Costa Rica

Aesthetics Count

Lets’ get the bad stuff out of the way first so I can end on a positive note. If you were a beautiful girl with messed up teeth, you’d fix your teeth. Costa Rica, you are a beautiful girl but you can eat an apple thru a tennis racket.

Fix your teeth for Christ’s sake. And by teeth, I mean these horrendous roads. They are the lifeblood of a nation. They are the arteries used to feed the body. How goods are transported, how relatives are visited, how foreigners judge your infrastructure. Fix your teeth Costa Rica. Fix your teeth.

You don’t have an Army, Navy or Airforce. With all that money you save - perfect your roads. The majority of them north of Puntarenas are atrocious and the last 30 miles on the Carretera Interamericana into Golfito are absolutely dreadful. It’s like driving on a patched quilt. What a joke. They’ve been temporarily repaired so many hundreds of times that whatever level may have originally existed is long gone.

I couldn’t drive faster than 20mph. I would imagine this must be what a road looks like after it’s been cluster bombed. It’s fragmented dirt with cement remnants and huge craters that I can’t always fit between my tires.

The only thing bad roads are good for is “mandatory vibrato”. Everyone sings better while driving in the third world because the bouncing on these lousy roads makes it inescapable. 

(For those of you foolish enough to view this website as anything other than my own ego trip of subjectivity please note that the roads do get better south of Puntarenas with the exception of the Osa peninsula)

Latin Kitsch: They are so good at bad

Adventure Lite

It’s a good starter country for a rookie traveler. It’s safe, the paths are well trodden, you can drink the water, and you don’t even need the local currency. I saw a 25 pound rat. I thought I had seen my first capybara. No, it was a rat. This is what happens when you saturate a third world nation with a rich expat populace.

Even the vermin can overachieve on the detritus of this country. Here are the signs that a town has gone “white” (Large expat community): 1.) A humane society for animals. 2.) A proper deli with quality meats and cheeses. 3.) A craft brewery. 4.) White expats organizing trash pick-ups. You’ll find these all over Costa Rica. I’ll let you decide if that’s a good or bad thing.

If you thought Cabo San Lucas and/or Cancun were the epitome of ruined Latin America, you would be right, but Costa Rica is closing in. When I was here ten years ago I disliked it. Too many gringos and the prices were ridiculously high. It’s worse now. But – something happened this time around. I got it. It really is beautiful and its charms aren’t all fake.

I’m not buying into the Pura Vida marketing hype, but Costa Rica does have some magic. I’m not sure it warrants the price tag, but I see the shine, and I really enjoyed my 3 months there.

Now For The Good Stuff!

I stayed for well over a week at what was essentially a hippy commune in Monteverde. The temp was delightful, the rum was communal, the people were beautiful, albeit a little ripe and gamey. “Hey, they’re just water conservationists!” We hiked to waterfalls and they made music almost nightly. It seemed as if everyone played an instrument. Everyone but me. 

I support all "Zorba the Greek" types

The Coastline From Jaco To Uvita

Jaco - When I was here 10 years ago it was all hookers and drugs. Now it’s hookers, drugs and casinos. I guess some things do get better.

Matthew’s Visit

I got a friend. This guy is such a pleasure to travel with. Meet Matthew Evert. He flew into San Jose, immediately got conned by the taxi driver and then rode the bus to Puerto Viejo.

I met him there and the drinking binge began. I was parked at Punta Uvas. All of this is on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica and very much worth visiting. We snorkeled the Atlantic, hiked and caught fish in the high altitude ponds of Tapanti and then surfed the pacific.

Cahuita

If you pronounce it like a gringo it sounds absolutely filthy. I love saying that word. (My other favorite Spanish word is “cunada”.

It means sister-in-law but doesn’t it sound like the dirtiest of insults?) I had never surfed the Caribbean before. One foot waves still count right?

Limon is Sketchy

I’m not a doctor but based on the appearance of the people I saw on the street, I think there is a lot of meth in that town. I locked my doors and rolled right thru it.

On the way back I did pick up a hitchhiker even though I swore I never would again but this time I had Matthew with me. 

“The hardest part is yet to come. You will cross the country alone.” ~Death cab for cutey~

Maybe one of the best things about the countries of Central America is how easy it is to swap coasts.

Snorkel on the Caribbean, surf on the Pacific, and cool down in the middle while passing over the high altitude spine. I drove across Costa Rica twice and the road that got me there was one of the prettiest drives of all of Central America. From Dominical to Cartago the road runs the length of the central corridor mountains and puts you in cloud canopy rain forest in complete white out conditions. It was really wild.

Poor People the World Over – Not Just Central America

"Have many children do you have? Have you built your house yet? Did you make it strong against the hurricane? What are you growing this year?"

You can't grade an uneducated undeveloped populous by the same criteria you would use on an educated first world urban populous. We ask things like, "where did you do your under grad". Or, "how was your trip to Bora Bora?

They are no doubt just as smart, but their intelligence is unarticulated due to a lack of education.

You need look only a little deeper at their creative engineering to realize that the brain power is all there and then some. And though they don't hop on jets to Bora Bora, they have fascinating stories about finding Mayan ruins in the jungle. They just don't know how interesting that is.

Their lives are spent raising children and toiling anonymously in a field. The contemplative life requires surplus, and when you practice subsistence living there can be little leisure time to entertain higher thought. Hence, the conversations end somewhere after agriculture, child breeding stats, and building materials.

Usually, it devolves into a mutual agreement about how lovely that woman's bottom is. (Full disclosure: my Spanish and Bahasa are still a long way from perfect so if you disagree with me, here’s your silver bullet)

You with me so far? Good. Now hang tight, because here comes the subplot, and you get the dangling participle for free. Working to improve my Spanish, the intellectual conversations still seemed to elude me. I wanted to learn the language so I could have deep meaningful conversations with the locals. What I found instead was that the average locals have sixth grade educations and the chances of a deep meaningful conversation are about as likely as discussing Nietzsche with the beach savages back in S’Mish: “And that’s what he meant by Ubermensch”. “Dude. Did you see the waves? Dude, they are Sick!”  

I never really needed to learn Spanish. The educated people speak great English. But I am anyway. It’ll be a lifelong effort and I’ll forever need retuning (my next formalized classroom awaits me in Colombia). I find it interesting how the end lesson is often different from what we were expecting.

Back To Our Uneducated Populace

They should be graded on the following: 1). Honest 2). Helpful 3). Humorous. These are my 3 H’s of determining whether a people are great or not. Honesty – it’s the basis of all that is real & good and without it we have no foundation for any relationship at all, and that goes for every human in every situation. Period. Helpful – I might be a simpleton but Ray Allen once said, “Being ‘nice’, goes a long way”. I couldn’t agree more. And humorous? I’ve always found that if a people are quick to smile, able to find common ground in a joke, and willing to drop their guard, which is the prerequisite to laughter – we’re gonna do just fine. So… provincials the world over – I salute you, I want to meet you, and I apologize in advance for my remedial Spanish and caveman Bahasa Indonesian, but please forgive me when I tire of our repetitive discourse on the subjects of  3^rd world small talk. Really? Am I such a bastard for saying that? Come on ex-pats, tell me who you spend the majority of your time with. . . . ? Yea, I thought so.

Your man on point,

Captain Bobby

Nicaragua

The Hitchhiker

I ordered a 7 year old Flor De Cana neat. “Actually, make it a double”. I know how to trim my own sails. In 5 minutes it’s gone and in 10 minutes I know everyone in the bar. There are 3 of us, and that’s counting the bartender. It’s midday and I just escaped my own murder. Here’s the story:

I used a “Tramitador”, who is a local that knows the procedure of crossing the border from Honduras to Nicaragua. I paid him ten bucks and he eased me through the bureaucracy. When we were cleared through, he asked for a ride to the end of the border zone and since I had just spent 2 hours with him I was happy to help. We had a pleasant ride and when he hopped out a young man standing right in that spot immediately asked for a lift to the next town. Ordinarily I would have declined but my door was already open, the truck was in park, I’d just had a good experience and he caught me off guard. 

As soon as he climbed in and I saw how dirty he was I knew I had made a mistake.  It went downhill from there quickly. I tried to make small talk in Spanish and he responded in curt English.

After a long silence he asked me if his ear disturbed me. I looked at the side of his head to see that his ear had been cut off. “I didn’t even notice”.

More silence. “My dad was a mean drunk but good with a knife.”

When you have a camper on the back of a pickup truck that rearview mirror that lives in the middle of your windshield is only there so you can catch a glimpse of yourself, stare into your own eyes while thinking, “You can do this. Don’t shut down. Make him see you as a human.”

I came back with a smile and started talking about my trip so far, my mom and brother whom I love, all the wonderful things I’ve seen, how kind everyone has been to me and then I asked him why he wanted to go to Managua, the capital of Nicaragua.

“For work. I have nothing. I need a job.”

I came up with a plan. “Miguel, you aren’t going to get a job in those clothes. I have some clean clothes for you in the back. I’m going to give them to you. When we stop in a little bit for food, I’ll fill your stomach and get you dressed for success and listen, I can even give you some money so you can take the bus and won’t have to hitchhike. I believe things are going to get better for you. I’ll help you.”

His attitude improved. He was more talkative and he told me about his gang life in San Pedro Sula, the notoriously dangerous capital of Honduras. He talked about killing people but then amended his proclamation to clarify that those killings were when he was in the military. I wasn’t aware that Honduras had sent troops anywhere but I left it alone.

I remember thinking, “I have 62 km to the next town. Keep the speed up and stop at nothing until we are in a public place.”

Of all places, when we entered the city of Esteli I saw a Pizza Hut and pulled right in. I had my door open before I even put it in park. He was in complete shock when he realized I had slammed the brakes, parked and hopped out. “Come on man, I’ll buy. Let’s eat all the pizza we can!” He was reluctant to get out of the truck but it slowly dawned on him that I was no longer captive and his plan needed tweaking. While he was gorging himself I excused myself for the bathroom. I went out to the camper and grabbed him a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. I gave them to him at the table with the change from the meal – easily enough for him to get a bus to Managua. I tried to say goodbye at the restaurant but he followed me to the truck and asked for a ride to the edge of town so he could start hitchhiking again.

“Miguel, that’s why I gave you the money, so you could take the bus.”

“I’m gonna keep that money for later.”

“I’m sorry, I bought you food, gave you clothes and cash, and I gotta be honest, I’m not comfortable getting back in the truck with you. I’m going to leave by myself now.”

He was silent. We were standing in front of Pizza Hut with a big glass picture window with plenty of diners just a meter away. I felt comfortable enough to ask the following: “Miguel, when you got in the truck this morning, did you mean to do me harm?”

“The worst kind.”

Night and Day

There is a huge geographical difference between Nicaragua and Honduras. Honduras was the Switzerland of Central America with its lush green pastures saddled between mountains crowned with cool moist air while Nicaruagua is flat, dead, brown, dry & ugly.

I went from the prettiest country to the ugliest country in Central America. The beaches were the saving grace, and I put Maderas at the top

Good waves at Madreas

(but I’m getting ahead of myself) No more Mayans of ancient splendor – I entered with a bad taste and it grew even more sour. Then I met the police.

My First Sustained Corruption

These cops are shameless. They pull you over and steal your lunch money. It’s like being the last guy in the locker room at Central High all over again. The secret to dealing with these corrupt cops actually proved to me that my Spanish has really improved. I had to consciously dumb down my vocabulary and purposely conjugate my verbs incorrectly. The less I speak & comprehend, the sooner they get frustrated and wave me on.

Granada

Catnip

If the cops are this corrupt I began to think I really needed to be on my toes with the more pedestrian version of thieves. Shiny and new is like catnip to those who want your stuff, that’s why I never wash Elsie. I want her to look beat and broke from the exterior. Shiny and new is all relative: Someone tried to pop the lock on the cab of the truck and rip me off while I was sleeping. They screwed the door up for a day but they got nothing. My good friend and personal mechanic fixed the damage. Ladies and gentlemen: Mark Sessions

2 Weeks With A Childhood Friend

Mark is actually the friend who found and purchased the camper and truck that would become Elsie. “You don’t have to buy it, but if you want it, you can have it at cost. I think you should fly over here and check it out.” I did, and I did. Then he put his boys to work adapting her to her upcoming travails. She’s done well because they did a fine job.

That's how a cashew nut grows

We drove around Nicaragua and had one touristy good time after another. Mark has only traveled to Mexico and he was really shocked by how many people he met from all over the world that were traveling Central America. He made me laugh out loud a few times and I want to share the quotes with you. It was so frequent and classic that I took to recording him.

“You're Dutch? My wife is a dental hygienist, and she went to.... Hey Bobby. Where'd she go again? Yea, she went to the Dominican Republic.”

“How could you understand that guy? I couldn't understand that guy at all. Is he from France?”

“Mark, he's from Manchester.”

“That sounds French.” 

“That's in England.”

“No we don't eat lamb. That's for foreigners. Hey Bobby how do you say "fatty" in Swiss?”

To a Dutch girl: “Do you call your parents every day? Cuz I have a 21 year old daughter. How old are you? Bobby, how old do you think she is? Ask her how old she is. See, parents worry.”

“But this metal is springy. See, springy. Look, see how it bounces? It's springy. Bobby, how do you say “springy” or maybe “bouncy”?”

San Juan Del Sur. We hired a man to guard the camper during Semana Santa

Semana Santa

Everything sucks during Semana Santa. Just don’t be in a Latin country during Semana Santa. What’s Semana Santa? No way am I gonna relive that. You look it up.

Find what you love and let it kill you

I’m not trying to be morbid here, but we all expire. I wouldn’t post this but my mom is actually going to be here in a couple days and I can sooth the upset that this will bring.

Death while adventuring: Worth it. So worth it. The pain doesn’t last that long. Even when it’s a bad death, in the big scope, it wasn’t that long or that much suffering. And the memories I’ve savored since I began all those years ago wouldn’t have been with me if I didn’t take chances. So I take chances and I eventually will get caught. Hey, on a long enough timeline – everything ends in disaster, and it was completely worth it. Please remember this if you ever find yourself standing in front of my closed casket.

No I don’t have a death wish. I’ve never had a suicidal tendency in my life. For this dispatch - I started on a scary note and I’m going out on one. But, I promise on the next dispatch to also write whatever I want….;-)

My crew at Playa Maderas

Your man on point,

Captain Bobby

Honduras

In My Moment

Through the fog of evaporating sleep the scream of the rooster sounds like a woman discovering a body. As I enter consciousness it slowly comes to me that I’m in a camper in the jungles of Honduras.

Out in the wild, not in a park

I step outside to give my “maquina de libertad” a walk around. The cabover jutting forward makes Elsie look like a female Elvis impersonator in full pompadour glory. This is such a wonderfully weird life.

That's an unearthed Mayan pyramid in the background

Goodbye El Salvador

My last night in El Salvador was spent parked on the main street of Suchitoto. I loved that town ten years ago. This time around it bored me. What does that mean? Am I becoming a little jaded around the edges perhaps?

The next morning I began the extremely long journey to Copan, Honduras. The slalom course that is the Honduran highway in my seven ton sled took weeks off my life in mere hours. Dodge a manhole here, straddle a sinkhole there, scream aloud when an under horse powered car tries to pass me on a curve. I literally earned a blister on my finger from death gripping that wheel for 8 hours. Shoehorn a 3 hour inefficient border crossing into the center of the timeline and that forced me to spend the last 1.5 hours driving on truly dangerous roads in the blackest of inkwell nights. I swore I’d never drive at night. Either they don’t have street lights or someone stole the bulbs. I coached myself aloud as the behemoth semis avalanched past me.

But I made it, and I loved Copan.

It’s no Tikal, but it’s good, and the little town that has grown up around it is a pleasant place to frit away a week of your life.

First Impressions of Honduras

This is the 61^st country I’ve visited. I was warned it was the most dangerous country in all of Central America and you’d have to be nuts to go there. My camper is a research vessel. I conduct my own studies, thank you very much. I never had an issue and I spent a month in Honduras. The explanation I got while in country is that the danger exists for the locals, and that the organized crime element has a strict “hands off policy” regarding the tourists. They bring in lots of money and everyone has at least one family member who works in the tourist industry. They don’t want the bottom to fall out and one murdered tourist will do that in a single headline. Now, that doesn’t mean some desperado won’t cut your neck for your phone but it didn’t happen. 

Como?

The worst Spanish in Central America is in Honduras. Mush mouth slang makes it very hard to comprehend. I’ve never returned so many blank stares. I didn’t see one Spanish language school and that’s a first. I like Hondurans and I can vouch for them unequivocally, but make sure your Spanish teacher hails from a different nation. 

Honduras at 30MPH

In the other countries I was disappointed because I had to drive so slowly. Not Honduras. This country is over the top gorgeous. It’s the Switzerland of Central America. I slowed down to enjoy it. Western Honduras had terrible roads – I averaged about 15 mph. The eastern side was pretty good – 35 mph.

Nothing about Driving Elsie (good band name?) on these roads is relaxing. She’s enormous, so when I’m in these old Spanish colonial towns she doesn’t really fit on the tiny ox-cart streets. On the highways their low level of engineering is suspect – I just end up bouncing and then I have to greatly reduce speed because I’m so high and heavy and these roads aren’t even close to flat.  A couple drawers have broken free of their runners, my 2 doors are no longer square and don’t close correctly, I sometimes have to prime the water pump after a particularly rough pounding, a shelf has broken twice, only half of the lights are functioning, and the microwave is dead. You can’t jar this camper for 12,000 miles on these terrible roads without realizing breakage. It’s all part of the deal. I’m a mobile repair unit servicing one client only.

Goin to the brink, Of oblivion, Gonna need a shrink, To get back again - - The Cramps

The Central Americans often endanger their own lives and in so doing, mine as well. When they pass me going into a curve and they are directly alongside, where do you think they are going to go when a vehicle comes around the bend in their lane? They are going to run me off the road without thinking twice. Because I get tired of yelling at the top of my lungs as I sit alone in the cab how stupid they are once per mile, I’m just going to decide that they simply have a “lower level of safety consciousness”.

Stupid is so much shorter and easier, but I’ll spend the extra syllables since I really do like these suicidal bastards. They aren’t stupid, they just haven’t evolved their level of safety consciousness to the same level as first worlders. There is no doubt that we have a heightened sense of cautiousness in the first world. Maybe good, maybe bad. I’ve passed on a curve exactly once, and in mid pass my self-preservation gene kicked in and I realized that it was stupid and unsafe for everyone on the road, and when it was over I remember thinking “I could have been killed, I’m not gonna ever do that again!” I guess they never say the following words, “My life is pretty sweet, why would I risk passing on a curve?” Defensive driving in Spanishland is constant. I have to assume that danger is about to fly at me around every turn. I always thought I’d die at sea but these drivers have given me reason to rethink that.

Overlander of yesteryear

Today's detour brought to you by the collapsing bridges of Honduras

The Police Woman

I parked for one night in Esperanza. There is no reason to ever go there. The prison dominates everything and they give the citizens of the town free wifi since all cell phones are blocked to prevent the inmates from calling out (does that make any sense when nearly every phone has wifi capabilities?) I was in the town plaza catching up on my internet stuff when I was approached by a police woman in uniform. It was a pleasant meeting and it seemed she only wanted to practice her English. Then she asked me to accompany her back to her hovel. I want to see how the locals live and I couldn’t be rude. She took off her hat, unbuckled her belt and let that gut fall out, then she reclined on what I’m sure was a stolen prison mattress and propositioned me. Repeatedly. God am I glad I’m not a pretty girl. Those were horribly awkward moments. I barely got out of there with my Honduran virginity intact. Exquisitely unattractive and obviously insane, I hid in the camper and hoped the knock would never come. I was out of there at first light.

There is a Brewery

Lago Yojoa is barely worth visiting. There is a brewery that is located near there. It’s the perfect example of creating a tourist destination location. It has only 2 draws: the other white people who are on the backpack trail, and something other than thin tasteless beer. You’ll speak English with tourists from all over the world, and can collectively convince yourselves that you are really doing something extreme. This is where I lose readers, friends and open myself up to ridicule from the few among you who are real adventurers.

Up in the mountains above La Ceiba

Here's the hierarchy bottom to top: 4.) Those without passports, 3.) Weekers (my code word for “tourists”), 2.) Travelers, & 1.) Adventurers. I don’t even strive for the top slot. In fact, I often fall short of being a traveler. I like sleeping in Elsie with my faithful pillow, screen doors, constant fans and inconsistent aircon.  There are those that are absolutely sure they are well traveled, and they have spent lots of money on international flights, and they do rank above those who don’t own passports but they are still weekers: They fly into a place for 2 – 4 weeks, “Do the country” and fly back knowing that they are now authorities on all things Central American. This is most of you. Then there’s Nick. www.theamazonadventure.com. I first learned about this guy from my buddy Todd who told me he was pedaling a bike all the way to South America. He rode thru the Darien Gap! And what about these people who are walking? I don’t qualify as an adventurer, not on this scale.

Here’s my challenge to you who do own passports: Stay longer, go deeper, learn the language, avoid other white people, and try to go a couple days without using the words, “Awesome” or “Amazing”. You’re better than that.

Utila

I parked Elsie up in the mountains and paid for a safe spot so I could abandon her for scuba diving on an offshore island. My dive buddy was a regal looking gentleman from Nashville named Howard Rosenblum.

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

 

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

I’m a big fan. First, his photos are gorgeous and he allowed me to share them with you. But more importantly, I credit him with keeping scuba diving in my bag of tricks.

After that horrendous experience in a cave in the Yucatan of Mexico this would be my first dive. The boat dropped the hook; we geared & buddied up and splashed into the water. I gave the “all clear sign” but my pulse was a little quick. I opened the valve on my BCD, dumped my air and let the weights on my hips do their trick. About 15 feet down the panic gripped me. “Out! I want out!”

Photo by Howard Rosenblum

I surfaced, everyone else surfaced, I sheepishly explained that I’d had a bad experience, I thought I was over it, but apparently I’m not. I swam back to the boat in total defeat.

They completed their dive and when they returned everyone treated me like the kid in the wheelchair. Except Howard. I don’t know him well, but I’m guessing his kids think he’s the greatest. He was patient, sympathetic, and a good listener. After our surface interval, I made the second dive, and then 2 more the next day. And there was Howard, looking after me the whole way. I’m back, but that cave really spooked me.

Pulhanpanzak

Fire hose to the eyes.

Lost Civilizations – Goodbye To The Mayans

The Mayans didn’t expand their colossal empire south of Honduras. How I have loved exploring their ruins, but that’s over, and I suppose I will look forward to the Incas. Here’s one thing I learned and I think it’s telling:  They hit their peak of population around 900 AD and disappeared shortly after. Did you catch that? They peaked and then their civilization hit a near total collapse very soon thereafter. Civilizations lament their recessions, but maybe what we should really fear is the apex. These are happy times folks.

I can look anyone dead in the eye, and all dogs like me. That must count on some level for living honestly.

Your man on point,

It takes only 17 pounds of pressure to take off a finger. These things deliver 800

Blacktop Bobby

El Salvador

The Clock Is Ticking

I returned to Guatemala and resumed Spanish classes. It wouldn’t last long. I extended my vehicle permit for another 75 days but was informed that I must use that time to get all the way to the Costa Rican border and that I will not get more time when I cross into El Salvador, or Honduras, or Nicaragua. I didn't know that. That's a little upsetting. I canceled my classes, packed up and plotted a course for the southern border.

Great roads and even safer bridges

Speaking Spanish To A Spaniard

Before I left, I had an interesting conversation with a Spaniard over a couple beers. His topic thesis was that the Spanish were actually kinder than the English because they didn’t kill everyone. This was after I declared the Spanish to be the world’s greatest collection of rapists.

Juayua

My theory was that they had essentially raped into existence every race in the new world. Not the best way to make friends, but sometimes I drink. “Look around” he commanded of me, – lots of brown faces. “Compare this to what the English did to the Indians in the USA; giving them small pox in blankets. The only Indians I saw in the USA were on reservation land in the worst part of Arizona. No, the English were worse than the Spanish” Maybe he had a point. I couldn’t argue that you rarely see an Indian face in the USA and here in Guatemala they are plentiful.

The delightful little people of El Salvador

It was something for me to chew on. We agreed that the English (he meant me, even though my blood could hardly be called English) were crueler and guilty of industrialized murder, but that the Spanish still held the rape crown. It was an uncomfortable stalemate on which we stood elbow to elbow at the bar. I blinked first and ordered the next round.

Elsie vs. Barraveigh

It's wonderful to have the freedom of movement, and the ability to change my surroundings by stepping on a pedal. My home goes with me. I don’t wonder if I’ll like the bed at the next hotel or if the pillows will be too flat or full. I never check behind the bathroom door to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I transport my domicile from exotic locale to exotic locale.

Barraveigh from 10 years ago

El Salvador was a happy discovery. I had been there 10 years ago as a sailor on my own little boat. This was better. A boat is the wrong vehicle with which to explore a country. Let’s be honest, it’s not even good for exploring the coastline. This “Elsie” trip is so much easier and better in so many ways than my “Barraveigh” trip. I can now park on the beach and not worry about the weather. Before I was afraid a wind shift and a big swell would force me to “park on the beach” and at 22,000 pounds with a 6 foot draft, she’s not going to get back in the water again.

Volcano Cerro Verde

Nowadays, I lock my three door locks, press the “arm” button on my key fob and walk away from Elsie without any lingering doubts. A life on a boat is completely different. First, it’s work to even get off the mothership. Its work to make landfall in the dinghy and securing everything on the beach is further work. Not to mention getting back to the mothership in the dark once the wind and rain are in full force.

Exotic Edibles plucked from the jungle

And while you are ashore…Don’t venture too far, because you never know, when your home is floating that close to land with nothing more than an anchor and chain holding it in place you can’t really achieve peace of mind. It’s why sailors drink so much.

El Salvador

When I anchored in El Salvador 10 years ago, I had to cross the bar at Bahia del Sol. If you’ve done it, you were scared. This time around, I pulled up to a mountain town and parked on the side of a street. It was that easy, and the only excitement was how many pupusas I could eat at a single meal.

The Mayan Ruins of Joya De Ceren

El Salvador is Central America’s smallest country and yet had one of the worst civil wars. I’m sure today there are many individuals suffering from PTSD but I never felt uncomfortable in any of the many situations I found myself in over the month that I was there. I can vouch for El Salvador with zero hesitation.

Ridiculous "coffee tour". I fell for it, and her.

El Tunco

The last time I saw the Pacific was back in San Diego at Xmas.

I love the hammock Ed Dunbar!

Before that was long ago in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It’s great to be back at the beach, and now it’s time for a costume change. I’ve grown fond of the altering altitude game. I pack away the hiking boots and socks, break out the flip flops, bury the jackets and get that rash guard handy. I spent a lot of time at the higher elevations and the temp was so nice, but even though I loved the lack of mozzies and not having to suck in my gut under 3 layers of clothing,

This rock came crashing down from the hillside

And just narrowly missed me

I completely lost my tan and my shoulders are far from surfing shape. El Tunco meant it was time to suck it in and suck it up, and to settle back into my midday mandatory siesta with air con.

I reinstalled my Surfline app and put it front and center on my phone. Sand and board management becomes paramount. Part of the beauty of this trip is in finding delicious ways to waste time. Decadently watching the surf crash from the shade of a palapa while the rum shrinks my ice cubes is one of my favorites. There is nothing wrong with El Tunco.

Not me

The Indelicacies Of Gravity

I watched her eyes counting the passage of time on my face. The sunspots denote years, the wrinkles decades. One blink – I dim.

Aging is a vanishing act on a grand timeline. Her young eyes are unconsciously driven by her womb and I’m no longer a viable candidate for procreation.

Two blinks – I’m barely opaque.  I now fail at inane small talk and, goddamn it, did I just yawn? That’s a dead giveaway. Three blinks - I just disappeared.

Yes, everything about the Barraveigh years were more difficult in comparison to this terrestrial road trip, but the one thing that was easier was meeting girls. A yacht with sails will always trump a camper with tires. I don’t even know how to do a better job of marketing myself. Here are 2 sentences, both of which were true but one capitalized on my marketing skills, “I own a boat in Indonesia.” vs “I own a yacht in Bali” I once tempted a little tart in Korea with the latter and it worked a charm.

When you are young, it’s just naturally harder to be creepy. As you age, creepy is just right there waiting for you to say something that 10 years before wouldn’t have even been noticed.

I suppose there have been 3 good things about aging: 1.) I’ve lost my allergies to dogs. 2.) Now that I’m older than most of the people I speak to I can use the informal tense when speaking Spanish. 3.) The chances that I’m going to be kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery are just about zero.

Me And My Decades

In my 20’s it was my jawline, my curly blonde hair, and my endless bravado. In my 30’s it was my material possessions – beach house with my sailboat anchored behind it in the bay (and god did I make the most of that). Now in my 40’s; I’m pedaling wisdom, and the promise of adventure. What a fraud. My crescent moon of a jaw is the same but the Ronald Reagan neck beneath it isn’t helping. The hair is thinning and the bravado has been replaced with a mute smugness. I’ve gained a measure of serenity through adventure, but actual wisdom? And, the adventures have cost me a few houses so far; so much for the material possessions. Maybe I am no more than a mere “content provider” to those who are tethered to their traditional existences. But don’t shoot me yet- enlightenment may still await us both . . .

Swirling down into the disappearing abyss of old age,

Captain Bobby

P.S. / I suppose this is my refusal to write another boring travelogue. (i.e. - “we woke up early and drove to the lake…”) You’re stuck with my personal ramblings, and before you start sending me chastising emails to ‘buck up capt whiney’, though I am feeling my age, I also admit that I don’t really have anything to complain about.