Day 19: Casco Viejo

10.29.2012

Dad is showing the same symptoms as when we were in Hong Kong, putting blame of his mucus filled cough onto the polluted air...I start fearing that he's going to catch a cold again.

Yet we walk the streets of Casco Viejo, the older part of town still within the boundaries of the capital city. Since officially assigned the title of World Heritage site by good ol' UNESCO, Casco Viejo is going through a huge facelift. Walking through town is a time-consuming drag; roadblocks are everywhere with construction happening on every other block.

The outer walls of the town buildings must be kept intact, so the workers clean and reinforce the inner rubble which is visible from the entrances and frames that lack doors and windows. Next to every refurbished block with luxurious hotels, posh restaurants, and trendy wine bars, is a block or two of locals living in meager conditions. Making a rough assessment of the situation, so far 37% of the town is for the rich and/or tourists. Within 3-4 years the supposed overhaul will be complete, and surely it will attract more of the upper-class. What is to happen to the currently remaining 63% who won't be able to afford the inflated prices for rent...?

The service here in Panama has thus far been dry and unfriendly, (bitterness towards those that are slowly taking over their hometown?), and in the midst of getting tired of it all, I ask a parking lot gatekeeper for directions. He stops me in the middle of my question and says "buenos días," and asks me about my day. After being satisfied by my answer, he permits me to ask my question.
Crap, I'd totally forgotten my manners and had started treating everyone else like crap.
What a lesson.

A long run to the post office to give my postcards some wings, finds me back in the so-called ghetto where the police scolded us the day before. This time my only possessions are shoes, shorts, a shirt, postcards, and just enough money to buy stamps. With nothing much to lose (and nothing of interest for thieves), I run the streets and see a different and livelier side of Panama city. Since I only knew the general location of the post office, I had to ask for directions to about 10 people. Something about a lost Japanese boy, sweating hard to get a card to his girlfriend in a foreign land, greatly amused the people here and I received all the help that I could've hoped for. After 45 minutes of running and asking, I finally reach the unrecognizable office and run back to our hotel greatly satisfied with the adventure and new affection for the locals.

Dad had been resting to improve his health, so I take advantage of the nice kitchen facility by cooking soup filled with tons of vegetables. Gotta get him in good condition before the soon-to-come, long-awaited highlight of this trip, Machu Picchu.

Day 18: Miraflores Lock

10.28.2012

A day where nothing goes as planned...

Trying to avoid taxi fares, we set out to find the locals' collective bus stop by foot. If found, we'll get to one of the locks along Panama Canal for under $1US, yay for saving money!
After following directions given to us by one of the hotel receptionists for 30 minutes, then an unsure suggestion by a security guard at a park, and finally a driver who literally shoos us off his bus, we can't find the damn bus stop.

We know our current location on the map, so I improvise a new interpretation of where this phantom station is. I decide we should cut across towards this new theory point, though the streets seem narrow and tangled, "as long as we are headed west, we'll get there somehow!"
As adventurous and bold as I may have seemed, it was merely pride in my sense-of-direction and competence that would not allow us to catch a taxi at this point. The sun would soon be right above our heads, it was already warm and stuffy...

One block onward, a turn around the corner, and we suddenly enter what appears to be lower-incomed apartment complexes with unfinished brick walls, dusty/bumpy streets, garbage everywhere, and direct stares that don't smile back. Ah, this is where the books have been telling us to avoid walking through...
"HONK!" screams a white pick-up truck from behind us. I look closely and there are two men in military uniform sitting in the front, it says "Policia" on their vehicle, phew. The driver signals us to come towards him and asks "what are you doing here? Hide your camera and phone!" and after a bit of explanation and confusion on both parts (most likely due to my Spanish), he tells us to hop on into the covered bed of the truck. He drives us through the streets in the direction that we were headed towards, and I understand why the officer and the books told us to stay out of the streets.
We get through to safety, a remote, rural area with grass and an entrance to a freeway. The cop orders us to get off and keep walking straight. We do, but I am to believe now that he thought our desire was to walk the whole 8 km to the locks.
After another 45 minutes in search for any bus that would take us near the lock, Dad says "let's just get a taxi." I don't know if I dreaded or hoped for those words, but with this one phrase I fell at ease giving in and flagging down a taxi. A mere 10 minutes on the tiny vehicle and we arrive at our long anticipated destination, Miraflores Lock.

The locks at Panama Canal is a must see.
Right upon arrival, we witness a gigantic tanker that paid US$200,000 to pass through the canal. The timing is so superb, I have to thank my dumb pride for costing us so much time in the morning to get here.

To see the biggest construction in the history of mankind, and to think that the dimensions of most ships in the world are designed to fit through the Panama Canal; both are quite a boggle of the mind.
The museum here is quite enjoyable too, since I usually dislike them.
(For those that aren't familiar with locks and how the Canal works, google it!)

We learned our lesson, and taxi it back to our hotel in the Casco Viejo region of Panama City. Unfortunately we take a suggestion from our guidebook and eat at a diner which requires a walk in the ghetto. The food and service terrible, the way back was a bit creepy in the dark.

We find sanctuary in the closeby market owned by a Chinese family. Somehow, the same skin-tone makes me feel at home, and my fear of Panama City is diminished knowing that fellows of Asian descent are able to establish shop here.

A few beers and I am out.

Day 17: to Panama

10.27.2012

Costa Rica for only a night. We know there's much to see here, but our wallets (or just mine?) won't allow the tourist-inflated prices of this country. Maybe later, when I become a millionaire.

At the TICA Bus station in San Jose, we encounter a thoughtful baggage keeper who reminds me of a friend in Maui. They look like twins and have the same sort of softness radiating through their pores. After checking-in, I step outside of the station building to grab us some lunch. Baggage guy notices me, and gives me directions to the nearest fast food. Tells me to say "hi," to the lady working there and to mention his name, Juan.
The lady working the pick-up counter is bored in her stall, is reading the news, and pays no particular interest towards my arrival.
But after hearing "Juan," her eyes twinkle, and chats with me about her family that lives in Norwalk, CA. I ask her what Juan likes to drink, and she tells me to get him a Coke. I deliver it on the way back and he thanks me with the sweetest smile.
hm, I wonder what's up between the two...
friends? a mutual crush? lovers?

Other than the Panamanian border being a stupid hassle to get through, the day is spent on the bus, next to my Dad who's learned how to sleep his way through the rides. I unfortunately have not yet mastered the skill, so am left reading, writing, reading, and blankly looking out at the silhouetted mountains against the starlit sky.

Day 16: to Liberia (Costa Rica)

10.26.2012

As we wait for the bus at a picnic table in the sleepy town of Altagracia (Ometepe Island), a tour guide that we saw on the streets early in the morning, decides to sit next to us. It seems like he hasn't shaved in 3 days, his eyes are a bit bloodshot, his clothes dirtied, and has a look of insolence in his eyes.

He asks for some of our breakfast, so I give him half of my doughnut.
He then asks for money, and I refuse.
He starts talking and is negative; complaining about how the tourists don't pay for his worth, how his company treats him like crap, and how he hasn't eaten in days. He speaks English fairly well, but every 1/3 of his sentences are swear-words and it's quite hard for me to accept the tone of his speech.
Hearing him out, reminded me of the kids that were roaming the streets in Granada...

While laughter and squeals could be heard from behind elementary school walls, of kids dressed in spotless uniform, the less fortunate were on the streets trying to make a living in soiled, over sized rags.
There was a kid that asked for money while we were eating at the park. I regretfully refused. Asking turned into begging, and the begging eventually turned into demands. Finally he gave up, shot a look of immense scorn, and parted me with racist slang.
There was another kid who came into the park riding on the back of a carriage. When the horse parked, the kid got off and started helping the business owner set up shop. I got caught staring in awe at his speedy work-style, and our eyes met. I smiled (to hide my embarrassment), he smiled back and shyly went back to his work.

Coming back to our picnic table in Ometepe...
The guide sitting in front of us, with his anger gleaming at the world, I imagine to have been like the prior of the two kids.
Unfortunate circumstances and upbringings probably have a huge impact on how people come to be (more so and in varied ways that I can ever imagine), but still, I am partial to the hard-working. A bit unfair, since we all have been given life and are responsible to survive. But, free money is free money, and no matter how well or badly used, it´s not going to be the same as something well deserved.
I can feel sympathetic towards this guide in front of me, but I can not come to like him...nor the kid that swore at me two days earlier.
I already look up to the kid who jumped off the carriage to quickly assist his boss. At still a young age, he already knows what work is about...and can do so with a smile.


Bus, ferry, taxi, bus, bus;
takes us out of the island, all the way across the border into Costa Rica. We decide to stay in a city called Liberia. There's really nothing for us to see here, and realize that everything in Costa Rica is expensive; people are driving shiny Japanese cars, markets are stocked with wine that I could never afford, and gyms are packed with people exercising themselves while being entranced by the shared TV screen above.
What a difference one line (border) can make.

Day 15: to Ometepe Island

10.25.2012

2pm, we depart on a small and colorful ferry to Ometepe, supposedly the biggest island in a freshwater lake.

There's a lady who is escorting her daughter all throughout the facilities of the ferry. Whenever the lady sees something of interest, she gasps with excitement, faces her daughter, and explains in detail what she sees or hears through hand-felt sign language.
Her daughter is blind and deaf.

All throughout the trip, I'm reminded of how fortunate we are to be able to take a leisurely trip across continents.
Today I am reminded that there's more than money and time to feel blessed about.

Day 14: Day in Granada

10.24.2012

Granada is one of them colonial towns where the Parque Central serves the city center.
We buy cheap coffee from a street vendor (it's always instant coffee), find a bench under a tree, and just sit for a lazy 15 minutes. The sun, bad coffee and perfect recreational setting forcefully makes us decide (without any words) that we will stay another night here, in Granada.

A stroll down to the lake, 25 cents to walk out onto the pier, another dollar to exercise along the beachside park, a few cents to climb up the cathedral bell tower, and a wander into the dirty locals' market. There's no need for expensive, guided excursions anymore; we've learned how to entertain our eyes and cameras just roaming the city by foot.

While taking a break at our hotel I find the owners, Luis and Francis, eating dinner at the shared dining space.
Looks yummy, "what is it that you're eating?"
Francis responds, "Try some! Bring your dad out, you two can have a taste."
And so we are served a heaping portion of stewed chicken with vegetables, rice, and fried plantains.
It was by far the most homely, heartwarming, and healthy dinner we had on this trip...for free.

At night Luis, Dad, and I watch the first game of the World Series.
I sit next to Luis, and throughout the game he keeps mumbling to me in swift Spanish under his breath.
I finally realize what Japanese nationals mean when they say someone's English is easy/hard to understand. Luis' Spanish is impossible for me to comprehend.
I figured though that there are 3 ways to respond to Luis' quick murmurs.
1. NOD - when he makes a statement about a player.
2. YES/NO (usually YES) - when he asks a question about baseball in the US.
3. KEEP QUIET - when he talks to himself.
By the end of the game, I could guess correctly from the 3 types of comebacks, and swear I actually started to understand what he was trying to say. Who knows if we'd really communicated, it was a pleasant time spent sitting next to Luis.

78 years old, 36 children living all throughout the Americas, uncountable number of grandchildren (he really didn't know), and a hospitable wife that cooks lovely meals. Luis and Francis, I'd like to come back and stay here again.

Day 13: to Granada, Nicaragua

10.23.2012

A worrisome travel day for us.

-2 hours on Bus: Comayagua - Tegucigalpa
-Taxi(?) to TICA Bus
-6 hours on TICA Bus: Tegucigalpa - border - Managua
-Taxi(?) to microbus station
-1 hour on microbus: Managua - Granada

With travel times and transfers added up, we are to depart at 7am and arrive at Granada by 6:30pm.
Dad is quite scared since his books tell him that the two capitals we will be making transfers at, have dangerous areas with increased theft and violence.
We remind ourselves that nothing can be accomplished if we keep worrying, and prepare ourselves for worst-case scenarios. Yet, the goal to be in Granada by nightfall is quite an ambition with too many uncertainties.

Here I shall list the day's transportation tasks along with its corresponding uncertainties.

1. Can we depart Comayagua on time?
We're told by the not so thoughtful bus company dude that the buses for Tegus (Tetugucigalpa) departs at 5, 6, 6:30, and 7am, while the hotel owner says every hour starting at 6am...
2. Will it actually take only 2 hours to get to Tegus, since collective buses never arrive on time?
3. In Tegus, we'll be dropped off at a "shabby part of the city," with no address to be found.
Will we be safe? Tegus is said to have crimes around bus stops
4. From there, will we be able to make it to the TICA Bus terminal?
We have no clue where we're being dropped off, again not on the maps.
5. Will TICA Bus have tickets left for Managua?
6. Is border crossing going to be hassle-free?
7. Managua's TICA Bus terminal is notorious for being the center of crime and drug deals.
Will we get out of there without being harmed?
8. Will we arrive in Managua and somehow get to the microbus terminal in time for its last departure to Granada at 8pm?
9. Will we arrive at Granada in time to find good/cheap hotel options?

Conclusion: at 9pm, 2.5 hours after our hopeful calculations, we check-in at a cute hotel operated by an old, lovely couple.

Two lucky things happened.
The TICA Bus was packed with students taking a field trip, and we purchase 2 out of the last 3 tickets left.
Secondly, we meet Alvaro on the TICA Bus. He is a boss at a company that deals with security guards, and knowing the dangers at Managua, offers us a ride to the microbus station. His lovely wife picks us all up, he takes the wheel and drives us directly to the station.

Dad wants noodles, again, so we treat ourselves to the only Chinese food in the area.

Day 12: Lessons from a bus that doesn't stop for bathrooms

10.22.2012

Luckily, the pouring rain stops for a moment to help us decide on taking the early bus into Comayagua.

7am departure on a local collective bus that has no bathrooms. Frequent stops are made to pick people up from the streets, but once on the bus, you are to stay put until the final destination.

30 minutes into the supposed 2-hour ride, I feel my bladder wanting to release. I look at my watch, 1.5 hours left. Maybe I can hold it...
At first it's discomfort, then a dull pain, stinging pain, and then follows the horrible fear of what is to happen if I just pee in my pants...by now, the vehicle is packed.

At 8:05, I ask the toll-collector if I can run out during the next pick-up to take care of my urgent situation. He says. "it's only 20 more minutes, hold it," honestly, I don't know if I can. What seemed like an eternal 18 minutes pass and still no sign of a city. Right as I was about to possibly let myself go into my handy towel (surely it won't absorb all of what is there), and with a local lady and her baby sitting next to me, the bus stops to pick up 5-6 people. I see tall grass and bushes. "Just go!" without permission I squeeze myself through the front, run out to the grass and release for a whole 48 seconds with my back to the bus.
I come back and receive cheers from the 3 Australians sitting in the front. With a huge smile on my face, I sit back down to enjoy just being in a normal state. OH, how great it feels when you aren't in pain nor have any immediate worries.
Good thing I went then, for the bus didn't arrive until 2 hours later.
20 minutes?! Liar.

How is it so, that I can endure hunger for a long time, even if it gets painful, but cannot hold pee for that long? It's a curious question for me since we need food to live, but we shouldn't have to die for stretching our bladder for 3 hours. Food intake also cannot be controlled at times, while you "can" pee whenever you want to (if you don't mind embarrassment). So why is it that the need for release is more painful than the need for food intake?

In my happy happy state, after my long long pee-pee, I concluded that there's a lesson to be learned here.
Longing for something is an easier thing to do compared to letting something go.
Lessen your needs and control your desires Yuta, and maybe life will become easier for you.

Comayagua was a weird place. Nothing there to do with barely any restaurants open for dinner. We eat at an overly priced, excessively decorated restaurant that serves coffee with a thin plastic mixing spoon.
We get a good laugh.