortly after, I noticed the pen still on the table, so I picked it up and made a point to chase the couple down, by this time they were just getting into the car, and handed them back the pen “you forgot your pen, wouldn’t want to leave it behind now eh!” It’s the small amusing things that happen day to day on the road that keep the energy high.
I arrived in Cancun a day early, well a night early, and headed to the hotel that Karen had organised for the following evening, extended the stay and set about reorganising the bike to take an extra person. It was going to be tough to work out what to throw and what to keep, as you can generally assume that the second you ditch something you have been carrying for months and not used, the second you would invariably need it.
I stripped the bike down in the car park of the hotel, breaking to chat to various guests as they arrived and left, coming over to see what the mess was all about. I ended up ditching some rain booties, various bits of chain and other unnecessary parts, and made a send home box (things I didn’t really need and couldn’t bring myself to throw out. I rearranged the weight, cable tying things to the front frame and generally worked to keep it all low and forward. A week of long and hard riding through Mexico had really worn me out and i]I retired to enjoy air conditioning and a comfortable bed.
I had been in contact with a Ricardo from bikers garage in Cancun, for a few weeks. I had some parts that Kawasaki USA had provided for me and I needed a person or at least a space so I could do some work on the bike. In researching a mechanic I came across a particularly angry customer, equally I came across a few excellent reviews, but I guess it is human nature to ponder on the negative association so I was quite weary. When you are so far from home, you are always on full alert not to get ripped off so I discussed the review with Ricardo who told me the whole story. The angry American guy couldn’t find parts anywhere in Mexico, and he wasn’t happy with the price of the parts Ricardo found was the gist of the issue. I was happy with that so I got directions and headed over to the workshop.
It was raining heavily all morning, and although I had hoped for the rain to stop so I could stay dry, I gave up and headed over. It was my intention to drop off the bike then spend the rest of the afternoon looking for a helmet and gloves for Karen who was arriving the next day. I found the workshop, and Ricardo lent me a little scooter while he worked on my bike.
I spent the afternoon riding around on the scooter in heavy but warm rain trying to find a bike shop in town. I was saturated, and I kept getting ping ponged around town with dodgy directions to bike shops. Having no luck whatsoever, and running out of petrol in the scooter I gave up, heading back to the hotel to prepare to head to the airport to collect Karen. i toyed with the idea of heading to the airport on the scooter in the rain, but ended up in a taxi.
The International airport in Cancun was pretty small, and Karen was the last person to come out. There was a barrier that meant you had to wait outside for arrivals and began to panic a little, thinking that I might have got the details wrong, but she eventually made it out.
We did the tourist thing in Cancun, beach, bubba gumps shrimps, and a lot of lounging around. For those uninitiated, Cancun is just like the Gold Coast in Australia. It is not especially cheap, and clean but very commercial. For what it is – a holiday resort – I quite like Cancun.
A Very Belizian Christmas
Sunday, February 7th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 7:54:13 AM
We were two up on the bike, which I have yet to name, but I am sure it is a male, not a female. Everybody who asks me what the name of the bike is asks what ‘her’ name is, and it just feels wrong. I digress… anyhow we headed for the border and Belize. Had never heard much about Belize, and did not really know what to expect.
We stopped in the border town of Chetumal for the night so we could make an early run of it in the morning into Belize and get right to Caye Caulker. You often hear that Belize city can be quite dangerous and I wanted to avoid spending too much time there. Too often the soothsayers are bestowing upon you information that they have heard from ‘a friend that went there’, or ‘something they heard’. I have come to be quite sceptical of advice from people who just haven’t been there.
None the less, it was getting late and I prefer to hit borders early in the day, before the staff get tired and cranky.
At borders there is often the usual spattering of strange types. Moneychangers, insurance salespeople, thieves, people selling their services as quasi immigration agents, artisans and other randoms. I don’t often trust random people offering to help me or sell me things, so borders are a real pain in the arse.
The Mexicans told me that because I didn’t have a particular piece of paper from my entry that it would cost me $20. That was one guy. Another said $25. It was also ‘too difficult’ to get my paperwork done by myself, and I would have to pay for someone to help. I had none of it, grabbed my passport back, took care of the customs details myself and told them all to stick it up their bum. (well that’s the nana version), and headed for Belize.
Now I have to admit that I knew little to nothing about Belize. I didn’t know that English was widely spoken, and that it was once a haven for freed slaves and English pirates. The easygoing Caribbean attitude started the border, it was an instant change and it made me feel relaxed immediately. The customs officer was a legend, speaking in a heavy creole accent ‘ave eh room poonch for me mun’. This was my kind of place where the guy checking in your vehicle tells you to have a drink for him…
The destination in Belize was Caye Caulker, and there was no way to get my bike there. I chained it up on the ferry boat port and we caught the ferry across. There wasn’t actually and vehicles on the island apart from a few golf carts and a couple of little bikes, and the roads were sand. My first impression of Caye Caulker ‘was what an amazing place, so chilled out’.
We arrived on christmas eve and booked on to the ‘seahawk’ with Captain Stevo for a christmas day cruise. The trip was awesome, good boat, great crew, grand group, amazing snorkeling, top atmosphere. We saw turtles, sharks, moray eels, rays, and various fish of course. Ate Steve’s famous sea burgers and ceviche, and drank rum punch. It was great to see George who I worked along with at top deck in Europe. We ran into each other at a bar and had a great catchup between karaoke songs.
After a couple of days it was back on the road, heading for Guatemala. Belize is not a big country and we were off the island (just making the early ferry) and to the border by lunch after an interesting time getting through Belize city and it’s one way street system. Getting out of Belize was as simple as a tax, a wave and a stamp (as expected), but getting into Guatemala was a right pain in the arse. Crossing borders in central america is pretty easy if you don’t have a motorbike, but the systems for temporary import seem pretty ludicrous. This was one of the best.
Culture and.......Fireworks Fiesta
Sunday, February 7th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 9:29:01 AM
Tikal in Guatemala is a unesco world heritage site, and one of the largest archaeological sites and urban centres of the pre-Columbian maya civilisation, and the next destination.
It wasn’t too far from the border, but it looked like it was going to be a long ride on poor roads when the first 30 or so kilometres were loose gravel. After a border crossing it was just another annoyance, but the clouds cleared when the good road started, and we headed to the campsite at Tikal.
We took a sunrise trip into the ancient site, and it was amazing to hear the holler monkeys get going while the sun came up on the pyramids, and the guide took us on a very thorough tour of the site.
I really enjoyed the morning, and what was even better as we were on our way out as the crowds were on their way in!
There had been some ants running around the tent and bike at the campsite, and I was hit hard by karma after making fun of Karen when she got bitten. It wasn’t 50km out of the park and I had to pull over to sort out what I assumed were ants biting my underarm and around my belly. I figured the ants had got into my jacket when I had been packing the bike and it was on the ground. Now I have never suffered an allergic reaction before and I’m glad, because the next hour or so was mad.
I took off my jacket and there were lumps all over my arms and they seemed to be spreading. I was running a temperature. Lucky we stopped near a pharmacy (quasi) and I got a few anti histamines.
I took the pills and by this time the lumps were all the way to the back of my knees and i was feeling pretty poor. Sweating and itchy as all hell, I was desperately pouring calamine lotion on my legs. Karen was down the road trying to find someone to drive me to the doctors, and although I wanted to wait a while for the tablets to kick in, I was in no shape to argue. Then, just as quickly as it came on, it all started to reverse and I within about 15 minutes I was back to nearly normal.
It was my intention to head to Coban – about 6 hours away, but the whole ‘allergic reaction affair’ had chewed up the best part of two hours, and most of my energy, so after a wrong turn, we headed to Flores so I could rest.
Los Amigos was a cool little hostel started and run by a couple of Dutch brothers who were in Guatemala working as volunteers. They had the choice of dorm beds or a bed in a room of two doubles, with a swedish couple. I was too tired to even joke, but not too tired to sample the amazing fruit shakes they had on offer, in the one night we were there I must have had 4.
After an early start the next stop was Coban. It was a great ride, we had to take a barge across a river and arrived in the evening. There was some awesome street food (tacos on steroids) and Karen partook in a wonderful congealed cheese dish that the café was passing off as fondue. Along with the tacos it was definitely the highlight.
antigua was the goal, where I would be seeing Jimmy again at a hostel he had been recommended ‘earth lodge’ where we planned to spend new years, and what a yew years it was. I got a flat tire on the way down the driveway which was both good and bad luck, and after spending a couple of hours making pretty average balloon animals for the local kids (who came from out of nowhere as soon as I blew up the first balloon) I made the mistake of riding my bike down the 300m climb to the hostel.
Getting down was no worries, but getting back up was a nightmare. it was super steep and sandy, and I ended up walking along side the bike riding the clutch with jimmy and a couple up unwilling locals pushing. It didn’t come back down the track again.
We hung out with Jimmy and Laura from Paraguay as well as and a great crew at the hostel, which is amongst the best I have seen. They work with the local community, serve great food, and have a great spot on the side of a mountain. There was a market behind the ‘tourist’ market that just sold fireworks. There was a market that just sold fireworks. (that’s how exciting it was). We bought up big and we mixed beer and fireworks at earth lodge in any boys new year dream. It was an awesome spot to shoot rockets off the side of a mountain.
Panama Bound
Sunday, February 7th, 2010
Posted by Simon Buckley @ 11:34:37 AM
After a slow start it was to El Salvador to a beach called El Zonte. It was a recommendation of Brianna from earth lodge, and an interesting place. We arrived at night at the tiny beach village. We spent the next day relaxing on the black sand beach. Heading from there it was to Nicaragua, transiting through a small part of Honduras.
The Honduran border took the cake for most annoying so far, but we were only in the country for a couple of hours before hitting another border. Heading into Nicaragua seemed to go quite smoothly.
It was getting late, but again we decided it would be better to push on through to Leon so we could have a couple of days to look around. I was pretty keen to see the legacy of an old mate Dazza in the bigfoot hostel he started a few years earlier. He also invented/popularised volcano surfing and I wanted to give that a crack.
The hostel was great, wicked vibe and good setup. There was a decent café attached and all the standard needs were covered. Volcano surfing was an interesting ‘tick the box’, it included a hike up the side of the Cerro Negro volcano before heading down the steep part sat on a volcano board(plywood board). Wearing protective overalls and goggles and filling my mouth with ash and rocks. The instructions were very clear, but very hard to actually follow. “Close your mouth and don’t go too fast”.
I had one last attempt at fixing my flailing shorts in Leon, my Nana had bought me the cargo shorts a couple of years before and they were perfect for holding my passport and camera, but the had a hard life and there was holes in all of the pockets. No one wanted to fix them. I guess it was hard to explain the sentimental value in Spanish, and after a woman in a clothing store did pretty rough job of it, I donated them to the hostel and found another pair. No where near as good. It was a sad day.
From Leon we headed to the beach for a couple of days and took some Spanish lessons. It was then to another volcano on Ometepe Island, in fact the island had two volcanoes. The plan was to spend a day hiking one of them and then continue to Costa Rica. Mother nature had other ideas.
Hiking up the volcano conception was a shock to the system. My fitness has really flailed since I was at home and it was a pretty tough go it was pretty steep.
We made it to the lookout which was about ¾ of the way up, but there was a high risk of activity higher up and that was the limit. I couldn’t say I was disappointed!
The next day we got up to make the ferry at 8am, but from what we could ascertain from the staff at the port, there was nothing going until after 12 due to wind. Then it was after 1. Then it was maybe not. We decided too give up and head around the island for a ride and visit the natural springs for a swim, then check back later and probably spend another night.
It ended up there were no ferries left until the following afternoon and finally got off the island in time to make the border to Costa Rica just after nightfall.
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