Ben Welsher | Writings

Day 61 - Cartagena Time passed slowly as the two travelers sat in an office squirrelled away in Tocumen International Airport. How slowly I cannot tell you for even the digital clock mounted on the plain white wall had stopped. Flight departure time was 30 minutes away but the battle to leave Panama still raged. Eventually our gratefull hands clutched a sheet of incomprehensible words and numbers meant to speed us to the next continent. Our reluctant hands abandoned our luggage to an airport worker whose assurances that they would meet us in Colombia were not entirely reassuring. Cartagena, famed haunt of pirates and privateers and redolent of the age of sail, lay before us. Despite several centuries some things haven't changed, it remains a busy port, services still exist for sailors long at sea. The latter point was illustrated most vividly as we stepped into, and i'll abandon euphemism here, a brothel. However unequivocal we might have thought our request of 'discotequ...

Day 56 - Panama City We nearly didn't make it into this slip of a country. Cruel fortune had us standing in the queue for the only Panamanian border officer who had read and decided to adhere to the rules. "Return ticket?" bugger.  His steely, uncompassionate gaze was unmoved by our desperate explanations of our travel 'plans'. Bribery also failed to move him to endorse our entry so our bus driver, with infinite generosity, offered to relieve us of another $36 to write up a return ticket to San José that we would never use. This finally satisfied the entry requirements and the stamp thumped down. The country is divided by a synonymous strip of water down which floats a not insignificant quantity of the world's goods. Though our initial plan was to dive the canal, renovations kiboshed that idea and we had to settle for the traditional topside view.  On initial viewing the city itself seems built on the wealth its transoceanic connection brings.  Buildings soa...

Day 48 - San José Three cold people stood on the streets of the Costa Rican capital wondering why the temperature dropped the further south they travelled. We needed housing and chose our hostel based solely on the fact it had a stripper pole. Before that could be put to embarrassingly enthusiastic use we had some people to meet. Our group doubled in size with the addition of Chris, Cass and Thierry, Tania's friends from the icy wastes of home. The only drinking establishment we had experienced in SJ thus far was one where the owner kept a pistol in the till and served turtle eggs as bar snacks, I kid you not. I was confident we could do better and how I willed these weary Canadians toward drink and dance. Alas 'twas not to be that night but I would get these people into a discotheque by hook or by crook, I think they sell hooks at the market... Softening the blow they did bring gifts of cider and Frank's hot sauce - truly the greatest condiment fashioned by the hand of ma...

Day 46 - Isla Omotepe The island is formed by two volcanoes (one still active). Surrounded by a lake whose limits spill over the horizon in all directions. A worthy lair for a scheming Bond villain bent on world domination. The highlight of the first evening was a somewhat basic discotequa you could drive your motorcycle into, whose menu consisted of beer, whose gent's consisted of a wall. All good fun, all rather tame. In the spirit of the trip thus far the next day was spent quad biking around the island. The danger came from the roads whose condition could only only have been worsened by the addition of landmines. Like the gents we are Tania was lumbered with the fully manual beast while myself and Michael scooted along with clutchless ease. Well, until Michael decided to detour into a nearby set of bushes, terrible driver. Surfaces improved markedly near towns and oh how the locals must have loved us bombing up and down with scant regard for the speed limit, bloody gringos. ...

Day 37 - Managua The sun was barely up but there is never a better time to leave the Honduran capital of Tegucigalpa than that very instant. Short on sights, long on vice and violence, myself, Michael and, Tony had become Tania (ah, travel's unpredictability!) barely strayed from our hotel the previous night. The bus deposited us at the border from where the crossing had to be made by bicycle rickshaw, a strange and amusing experience. Queerer still Nicaraguan immigration refused to accept its own currency in payment of the entry fee. I suspect there is an ongoing competition between the border control agencies of Central Americans countries to devise the most convoluted and quirky entry procedure they can. Nicaragua is leading on points by my scorecard. We stayed a night in the Managuan metropolis and sampled the city's delights such as people smashing each other over the head with motorcycle helmets outside karaoke bars. I tried in vain to induce my fellows into a discotequ...

Day 35 - El Naranjo So, the odds defied, we were back on the mainland and having clearly discovered a penchant for activities not covered by our insurance policy we meant to try our hand next at White Water Rafting. In hindsight I felt a little mis-sold by the accumulated images in my head. Lots of people grinning with excitement as they coast tearing class 5 rapids and rather fewer images of upturned inflatables and rafters swept downstream bobbing in the froth. You may be able to guess by this point which of the aforementioned scenarios more closely matches my experience. Michael had ostensibly (sensibly?) bowed out due to the fact it was raining. That left me and Tony in the raft with our Canadian instructor whose irritation with our poor technique at times bested his laid back demeanor. Alan the Irishman was our safety net in a kayak on point. The brown river surged like some Wonka-esque creation, swelled by precipitation and testing the banks. The rain pummeled down as we rehear...

Day 34 - Utila The three lies of Utila are: 1, I'm not drinking tonight 2, I love you 3, I'm leaving tomorrow The last had proved especially apposite as we stood atop a water tower on a hill overlooking a more than familiar island where a 2 day jaunt had become a residency. Now of course we had to stay for New Year, where else would we want to bring in 2012? And since we were here we might as well dive eh? Dive we did, in torrential rain and with the Divemaster's cheery "you're gonna get wet anyway!" not entirely comforting despite its indisputable logic. Still, the view from below was an intriguing reflection, a bit like being in a big glass box during a storm. Diving in the morning, night swimming at...er...night, water bookended our days and filled our thoughts. Tania attempted an escape from this amenable Alcatraz post New Year, her trip to nearby Roatan Island lasting a few hours and costing more than a few dollars. As she strode back into Alton'...