A lot has happened since my last update, where I was sitting in Santiago, Chile, ready to embark on a journey northward. Today I sit in Kalamazoo, MI, one day after many of my friends have graduated. But I'll begin where I left off, with my journey through South America.
Buses, Boats, and Losing Things
The first part of my trip up north was not particularly eventful. Going from Santiago to northern Colombia involved seven days and seven nights on buses. In that time I moved over 4,300 miles by bus, spending a total of 130 hours on buses. If you are interested in some of the technical details of the trip, I wrote a long post outlining them for a Thorntree forum: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/
Getting to northern Chile was easy this time. No uncertain 15 hour layovers in the middle. It may have been the longest continuous bus ride I have ever done in my life (33 hours) but the bus was comfortable so I had no complaints. While crossing from Chile to Peru I had an unpleasant experience. The buses leave from a smaller terminal next door to the big terminal. When I entered, some guys saw me and set up a mini sting operation that resulted in them stealing my messenger bag. Not only was the bag itself pretty nice, I also lost some pretty important things like my computer, my camera (that I had bought three weeks before), and my diary that I had been keeping for two years. The bag was also full of things that weren't as important but just annoying to lose in the middle of the trip (not to mention that a lot of them together add up cost wise). Things like chargers for my phone, my water bottle, toothbrush and toothpaste, first aid kit, my book, and other random stuff. Luckily my passport and other documents always stay close to my body while traveling, so I did not lose those.
My initial reaction was to freak out and yell a little bit. But after 2-3 minutes it became clear that there was nothing to do. I could have gone and filed a report with the police, but I would have had to stay in Arica for a few days and it was almost certain that they would not have found anything, so I decided it wasn't worth the effort. This is the first time I've had to deal with loosing so many important, expensive, and sentimental things at the same time, but I would say that considering the circumstances I handled it pretty well. I quickly started coming up with other paradigms and lenses with which to view it to help me get over it. I thought about how from a spiritual, non-materialist perspective, these material objects were not that important, and losing them like this was a way for me to practice detaching from material things. I had a similar thought from the anti-capitalist, anti-consumerist perspective, but that one is a little skewed because I ended up buying replacements for many of the things I lost, so the loss actually embedded me deeper in consumerism in some ways. Losing all these things made my bag significantly lighter, so that was probably positive for my back. I thought about how my economically privileged position is due to centuries of exploitation by the western countries of, among others, the Latin American region where my things were stolen, so in some way I was participating in a miniscule form of historical reparations. And then, this was just another adventure, another stumbling block in the large journey which I have undertaken. While I still can't decide whether I was adequately convinced by any of these ideas, perhaps the most important one was that to dwell, to feel glum and stupid, was not going to make things any better. Instead I tried to just move on, learn from my mistakes and keep going. On that bus I was sitting next to a woman from France and after about 20 minutes of dwelling, I started chatting with her and was able to laugh and enjoy myself again. During some of the long and lonely bus rides up through Peru I had moments of doubt, where I was wondering what the hell I was doing, why I was taking all this risk to travel by bus, why I was traveling at all. But it was just something I needed to work through, and then I was fine.
Nothing of note happened until I reached Colombia. Busing through Colombia I had a few fun mishaps. The first bus I got on had something akin to a wheel exploding about an hour into the ride, so we had to pull over and get it fixed. But much more entertaining was the bus ride from Cali to Medellin. The night before there was a big storm which apparently created a massive landslide across the roadway. When we arrived, there were miles of buses, trucks, and cars waiting to cross. We arrived at 1pm and apparently the landslide happened at 1am. Traffic still wasn't moving. We drove past several km of vehicles before cutting into the line. I decided to get off and walk ahead to see the landslide. I had to walk roughly an additional 5 km until I got to the scene. I have some pictures, although they are not up because I've only had a computer for two days. The people who have seen the pictures thought I was showing them photos of a small river. This was 13 or 14 hours after the landslide and there were still mountains of sediment on each side and water four or five feet deep where the roadway was suppose to be. The hill above looked barren and some big concrete structure was demolished. There was a large group of spectators and big groups of cyclists and motorcyclists who were trying to cross along the side. A few hours after we had arrived, they finally got the roadway opened, however it still took us two hours to get across, because on both sides, buses, trucks and cars tried to get around each other such that they were sometimes stuck three or even four wide on a two lane highway with no shoulder, a hill on one side, and a drop off on the other. Of course things were just as jammed up on the other side. Somehow the traffic police managed to undo the jumble, but not only did that take a long time, afterward cars could only pass one at a time and very slowly through the landslide site.
Once I arrived in Turbo, Colombia, the place from which I had to abandon traveling by bus and start traveling by boat, things changed quickly. There is something about the boat travel that makes it significantly more social than bus travel. Just showing up and asking about boat times and prices, I befriended a Colombian, Alberto, who was also on his way to Panama. The first part of the first boat trip was wonderful. The sea was calm, the sky was beautiful, and the view was amazing. The boat was a largeish speedboat which sat about 25 of us. We stopped to pick some people up and drop some people off along the way, about 1 hour in, and took a little break. Between the break and Capurgana, the location near the border, things got way worse. First, a torrential downpour began. Everything got completely soaked. My big bag was in a trash bag, but water found it's way in there too. My passport was dripping, and my new camera was completely wet. Perhaps worse than that was that a huge storm broke out. I was on a boat on the open sea during a lightning storm that was as some points less than a mile away. I was terrified of getting hit. And the crazy winds that picked up meant some high waves so that the smooth sailing we had before turned into a roller coaster ride where we would ride up to the top of a wave and then more or less jump off of it, hitting the water with a large thud that would knock me off of my seat. I never felt nauseous, but I got of the boat with soaking wobbly knees. We had to leave Capurgana in the middle of the same storm if we wanted to arrive in Puerto Obaldia, the first location on the Panamanian side, that same day. That boat ride was at least a lot shorter, and because the boat was smaller it did not drop down quite as heavily off the waves.
Puerto Obaldia was an interesting place. It is infamously known amongst those who visit and read forums about it as the place where people get stuck. People get stuck for a few reasons. Most people go there expecting to take a plane to Panama City, because Puerto Obaldia has an airport. However, the airport only serves a tiny airplane that can carry 17 passengers, and has a schedule of 3-4 flights a week. This would not be a problem except that because the plane is so small, it can only fly in and out of the airport in near perfect conditions, and this region is known to be one of the rainiest and stormiest in the world, so it appears more than half of the flights are canceled. As a result there is a constant waiting list of people who are stranded and are waiting for the next plane, so even if you buy a ticket ahead of time and your plane arrives, you are not guaranteed to get on it. Another problem is that between Turbo and Panama City there are no ATMs. Many people go to hang out in Capurgana, then head to Puerto Obaldia and simply don't have the money to get out. I actually met to couple who the compound problem. They were in Capurgana, used up most of their money, arrived in Puerto Obaldia for their flight, and the plane was either full with stranded passengers or it never came. They were stuck in Puerto Obaldia for four days before they could catch a plane, and got down to $0. Luckily there are some fruit trees around and the airline gave them a $10/day stipend at some point. The alternative to flying is taking a lancha (small speed boat for 10-12 people). The operators of Lanchas have a collaborative agreement that no one will charge less than $100 per person for a trip to Carti, the first access point to the Panama roadway system. Puerto Obaldia is pretty, but there is not much to do. The main life revolves around a military base and travelers who are trying to get out. Water and power go out and come back at random intervals.
The positive part of this mess is that it brings people together. Within hours, a group of people looking to take a lancha out of Puerto Obaldia and hopefully pay less for it was formed. We were weird hodgepodge of people from many backgrounds, and generally referred to each other by country, or some other characteristic. There was a young woman from Chile, a guy from the Netherlands (who we called Hollanda), fresh out of high school, two long term vagabond travelers (not exactly traveling like me though, they were more of the juggle for money, sleep on the streets, travel with only a dollar in your pocket variety). One was from Colombia and traveled with a Spanish passport, so we called him España, and the other was from Mexico. Then there was a Rastafarian couple who we just called the Rastas, my friend who I met in Turbo was called Medellin, the city he was from in Colombia, and most people called me by my name, or Portland. building up a big group gave us two big advantages. First we were able to help each other out, guard people's things as we went to wander around, buy food and cook together, collect mangoes for each other, etc. But also, we were able to do some collective bargaining. Lanchas usually leave once they have seven people, so since we had a group of eight, we could offer someone a full trip, if they would take us for cheaper. I was not involved in the haggling process, Chile was the main representative, and others would join her, but eventually we got a lancha for $65 per person. While the plan was to leave in the afternoon, head to the lancha captain's home, spend the night there and leave first thing the next morning, there were some problems with border crossings and high water, so we ended up only leaving the next morning. To save on lodging costs, we spent the night in the place called the casa comunal, which was a tile plaza covered by a leaky roof, with some abandoned office space in the back. Some had hammocks and sleeping bags, others of us just slept on the floor. The nice thing about tropical weather is that with some light covers you don't get cold even sleeping outside on the floor.
The trip to Carti was intense. Luckily the weather was nice the whole time, no rain and not much wind. But the trip takes about nine hours. Also, we had a new member of the group, an English man who was traveling Latin America by motorcycle. His motorcycle came with us on the lancha. The motorcycle went near the back, but was not nearly as heavy as all the people that it displaced, as a result the boat was front heavy, until we readjusted some of the luggage. So for the first few hours we were getting buckets of sea water sprayed in our faces as we were riding. I spent the entire day soaked, and while my bag was better protected this time, my camera, passport, and wallet were soaked again. At least the ride was beautiful. We went though the Kuna Yala (also known as the San Blas) islands, which are beautiful Caribbean islands along Panama's northeastern shore. We actually ended up staying in one of these islands because as we got close to Carti as it was getting dark. We ate giant bowls of rice with some sauce based in fish, not my favorite but the only food I had that day. I slept on the ground again. Also I left my wallet out to dry and someone came in and took $30 out. But overall it was a very interesting experience, the boat ride and the stay on the island.
When we arrived in Carti, everyone was trying to convince us that there were all sorts of exit fees to leave the dock area. Also, The first hour or so of road out of Carti is unpaved, poorly maintained, and steep. So there are no buses, only drivers of SUVs that charge $25 per person. None of us were too keen on the exit fees or on the SUVs. We saw a truck and hoped the driver could give us a lift, but we couldn't find him, so we began walking away, and as we started walking on the road, the truck came our way. We asked the driver if he could give us a lift and he had no problem with it. So we all got in the cargo area of the truck (it was a covered by a thick tarp, so there was still air and light in the back, not a sealed metal container). The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable, but we all got to hang out and chat, and we were all excited about soon arriving in Panama City after such a long and tumultuous journey. Somewhere along the way, the driver stopped and opened the back. We were at a police checkpoint. The police didn't get angry at us or at the driver, but they said we couldn't ride in the truck anymore. Apparently it was a safety concern. But luckily we were close enough that right behind us was a bus that could take us into Panama city for a dollar. The Rasta couple went with an SUV back in Carti, and Medellin, Mexico, and España all got off in different places, but Hollanda, Chile, and I all decided to find a hostel and hang out in Panama together. We spent a few days just relaxing, walking around, chatting, and eating. I went and bought replacements for some of the things that were stolen, and got a cell phone sim card so I could contact my host family from back when I did AMIGOS. After about three days there, we each went our own way, Hollanda went back to The Netherlands, Chile to Bocas del Toro, and I went to Cañazas to visit my host family.
Returning with Different Eyes
For those who don't know, in the summer of 2005 I did an AMIGOS program in Panama, which meant that I spent two months doing volunteer projects in Cañazas. While I had many difficulties and qualms with my experience and my project, I had a wonderful experience with my host family, that I managed to more or less stay in touch with. It was wonderful to see them again, and it was strange to see how much the little kids had grown. My host mom's granddaughter, Ada Iveth, who came to the house every day, was only 5 last time, so much had changed in the seven years. Next door there was a 10 months old baby last time, who was now seven. Just as surprising were the things that hadn't changed. My host mom, her husband, and her sister who also lives with them, look more or less the same and do pretty much the same thing as seven years ago.
It was interesting to interact with various people this time though. First my Spanish was significantly better. I had one conversation with more meaningful content at the end of my stay in 2005. This time I could dive into a conversation with anyone about anything. It allowed me to fill in much of the color of the people and the neighborhood. Also, after living in Germany, China, Ecuador, and Chile, and after graduating from college studying political science, I was much more attentive for all sorts of cues and flags to helps me build a more complete picture of the society I was in. Some of these observations were great. For example, I had a much fuller understanding of how amazingly generous and caring my host family is. There are always tons of people walking in and out of that house, but I was more attentive to who they were, and I was able to ask about them, I gathered that my host family regularly takes people in who need a home or have no where else to go. These could be country kids that need to be close to school, people with certain disabilities that hinder social interaction, or just people who live alone and are lonely. The amount of love streaming from my family toward everyone around them was evident and heartwarming during my stay.
The extent of cultural isolation became ever clearer. When I told people that I had not been baptized, nor had I had first communion, most of them gaped at me in horror. When I told them that I didn't know if I want to get married or have kids, my host mom laughed because she didn't know how else to react. Clearly I came from another planet. I didn't dare tell anyone that I did not believe in god, except for one friend I made who was my age. I can't say she took it well, she spent some time trying to convince me otherwise (including bringing me a scientific argument for the existence of god, something along the line of "human bodies are really complex, and the conditions for life on earth are perfect, just a bit closer or further from the sun and we couldn't exist. Could that be coincidence? No, there must be a God"). But we could have intelligible conversations about it. The little kids I played with once came running up to me and said "Javier said you don't believe in God", "liar, she's the one who said it". Clearly this would have been a serious insult. Another interesting experience was that I was consistently asked, not only by kids but also by adults, if it's true that over there (US) they don't speak Spanish. I always tried to answer this in the complex fashion, answering that there is no official language and that there are neighborhood that are pretty much Spanish only, but that most people speak English, and that most schools are run in English. They were always amazed that most of the TV channels are in English, which I though was funny because they mostly watched US shows dubbed in Spanish.
Unfortunately I also got to see a less pleasant side. Not surprisingly, sexism, racism, and xenophobia is alive everywhere. Understanding more of what people said resulted in picking up on many more intentional and unintentional sexist remarks and picking up on underlying patriarchal ideologies. This was especially true when talking to young men, who I ended up not spending much time with. I had one friend in town from last time who still had some good things to say, but the others seemed to be only capable of saying misogynistic things or ask me how much beer I drink and what type. Occasionally they could also mention something about soccer. You can imagine those conversations didn't go on too long. Racist and xenophobic remarks were thrown around like it was nothing. There is a lot of angst against Asian immigrants (who are all referred to as Chinese there. Most of them to come form China, but not all). There is a belief that they come in, and take all the job and that's why it's harder to find work (I've heard this somewhere before). Comments ranged from the seemingly innocent "isn't it funny how all Chinese people look that same" to the fairly intense "we need a fumigation against the Chinese". I never felt in place to call people out on racist remarks, instead I just did my best to politely disagree and present my perspective.
Being around children and sometime children and their parents was also interesting. I loved seeing how much more natural and easy it was for me to play with kids compared with last time. I think language played a big part. Even though language is not that important for actual playing, it can get kind of difficult when you can't understand what the kids are telling you and when you can't quickly call them over or ask them to stop something. I think I have also become much less uptight. While I learned "fake it till you make it" at outdoor school, outdoor school has strict rules and at the end of the day is highly structured and under control. Trying to play with 10-15 kids ages 4-10 by throwing them around and doing any other crazy thing is always going to result in relative chaos. I think I can handle the chaos better in part because I am more confident and relaxed, but in part also because of my experience on LandSea. The lead from behind strategy on LandSea means that things always lie somewhat outside of my control, it means that there is always a certain level of chaos. The trick is to maintain enough control to prevent chaos from ending in disaster. I don't know what will happen, but I know I can rein it in if it goes in a bad direction. I like to think of this as ordered or controlled chaos. Being ok with ordered chaos allows a whole world of extra flexibility that I never had before.
Playing with the kids was also interesting because I got to see a very different parenting style from the one I am used to. Disciplining in Cañazas, in the poorer and in the more well to do neighborhoods, primarily consisted of yelling "I'm going to hit you" and actually hitting the children. My disciplining style works more along the line of asking questions and waiting. I really like "why did you do that?" "do you think she/he liked that?" "do you think that was a good idea?" etc. The kids were usually very confused by all the questions because that is not what they were used to. I also finally had my proof that hitting kids to discipline them is a bad strategy, in case I still had any doubt. I was hanging out with my four year old neighbor and wasn't doing exactly what she asked me to do, so she elbowed me pretty hard in the arm, which actually hurt. I asked her why she did it and she said it was because I was misbehaving. I asked her why she had to hit me though and she said that's what you're suppose to do when someone misbehaves, that what her mom does to her when she misbehaves. I tried to explain that her mom had a special responsibility for her and that she just can't go hitting anyone because she thinks they misbehaved, but the response sounded hollow. It was clear that the message being engrained at this early developmental age, is that the way to resolve conflict is through physical confrontation, and not through discussion and reflection. And I began to see the impact everywhere around me, it was frightening.
On the town level, it was interesting to note some of the changes. Cañazas was transitioning from big village to small town and struggling with some growing pains. Stores were closing earlier because several had to deal with armed robbery. Someone had been murdered four years ago, so everyone was afraid of walking alone at night. The house I was staying in had a lock on the door instead of a rock to keep the door shut. It was a very different mentality. Also, I don't know if this was because of the season or the global economic crisis, but the food was a lot less natural. Freshly squeezed fruit juice was replaced by Tang. Freshly ground corn tortillas were replaced by store bought preshaped tortillas. We still picked fruit of the tree and ate it, and I ate chickens that were roaming the back yard earlier in the day on a regular basis (I had to eat meat three times a day during my visit in Panama). But the store and its packaged goods became a much bigger part of the diet. The town was also entering the same political struggles communities face around the world. A dam was being built upstream, causing for the river to be at its lowest level in the memory of anyone in town, and causing frequent water and electric outages. There was no real resistance movement, but a lot of sitting and complaining.
It was hard to say goodbye to everyone, but I left promising to come back the next time I could, and trying to imagine what I would find when I returned.
Traveling Through Central America
Before beginning the long bus journey to the US, I headed to San Jose Costa Rica to visit Irene and Jessie, friends from high school that I hadn't seen in three years. On the bus ride up I sat next to someone I had met in the hostel in Panama City. She told me about a cool farmers' market in San Jose that we were able to visit the next day. Irene and Jessie are currently project staff on an AMIGOS project in Costa Rica, so they along with the other staff member had some work to do. I was also pretty tried and getting sick, so we didn't end up doing too much, mostly hanging out and catching up, although we did go to a roller skating rink one evening and had fun cooking at the hostel. But more than anything I enjoyed catching up after being out of touch for so long. I think one of the things I am most proud of is having really cool friends, and Irene and Jessie are a perfect example. they just go from one awesome engagement or adventure to the next. And even though we haven't done a great job of keeping in touch, the connection was still there. Another fun thing I did in San Jose was lose my debit card. Luckily this wasn't so bad because I could pull money out as a cash advance using my credit card, it just felt stupid and meant I ended up with about $10 in fees. I think I left it in an ATM somewhere.
From San Jose I began a straight shot toward Austin, where I had a several day layover before my bus to Kalamazoo. Busing through central America turned out to be way more complicated because buses did not run at night, or even in the evening. In fact, buses stopped running early enough so that they would arrive at their destination no later than early evening. As a result, when I arrived at the border of Nicaragua at 6:30pm, there were no more buses. Luckily I managed to join up with two hippies from Canada who were traveling around selling bracelets, necklaces, and other crafts. None of us wanted to take the absurdly expensive taxis, and they had some experience hitch hiking, so we got a ride with a trucker to the next town over. He was really nice and ended up buying two bracelets from them. From there we caught another truck. They got off mid way to go to Grenada, and I kept going to a town called Leon close to Managua. I had a recommendation for a cheap backpackers' hostel there. I was able to pay because it turns out that in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Honduras, even though each has its own currency, you can pay anyone in dollars and often get a better price that way. From there I was a few converted school buses to the border, and a short bus trip got me across the thin stretch of Honduras that lies between Nicaragua and El Salvador. I luckily caught all the last buses to San Salvador. I got there when it was dark and was pretty confused about where to go, but it turned out there was a relatively cheap bus to Guatemala City that left first thing the next morning, and a relatively cheap hotel next to where it leaves from, so I spent the night. During this time I was developing a cold, in part because many of the buses had air conditioning. I got to cross Guatemala City on there Bus Rapid Transit system, which is full of police officers wearing helmets that look like British helmets from colonial times. I had to keep myself from laughing. Then another few hours to the border and I was in Mexico.
Mexico was much easier to handle. The buses were much more expensive, but at least they ran at night. I caught a bus that same evening which arrived in Mexico City the next afternoon, and two hours later I was on a bus headed for Austin. The bus ran a little late, because it got a flat tire on the road and we were held up at the border, but the next evening, I had arrived in Austin. This journey was much shorter than the one in South America, only 3000 miles and 87 hours on buses.
Greyhound Fails AgainMy stay in Austin was fun, but not too exciting. This is mostly due to me being really tired and still being a little sick, so I was not very adventurous. My couch surfing host was awesome and invited me to do things with her, but she had work and other stuff going on. Highlights of my stay included eating delicious texmex tacos, getting a sinus infection for the first time, meeting a student from Spain who does journalism stuff and wrote a blog post about me, meeting up with someone I had met on LandSea four years ago and had not spoken with since then (Facebook never ceases to amaze me), and going to Hippie Hollow, the only clothing optional beach in Texas.
After all that excitement I began heading north. At first I was pretty impressed with the Greyhound buses. The new buses have outlets and wifi and are pretty comfortable. I had four connections on my trip, and in Tulsa, OK, my bus left two hours late and began breaking down along the way. So we were stranded at the Greyhound station in Joplin, MO. They were suppose to send us a new bus in two hours, but instead it took five, so I arrived in St. Louis seven hours after I was suppose to arrive. I was suppose to arrive in Kalamazoo that same day at two in the afternoon, and they told me they could only reroute me so that I would arrive at 10:30 the next morning. In desperation I tried to take a megabus to Chicago so that I could catch a train and arrive that same evening. I had half an hour from when the megabus was suppose to arrive and when the train was suppose to leave. But the way my luck runs, the bus ran into heavy Chicago traffic right on the border of Cook county and arrived fifty minutes late. And of course Amtrak is never late when you want it to be late. It turns out there are no carriers that do a Chicago-Kalamazoo route after 6pm, so I was stuck in Chicago for the night.
I had a few option of where to stay, but they were a friend's mom's house and an friend from high school who I haven't spoken with since the end of high school, plus I didn't feel like running around the city. The train station closed at night, and I could get fully reimbursed for my train ticket, so I decided to head back to Greyhound around the corner and get a ticket for the first bus in the morning, which I could get as a trade for my missed tickets from St. Louis to Kalamazoo. The Greyhound station is open all night for ticketed passengers, but one is not allowed to lie down. I kept looking for different places where the security guard wouldn't see me, because my sinus infection was causing my whole face to hurt and laying down and closing my eyes made it better, but I got woken up every half an hour. It reminded me of security chasing me around Hicks in the morning because they didn't want me sleeping there as people were coming in.
Then I finally arrived in Kalamazoo and the long journey a quarter way around the world was over. This has already been a long update, so I'll talk about my experiences in Kalamazoo in the next one.
Looking to the Future
I have about another week in Kalamazoo and then I am headed to Boston where I will be spending my summer. In late August I fly to Israel and I hope to spend a few months there. From there I have all sorts of plans and ideas, but no concrete plans.
Best of luck to you in whatever you are doing, and I hope to see you soon
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