Vamos en el Mundo

So onwards from Cartagena and we went further up the north Colombian coast to Santa Marta. Arrival in this place took place in the dark of night and involved firstly getting to the hostel. We got a taxi to the door of the Dreamer Hostel. When we pulled up it looked dark, desolate and abandoned and there was a bizarre looking large dirty matrass outside the door. But the hostel is actually like something from a Carlsberg ad. Once you ring the bell and gain admittance, it is probably the best hostel in the world .... The door opens into a cool outdoor inner garden complete with bar, swimming pool, nice art on the walls and cool people sauntering about. The rooms surround this delightful courtyard. So, we were glad we had arrived.

We spent a day or two hanging about Santa Marta, which to be fair as a city, doesnt have all that much going for it. The drawcard of this place is all the amazing things you can do in the surrounding area. One of such things includes a visit into the depths of the vast chasm that is the..Sierra Nevada mountains. It´s also where, after a bit of a mission and a half, you might stumble upon...a Lost City.

Yep, the Ciudad Perdida is a place which only became known to the world after some treasure hunters happened into it in the 70´s. The indigenous crowd that live in the mountains knew about it all along though, as it was, and still is a very sacred place in their culture. One looter decided to let the Colombian authorities know about it and it has been fascinating visitors ever since. It´s believed to have been built long before Macchu Picchu in Peru. So off we went on our five day mission to get to it. Here´s a bit of an account of how our trip went.

Day 1
We got up, excited. We weren´t going to let the pissing rain dampen our spirits. Oh no, it was all systems go. We accepted that it was gonna be a wet one. We waited in the hostel to be picked up. Here we met a part of our fellow trekking contingent, Laura, Hugh and Riona from Ireland! The bus picked us up at about 10.30. Less a bus really and more an open sided truck that would ensure we´d be readily soaked before even getting there... If youve ever been on the Viking Splash tour in Dublin, twud remind you a bit of that. Two hours later and we got transferred into another smaller off road truck that would be taking us the first way into the wilderness. We started on the mucky slippy narrow track slowly but surely. All the supplies for the next 5 days of madness were loaded up on top and I must commend the efforts that were made to keep everything protected from the pouring rain. As is the norm on such truck journeys we began to be violently flung from side to side as the driver tried to navigate the tricky surface beneath. In the midst of this, it was also a good idea not to look out the window as we inched around bends and along sheer edges...and to try and ignore it when the truck nearly completely toppled onto its sides! But when that wasnt enough fun, it was crossing a few gushing rivers that added to the excitement.

Somehow the truck was able to cross these and manouvre its way out of the mud we were sinking into. All grand until we veered into one particular ditch, the vehicle jolted and we were stuck. Several attemptes to get us out were of no avail when we realised the steering was bashed. For a while we went nowhere....

.....waiting for another vehicle to come get us. When everything was finally transferred and ourselves squashed onto the new, smaller vehicle we were off again. We were ecstatic when we finally got to a little village where we´d have lunch and then set off.....

With all the hullabaloo with the truck, we were only setting off on foot at about 3pm. This meant we would have to trek into the night to get to the first camp....fabulous. The first hour of the hike was the usual jovial merriment that the beginnings of treks generally are. Then came the first adventure element - our first river crossing. It involved trying to keep our backpacks dry as we waded into the cold waters and tried to keep our balance as the water got steadily higher..(it would be a common feature over the next few days) After this we started ascending onto a narrower, steep and extremely wet and muddy path. You would either put your foot forward for it to slide back down to where it started or it would sink knee deep into a sludgy hole. It was quite a task indeed to keep the other foot steady while you tried to retrieve the invisible one from what seemed like cement! The views on this way up were absolutely phenomenal though....

Darkness came with a bang. We trudged on, not really knowing where to be putting our foot next. Our stupid cheap torch we´d bought the day before quickly ran out of steam and became useless. I had to be assisted from sliding numerous times by one or other of our super guides - Jesus, and a 13 year old helper from the indigenous community named Mariano basically became my two sidekicks!

A couple of hours of this and another wet river crossing and we eventually reached the beacon of base camp 1. Hip horray. We had much needed showers albeit cold and by borrowed torch light. Dinner was fantastic; Im amazed at how delicious the food was really. We chatted a bit and got to know everyone in our group. There were 5 Spanish girls, the Irish, 3 Ozzies, a German and a Swiss guy, great crowd of poeple. Then we went to our respective hammocks for a nights sleep.

Day 2

Into the soaked and freezing clothes it was and we were set for our morning amble down to the cocaine lab. That´s right, we were going to be shown the beginning stages of the lucrative coke industry tucked up here in the depths of a Colombian mountain range. This, by the by, is not an official part of the Lost City trek..the guy had come to us the night before asking if any of us wanted to go and see it. What the hey, when in Colombia....We made our way down a tiny path towards a makeshift tent shrouded in the jungle. A black bag covered a couple of benches stacked with unmarked dirty bottles of chemicals. We all sat, watched and listened as the guy set about preparing the concoction that would make the coca paste while he explained how the process unravelled from high up here in the mountains to the factories in Santa Marta and onwads to the rest of the world. 80% of the worlds coke supply comes from Colombia but all to the detriment of the countries population; the farmers who are forced to cultivate the coca plant for this purpose for pittance and the people caught up in Colombias long and bloody drug wars. It was interesting to see though....

After this unusual morning activity, it was back to base camp for some brekkie and to start our days hiking. The weather was good to start. The walk was hard and easy in equal measure really. There were uphill, rocky and slippy parts as well as downhill lovely moments and of course the obligatory river crossings. A couple of hours in and we encountered the native Kogi Indian tribe that live in these parts. At one point to one side you could just see their tiny hamlet of mud huts with straw roofs and two staffs on top representing the two highest mountains of the Sierra Nevada. It really was a beautiful sight.

Then a few curious little girls came rambling down to us. Such unbelievably gorgeous children.

They were delighted when one of the guys from our group gave them a few sweets and they went tottering back to their none too pleased looking parents.

We rambled past some communtity members all smiles and ola´s and they kind of looked at us with a mixture of suspicion or complete disinterest. We did get a few responses. This place is basically their rightful turf and it really is through their openness and kindness that tours are allowed pass through here at all. One small man authoritatively allowed us to pass through a sort of symbolic rite of passage doorway in the shape of a wooden frame...

The walk continued in much the same way apart from when the heavens opened and I went flying on a large slippery rock when climbing down a kind of waterfall. Quite early on in the day though, we happily reached our second camp. Soaked and freezing we enjoyed yet another hearty and delicious meal proudly prepared by one of the guides - Juan Carlos. The guides we had were amazing by the way. Juan Carlos was the older of the two main ones and Ender the younger. There was also a small entourage of other helpers like Jesus and Mariano from the tribe... who do all the back breaking work of carting everything up the mountain for us...along with some mules of course.
We spent the rest of Day 2 chatting, playing cards and apreciating warmth and dryness...

Day 3

Today we did a spot of walking before getting to a river crossing with a difference: there was a rope a few meters above with a cage attached to it! This was to ferry us over the powerful current of the river beneath. It was a welcome and dry way of getting from edge to edge.

After more walking, it was the second river of the day. Now this one was a whole different ball game. The thing was ferocious. Really a cage ferry would have come in handy here. I watched as a few people struggled their way across. There was a rope tied to trees on either side which we had to hold onto to pull ourselves through the current. Everyone bar some hard core, legs of steel, blokes had to be helped across by at least two guides...Not knowing what to expect it was my turn. Thank god we didnt have to carry our bags on this one as this would have been a disaster waiting to happen. In I went; the first step or two was ok until I felt the force of the water on my legs and thought they were going to snap in two! It was so hard to bring a foot forward and at smack bang on the middle of it my legs gave way. I was hanging on to the rope with just my hands and the rapids almost completely dragged me away. At one point one of my hands was even forced from the grip....Juan Carlos and Ender both had to struggle to help me inch my hands along the rope to safety. It was TERRIFYING!! I was shaking when I got to solid ground. It didnt matter what kind of terrain we had to master after that, anything was better than that horrible river.

We got to camp quite early again today which was great. We had a card playing tournament for the rest of the evening. I should mention that those Spanish playing cards we got in Bogota came in handy as the Spanish contingent were ecstatic that we had them! In the evening Ender and JC came and sat down to give us a kind of presentation on the Lost City....They told us all manner of intriguing things about the Teyuna tribe and their current day indigenous descendants, their traditions and how they live. The Shaman is basically the head of the tribe and the person through which all communication with the outside world is done. We since learnt that the small man who let us through the gate was the Shaman. The Shaman is the only one who can have two wives. And from his brood, one of his sons is chosen at around the age of 8 to be the next future Shaman. When he is picked the boy is taken to an isolated location somewhere in the mountains where he has to do a sort of solitary confinement stint. He cant be visited by anyone else except his father who teaches him everything there is to know about being the upcoming spiritual leader and mentor of an ancient tribal people. When he is 18 he can go back to the community and pick a couple of wives for himself. Fascinating stuff.

The storytelling continued into the night and was great fun.

Day 4

I had heard from a passing group the day before that there was another treacherous river crossing to expect on this leg. No end to this to river crossing saga I tell you. So this was preoccupying my mind even though today would be the day that we would actually reach the Lost City! We all had some ailment or other at this stage of the game. Xav had giant swollen feet and ankles and basically all of us were more or less torn to shreds by bites. The worst thing for me was the nasty blisters and cuts I had cultivated on my right foot. So all in all it was a tad hard to get moving properly this morning. But of course onward and upwards we went and auto pilot kicked in. Then we reached the damn river. This one was just as difficult as the last one but somehow I managed to keep my feet grounded. I got across with a little less trauma than the last...but I do vaguely remember almost crying! Either way I knew we were going to have to cross it again on the way back down as well as conquer the other one that same day.

Todays hike involved getting to the Lost City, exploring it and then covering the distance of the morning and the previous days hike. So after a bit more climbing, walking, slipping, falling, crawling ...the usual....came the steps. Now there´s about a thousand of these and every one of them wet and slippery and piled unevenly on top of one another... so this was a great barrell of laughs getting up these. But alas all was worth it, on reaching the top, the stunning apparition of the more than 2ooo year old site unfolds. The ruins are less extreme and dramatic and more mysteriously and subtly beautiful. The fact that they are almost completely hidden amidst the wild encroaching nature makes it so captivating to see. That and the fact of the pure tranquility.... there are no hordes of tourists swarming the place. We were the only visitors here and had the place more or less to ourselves. The ruins comprise of a series of large circular stone remains all on different levels. It was on these that the houses of the community were located. It was a place reserved only for the tribal elders and those people associated with them, their families, medicine people, that sort of thing....

The views of the surrounding mountain wilderness were just superb, and the sun sort of came out for one of the very few times on the entire trek which was a bonus.

Climbing up the terraces, we spotted some Colombian military men hanging around at the top. We made our way towards them to have a bit of a chat. They were extremely friendly and delighted with the company. When they told us how they are stationed here for 3 months at a time with basically sod-all to do we understood why! We had great fun hanging around, trying on their gear and the likes. One of them even tried to sell his cap off for a few extra quid aswell. Our Australian friend James took him up on the offer too which worked out well for all...

We did a bit more exploration and in a hut where some anthropologists used to work we sat down for some more fascinating info from Juan Carlos. The guy could basically be left on play for hours with all the knowlegde he possesses about this place.

It was a beautiful time we spent up here in the Lost City....kind of surreal to think we´d actually made it.

On the way back, it soon became river time again. The dread. But as there had been just a few morning hours of no rain (the longest time ever so far) both rivers had magically become what seemed to be a good bit lower. I even managed to cross all by myself this time and didnt need Ender to drag me any length of the rope! I felt indestructible...We were lucky really because just as we were crossing, the torrential downpours began again so we very narrowly avoided two very angry swelled up rivers. We trekked on happily and relieved in the lashings of rain through the beautiful lush green desolation....truly splendid.

Day 5

Up and trekking at 6am. Today the sun came out and for the first time we saw the Sierra Nevada under clear blue skies. The mules would be taking all our backpacks down today so we had the added luxury of having to carry nothing but our cameras. Such a joy. After a mid morning watermelon stop....every body just sort of tricked off back down the trail at their own pace. We could really enjoy the gorgeous sun drenched surroundings of the part of the track that we hadnt seen in the darkness of the first day...even if it did become a sludgy mudbath in places.

Some time around midday we caught glimpse of the paved road and made our way back to the starting village....It was really a wierd mix of relief, happiness, sadness it was over and shock that we´d actually made it. Everyone arrived at different times within about a two hour period....until, when we thought everyone was down, we realised we were a man down. Hugh, the Irish guy had been ahead of some of us, so we knew he should have been there... Ender started to slightly panic. We waited a while but no sign. So Ender and a couple of guides started back into the wilderness to try find him. We all sat, a bit worried, waiting, until about 6 pm.... No Hugh. Ender returned and told us that at this point they were getting the military on the case. Well, at least they had something to do now! At this point it would be getting dark soon and they told us we would have to go back without him. Half way through the bumpy truck journey down and a thunder storm broke out.... So now we really felt for Hugh..stuck somewhere in the darkness of the mountains with nothing but rain, thunder and lightening for company. .....

Hugh finally turned up at the hostel the next day at about 4 pm! He had taken a wrong turn somewhere near the path towards the village of all places. He had gone all Bear Grylls and found a banana to eat and an abandoned hut with a hammock to sleep in.... I dont think he drank his own wee though...

All in all, I have to say this expedition really was a brilliant adventure- one of the best things I have ever done. ´Lost´on so many levels....

We got up early on Monday 22nd November to make tracks for the airport and to start a new leg of our journey: South America! As usual taking the bus anywhere in Panama City took an absolute eternity. Im lucky though because Ive developed an amazing ability to fall deeply asleep on the worlds most uncomfortable, cramped and bumpy bus journey´s. Luckily we got to the airport in good time though. The first leg of the day´s airborne action was a jaunt on what I can only describe as Latin Americas smallest airplane. There probably are smaller, but I´ve yet to see one! This took us to Pereira. A short wait here and we were aboard another toy airplane to Bogota. We hung around here for a while and finally bought a much needed deck of cards! Apon opening them though we realised they were the traditional Spanish deck i.e completely different from English playing cards. There is only 4 suits and there is no Ace, Jack, Queen or King, only numbers 1 - 12. We spent a while getting used to this but in no time we were confident enough to get stuck into a few games during our wait. Our next airplane to Cartagena was thankfully quite a sizeable one in comparison to the others. We continued our competitive card playing into the journey until we arrived in Cartagena at about 10pm.

We took a taxi with a couple from New Zealand, who would be getting dropped off first at their hostel and then onwards to our one. They got out at their lovely welcoming looking digs in an ambient part of the old town. Then we headed to ours. Little by little we were getting further and further away from the ambient part of town we had driven through. Then we got to a road littered with filth on both sides and a distinct smell of fish filled the air. The taxi man drove up a desolate looking road a few times and we knew he had never heard of this place nor had any clue where it might be. As usual, in our attempts to find the cheapest accommodation in expensive cities (Cartagena lodgings proved to be a bit on the pricey side when we were looking them up) we end up in the dodgiest godforsaken suburbia possible! Eventually we saw the nondescript building with a barely visible sign and an arrow for a 'hostal' up the stairs. We went up and a confused man let us in and awkwardly showed us to the room. I dont think the place is too accustomed to receiving guests. And yes, we were the only people staying there. In fairness the room was perfect. Nice bed, private bathroom and even a T.V.

The next morning we ventured into town. First observation about buses is that, bus travel is a far less raucous affair than in Central America. None of the shouting and whistling or the pulsating loud music. In fact on our very first Colombian bus experience, there was a very pleasant and handsome young man playing some mellow tunes on his guitar at the top of the bus! Also there is a bell on the bus to signal that you would like to disembark. Altogether very organised. By the same token I do love the chaotic disarray of the other type of bus travel, and by now I´ve developed a confident and effective wolf whistle to let the driver know to stop.

We got to the part of Cartagena known as the Bocagrande (we missed the stop for the old town somehow...) Bocagrande is the modern part of the city centre with all the fancy hotels and expensive shops. It´s not really the reason you go to Cartagena, when you´re a broke backpacker like ourselves. It´s where the beach is though so we had a bit of a time rambling along the shore and trying to escape harrassment from the pushy salespeople.

Of course the best part of Cartagena is the Old Town. Nestled behind the magnificent fortified walls which surround it, the streets are narrow, windy and full of the charming, colourful colonial architicture.

There´s a central plaza, with the namesake of Latin America´s much loved liberator hero Simon Bolivar, which is so lovely for just whiling away the afternoon, drinking tinto (black coffee) and observing the comings and goings of Cartagena´s residents (and tourists). We sat here a lot during our stay in Cartagena.

The next day we decided that we would venture out of the city limits to a volcanic mudbath no less, that was apparently located no more than an hour from the city. This sounded like a fun excursion, so packed with our swim suits and our sense of curiosity off we went on the first bus out of the city. For some reason, Cartagena seems to be the only place in the world, where they´ve bizarrely placed the bus terminal as far away from the centre of town as possible. So we got to the terminal eventually (it took an hour with all the traffic madness) and were pleased to know there was a bus departing soon enough for Galerazamba. This is the name of the nearest town to the Volcan El Totumo.

After about 50 minutes on this bus, we started to look out the window for signs of arrival. This didnt happen. About an hour into the journey the heavens opened. The terrential thunderous downpour of rain was unreal, you couldnt´t see a thing outside the bus windows and the sky was now an ominous black. To add to this, the bus then turned off the main paved road and onto a mud track aligned with the intermittent appearance of trees, mudbanks and flooded lowlands. Basically it was a long road in the middle of nothingness that didnt have any signs of ending. When the rain eased and you could see out the front window, the road just careered endlessly onwards with not a single sign of civilization in sight. At this point we realised the ´no more than an hour´description was a slight under exaggeration on the part of whoever wrote it. Ive since realised that the ´45 minute´ desription of the journey to here refers to the organised tours you can take with companies from Cartagena.

Taking the local bus though means taking the most indirect route possible...or so it seemed for this particular journey anyway. The road we were on was so that the hefty bus occasionally plunged into deep mud on one side, almost toppling the thing onto its side! Peoples belongings were flung from one side to the other when the alternate side became the site of the latest waterlogged trench.

Inside of bus

This trend continued for another hour or so, still with no sign of village nor mud volcano. We started to get a tad worried about the time at this point. It was close to 3pm. It was slowly becoming apparent that we might never make it for our leisurely mudbath. We asked the bus man how long more it would be till we reached Galerazamba. 10 minutes he said. Rule of thumb when asking anyone in Colombia how long it takes to get somewhere is to add at least 25% additional time to the duration. And I, being irish, should be used to this. Another important piece of info we needed was the time of the last bus back from here to the city. 4 pm he said. Our hopes were dashed. We would have to get off the bus in this faraway town, only to turn around and take the treacherous road all the way back, with our only experience of mud being that which splashed against the side of the bus....

Suddenly we arrived. And then even more suddenly we were circled by an entourage of motorcycles. We did know that from Galerazamba you have to take a motorbike taxi to the volcano itself. A bit dishevelled we tried to tell them that there was no way we´d make it to the Volcan and back again in time for the last bus. These guys assured us that there would be a bus at 5. With the rain cleared, a touch of brightness in the sky and being finally free of the shackles of that depressing bus, our positive spirits returned and we decided to venture onwards. We each hopped on a motorbike and off we sped. It´s been a while since I´ve been on the back of a motorcycle and my first few moments aboard were filled with mental images of us flying off it and being brutally scarred by a hot engine....

But we were fine. I thouroughly enjoyed this motorbike ride, even it was a bit scary when we got off the main road and onto the sandy hill that leads to the volcano.

And then we saw it. The supposed volcano! To be fair it looked more like a man made mud mound rather than a deadly and colossal geological phenomenon. Still, mud there was, and mud we wanted.

On arrival, the proceedings were a bit on the bizarre side. Firstly we were the only people there apart from a few people hanging around, who I presume work there. We paid an official looking man the cheap entrance fee and were directed into two small wooden cabins. We took it that this was the moment to undress and head for the bath..! So there we were, the only half naked bathers around, trying to scurry barefppt across the rocky groung towards the stairs up. We must have looked a sight. Climbing the slippy, muddy ladder-like stairs involved a few tricky manouevres. When we got to the top and realised we had the whole thing to ourselves, it was great! The mud was thick, gooey and heavy and a mad sensation to submerge your body in. It was warm for the most part with little areas of cold and tiny little stone-like lumps that would melt around you. The guys standing at the edge of the 'crater' kindly took our cameras and took photos for us.

Here we are playing in the mud

The views all around were really nice too, with lakes and lush greenery as far as the eye could see. When all the mud fun was over it was time to remove it from our bodies. We were pointed down the road to a kind of separated part of a lagoon where some ladies with buckets awaited! That's right, they were there to help us wash ourselves! Bucket after bucket load of water was poured over our heads as the ladies also busied themselves with working any stubborn mud from our skin under the water. It was hilarious. Next thing I knew my bikini had been whipped from me and was being scrubbed by my nimble and energetic helper. In no time my bikini was back in place and it was back to the changing cabins.

The guys who drove us up on the motorbikes hung around and waited to take us back after we were dressed again and had a quick refreshing beer. When we got back to Galerazamba, there emerged to be some confusion about buses, the times and whether there were any! The friendly motorbike folk then offered to take us all the way to Cartagena. We felt this would be a bit too expensive and asked about getting to the next large town with bus services. I think, in the exhiliaration of a fun and unscathed motorbike ride, we forgot about the state of the road that we would have to embark on to get to said bus station. But it was too late, after a brief consultation between all the motorbike taxis, we were on the back of two different bikes and speeding away off. When we got onto the gravelly, lumpy, pot-hole strewn road, I knew disaster was imminent. I hung on and hoped for the best. We veered helter-skelter from one side of the road to the other to dodge the oncoming water holes and even had to slowly mount roadside banks at some points to avoid them.

Those drivers were phenomenal though. The way they controlled the bikes on that perilous stretch astounded me. When we got to the paved road, I was high on adrenaline. When we got to the bus, I couldnt thank the super hero driver enough. We travelled back to Cartagena full of that fuzzy, happy, tired and satisfied feeling of having had a fun and eventful day.

Getting to Panama was an absolute mission. But there again, we were attempting it from Granada in Nicaragua and there is a whole country plus a very large portion of another one in between it and the city of Panama. Early in the morning we made our way to the Tica bus office. We boarded our first bus which would take us the 9 hours from Granada, through the Costa Rican border and into the capital city San Jose. We arrived to a dull and rainy San Jose where we would have to spend 6 hours before catching our next bus to Panama. In San Jose we had one last meeting with Steven, who was on his way back to Scotland, so we had a little ramble and some dinner etc in this extremely dodgy-looking city. On the street outside our restaurant there was a fellow being beaten to a pulp with a stick by some local thugs. Only Xav and Steven witnessed this, I was glad not to have seen it to be fair. Overall, not a great impression of San Jose and I was happy to be moving onwards and out.

At 11pm, our night bus for Panama departed the terminal. In the early hours of the next morning, after unsuccessful attempts at any decent sleep we found ourselves being hoarded off the bus. We had reached the border crossing. Getting to the border at 5 am in the morning was a bit inconvenient really seeing as the place was in complete darkness and there wasnt a sinner in sight. An hour later, the first border guards slowly started getting the ball rolling. It turned out though that this hour long wait was only to be the tip of the iceberg as we ended up spending a grand total of 4 long hours at this border! I have no idea why! It was extremely frustrating indeed. But finally we were aboard the last leg of the Panama city bus saga. Tica bus kindly rewarded us with some sandwiches for breakfast and then a lunch of Spaghetti bolognese a few hours later! At 4pm we made it into Panama City. It was raining here and very dull but the drive into the city was quite exciting as at one point you drive over this huge bridge which overlooks the mighty Panama Canal. It was a great first glimpse of the city. When we got to the terminal after travelling for the guts of 34 hours, all we wanted to do was get to the hostel and recover. Panama City´s completely disfunctional traffic management system had other plans in store however! We got into a taxi and what should have been a 20 minute journey to our hostel took us almost 2 hours! I cursed the roads of this city.

To be honest I was really surprised by the sheer size of this place. I was not expecting Panama City to be such a giant, sprawling metropolis. The roads are insane, it´s like a labyrinth of highways all on different levels and somehow intertwining with each other and the numerous different districts and there are huge dominating skyscrapers everywhere. It looks more like a U.S city than anything really.

We finally made it to our hostel ´Panama by Luis´ which was a little gem. We completely savoured the comfort of our cozy room with a telly and went for some well deserved food in a nice place called Jimmys up the road.

The next morning we got up bright and breezy and decided to head for the Panama Canal. In the unbelievably heavy heat of this city we made tracks on a bus to the terminal. Once there, a sudden tropical downpour of torrential rain almost threatened to impede our making it any further. After a shelter in the giant mall here, the rain stopped and we carried on. When we got to the mighty Canal, the mighty heat of the tropical sun again came out to play. Up on the observation balcony which overlooks the Miraflores locks, we looked with awe at the giant container ships making their way through the locks. It was so fascinating to see. These locks fill up with water in only 8-9 minutes, which is quicker than the time it takes to fill the bath! We hung around here for a bit admiring this awesome engineering feat and listening intently to the stream of interesting facts that were being blared out of some speakers on the balcony. Heres a huge ship from Hamburg squeezing its way through the locks and on its path to the pacific ocean....

Afterwards, on our way back towards the bus stop on the main road, a most impressive sight awaited us. We were crossing a bridge over a murky sort of lagoon towards the main road and all of sudden Xav says 'Woaw Look at the crocodile´. I thought he was joking, but alas there it was, a crocodile floating up the dirty brown waters. We were astounded and tried to get some decent pictures of this creature in such a bizarre place. But the fecker just submarined under the waters and didnt reappear. We hung around, excited, waiting for another glimpse and then on the other side of the bridge another huge one, twice the size appeared. It was excellent but a fleeting moment nonetheless as he too vanished under the waters. ..... We accepted that we would just have to head back for the bus at this point.

Heres an attempted photo:

The next day we went to visit the quiant old colonial part of the city- the Casco Viejo, or locally known as the Casco Antiguo. On route to this we attempted a visit to whats known as Panama Viejo, which is the part of the city which remains from pre-Hispanic times. We got there on foot, a bad idea considering the sweltering and unbearable heat of the Panamaian morning sun. And actually this scant selection of small ruins are quite unimpressive. We quickly abandoned this place and headed for the old town. Now this is where the real beauty of Panama City lies. The place is full of old colonial buildings, some not yet fully restored, lovely plazas, loads of churches and attractive little markets.

Theres also great views of the sea and the skyscrapers from the old city walls.

We spent the day rambling around, taking pictures, having a picnic here, a drink there and feeling generally delighted. Towards evening we headed back to the hostel. The night time views were even more stunning

In the hostel there was a BBQ going down. We payed 5 dollars and this was to include our food for the night and a good helping of rum! We went down to the terrace out the back at about 8 pm and realised we were the only hostel guests there! We thought it might turn in to a bit of a disappointing night at that point. Then Luis (hostel owner) and a load of his Panamaian mates arrived and the rum started to flow! Within an hour there was a huge crowd of people there and it was warming up to be great craic. As we were the only tourists there, it was great chatting with the locals and an additional few guys from Argentina, Colombia and Venezuela and it was also a night where we spoke in Spanish for almost the entire duration. I have no idea how, Im sure the rum was an influential factor but we were quite chuffed with ourselves all in all. The food was great and in no time we were getting Salsa dancing lessons from the extrememly enthusiastic Venezuelan,Omar. His most useful teaching method was repeatedly encouraging us to ´FEEL IT´. The music that is. This is the sole most important element of Salsa dancing apparently. That and swinging me uncontrollably around the floor seemed to get results. It was a great work out, and I really think I might be able to use the ´FEEL IT´method again in the future if I need to. Towards the end of the night, the drunken conversation turned to politics and the proud Argentinian was emphasising the worlds need for another Che. There was all sorts of debates ensuing and with our language skills not exactly stretching far into this subject we thought it best to call it a night. From up in our room, we giggled as we heard the song Comandante Che Guevara being blared from below....

We hung around the hostel the following day doing generally nothing. Our efforts stretched to actually making quite a delicious meal for ourselves and preparing our bags for our departure for Colombia the next morning.

We did manage to leave Leon. First we took the bus to Managua, where Neil was almost violated by a crazed, seemingly possessed drunk woman trying to steal his money from his trouser pocket! He managed to prize her gammy hand from his pants and we speedily removed ourselves from the scene...Further on in another brawl of bus company men, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. We planned to meet up a few days later.

I know I go on about buses a lot, but another thing which is hilarious about bus stations and bus travel is the way those bus worker dudes go on. When you get to the terminal, they repeatedly shout out the destination of their bus a hundred million times whilst hanging out the door of the bus. Fair enough it is a good way of finding the bus you wish to catch. But it's almost as if they think that people go to bus stations without a predetermined destination in mind, as if you might just hop on the bus who has the loudest shouter and who can convince you to jump on their bus for the craic! Sometimes they even say the place so quickly over and over again that you can hardly understand what they're saying. Getting the Managua bus sounds something like ManagmanagmanaganaganagmanagUA...!!

Anyway, via Managua, we made our way to Granada. On arrival this city seems like a nice tranquil place. It's smaller than Leon and has a pretty central plaza and the nice feel of an old colonial city. It also borders the shores of the huge Lake Nicaragua. We rambled down here one day to have a look and enjoy the views. Although it is beautiful to see such an impressive body of water, the sad thing about it is that this lake is extremely badly polluted and the Nicaraguan authorities don't really have the resources to do enough about the sewege and industrial waste problem. On the shores around Granada there is a distinct midge problem and there is an open sewer that runs from just off the main centre down through an unfortunate neighbourhood into the lake. Apart from this, Granada is a pleasant enough place to stroll around. It hasnt got the same sort of buzz that Leon has and all in all I think we were justified in having just a short stay here.

After Granada, via Rivas (Rivas, Rivas)we made our way towards the ferry which would take us to the volcanic island of Isla de Ometepe. The ferry over offers some gorgeous views of the two imposing volcanoes which populate the island. From the boat, the island actually looks like it is completely uninhabited. You cannot see any sign of road nor building, just miles of luscious dense green and the two gigantic volcanoes jutting high into the sky. These two phenomena are the reason for Ometepes existence and you just realise how powerful these natural forces are in the face of human existence. Here´s a picture of the bigger one: Conception

It is only when you reach the shore that you get a glimpse of the civilization that unfolds from the boat dock up through the main street of the town of Moyagalpa. There was another two influential forces populating the island when we got there- Steven and Neil - the Scottish volanoes of comedy! Haha, we had a great night here with the lads and some other lovely folks from the US, Slovenia and The Netherlands. The following day we all went on a mini bus to a place called Ojo de Agua, on the far side of the island where you can swim in some pools of cool clear water. This was a welcome distraction from the heat and a bit of a sore head. We chilled out here for a good couple of hours, enjoying a couple of cold beers by the water side, which really is quite a nice setting amongst large leafy trees for shade.

On our way back from the Ojo de Agua, a local guy boarded our bus and started talking to us about the volcanoes. He worked as a tour guide for the volcano trips and knew everything you could know about the area. He explained to us the ways in which the volcanic activity is monitored, what would happen and has happened when eruptions occurred, the areas that would be affected most and the evacuation procedure for the residents in case of a disaster. He was truly fascinating to listen to. The bus journey took another interesting turn when all of a sudden the bus slowed down and we realised we were at the tail end of a funeral procession. Our bus slowly ambled behind the crowd for a good while and some friendly local people that were part of funeral started chatting to us through the bus window! When the procession turned into the small cemetary our bus picked up speed back towards the town.

The boys left Ometepe the next day and we all felt a tad emotional saying our goodbyes as we had had such good times altogether. Myself and Xav decided to rent bikes for the day in an attempt to relieve our melancholy. It was a lovely day really. As always the sun was high, bright and strong in the sky and the road around the island leads you through some beautiful scenery and great views of the volcano. Cycling through the small villages, around large herds of cattle which frequently populate the road and passing through the lush countryside was a really pleasant way to spend our last day on the island.

The next day we bid our farewll to Ometepe and made our way back to Granada, from where we needed to take a long bus the next day through Costa Rica en route to Panama....

We got up early and we drove through Honduras, looks like a nice place but we shan´t be visiting this time around. Around some time in the late afternoon we arrived in the nondescript town of Esteli. On first glance (grubby bus station) this would hardly be the best first inpression of a country. Fair enough on rambling round town a bit it seems fairly ok with some interesting aspects. Apparently its the cigar capital of Nicaragua and a good place to buy leather. You' d get a fine pair of cowboy boots and horse sadals here if you were inclined. But with us being not particular fans of either we decided a night in esteli would suffice. Probably the best part of esteli for us was when we changed our dollars in the bank and felt like we´d robbed the place coming out with the wads of notes they call cordobas. Also we had a tasty breakfast the morning of our departure.

In Nicaragua, the bus departs only when it eventually becomes full . And by full I mean squeezing 22 people into a tiny 15 seater minibus. When we were all stocked up with people, luggage, boxes and baskets akimbo we were on our way to Leon. The drive to Leon is an impressive one. One by one you see the belt of active volcanos that surround this city, a really striking view especially when you can see the smoke billowing from their craters. Nicaragua is indeed known as the land of lakes and volcanoes as there´s a whole bunch of them stretching through a large portion of the country. On arrival in Leon we found a great little hostel , El Albergue, a laid back place with a really helpful and informative host, Fran . We rambled around the city and got a real vibrant vibe from the place, a place proud to be at the cultural heart of Nicaragua and have a special place in its political history. Leon is the heartland of the Sandanista movement which wanted to overthrow the country´s dictatorship during the 1960´s and 1970´s and the place where the revolution is remembered very vividly. There are some interesting murals and street art commemmorating the sandanistas to be seen. We also stumbled apon a lively festival one night with bands, dancing and street theatre which was as far as we could make out, another commemmorative party for the veterans of the sandanista struggle. Fran informed us that these kinds of shenanigans are happening all the time in this city. That same night in the hostel a bunch of young dudes burst through the doors and started banging drums, dancing around in mad costumes and reciting poetic stories to us! It´s true that this place is a kind of cultural headquarters and likes a good party. It was great fun!

To continue the theme of revolution, we went and visited the Museum of the Revolution the next day. All the old veterans hang around outside a bit of a dilapidated old colonial building, eager to show visitors around. Inside its a sort of make shift museum really where you find a couple of rooms with newspaper articles and photographs of the struggle and it´s heroes stuck to the walls with sellotape as well as some of their weapons and flags. Pictures of good ole Che are everywhere aswell, although I think this is just to fill a bit of space really! We had a really friendly tiny guy showing us around and pointing with a long stick at all the photo´s.

Here's our guy with the F.S.L.N flag

He showed us a picture of himself as a 14-year old revolutionary and even showed us the scars from his shrapnel wounds too. He was really enthusiastic about explaining everything to us, but as it was all in Spanish, even if we hadnt a clue what he was on about, we gave our best efforts to sound extremely impressed. He could have been talking about people being raped and murdered and our generic reaction was 'ah si, ah si'...... In fairness we didnt do too badly with getting the general grasp of things. After all this he brought us up to the roof of the building where on some corrugated tin we could climb up and had a really great view of the city and all the volcanos around.

So the next obvious thing to do was to get out there and experience these famous volcanoes close up. On our third day here we decided to head for none other than the youngest and most active of the lot. Cerro Negro is a small volcano which came into existence in 1850 and has been erupting quite a lot since. Its last eruption was in 1999 so its due for another one any day now. Its name literally means black hill, and thats exactly what it is. We arrived there by truck after a bumpy jaunt through a couple of miles of unpaved road. The first sight of it is really impressive. Basically its a mountain of black volcanic rock and ash completely barren of any vegetation. Although, bizarrely I did catch sight of a tiny green plant spurting out from the sharp rocks!

Off we went on the hike up . Its not all that difficult of a trek apart from the odd slip of the foot on the loose gravel and we made it up to halfway within about 30 minutes. At this point you can see and smell the sulphur coming out of the pits at the side of the volcano. Quite impressive. Here's me with some sulphur

Then about another 20 minutes later and you get to the giant crater at the top. It is such a fantastic view from here, where you can see where the waves of black volcanic matter stopped in their tracks and the greenery surrounds it untouched. You can also see the string of other volcanos from here really clearly. Getting back down from Cerro Negro is what makes it really unique....

Some daring person somehow discovered that sitting on a board and sledding down the sandy face of the volcano would work. So thats what we all did! In order not to be cut to shreds or end up with a sharp rock in your eye though, protective clothing and goggles are a must. We all got into our ghostbuster uniforms and off we toddled to the scary looking launching point.

And it does look quite frightening actually. You cant actually see the full extent of the track your supposed to go careering down. So without much further ado it was on to the boards and the general idea for the flight down was to stay balanced on the board, not veer off or tumble over and do some nasty damage and of course - speed. Some people who do Cerro Negro boarding are actually very competitive about their speed. One insane, die hard french man even attempted this on a bike one time and I think reached the highest speed ever. He did manage to destroy the bike in two halves and smash himself up pretty badly in the process though I believe. We stuck to boards, and yes, it was fast. I was happy to reach the bottom unscathed even though the tiny black rocks found their way into every crevice and any skin that was exposed was covered in a thick layer of black grit. We even got to do it a second time, which was even more fun because as always with these things the second time round we were less cautious and went even faster. Myself and Xav raced each other down...of course Xav won but thats not the point, its the taking part that counts isn't it...!

Later that evening after much needed showers, we had the idea of heading to the cinema. Then we bumped into two hilarious scottish blokes we had met in the hostel and ended up having a few beers with them instead. Steven and Neil should actually be a comedy duo, as I never stopped laughing from the moment we started hanging around with these two. That night turned into a bit of a rum fuelled madness in a great bar called Camaleon where we were also joined by Fran and some other jolly randomers. Ive become quite the fan of the Nicaraguan rum Flor de Caña. It's won prizes and everything!

We were supposed to leave Leon the next day but as not one of the four of us was in any fit state to go chicken bussing it, we ended up staying put, cooking some food (well Steven did) and watching films on telly.

All in all a great time was had in Leon.