Swimming with Gentle Giants

Sea monsters do exist. Far off the coast, where you can no longer see the white ribbon beaches or the highrise hotels of Cancun, in open water as clear as any pool back home. They congregate here, for the summer at least; and given the right conditions-- sunny, calm water-- congregate is too mild a word. They show up in droves, by the hundreds. Whale sharks. Propelled through the water by the gentle swish of a tail taller than most people, the great gaping mouth sucking in the plankton rich water. Swimming abreast one of these beasts, keeping pace, looking into its unblinking eye, watching the gills discharge and the attendant fish that follow like an entourage of groupies-- is like living a National Geographic episode. Time slows down. Stirring, majestic music springs to mind. You become the creature´s equal for a moment, and will carry that magic forever. It´s a fine way to end a trip; awed again at what this monsterous world has to offer. Yes, sea monsters do exist.

Stunning Sunning

Central America has a lot of beaches. A lot of beaches-- but while the Pacific side has great surf and the Atlantic has great diving-- there isn´t much in the way of traditional white sand beauty. Enter Mexico: stepping onto the beach in Tulum is like stepping into a Corona commercial. Postcard perfect sand, palms, sun and crystal clear water. Sit down under a thatch umbrella with a cold drink and you are a Corona commercial. The heat is a lazy enchantment, and under its spell you fully appreciate the ideal of doing nothing for nothing´s sake.

Mayan Cave Archaeology

San Ignacio in Belize offers a plethora of well known cave tours, giving the opportunity to explore Mayan history through remains hidden from the light of day for a thousand years. But if you know the right people and stumble into town on the right day, you can get a different kind of tour; ours was led by a dissertation student who has been studying Belizean caves for more than a decade. A bit more cavalier than most tour operators-- talking about psychotropics, strip clubs in New Orleans, and how he was ¨going to party [his] balls off tonight¨ between eagerly pointing out cave art and eroded architecture-- but no less passionate or knowledgeable about the caves we were exploring.

And what caves! There was no squeezing between boulders; some of the rooms were a hearty stone´s throw across and football fields long. There were intricate carvings, indicating the life that went on in the caves, and there were bones, skulls and teeth, to indicate the death. An altar of sorts that lit on the equinox, the sun´s rays illuminating droplets falling from the cave roof, and faces carved into stalagtites only visible by torchlight. And always the allure of more, deeper into the abyss: bat guano quicksand, pure azure lakes, caverns magnitudes of size larger, with no end found yet. ¨Real National Geographic stuff ¨our guide intoned appreciatively. I couldn´t have said it better.

Under the Sea

Sometimes pride gets the best of us. Almost as an afterthought the snorkeling guide asked if we were all good swimmers and had used the gear before; I've gone snorkeling a few times and figured it was no big deal. Think is-- I'm not a good swimmer. And that can become apparently obvious at the worst times. In my case, the snorkel wasn't set up properly, and the tube kept falling into the water; so instead of swimming, I was more doggy paddling after the group, in search of Caribbean manatees. The wind was fierce that morning, and the waves piled up in a frenzied rush towards me. At some point, salt water swelling my throat, I looked around and couldn't see the boat or any other snorkelers. It is a most surreal feeling to be suspended over a stinging coral reef, in open water. I remembered the episode of Magnum, P.I. where Magnum had to tread water all night until he was rescued by a helicopter. I figured I was in no real danger, but I wondered how long I'd paddle if I had to-- probably not the 40 minutes we'd spend at this site.

So moments later when I caught up with the group (only a few waves over) admiring the gentle beauty of a manatee, I did what I had been telling myself all along not to do: I quietly panicked. I tried to slow my breathing enough to use the snorkel, but couldn't. I tried to float calmly instead of scaring off the timid creature with my thrashing legs, and couldn't. The fleeing manatee sent the group scurrying off again, with me limping behind. This time however, the guide noticed my struggles and brought me a life jacket to float on. I discarded any pretense of pride and floated gloomily back to the boat. But I'd glimpsed a manatee, and later I'd float serenely with sharks, sting rays, eels and sea turtles. The clouds lifted, so to speak, to leave me pleasantly sunburned.

You say hello, I say adios

Today marks a special occasion. We reached Belize, the first day in a month we've been in an English speaking country. Being around your native tongue, you drop your guard, release a tension you didn't know you were holding. You see and understand things clearly, instead of half translating/ half guessing. The automated Spanish you pick up in your travels, which gets you around with no real expression, gives way to something real. Even with the simplest of replies, the inflection gives a range of meaning beyond my comprehension of Spanish. That must be what fluency is about-- more than the vocabulary or conjugations, its the ability to manipulate your sentence to transcend the meaning of its individual words.

Speaking of transcendence, we celebrated (or mourned?) Michael Jackson's passing at a nice restaurant on the beach tonight. Lobster in a succulent habanero garlic butter, caught fresh that day. Actually they were pulling one out of the water when we walked by the restaurant. They played only the King of Pop, and served free jello shots made from overproof Belizean rum. Kids danced outside, while we slipped home for an early bedtime.

Four Countries in 24 Hours

Gorgeous green mountains sqeeze in from the distance, waiting patiently in line, six or seven deep. That´s how I hope I remember Honduras: green mountains, red terra cotta roofs and smoky cooking fires. Not as the country that overthrew its government only days before we were due to arrive. Last time in Honduras I met great hospitality-- this time I interacted only with the military, at two borders and a checkpoint.

And so we head to Belize the long way. Managua through southern Honduras to avoid the capitol and its massive civil demonstrations, to San Salvador for a seven hour night and onto Guatemala City and Flores. Twenty-five hours of bus in 2 days, but we´re eager to get closer to Cancun and our ride home. Eager to put long bus rides and borders behind us.

O Granada

Where else can you stay in an ex-president´s house (ex as in exiled, unwelcome like so many Latin American leaders make themselves) for six bucks a night, take a horse carriage around the central square and then be hugged by street kids wanting your money? Okay, probably anywhere. But Granada may be the only place in all Central or South America with Mountain Dew.

I mention this as an allusion to its assimilation of Gringo culture. Not entirely, of course. At least not yet. About three blocks behind the Cathedral have been bought up by foreigners and turned into boutique hotels and fancy restaurants. If it sounds like I´m put off by this, I´m not; I´ll gladly pay through my nose for a cold Mountain Dew to fend off the indefatigable Nicaraguan sun. At the heart of it, is that nobody captures the feeling of home like a foreigner. You may have come to experience local flavor, but how many plates of rice and beans can you stomach before you give in a grovel for waffles and granola and unlimited refills of coffee made without powdered milk? You pay more, sure; but at least butter is included with the toast, as opposed to being an additional charge. Sometimes it seems as if every corner is cut to lower expenses-- at the expense of the consumer. That might sound like the American way, but it takes a lot of getting used to; we expect free bathrooms, free refills, free condiments, we hope for free breakfast and internet.

The down side is that we follow this trail of freebies to a cheap hostel where we´re seduced by the hammocks and soft music, and the allure of fellow travelers. And then we don´t leave. We stay isolated in our little domicile, self contained, shut away from the country and culture at large. It´s a balancing act, and you´ll meet people from both extremes: those who go to any length to avoid meeting other tourists, and those who go from the airport to the Hilton and back with the windows up and A/C on. Travel should bridge these worlds; to accept the changes we affect, instead of ignoring them always.

Conception

Blood pounding in your temples, sweat drenching your brow, the jungle reverberating with howler monkey cries. Sometimes it all seems too much; like you´re reading an adventure novel, instead of traveling. But as my shredded shoes and sore legs will attest, climbing an active volcano is a very real experience. At the top the rocky trail is too hot to touch, and the sulphur fumes too potent to breathe for long. But the view-- well, hazy and cloudy. And such is travel. You don´t know what you´ll see from the top, but it´ll be a long, hard (worthwhile) journey.

Who Needs a Hotel?

I wasn´t there, so I can´t be sure, but I think it happened like this. They showed up to the Hotel Castillo´s outside bar around nine, before the rain. At some point they must have felt pinned in by the downpour, and only one option presented itself: continue drinking cheap Nicaraguan rum until the rain stopped.

What I do know for sure, is that they were still there at five in the morning-- slumped over their glasses asleep.

Miscellaneous Memories

Hammocks on the beach, bonfire and Bob Marley; lightning on the horizon, silver streaks backlighting Christ on the hill. Tiny kitten, perched on a palm stump. Sixteen years old Finn, studying abroad in Costa Rica; shock of red hair, the only gringo in his village. Vultures eating a dead dog on the highway. Vultures sitting on the picket fence, every picket. Seeing Isla de Ometepe suddenly, after crossing the border-- the frustration melting away as the twin volcanoes rose from the beautiful lake at sunset. Being pulled onto a moving bus through the emergency exit. Relearning how to use the camera. Finding a crab in my bed-- in the mountains. Laughing while gasping for breath in the raft. Coconut rum and coke. Hearing about swine flu in Mexico. Hearing about robbery in Guatemala. Hearing about robbery in Nicaragua. Seeing Honduras fall to Anarchy on the news. Meredith being robbed in Costa Rica. Is this a cursed continent? US blowing a 2-1 lead over Brazil, to lose in the last 15 minutes. Being told the shower will work later; that the internet will work later; that the bus leaves every half hour; that the bus leaves every hour; that this bus leaves in three hours, no this bus leaves in a quarter hour. The dancing flower photograph. Running trampoline style across a suspension bridge. Looking for iconic photos; sometimes finding them, sometimes finding something better. Malinche flowers strewn like rose pedals. The fattest pig ever. Orchids on the path, the relentlessly steep path up Conception. A whole plate of french fries, and never a drop of mustard.