South Bound and Down - Part 2

Firstly, and probably most obviously, I made it safely across the Atlantic Ocean in about a month’s time and close to 4,000 nautical miles of sailing.  More on that later when I get everyone caught up.  I admit I should not be this far behind with my accounts, however, I will also admit I never said I liked to write so hope at least someone appreciates this besides my mother.

One other quick note before we start.  I have included more photos in this entry because I know it takes time to click on the photo links to the right and want people to see some more photos but I have also uploaded a lot more for Honduras, Nicaragua, and added Panama and Columbia.  So if you even have more time to waste at work you can check them out.

So let's head back to the Bay Islands of Honduras one last time and wrap up our southern sail along the East Coast of Central America.  We had jumped ship from the youthful monohull, Atreyu, to the luxurious cat, Windwalker, to take us on this journey.  We would be going to islands that are getaways from getaways, where pirates are a legitimate worry, and where Twitter accounts are un-updatable.  The list included a couple more of the Bay Islands, Vivorios, Providencia, San Andreas, Little Corn, and Bocas del Toro.  Below is a map of our route and the islands to give an idea of the ground we covered:

Cayos Cachinos, Honduras (25 nm, 4 hrs)

A short day sail just east of Roatan, Cayos Cachinos is probably the least inhabited of the Bay Islands and actually consists of 3 smaller islands and numerous islets that are to an island chain what Pluto is to the solar system.  It’s a magical place where few tourists make it because of its inaccessibility.  So inaccessibile that on one of the islands they were taping Survivor Italy but don’t get too excited.  The only thing we saw were the helicopters blazing in and out with, we presume, those voted off the island.  Not that I watch any of the Survivor shows but from what I know of the American version, it appears the Italian version is a bit more severe in that they fly the latest loser to the top of the island and dump their body overboard into the fiery pit of the volcano where their screams quickly became inaudible.  I just made that last part up.

Here is a view from the old lighthouse on top of the main island looking across the protected cove to the 'Survivor' island:

Our boat is the lone white speck between the two islands. 

Unholstered and ready for action, or a picture.

Aside from the few guests at the tiny resort on the island and the local Garifuna fishermen, we had the place to ourselves.  However in the event that there was a security risk, we all felt safe in the rested hands of Manuel, the lone island/resort security guard, as long as he wasn't nodding off after a few morning cervezas.

Due to its lack of access and infrequent visitors, it is home to one of the least touched coral reefs in the area and is by far one of the most beautiful reefs I have ever seen.  Whether you scuba dive or just go for a snorkel, it is absolutely stunning from the kaleidoscope of colors in the reef, to the numerous swim throughs and shallow canyons, to the eagle rays that glide by uninterested in your presence.
  

Even the shrimp are brightly hued in this amazing underwater-world of colors.

Ironically the smallest of the three islands, and most likely to get washed out by a large wave, is also the most populated.  It is home to a Garifuna tribe that welcomes visitors to tour their enclave of wooden shacks and enjoy a home cooked meal of fresh fish along with other Garifuna favorites.  I have mentioned the Garifuna peoples before but for those who missed it, they are descendants from a wrecked slave ship in the late 17th century who survived, escaped, multiplied, and now inhabit the entire Central American Caribbean Coast and Los Angeles.  Their status as an ethnic minority group throughout the region usually allows them exemptions from the local government and donations from NGO's leaving them free to laze about most of the time with the occasional bit of fishing and soccer thrown in to break up the day, the latter of which they are happy to let you join in.  Of course local soccer rules apply which include being taken forcibly to the sand with or without the ball, taking the ball around a house to escape the defence, and using small children and chickens as goal posts no matter where the may roam.

Our Garifuna chef preparing a freshly caught Kingfish for dinner.

Guanaja, Honduras (55 nm, 10 hrs)

Said to be the Venice of the Caribbean because of its canals that cut through the island, the only thing that reminded me of Venice here was that when I took a piss it still hit the ground.  The good thing that came from our visit here was that we got a freshly frozen bag of lobster tails that fed 7 people for 2 meals for 20 bucks.  Not too shabby.  And by fed, I mean, Crystal and I took a crash course via the internet on how to prepare lobster and can say they came out pretty damn tasty.  The bad thing that came from here was I got a mild case of the Dengue Fever which held us up for a couple days until I recovered.  I also came to the realization that the brown splotches on my hand were from a mild form of leprosy that was going around Roatan.  Crystal and I got to share this one since we like holding hands so much.  We were told it would just go away in a few weeks and it was no real worry.  Good to know.  So now that is two more tropical diseases I can add to my list.

As the sun sets, the clouds build before our departure from The Bay Islands.

Vivorios, Honduras (197 nm, 38 hrs)

After Columbus took 3 months to complete this same leg, he named the horn Gracias a Dios (Thanks be to God).  Eventhough it only took us a day and a half, I was thinking the same thing.  Fighting a strong current, mixed seas, headwind, and frequent squalls, we were all glad to pull into this obscure island haven.  Technically Honduras claims Vivorios and the surrounding islets but as it lies about 50 nm off the baren corner of the country, the only things that seem to lay claim to these sandy patches of land barely rising above the sea are fishermen/pirates.

Before we even dropped anchor, we were surrounded by 3 small fishing boats each with about 3 to 4 disheveled men who were eyeing us just as much as we were eyeing them.  We were the only boat there at the time and these men lead a desperate life barely sustained by fishing and any other opportunities that may arise.  We intentionally sailed to Vivorios and not one of the islands closer to the mainland to avoid the threat of piracy however even just last year a single-handed sailor was killed here while his boat was looted.  We had everyone come up on deck so they could see our numbers as both sides discussed our next move.  We decided to break the obvious tension and began into a friendly greeting and conversation.  After apprehensive glances made their rounds between all parties and the fishermen held meeting amongst themselves again, two of their boats departed and one stuck around to show us their catch.  It appeared we had won out and they began to barter their fish for cigarettes, water, knives, and women (which was more like woman, that woman being Crystal).  We figured we could help them with all of the above except the knives (insert smiley face emoticon with winking eye) as we would be spending the night here and wanted to stay on good terms.

Where regulation is nonexistent, fishermen show off their catch of fish, sharks, and a lonely turtle.  

Once cordial relations had been established, we were able to relax and enjoy this true tropical island paradise.  With just enough sand and a  handful of palm trees to be classified as an island, Vivorios provides a welcoming anchorage to break up the trip going around the corner to Providencia or Nicaragua.  We all hopped in the crystal clear water for a snorkel and swim to the island.  Some swam faster than others due to the large amount of barracuda that immediately welcomed and began circling us as soon as we jumped in.  Everyone eventually made it to shore physically unscathed and took their own time to circumnavigate the shores which if walked slowly took about 15 minutes.  That night we dined on conch ceviche from conch we had plucked off the sea floor during our snorkel and fresh Kingfish we caught en route to the island while the stars from a clear night sky twinkled overhead.

Counting steps to see exactly how big the island is.

One of these is not like the others.

The shallow grave of a presumed fisherman.

As we lifted anchor the next afternoon and began our sail south through calmer waters and fair wind, I think we all looked back at one point or another probably realizing we would never return here but it is a place we would never forget.

Providencia, Columbia (200 nm, 40 hrs)

After we got through the shoals and our route turned due south, the sailing was perfect.  Light air coming from aft and smooth seas.  This took us straight into the two little known island jewels of Columbia.  Yes, they lie a good ways from their country of governance and much closer to the mainland of Nicaragua but they are definitively Columbian.

Providencia is the smaller of the two islands and as it is the more northern of the two, we stopped there first.  Unable to conquer this island by foot, we were forced to rent scooters which allowed us to complete the lone road around the island in about 45 minutes if we didn't stop.  However stopping frequently to get your feet wet at the picturesque beaches, to watch a baseball game, or to chat with the friendly locals couldn't be passed.

... must use tire swing.

Another awesome beach around the corner...

This blip of an island was also the outpost for the famed Captain Henry Morgan.  The lore of hidden treasure can be heard from the whispers of the locals and easily imagined as you explore the jungle and rocky outcroppings around the island.

Captain Morgan's Head greets sea farers as they enter the harbor.  I can see the face but to say it's his head is a bit of push unless he was related to the Elephant Man.

San Andreas (55 nm, 10 hrs)

Plenty of street food options
back in the 'big' city.

This island is the getaway for the posh mainland Columbians.  More hustle and bustle here give the main town a big city-like atmosphere but there are still plenty of places to relax.  Here we had to upgrade to a golfcart and it took us about 2.5 hours to get around the island.

Columbian tourists pose for a photo-op.

The night lights come on along the beach front to guide the crowds to the bars and discotecas.

Little Corn, Nicaragua (80 nm, 16 hrs)

There are two Corn Islands, Little Corn and Big Corn.  The first thing to know is no one goes to Big Corn.  Everyone goes to Little Corn and by everyone that means the local population of a few hundred locals plus the few intrepid backpacker types that make the difficult trip overland to the East Coast of Nicaragua and catch a ferry to the island.  I do have to say that their tenacity in getting here without a boat definitely pays off.  This is the most relaxed hamlet of an island you could ever imagine finding.  With just enough conveniences to keep you comfortable and inviting people will make you want to stay longer than you intended.  There is no electricity from 5 am to 2 pm everyday but there are plenty of white sand beaches and hammocks that seem like they were put out just for you all around the island.

So much beach, so little time.  Which hammock first?

The perfect spot for sunset.

We were lucky enough to be there for the Big Corn vs Little Corn double-header baseball game and also lucky enough that Little Corn won both games.  Way to go home team!  You know you are watching a baseball game on a tropical island when the outfield doesn't end with a fence but a jungle and a woman in the stands tells the batter, "Stanley, hit it in the mango trees."  This meaning hit it out of the park.

Roberto - snorkel guide and right fielder.
Keeping his reflexes sharp as he sneaks up on this nurse shark.  

Bocas del Toro, Panama (200 Nm, 40 hrs)
Finally, after about 3 weeks, we arrived in Bocas which was everyone’s getting off point as the skipper had to get the boat down to the Panama Canal to meet the owner.  Crystal and I definitely didn’t explore this area as much as I think is due to it.  There is much more to see aside from the main island of Bocas however after seeing fantastic islands for the past 3 weeks, being in a rush to get to mainland Columbia, and getting fed up with the skipper, we made a quick getaway, flying to Panama City, after just spending one night here.  However, even though our time here was brief it was anything but uneventful.

Long story short, whilst yelling at the skipper to pay up on money owed me as he walked down the main street while I was wearing just a pair of swim trunks, I learned you can get a ticket for walking down the aforementioned main street with your shirt off.  Just got a warning.  Also, if you happen to visit the police captain, immigration officer, and local judge, it is best to have a shirt on as well or else you have that much more explaining to do.  Shoes wouldn't hurt either.  If you aren't at least chuckling yet, please picture me in just trunks (no shirt, no shoes) in the most official building this town has to offer trying to explain my side of the story to a judge.  It was hard not to laugh myself at the circumstance I was in but at least I made it this far.  In the States I couldn't have even gotten into a 7-11 much less an appointment with a judge.

Ok enough of that.  I decided with all the baseball talk I should at least include one picture of a baseball field and the one in Bocas was my favorite.  The baseball/soccer field was at the end of the runway of their international airport.  The kids played on no matter what was coming in on final approach.

Not the best picture, but you can see the plane turning off the runway as the batter waits for his pitch.

So that sums up my sailing down south.  Well over 800 nm covered and a great time was had by all.  Next up is the overland and high flying adventure through Panama and Columbia.  Bon voyage!

Cheers,
JB

News Break - Atlantic Crossing

Sorry for the back to back posts but I am pressed for time and not nearly caught up on the blog yet.  Still more exciting stories to tell before I get everyone to the present.  However, I am shipping out tomorrow from St Martin to cross the Atlantic.  I am sailing on the 53 foot Hallberg-Rassy pictured below:

S.V New Dawn

On board is our experienced Danish captain and 2 young Swedish guys who have been sailing the Caribbean this last year.  We have stocked up on supplies, probably enough to last for two crossings.

3 shopping carts and two car trips later, we had it all on board

 I plan to have my Spot Tracker on for the entire trip so if you want to see where I am, you can click on my Spot Tracker link on the right.

As for St Martin, about the only thing that is fun to do here is watch the planes land and take off as they blast tourists off the beach and being cautious around town so you don't get robbed.

Comin' in hot

This is the blast zone where jumbo jets count for 50% of the lost sunglasses on the island

Just wanted to make this a quick one and let ya'll know where I am at and what I am currently up to.  I will have plenty of time to get blog caught up during the hopefully 3 week passage to the Azores.  Talk to you on the other side.

Cheers,

Jb

South Bound and Down - Part 1

The Sweet River

The Rio Dulce in Guatemala is where I jumped ship and became a land-lubber at the end of last year’s sailing season.  So, I was happy to be returning there to pick up where I had left off.  I had met a young, 31 year old captain of a Hunter 40, named Atreyu, last year in Isla Mujeres and we had stayed in touch in case he needed crew for the coming year.  Now here we were ready to help him take his boat down the Rio Dulce and make our way to the Bay Islands of Honduras. 

Andrew, the captain, calls Canada his home but has done his fair of travelling as well.  He has an extremely entrepreneurial spirit and is currently in the business of selling alpaca scarves from Bolivia to the Canadians during the cold season, which is all year, and it appears to be a fairly lucrative business.   Here is his web page for anyone interested:

http://www.fair-tradewinds.com/
(Andrew, just add the free advertisement to the royalties you already owe me.)

By the time we arrived to the Rio Dulce, Andrew had already been there a couple of weeks getting the boat ready since he had left it on the Rio Dulce during hurricane season along with the other thousands of sailors who do the same.  When we arrived the dock was cluttered with sails, tools, clothes, and equipment all of which belonged inside the boat but Andrew assured us we would be leaving in a couple of days.  So we all worked together to get the last few major items done, swabbed the decks, loaded her up and headed down the tranquil Rio Dulce to the sea.  As we looked a bit unsure if we had everything done before leaving, Andrew quoted the sailor that has inspired him the most, Captain Ron ~  “If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen out there.”

Atreyu at dock and ready to be packed on the Rio Dulce

Looking good going down the Rio Dulce

Mud Hump
Livingston is a one road town at the entrance to the Rio Dulce that all boaters or travellers must go through to clear customs before they figure out their next move.  After we cleared customers there and paid off some fines, we picked up a few paying passengers also wanting to head to the Bay Islands luring them with the idea of a relaxing journey at sea rather than taking a crowded bus for days.

As we were eager to leave that evening, we loaded everyone up, seven in total, started the motor, pulled anchor, and headed out where immediately our advertised relaxing passage turned into an adventure.  The entrance, or in our case the exit, to this bay is somewhat shallow and can be a chore to manage for boats with a deeper draft.  Andrew’s boat only drafted 6 ft, which isn’t too bad, but as we were pushing to leave during low tide, this made things a bit sportier.

We hadn’t gone more than 20 yards when our boat came to a stand still stuck in the mud.  As this is a normal occurrence here, the port captain came out in a boat with his crew to offer assistance for a service charge.  We decided to give it a go on our own first.  One trick to get a sailboat of the bottom is to swing the boom out to the side and have everyone crawl out on it so the boat lays over and gives a bit more clearance for the keel.  So we had all the guys shimmy out to the end of the boom in a futile attempt to get ourselves clear.  It was more a piece of entertainment for the onlookers and an opportunity for some embarrassing photos than anything else.

I decided to take the high road and stand up so to avoid the 'junk to trunk' train on the boom

So after we had the pictures we wanted and a few more laughs, we decided to pay the port captain and his crew to assist us.  Once they stopped laughing, we threw them our main halyard, which they attached to their boat.   Then they used all the power in their two small engines to heel our boat over to a good 45 degrees, putting our starboard lifelines in the water.  With our keel out of the mud, we throttled up and made forward progress.  We kept this up until for about a mile until we were well clear of the mud hump and through the last channel marker to the sea.

For you non-sailors, the mast should normally be more up and down (the rainbow in the background was no help to us when we left) 

We waved good bye to the Guatemalans, raised the sails and everyone settled in for the trip.  However, things didn’t stay settled too long and the idea of a gentle booze cruise to Utila for the next 18 hours turned into a battle with sea, wave, rain, and wind for the next 40 hours.  We had to fight a strong opposing current and squalls that popped up regularly which knocked us down a couple times.  By the time we arrived well behind schedule, we were all pretty beaten, wet, tired, and ready for land.  Down below smelled like vomit, sweat, and seawater.  We did however fair better than others as there were three boats that left before us and arrived after we did.  One captain had actually broken his arm halfway through the trip after a wave knocked them.  I think the worst injury we had was the honeymooning Chilean couple we had on board vowed never to go sailing again.  So all is well that ends well and at this point we were ready for a good cleaning and a stiff drink.

Tequila Tuesdays (bring a sombrero)

As I have visited Utila recently and didn’t see myself returning there any time in the near future or future in general, it was surprisingly nice to come back to and had a few more fun times in store.  The nice thing this time was that we were living on the boat and didn’t have to worry about the blood sucking sand flies that attacked as soon as you thought about stepping foot on land.   The single paved street that runs the length of town along the waterfront was unchanged.  Still crowded as ever with backpackers, divers, and locals dodging cars, scooters, and four-wheelers during the day and bats and kids jumping out to surprise you at night as they have nothing better to do.

Luckily for us the next night was Tequila Tuesdays at one of the local establishments, which seemed to be the perfect reprieve from our arduous journey. So we dug through the boat to find two Mexican sombreros Andrew had on board for such an occasion, rallied the troops, and headed out. 

The normal business occurred at a bar that offers $1 tequila shots all night and after we had thoroughly professed our thanks for being back on land, we decided it was time to call it a night and head back to the boat.  Now it wasn’t a long walk back to our dinghy but it was long enough and about midway through Andrew and I needed to relieve some of the tequila that was building up in our bladder.  The problem is there is no beach along the only road in town.  It is all built up with houses, stores, dive shops, etc., leaving no natural areas to take care of business.  Since the street was dead quiet, except for us, we decided the best option was to go in the small gutter on the side of the street.  Of course as soon as we were mid-stream, three motorcycle cops came out of nowhere and caught us with our pants down in their headlights.  Fortunately for us we received only a stern scolding and were told to go somewhere else next time which didn't really clear things up for us.  I think the sombreros we were still wearing really saved us on this one.

Back at the dinghy dock with the well supplied security guard

Roatan

After we had outdone our stay in Utila, we had to make our way to Roatan in time to meet Andrew’s parents who would be staying there for the next month.   We had a great day sail this time and settled in the marine park between West End and West Bay, the two main beaches in Roatan.

We got the boat spic and span as Andrew’s parents, Kathy and Mr. Jim, along with their two friends, Lloyd and Nancy, would be staying on board the first week.   It was a cozy arrangement but we had a great time sharing the boating lifestyle with them since it was their first time sailing.  We took them for a short sail to a close but fairly unpopulated island called Cayos Cachinos without illness or losing anyone as the wind and weather were perfect.  It is a beautiful little collection of islands only accessible by boat of which I will write more in my next blog.  

Although they enjoyed the boat, they were happy to get there feet back on solid ground and enjoy normal amenities like a running shower at their condo in West Bay.  Of course we were allowed to take advantage of these 'luxuries' as well and Andrew ended up spending more time with his parents than on the boat leaving it to Crystal and myself most of the time.  We enjoyed hobbies such as sunbathing on the deck and waving to the tourists (or peasants as we called them) as the water taxis took them back and forth between West Bay and West End.  It was pretty ideal especially with one of the most spectacular reefs for snorkeling in the world just 20 yards from the boat.  The only part Crystal wasn’t to enthused about was when a fairly large barracuda set up shop under our boat to ambush unsuspecting prey.  Although we reassured her they were only hunting smaller fish and shiny jewelry, she still politely demanded one of us jump before her to chase it away before she hopped in to swim.   Other than that our days were filled with grocery shopping and seeing the few sights West End had to offer or lounging around the pool in West Bay.  It was a tough decision as you can see below:

 The daily grocery run in West End

The infinity pool at Infinity Bay

Ninjas, they're everywhere

As our time in Roatan was unfortunately coming to an end, we decided to have a solid night out on the town in West End.  We started out with everyone else in the town at the Blue Marlin for some karaoke that may not always be enjoyable but is always entertaining.  They stay open until they lose power from the city sometime around midnight.  Then everyone heads down the street to whichever club has their generator on and music thumping the loudest. 

By this point we are all feeling good.  Crystal and I are having our own private dance competition while Andrew is somewhere in the crowd putting his stories and wit to good use.  He pops out of the sweaty crowd all smiles and stumbles toward us.  He is out of money and needs to borrow a bit for a beer.  The least I can do for my captain is buy him a drink on a night such as this.  I hand him $20 and ask him to buy me one as well.  I watch him squeeze back into the sweating mass and weasel his way to the bar.  As soon as he gets there, two extremely young ladies of the eve approach him and engage him in an apparently amusing conversation.

After some time he has not returned so Crystal and I go to where we saw him last.  He is still happily chatting up the two ladies.  I ask him where my drink is and change.  He said he had put the drink on the bar pointing to an area where there was no longer a drink.  The change he placed in his pocket, which was now empty.  In any case, his drink was low and he asked for another.  I gave him another $20 repeating my order as before.  I decided this time to wait there with him for my drink.  Within a couple of minutes he turned back to me empty handed and with no money looking astonished to where it could have gone but nonetheless asked for more.  This time the gig was up and since I hadn’t had a drink now for a while was coming to my senses a bit more and glared at the two ladies who glared back at me.  Whatever trick they had learned to osmotically steal money from drunken sailors pants was working but we had had enough.  We grabbed Andrew who was a bit sad he didn’t get to give them a proper goodbye and headed down the road to the next bar or maybe back to the boat.  I can’t remember but a fun night was had by all and the laughs we got from the evening more than made for the $40 stolen by ninjas.

All good things must come to an end

But as long as there are more good things to come, who can complain.  Andrew and I weren’t sure how long we would be able to sail together when we started but eventually our paths had to divert.  I needed to start heading south to get to Columbia before the end of the sailing season and Andrew wanted to stick around the Bay Islands a bit more and head to Columbia the following season.  So Crystal and I began looking for other boats heading south and happened to come upon another captain I met last year as well on the Rio Dulce who was glad to have another sailor on board.

Andrew stuck around Roatan where he set up a free-diving class, hosts his on talk show on a Roatan radio station, and who knows what other trouble he has gotten himself into.  I can honestly say I haven’t and probably will not sail for another captain who is that fun unless I get back on Atreyu.

Here's to the crew of Atreyu

Movin’ on up

Now the boat we were moving onto was a 43 ft luxurious catamaran named Wind Walker.  It is unfair to compare this boat to Andrew's as it is like comparing an enduro-motorcycle to a fully equipped motor home, but I will.

Andrew’s boat was awesome.  It was a young man's boat set up for racing and we didn’t need much more to live comfortably but comparing the amenities makes it seem like a huge difference.

Atreyu:

• Foot pump for the sink that sometimes worked
• Fresh water had to be lugged on board to fill the tanks
• Ice had to brought on if we wanted a refrigerator / freezer
• Limited power usage for computers and such
• Showers were usually on the foredeck from a sun bag we hung on the forestay
• No cover of any kind out in the cockpit
• Only a compass at the helm
• Snug yet low v-berth to sleep in with a pole in the middle
• Dinghy with only oars for getting to land (although we could sail it and had lot of fun doing so)

Wind Walker:

• Electric pumps for both fresh and salt water in the sinks
• Water maker for an unlimited supply of fresh water
• Separate refrigerator and freezer
• Unlimited power with 4 large solar panels and a wind generator
• Hot water showers in the both bathrooms
• Completely enclosed cockpit 
• Two chart plotters, depth finder and big cushy seat at the helm
• A good size bedroom with a queen size bed for Crystal and myself
• Large dinghy with outboard motor
• Plus a flat screen tv with large couch and table in dining area

After a few days of weather delays which allowed us many farewell dinners with Andrew's parents and picking up some extra paying passengers, we were off for an island exploration adventure blowout all the way to Bocas del Toro, Panama.  And that is where we will pick up next time.

Sunset in Roatan

Cheers,
Jb

Hasta la Vista Costa Rica

Greetings everyone.  It's been too long and I have a lot to catch ya'll up with so let's get started.  I have long since left Costa Rica and have put many sea-faring miles under my well worn belt in the last few months but I feel the need to give a proper farewell to this tiny sliver of a country that offers so many rewards to those who travel here.

Summer Salt Dive Shop
As mentioned in a previous blog, after I travelled around Costa Rica for an adventurous month or so, I settled down in Playa del Coco to work on getting my dive master at Summer Salt Dive Shop, one of 5 or so dive shops in the area.  The owner, Patrick, and his wife, Sandra, both from Switzerland, were great to work for and I think appreciated having a native English speaker on hand to deal with US tourists who think speaking English with a French accent is a foreign language.

Coming in as a dive master trainee you are the lowest man on the totem pole and are assigned the most remedial of jobs to make the shop run but some of them had their benefits.  I now know how to cut up a pineapple 5 different ways, one of the being in the shape of a monkey riding a dolphin which really impresses the customers and can sometimes increase your tip by a dollar or more.  My sweeping and mopping  skills have greatly improved and I can change out tanks on an air compressor in 1 minute 23 seconds.

On top of all that, one of the best things about being a dive master trainee is you automatically become the in-house snorkel guide.  This glorified position (insert sarcasm) consists of knowing how to wear a mask, snorkel, and fins and being able to swim reasonably well.  If you pass this strict criteria, then you are cleared to take out paying customers who choose to have a snorkel guide instead of going by themselves because they have some phobia of going underwater, can't swim that well, can't swim at all, are afraid of sea creatures, or all of the above.  It usually turns into a good training scenario for rescue techniques.  One bonus however of being in charge of all things snorkel related was when a hot Canadian with the name of Crystal the Nurse came into the store to rent some snorkel gear, I was called in to make sure she signed an extremely important legal document that wouldn't hold our store liable if she injured herself with our snorkel gear.  After this, while loitering around outside the shop 'to meet some friends' and defending herself from the local street dogs trying to hump her leg, I decided this was a girl worth chatting up a bit more.  The rest is history and we have been traveling together ever since.  Even after everything I've dragged her through (more on that later), we are still girlfriend and boyfriend.

Dive Shop Truck
If someone asks you if you can drive a standard, assume they are asking you because they have a vehicle they want you to drive because they feel uncomfortable driving it.  Once I said yes I became the newly elected driver/equipment hauler for the shop using the truck below.

Summer aSalt 4x4:  Luckily for us we had the best dive shop truck in town

It wasn't a surprise to come to work and see the passenger seat removed from the truck so work could be done to keep the floor board together, guys pushing it down the main street to get it started, our boat captain syphoning gas into the gas tank with a garden hose, and the list goes on.

One of my most memorable stories goes like this.  One morning I came to work and the truck was not there.  I was told it was at the mechanics getting the brakes fixed.  The owner's wife, Sandra, was at the shop with her car and asked if I wanted to go get the truck and bring it back to the shop since it was supposed to be fixed.  Also if I could fill up all the truck and all the jerry cans on the way back.  So we loaded everything into her car.  Drove a little ways out of town and arrived at the mechanics.  The truck was parked in the back looking untouched.  After talking to the mechanic he said the guy who works on the brakes hasn't been around and probably won't be back for a few days but he had a look at it and the truck was probably fine to drive with the brakes as is.  So, Sandra looked at me and asked if felt ok driving it back in its current condition and if I still wanted to get gas.  The part that adds to the story is that the road out of town to the mechanics is a long uphill windy road so going back to town meant driving downhill in a fully fueled truck with full jerry cans in the back and questionable breaking ability.  She looked at me like I didn't have much choice so I nervously accepted.

I hopped in and turned the ignition with my pocket knife since the truck key is no longer necessary and sometimes misplaced.  Of course of all the times you don't want it to start, it started.  After gingerly testing the brakes in the parking lot I pulled out to head farther up the hill to the gas station.  While at the pump, the thought crossed my mind that if I was in my native country filling up a truckload of jerry cans and topping off the truck's gas tank before driving down a steep hill into a highly populated area with questionable breaks, I would probably be surrounded by a truckload of federal agents and thoroughly searched wishing I was locked up in a foreign jail instead.

The pump clicked and I had everything topped off.  As I was about to leave a guy and his weed-eater asked if he could hop in for a lift back to town.  Although my spanish is acceptable it was too much for me to try and explain to him the situation he was putting his life in and I didn't want to seem rude and not let him ride, so I just gestured for him to get in the back.  I pulled out slowly to begin my downward descent, pushed the button for the hazard lights which really do nothing, and put my hand over the parking brake more for comfort since it absolutely doesn't work.  After a few hundred feet the guy in the back gave the international sign for wanting me to stop by banging on the top of the truck like a man who didn't take his tourette's medication.  I'm not sure if had suddenly realized the situation he was in or wanted to weed-eat the grass on the side of the public road but in any case he hopped out and I continued on my own.

I know everybody would like to hear about a fiery ending and I thought it would be fun to write one but let's stick to reality for this one.  By the time I was rolling through town I couldn't rest my bare feet on the floor of the driver's side due to the heat coming from the transmission but luckily first gear held up for me.   I made it back to the shop with a smile on my face and had just enough time to wipe the sweat from my brow before the other guys came out to help me unload the jerry cans.

Let's Rodeo
Aside from the daily excitement around the dive shop, the Costa Ricans like to spice up there daily lives as well and hold the occasional rodeo.  I found out that there was one such event in the nearby town of Santa Cruz.  There was the local fair of horses prancing through the throngs of people, food vendors selling everything from tripe to central american chow main, and then there was the rodeo.  Instead of trying to describe this event I made another video.  A picture is worth a thousand words and a video is worth 258,092 or something like that:

Video Short:  Santa Cruz Rodeo, Costa Rica

Corobici River Rafting
My buddy, Mark, from Miami was getting jealous of all the fun I was having without him and found a cheap flight down to visit.  One of the things he really wanted to do was go rafting so I made sure we had that in our schedule.  He was a bit nervous about it and kept asking questions about how safe it was.  Since I had already been rafting in Costa Rica I assured him everything would be fine and to stay calm.  However, when we got there the boats were a lot smaller and the rapids were a lot bigger.  We ended getting into some serious rapids with the biggest being a 16 ft drop with a hard left .  Somehow the boat stayed upright on the first attempt.  So our guide insisted we get out, haul the boat back up river, and try again until we flip.  Our second attempt was a great success with everyone gasping for air and scrambling to get back in our boat and grab our gear.

The Big One

1st attempt:  Somehow we road this one out right-side up

2nd attempt:  This time we weren't as successful

Mt. Rincon de la Vieja

After all the excitement on the river we planned another trip to the mud baths and hot springs of Mt Rincon de la Vieja National Park.  After a few hours of driving down bumpy dirt roads we arrived at the park headquarters where they looked at us as if we were aliens from another planet.  It was a Monday and all Costa Ricans know the park is closed on Monday.  Why would we show up on a day the park was closed.

Needless to say we were a bit demoralized but after some discussion, they realized we just wanted to go to the hot springs and didn't want to hike in the park.  We could just drive down the road a bit more and hop on in.

The process of getting in the hot springs is like this:  You pay a few bucks at the trail entrance to enter the trail to the springs and use their change rooms to get into your bathing suit.  Hike down a trail then cross a shaky bridge one at a time over the cascading river where the hot springs are.  On the opposite side you scamper down to the hot mud application area.  There is a man down there who enjoys his park's job way too much.  He has small pails of hot mud and brushes waiting for you and begins to slather you in mud and will continue to do so until you tell him to stop or ever inch of your skin is covered.  I think Mark enjoyed this a bit too much.

All grins and one satisfied customer.  You can't get this kind of service in Miami.

Luckily for me Crystal was along with us

Biggest leaf I could find

Waiting for the mud to dry before hopping in the hot thermal pools behind us

Hasta la Vista Costa Rica
After Mark left, it was about late January and time for me to leave Costa Rica as well.  I had made plans with a boat captain I met last year to meet him back up in Guatemala on the Rio Dulce and help him sail his boat out of the Rio Dulce and down south through the Bay Islands.  I convinced Crystal who had not spent too much time on a sailboat that this was going to be an amazing trip and she should come.  I tried not to mention too much about the 4 day bus ride back up north through Nicaragua, El Salvador, and most of Guatemala.  I wish I could say the bus rides were uneventful but there were the usual issues at borders, incomplete bus schedules, and uniformed drivers.  However here are a few top pics from the trip:

Bus Stoppin' in San Salvador

The sun sets behind a dormant volcano as we settle in for the night through Nicaragua

At the largest outdoor market in Central America located in Managua, Nicaragua.  

Everything from babies to pig's feet to live iguanas.

And here are a few of my favorite sunsets from Costa Rica to wrap things up:

As always, hope everyone is doing well and expect another update soon.

Cheers,

Jb

Special Edition - Director's Cut

Many people ask what the heck I am doing out here while I am traveling.  

Well after crocodile wrestling and saving the majestic unicorn from going extinct, I also participate in making award winning documentary films.  So instead of reading another long blog here is a video that shows the adversities of sailing the high seas:

Most Amazing Film Ever

This is also what happens when 3 thirty-somethings are living together cramped on a 40 foot boat for over a month.

Enjoy,

Jb